I love when materials, collected directly from the earth, become works of art.

This week, I researched the make up of cement and discovered some of it’s natural make up consisted of things like shale, clay and slate. When mixed with water and sand, many beautiful and practical works of art happen.

Like this bird bath, a Soul Sister creation from a few years ago. This spring a crack formed in the basin. My husband patched it , with more cement, turning the leaf pattern into a gentle seascape. The bottom is covered with sea shells, gathered from the Pacific coast when visiting our son in British Columbia.

And our little birds are happy again.

One of my favourite summer treats, when I was a little girl, was a ripe, red, tomato picked fresh from the garden, smashed in a bowl and sprinkled with sugar. Sugar was meant to balance the acidity of the tomato, but I just loved the taste.

Another favorite summer treat was the triple decker ice cream cone I would get when it was my turn to ride along delivering our cucumber crop to the grading station. We used to love finding the biggest cucumbers. At the grading station we would learn that the tiniest cucumbers were the most valuable. Those tiny cucumbers were destined to become that crunchy, sweet, gherkin pickle that we all love. Followed closely by the cool, crisp dill pickle.

I think those long ago trips to the grading station, triggered my love for canning, preserving, and dehydrating til, in late autumn, all the shelves are full.

I went to my grade 9 class reunion, today.

We have been getting together, the Saturday after Labour Day weekend, every year since our 50 anniversary 5 years ago. Not everyone shows up every year, and some people have yet to make an appearance. We have all changed a little bit in the past 50 plus years, but the eyes remain the same. That sparkle, that twinkle, that mischievous glance, they are all still there.

When I mention to people that I look forward to my yearly grade 9 reunion, the reactions are mixed. Eyes roll, comments like ‘what the heck for?’ and comments like ‘you are really lucky that this is something that you want to do,’ are made.

I believe I am very lucky to have spent most of my high school years with a group of people that I feel very attached to. I was a shy, quiet person back then, content to sit back and observe all the while feeling included and accepted.

Our old high school building still stands tall and proud but now houses a different population. It is now home to the David Busby Centre and CMHA, and hopefully soon a Safe Injection Site.

I work with some of the population who now frequent my old high school in search of family. In their eyes, just like in our grade 9 eyes, is a desire to see the best of what the world has to offer.

I made my first Amazon purchase today.

It’s just what you do when you ask your little granddaughter, who is about to turn 5 years old, what she would like for her birthday and she says ‘a Lady Bug super hero doll.’

First, you go to Toys R Us, believing that they carry every toy ever made, only to be told that they aren’t carrying them yet and probably won’t be for another couple of months. But the nice lady helping you searches on her IPad and directs you to Walmart.

So you head out to Walmart, where the nice gentleman helping you, kindly says that they only carry them on-line.

I don’t even do on-line banking, let alone on-line shopping. But being the best grandma ever, I head over to the closest store selling pre-paid Visa cards an make a purchase.

I take the card home, carefully follow all of the instructions and register the card on line and begin to shop.

Walmart is sold out of Lady Bug products.

EBay is mostly sold out.

Amazon has four items left. Now Amazon has three items left.

BEST GRANDMA EVER!

I’ve made strawberry jam, with my children, with girlfriends, with my soul sisters and by myself. Summer just isn’t summer until I’ve made strawberry jam.

When I was a little girl, we moved to a farm in the country. One of the fields was covered with so many wild strawberries that we named the field ‘The Strawberry Field.’ We would pick berries until our jars were full and our white underwear were covered with red polka dots.

We would smash our strawberries into jam and eat them by the spoonful.

We would always run a jar of berries over to an elderly, bedridden neighbour. He was a WW1 army veteran with a long scar down one side of his face. He would give us nickels and we would run to town to buy penny candy.

I often wonder if the Beatles ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ was written after such a memory. Perhaps/perhaps not.

For me summer is not complete without strawberries. Times that I missed the harvest made me very sad.

“Cause I’m going to Strawberry Fields. Strawberry Fields Forever.” John/Paul

We became regular Mariposa Folk Festival people nine summers ago, with the 50th anniversary celebrations. We sat with thousands of others, listening to Gordon Lightfoot, Murray McLaughlin, and Ian and Sylvia.

