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Text of the page (random words):
m mylene english wordsmith m mylene english wordsmith how to amuse a muse 11 january 2011 on receiving a parcel of books do you know how it is to have chosen with excruciating care the next additions to your library and to have waited for their delivery with the excitement of a child do you know how it is to find a ca rd in your mailbox advising you a parcel has arrived do you know how it is to present the card at the counter and have the clerk heft a sturdy box into your expectant arms do you know how it is t o cradle the box with infinite tenderness transporting it from the post office to the truck from the truck to the kitchen from the kitchen to the blessed sanctuary of the library do you know how it is to catch your breath as you open the flaps and gasp as light falls upon the covers and dustjackets cloaking the volumes within do you know how it is to lift six books to your face in turn smelling their heady perfume of paper and ink do you know how it is to sit with these new books stroking their spines with your thumb and tracing their embossed titles with your forefinger do you know how it is to open each book no more than 90º their backs are delicate and let the pages fall gently over one another do you know how it is to close your eyes as the cool whisperbreath of inkwords kisses your face do you know sigh it is bliss peace posted by mylene at 20 15 4 comments 23 august 2010 rescue i have fallen in love it is not to be wondered at nor should anyone be surprised i fall in love with someone something somewhere somewhen daily but this time this time it is different oh alright perhaps it is not different so much as it is here we go again fine have it your way still who can blame me she is as so many of my greatest passions have been a rescue case she had been condemned to what amounts to being drawn and quartered that is to say she was to have died a horrendous death to have been donated to the firemen for extrication practice eaten ironically by the jaws of life by the time twenty four hours have passed she will have taken up residence in our back driveway her looks have faded it is true but she has the bones of a great beauty and i have no doubt she will respond to loving care she has not yet told me her name though i am certain i can hear her whispering peace posted by mylene at 21 53 3 comments 05 august 2010 i love my country should you ever visit my country let me tell you the rockies are not to be missed this country is exquisite from coast to coast to coast but there is nothing q uite like the rockies although close in splendour are fields of flax in full flower and whispering waves of wheat just before harvest the secret hush of dim and mossy forest the wild crash of water against rock down east the peaceful kiss of water on sand out west the massive silence of the north where sky and land meet at that magical point and become one the sharp severe slice of southern summer wind as dry as old bone this is a beautiful land yeah i love my country peace mylene 30 july 2010 posted by mylene at 16 26 3 comments 28 april 2010 i have a letter i have a letter frrrom rrruss ia i say aloud rolling the r s and flattening the vowels it seems the thing to do the letter sits on top of the other mail on the seat beside me as i drive home from the post office frrrom rr russ ia i say again as wait for water to boil for tea i lay the letter on the desktop while i pay the phone bill it is a slim envelope bearing five stamps and three cancellation marks resting feather light in my hands i ad mire the precise printing smile at the numbers formed in penmanship typical of the part of the world from which the letter originated i tally the cost of postage and wonder what the conversion is to my own dollars i lay the letter on the table while i make supper and clear the dishes and watch the news i lean the letter against the soap dish on the counter while i have my bath and check my email and drink another cup of tea letters have had fascinating journeys letters have travelled by truck by plane by train letters have gone under and over letters have gone through despite the 8 054 kilometres separating me from its sender this letter has spent 58 days travelling from half way around the globe it has been a long passage so i let it rest until it is ready to share its secrets it is time i am careful to slit the envelope neatly along the top edge careful too withdrawing the letter i devour the words then return to the beginning and read through again more slowly i smile i sigh i return the letter to its envelope and prop it against my tea mug i will read the letter again tomorrow before slipping it into the small worn trunk in my library the keeper of the words that have come to me from across the globe frrrom rrruss ia i will say then fasten the latch peace posted by mylene at 23 23 6 comments 22 april 2010 a mother knows for scott because you hadn t shown for days we knew you gone they disagreed they asked her what was in her gut and she said death he ravine has swallowed him up she said a mother knows officials think not know so they refused to look it will all be well they said believing wrong everything a mother knows you lay dead at the bottom of it all the while waiting and awaiting knowing they found you finally and were sorry of course their contrition useless after the fact ashes to ashes two birds eagles maybe or hawks rode the wind for you or with you floated above the tears pressed their wings against the sky against the earthly sorrow they could not ease we let you go with god with peace with reluctance we planted a tree for you dampened the ground with our tears we dug into the soil and changed the face of the earth for you for remembrance and for everything a mother knows posted by mylene at 13 55 5 comments 11 july 2009 peaches i am five it is the first year i have been allowed to go on holidays with my parents and we have driven across four provinces to visit grandma whom i have missed every day since they moved from manitoba and grandpa who is sometimes cross we are out touring seeing the valleys and the orchards marvelling at the m o untains it is getting on in the day and the light has begun to change colour it must be ninety degrees the grown ups have said and isn t it hot they have asked one another then murmured in agreement grandma and i are sitting together on the passenger side in the back seat the world flies past outside the car and stands still inside it grandma shows me how to properly experience the peaches we bought at a roadside stand peaches larger than both my fists together she shows me how to brush them against my face and feel their velvety sun warmth before i bite through their skins peach juice runs down our hands our wrists our arms and we lick it off ourselves and off each other s elbows what