Friday Four, Including L.M. Montgomery's Inspiration to Journal

"Honestly, it is such a challenge to look at

the bigger picture these days, so I cone my focus

down to all the beautiful pauses in my day."

DARREN MARKLAND @drdagly on X

(with grateful permission)

It snowed the other day. As those first flakes fell, I felt the tiniest stirrings of being in the 'Christmas mood'. I know, I know, it's a little early. I even found myself humming notes from an old familiar carol—quietly under my breath so as not to get the resident Grinch grumbling that it's far too early for Christmas music. 

The snow has since melted, and we're back to landscapes in beige and sandy brown. Still, with the nights drawing in, hints of long winter evenings and upcoming holidays take shape. It seems a perfect time for settling in a comfy chair with a little poetry—or a new post from a favourite writer—for company.  

Today's post is a bit of this and that from my week, along with an old post I wrote about L.M. Montgomery and how I became inspired to journal by reading her own published journals. I hope you'll find something worth your visit. Thank you for stopping by.

One. The frost missed these

What a thrill to discover that a few blossoms in the garden had escaped the frost. A tiny reprieve. I brought them in and set them by the kitchen window—my beautiful pause in a busy day.

Two. A gentle read

"Granddad said you only have to look at nature to know that there's a higher power.  . . .  He said every time you look at a sunset and feel an expansion in your chest, that's the Divine in you recognizing the Divine in nature." SANTA MONTEFIORE, Here and Now

This charming novel is set in a small English village. Dennis and Marigold, both in their late 60s, currently have their two adult daughters and Marigold's aged mother living with them. Marigold loves taking care of everyone, but she's getting worried that she's forgetting things, especially when she forgets to take supper out of the freezer yet again or loses track of where her car is parked while out shopping. Having lived in the village for years she should know...and remember...why can't she remember? Is it just age creeping up?

I found this a heart lovely story about a family coming to terms with the possibility that their beloved daughter, wife, mother is experiencing dementia. Even as Marigold learns to live in the present moment when her memories start disappearing, her own family discover things about themselves. She keeps reminding herself, "What's wrong with now?" when she finds herself trying to imagine her life in the future without the memories of who and what she loves. But for today, it's okay. And that's how she tries to live her life as much as she can.

It's perfect timing to read this story. For it begins on a snowy day. Soon you're immersed, not with falling snow, but with finding yourself caring for the people in this tale. It's not a knuckle-gripping tale, so you can relax into your easy chair and let the story unfold gently around you, maybe even as you watch the snow softly falling outside your window.

T

Three. Note to Miss Chicken Little

"We've got to live, no matter how

many skies have fallen."

D.H. LAWRENCE, Lady Chatterley's Lover

Four. Lucy Maud and journaling

"I have just been reading over my first two volumes... The first volume seems—I think—to have been written by a rather shallow girl, whose sole aim was to "have a good time" . . . yet nothing could be falser to the reality.  . . .  Again, the second volume gives the impression of a morbid temperament, generally in the throes of nervousness and gloom. Yet this, too, is false. It arises from the fact that of late years I have made my journal the refuge of my sick spirit . . . Between these times I was quite tolerably happy, hopeful and interested in life.

Well, I begin my third volume. I am going to try to strike a better balance in it—to write out my happiness as well as my pain. And I mean to try, as far as in me lies, to paint my life and deeds—ay, and my thoughts—truthfully, no matter how unflattering such truth may be to me. No life document has any real value otherwise; the worst as well as the best must be written out—  . . . So, for good or evil, I begin this volume. I turn over its blank pages with a shrinking wonder. What will be written in them?"  ~ excerpted from her journal entry dated Friday, Feb. 11, 1910. See The Selected Journal of L.M. Montgomery, Volume II: 1910 - 1921.

I mentioned last week (post here) that this November marks Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery's 150th birthday. And in celebration I'm digging into my own archives to share with you things I've written over the years about her influence on my life.

Here is an excerpt from a post I wrote in July 2019 (it could do with a revamp, but it's where I was at the time as a writer, and I'm trying to get this finished on time). 😉

It's usually a bit of a thrill for me when I finish one journal and begin a crisp new volume. Such a moment happened this past week. The above notebook with the gold lettering and the pretty house and garden painting on its cover marks my 170th journal. 

I started journaling in the early 1980s when I was under the deep sway of influence from my beloved mentor from afar Lucy Maud Montgomery. When I learned that some of her own journals were being made available to the public, I eagerly sought them out. At the time, the library had only Volumes I and II; I had to wait some years for the rest to be published. I loved reading her journals, and soon I began to think, if Lucy Maud had been such a committed journal keeper, then maybe I could be one too. I've been pretty much dedicated to writing my own journals ever since.

My ever increasing collection (which is housed in file boxes in the closet) is a motley collection of sizes, shapes, and designs. Into these notebooks, I poured out all sorts of things on my mind. And, for some reason, the weather seemed necessary to mark my journey in some way—was it winter, summer, rainy, hot, dry, gloomy? Weather, we know, can affect our moods, and I'd decided a long time that I would try as much as possible not to live 'under the weather' but to create my own sunshine in my own way. Over time I'd come to appreciate every season in its every mood, whether clement (pleasantly dry and mild) or inclement (severely harsh weather that is wet and cold).

My journals were, and continue to be a bit of diary - said weather reports included. They are also a bit of venting, although I try not to vent too much in my journals, I don't want a paper copy of, er, my 'insane' moments. Venting is part of being honest with ourselves even if we are insane for the moment.

I do write about what I read in books or hear from people I follow online, noting many a quotation for future reference and inspiration. I also jot out lines from the Bible that offer a life boat of comfort and encouragement in difficult or stressful seasons. Not to mention bits of poetry and quotes that strike my fancy and thrill my soul for their beauty. As well, I note those aha! moments when I see something that has changed how I view myself or the world around me. Writing it out helps me to clarify what I'm thinking about, what I agree or disagree with, and what I really desire underneath all the fluffy superficial surfaces.

Journals, for me, are places where I turn to when I can't say what's in my heart to anyone else. There are some things we all carry that are too deep or personal, too scary, to share. Ofttimes we don't have the language or words to share it, even if we wanted to. So I make stabs at it in my journals. With hopes that those poured out bits of prayers and yearnings make sense to the God who, we are told, cares about the tiniest details of our lives and longs for us to share them with Him.

Then there are those multitude of moments and experiences that I don't ever want to forget. The ALIVE moments that make a day perfect in the end, even though it was less so overall. You know those glorious moments, when your heart zings with joy as you stand and watch a rainbow form after a summer shower. As you sit in the garden where the air is sweet with perfume and the birds chatter companionably at the feeders and our neighbourly Orange Kitty wanders in for a friendly visit or a quiet snooze in the garden. Where you are just glad, glad, glad to be alive. I love finding these entries when rereading my old volumes.

On that note, I'm wishing you days that are alive with beauty and grace. And with beautiful pauses that continue to make life worth getting up for.

❦

Heart hugs,

Brenda

Photo credits:

(Top) Image by Albertfotofilms from Pixabay

(Flowers) Image by Brenda Leyland @ It's A Beautiful Life

(Book Cover) Image from Amazon.ca

(Cup in Window) Image by Israelbest from Pixabay

(Journals) Image by Brenda Leyland @ It's A Beautiful Life

Autumn Blogging Schedule:

I post on Fridays