“I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book!” ~ Jane Austen (Pride & Prejudice)
Reading a book is like meeting a new friend. Getting acquainted with their family and friends. Once immersed into a novel, I often get lost in “their world”. Such an escapism for me is rewarding and therapeutic. It is my brief vacation in another world allowing my mind, heart and soul to detach from realities of life. Every break, every free moment, long bus and metro rides, I get to meet up with my new friend of the week. Waiting in a line at the grocery store or department store, I pull out my book. I forget myself so much that I chuckle out loud or weep.
If I am on the last chapter and either on the bus or at a café, I will put the book down and wait to savour that last chapter quietly at home. I turn each page slowly, reading even slower, because I am saying goodbye to a friend. Putting down the book, I rewind and fast forward images and memories of my friend’s story before finally saying goodbye.
lost in letters forming new friends enchanted am I
savouring precious last words the last chapter
melancholy tides, turning the last page whispering farewell
My childhood friend used to collect her eggshells starting in March up to May. She would crunch them into tiny pieces and put them in her flower beds to prevent snails from crawling in her garden. If they crawled too quickly (I doubt there’s a chance of that) or not cautiously, the eggshells would cut them. Ouch!! Poor little critters. Before you start feeling all sad about this, I just discovered they enjoy eating the eggshells, it is filled with calcium just perfect for their shells, like the photo above. I wonder if my friend knew that part.
crawling gingerly eggshells in flower beds snail’s obstacle course
gourmet nutrient eggshells in flower pot snail munchies
Years ago I was a teacher’s assistant for a university course. It was a six credit, 2 semester course and one of the most challenging courses that was also a pre-requisite to stay in the programme. It was not difficult due to the academia and theories…the self-discovery and soul searching were the toughest challenges. I really enjoyed working with this professor. He had such a rich experience, having completed two masters in Thailand where he met his wife. He asked each student to purchase 3 balls. At the beginning of each class we spent ten minutes “trying” to juggle while the professor and I were taking attendance. I had to juggle too and times I missed it at school, I tried it at home. After Christmas, we were getting better and now we had to pair up with another person to juggle in pairs. The purpose of the exercise, which he told us only on the last day of classes, was to try something different, to excel outside our comfort level, to be able to laugh at ourselves, make mistakes and see that it will not destroy us. Lots of things we learned and more.
Juggling with too many things in life is another expression we use when referring to juggling. Doing too many things at the same time; unorganized, some will say if we juggle too many things. Interestingly in the true skill of juggling, you must be organized otherwise the items you juggle will fall. You have to keep your eyes open, move up to a rhythm to increase speed all by paying close attention to the task at hand. So, actually, when we say you are juggling too many things at the same time, I find we really mean you took on too much…took on more than what we bargained for, etc.
My haiku starts out thinking of my juggling experience and then I added a few thinking of my grandmother, my mother, my daughter and myself…in life in general…raising a family, working, caring for family, sports, volunteering, car pooling, studying and the list goes on. Thank goodness I did not raise my family during the age of the internet…I would have never gotten anything done…(chuckles) I would have added writing and writing poetry.
The photo below shows a street performer at Montreal’s Old Port specially at Place Jacques Cartier where cobblestone streets are lined with shops, terraces, cafés and restaurants. It is a huge tourist attraction spring, summer and fall.
I came across this cute video and since I love Pharrell Williams…well, it makes me “happy” to share this (grins) Now tell me you were NOT tapping your foot, bobbing your head and swaying those hips after hearing this and I won’t believe you:)
The Eastern Townships are graced with many lakes and mountains. Lake Massawippi is one of those lakes facing Mount Orford and home to many lodges and camps for youths and adults. It is near St-Benoit du Lac, a monastery known for its amazing cheese. What a dream place to live in a small cottage like Wordsworth’s on Lake District and writing to my heart`s content surrounded by trees, water and mountains…and nature’s creatures bidding me good morning each day and the stars winking at me at night.
brunâtre du matin roule doucement sur le lac Massawippi regard! la-haut au ciel couronne sur Mont Orford
early rise fog rolling slowly off Lake Massawippi look! up to the heavens halo on Mount Orford
There are many myths about the how Big Bear and Little Bear who were apparently hoisted in the sky forever to be together. I like this Greek myth. Callisto, a follower of Artemis, virgin huntress and goddess of the crescent moon. Zeus, king of gods, fell in love with her; he disguised himself as Artemis (Diana) to gain her confidence. Having tricked her, she gave birth to his son, Arcas.
