March 18th, 2021. I woke at 6 am to 0℃ outside and 4℃ in the greenhouse. Funny how the temperatures dip around 8 to -1℃ and 3.4℃ before going up again. Now they are 2℃ and 5.4℃. I’m still being a weatherman. I find if I don’t record things, they are easily forgotten. I should really do a gardening journal. Maybe soon. Famous last words, eh?

I’ve done a bit of sewing this morning. A little will do me. I find that if I make a start on something, even a teeny one, I have more success of completing it. I do get overwhelmed with the big of everthing. Breaking the big into bits and pieces work. I’ve got most of my flowers seeded yesterday. I had laid out the seed packs the day before. Sometimes I just can’t get to things. Appointments, dates with friends and fatigue interfere. They are important but it is also important to return to the task at hand.

I finally threw out the last of Sheba’s kibbles yesterday. It was still sitting in the pail in the kitchen. It’s 10 months since my fur baby went to dog heaven. Time to let some of this stuff go but I can’t help tearing and choking up a bit. It’s the memories, lost and the realization you can’t hold on forever. Our lives are finite. It is the natural order of things.We each will have our turn. We learn, accept and let go. I had 14 wonderful years with her.

A lot of the snow is gone. The little monk sits exposed in sunshine. He’s been watching over the herb spiral all through the winter. He has done a good job. Most of the herbs have survived – the rosemary, thymes, moss, oregano and chocolate mint. I must also do my duty, walk my walk and live my best life.


It is another morning.  Paris is a continent away but sorrow resides in the universe.  How have we have come to this time when people knowingly open fire upon their fellow human beings?  Surely they must know that they will be killed in return.  What pushed them to give up their lives?

I ask these questions because I do not understand.  I see that they are as much victims as as the ones they have killed.  However their situations/lives may be, there will be no other chances after they are dead.  But then, I am not in their shoes.  Have not walked their mile. Have never want of the basics of life.

I’m asking these questions and seeing the words of Joni Mitchell:

I’ve looked at life from both sides now

From win and lose and still somehow

It’s life’s illusions I recall …

I’m listening to John Lennon’s In My Life sung by Johnny Cash’s quivering voice.

These songs and lyrics play in my head along with the questions that Paris stirs up.  There is one thing I am sure of.  Life is good.  Life is sweet.  Let me count the ways.

  • waking up in the morning to the aroma of coffee perking
  • the first sip of coffee/tea. What’s not to like about that
  • breathing, laughing, crying, feeling the tears down my cheeks
  • seeing my sunroom bathed in sunlight on a cool November day
  • Sheba coming in to wake us up. Time for breakfast she says
  • making breakfast, eating breakfast, doing dishes
  • writing my words, writing my happiness, writing my pain
  • and so on and on – the ordinary, the mundane, the fantastic, the sorrows

And so, life goes on – moment by moment in all its catastrophes.  It is what we have.  I am glad I am here – in my life.