A MEASURE IN TIME ❤️

A MEASURE IN TIME

“As we get along in years, increasingly the thought arises; when will all this end?”

We don't know. Each day given to us is a gift, a gift to never forget to use well. Wasted days cannot be allowed in.


This morning I woke up to a snowy landscape, no sun to see like yesterday's, but the day was bright and living and it is my birthday. I wasn't going to write about it but that quickly changed when I received a treasured gift from my hubby.

I could have easily guessed his gift since being a difficult person to buy for, the typical card I receive as a birthday gift always contains money, but the true treasure was not the toonies and 100 dollar bills that filled the box, it was something else, it was a deeply buried story, a story about life.

Vaguely, I remembered a similar story Stan shared with me years ago and I knew where he got the idea for the memorable birthday gift he gave to me this morning; genius, I say. Love when he does these kinds of things, so romantic, I think.
Back in the day when Stan worked at Domtar a fellow co-worker had shared with him his analogy on life as they sat at a picnic table close enough to hear the sound of the Chaudiere Falls rushing into the Ottawa river, drowning the noise of the paper machines inside the mill. Serge Robitaille told Stan what made his decision to call it quits and retire. “He pulled out his pipe fitter's measuring tape and holding it to a number that marked his years gone by he said in a French accent, “I have everything, maybe that is what I have left, pointing to the remaining tape measure.” Stan never forgot the story nor did I and you then look at your own life a little bit different.

So, Stan's story today is not conveyed through a measuring tape but through money. He gave me 62 toonies inside a treasure chest, each toonie signifying a year of my life. The golden nugget roll containing 13 toonies is to use as a measure in time. For the next 13 years, (just happens to be my lucky number ), I will take a toonie on my birthday and buy myself a Tim Horton's coffee. If we are both here in 13 years, Stan will simply refill the Treasure Chest for another 13, maybe? And if one of us is gone before the 13 years then the other will continue in their honor remembering the life we shared. For every year, the goal is to do what your heart desires, dream the dreams you want to dream and make them happen.

Those 13 coins, each will symbolize a year to live by in the best imaginable way possible.


And now I leave you with this to reflect upon...







The Dream of Life - Alan Watts

So then… Let’s suppose that you were able, every night, to dream any dream you wanted to dream. And you could, for example, have the power within one night to dream 75 years of time. Or any length of time you wanted to have. And you would, naturally, as you began on this adventure of dreams, fulfill all your wishes. You would have every kind of pleasure. And after several nights of seventy-five years of total pleasure each you would say, “Well, that was pretty great! But now let’s have a surprise.” “Let’s have a dream which isn’t under control. Where something is going to happen to me but I don’t know what it’s going to be.” And you would dig that, and come out of that and say, “Wow, that was a close shave, wasn’t it?” Then you would get more and more adventurous. And you would make further and further gambles as to what you would dream. And finally, you would dream where you are now.


p.s. Thanks, Stan ❤️


A Measure In Time ~ Part 2

A Souvenir of my 62ndbirthday, a poem he wrote for me as part of the gift I received on Sunday. He doesn't think real men buy flowers but I think he is trying very hard to be romantic, which I appreciate and love. Thanks, Stan....cute

Analogy of Life

It happened so many years ago
Back at the paper mill
Where at a picnic table
Serge brought me through the drill
He took his tattered tape measure
From his worn and aging belt
Pulled out some tape onto the ground
And told me how he felt
He pinched it off at fifty-five
And stated “I got dat”
Then pulled out another foot or so
For the remaining life, he’d have
The Frenchman made a lot of sense
In dealing with his strife
As he gave me his own version
Of his analogy of life
Now many decades later
His words all still ring true
For March tenth, two thousand nineteen
Annabelle turned sixty-two
We gathered up some toonies
Sixty-two to be exact
Placed them in a treasure chest
But something else had lacked
Emma added thirteen more
To make it seventy-five
So Annabelle could compare what’s left
And thank god to be alive
I made a pact with Annabelle
A planned out rendezvous
To add another twenty-five
In two thousand thirty-two
Happy Birthday Anna

Stan

“What I like about photographs is that they capture a moment that's gone forever, impossible to reproduce.” ~ Karl Lagerfeld

These are the memories we will never let go. It seems like it was just yesterday we were treasure hunting with Grace. We discovered Geocaching and M and I went on some wonderful outdoor adventures around our region like Merrickville and Kemptville searching for the secretly hidden geocaches. Grace helped us find them all. Although there are mixed views on the game and I understand the dangers associated with it, we still love playing the game. The clues, the puzzles, the mystery and stories, the thrill of the adventure of finding the cache in the most unexpected secret location are all part of the fun of geocaching and besides that its a wonderful excuse to take a walk in nature, breathe in the fresh air and bring your dog out for a walk, sadly we will miss having Grace on our next hunts.

