We had a serious wind last night. Our windows were shaking at times in the “gusts up to 100 kmph” (62mph). This morning we see the aftermath: our wooden bench has overturned, our plastic lawn have tumbled around – one of them even found its way to the middle of the back yard. Our new garage is covered with plastic weather protection wrap (awaiting siding); several strips have been torn off and are gone with the wind.
I went through my files and saved most of them in Dropbox, just in case. If you don’t use Dropbox or some other information storage, you should. (Take it from one who has learned the hard way. One dark night back in Montreal while we were away from home thieves crawled in a window; when we returned all our electronic equipment was gone – and NOT with the wind. Floppies were scattered everywhere, but all our hard drive files were lost forever.) Even all your old letters can be stored on one of these systems and will make a nice diary of your life for your descendants.
Back to the wind: Might as well be inspired about it, so I sat down first thing this morning to write a poem about wind. It can join a zillion others–global topic, you know. We likely won’t exhaust writings about the wind until we’ve exhausted wind itself. Maybe someday I’ll post it here–unless I find some way to make some money on it – maybe sell it to a “Windy” poetry anthology. Sweet dreams. 🙂
My husband left for the city this morning and I want to tackle some sewing projects. I also need to divide and transplant African violets. They multiply so well at this house – I offer one to every likely candidate, but can’t seem to give them away fast enough.
I’ve dedicated myself to decluttering this spring but it’s slow going. We have so much invaluable stuff (read: no one would want it.) As an encouragement I remind myself every now and then of a newspaper account I read, a sad tale of two elderly bachelor brothers in SW Ontario thirty-some years ago. They never threw anything away and ended up with so many old newspapers that they began stacking them up in corners of their small home. Over the years their house filled up with newspapers with narrow pathways running through it.
In time one brother was bedfast and the other was bringing him meals and caring for him. But one day as the able brother was passing through the living room there was an avalanche of newspapers that either buried him or killed him outright; I forget which. Evidently they had no one looking in on them, so the one brother died of his injuries and other, being helpless, starved to death.
Among my own stored papers I came across a quote I stashed away years back. It feels like I need it now. Being someone who tends to rush around in a flap, working at bits of this & that all day but getting so little accomplished, I need to tack this one up on the wall and remember it:
It’s more important to do what must be done than to do all you can.
And here’s a cheery poem of spring “housecleaning” thoughts. Author Unknown to me.
I’ve shut the door on Yesterday,
Its sorrows and mistakes;
I’ve locked within its gloomy walls
Past failures and heartaches.
And now I throw the key away
To seek another room,
And furnish it with hope and smiles,
And every springtime bloom.
No thought shall enter this abode
That has a hint of pain,
And every malice and distrust
Shall never therein reign.
I’ll shut the door on Yesterday,
And throw the key away–
Tomorrow holds no doubt for me,
Since I have found Today.