Poems
Evangeline Murray
December
30, 2000 through March 9, 2001
Table of
Contents
3. Joanie’s Christmas Gift - The
Lobster
5. Church and a Montreal Blizzard
7. Where are the refills for my pen
?
11. A thank you to brother Raymond
14. The University Club Luncheon
19. A visit from Geoff, Anne, Willa
& Adrian
47. Platter, Pinecones & Shells
60. A lesson in washing hand-knitted
socks
61. Coffee-mate’s new container
62. A winter walk in Murray Hill Park
66. The Studio - A Special Place
73. The University Club of Montreal’s
Twenty-Fifth Annual Dinner
74. From The Sixth Floor of the
Education Building at McGill
95. The challenge of the kernel
111. The snap, the loop, the safety pin
112. Saturday - Groceries to Brunch
114. Setting up the still life
115. Sunday, February 11, 2001
118. The marker … in the library
125. The painting - log, stones and sock
128. February 15, 2001 - the evening
129. Your Letter - poem or prose?
135. February 21, 2001 - the morning
139. Train ride back to Montreal
This Christmas I received a book
With pages blank and lined
Perhaps I am supposed to write
The treasures of my mind.
I think some poems would be fun
The lines would not be long.
And I can get the meter right
And nothing should go wrong.
This book has scripture on each page
And this will set the tone
And praise the Lord, as I begin
I will not be alone.
December 30, 2000
This week we were in Halifax
with presents ‘round the tree
And everyone was wonderful
To granddad and to me.
I have a chocolate orange
Too gorgeous to consume
And both of us have china mugs
We took up to our room.
We watched the fancy skating
And sat beside the ice
We saw the lights of Christmas time
And even worshipped twice.
Young Robert told us many jokes
We had to laugh again.
Rebecca did her knitting well
Before we caught the train.
We know that Nova Scotia
From Montreal is far
But we had one more chance to see
How nice our people are.
December 30, 2000
I may forget a hundred things
But not what Joanie sent.
Her lobster dances, shakes and sings
And that is its intent.
Its box is 14 inches long
Its width is over 8
It sits up on it tail to sing
Its waving claws are great.
We welcome any who may come
To see its wild display.
And then we’ll store it in its box
To sing another day.
December 31, 2000
I had a mucous membrane parched
My dear one was aware.
He found a great electric box
To moisten up the air.
It works with water, making steam
And what a difference now!
I breathe with comfort and with ease!
I had forgotten how.
In winter chill the warmth is nice
The radiators bless.
They can’t cope with humidity
But we have now, I guess.
December 31, 2000
We woke up to a blizzard
With wind and blowing snow
We wear our boots to go to church
We haven’t far to go.
The drifts did not deter us
We made it to the door
The rector was expecting us
We had been there before.
He gave us each a reading
The lessons, one and two
We read them from the lectern
That wasn’t hard to do.
As we walked back on our return
We had a happy sight
The janitor had made a path
So we got home alright.
December 31, 2000
I am an album person
They help us to keep track
And after many happy years
They make a mighty stack.
The happy are recorded
More fully than the not
But just the same they give the clue
And date of what was what.
They have no uniformity
In colour, size and shape.
But they could be identified
With white adhesive tape.
Telling of their order
And the next in line
And the years they represent
I know that they are mine.
January 1, 2001
I keep on losing everything
And did it once again
So far I have not come across
The refills for my pen.
At least I have a pencil
For what I have to say
And a ball point at the ready
For my letters, New Years’ day
January 1, 2001
I think my father treasured me
Though boys were valued more.
Though I grew up I never had
More burdens than before.
It’s true I took in morning tea
And mastered how to knit
A lady I was born to be
A lady - that was it.
At last I satisfied my Dad
Although he had to wait
I did it as he would have done
The choosing of a mate.
There are more lines that do apply
The way I think to-day.
I think the highlight of his life
Was giving me away.
January 1, 2001
Perhaps our New Years’ could be dull
But this year it was not.
We had a party brought to us
By Tom & Joan & Scot.
They brought a special cold dessert
Divisible by five
We sat around in candle light
So glad to be alive.
The center piece had big balloons
With hats and streamers too
The old year went out with a bang
And ushered in the new.
January 1, 2001
My morning tea fell on my lap
And it was hot and wet
I must have dozed, and let it go
I’ve not recovered yet.
However it is only tea
And I will let it dry
And trust I won’t do that again
I truly plan to try.
January 2, 2001
Do you recall when we were young
I played with words and rhymes?
I never had enough to do
So did it many times.
This Christmas I received a book
To write in as before
And when I looked for something else
I found I had three more.
However we have just one board
As lavish as you sent
I like to stroke it with my hand
Perhaps not what you meant.
But since then we have made a move
I trust not a mistake
To our delight it was just right
To hold our Christmas cake.
January 2, 2001
It may be that more verses come
Than reasonably should.
It’s not bad fun to do again
The thing I always could.
And you may comment
“Not again - another one of those”
But at this point in time they come
More easily than prose.
January 2, 2001
We had our letters on the shelf
And they were twenty strong.
We think we’ve done the total list
Although perhaps we’re wrong.
To-morrow they will all be gone
Will all be on their way.
I took their picture in the sun
While they were here to-day.
January 2, 2001
to-day we go to Daddy’s Club
The party is at noon.
For him the timing is just right,
For me a little soon.
Tomorrow is my hair-do day
I’ll party just the same
They’ve read the story of my life
In print and with my name.
They’ve seen our cards, still on display
From Christmases gone by
They have more things to think about
Than messy hair and why.
There is a sequel to all this
The party was such fun
I hope I will be asked again
To the succeeding one
January 3, 2001
I took the new gloves from the drawer
The old ones limp and grey
We need gloves handy to the sink
We’ll throw the old away.
But what a challenge it was then
To get my hand inside
We both prefer the older glove
My hand is also wide.
January 3, 2001
I worked on last year’s cards to-day
I make five lines in gold.
I hold the ruler steady
And I hear this verse unfold.
But then the call from Cathy came
What blessings can occur?
And I’ll hug Geoffrey when he comes
And give him one from her.
January 3, 2001
I’ve started writing poems
Some days its two or three
I trust I find more topics
Appropriate for me.
I have a book to write in
And feel that is a start
And soon I will be occupied
With time consuming art.
I’d better write in pencil
The pen will soon run dry
But I’ll record the lines that come
Although I hardly try.
January 3, 2001
I’ll wear my painting pants to-day
And Lionel won’t care
It’s always hard in winter time
Deciding what to wear.
It’s urgent to be warm and dry
And preferably neat
You have to think about the thing
That’s just right on your feet.
But after that, an easy one
Although my brain feels dim
There’s no decision I must make
Before I have my swim.
January 4, 2001
The visit was fantastic
We had from Geoff and Anne,
And Adrian and Willa,
So precious to the clan.
They drove so far to reach us
They drove past winter snow.
It took them long to find their way
And then they had to go.
But we heard all about the time
They had in Portland, Maine.
Then in a mall in Boston
Where they would go again.
I read my verses, spread my art
And showed some albums too.
And next month we may go their way
A visit overdue.
January 4, 2001
I had a friend in college
Invited me to a dance
I thought it was important
And accepted every chance.
I would not be ungracious
Or even indiscreet
But he who held my hand would take
A step with every beat.
The others who were dancing
Would hardly change their place
They were in seventh heaven
The thing was their embrace.
We crossed the floor quite often
They didn’t even come
My friend from his perspective
Decided they were dumb.
He came to the conclusion
And often he’d repeat
Though I thought I was a dancer
He thought I’d rather eat.
January 4, 2001
This time I’ll write about a day
Important in my life
It comes before I made the change
From maiden into wife.
