Linda Hoye's Blog, page 78
May 13, 2019
Monday in May
And so, Monday. The morning, fresh and full of hope, as yet unmarried by noise, and busy, and those wild things that come to stir things up. Now there is peace and promise, and the wonder that comes with quiet anticipation. We ask, in the quiet place of unknowing, questions that unnerve us. We pray,
May 12, 2019
Mother
I have empathy for the quiet and awkward woman who carried and birthed me. It wasn’t always that way, but I understand more now. Forty weeks wasn’t enough, but it was all that we had. In losing her I learned to grieve in guilty silence the loss of something I never had. I’m an expert now. Twenty-five
May 11, 2019
Sweet Saturday
It feels like summer. Gerry’s going hiking and I’m tempted to sit in the lawn swing all day with a book in my hand, a glass of iced tea by my side, and one foot on the ground to maintain a gentle sway. I did that once. I spent an entire Saturday in the yard,
May 10, 2019
What Remains
They’re tearing up a piece of the main street in the city where I live. We go that way—me, for the first time since it all started—and navigate a detour that includes a mind-messing route going the wrong way on a one way street. My shifted perspective as we drive the wrong-but-temporarily-right way sparks my imagination.
May 9, 2019
The Season of Wonder
I spend a couple of hours in the garden, pondering, imagining, making decisions, and tossing tiny seeds in the ground. I’m toting tomato and pepper plants outside every day and bringing them back in the house in the early evening. There are seed packets in my purse, and basil growing in my laundry room. These,
May 8, 2019
Transported
I spend a silent and solitary day at home: writing, reading, potting flowers, staking tomatoes, and watering plants. But it is that moment when I’m standing barefoot on the grass in the backyard watering the tea garden and breathing in the gentle scent of lilacs that is, perhaps, the sweetest. I drop the hose, walk
May 7, 2019
Perspective
It is ridiculously late (for me) when I wake. At first, I’m dismayed when I realize that I’ve overslept and that the sun is already up. I’ve missed the sweetest hours. Then I remember the reason: that I was awake long during the night, and that some wisdom came in those solitary silent hours. And
May 6, 2019
A Little Late
It’s here. The spring weather I’ve longed for has arrived like a somewhat-late symphony. It’s settling in, tuning instruments, and preparing to show us something magnificent. I spend an afternoon with my hands in the dirt—the heady aroma, intoxicating, as I top up pots and plant flowers, imagining how they’ll fill in with colour over
We say of someone that their world has become small as if that’s a bad thing. Maybe we could all use a bit more small. A bit more quiet. Sitting on the porch listening to morning birdsong, smelling freshly mown grass, and having a time of thoughtful reflection. A bit more home. Washing dishes by
One morning, I’m restless. I go upstairs and stand at the picture window in the living room looking at the greening hills on the other side of the valley. I turn around and go back downstairs to my office. I stand in the middle of the room looking at the mess on both of my