“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal***From an Irish Headstone” Richard Puz

Heart and Soul

Grace, a soul with heart and spirit






In his book "Dog Stories", James Herriot writes of an old woman whose only fear is that she may never be reunited with her animals after death.
Here is an excerpt from the short story "The Card Over The Bed" A very touching and beautiful story.


I went back and sat down by the bed. Miss Stubbs looked out of the window" for a few moments, then turned to me. "You know, Mr. Herriot," she said casually, "it will be my turn next.""What do you mean?""Well, tonight Ben has gone and I'm going to be the next one. I just know it.""Oh, nonsense! You're feeling a bit low, that's all. We all do when something like this happens." But I was disturbed. I had never heard her even hint at such a thing before."I'm not afraid," she said. "I know there's something better waiting for me. I've never had any doubts." There was silence between us as she lay calmly looking up at the card on the gas bracket. Then the head on the pillow turned to me again. "I have only one fear." Her expression changed with startling suddenness as if a mask had dropped. The brave face was almost unrecognizable. A kind of terror flickered in her eyes and she quickly grasped my hand."It's the dogs and cats, Mr. Herriot. I'm afraid I might never see them when I'm gone which worries me so. You see, I know I'll be reunited with my parents and brothers, but ... but ..." She gazed at the two cats curled up at the end of her bed."Well, why not with your animals?""That's just it." She rocked her head on the pillow and for the first time I saw tears on her cheeks. "They say animals have no souls.""Who says?""Oh, I've read it and I know a lot of religious people believe it.""Well, I don't believe it." I patted the hand which still grasped mine. "If having a soul means being able to feel love and loyalty and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans. You've nothing to worry about there."
"Oh, I hope you're right.



“You think dogs will not be in heaven? I tell you, they will be there long before any of us.” Robert Louis Stevenson ☺️

And All Through The House, Not a Stir 💔

Karson will be 15 years old on May 3rd

Karson is the last surviving pet of

"The Three Amigos"

This morning, all through the house, not stir. All three cats were sound asleep and just looking at Karson sleeping it's very clear he knows Grace is gone.

KARSON

The little ones, they too know she is gone.

MAGGIE

LITTLE BAT

Grace and Karson

                    Grace

July 1st, 2005 ~ Feb 27th, 2019

              

Grace and Karson photographed by M

“And it is exceedingly short, his galloping life. Dogs die so soon. I have my stories of that grief, no doubt many of you do also. It is almost a failure of will, a failure of love, to let them grow old—or so it feels. We would do anything to keep them with us, and to keep them young. The one gift we cannot give. •”


Mary Oliver, Dog Songs

 

Above photos by M

Goodbye, Grace 🥰

Grace ~ July 1st, 2005 ~ February 27th, 2019

With a heavy heart, we said goodbye today to our beautiful golden girl, Grace. Goodbye, Grace 😢😭❤️ Grace, you will Always and Forever be in our hearts. 

This poem pretty much speaks how we feel tonight. 

Love you so much, Grace!❤️

For Beau: 'I'll always love a dog named Beau', by Jimmy Stewart - 1981



27 July, 1981, New York, USA

He never came to me when I would call

Unless I had a tennis ball,

Or he felt like it,

But mostly he didn't come at all.

When he was young

He never learned to heel

Or sit or stay,

He did things his way.

Discipline was not his bag

But when you were with him things sure didn't drag.

He'd dig up a rosebush just to spite me,

And when I'd grab him, he'd turn and bite me.

He bit lots of folks from day to day,

The delivery boy was his favorite prey.

The gas man wouldn't read our meter,

He said we owned a real man-eater.

He set the house on fire

But the story's long to tell.

Suffice it to say that he survived

And the house survived as well.

On the evening walks, and Gloria took him,

He was always first out the door.

The Old One and I brought up the rear

Because our bones were sore.

He would charge up the street with Mom hanging on,

What a beautiful pair they were!

And if it was still light and the tourists were out,

They created a bit of a stir.

But every once in a while, he would stop in his tracks

And with a frown on his face look around.

It was just to make sure that the Old One was there

And would follow him where he was bound.

We are early-to-bedders at our house -- I guess I'm the first to retire.

And as I'd leave the room he'd look at me

And get up from his place by the fire.

He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs,

And I'd give him one for a while.

He would push it under the bed with his nose

And I'd fish it out with a smile.

And before very long He'd tire of the ball

And be asleep in his corner In no time at all.

And there were nights when I'd feel him Climb upon our bed

And lie between us,

And I'd pat his head.

And there were nights when I'd feel this stare

And I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there

And I reach out my hand and stroke his hair.

And sometimes I'd feel him sigh and I think I know the reason why.

He would wake up at night

And he would have this fear

Of the dark, of life, of lots of things,

And he'd be glad to have me near.

And now he's dead.

And there are nights when I think I feel him

Climb upon our bed and lie between us,

And I pat his head.

And there are nights when I think I feel that stare

And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,

But he's not there.

Oh, how I wish that wasn't so,

I'll always love a dog named Beau.

“I believe cats to be
Spirits come to earth.
A cat could, I believe.
Walk on a cloud without falling through.”

