Stone #62

Baking in a humid heat wave with a 425° oven in a small apartment is trashed; instead, we politely eat tea-dipped store-bought donuts.

Memories of Flowers

My spit of a backyard has no water, the main reason I haven't planted anything. It's like an extra room in the summer though!

Pierre-Marie's comment at Facebook about my patio, though flowerless still a city oasis, reminded him of his vast garden, set me off remembering my various abodes - a downtown house with a deck, and a cottage for 10 years... so I created a post of memories of flowers.

At my house at Queen and Spadina on our deck we hung many bags of Impatiens from the fence, planted two Cedar trees (that are quite huge now, I see them over the fence when I walk by), a small Weeping Pea Tree with yellow blossoms in the spring, indigo Iris', white Trilliums, pink Bleeding Hearts and Tuberous Begonias - oh wow, those colours, I still remember them - and two bushes of Weigelas, both bought together, yet one quite pink and the other more white with differing months of blossoming.

The cottage, on Georgina Island in Lake Simcoe, a Chippewa Reserve (we rented the land), which we had from 1989-1999 (sold after our marriage dissolved), was built on fill since it was a swamp (that dried out in the autumn). We had a forest of Silver Maples on one side, and the sun porch we glassed in and turned into an all-year dining area faced it. Simply beautiful, and private. My ex used to strew bags of wildflower seeds out back and so we had an array of flowers, but way too much 'sneeze weed' (Ragweed, Mugwort, probably Goldenrod and Queen Anne's Lace) for him and his family's allergies. I've included some photos from those years.

Now I have a wee spit of land out back, and for an apartment in the city, it's a gift. I haven't planted anything due to the lack of water, and it would not be a good idea to lug watering cans with my knees.

Today my mother and brother are coming for cake and tea, we'll sit on lawn chairs, enjoying the privacy outside. They both live in apartments with balconies. It's not the same. When I moved into my apartment in 2007, I was told the little yard would be mine when the upstairs neighbours moved (that apartment also has a balcony, mine doesn't). A year later they moved. It was such a surprising gift, and I had no idea a little patio was attached to my apartment when I signed the lease.

I'm thinking, if the hot dry weather keeps up, to make myself take paints and a small canvas out, and see if I can do something other than write and lounge about out there!

Stone #61 -a short video of my patio oasis in the city

direct link: Spit of a Backyard Spills Bliss

My meditation today was cleaning my little patio - raking, scraping caked leaves and dirt, sweeping and dragging the paper garden recycling bag that I had filled to the curb. In between I sat back and contemplated the green ash, enjoyed my dog, and, after finishing the clean-up, gazed at the canopy of leaves above me for uninterrupted hours.

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A spit of a backyard spills bliss into hours, yes it does.

Especially during a heat wave - 32°C/90°F and a humidex of 38, which doesn't describe the vapour pressure and inferno of heat Toronto was today.

A little bit of earth, connected to my apartment by a short walk, can offer lovely rest and contentment on a hot summer's day. A nice place to serve tea and cake to family and friends. Or to write, and I did get some writing that's been hard to do done this afternoon! Last year I put a hammock up, but rarely used it, so this year it's the chaise longe for resting, contemplating. My oasis in the city, and we do all need our oases.

Stone #60

In my fluid relationships, every incarnation of love in my life remains with me and carries me to the next wave, the next immersion.

Stone #59

The fishbowl pushes the air aside. Fish hide in plants that grow underwater. Dart. Slowly slide backwards to the edge of the glass, and watch with one blue eye.

Stone #58

A new country was birthed in the world today. / My day of mundane tasks / the jubilation of the peoples of South Sudan.

Stone #57

In my bedroom curtain, that I was sewing, a small dead fly fell out. Deep teal sheen under wings of sheer grey symmetry, vacant gaze of compound eye.