It is my illustrious husband’s birthday today. He is turning 28 on the 27th. Which means that last year was his golden year. I guess I’ll have to remember to ask him how his golden year last year was. I think it was a pretty good year in the fact that he got to learn how to earn the title Mister Mountain Man Supreme.

This morning, though I had to toddle off to work by 9, I woke up super early (like farm early…) and prepared a feast for him. Pancakes (referred to as “man-cakes” around these parts) whipped cream sprinkled with cinnamon sugar and blackberries picked in the heat of August. My friend Dan told me of a fancy hotel he stayed in for his honeymoon where they actually brought a French Press of coffee to his table. He said it was oober classy. So I decided to add the classy back to our life. Yes, that’s right. We actually sat down at the table for a meal. (Usually we eat on our laps in the living room, fending off curious kittens.) and we brought the French Press of Pot of Gold coffee to the table and even ate with a knife and fork!

 It was a lot of meal before 8am!

 Another birthday to celebrate, though technically yesterday, was my friend Shawn’s first child’s first birthday ever. Brynna Isobelle was born yesterday in the evening. Just in time to fill out these newly-knitted booties which were posted today.

After grieving the passing of a friend, it is nice to celebrate some birth for a change. Congratulations Shawn and Emma! And Happy Birthday my love!

Do you have any special birthday memories that you care to share?

We had a hurricane blow through our neck of the woods early last week. It ravaged our forests, littered our roads with trees and their branches, and picked up our greenhouse like a kite and flew it for a bit before dropping it like a child discarding a toy.

If this devastation had happened a different week, a different time, another time when the devastation of personal loss of life wasn’t so bright in my mind, I would have mourned the loss of this structure more than I did. We had hoped to grow cucumbers, peppers, eggplants and tomatoes in our free greenhouse.

But it is just a thing. A convenient thing. But a thing, not a person, not a creature. We can build another.

Marc has had a chance to be Mister Mountain Man Supreme with all the tree damage.

This road goes to the back of the blueberry field and usually you can drive a truck up through here. I mean, it is never has smooth as a black tarmac road in a suburb but it doesn’t usually require four-wheel drive.

So many trees weren’t simply broken and suspended in the forest above. So many were uprooted and tipped over like Jenga blocks. Marc had his work cut out for him (no pun intended) but he took to it like a man of the woods.

He is excited to report that he can cook bannock using solely the wood stove now. I think he was meant to be a minimalist. When he comes in for lunch his face has a rosy glow, under a sheen of perspiration. He is a little smelly, a little gritty and ever-so happy.

The stinging nettles are starting to poke their green heads up so he pureed some for a soup the other day. How do I describe the satisfaction of seeing my husband trot out the door, kittens at his ankles, snipping herbs for dinner from our own garden. And he has the great responsibility of chicken-sitting the neighbour’s Osterlofs. (A black chicken with a pearly green iridescent back.) These lady-hens are named after Shakespeare’s women, Juliet, Ophelia, Portia, Cordelia etc. They lost their triumphant rooster Romeo to an eagle just last week and they’ve been mourning their hero ever since his valiant fall.

Speaking of valiant fall, I have fallen ill with a cold that seems to produce leaking from every facial orifice. So I have contented myself to stay at home, under gigantic blue duvets, wrapped in polar fleece, sweating out the virus. Best to keep your visiting to me strictly virtual at this point.

Wishing you a beautiful January weekend.

When Marc was a little kid, his mother started the Advent tradition. She would buy small gifts for Marc and Danielle every day from December 1st to 24th. Usually it was packs of gum, shoelaces and travel toothpastes. We decided to carry on this tradition because it gave us the opportunity to give to each other and remember the spirit of giving throughout December. More than the things, it is an exercise in our marriage at giving and receiving.

Today was more sewing buttons (different colours this time) and a travel egg carrier for the boat.

Someone recently highlighted an article of marriage that I read. It was about a couple who had a fairly functional marriage and they set about different ways to improve it. They went to psychoanalysists, therapy sessions, a two day communication session. It was a good article. The beginning of the article made me consider what marriage is and how does a good marriage look. She says that we try at raising our children, improving our careers, practise at our various hobbies or skills. But we often do not put a lot of effort into our marriages, just letting them cruise on an autopilot of sorts.