Jules Verne


Little Bat only weighed 81 grams when he first came to us a year and a half ago. He now weighs 8 pounds.

The Spider and The Cat

A Little Caturday Fun playing with the famous poem "The Spider and The Fly" by Mary Howitt 1829


The Spider and The Cat

“Good morning, my darling love”. said the Spider to the Cat;
Don't be frightened by my skinny, spidery legs and all of that.
These hairy limbs surely will give you a tiny tickle;
When I scurry across your back, you'll be in such a pickle.
Go away, go away! said the pussycat; your not my kinda of chap:
I'm unto all your flattery and your spooky, kooky, trap.

The Dreaming Tree 🌳

The Dreaming Tree 🌳
The morning's temperature is -17.
Still icy in the lull of early morning.
I look out the window, a crystal stillness meets my eye; the form of a tree- A Dreaming Tree***** Nature's art is magnificent!

Happy Valentine’s Day, Sweetie ♥️

Happy Valentine’s Day, Sweetie ♥️


♥️ I will make you brooches and toys for your delight
Of birdsong at morning and starshine at night
I will make a palace fit for you and me
Of green days in forests and blue days at sea


Robert Louis Stevenson

SNOWCAT

Home Sweet Home is especially nice in Stormy Weather. While hubby and daughter watched Monk, I listened to music and played on the computer forgetting all about lighting the fire even though my husband had brought more than enough wood inside to last us the entire night. I found a picture of a Snowcat, “SnowBall The Cat” someone built out of snow and it reminded me of the Snowcat I made a long time ago made with felt, applique, and embroidery. In the past when the kids were little we built a real SnowCat and although it would be great to have a Snowcat in the front yard now, I really don't want to venture out in the cold and build one all by myself, not much fun.

The painting, “Michetto Hill” that you see at the back of the SnowCat Pillow, I painted a long time ago but it is different than the one I have posted online, it's missing Michetto, so eventually, I'll need to paint him in and fix a couple of mistakes I forgot all about.

The good thing about stormy weather, it makes me spend more time on my art.

Waltz No. 2 - The Second Waltz (by Dmitri Shostakovich) PIANO COVER by D...

On a snowy night listening to Destiny Cross play "The Second Waltz " by Dmitri Shostakovich

Published on Feb 16, 2017

THE MISSING MARK 🖼

You always hear in the news how someone, somewhere came across a painting at a church sale unsuspecting of its true value. And then it happens, they discover the treasure they brought home is not just a mere treasure for adorning the walls of their home but one which should be in a museum for all to revel in.

Who hasn't had the thought run through their head of discovering an object of crowning value when on a hunt for treasures? I know, I'm one who has and still does but not always, most of the time I'm quite content in discovering something that belonged to someone who's passed on and finding clues in the object that tells me more of their story. The mystery creates the curiosity of which I will never cease to have, I love digging for lost treasures! Dead people's stuff is so interesting to me, it's the kinda of stuff that brings the past into the present and me into the past; a connector to a time long past and forgotten.


Not long ago, a Maud Lewis painting was discovered at a thrift store in southern Ontario and was initially passed off for nothing more than a painting done by a child just because it was painted in the naive style. Don't judge the book by its cover yet how many of us have done exactly that? A mistake easily made when you come across a beautiful book with the most exquisitely detailed gilded artwork you ever laid eyes on. Naturally, we get lost in its beauty and some forget to look inside.
It is the countenance of the book that one must examine thoroughly and not just it's cover, alone; together they are the pieces to the puzzle that make the picture.


So when I discovered this landscape painting many years ago at the Ottawa neighborhood store the serene landscape made me think of The Group of Seven. I think it was the sunset, something Franklin Carmicheal might have painted. I liked its beautiful tranquil setting, I liked it because of its gorgeous sunset, because of the fact that it was an original, because it was painted in oil and because it was painted on a canvas that placed its origin back to England. The artist's identity though was and is a mystery to this day. Maybe the artist was not the boastful kind or perhaps didn't find it important enough to sign it since it was just a study to emulate a famous master or simply, had just forgotten.

The painting with the missing mark, the mark of ownership of who painted the landscape, will never tell its tale of where it's life began. Did the artist give it a name? Was it painted in Plein air or from a photograph taken on a holiday or from the artist's dream? Where was this secret place?
The artist's name missing, adds more of the mystery already attached to the painting. An old, antique painting belonging to an artist whose story I would love to learn more about only the story stops at the mouth of a river with the setting sun shimmering down into its still waters. The forests and hills are a few of the clues where the secret place may be and likely, will never be revealed. This lost and found treasure keeps being forever intriguing. 

The painting now adorns our home, desperately needing a frame, a very old one to complement its scenery would be fitting. I can pretend it was painted by someone famous, wouldn't it be lovely if it really belonged to Franklin Carmicheal?


In the end, I love the painting, famous or not, it does what a great painting should do, it captivates and draws you into its magical landscape and gives you a daydream.