" THE WINDOW INTO THE UNSEEN IS OPENED IN WAKING HOURS " 🎨🖌🖼

Painting Magic? 

Waking from my sleep, the dreams of the night filled my head with lovely, mysterious, secret places to escape to and so I thought I would try to paint some magic.
The trials and tribulations that accompany a wip painting are many, at least for me. I am just an amateur painter who loves art, doesn't and can't produce artwork in minutes or hours and even if I could, I'm too fussy and like to work on the little things that I believe make the painting special. 

This painting has been lingering around for some time now and with everything else that has happened in life in recent weeks, it has been left behind. So this morning I returned to it, didn't like the trees, cat, cottage, cypress, etc and made some changes. Still far from finished but I like the direction it's taking. The cat will return, only a little different.

Muse - Unintended

You could be my unintended
Choice to live my life extended
You could be the one I'll always love
You could be the one who listens
To my deepest inquisitions
You could be the one I'll always love
I'll be there as soon as I can
But I'm busy mending broken
Pieces of the life I had before
First there was the one who challenged
All my dreams and all my balance
She could never be as good as you
You could be my unintended
Choice to live my life extended
You should be the one I'll always love
I'll be there as soon as I can
But I'm busy mending broken
Pieces of the life I had before
I'll be there as soon as I can
But I'm busy mending broken
Pieces of the life I had before
Before you





Have fun guys. Muse & Montreal ❤️

Our Birth is but a Sleep and a Forgetting:

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

The soul that rises with us, our life's Star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar.

~ “Intimations of Immortality”

 1804 William Wordsworth

Creatures of the night, in their nocturnal habit they dance on the threads of the gleaming moon.

Emrick, happy to have finally arrived at his journey's end sits by the river and watches the aerial ballet. In the starry, almost scary heavenly world above, Emrick catches a glimpse of another world, one he might know.

I loved painting on this 6 x 6 canvas. I was inspired by Old Quebec paintings for this landscape and gave it more of a surreal, magical fairytale Victorian Gothic style.

Hubby named the cat, Emrick, a name from Wales meaning immortal, from that a story materialized. I will eventually make some prints to sell this artwork. I like how it turned out.

EMRICK BAT 🖼🎨

EMRICK BAT 

OOO...Emrick Bat sits and watches the spooky night in Old Quebec; his long journey has finally come to an end and the scenery in front of him promises to be everything but boring.

I'm a Pisces and my sign is a pair of fish swimming in opposite directions. And being a Pisces, I always seem to go two ways at once, like my 2 wip paintings : ) I look forward to completing both in the next week. This one with Emrick (the name means immortal ) Bat, is a 6 x 6 canvas and I will be painting it in inks.

Ghostly Sound by GhostTales

Ghostly Sound by GhostTales

There's a place far and away, secluded, mysterious and haunting by the sea. In the luminous light of the moon, the four coves scintillate and resound the songs of the sea or perhaps the voices of lost ghosts whose melodies have drifted in.

GhosTales ~ Etsy

Home is Where The Fireflies Dance ☘️☘️☘️🏡 Spring Equinox 2019

Always love to read what churches write on their boards and yesterday while driving in the town of Kemptville I saw this at Saint James Anglican church.


Welcome Back, Spring! We've missed you!

Home is Where the Fireflies Dance

☘️Happy Saint Patrick's Day☘️

☘️Happy Saint Patrick's Day☘️

☘️Happy Saint Patrick's Day☘️

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.