Joy In An Ordinary Life

Creating a place where I can watch the world
and write.

Definition of Ordinary:

 not different or special or unexpected in any way; usual 

~ Cambridge Dictionary

The past three days have been ordinary in that nothing unexpected happen yet everything was new and full of joy.

Getting the winter tires taken off
Too soon?

With nothing exceptional to say I will let this poem speak for me.

The Ordinary Man

by Robert W. Service

If you and I should chance to meet,

I guess you wouldn't care;

Making nutritious meals
Chickpea Stew  

I'm sure you'd pass me in the street

As if I wasn't there;

Another great instant pot meal - all made at the
same time in the same pot (recipe at bottom)

You'd never look me in the face,

My modest mug to scan,

I look forward to the safe space that is create at yoga. 

Because I'm just a commonplace

       And Ordinary Man.

Each day is a new adventure.

But then, it may be, you are too

A guy of every day,

Yoga is always peaceful.

Who does the job he's told to do

And takes the wife his pay;

Enjoying the resources that our library holds
I am reading Jayne Anne Krentz River Road.

Who makes a home and kids his care,

And works with pick or pen. . . .

Libraries hold more than books they hold many
community resources.

Why, Pal, I guess we're just a pair

       Of Ordinary Men.

Nature always creates vista that capture my attention

We plug away and make no fuss,

Our feats are never crowned;

Each year the same trees and bushes bloom and each year
they are unique as they dress in the spring flowers.

And yet it's common coves like us

Who make the world go round.

And as we steer a steady course

By God's predestined plan,

Hats off to that almighty Force.

THE ORDINARY MAN. 

I sit tonight at my desk.

Recipe

Ingredients:

• 2 Tablespoon olive oil
• 1 onion chopped
• 3 cloves garlic minced
• 1 tablespoon minced ginger
• 2 cups chopped carrots
• 1 cup frozen peas
• 2 cups basmati rice
• 3 cups vegetable broth
• 2 pieces of frozen Tilapia
• Salt and pepper to taste

Directions: 

1. Prepare all of the ingredients
2. Set the instant pot on saute and add the olive oil, onion, garlic, ginger, and carrots.  Saute until the onion are translucent cancel the saute setting.
3. Remove this from the instant pot and set aside 
4. Return the pot and using the broth deglaze the bottom of the pot
5. Add rice and stir
6. Add the onion mixture on top of rice Do Not Mix just spread this evenly over the rice
7. Place your Tilapia filet carefully on top of the onion mixture.
8. Set the instant pot to manual for 4 minutes making sure you have the instant pot on seal
9. Let the instant naturally release for 10 minutes then care not to burn yourself release the remaining pressure.
10. Plate in reverse order 

Grandma Snyder

©2013-2019 twosnydergirls

Myrtle Beach January 12, 2019 Camellia Flowers

A leisurely morning spent inside as high tide took over the beach, talking, writing and crafting.

The highlight of the day was the Grand Strand Camellia Society Annual Show.  

The beauty of this winter flowering tree has not gone unnoticed and each year we photograph 100s of the Camellia flowers.  Francis Duggan says it best in his poem The Beautiful Camellias.

The camellias bloom in Winter when the skies are cold and gray

When the sun shines at it's weakest and the Spring seems far away

Each tree an individual by the shade of flowers more often than not rare.

In shades of pink and creams and reds the colours one might name

Each is an individual for no two look the same

The beautiful camellias resplendent in their flowers

They bloom in lawn and garden on Winter's coldest hours.

In late fall in Victoria in the Southern Hemisphere

The flower bus on camellia tell Winter days are near

And before the wattles come to bloom towards the end of July

The flowers on the camellia tree lose their petals and die.

The beautiful camellias bloom in the cold winter showers

And long before the southern spring they will have lost their flowers

And on June's coldest and wettest day great beauty I can see

A mass of pink flowers blooming on the green camellia tree

Grandma Snyder

©2014- 2019 twosnydergirls

Myrtle Beach January 7, 2019

Breakfast watching the waves and the gulls.  The wind came up during the night so we set our backs to the wind, enjoying the morning sunshine, the call of the birds and the crashing of the waves.

We hope you enjoys today's images and John Masefield famous poem Sea Fever.

Sea Fever

By John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and white sail’s shaking.

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over

Grandma Snyder

©2014-2019 twosnydergirls

Destination Victoria BC - Butchart Gardens and Family

Day two of our vacation was spent enjoying the beauty of Butchart Garden, visiting with family and ending the day with a walk on the beach.

We hope this small sampling of the day brings you joy.

