The bees

It feels as if Fall is here. Another cold morning...too cold for the bumblebees. Their dried up golden bodies still clinging to the thin branches of plants in our herb garden. Only yesterday they worked fervently moving plant to plant, as if extracting something delicious. Today they are lifeless, and I remember how much I love bumblebees. How this summer, they let me get close to them, seemed unafraid of me. Or perhaps, unaware of me.

The missing tooth and the tooth fairy

I'll never forget the time that Ross came back from having a playdate at Ivor's house. He'd had such a great time but yet he looked preoccupied with worry. I asked him what was wrong and he told me that he had been playing in Ivor's basement when Ivor had accidentally punched him out and that his tooth had accidentally fallen out. And he was okay he'd said, only he'd lost the tooth and it was somewhere in his friend's basement. They had looked everywhere but they couldn't find it anywhere, and he was worried that he would not get that special visit from the tooth fairy if he couldn't provide the missing tooth. Ivor's mom had even promised to put off vacuuming for a few days in case the tooth were to turn up. The tooth never did turn up, so we surmised that the tooth fairy had found it after all. So one morning, Ross discovered a gold coin under his pillow, and was sure that this was proof of the special visit he'd been waiting for.

Ella and Nadya

Ella asked me today to write about Nadya, her first friend. I've written about Ivor, her brother who was also Ross' true first and best friend. So here it goes. Nadya and Ella were 3 when they met and there was a bond right off the bat. They took to another very well, and looked so much alike that others thought they were sisters. They loved another, and played generally very well, but like sisters, they had their fights too. And quite often, they both needed a nap to melt their frustration with another. Ella would curl up on Nadya's bed, and they would take turns flipping through pages of bedtime books, and tell each other stories. Sometimes they would actually fall asleep, with a baby blanket, often a quilt Heidi had made, wrapped around them.

One day they got into a lot of mischief. Ella stayed behind at Nadya's house and while I was away they managed to get into paint and painted the carpet as well as themselves. It took a while scrubbing it out of Ella's hair and off her skin but I can't imagine the time it took for Heidi to scrub it off her carpet and anywhere else it had gone.

We often referred to the girls as twins. They were so much alike. They loved to dance when they were together. They would take turns turning up the volume when listening to Heidi's radio and dance. Sometimes the music got too loud and turned a little into a battle of wills.

The last time we saw Nadya, we turned on one of Ella's favourite songs, Dancing Queen. Ella grabbed on to Nadya's hand and they danced and looked so happy to be together doing the thing they loved most..to dance. I was a little heartbroken..because I knew Ella was having so much fun, she hadn't been this happy since seeing her friend months before. I was heartbroken knowing that this happiness would turn to sadness when she would have to see her friend leave once more for her home in a different province.

She often compares other little girls to Nadya but they are not the same. And this lack of sameness is so hard for Ella. She dreams of her forever friend and looks forward to a time when they will dance.

To Ella, on being a Ballerina

You seem to step lightly where ever you go. It does not seem to have anything to do with your height and frame...it has to do with your graceful little movements..the careful footwork. The walking and skipping and twirling on tippy-toes. Even when you're running through the water at the wading pool. When you were still in-utero there was something magical, and mysterious about you. Something fairylike. Now here you are, determined, strong-willed and lovable. You love to dance. You love music. You love to pretend you are the prima ballerina. You are Odette in Swan Lake. You are wonderfully imaginative, graceful, whimsical. You are definitely the queen of fairies.

To Ross, on becoming a Poet

Ross, you are becoming a poet, my dear. Rather, you are a poet. You sit at the round kitchen table and write a poem. I don't remember writing poems when I was 8, I think I was 10 or older. I am amazed by you. I am amazed that your first poem got published this year, and that you sit there, and write these poems so easily, and with so much skill. You are simply amazing. You know how to use language and give it meaning and form. I am so proud of the person you are becoming and the poet that is emerging.

Night

The air is cool. It is cool for August..it feels more like late September or October. The leaves have started to fall, their colour just beginning to fade. I hacked away at the plants today in the front beds. It took all my energy to hack the sturdy gray branches down, and uncover the mulched earth. It felt good for the first while..I had an almost manic energy..leaving my kids to their own self-management so I could separate plants that had taken over their space and had already begun the journery toward destruction by choking the plants around them including our helpless blue spruce. After awhile, I felt drained and I hardly looked forward to hauling the twigs and branches into pails and bins. I feel somewhat guity thinking back at the holly I managed to attack and dislimb. I chopped it down to its exposed roots. It seemed to make sense then..it had grown wild and taken over everything else..but there was something nice in the way that it laced everything in its corner and ..beyond. But I managed to strip it bare of any life..I don't really know what I was thinking. It was green and ornamental and now I sadly miss it. --Ella is sleeping soundly next to me. Ross has gone upstairs and is getting ready to retire for the night. I'm sleepy but I can't sleep. The cars seem to punctuate the silence in the air. I liked it when we first moved to this neighbourhood. Now I dream of Thornbury. Of its nightime silence..its curtain of stars, the bay out back..melting into a sea of sky. They cove bringing refuge to its sleepy swans. But I'm here..and this is still a good place to be. I don't live in the shadowy, depressing blue house anymore. I live here with the pine trees, and the japanese maple, and the other maples and the cedars and locust tree. With the flowers that come back to greet me each year, the birds that move back to make families and build homes for their families. The backyard bunny that likes to hide among the hostas..the chipmunk that likes to sit under out picnic table. The flowering hostas that smell like heaven at this time of year. And all the windows in our house that let us look out onto the gardens.

Dad's Anniversary

I can feel you here as I look out the window and I see a tree branch moving with weight of the wind. It is so hard not being able to see you but then again when a cool draft moves across my shoulder I can almost see you. Your warm smooth hands, carressing my shoulder, my hair, my face. I am waiting to smell your Old English Cologne in the air. Hanging like music, suspended in the air. I would like to hear your footsteps, see your worn-in slippers in the corner of the room. Here you whistle a cheerful tune as you spin your clay pot in your hands, carefully, dreamily. Good night Dad, but never, good-bye.