we aren t licking we wipe away with kleenex because we can t keep up the peaches are so juicy we are shaking with the effort of muffling our giggles our sight blurs with tears of silent laughter we are being as quiet as we can be so grandpa doesn t notice us see the mess we are making of ourselves and get cross the window is open and grandma s hair dances around her temples the evening light has made her cheeks the colour of our peaches i lay my head against her chest and look up to see the slanting rays have illuminated the fine hairs on her face creating a delicate halo the peaches are grandma grandma is the peaches we are sticky and full to the top and we smell as sweet as summertime grandma smiles and closes her eyes against the sun and so do i this moment never ever ends peace posted by mylene at 14 17 7 comments 14 april 2009 apron strings grandma wore aprons grandma wore hair nets with beads as well which i thought were perfectly splendid in a mysterious other generational sort of way but those don t figure so prominently in my memory as do her aprons she didn t wear hostess aprons which were more decorative than functional and she didn t wear little half skirt type aprons with dai nty pockets and coordinating ties no grandma wore proper full coverage aprons with high bibs that kept splashes and garden soil off her dress and broad straps that marched over her sho ulders crossed in the middle of her back and buttoned to the waistband grandma wore serious aprons with back hems that could wipe gravel from skinned knees sturdy aprons with pockets that could hold enough pegs for a whole line of laundry or enough peas for supper generous aprons with skirts that could fold up to become a gentle nest for two bouquets of sweet peas and enough raspberries for desert grandma played with her aprons smoothed them over her lap toyed with the pocket tops fiddled with the edges by the time i got to know her she was grey haired and becoming frail by the time i got to know her she was so set in her ways that wearing an apron over her dress and under her cardigan was what one expected to see except when she went to church i loved grandma s aprons loved the way they looked loved their colours loved their patterns i loved the simple intricacies of their straps and buttons i loved that there was always enough scoop to the neck to show off the brooch pinned to her dress underneath i loved what they represented i still do somehow that part of it all becomes more important as the year distance between us here on earth grows i have and use several aprons but none so substantial as the ones grandma used to wear i have a pink cotton apron dusty rose really since it has been around since the 1980 s when dusty rose was fashionable with a bib but the bib is small bearing two crocheted lambs at least we think they are lambs sometimes they look like pigs in the middle and a ruffle around the edge it is stained it is wearing thin in spots it has no pockets it is the apron my children tell me they equated with baking and treats but it is not a grandma kind of apron i have a christmas apron that has been plasticised laminated or treated to some sort of process that makes it almost resemble an oilcloth almost it is the apron that mostly kept small children mostly clean and mostly dry when they um helped me in the kitchen it is handy and it is dandy but it is not a grandma kind of apron treasured are two aprons given to me indeed made for me by my cousin who remembers grandma s aprons with as much wistful affection as i do and that s saying something i know that thoughts of grandma are attached to those made for me aprons that they were cut and sewn while my cousin was thinking of the oh so shy woman who marked us both so strongly we have marvelled to one another about how a woman of such quiet and gentle demeanour could have had such a powerful influence my cousin and i have agreed that somehow no matter that their straps are narrow and buttonless no matter that friendly teddies play on the bib of one and little rose clusters are scattered across the blue ground of the other somehow they are each at least to my cousin and i a grandma kind of apron peace posted by mylene at 09 54 7 comments older posts home subscribe to posts atom about mylene mylene columnist poet freelance writer and scrapbooker m mylene english delivers her sometimes quirky sometimes irreverent views with honesty and humour her column it ll be fine appeared regularly in northern alberta newspapers between 1992 and 2006 mylene has been a contributing writer for canadian scrapbooker magazine since 2005 and writes the lss local scrapbooking store article and write on column as well as the feature introductions her participation in several design teams has helped mylene expand her creative outlook as print media coordinator for dancetheatre david earle mylene generates website content and creates the dtde newsletters and programmes previous work has appeared in reader s digest our canada chicken soup for the mother and daughter soul chicken soup for the soul cookbook for busy moms chicken soup for the soul celebrating mothers and daughters as well as in various publications of local and regional interest mylene lives in northern alberta and says her husband and five children provide endless support of and inspiration for her work view my complete profile places to go people to see canadian scrapbooker carolyn peeler iron orchid designs jayme loge leica forrest melissa frances monica lipscombe prima marketing rebecca sower sally jean wendy gibson words to live by if one cannot enjoy reading a book over and over again there is no use in reading it at all oscar wilde we had to be who we were in order to become who we are m mylene english when things go completely wrong in life it s not a new outlook a person needs it s a new in look james a edwards you cannot be too gentle too kind shun even to appear harsh in your treatment of each other joy radiant joy streams from the face of one who gives and kindles joy in the heart of one who receives st seraphim of sarov the best things in life are nearest breath in your nostrils light in your eyes flowers at your feet duties at your hand the path of right just before you then do not grasp at the stars but do life s plain common work as it comes certain that daily duties and daily bread are the sweetest things in life robert louis stevenson always forgive your enemies nothing annoys them so much oscar wilde life is an opportunity given to satisfy the hunger and thirst of the soul pir o murshid hazrat inayat khan blog archive 2011 1 january 1 on receiving a parcel of books 2010 4 august 2 april 2 2009 8 july 1 april 1 march 2 february 1 january 3 2008 21 december 1 november 2 october 1 august 1 june 1 may 4 march 3 february 3 january 5 2007 14 december 3 november 4 october 7 feedjit live traffic feed feedjit live blog stats