There is no logic to this day
The logic that it lacks,
Was how relieved I felt that time
He walked along the track.
The train had somehow failed to stop
Why wasn’t he along?
I counted on his coming
Oh dear, could I be wrong?
The rest just followed on from there
I knew then to decide
This man was everything to me
And I would be his bride.
January 4, 2001
I did the washing, had my swim
Then went on for my hair
It’s no surprise at 81
I dozed off in his chair.
Since then we went for food supplies
The oft-repeating need.
This evening we have plans to loaf
And trust we shall succeed.
January 4, 2001
I have been writing verses since
The New year was begun
And now on January 4th
They total 21.
And this includes The New Years’ Eve
The prologue to this book
I trust there is some merriment
In what I undertook.
January 4, 2001
When I was young and verses wrote
I don’t know what I said.
My mother thought they spoke of sex
Which put me in the red.
That stopped me writing at the time
But sometimes, with a need
I wrote a verse that was refined
That someone wished to read.
January 5, 2001
The studio has need of me
The plants were dry to-day
There’s so much sticky tape to peel
And then to throw away
I put the big plant in its place
I found a handy tray.
Its top was garnished with some
stones
That seemed to make it weigh.
The plants though watered, needed
light
And there’s so little room
At least I found to my delight
The dustpan and the broom.
Let’s line the easels nicely up
Let’s have the slant the same.
If students come without a clue
They aren’t the ones to blame.
It is much nicer than before
It’s now much more in shape.
There’s one more leaf that has to go
One peel of sticky tape.
And now it’s time for me to go
I’ll say it’s not the same
It’s far more pleasing than it was
This morning when I came.
January
5, 2001
to-day we went for sketching pens
All varied and in brown
And Daddy cleans his moist air tray
The box goes up-side down.
He did some caning on his chair
He planned to and is glad
Tomorrow is Epiphany
The pack up makes him sad.
I make a sock of varied yarn
to-day I did some more
I hope they like assorted shades
I don’t know who they’re for.
And Daddy reads in the Gazette
Of fads the teachers try
What is fashion? What is fad?
What works best and why?
January 6, 2001
On this first Sunday of the year
We feasted with you three
You came to get us in your car
With hospitality.
What lovely salmon we enjoyed
What baby peas as well
It was a very special time
This is my chance to tell.
And there are birthdays at this time
Both Scot’s and Joan’s now too
We’re glad we’re not too far away
The time the year is new
January 7, 2001
And I’ll take time to level up
My hip joint with my head
And I’ll make sure no city dust
Will ever reach my bed.
Part of this is making sure
We have sufficient rest.
The other part is eating well
And choosing what is best.
January 8, 2001
I’ll write a poem, one a day
To get back up to speed.
A little practice never hurt
For any special need.
My plan to stay at home to-day
Related to the cold
And I have cards that wait for me
To finish off in gold.
January 10, 2001
to-day we bought a blanket
The right size for our bed
This blanket is not made of wool
But something else instead.
It has a fancy woven look
It’s pleasing to the touch
It is a lovely shade of green
We like it very much.
The single blankets can go on
According to the chill
But this one now may cover all
And now this new one will.
January 13, 2001
He’s working on a puzzle
I make a small bootie.
He has a ball of plastic parts
I search my memory.
Since then we had a Sunday walk
Up Cote St. Antoine hill.
We saw them sliding on the slope
They must be sliding still.
The puzzle’s done and in its box
One pair of booties too.
And I begin the second pair
For someone very new.
January 14, 2001
to-day I saw my doctor
For her, I’ll see two more.
Although one is a stranger
The other’s from before.
From the Place Medical Vendome
I took the 90 bus
It drove me on to Peel up high,
One change and not much fuss.
The studio was needing me
The janitor was there.
The stools are neatly back in place
The easels and the chair.
He used his mop to clean it up
I had my coffee then.
My doctor was at half past eight
And now it’s just past ten.
January 15, 2001
A donkey in a studio
Is more than just a chair.
It has a place to prop your pad
A ledge for chalk is there.
McGill has some no longer new
But they go with the art.
This morning Daddy climbed the hill
To fix a broken part.
He glued the broken piece back on
It’s now secure and steady
And so for the next drawing class
This donkey’s at the ready.
January 16, 2001
This afternoon we suffered stress
We didn’t really need.
We searched for Daddy’s checkbook, and
Our search did not succeed.
He knew just where he thought it was
The check book was not there.
How could it vanish out of sight?
It had some spot, but where?
My purse was overcrowded so
I thought I’d have a look
Along with my affairs I found
The special missing book.
January 16, 2001
The studio looks out to see
The roof tops under snow.
But inside I arranged some stones
A subject that I knew.
I had a paper ready - stretched
I’ll start with aquarelle.
My new brown pens are here with me
I’ll try them out as well.
It’s very quiet, very still
The class is down the hall.
I’ll try to paint the stones to-day
In ways however small.
January 17, 2001
I went into the bank just now
To get my book up-dated.
It seemed to take for ever
I was not pleased as I waited.
For me with so much to be done
The waiting isn’t funny
There are so many things to do
As well as counting money.
January 17, 2001
I work on green in golden ink
With either brush or pen.
There are five points to every star
And every two have ten.
My table gets the morning light
And I’ve done quite a few.
Just now I counted what remained
There’s 19 left to do.
I’ll be so glad to get them done
With steady hand and light.
The pen will do the points at first
Then ink that brushes right.
January 18, 2001
We had two plastic mats for boots
A green one and a grey.
They were so useful in the hall
Until one got away.
We looked around and up and down
And underneath as well.
We knew we started out with two
It is the truth I tell.
We bought another darker green
So useful but to-day
Within the crack behind the fridge
We found the missing grey.
January 18, 2001
It took me half an hour up here
Before I wished to sit.
But then I filled my coffee cup
And took time out to knit.
It was quite dark when I arrived
But now it’s nearly eight.
There is a lightness to outside
For voices I will wait.
I don’t know why the students think
(or if they think at all)
That pencil peelings disappear
When all they do is fall.
January 17, 2001
I put some driftwood up behind
Arranged some stones to draw.
A drawing board went underneath
I’d just what I saw.
I worked in brown with ink and paint.
More for another day.
I never thought that they would need
To take the board away.
The class was doing jars and things
On drapery arranged.
But I have finished just the same
Tho’ everything has changed.
January 19, 2001
You are busier than I am
this I know.
I like to function wisely
I can sew.
While at the ready I prefer to be
If you ever need a poet, turn to me.
There’s not much in life that is ‘for free’
If you ever need a poet, turn to me.
This page is not too pleasing
The plan is not to fret.
I just make verses for the fun
I’m not discouraged yet.
January 20, 2001
To-day we’ll make some cookies
That will go west to Ann.
I have a handy Round Top thing
I’ll put in all I can.
We feared they would be bulky
And welcome Shelley’s space.
These cookies are not often sent
To such a far-off place.
January 20, 2001
I gave birth to a lovely boy
In nineteen fifty four.
He gave us so much merriment
We never had before.
And he brought Anne into our life
A pleasure and a joy.
And then they had a baby girl
And after that a boy.
We’re thinking now of Willa
And Adrian so dear.
This January morning
When Geoffrey’s day is near.
January 21, 2001
I’m making Janet’s birthday socks
With two socks at a time.
It gives me lots of time to think
Of what could be a rhyme.
The yarn’s high class and colourful
But there is not enough.
I’ll have to choose another end
Of just as high-class stuff.
I would prefer it were the same
But this is navy blue.
I know each time the socks go on
This part’s inside the shoe.
January 21, 2001
‘Syllable’s a handy word
But mostly it’s too long.
In a simple four line verse
It turns out to be wrong.
When I put down what comes to me
And scan what I have done.
I will reject the count of three
For words that count just one.
