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Mary Wilkinson's Blog

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May.13.2013
I thought I had seen the last of the winter coats once I heaved them off the coat stand in the back porch on a sunny afternoon last week. I felt elated and was sure the stand heaved a sigh of relief that the weight of cold days had finally lifted from its weary bones and freed it, allowed it to...
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May.06.2013
I passed most of the day in the garden with H and Small dog. It was perfect really and as it was a holiday here, no better way to pass the time. I had plenty to do. Seeds had to be sown. Wild flower seeds and poppy seeds and night-scented stock that needed to be put into the soil before it was too...
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May.04.2013
We were pilgrims throughout that Summer drought, a mother and her bedraggled brood; three sandaled Hansels in a broken line of tattered dungarees. Down the black sticky road we went and through a stile, smooth as alabaster to cross the trodden grass that cried out for rain, until we came to the...
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May.03.2013
Ah but it's nice to have some free time to blog again. I miss it if I don't - the whole blogging thing. The connection with my well 'connections' although I don't really see my connections as mere connections. I see them as friends. I know it is crazy but so what. And I know that if I don't blog I...
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Apr.28.2013
Restful Sunday. Beautiful day with the sunlight flitting in and out between the grey clouds and the garden slowly coming to life little by little after the darkness of the days  finally beginning to slide slowly away from us. Still, it seems that it, the garden, is more hesitant this year than...
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Apr.27.2013
It bothered me at first when the new couch and the new armchair creased whenever we sat down on them. It was as if our existence sank into the fabric to cause deep, irreparable depressions. Each day I went to the living room (as part of my morning chores) and puffed up the decompressions caused by...
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Apr.23.2013
There is a lot of redemption to be gained in the simple act of baking a cake. Baking a cake in the afternoon without any heed of the end result. It starts out with the rattling of tins, the rooting around for the right tools. The unfolding of parchment paper necessary to line. The necessity of...
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Apr.20.2013
I was growing a little fretful that the marmalade supply was nearing its end and the thought of having to go to the store and buy a jar of something that no more resembled what we were accustomed to caused a tiny sense of panic in me. I mean, if you happen to get used to golden slivers of fruit...
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Apr.18.2013
The cuckoo comes early this year and the bluebells are late. My youngest son does Suduko over breakfast. The medium chart. He has it done before he finishes his scrambled eggs. My middle son will be twenty in two days time. The grey clouds tonight are a colour that I will never source on a colour...
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Apr.14.2013
We are experiencing strong gales today as if a great big face sits in the clouds and blows with enormous gusto through whistling lips down onto the town land and tosses us around with its every whim. I felt a bit helpless until I lit the woodstove and heard the crackle of dry wood emanate from the...
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Apr.10.2013
I never know what to do in the garden at this time of year. Finding a place to begin can be overwhelming. It is akin to wanting to write a short story and being stuck on the first sentence and so I usually go outside, pace around a little bit, spy a big black purple cloud looming on the horizon and...
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Apr.07.2013
  Sue Glasco of Redroom fame wanted to know what Windsong gates looked like and here they are just for her! H surprised me with this gift yesterday. An artist's impression of our little abode by the bog, in the gorse, beneath the blue, grey, purple sky. The gates stand out. Windsong on its...
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Apr.05.2013
Deciding to repaint the blue gates is a great way to connect with the neighbours after the long winter days gone by. The dark, rain drenched days when everyone hurries by anxious to get home to the fire and the hot meal and the gathering up of oneself that the cold season can unravel on a daily...
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Apr.02.2013
When I opened the door to the garden shed this afternoon the first sound I heard was the chaotic and tangled fluttering of desperate wings and then I saw the robin fly up into the old clay pots on the top of a rickety shelf to take refuge. I considered leaving. Imagined how my looming shadow must...
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Mar.29.2013
My son comes home from college for the Easter break. I pick him up at the bus station. I think I'm listening to Miles Davis or I wish I was listening to Miles. Maybe it's a rehash. I can't quite tell. I can tell you it is chaotic at the bus station. The engineer should be sacked for building a...
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