Posts filed under ‘writing’
Come along with me
I’ve been blogging here off and on since 2006 and recently decided to move my blog to a new domain.
Here’s my new location: http://www.storygal.ca/
You’ll find the same theme of life, love and gardening. Still me, editor, author and storyteller. Still me who takes pictures wherever I go, enjoying nature, family and friends and music too.
Please come along and join me there.
And the fairies welcome a visitor
Last year, we continued our fairy garden, and this year my oldest granddaughter set it up, complete with a sparkly path and the fairies. This is our third season for it.
There was a discussion about which fairy belonged to which girl. The younger one of the two was tired from her weekend of camping with the Brownies and Guides. She wanted to trade fairies. Maybe another day it will go better.
The older girl, aged 9, created a new path among the flowers and stems with coloured stones. They’ll be shaded for sure once the heat comes and the daisies beside them grow even taller. (The fairies reside indoors between play times so no little critter makes off with them.)
Our first fairies, made of clay, didn’t stand up and the process was disappointing. Then it was Grandma’s decision to go looking for these fairies, found at a local craft store. Last summer, we made some extra fairies with wooden clothespins and silk flower petals.
When a third gardener was added to our annual planting event, we needed a new fairy for her. And again a new one was found, this time at a garden centre gift shop. Oh, the interesting things they had. Alas one of that fairy’s wings was broken and we haven’t quite worked out how to fix it. We may need a new fairy and then retire the other one.
And so the fairies we created with clothespins are still hanging around… and one comes to visit. What stories will they tell of tea parties and running through their garden, and playing beside their path?
Note: Fairies give way to other popular things in the market. Anyone know where we can get a new fairy?
Harry’s Trees and Les arbres de Harry
This Saturday, May 18th, I’ll be at The Living Outdoors in Cambridge with my books, especially my picture books, Harry’s Trees and Les arbres de Harry, illustrated by Maja Wizor.
Come and see me there, from 10 a.m.-2 p.m. Bring your children or grandchildren and pick up a colouring sheet for the contest. Then bring the coloured page back to the store by a certain date to be entered in the contest.
The Living Outdoors nursery and gift shop is on 486 Main Street Cambridge, ON N1R 5S7. It’s a busy time for nurseries and could be a full house.
If you have a child or grandchild in French immersion, you might prefer this edition. Same story, same art, but in our second national language.
Moving toward Holy Week
Last evening my husband and I attended the final soup supper at our church for this season of Lent. It was well attended and the numbers have grown throughout the season. We’ve had good conversations, eaten delicious soups and desserts, and gotten to know more people at our new church.
Following supper, we went into the sanctuary for the service. We’ve made good use of Holden Evening Prayer, written in 1985-86 by Marty Haugen during a musical residency at Holden Village. After six weeks of the service we’re finally mastering the round part, and that’s it until next year. Hoping we use it again. I appreciate the prayerful music within it and Pastor Richard’s voice carries it well. [Though the video has some echo, the music is soothing and melodic.]
Thus the six weeks of Lent brings us to Palm Sunday this weekend, a celebration of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem and the beginning of Holy Week, as the church calls it. I think of it more as more a hellish week for Jesus, given the betrayal and pain he endured.
This poem is one I wrote years ago, pondering the sacrifice foreshadowed on Palm Sunday. The poem was first published in Esprit (Spring 2006), a women’s magazine of the Evangelical Lutheran Women I used to write for until its closure..
Sacrifice
My borrowed beast
climbs the rocky path
treading cautiously over robes
that carpet dusty earth
shaded
by a canopy of palms
his body trembles amid shouts of
Hosanna
such a young colt
he does not hurry –
as if he knows what is to come
outside the city gates
the crowd thins and hosannas fade
inside
a poor man empties his pocket
to buy a dove
my beast of burden can rest now
my time is coming
© 2006 Esprit Spring Edition, Carolyn Wilker
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