It is just as I wanted it to be. To sit in the garden, surrounded by flowers, and on a hot summer day to have insects, wild bees, and butterflies going from flower to flower, busy with their work of pollination and collecting pollen and nectar.
It is just as I wanted it to be. To sit in the garden, surrounded by flowers, and on a hot summer day to have insects, wild bees, and butterflies going from flower to flower, busy with their work of pollination and collecting pollen and nectar.
It is not that I like hostas that much but they grow in the shade and this is a fairly shaded garden, that's why I have so many hostas. I have always regretted the lack of full sunlight on this garden; in fact, I've spent a fair amount of time regretting the lack of sunlight on this garden but I've also come to accept it and even think it is perfect the way it is.
Hostas are easy to grow, they don't need much care (or any care), or any sunlight.
Photograph taken from the parking lot of what used to be Loyola College but is now part of Concordia University. For some reason, in recent years, these hollyhocks are cut down sometimes even before they bloom. This year they are a beautiful sight; sometimes I take seeds from these hollyhocks to grow them in my garden, but rarely with much success. Considering they are a fairly common flower, growing like weeds in this neighbourhood, I have little luck growing them.
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After the flood |
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What some people dispute about climate change is whether it is caused by people or that it is a natural phenomenon. Whatever the cause we've had a climate roller coaster this summer. Forest fires, heat waves, and recently a downpour of rain here in Montreal so great that our infrastructure was not able to deal with it; in this part of our neighbourhood, many houses and apartment buildings had flooded basements. Right now the City is removing piles of wet garbage, broken gyprock, flooring, soaked furniture, papers, books, computers, microwaves, and just about anything else you can think of, all of it destroyed in flooded basements. I arrived home on the day of the rain ready to use a bucket and remove water from our basement, but it was a lost cause, the water poured in from a basement shower drain and toilet. I was not alone, for the following week, when driving on adjacent streets, there were huge piles of flood damaged stuff at the end of many driveways. As the week progressed the piles of wet garbage grew larger.
So, as I was throwing my papers from the last ten or so years into contractor bags, my soaking wet archives including letters, notebooks, manuscripts, and photographs, I wondered at how neat I had been, labeling every file folder, placing them in now soaking Bankers Boxes, and I thought what nonsense had propelled me into saving all of this stuff? But the fact is, the more I bagged the more relieved I felt, getting rid of this stuff, these many boxes of papers, now I wanted to get rid of them as quickly as possible not just because they were damaged and I wanted to get our home back to normal, but because I wanted to discard the mania of saving all of this stuff. And then the thought that I've been a fool, thinking this stuff had any value and that I could somehow defeat time by writing everything down, in diaries and poems and letters, and saving all of this junk. These papers would have been in my literary archives, the latest and possibly last accrual, but even these papers would have eventually ended up in the dust bin which is how the cosmos works, everything returns to nothing, and it does not favour permanency. I think of the Doukhobors who, finding one of there own has gone over to the side of materialism, no longer a "spirit wrestler", will burn down that person's big house and, they thought, restore the person to a spiritual sense of life. But, at the end, does any of it matters? We are all headed to nothing from the nothing we came from, leaving behind a few words, chalk on sidewalks, or a fragment of a poem, and even that is being optimistic, the rest is like Shelley's "Ozymandias". I am too old for this folly, or any folly for that matter.
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Families at leisure on Fletcher's Field, now known as Parc Jeanne-Mance, in the early 1900s |
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For the benefit of Mr. Kite
There will be a show tonight on trampoline
The Hendersons will all be there
Late of Pablo Fanques Fair - what a scene
Over men and horses hoops and garters
Lastly through a hogshead of real fire!
In this way Mr. K. will challenge the world!
The celebrated Mr. K.
Performs his feat on Saturday at Bishops Gate
The Hendersons will dance and sing
As Mr. Kite flies through the ring don't be late
Messrs. K. and H. assure the public
Their production will be second to none
And of course Henry The Horse dances the waltz!
The band begins at ten to six
When Mr. K. performs his tricks without a sound
And Mr. H. will demonstrate
Ten summersets he'll undertake on solid ground
Having been some days in preparation
A splendid time is guaranteed for all
And tonight Mr. Kite is topping the bill