January 21, 2001
Our daughter was Elizabeth
We chose the name with care.
But for our son in babyhood
The naming wasn’t fair.
He tried and tried to say it
He tried without much luck.
Then in a fury he said ‘Woozie’
Since then the name has stuck.
It is a magic moment that I share
I never will forget it, I was there.
January 21, 2001
We love the pinecones and the shells
On Craig’s grey slanting platter.
It came from NASCAD
long ago
The timing doesn’t matter.
The shells and pinecones never change
And neither does the holder.
They please us as they always did
Although by now they’re older.
January 22, 2001
Dear Woozie visited to-day
We shared the things we knew.
She helped to cook Jean’s special steaks
Her car to-day was new.
I spread out drawings on the bed.
And urged her then to choose.
The one of Daddy pleased the best
And then Medomak views.
January 22, 2001
When I was young I made a book
I made it in my teens.
I filled it in with poetry
And with related scenes.
It was no challenge at the time
To write them as I wrote.
Although to-day the subject’s good
The time and place remote.
The book is older than it was
Some parts are in decay.
It was called ‘Lines and Colour’ then
And they are there to-day.
January 23, 2001
It’s January’s second half
To-day’s the twenty-third.
I try to write a verse each day
Recording every word.
The studio is all intact
I can’t do any more.
The plants are watered, all is neat
And I have swept the floor.
I stretched a paper, it is done
I even found a pan.
That will contain a larger sheet
I’ll stretch it when I can.
I hear the voices in the hall
They liven up the place.
I could draw plants & stones & things
I’d rather do a face.
January 23, 2001
I have my sketch book in my hand
My pen is filled with ink.
I’m seated at the MAA
I don’t know what to think.
Should I attempt a potted plant?
There’s not much in the way
Nearby a girl is on the phone
But how long will she stay?
I left this verse to make a sketch
That anyone can see.
I lean back in this furniture
That’s much too big for me.
And Daddy will be with me here
The steady clock ticks on.
The potted plant is as it was
The phoning girl is gone.
January 23, 2001
We took a taxi into town
To town and up the hill.
Our rendez-vous was seven fifteen
And it was early still.
For Daddy a replacement lens
Will go in his left eye.
He reads the paper while he waits
He reads as time goes by.
I have my knitting, this goes on
Regardless of the place.
This waiting at the break of day
Is not our normal pace.
January 24, 2001
The footwear in the waiting room
Is more than you’d expect.
The boots in pairs beside the shoes
What variation next?
One had red slippers, neat and trim
Another leather, brown
Another, sneakers blue and white
And laced just half way down.
This morning when I dressed to come
And wondered what to do.
I left my bulky boots behind
And settled for the shoe.
January 24, 2001
This January Wednesday
There’s water in the street.
There’s snow on everybody’s lawn
And sand beneath our feet.
I felt for topics for a verse
Although it takes less time
Than dealing with the meter here
And coping with the rhyme.
Daddy’s patch is on his eye
It comes in white and blue.
He reads the paper just the same
He won at scrabble too.
We played the scrabble early on
To pass the time of day.
Daddy had a handsome score
Mine went the other way.
Daddy claims that though my score
Could not be thought sublime
It had sufficient points for me
To win another time.
January 24, 2001
The washing went in early on
Perhaps at half past six.
I noticed that on Daddy’s sock
There’s something I must fix.
Since then his shirt is hanging up
His socks are stretched and drying.
We’re resting with our coffee now
And I’m the verse supplying.
The window shows the falling snow
I see the cop from here.
He helps the young to cross the street
The local school is near.
January 25, 2001
Daddy reads his paper on and on
He tries to check who lives and who is gone.
He reads the things they say
About the world to-day.
The radio gives weather close to dawn.
Although I write these verses very fast
I know the most important line comes last.
I make some socks of varied brown
I don’t know who they’re for.
But when they’re done and finished off
I’ll start to make some more.
January 25, 2001
We have a bran new tablecloth
With bubbles, shells and fish.
It will unfold and spread right out
For six if we should wish.
The flimsy plastic has a flaw
I don’t know how to mend.
But if we look the other way
We’ll triumph in the end.
January 26, 2001
We think it is a meatloaf day
We checked out every book.
We fingered through the hopeful file
Where else is there to look?
It is a while since we have tried
To serve this simple fare.
We’re well supplied with condiments
That we would gladly share.
Perhaps I will just feel my way
With onion soup and meat.
And eggs and oats and things like that
It should be no great feat.
January 26, 2001
When I woke up I tried to match
The meter to the foot.
I still had one more line to do
And pondered what to put.
Which one woke up the other one
I never really knew.
He said there was some more night left
To sleep was what to do.
He had the bandage on his eye
Some stitches down below.
He needs the night to give him sleep
To-day we’re on the go.
January 26, 2001
I offer socks of German ‘wool’
I am the main supplier.
They go in the machine luke warm
But never in the drier.
I wash them starting inside out
And then I turn them back.
I stretch them long-wise, one by one
And hang them on a rack.
January 26, 2001
I do enjoy my coffee
It’s handy and not hid.
But now it has the claim as well
Of Coffee-mate’s new lid.
It’s pleasing to the vision
It’s pleasing to the hand.
I rarely get an equal thrill
It’s hard to understand.
It’s only a container
And that can’t matter much.
It’s smooth uninterrupted line
Delights the sense of touch.
Though in a sense I’m older
I’m not yet eighty two.
It is a thrill to see a piece
That’s beautiful and new.
January 27, 2001
We walked up Cote St Antoine hill
You held my hand
The underneath was gritty wet
With stones and sand.
They slide and squeal as always when
The snow is packed.
The children and their Dad’s are there
No blessing lacked.
The sun shines down from overhead
The sky is blue
This walk was such a jolly thing
For us to do.
But we recall as we come in
Our shoes have wet
And salt and sand and other things
Not dealt with yet.
January 28, 2001
Cathy Lamb what a joy to me
Your sweetness and your smile!
It’s true I sew your sweater
I’ll adore you for awhile.
Both doings go together
The eye - hand and the heart
It’s so much nicer when you’re near
Than when we’re miles apart.
The sweater will be lovely
The sleeve seam will be fine.
And many more besides myself
Enjoy the silver line.
And something else - I undertake
This simple task for fun.
At also has another slant -
No cleanup to be done.
January 28, 2001
Every day we play our scrabble
Search for words back in our mind.
Words that fit the empty places
And for us are fun to find.
Daddy’s usually the winner so
It’s never a surprise
Perhaps he’s more than lucky
Perhaps he’s extra wise.
He does the mathematics
And every time he’s right.
My diary knows early on
The one who won to-night.
January 28, 2001
I made 2 signs above the sink
With words 2 inches tall.
Imploring you to keep it clean
You didn’t. You
appall!
Perhaps oil paint is new to you.
You think it goes away.
It stays on and is getting hard
With each succeeding day.
I think you come some Wednesday night
Perhaps you do not care.
It’s someone else’s sink so why
Should it be clean and bare.
I’ll post up one more sign to-day
There seems to be a need.
It wants no more paint in the sink
I trust it will succeed.
I brought a knife to clean it up
At least give it a try.
You may be asking why you should
But I ask ‘Why should I?’
January 29, 2001
A studio - a special place
Of sympathetic caring.
The input from the rest around
Is valuable sharing.
But it is tricky when you come
And you’re the one that’s new
And you see paint swipes in the sink -
You think that’s what to do.
This studio’s a special place
It looks down from on high.
It takes in students from afar
So they can have a try.
Let’s all together spare this place
And keep paint from the sink.
Remember what you’re working for
And not forget to think.
to-day I had a putty knife
Lent to me for the day.
It lifted blocks of heavy paint
Then they were thrown away.