Marc and I have been together for five years, been married for nearly four, and I remember thinking, when we tied the knot, that this was just the beginning. We’ve both had marriage modelled by our parents, who have been married 30 years and 28 years respectively. It has been very helpful and it’s interesting to see what things have carried on to our marriage from our observations of our parents’ marriage.

Marc’s dad planned this surprise trip for his mom once. For their 25th wedding anniversary, he secretly booked a trip to Tahiti and planned all the details, as well as booking time off from her work without her knowing. This was a masterful plan which took months in the making. Though Marc hasn’t whisked me to Tahiti yet, he has pulled off some very amazing secretive stunts like this based on his expectation of his role, modelled by his father.

My parents have been very good at making time for each other. They build it into their schedules. My dad would come home from work and they would talk while Mom made dinner. For the most part, we as children knew not to interrupt their time together by our nattering.

From this example, Marc and I have tried to build time into our “regularly scheduled program” by setting aside moments in our day to be together. When we slip at this, one of us reminds the other and we find that we both really miss it when we forget.

Something that the article touches on is monogamy. It is a given in our society that a healthy marriage equals monogamy. The article said that the couple had been sexually faithful but the husband felt that his wife had betrayed him with her mother. Stay with me on this. He felt that when there was a decision regarding the children, his wife went to her mother and they made the decision without his input. I found this very interesting. I examined my own marriage and found that if there was anywhere where I could be accused of not being monogamous, it was when I put my own needs above the needs of our marriage, or the needs of Marc. Often by my own selfishness, I was damaging our marriage. After apologizing to Marc for this, I hope I can slowly improve in this aspect.

For a marriage to grow, it seems to require a lot of vulnerability and a lot of apologizing. In theory, I think this will be very good for me. In practise, it sounds a bit uncomfortable.

Perhaps marriage is a bit like beekeeping. Sometimes it stings, but the results are sweet.

60 years? Can you imagine it? I cannot, as I have not lived that long.

But my grandparents are having their 60th Wedding Anniversary today. Congratulations Gram and Gramps! I am so proud of you. What a long time.

I remember going to a wedding where a friend of mine, married 38 years, was the minister. He said to the bride and groom, “You think you love each other now! You do not know love!”

Within the next year, he lost his wife to cancer. I looked back on that day and thought “Yeah, he knows love, through sickness and health.”

My grandparents still kiss everytime they go out the door. They are respectful with their words, they still honour each other in their life. They spend all day together and from what I’ve seen, they are truly best friends. I admire this. I love this. And them.

Marc and I are coming up on 4 years of marriage. A mere eyedrop in comparison to 60 years. Last night we were talking about our marriage. It’s getting easier. We do things more automatically. One person cleans the coffee bodum, the other puts on the kettle for a new pot. It’s the little things that the other person does to compliment their spouse that makes all the difference. Do I love Marc more than the day I married him? Definitely! Without question! Is it still work? Of course! But work with such good reward.

60 years would be a lot of work, they have seen their children grow up and have their own children. They have dealt with the passing of so many friends and so much that life has thrown at them, but they are happy, healthy and with fresh hair cuts. (as I’ve been told!)

Happy Anniversary Gramma and Grampa! Congratulations on 60 years of sticking together and making it work. You inspire!

How do you drink your coffee?

Strong and black?

Cream and sugar?

Me, I prefer cream and honey. Yes of course, you say, the Bee lady would prefer honey.

Coffee is quite a ritual in our house. We get our coffee mail-delivered from Pot of Gold. They write our names on it, it comes every 4 weeks and smells up our ancient green post box and I’m sure, the post office gets quite a whiff of it before it is delivered.

Every morning, as I prepare to go to work, I put the kettle on, grind coffee and deposit it into our handsome little bodum. The pungent smell of ground coffee is the first smell that tickles my nose in the morning. I pour the boiled water over the fresh grounds and set the timer for 4 minutes, like the good little barista I was trained to be. Then I pour my husband a cup of coffee in his favourite “Morton” mug with a big red crab on it. He gets a kiss on his sleepy head, a delivery of steaming coffee, and I pad downstairs, kittens entwined in my legs, to write my “Morning Pages.”

I need my morning rituals. What are yours?