Daily Life

Outside my window the rain drips down, fine and steady. After several weeks of sunny skies and warming temperatures, the earth drinks in the much needed moisture. I sit on the couch, a mug of Yorkshire Gold tea beside me, and am curiously content to listen to the quiet patter of rain on the roof. 

My morning tour of the garden consisted of looking out the window and taking photos from the open door. The vegetable garden is coming along nicely. Those tall stalks of kale will soon be uprooted as they have provided us with greens most of the winter and are going to seed. I'm reluctant to part with them just yet, for the leaves are tender and sweet. 

A kale salad can be a tiresome thing to eat. I find that cutting the leaves finely, after removing the ribs, then adding a glug of olive oil and some coarse salt, followed by a gentle but thorough massage tenderizes the kale and makes it pleasant to eat. I've been adding apple chunks, sliced radishes, sweet red peppers, and sunflower seeds to the greens. The whole is tossed with a squeeze of lemon juice or a sprinkle of balsamic vinegar. For an added flourish, I add some blue cheese crumbles. The leftovers are equally delicious the next day for my solitary lunch. 

Another view of the garden from the house. Still lots of work to do out there. 

This morning I baked granola. Tim eats it for breakfast almost every morning, with yogurt and berries. It's very plain, just large flake oats, sliced almonds, and cinnamon all mixed with honey and melted butter, then baked and stirred every 10 minutes in the oven. The house smells wonderful, and combined with the rainy day, I'm feeling very content. 

Yesterday we had our house treated for carpenter ants so I needed to be away for 6 hours. The school said I could hang out there, so I packed up my stuff and off I went. I worked in a room alone, but managed a face to face chat (at a good distance) with several people during the day. It struck me how much more satisfactory it is to visit in person rather than via digital means. I also managed to finish my student reports. Hooray!

My piece of embroidery is coming along well. I read this article in the Atlantic that relates how many of us are taking up needles of various sorts these days as women have done for centuries. One friend I know (Pondside, who no longer blogs, but is on Instagram) signed a piece of needlework with her initials and "2020 in the time of Covid". A good memento of this time. 

Now I'm off to mark a few assignments that have come in, and prepare for two virtual "Meets" with my classes. What are your plans for the day?

Delight in the Familiar

Feverfew (tancetum parthenium) self-seeds in my garden. I like its airy growth and find it a good filler for gaps. It seeds itself here and there and where I prefer it not to grow, I yank it out. It's pretty and friendly, familiar.

The other day I took Miss A to Butchart Gardens, a place she's visited many times. As we drove I talked about the adventure we were going to have.

"No, Nana," she said, "this isn't an adventure."
"Why not?"
"Well, because you have to walk to an adventure, not drive. Adventures are for the woods, not Butchart Gardens."

Interesting words from a 3.5-year-old. But I had to disagree with her and told her that Nana looks for adventure everywhere, even if she has to drive.

When I was much younger, although older than Miss A, I thought that adventure required new experiences. Revisiting a place couldn't possibly be an adventure. Where was the delight in climbing the same mountain, visiting the same museum, or re-reading a book?
 

Older now, perhaps I'm a little wiser. I can find delight in the familiar anticipation of flowers blooming. A wander through my garden with a cup of tea is a daily small adventure. The familiar cycle of the seasons brings so many opportunities for delight. There's always a rush of joy when the roses bloom or the tomatoes form.

I still hope to visit new places in the world - England, Greece, Scandinavia. But I also want to return to France, Spain and Germany for I have not seen or experienced nearly all that I want to there. With every visit to the relatively nearby Rocky Mountains or the Gulf Islands surrounding my home, I find new enjoyment in the familiar scenes. When Tim or I say, "remember last time..." another layer is added to the experience, enriching and deepening it. As I breathe in the scent of a sun-warmed forest, memory triggers all the forest scents I've ever breathed. A damp tangle of ferns growing high as my shoulder reminds me of the jungle trails I walked in the South American rainforest. Connections form between then and now.

Delight comes equally from the familiar of everyday life that links yesterday with today and from unfamiliar new experiences that expand my understanding. I anticipate new experiences but don't crave them as I formerly did. The Apostle Paul says, "I have learned to be content..." I can paraphrase that to "I am learning to be content..." Perhaps this delight in the familiar is akin to contentment.