January 30, 2001
The studio was very still
But now at half past nine.
A student came to do her art
And everything is fine.
I put some green in front of me
And tried to work from there.
My aquarelle had spaces in.
There’s fewer than there were.
I’ve just put one more stone in place
I’ll do more background now.
But I conclude that though I try,
I really don’t know how.
January 31, 2001
T-day I took the early bus of number 144
And with a smile was given the seat I had in days of
yore.
She said her name was Sandra then, her friend, not
working still
Urged her to watch out for the one who went up to McGill.
I may look different than I feel, to her I’m little, old.
At that time of morning I am eager, strong and bold.
However what I’m offered, gives me a lovely ride
I thank you for your kindness and your place to me
supplied.
January 31, 2001
I wonder if a year from now
I’ll go up to McGill.
Perhaps I’ll be prevented and
I won’t be going still.
I really like the morning bus
Each friendly other rider
And one who has become for me
The handy seat provider.
to-day it is a blowy day
And also it is blowing
And I don’t know a year from now
Just where I will be going.
Knitting is a handy thing
And always seems to fit
So when adventures dwindle down
I can attempt to knit.
January 31, 2001
To write in verse - it has for me
At this point an appeal.
The subject doesn’t matter much
As long as it is real.
The challenge of the day by day
Is not an easy leap
But time is set aside for this
And some time left for sleep.
It seems we average more than 2
Of verses every day.
They try to tell what happened in
A brief convincing way.
Though some may ask a question and
They look for a reply.
But that is life - so after all
There is the what? And why?
It seems when it is written down
That 20 lines are few.
But the poet is exhausted now
These lines will have to do.
January 31, 2001
These
verses offered problems
I
kept them from the book.
They
equally could throw away
But
here you have a look.
I dozed off right at walking time
I should have stayed awake.
I went out when I still was tired
It was a sad mistake.
Thank heavens Daddy was right there
Retrieved my bag that fell.
My words would not come out with sense
A tragic tale to tell.
I’m glad to be at home right now
When all is done and said.
The place that has the great appeal
Is our nice double bed.
January 26, 2001
The studio is clean enough
And relatively neat.
This I can contemplate in peace
And lean back in my seat.
No one is here at 8 AM
No one is here but me.
But RFM’s expected soon
'Til he arrives I’ll be.
We have the mounting tape to put
The signs above the sink.
When there’s one more and that’s in verse
What will the student’s think?
to-day is February one,
It’s past 8:30 now.
And FRM has come and gone
He did it and knew how.
The students are not asked to think
But just to be aware.
This studio’s a special place
We try to treat with care.
February 1, 2001
We reached the member’s dinner, and
We came to it with hope.
The highlight of the evening then
Was watching Louis cope.
The girls were healthy, focused,
fast
They knew just what to do.
And stood still smartly in a row
When part of it was through.
As I looked on from where I sat
To me they all were winners.
With such precision and with speed
To serve so many dinners.
And now the morning after it
Prepares for one more day.
It has a gracious dignity
In its own special way.
And Louis will be there to hear
How great it was last night
And let me add that he was too
And all of us are right.
February 2, 2001
From comfort up on level 6
I look down on the snow.
The wind has made a fancy edge
Above the roof below.
It also has described an arc
That moves to where I sit.
There’s no one who is going there
To make a mess of it.
The sun is trying to get through
It suits it all so well.
But just the same I have to work
More on my aquarelle.
February 2, 2001
As I attempt my aquarelle
I work in words, not paint.
Within this empty studio
I exercise restraint.
There is no inspiration here
I try to get the feel.
Of how my set-up looked at first
I want it to look real.
I will return to it again
Once more and this is why
Because I’ve done it long enough
This is my final try.
February 2, 2001
Right now it is the morning
Of February three.
I try to choose a topic
That’s relevant to me.
The folded paper is to-day
Three inches thick or more.
They give a lot on Saturday
I’m glad it is not more.
I have to sit at the machine
I’m waiting for the light.
Three things of mine need sewing up
I hope I do it right.
I just sewed buttons on my smock
There happened to be six.
This is the third and final thing
I set myself to fix.
February 3, 2001
No fooling it takes 8 a day
Of pills to keep me going.
And if these 8 can do the job
I have no way of knowing.
Some like to read the paper through
I haven’t done it yet.
I’m busy with the here and now
The rest I can forget.
I used to be a mother
And still am in a sense.
But duties done in these great role
Are hardly as intense.
I am a wife both then and now
And watch out for the Dad.
But he makes sure with gracious charm
That all my pills are had.
February 3, 2001
I’m not an expert golfer
I’m not about to sing.
Don’t ask me to play hockey
But try some other thing.
I really am an artist
This circles time and space.
The choice of what and where is made
The brushes, paints and place.
I’m all co-operation
Just give me any task.
And if you want a poem
You only have to ask.
February 3, 2001
I just did the kitchen floor
Priorities pursuing.
I don’t see well enough to care
Too much for what I’m doing.
So I’ll chop peanuts now I guess
So handy to have done.
Outside the world is brightening up
No snowfall and some sun.
I try hard to have a check
On verses for my book,
I couldn’t hope to finish off
The game I undertook.
No more idling at the desk
No more ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’.
The moment tells me, with great speed
To get on with the nuts.
February 3, 2001
Right now it is the morning
Of February four.
I think I’ll finish Geoffrey’s socks
And then cast on some more.
I think about Ann Carson
What does she try to say?
She fools with words and sentences
Is that the thing to-day?
I’m sure the words and form she used
Were thought about and planned.
It turns out it’s obscure to me
I do not understand.
But after 60 years have passed
It need not be the same.
And when the century is new
At least I know her name.
February 4, 2001
This morning Daddy shined the shoes
The old ones and the new.
But they all had to wait until
He’d read the paper through.
I knit the green on Geoffrey’s sock
I’m closer to the light.
I narrow down to do the toe
I want to do it right.
The children’s corner caught my eye
In church to-day at nine.
The child would have to be quite tall
Then it would suit him fine.
But if he saw the stained glass cross
And knew that it was there.
Would climb up for a better look
On any box or chair.
February 4, 2001
I think the sink is cleaner now
There’s paint but nothing new.
Perhaps the signs make them aware
Of what they should not do.
They trample charcoal underfoot
The dustpan handles that.
I drank my coffee and surveyed
The scene from where I sat.
February 5, 2001
It’s Monday and it’s not yet 8
No one is here but me.
I check out last week’s work and ask
What fails this scrutiny?
I understand now what it is.
The shadows are too faint.
I’ll take this moment where I am
To add a little paint.
February 5, 2001
I’ll lean the painting up in front
Sit back and knit and look.
It may be that this verse will go
With others in the book.
I’ve put more purple in the back
It’s better than the grey.
I think I should enrich the green
It seems to fade away.
I’ll try to make the pebble now
A slightly larger stone.
It should fit better with the rest
And not seem so alone.
I need a teacher.
Did I learn
To steer quite clear of black?
How can I do the shadow then
That goes down at the back?
I’ll take a break and knit awhile
And contemplate the rock.
While with no effort colours mix
And vibrate in my sock.
February 5, 2001
In 1940 I received
From Queen’s an Art Degree.
I had not written verse since then
Until this century.
I try to say it as it is
And then I write it out.
The ‘ups and downs’ of daily life
Is what it is about.
I like my knitting and my art
And all the joys of living.
But it fits in as well to seek
The fun the verse is giving.
February 5, 2001
I’m in the empty studio
The verses keep on going
And there are voices down the hall
And outside it is snowing.
I think I’ll pack it up quite soon
Some stones I’ve done quite well.
But as for background pinks and greens
It’s hard for me to tell.
February 6, 2001
The Education Building is
The place where teachers start.
And on the highest floor of all
Is where they do they’re art.
