I must be a mermaid;
I have no fear of depth
And a great fear of shallow living – Anais Nin
Write down the first words that come to mind when you hear the words rain, home, soil ….. and use those words in your title…(just a little explanation – Daily Prompt)
Rain??! Okay, okay….I know we need it; we need lots of good, clean water to sustain us. And I know that lots of places in the world are hungry for it. I’ve been to Australia – land of the Big Dry – and I’ve experienced the difficulties of rationing water. And I don’t enjoy it.
But, enough already! We have had so much rain in the past few months. Last summer I didn’t water the garden once – not once! Why? Because we had enough rain. It feels like it rained all fall. Today, after all the excitement and preparation and anticipation of a good, old-fashioned blizzard, what did we get? Freezing rain!!! Now, I don’t like to seem ungrateful, after all we are on a well here….and, you know what they say: “at least you don’t have to shovel it”. But you can’t build snowmen with it either …. just saying.
To me, rain is water. Beautiful, garden-watering, well-filling, life-sustaining water.
Soil. I grow as much of our food as my garden and climate will allow. Here are some garlic cloves being tucked into my garden last fall and hey will be the first green sprouts up in the spring. This warm soil is full of nutrients and life. When you say soil, I think: garden.
I love my Home. I love the house with the furnishings (some acquired over time, as a result of hard work and some inherited) and I am passionate about the property with the gardens. I am rooted to the land, the landscape and the community. This is where my family is. My home represents love.
It is a good thing I like it here so much. Because today I was here all alone with the winds lashing the windows with all that freezing rain. (No one to play board games with on this snow day) But I am grateful to be sheltered and warm and nourished with a bowl of Ginger Carrot Soup, pulled from the freezer, made from these vegetables from my garden, my home where we have enough. Enough water.
Wishing you a Happy Burns Night…..
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer
Gie her a haggis! – Address to the Haggis, Robbie Burns
Re-Blogged from the delightful and alway entertaining Peak Perspective
There is nothing more attractive to me than a big, burly Scotsman dressed in a kilt.
There is nothing more attractive to me than a big, burly Scotsman dressed in a kilt and holding a glass of single malt scotch.
Oops. One more go at this.
There is nothing more attractive to me than a big, burly Scotsman dressed in a kilt, holding a glass of single malt scotch and offering it to ME.
And the great thing about January 25th is that my chances of seeing this attractive vision unfold increases monumentally all because of one charming fellow.
Who happens to be dead.
Nonetheless, Robert Burns is still remembered, admired and hailed around the world. His birthday is celebrated in ways that likely have him wishing he could be there and glad that he is not. It all depends upon what party you end…
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Winter is on my head,
But eternal spring is in my heart – Victor Hugo
And this is good old Boston;
The home of the bean and the cod;
Where the Lowells talk only to Cabots;
And the Cabots talk only to God
– John Collins Bossidy
Arriving at Logan Airport around 9am, we were happy to see no snow on the ground – clear, dry sidewalks are just the thing when planning a day of walking. Thanks to the incredible tunnels under the city (The Big Dig) the taxi ride from airport to our hotel near Fenway Park took a mere 13 minutes – we arrived in time for breakfast (!!) before bundling up (it was SO cold!) and starting out.
Through the theatre and business districts, we made our way to the waterfront. After walking for about three hours, we were very cold – too cold to think about take photos, apparently. We hardly saw another soul along the Waterfront Walk – the very opposite of summertime, when throngs of tourists rule.
The bartender at the Union Oyster House correctly pointed out that although it might be chilly, 20F is better than 19F. (That -7C ish, but it was the wind chill that was doing us in!).
Even though we have passed by the restaurant many times before, today we stopped into the famous Union Oyster House for a beer, and oh yeah, a little calamari. Mmmm! That helped to warm us up!
The UOH lays claim to being the oldest restaurant in America, dating from 1826 (the building from 1704), and to being a favorite haunt of J.F. Kennedy. In January, the tourists were replaced by locals, and we loved listening to the lively banter between customers and the wait staff.
Nicely warmed up and with full bellies, we wandered out again and into the TD Centre in search of a Bruins jersey for my father who is a life long fan. Success! A birthday gift for his 75th. Perfect!
I ask you, what is a visit to Boston, without a ramble through Beacon Hill? A wasted visit, I’d say.
Next, it was a wander through the Public Gardens. The stunning architecture of winter trees take centre stage, where green planting hold court in summer. And where …
(If it wasn’t so cold, that is! Did I mention that it was cold?)
The architecture lining both sides of the avenue is very French. I adore walking through neighborhoods at dusk, basking in the welcoming glow from lit windows, inventing narritives. my head was constantly on a swivel.
From here it was back to our own cozy (warm) hotel room and a glass of chianti.
In spite of occasionally complaining of the cold (our faces were absolutely ruddy when we returned to the room), I recommend visiting Boston in January. Winter offers a completely different perspective on this city. I loved it. After all, I am Canadian – I really should be more comfortable in the cold.