Hera, Zeus wife and queen of the gods, discovered the affair and was known to be very jealous and vindictive. It is said that she is the goddess of marriages and protects women. She turned Callisto into a bear. Sixteen years later this bear came upon her son and stood on her hind legs to greet him. Arcas was about to kill the bear and Zeus interfered to save his love and turned Arcas into a small bear. Grabbing both bears by their tails, Zeus hurled them into the safety of the sky to roam forever, together in the sky. Hera enraged that her attempt had failed, appealed to Oceanus that the two might never meet his waters, hence explaining their circumpolar positions.
There are more myths that contradict this such as Arcas became king of Arcadia, but being a mom, I like the idea of mother and son together forever. So here is my haiku with the photo of the grizzly in mind.
What an opportunity I am often faced with at Carpe Diem to learn more about nature. I am interested in herbal medicine and when I see such pretty flowers that have these qualities, my curiosity gets the better of me. Searching a bit further I wanted to find places closer to home or at least in North America. I was pleased to discover that many have named this Boneset Eupatorium japonicum flower after an American from New England, Joe-Pye who used the plant medicinally for helping people with typhus fever. In addition to its medicinal properties, both the flowers and seeds have been used in producing pink or red dye for textiles.
It is a lovely addition to any garden especially if you want to attract butterflies who love the sweet nectar of these flowers. They grow from 3 to 10 feet tall! If you want to read more click here. I found that remark about butterflies fascinating and found many photos of that exquisite meeting of butterflies and these flowers. Imagine butterflies gathering together to savour this gourmet gala!
blue clusters flora stretching tall high heavens ~ gourmet gala monarch butterflies drunk, nature’s nectar
We seem to be in the spirit of death, being in the middle of autumn, approaching Halloween and all Saint`s Day November 1st; we also call this month in French, le mois des morts (month of the dead). November 11th, being rememberance day where we pay tribute to all the soldiers who gave their lives for their country and for world peace. And so I continue on remembering another great man…my grandfather, when he died in his home, Princess, his old mongrel (spaniel mix) went down to the basement and howled grieving for her master. She stayed there for a week in mourning.
la mort d’un grand homme – Grandpapa
pinson est muet dernier souffle du maître, vieux chien hurle
death of a great man – Grandfather
blue-finch falls silent master’s last breath, old dog howls
Our host at Carpe Diem’s prompt is “A Departed Soul”. Many of the great masters of haiku wrote “death poems” about their own deaths. One of the “big five” who delivered haiku, Shiki wrote this on his deathbed:
morning dew evaporates in the early sunlight spirit climbs to the sky
@ Chevreuille
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crossing (haibun)
I love our host’s haiku because it reminds me of my GrandPapa who passed June 17th during the day. I don’t remember if it was morning but the “morning dew” makes me think of the river where we were brought up and where my grandfather died in his home.
The dove is often represented in “death” but its significance is more personal to me. In French the translation for “dove” is Colombe which is my mother’s name.
I love daisies. I feel connected to this flower as the petals represent the multiplicity of my personality. The layer of petals beneath the top layer are facets to be discovered throughout a lifetime. I remember, when working in homecare, how sad I would feel when a client passed. Weeks and months caring for a person in their homes was humbling for them and such a loss when they died. After a few years, I wrote to my supervisor that I could no longer continue working in this department for each person who died, I felt a petal from the daisy fall. If I continue, what will be left of me?
Here is my attempt in writing a haiku with this tone of “death poems”:
Young children seem so fascinated by nature`s tiny creatures. My son would look at ants working busily for hours…one tiny ant hill and he would cry inconsolably if someone stepped on that hill or any insect. I love how children teach us adults or many times remind us of what we once found important in life.
I remember as a young child spending hours in the field behind my house searching for grasshoppers. My mother was a hairdresser and she would put me outside to play which sure was better than going for a nap. Even in those days as a young child I hated going to bed.
I would jump, startled, if one jumped by me, then I would follow it, chasing it like a hunter. It would tease me regularly, keeping me busy most of the afternoon. Once I caught it, I would cup it in my two hands to make sure it would not get away and ask it to give me molasses. Okay, I had no clue at 4 and 5 years old what the darn thing did but either it was scared and it pooped out of fear or it had no problems of “irregularity” (see me chuckle here. Almost every summer afternoon, I would spend hours searching, under the hot sun accompanied by the piercing sound of crickets.
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Tournesol dans un Jardin 