Within the corridors you see
Their art displayed in rows.
Right now it’s mini beaver pelts
And this is how it goes.
They make an oval with a branch
And make the curve secure.
They make a smaller canvas bit
And make it match for sure.
They somehow then with special skill
Sew them to stay apart
I am impressed and feel delight
At this quite charming art.
February 6, 2001
I live alone.
That’s how it is
And verses haunt my head.
I need more thumb tacks but I’ll work
With pins to-day instead.
I know about proportion and
Of small whole numbers too.
I’ll use my paper as it is
It’s Arches and it’s new.
I normally have scissors here
I have none here to-day.
I’ll get out the X-acto-knife
Divide the tape that way.
I think the paper’s soaked enough
My set-ups at the ready.
I’ll have the paper finished soon
Then trust my hand is steady.
February 6, 2001
At this great age I have worked out
Some topics but not all.
There are some things I quite forget
But some things I recall.
My paper’s ready and the paint.
I’ll pout the pencil down.
I’ll make no progress with my work
While I look at the town.
I came this morning on the bus
The key turned, I came in.
If I am to complete a work
It’s urgent to begin
February 6, 2001
A class is going down the hall
The studio’s all mine.
My painting has it’s undercoat
Perhaps it’s going fine.
And 10 o’clock has come and gone
And do I have to knit?
The whole 6th floor is very still
Ten minutes just might fit.
February 6, 2001
His doctor came long overdue
For me it was quite wrong.
My arm and shoulder bothered me.
I’d knitted far too long.
No comfort reached me in my bed.
I tossed and turned until
I went in anger for a drug
And settled for a pill.
My knitting helps me to relax
It’s the best way I know.
But on this February morn
It’s not the way to go.
February 6, 2001
These verses I write out for you
I know they’re not the greatest.
But if they’re in a letter then
They just could be the latest.
February 6, 2001
to-day I took the early bus
I missed my hold and fell.
The witnesses though strangers
All treated me so well.
They all got to their feet and they
Just couldn’t do enough -
Not only helped me to my feet
But picked up all my stuff.
February 7, 2001
I sit back in the studio
The sunshine on the green.
The drapery is red beyond
A focus to the scene.
To-day I face the other way
Do apple, corn and wood.
It was all started yesterday
I’ll go on as I should.
Thank heavens as I paint the scene
The real’s in front of me
I only have to look and paint
The colours that I see.
When I begin an aquarelle
To look is my intent.
The last one, started long ago
Required me to invent.
February 7, 2001
I did the apple in deep red
The leaf on it as well.
No easy way to do the corn
As far as I can tell.
I’m drawing in the long-wise lines
And make the rest around.
And someone whistles in the hall
That was without a sound.
I’m still wrestling with the corn
Kernels - what amount?
I still stare at what I see
I stare and squint and count.
It’s ten past nine I think I’ll have
My second coffee now.
I’ll skip the cookies for to-day
And art-wise puzzle how.
I put a board up on a box
I had to block the sun.
Now back to kernels as they were
And will be when I’m done.
February 7, 2001
‘Portfolio’ is one more word
That has the count of four.
I need a word to use instead
And have it work for sure.
‘Syllable’ and ‘elephant’
Are hopeless in a verse.
But who could use ‘portfolio’ ?
Its pulse is even worse.
I worked on this one on the bus.
I thought I’d call it ‘case’
My coffee done and this resolved
I’ll go back to my place.
February 7, 2001
Now I have put the pencil down
I have picked up the brush.
In total silence I will work
All focus and no rush.
I think I should have brought to-day
My lovely pens in brown.
Tomorrow when I come with them
I’ll put the paint brush down.
And Lynn came in as he had time
He liked the thing I do.
It is a challenge and its fun
And mercifully it’s new.
February 7, 2001
As I’m not knitting, why’s my arm
So very mean to me?
Why should drawing bother it?
Why can’t it let me be?
The footsteps in the hall increase
The class must start at nine
They laugh and chatter as they go
But all this space is mine.
February 7, 2001
I did the slipper socks to-day
I set the soles aside.
And with the knitting inside out
They could be washed and dried.
The socks have been well-washed alright
With suds and rinsing too.
But drying seems to be the thing
They have no wish to do.
Tomorrow is another day
The slippers have their role.
So if they take the night to dry
I’ll sew back on the sole.
To-day I sewed the soles back on
The slippers are not new.
The yarn I used was old as well
I hope that it will do.
February 8, 2001
I had my coffee when I came
Then cleaned up, more or less.
Soon after that some girls looked in
They never saw the mess.
They have a student teacher’s day
In some room on the floor
I hear the elevator come
And then I hear some more.
I have my pens to do the corn
I hope not over-do.
I was encouraged yesterday
And hope for this day too.
February 8, 2001
A student went away last night
And left his brushes set.
With all their bristles pointing down
To make sure they were wet.
I found a vase. I
squeezed them dry.
And let them rest on wood.
Who’ll tell them what to never do
Or tell them what they should?
February 8, 2001
It’s very quiet, very still
I struggle with my art.
I’ve finished off my coffee now
I’ve had the easy part.
I could put down the brush right now
And I could grab the broom.
Heaven knows it’s needed in
This great and much-shared room.
I think I’m making progress
I have improved the corn.
Now I’ll do the wood behind it
This February morn.
February 8, 2001
I’ve done the apple with a shine
But what’s the corn cob shape?
And its parched leaves are not the same
I’ll have to check the drape.
About the brown lines in between
All these I understand.
But no one would the kernels count
That isn’t what was planned.
I’ll narrow down the cob of corn
I’ll fill in with the wood.
I’ll put more paint to make it round
The apple is still good.
February 8, 2001
The verses keep on coming
I only write them down.
I darken the dark shadows
With purple, blue and brown.
No fooling, it is better
I like it better now.
I’ll go back to the kernels
I really don’t know how.
Let’s say the painting’s coming
The wood’s within belief.
There needs to be some darker near
The withered corn cob leaf.
I tried to put the kernels with
A little lighter pen.
It isn’t as convincing so
I’ll use the dark again.
I think I’ll pack it up right now
It’s nearly half past ten
Tomorrow I will one more time
Return to it again.
February 8, 2001
He tells the silly toaster
To get with it at the start.
I with impatience urged the bus
It did not know its part.
At last it came and picked me up
I was completely chilled.
But I’m where I was going now
The journey was fulfilled.
And what a great surprise to find
The snow formed in a roll.
With ridges regularly placed
Not witnessed by a soul.
I put a phone call back to Dad
Who would be coming near.
He took 3 pictures of the strip
Then visited me here.
February 9, 2001
The corn cob painting seems complete
I think I’ll call it done.
I’ll wait for Lynn to comment now
I did it all for fun.
I had my coffee and sit back
And nine has come and gone.
I’ll think of next week’s aquarelle
A work to dwell upon.
February 9, 2001
Some student left oil paint around
That proved to be a pain.
And who’s to know next time they come
If he’s done that again?
February 9, 2001
I’m told to paint just as it comes
And trim it at the end.
So I will go by what he says
The counsel of a friend.
I’ll rub the wasteful pencil off
And hope it all will go.
Now I must think of what to paint
For right now I don’t’ know.
My paper was too square for me
I tried to live with waste.
It seems I didn’t need to fret
Or mark it off in haste.
February 9, 2001
I don’t see well, I’m getting old
I’m partly out of touch.
But as for patterns in the snow
I really don’t miss much.
February 9, 2001
My mother was presented
In ‘30 to the King
I had just turned eleven
So it was not my thing.
The train had fancy Maltese lace
Her flowers were cut glass.
It was a planned and special thing
And it had come to pass.
Now both my mother and the King
Have passed to their reward.
There’s far more closeness, less expense
Relating to the Lord.
