In the pool today, a woman I see often but have never spoken to, paddled over to tell me that I have “a very pretty face.” As she said the words, I felt two urges; one to compliment her gold, metallic cap and jazzy goggles, and the other to say something funny, (it’s the swim cap, it gives me a facelift.) But I resisted doing either. Instead I flashed her my prettiest smile, grabbed hold of my flutter-board and swam on. I’m a big fan of compliments, singing praises, giving credit where credit is due. But I’m not great at receiving compliments. What always impresses me are people who simply say, “thankyou,” and carry on with their day, hopefully feeling a little lifted. And today, that’s just what I did. 

Every year, there comes a day that denotes the start of summer. For me, it’s not just that it’s warm or that I’m barefooted and that the lilacs are in bloom. It’s more than that. It’s a feeling. A feeling of fullness. Gratitude. Delight. One year, it fell on the Victoria Day long weekend, at a barbecue hosted by our friends Tamara and Kieran. I remember all of us gathered on their street well after dark, full of good food and laughter, watching the children as they whizzed up and down the pavement on bikes. We’d survived another winter, and this was our reward. Last year, it came late in May, in my mother-in-law’s garden as we celebrated the birthday of our niece. The children all fell into the grass, paper party hands on their heads, and as I snapped the photo of their goofy, sugary faces, I knew this was the day. Another year, my friend Hannah and I seized the sun and headed to the beach with four of our six children in tow. There was nothing remarkable about the day –– the children were more interested in the playground than the beach, and our east side meal couldn’t have been lousier –– but there was a feeling in the air that we all grabbed hold of. And that’s how yesterday felt, as my family walked home from dinner through Ramsden Park in the setting sunlight, all of us aware of, and grateful for the loveliness of the evening. “This is such a fun night,” my son said after a roly poly down a hill. You can’t plan for these days, or create them. They just happen. And it’s magic.

I came across these charming portrait brooches today, and I want one! I love the colours and the detail in the embroidery. I picture three or four of them, lined up in a perspex box. I wonder if the artist, Cathy Cullis takes commissions. What a sweet gift these brooches would make.

It’s been a week since we moved out of our house, and I thought I’d miss it more than I do. I miss our neighbours, I miss our porch and I miss our tree lined street, but the house itself, I don’t think about too much. It was the life inside the house –– the people, the paintings, the photographs –– that made our house a home. And once you take all that away, it’s just a shell. And a crumbling one at that. When I visit the house now –– it looks downtrodden –– all I see are cracked walls, mouse holes and dirty, old floorboards. I used to feel sad about tearing it down, now I can’t wait.