My streams of thought meet here
It’s time for an ATCUS at my house again. (Total Clean-Up of Spare BR–which doubles as my craft & sewing room.) Think “Clutter HQ”. So I’ve set my art aside for a few weeks. But here’s one of the paintings I did last month and photocopied, thinking of the possibility of future note cards.
The Ragtag Daily Prompt this morning is HEDGE. Here’s a verse in limerick style that I wrote in response:
PRIVILEGE STREET
Through the thick hedge the young girl peered
at a house where the windows weren’t cracked
the lawn was so green, the windows all screened
and the driveway cement was intact.
The stair steps weren’t crumbling, the roof had no hole,
no cracks in the walls could she see.
She sighed as she wished that a home just like this
would shelter her own family.
The Ragtag Daily Prompt for today is ENCROACH
To me this is such an old-fashioned sounding word, like something Chaucer or Shakespeare might have used. Like the branches of Burnham wood slowly encroaching on Macbeth’s castle. Anyone remember that scene?
According to my book of word meanings, encroach and crochet have a common root. To encroach on something is to try snagging the thing, or attempt to catch it with a hook, coming from the French word, encrochier : “to seize with a hook.” Even more interesting, the French borrowed the root word “croc” from the Norwegian krokr, meaning hook – the word that has streamed off into the English crook, someone who snatches things wrongfully.
We got a little demonstration of encroachment yesterday afternoon. I’ve been feeding a stray cat that somehow landed on this property at some point in spring and likely found a safe place to stay in one of the farm buildings next door. He’s very timid – in fact that’s what I’ve named him. Since he doesn’t belong to the neighbours, they don’t include him when they put out food for their several tame farm cats. So, since I have a soft heart for cats, I’ve been feeding him all fall.
Yesterday one of the neighbour’s cats, a pretty calico, wandered over to our yard and happened to be near the garage when I set out a bowl of food for Timid. The calico took a notion that she could encroach on his food dish. He didn’t attack her, but expressed his displeasure quite sternly. No encroaching of any kind tolerated here!
Had she reached out a claw and snagged some of his food, the calico would have been encroaching in the true sense of the word. Doesn’t work very well with dry cat food, though.
We’ve enjoyed a long mild fall with almost no snow, in fact last week was delightfully mild for this time of year. It has worked so far to feed the stray. But a cold wind is blowing from the northwest today and the temp is dropping steadily, so I suppose we won’t see so much of Timid once winter really settles in. Hopefully the mice around wherever he shelters are well fattened.
The Ragtag Daily Prompt this morning was The Extraordinary in the Ordinary.
The idea behind this prompt was that there’s beauty in the simplest things and I wholeheartedly agree. I’ve been amazed at times by the petals of a flower, the iridescence of a bug, the symmetrical shape shape of a tree, the strength in a mechanic’s hands as he twisted a wrench. But today my thoughts have gone in a different line.
Last Sunday morning my sister Donna lost her life to drugs.
Hello Everyone! I wonder what sort of a day you’re having?
So far this day has brought me a mixture of relief, celebration and sorrow. I’m relieved and relaxed because our Craft Sale is over. On Friday I was at my table at the Villa from 10am-5pm setting up, chatting with other vendors and customers, and selling a few of my pictures. I didn’t sell a lot, but then mine weren’t Christmas-themed like most of the items for sale. I should do some snow scenes to fit the season.
I’m putting my brushes away for a few days, but am happy in retrospect to have done the work even though I didn’t sell many paintings. Every bit of painting works toward improving. Also, I photocopied a dozen with the thought of sometime making note cards. And here’s one:
Re: the candles mentioned in my title. Today is our grandson’s 11th birthday, so there’ll be cake and candles and presents for him this evening.
Sad to say, a few tears have dampened the joy when I got the news that my sister Donna was found dead this morning. She turned sixty-six two days ago.
When we got home from church there was a message on our phone from my sister Wilma, saying she had to talk to me. Wilma has been living in Alberta for years; she and I have chatted a few times a year since our sister Rose died. So I knew this call was serious and suspected a death or accident — never dreamed it would be Donna, though. But then, I haven’t had contact with Donna for ages and had no idea she’s been a heavy drug user for years. The drug paraphernalia found with her indicates she likely died of an overdose.
I’m very sad about this. When we were younger I was close to Donna and have always cared very much for her in spite of our lack of contact. At our sister Rose’s funeral three years back Donna gave me a big hug and then disappeared, didn’t stay to talk with anyone. I knew her life wasn’t at all stable, but thought alcohol was the main issue. Her youngest son is apparently also heavy into drugs and is currently doing time at the correctional centre. So the authorities had no trouble locating him when his mom was found dead. An autopsy is pending.
Her oldest son is working in northern Alberta and can’t be contacted, so all the planning is falling on son #2, the one who has his head together. I talked with him this afternoon and we both grieved over his mom and their messed up home.
We hope our American neighbors and all our long-lost cousins down there have had, or are having, a delightful day of counting your blessings.
Christine's Collection 