February 9, 2001
I wish I saw much better
Than right now I can see.
Then I could do my sewing
Much more efficiently.
The snap is black, the cloth dark blue
They had to come apart.
And that’s just the beginning
I’m only at the start.
I found a large size metal loop
I’m glad that it was there.
And now I have the hook in place
The jumper’s fit to wear.
There was a small-size safety pin
Inside behind the link.
It gave me case to wonder why
And made me pause to think.
I’m all together now and dressed
We’re going out for fun.
And I’m relieved to know right now
That I won’t come undone.
February 10, 2001
I waited for his coming
I sat beside the door
I had my knitting with me.
And did a little more.
He’s bringing home the groceries
An oft-repeated trip.
The wind and ice are awful
I hope he doesn’t slip.
He didn’t, I am thankful.
The things are in the fridge.
This morning it was Boucherville
We crossed the Champlain Bridge.
We brunched with
Tom and Emma
And Muriel and Mark.
We could not do it earlier
It wasn’t just a lark.
February 10, 2001
His presentation makes him think
And focus and decide.
He does all these things very well
He may reflect with pride.
He helped me with my framing jag
I’m full of gratitude.
He brought provisions home
So even they’re renewed.
In an hour we’ll have our tea
By then it will be four.
My sock is now three inches long
By then it will be more.
February 10, 2001
I’ll take the pine cones from Craig’s plate
And set the log behind.
The stones would suit them more than shells
They are not hard to find.
My set-up may be undisturbed
It won’t be in the way.
The students come to work, it’s true
But I’m here more than they.
This work will be an aquarelle
The paper’s stretched already.
I’ll draw it in with pencil first
And trust my hand is steady.
February 10, 2001
We wore our shoes to church to-day
Avoiding all the ice.
The wind was vicious with the flags
The morning sun was nice.
Now we are home and Daddy works
On Tuesday’s presentation.
The colours on the heel I turned
Give me a fascination.
We worked together on the bed
For balance with the bedding.
At least we’ll start the week off well
Who knows where we are heading?
The socks may finish off to-night
And Daddy’s thing at noon.
I’ll start another pair of socks
But hope no speech starts soon.
February 11, 2001
I’ll let another day go by
Before I mail this letter.
The other’s waiting on the shelf
The sooner mailed the better.
Because the verses seem to come
I’m out of touch with prose.
It’s like the stripes around the sock
It’s just the way it goes.
The oven has potatoes in
The cocoa has been had.
And I will just set the table soon
It’s just for me and Dad.
Meanwhile I will reduce the count
Of stitches on my heel.
To seventeen from twenty two
And then we’ll have our meal.
February 11, 2001
My pens are at the studio
I didn’t bring them back.
So even though my paper’s brown
I’ll have to draw with black.
Westmount Libr’y is a place
We don’t expect to knit.
I could of course stay here alone
Though boring, it would fit.
I have my knitting just in case
No one sat still for me.
And then it wouldn’t be my fault
I’d idled peacefully.
I did my best. It’s half past three
We came at half past two.
The pen will write. It fails to draw.
It’s very fine and blue.
My loved one is beside me now
The sun shines on his back.
I never got his elbow right
No one is keeping track.
And now it is three forty five
He will be late for tea.
No one will notice if I knit
I’ll do it quietly.
He’s packing up at four o’clock
He has his coat on now.
I will get together too
It’s easy. I know how.
February 11, 2001
I tried to do a student,
With marker occupied
The colours pink and blue and green
And probably quite wide
The sun is pouring on my back
And on the marker too.
The pink and green are at the ends
How does he work the blue?
I see the marker better now
It’s yellow, pink and green.
It’s a three-pointed handy thing
A circle’s in between.
I was quite wrong when I assumed
He could apply the blue.
It’s just the disc to help him choose
Just what he wants to do.
He’s working hard, he doesn’t know
What I am busy trying.
I’m fascinated by his face
The subject he’s supplying.
February 11, 2001
My pants had work done on the hem
The pants I wear each day.
The thread had started to give up
But now they are OK.
February 11, 2001
I found some frozen gloves to-day
Where Penfield crosses Peel.
My tried display had no success
They had a solid feel.
I brought them with me when I came
So they would thaw with me.
And then the fence would hold them up
To let the loser see.
They’re white with flowers at the back
The front’s a filthy grey.
I hope they have another pair
To keep them warm to-day.
February 12, 2001
The studio’s as tidy as
It was on Friday noon.
It’s not exactly cozy yet,
I hope it warms up soon.
I brought my pine cones to arrange
With stones just as I said.
But find there are some pine cones here
So I’ll use theirs instead.
I put a watercolour board
To be a pleasing base.
I’ll find a plant to give it green
And fill the empty space.
It’s not yet nine, I’ll have my drink
It might just warm me up.
I’ve sketched most of the painting in
I’ll reach now for my cup.
I hear some footsteps and I hear
The elevator door.
I’ll knit another inch or so
Before I do some more.
There are two inches at the left
Between the log and frame.
I’d rather not fill in with green
As that would be the same.
At this rate as I sit and knit
This blank space is no threat
Within this silent studio
I’m really not there yet.
I watered all the plants to-day
I felt it only fair.
They have been parched all weekend long
As nobody was there.
I need some horizontal lines
To balance off the rest.
My knitting would accomplish this
Perhaps that is the best.
February 12, 2001
My plastic palette underneath
Supports my pencil tries.
There are some voices in the hall
It’s empty otherwise.
My knitting isn’t with me now,
It’s in my set-up’s plan.
It’s just been drawn and painted in
I’ll take it when I can.
I’m using the Venetian blind
To spare me too much sun.
My painting has some in the back
The first time it’s been done.
To-day we lunch together so
We’re at the MAA.
It’s not completely regular
This Presentation day.
I trust it all goes well with him
And after, he’ll relax.
I’ll paint as I can paint for now
Then follow in his tracks.
February 13, 2001
He came to visit up the hill
It was so nice for me.
He liked my set-up and approach
And had a chance to see.
He went off to attend his class
Encouraged, I went on.
I think the student’s steps nearby
From here are also gone.
February 13, 2001
This morning I will have my drink
And snack at five to ten.
And after that I will approach
My painting once again.
And I have many brushes
That fail to keep their tip.
My coffee is a pleasure
I’ll have another sip.
Perhaps to paint a strand of wool
Should be an easy trick.
Some strands are quite believable
But others are too thick.
February 13, 2001
To-day it’s not 9:30 yet
And lunch is not ‘til noon.
I’ll have to fix the curve in front
It seems some out of tune.
It is the log I talk about
The basic curve is round.
There’s no fault with the way it is
Or just what log was found.
It’s alright now. I’ve done some stones
The sock’s there from before.
I think I’ll work at pine cones now
When I go back for more.
How many colours come in stones!
Incredible but true.
I’ve used the ochre and the pink
The purple and the blue.
I wonder who would like this work
That I do just for fun.
It has Ann’s sock beside the log
So she might be the one.
February 14, 2001
If I have pen and paper here
I’ll write as I go by.
Within this empty studio
There’s no one to say ‘Hi’.
My knitting doesn’t talk to me
Though I may talk to it.
And it is fun to look across
The city for a bit.
That doesn’t get the painting done
The stones are out of place.
I’ll rearrange them and keep on
So there will be no trace.
February 14, 2001
This weekend hasn’t happened
There’s nothing to regret.
There’s so much to remember that’s
So easy to forget.
Ask to see my brown with stones
My red flowers not yet done
My dockyard book from ‘35
Some poems for the fun.
I have a single turquoise sock
With questions what to do.
I’ll do whatever you suggest
The person will need two.
Your Nancy cookies wait high up
Green cards are also there.
Make sure you check the album out
I know you always care.
