Sunday Snap: Happy Maisie

Our Maisie

One of the best things about a vacation?
Coming home to a face like this.

Both kitties were overjoyed at our return,
as if we were gone for a month!

One small cat changes coming home to an empty house to coming home.
– Pam Brown, Australian poet

Cee’s Fun Photo Challenge: Happy

Sunday Snap: Evening Sky

Sunset in Newfoundland, Canada
Sunday Snap: Evening Sky

A sunset is the sun’s fiery kiss to the night.”
― Crystal Woods

“Sunset is a wonderful opportunity for us
to appreciate all the great things the sun gives us!”

― Mehmet Murat Ildan

***

I’m taking a short blogging break, friends.
Try not to do anything too earth-shattering
while I’m away – I’d hate to miss it!
Take care, and we’ll catch up in a couple of weeks.

Photo: Perry’s Point, March 2015.
First published here: Ephemeral

Comments are closed because my break has already started. 🙂

What’s It Like To Be An Author?

I recently accepted an invitation to the blog of fellow author Connie Lacy for an enjoyable Q & A. Connie’s latest book is A Daffodil For Angie, a historical coming-of-age novel set in the sixties. I loved it and I highly recommend it.

What’s It Like To Be An Author?
Taking a Peek Behind the Curtain
with Jennifer Kelland Perry

Connie:  One of the unexpected pleasures of being an indie author is making author friends around the world. Not that I’m flying off to far-flung places. I’ve made friends through online writer groups, including Jennifer Kelland Perry … read the rest here.

Jennifer Kelland Perry, YA Author

Happy Easter, Every-Bunny

Happy Easter 2018

 From our home to yours,
sending wishes for
a sweet and lovely Easter Sunday. 

Pages From The Past: Moving to Newtown

Moving to Newtown, Newfoundland in 2010

These are a few excerpts from my private journal in September 2010, shortly before I started this blog.  We were living in Mike Perry’s summer house here in Newtown, while our future home’s interior was being renovated on Perry’s Point by Paul’s two handy cousins and by Paul himself.  

Of note, this excerpt was written during Hurricane Igor and its aftermath.  Also of note is my poem at the end.

Very slowly, the old house on the point is undergoing its planned metamorphosis. My emotions are mixed. To see the rot exposed, the peeling paint and wallpaper, the ancient cobwebs hanging from the now-bare and blackened rafters, the unbelievable mess in the yard created by demolition, and now reconstruction – all of this plays havoc with my need for cleanliness and order. Are we really going to live here, in this two-storey house on a piece of rock jutting out into the cold North Atlantic? And are we ever going to find carpenters to install the new windows and clapboard while the rest of the work is done?

But then on one occasion when I visited the point last week, I saw something. I caught an encouraging glimpse of what could be. Of what that old house could become. My eye is drawn to the sun shining in through the multi-coloured glass of the windows we are not replacing. I see promise in their dazzling jewel tones of green, pink and yellow.

I get a mental picture of the rooms, devoid of junk and sawdust. Instead, they are neatly decorated, warm and comfortable, the kitchen filled with welcoming smells, music playing, Paul laughing at our cat Vivian as she skitters across the floor after a pop bottle stopper. I see Paul in his home office working on design plans, and I see me typing another page in my new novel. I welcome a visitor, put the kettle on…

I pretty much wish we were already there, playing house. Patience has never been my strongest virtue, so time drags on.

Sept. 21

So the house in Paradise didn’t close yesterday as planned. The buyers require a survey of the land…why did they wait until the last minute??

And now we are back in Newtown, enduring the wrath of Hurricane Igor as he sweeps over the province, the likes of which we have never witnessed. There’s a leak in the living-room here at Mike’s that started since Paul left to go out on the point. The wind is howling, the rain is hitting the windows in sheets. Mother Nature is showing her teeth today and she means business! The radio assures me that this storm is a record breaker, and I feel like I have three houses to worry about: this one, the one on the point, and our biggest investment up to now, the one in Paradise that is almost sold.

Even Maisie and Vivian look worried.

Sept. 23

Everyone I love now has their power back. My sister Lynn got hers at 1 yesterday, my mother-in-law last evening, and daughter Denise at 4 this morning (no other family lost theirs). We had it gone for about seven minutes on the night of the storm. So I breathe a great sigh of relief that all is well once again. I smile to realize that many have no cable TV or internet access right now – just like us!

Of course, we still wait for a phone call from our real estate agent or our lawyer as to when the house will close. I pray the walk-thru goes well. We wait to see if the Trans Canada Highway will open later today. And we wait for our new windows to be delivered. Sometimes life feels like a long drawn-out waiting game.

I love cooking and baking. Sometimes it feels downright therapeutic. As I made cod au gratin and a strawberry-apple crumble yesterday, a feeling of such peace and contentment enveloped me, it made me think of the book Simple Abundance and how much truth is in it. Whenever I cook and there is lots of time to do it right, I adore it. Thinking of living on the point and cooking and baking in my brand new kitchen fills me with happiness. I taped some loose recipes into my personal cookbook just this morning, in anticipation of using them soon.