Our one day adventure quickly led to attending the whole weekend. I now book Monday’s off for rest and reflection

We met a lot of great people this year, including a wonderful man who has grooved to the tunes of Mariposa, every year since it’s inception 59 years ago, back when he was a self described 19 year old, long haired beatnik that the city of Orillia didn’t know how to cope with. We shared a tree with a three generation family whose predecessor was one of the founding members of the festival.

For some reason, this was an emotional weekend for me this year. As people know, I am not a crier. Crying is just something that I don’t know how to do, but this weekend, at least a couple of times each day, I felt tears slipping down the sides of my face. Perhaps it was the running into old friends and making new friends. Or maybe it was the music, the art and the sunshine. Or it might have been that I could go from sitting on the grass to standing up without falling over. Whatever the reason, they were happy tears and I was equally happy to feel them.

Looking forward to next summer to celebrate 60 years of Mariposa!

The Tiny Marsh has always been one of my favourite places. Since the early 1980’s, it’s a place where many family adventures have taken place. Each walk bringing it’s own excitement. Once we watched as a snake ate a frog, another time a turtle laying her eggs. Hours were spent dip netting, finding lots of bugs, crayfish and other creatures that call the Tiny Marsh their home.

Our favourite part of the 25 kilometers of trails, that wind through this wetland, is the trail that takes us to Mole Mountain. On our way there we would climb up the look-out tower, travel the boardwalk and watch for song birds along the canal. Mole Mountain, which overlooked a large portion of the marsh, was our designated resting place.

One of the unique things about the Tiny Marsh was my father’s contribution. He had started a new business, when he was well into his years as a Well Adult, and one of his first customers was Ducks Unlimited. His new company provided Ducks Unlimited with the aggregate needed to build the dykes which give the marsh it’s shape and structure.

I often think of my father during these walks, specifically on my solo journeys through the trails and along the dykes of one of my favourite places.

Laying Asleep doesn’t talk about anything that is on my list of Things to do as a Well Adult.

Laying Asleep is about something that I experienced today and feel the need to write about.

I started my day bright and early, finding myself at my bank about an hour before it opened. I opened the door and there in front of me, on the floor, lay a young man sound asleep.

My first thought was to move forward with my plan to make a cash withdrawal, taking out an extra twenty to place on his backpack. Then I hesitated, thinking of all the different senarios that might happen.

Prehaps he was just nodding off and not asleep.

Maybe the sounds of the ATM would awaken him and he would take all of my money.

But my greatest fear was that I would awaken someone very much in need of a good nights sleep. Knowing that he would, most likely, be on his feet for the rest of the day.

I knew that he wouldn’t go hungry as there was a spot that he could go for a free breakfast, and another for a free dinner. Both locations were within an easy walking distance.

So I left him, Laying Asleep, on the floor.

Later that morning, I returned to the bank and asked the teller about the young man. She shared that they had had to awaken him when they opened their doors.

She shared that he was a polite young man, thankful for having had shelter that night.

The earliest history of Book Clubs, that I could find, dated back to the early 1600’s, with women discussing everything from church sermons, the political, commercial and scientific topics of the day, to their own writings of poetry and prose.

Back when I was the mom of a preschooler, I belonged to a little book club with a group of other stay-at-home moms. We would get together over lunch and wine to discuss the books we had chosen to read. The only book I can recall from that time is The Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Waller. I remember discussing the quality of the writings attributed to the man and the woman in the book.

That was a long time ago and I have, ever since, longed to belong to a book club. And this past Wednesday night, I joined my second book club with a group of women from my church. This will be a very different book club as we will be studying the book, Finding I AM by Lysa Terkeurst. An evening book club with tea and dessert.

But the fellowship, which is perhaps the most important part of the getting together, will be much the same. One where a group of women can strengthen their relationships with one another and become stronger individuals because of it.

I am very much looking forward to growing closer with these women. This being said, if anyone is starting a book club over lunch and wine, I’m in!