February 14, 2001
To-night dear Daddy plans his speech
My sock is varied blue.
I made more progress with the first
And with the second two.
We didn’t need more snow to-day
Perhaps it was quite wild.
But we are glad it’s warming up
We’re thankful that it’s mild.
I think in Daddy’s reference book
The print is much too small.
For me it would be hopeless
But he copes with it all.
The heart man is expecting me
To-morrow afternoon.
And Daddy will come with me there
It can’t be done too soon.
February 15, 2001
If you would like your letter done
In verse instead of prose.
All you have to do is
Let me know before it goes.
February 15, 2001
As I write verse I silent sit
While Daddy plans his speech.
He’ll like to have it said and done
That’s closer to his reach.
He’ll want to watch the news at ten
Right now it’s quarter to.
I think this poem’s long enough
This try will have to do.
February 15, 2001
The Valentine from Jenny
has colours bold and bright.
You feel them with your finger
You put them in the light.
Behind it wrapped in shinny red
Is Joan’s marshmallow heart.
With chocolate all around it
We only need to start.
There is one each for us of those
Perhaps we’ll each share twice.
What ever happens will be fun
It will be really nice.
February 15, 2001
The wool that I am knitting now
Sweet Cathy chose and sent.
It has two blues, two greens and black
And stripes is its intent.
The stripes are mostly two rows wide
The black is in between.
And this makes three stripes at a time
So far that’s what I’ve seen
These are for Craig when they are done
Whenever that will be.
To-day I’ll cast on Emma’s top
They’ll knit concurrently.
This morning Daddy bats the bird
And sees his friends there too.
We’ll go to Brickpoint later on
Then start the top size two.
Meanwhile the socks are something new
The coloured stripes appear.
I trust they will be fun for Craig
With art in his career.
February 19, 2001
The snow has stopped, the world has warmed
Craig’s other sock’s begun.
We hope to check out Brickpoint yarn
For Emma and for fun.
To make Craig’s socks is a delight
The stripes are planned ahead.
With blues and greens and blacks lined up
though they left out the red.
However as it happens now
For Emma red will do
And I might make a cousin top
And that could be red too.
Daddy’s at his class to-day
Then at his Club will dine.
By then it may have brightened up
Perhaps the sun will shine.
February 20, 2001
It’s no big deal to write a verse
It was the new year plan.
It must relate to daily life
I’ll do the best I can.
The Cardiologist’s our host
On March the 12th, a Monday.
A date to circle and observe
And loaf about all Sunday.
Our social calendar so far
Has not reached March 12 yet.
This week is Kingston by the train
A thrill we won’t forget.
Gemst called to say our order’s done
It’s mostly Wozzie’s framing.
But there’s the logs in brown we left
I’m at a loss for naming.
February 20, 2001
Daddy left for badminton
Just now at eight fifteen.
He’ll be with me for lunch at noon
I’ll knit socks in between.
To-morrow is our Kingston trip
I’ll knit more on the train.
And look out on the countryside
Enjoy its charm again.
The washing did at breakfast time
the drying’s doing now.
I make Craig’s socks with stripes in them
The fancy yarn knows how.
This sock’s along around the heel
The other sock’s begun.
To watch the stripes appear and grow
Is easy and it’s fun.
February 21, 2001
this afternoon we take the train
And go the Kingston way.
We’ll have a chance to see our kin
And have a chance to stay.
This morning will be cookie time
While Daddy takes his class.
I’ll make a batch of sunflower seeds
The highest level pass.
They’ll travel in a Round Top tub
That settles under knitting.
If there are extras they may fit
Beside where we are sitting.
When they are done I have to think
Of what I need to bring.
I’ll try to focus and be sure
To think of everything.
February 22, 2001
This morning Janet’s birthdays
The sun shone on the snow.
And early to her special room
Was where we longed to go.
The sounds and sights at leisured pace
Like rollings in the deep.
Drew us into the orbits path
And tempted us to sleep.
The Kingston mansions made of stone
With handsome pillars too,
Remind us of walks we’d had
When our romance was new.
And Dugald senior lunched with us
Then showed us his new home.
There was so much to see and feel
He left us free to roam.
February 22, 2001
This morning was a party
With crepes in candle light.
We all were in Verona
The snow was deep and bright.
Anne and Geoff received us
To feast with them at eight.
And Jack and Janet drove us
We didn’t hesitate.
When J & J were urged to stay
They didn’t hesitate.
It seems the birthday girl was on
The plastic chair all white.
And as she settled in her place
She disappeared from sight.
February 24, 2001
We ride a train to Montreal
At 10 o’clock at night.
I have a tray to write on
It’s noisy here but bright.
Dear Jack and Janet brought us
They waited for the train.
We slept with them for three whole nights
Now we go home again.
In Kingston Janet’s birthday
Was a great feast to share.
We went to Mino’s restaurant
So lovely to be there.
Another party happened
To celebrate the day.
This one was in Verona
But there the chair gave way.
The candlelight was everywhere
And laughter filled the air.
But this changed to hysteria
For the performing chair.
February 25, 2001
I planned to write a verse a day
Each day I should.
If I think rhythm and think rhyme
I might get good.
To-day’s verse number hopes to be
One thirty eight.
I’ll let this pass this Monday night
And not be late.
February 26, 2001
To-day I went for blobs of dust
With paper towels quite wet.
They’re lighter than the vacuum
And haven’t let go yet.
I passed the mop beneath the bed
It helped me with my try.
But after that the sodden towel
Made sure no dust got by.
February 26, 2001
to-day I see my dentist
And Dad does history.
His class will keep him busy
We’ll meet again for tea.
The eye man sees him after lunch
Which is for me no fuss.
And Dave goes on to Trois Rivieres
And leaves our lamb with us.
The raisin cookies are quite low
A project for to-day.
Now Daddy writes to Craig and Ann
To send it on it’s way.
Craig’s socks and verses and my note
Will be with Daddy’s gone
The parcel is addressed and stuck
And has the postage on.
February 27, 2001
I have been knitting Emma’s top
To-day it’s Cathy’s mending.
I sat at the machine and sewed
A pleasure with an ending.
The light was good, the needle new
That project now is done.
I’ll write about it in a verse
So far the only one.
At five o’clock dear Tom will come
To get us in their car.
They’ll serve us dinner in Dorval
How nice our people are.
We have some raisin cookies here
We’ll take them when we go.
I also have a sketch of Scot
He’s someone that they know.
February 28, 2001
This morning is a strange one
For Daddy has a test.
They don’t allow him food or drink
It’s not life at its best.
This is my day for Lionel
And Cathy comes with me.
And I will knit on Emma’s top
And work progressively.
Right now is coffee time for me
And Cathy has hers too.
She sits to exercise her knee
Her idle times are few.
Perhaps when we are home at noon
We’ll hear of Dad’s return.
And just what his affliction is
By then we hope to learn.
It’s Lionel who does my hair
And keeps me groomed and neat.
I last until 2 weeks from now
When he’ll do a repeat.
March 1, 2001
My keys are different colours
A silver and a gold.
I must remember which is which
To come in from the cold.
The gold one which is really brass
Will open our door wide.
But strangely turns the other way
Before you get inside.
So when you leave you have to know
The golden key turns left.
It’s urgent with the key in hand
To be aware and deft.
March 1, 2001
To-day is March the second
The washing’s in the dryer.
And I knit Emma’s sweater
Once more a main supplier.
Daddy called us early
They’re keeping him in there.
A hospital’s no fun place
But gives the best of care.
We’ll see him later on to-day
He’ll be awake by now.
We’ll take a taxi there and back
We’re more familiar how.
To-day is Friday. It was nice
That we could hear his voice.
He’ll be there until Tuesday next
They offered him no choice.
