As March Winds Down...

“Why do people say, ‘Grow some balls?’ Balls are weak and sensitive. If you wanna be touch, grow a vagina. Those things can take a beating.”

~ Betty White

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Oh Lord the wild life! I am such a woos.

While I was working at my desk, THUMP. A bird hit the window.

I went outside and this gorgeous tiny wonderful little Chickadee was on the ground, head to one side, tongue out; I was broken by the sight. I gave it space, tip-toing away and then into my car from the passenger side and off I went to the village.

When I got back, it was gone and I cried with joy more than with grief when I found it.

Today I am going to order special tape for my windows; it prevents birds from seeing the reflection of the forest. There’ll be no dead birds at Pinecone Park & Spa!

While I was in the village I ordered three more cords of topsoil, a cherry tree (!) and more shrubs that were delivered for a garden I want to build into the backyard glade.

Long ago I get into a relationship with a reference book in the Vancouver Public Library. It was a thick book and on each double-page spread were listed: cultures down the left side of the page and aspects of human behavior were listed across the top — things like science, war, art, faith, etc. And what the book tried to do was, in the briefest of entries, contextualize history by covering the entire history of man.

I still have all my notes somewhere. I studied that book for months.

I had come to realize how compartmentalized my learning was. I’s study this, then that, then this, then that. I was an avid student all my life; I loved learning and school. But things felt disjointed in my head. I could, for example, tell you lots about Tchaikovsky once. But when I could, if you asked me what was going on in any other field or country when he was composing, I had no idea.

The reference book was the perfect antidote to my compartmentalized mind. I absolutely loved discovering simple facts that made history seem more fluid. For example: A favourite revelation was to realize that Neil Armstrong, well known as the first man on the moon, was seventeen years old when Orville Wright died.

Discovering things like that gives me the shivers.

Yet to be iced.

Sheba is a puppy in ecstasy; I retired the running shoes I’ve been wearing forever (and not allowing her to play with) and she killed em over and over again while I made carrot cake last night (above).

She’s a dream come true. She’s as affectionate as Leon was and she’s becoming an extremely well behaved dog. I could not be happier. Our walks together are sheer joy for both of us.

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This will be a decent weekend. There are predictions of sunny periods both days and I have 3 cords of soil to move, plants to plant and a cake to ice. I’m particularly chuffed about planting a cherry tree. I crave cherries in season and to grow my own is nothing short of a miracle.