Wakey Wakey

That moment you wake up, and are thinking do I go to work tomorrow? What day is it? Confused, groggy you have no idea.

I believed it was the weekend and once I convinced myself it was, I was ready to happy dance before crawling back in. Now this is in the middle of the night that I was dancing for joy.

It felt like such a long week, I am exhausted and very thankful that we do not have a lot of chores or tasks to complete. I can hang out and play with my dog and nap. I think that is a great way to spend the day; maybe some cartoons as well.

After a few bites of the pup playing with me, and me going into ignore mode, she immediately stops and comes crawling up to snuggle. It is amazing how bright she is, and how fast you can see her understanding at that moment, how much she hurt me. Normally followed by some please forgive me kisses.

A day of nothing, or puttering is probably one of the best days of all. Everything is unknown in the sense that you could start a project, a painting, your writing and somewhere out of it all is a new masterpiece; or an a-ha moment.

The weather is cool, overcast and I find it more beautiful outside. I find it workable, I can walk and not overheat, I can garden and not squint, I could play in a puddle with my rain boots if it rains. It feels light, like something is beginning to develop and sprout.

Mr. Jones was laughing as I bought the pup a pair of doggles. He said she won’t wear them. I said she had to if she wanted to put her head out the window. I don’t want anything getting in her beautiful brown eyes. After a few potato chips I convinced her she looked like a rockstar and is comfortable with them, she wore them with style; today we do it again.

I am thinking I may have to pull the grand camera out, and begin working on my photos of her. I have been missing seeing the blooms, the growing forage on the pathways of the trail and am looking forward to a day trip adventure. I will day dream about that while I sit in the patio recliner, with my hood pulled over my head, resting.

The pup has made the backyard her own. Mr. Jones had to do some tree cutting as we have our own forest in the back and the pup has gone to helping take sticks to the growing pile. She as well is doing her best in imitating a beaver as she gnaws on the cuts of the tree branches.

The seagulls are flying over being loud; each one screaming mine above the other, the wind is rustling the few leaves that have started to grow. The grass is getting greener, and I just sit with my baileys and coffee taking it all in. Each breathe I take  on the breeze, as it tickles my nose; closing my eyes in appreciation of the day.

Last year’s plant stalks dead and waiting for new growth to begin. Flower containers waiting for new dirt and life to embrace the sun. Listening to neighbors beginning their spring clean up in the neighbourhood.

I dream of the walkway up to grandma’s house, the old pathway surrounded by the height of these amazing Hollyhocks, Sunflowers and more. Stalks towering taller than I was at the age of five.

Heightened smells of each one, bumblebees grateful for her green thumb. As you finish walking by them, you see the backyard, trees, a full garden, her greenhouse; with all her plants beginning in the plastic containers that once had food in it. Nothing went to waste.

Geraniums taking off from seeds and the feel of warm moist air in the greenhouse, attached to the house, with old white and peach painted windows. I always wanted to be with her and her flowers. I wished I could plant like she could; grow a tomato or cucumber of my own.

Each trip ended with me holding fresh cut flowers to take to my other grandmothers home after. The old house was comforting, it was home. You would feel so calm when you arrived and couldn’t wait to crawl into the creaky bed with the heavy comforters of feathers; the basement cool and dark. Old black and white photos of family, a chain on the light to turn it on and off, the old sewing machine in the one corner.

We would snuggle in and fall asleep instantly, to slowly wake and hear our grandparents up; the smell of bacon and eggs cooking. Eggs cooked in the bacon grease and fresh homemade bread toasting in the oven. Jam made of various flavours and hot tea and cream ready as our sleepy eyes were still adjusting to the light; as we walk up the steep stairs with pieces of carpet set on each stair.

A trip into the local town and our lunch of KFC and my grandma always saying, “Yum, yum.” As she smacks her lips together to exaggerate how great the food was. She was funny. Followed by her famous, “Eat, eat!”

Such fond memories and ones I cherish in my heart. My body is weak today and I feel less is more. Mr. Jones makes me some eggs and toast and the pup lays on my legs as she is trying to understand why I am not moving correctly.

This year my bestie and I are talking about putting a garden in at her place. I’m thinking we may need to also venture out and get our berries to start making some wonderful jams, I have a few suggestions. I feel today I may try to find grandma’s bread recipe in my book or treasures and make a loaf or two for breakfast tomorrow.

The calming smell is one smell I still remember as if it was just taking place. Today I encourage you to remember the best memory of your grandparents. Maybe it’s time to bring some of those memories back in and not let them be forgotten but shared.

“Bread and water, can so easily be toast and tea.” Unknown

Love always the day dreaming, bread loving, Woman in Process

 

 

 

 

 

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