March 2, 2001
How lovely Tom that you will come
To visit us to-day!
It’s hard to have dear dad laid up
Though Cathy’s here to stay.
There are 3 verses of this time
You could ask to have read.
There are new paintings, one is hung
With stones and blossoms red.
We heard from Joanie early on
Her letter came to-day.
She told us of her life at school
And to of the ballet.
We read it all to Daddy when
We stood there at his side.
He walked with us all down the hall
His view is far and wide.
March 2, 2001
We’ll take in the Gazette so Dad
Will know what’s going on.
We hope he is more settled now
And early pains are gone.
Then Dave will drive us to McGill
My locker open wide.
I’ll side the keys beneath Lynn’s door
When we have what’s inside.
I have enjoyed the studio
For twenty years or so.
And it is sad to say ‘good-bye’
To so much that I know.
They have been very nice to me
Tondino and the rest.
And Lynn’s response the other day
Was gracious as the best.
He urged me to keep on and so
I’ll draw without restraint.
And it may be as time goes on
That I will even paint.
March 3, 2001
To-day Dave drove us to McGill
We had 2 keys along.
We opened up the studio door
Inside the sun was strong.
The plants were thriving and quite green
The droppings were quite brown.
We opened up my locker there
So much to carry down.
We had bags and portfolios
Thank heavens that we did.
The keys and verses fitted in
Beneath Lynn’s door and hid.
I took a picture of the work
Another by the street.
With all the baggage round about
My dear ones at their feet.
We do not know exactly where
It all will go from here.
But I’m so thankful what we need
Can suddenly appear.
March 3, 2001
Dear Daddy is in hospital
A think he would not choose
But there are blessings on the side
That none of us refuse.
We’ve had calls on the telephone
That come from coast to coast.
They gave delight to Daddy too
Who’d rather be their host.
But Joanie said that she would come
When Cathy has to go.
Though Daddy’s answer seemed quite
vague
It told us ‘yes’ not ‘no’.
Now he looks forward to see Joan
We’ll phone her when she wakes.
It is a further blessing
That Joanie undertakes.
This is a Sunday morning
The drapes are washed and hung.
A blessing Dave provided
So nimble and so young.
March 3, 2001
We seem to think 12 staples
This morning in the spring.
Let’s think of nutrients we need
Or any other thing.
We think too of an 8 inch seam
It happens all the time.
There are repairs in pants and tops
And my machine sublime!
The seam was very flat and smooth
The surgeon was content.
But we’ll return to cloth and thread
For that was our intent.
We don’t write verses talking pain
Or boredom that we meet.
Let’s stay with nourishment and clothes
And try not to repeat.
The pencils that were blunt for us
Have points now and are many.
Tom and Cathy did it all
Before we had not any.
March 4, 2001
Perhaps there was a class in Greek
That Queen’s tried hard to fill.
This I knew not at the time
And now I never will.
We sat there with the registrar,
No thought that I would speak.
My mother and the registrar
Had heard me ‘I’d like Greek’.
So much was new in ‘36
A college and a town.
When I said ‘Greek” she looked my way
And then she wrote it down.
March 5, 2001
I’ll comment on the dictionary
That’s done to help with rhymes.
And I have often needed help
And tried it many times.
I like its colours and its plan
I’m glad that it was done.
But when I need a special word
It hasn’t had the one.
So far I haven’t given up
It’s there for my next need.
I really hope next time I look
My searching will succeed.
March 5, 2001
My Mother’s wish was that I wed
Someone she liked with class.
And that I should be chosen soon
And all this come to pass.
She thought a suitor would withdraw
From one with too much school.
She felt I should be pretty
She felt I should be cool.
From then she waited seven years
As anxious as my Dad.
My loved one lives with learning
What blessings I have had!
March 5, 2001
Dear Marguerite I write a verse
To thank you for this book.
I like to hold it in my hand
I find it when I look.
The glossy cover with the grapes
Is full of verses now.
I’m past one fifty as it is
I really don’t know how.
Some pages are still left for me
For verses that are new.
I’ll copy this one in the back
Then copy it for you.
March 5, 2001
It seems that now I sometimes write
In verses to my kin.
They go along quite easily
I only must begin.
To-day from far away we had
A message, far from vague.
The rhyme and meter, a delight
And it had come from Craig!
I never knew we had this link
With poems as with art.
It seems that something new’s begun
It only had to start.
March 5, 2001
It feels so nice with Daddy home
Tom brought him through the snow.
It’s such a joy to have him here
Now no one needs to go.
And Emma’s sweater comes along
The shoulder seams are pressed.
I have the underarm to do
And finish off the rest.
And Daddy leans back in his chair
His flowers give such delight.
Outside is snowy winter wind
We all stay home to-night.
March 6, 2001
We visited with Emma on February 10
From that time on I planned to make a sweater
To-day is March the seventh, the sweater is complete
I’m glad because the earlier the better.
Her fav’rite colour’s mine as well
I always favour red.
I’ll go back now to making socks
The way that Sandra said.
She wants the sixteen inches tall
The foot will have to fit.
I trust my two-year size does well
And Emma treasures it.
March 5, 2001
Cathy made a knitting bag
She opened the machine.
She sewed around and at the top
It’s colourful and clean.
She liked the one I had for me
She matched it up for size.
Then she put ribbon through the top
She found with our supplies.
I lean back on the couch and watch
The sketch her pennies count.
They tell the number that she does
And on and on amount.
I add this on, on March the 9th
To cope with the surprises.
The number I just wrote about
Are Cathy’s exercises.
March 9, 2001
Sandra’s socks are starting
With brightness at the top.
She doesn’t worry what I add
Right from the start to stop.
They’re something that she wants to have
She wants to have for fun.
In this she wants to be unique
To be the only one.
It’s part of her identity
To have a flashy shin.
Her socks will be all colours
And flash as they begin.
March 8, 2001
Daddy’s
flowers had a kind I never saw before
Now they’re by the window in the light
The
petals are quite yellow but with a red design
We gaze on so much beauty with delight.
The
basket holds the pink and white, the pink ones in a spray.
We put the big red blossoms in a dish
We
live with all these colours on this our cloudy day.
They
give us all the pleasure we could wish.
They were a joy by Daddy’s bed
And now they’re with us here.
We think of Ann, we think of Joan
And how we hold them dear.
March 8, 2001
The Rockcliff school first lacked a
gym
So that’s the winter when
I went down to the Y for this
Each Saturday at 10.
I took the streetcar into town
My birthday came in May.
The mouthorgan was my great love
I gladly would display.
Each month I had a dollar bill
I knew what I would buy.
A mouthorgan in G and C
I wore them out, that’s why.
Then one day with my birthday near
A dog was shown to me.
It was an Irish Setter and
As silky as could be.
It seems I could have either one
And chose the music thing.
It seems I played it all the time
I wasn’t meant to sing.
An older friend who rode with me
Came by late in the day.
He had the silky dog along
For this my special day.
This was the only dog I had
And Tony was his name.
The pleasure we all had with him
For all of us the same.
Tony was really “Antonia”
He really was a she
An older friend who rode with me
Came by late in the day.
He had the silky dog along
March 8, 2001
We walked down Lansdown Road to-day
Up Cote St Antoine Hill.
And then on Sherbrooke we came east
The sun was shining still.
We go to Tom and Joan’s to-night
With Cathy, Dave and Jim.
Vancouver is a long way off
Imagine seeing him.
March 10, 2001
Esquimalt was a lovely place
For one it had it all.
For it was bordered by the sea
And heard the sea-gulls call.
I rode my bike to school one year
The college was the last.
And this was in Victoria
A lot of time has passed.
We went out west in ‘33
Came back in ‘36.
Some dates are handy for back then
And they’re not hard to fix.
March 9, 2001