The only thing that hurts is to read the recipes that Mom dictated to me over the phone not that long ago.

And I wait for a call from Lynn to see if they have a new placement for Mom. I don’t think I will get over the hurt of her Alzheimer’s disease for a very long time, and the worst is yet to come. Right on the heels of Dad’s ALS and death in 2003, the dreaded condition swooped in on my precious mother and changed her forever. Why has this double whammy hit our family, I wonder. I fear that the knowledge of it and the pain of its aftermath have changed me forever too.

As a way of dealing with these feelings, I wrote a poem this morning.

God, give me back my mom, I beg you and I plead

we’ve lost her much too early, the pain will not recede

First we lose our father to a death no one should know

too young he was to leave us–my God! I miss him so..

The grief it proved a burden our mother couldn’t bear

her sadness turned to illness with a name I’ve always feared

I know not how her soul survives as her mind and body waste

she lives and yet she doesn’t;  a stranger took her place

Where is my mother’s heart?  Where is her winsome smile?

I miss the wisdom of her words, her gentle, caring style

God, give me back my mom, if it’s only in a dream

let her put her arms around me;  let her hold me as she sings

Then please take her up to heaven, let her suffering be gone

reunite my precious parents–maybe then I can go on.

***

It’s Springtime Somewhere!

Sunday Snap: It’s Springtime Somewhere!

While many of you are appreciating warmer weather now, it’s still pretty chilly in our region and our cats are getting a touch stir crazy. Yes, they’re allowed to go outside year-round, but fur coats or not, they aren’t too enthused about staying out in the cold for very long. 

I promise you, Vivian, although it doesn’t seem so, spring has indeed arrived. Before you know it, the snow will disappear, the grass will turn green, and you and sister Maisie will be back in your favourite place: outdoors on Perry’s Point, prowling around.

This is one of my best-loved photos of her. I like everything about it, but particularly the background and the way her hind feet are still perched on the post.

This and other photos of Viv in the garden originally appeared here: Vivian’s View From Here: On The Prowl

Have a lovely Sunday, everyone!

Comments are closed.

Imagination

kids wearing coffee filter hats
Sunday Snap: Imagination

 Coffee filters have many uses.
All you need is a little imagination.
And a little brother to share them with.

This photo wasn’t taken yesterday – our angels are 10 and 12 now.

“That’s the real trouble with the world, too many people grow up.” ~ Walt Disney

The One

Clarence blinks and yawns, instantly awake at the sudden rattle of a latch. The door next to his own swings open, then closes, the metallic creak and slam echoing down the brightly lit hallway. His nap is over, thanks to the new arrival. Might as well face the day and deal with it!

While he does some quick stretches and washes his face, he steals sidelong glances at this latest stranger and wonders if he’s a loudmouth like so many of the others. Clarence’s head hurts from the constant din in this godforsaken purgatory. All the crying and complaining from the younger inmates last night had kept him awake, just as it did most nights since winter came and filled the place to near-capacity.

His stomach growls in protest. He wonders when breakfast will arrive, the high point of the morning. He knows he doesn’t belong in here, and he’s starting to forget exactly how long it has been since he’s known joy.

Is that food coming?

No, a woman, one he’s never seen before. She smiles in at him. The scent of her is delightful; it soothes him and makes him think of flowers.

His jailer is here now too. He’s opening the door! “Clarence here has been with us the longest. But he’s very quiet and well-behaved.”

“He’s beautiful,” the woman says, “and he reminds me of Leo, one I had as a child. He’s the one!” She reaches for him.

Nestled in a carrier on the passenger seat, Clarence purrs all the way to his new home.

Jennifer’s Friday Fiction Beach Read

Friday Fiction – a place to share short pieces of my writing in the form of short stories, flash fiction, poetry and vignettes. These posts may not occur every week but whenever the mood arises.

Sunday Snap: Old

weathered

“Some old things are lovely warm still with the life of forgotten men who made them.”
~ D. H. Lawrence

“Old age: the crown of life, our play’s last act.” ~ Cicero

“If you survive long enough, you’re revered – rather like an old building.” ~ Katharine Hepburn

Blogger Bouquet #51

I’ve been a follower of Hands On Bowie for years, ever since I first laid eyes on its namesake, a beautiful British Shorthair cat who hails from Belgium.

Mr. Bowie the cat is sometimes photographed in colour and at other times in sumptuous black and white. Herman is the blogger and photographer.

From the About page:

“The basics you need to know: HoB is about Bowie, Mr. Bowie, (a British Shorthair, not David Robert Hayward-Jones) & me, the guy behind the guy behind the cat, a comeback electronic musician … I’m not a real photographer. I’ve got a beautiful model.”

I chose the following post to highlight because it shows off Mr. Bowie’s garden too.
Check out this sweet boy!

Is It Safe?

Comments are closed here but you can leave a comment on the blogger’s page.

Have a great weekend, everyone.