74. I Love ... Simplicity

It's my word of year for 2014.

I crave it.

I want Everything to be that.

My surroundings,

my headspace,

my days,

my life.

It is is the City I want to move to

without moving.

I want to avert my eyes from

'Too Much'.

I want clean lines,

open spaces,

non - accumulation,

fewer Things.

Big problem with it

is that I already have

Too Much.

And if I spend all my time

dealing with the act of

ridding myself

of it,

I have virtually destroyed

that which

I crave.

Catch 22.

73. I Love ... having had a Childhood Friend.

I was almost twelve years old

before

I had a Real Friend,

a Daily Friend.

That's just the way it was.

I lived in the country

at a time when parents

didn't drive you to activities

and play dates;

didn't consider

that spending time socially with other children

outside of school

was beneficial or necessary.

That's just the way it was.

I still recall the excitement

when I found out

that a girl the same age as me

was moving in next door.

June 1965.

From that moment

to this very day,

we have been

Friends.

We laugh

about the times we had,

the dressing the same,

the phoning each other

the minute we got in the house

even though we'd spent the entire day

together.

The crazy, silly, embarrassing

things we did.

It was so good to have a

Friend

back then

and to still have her 

now.

Happy Birthday Nellie.

73. I Love ... My Old Red Van

Sixteen years old

when I had to

release her,

which iwas done only because

of the uncertainty 

that she might fail me 

and leave me

stranded one day.

I doubt it she would have.

Friends don't do that.

And we were.

I never grew tired

of that old girl.

I never wanted to get

a fancy new replacement for her.

I always felt good 

walking up to her,

climbing in and heading off.

Even though other people

undoubtedly

saw a dated, tired, old van,

I saw her as my trusty old friend.

I sometimes talked to her 

like she could hear me -

thanking her for starting after months of waiting,

telling her I missed her.

Because I did.

Weird, I know.

But perhaps she knew it.

She lasted way longer than most.

She was one of the good ones,

my Red Wagon -

almost 400 Thousand kilometers

we went together.

Filled with rusty bits 

and other treasures

from the sea;

filled with

friends

and

memories.

72. I Love ... Stove Soup.

In Avonbank or Salt Harbour

there is a certain joy

in building a pot of soup

on the woodstove.

It speaks of a 

quiet and unhurried day.

It is a rare occasion,

but it need not be.

The stove is often on

and all it would take is to 

think of it.

And do it.

When I do,

it is a long and loving

creation,

adding bits

of this and that,

here and there.

It is a process,

an offering of my time

and love - 

simmering, stirring - 

nourishment and goodness.

And memories

of days when I had children about,

who also thought of

Stove Soup

as a special treat.

Not really because it was a big deal,

for any other reason than I had

convinced them it was,

with the excited pronouncement that we were having

'Stoooooooooooove Soup'.

One time they invited a friend over to join us

in that special occasion.

When she sat at the table, she said 

"This is just soup."

and my dear children corrected her immediately 

saying

"NO! This Stoooooooooooove Soup"

71. I Love ... Vintage Bubble Lights.

Those bubbling candle

Christmas lights,

I can still see them -

memories of my childhood.

A fragrant Scotch pine,

a real tree

adorned with many lights

and one single string

of bubbling candles.

Red and green bottoms,

amber pointed test tubes

bubbling & bubbling,

mezmerizing 

me

with their movement.

The original twinkle lights

I suppose.

70. I Love ... Lavendar

I want to grow it.

Rows and rows;

fields and fields

of blue and pink

like the pictures

that go around the 

Internet.

I want to inhale it,

deeply

as a potion

for sleep.

I want to make it

into stuff -

sachets,

soap,

tea.

But most of all,

I want to

grow it.

69. I Love ... getting up in the middle of the night.

I should clarify.

I love a good night's sleep

for sure.

But on those inevitable nights

when it

doesn't come,

I love it 

when I can convince myself

to get 

up.

I make myself

a cup of coffee,

light candles,

put on soft, relaxing music,

grab a blanket

and a book

to read 

or to write in,

and 

I savour

the dark,

the quiet,

the solitude,

the fact

that the only other thing

that I could

or should

be doing is 

sleeping.

I'm not.

So rather than toss and turn and fuss,

I love it when

I just get up

and spend the hours

in pleasure,

and confidence

that I will sleep again

another time.