The Garden by Andrew Marvell

How vainly men themselves amaze

To win the palm, the oak, or bays,

And their uncessant labours see

Crown’d from some single herb or tree,

Whose short and narrow verged shade

Does prudently their toils upbraid;

While all flow’rs and all trees do close

To weave the garlands of repose.

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here,

And Innocence, thy sister dear!

Mistaken long, I sought you then

In busy companies of men;

Your sacred plants, if here below,

Only among the plants will grow.

Society is all but rude,

To this delicious solitude.

No white nor red was ever seen

So am’rous as this lovely green.

Fond lovers, cruel as their flame,

Cut in these trees their mistress’ name;

Little, alas, they know or heed

How far these beauties hers exceed!

Fair trees! wheres’e’er your barks I wound,

No name shall but your own be found.

When we have run our passion’s heat,

Love hither makes his best retreat.

The gods, that mortal beauty chase,

Still in a tree did end their race:

Apollo hunted Daphne so,

Only that she might laurel grow;

And Pan did after Syrinx speed,

Not as a nymph, but for a reed.

What wond’rous life in this I lead!

Ripe apples drop about my head;

The luscious clusters of the vine

Upon my mouth do crush their wine;

The nectarine and curious peach

Into my hands themselves do reach;

Stumbling on melons as I pass,

Ensnar’d with flow’rs, I fall on grass.

Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less,

Withdraws into its happiness;

The mind, that ocean where each kind

Does straight its own resemblance find,

Yet it creates, transcending these,

Far other worlds, and other seas;

Annihilating all that’s made

To a green thought in a green shade.

Here at the fountain’s sliding foot,

Or at some fruit tree’s mossy root,

Casting the body’s vest aside,

My soul into the boughs does glide;

There like a bird it sits and sings,

Then whets, and combs its silver wings;

And, till prepar’d for longer flight,

Waves in its plumes the various light.

Such was that happy garden-state,

While man there walk’d without a mate;

After a place so pure and sweet,

What other help could yet be meet!

But ’twas beyond a mortal’s share

To wander solitary there:

Two paradises ’twere in one

To live in paradise alone.

How well the skillful gard’ner drew

Of flow’rs and herbs this dial new,

Where from above the milder sun

Does through a fragrant zodiac run;

And as it works, th’ industrious bee

Computes its time as well as we.

How could such sweet and wholesome hours

Be reckon’d but with herbs and flow’rs!

Grandma Snyder

©twosnydergirls 2018

5 Minutes Of My Day - Mist On The Lake

The weather has cooled off and with the change in temperature comes mist off the warmer water.  Today the mist raising into a sunny blue sky transported me back to a memory of a trip to Newfoundland where morning fog rolled at its leisure off the ocean and onto the land, stopping traffic until it passed.  Thoreau's would have had similar memories as he speak of the Newfoundland mist in his poem.

Mist

Low-anchored cloud,

Newfoundland air,

Fountain-head and source of rivers,

Dew-cloth, dream-drapery,

And napkin spread by fays;

Drifting meadow of the air,

Where bloom the daisied banks and violets,

And in whose fenny labyrinth

The bittern booms and heron wades;

Spirit of lakes and seas and rivers, -

Bear only perfumes and the scent

Of healing herbs to just men's fields.

~ Henry David Thoreau

2017 Driving to work under a rainbow

2016 Watching storm clouds gather

2015 Loving our late blooming dinner plate hibiscus 

2014 Story time at church how quickly they grow up.

Grandma Snyder

©twosnydergirls 2018

5 Minutes Of My Day - Beauty In Flowers

Ah! Sunflower

Ah! sunflower, weary of time,

Who countest the steps of the sun,

Seeking after that sweet golden clime

Where the traveller's journey is done;

Where the youth pined away with desire,

And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,

Arise from their graves and aspire;

Where my sunflower wishes to go.

~ William Blake

2017 Remembering the fresh smell of laundry dried outside

2016 Working on a fun crochet project

2015 Enjoying a day in Kincardine Ontario CA

2014 Enjoying the flowers in our garden.

Grandma Snyder

©twosnydergirls 2018

5 Minutes Of My Day - Too hot to be outside

The temperature is 34 C. (93.2 F.) and with the humidity it feels like 48 C. (118.4 F) and it is too hot to be outside so I sit inside drapes drawn against the heat and to busy work.  I have included the poem Heat by Archibald Lampman because describes the summer heat so well.

Heat

By Archibald Lampman Canadian poet 1861-1899

From plains that reel to southward, dim, The road runs by me white and bare;

Up the steep hill it seems to swim Beyond, and melt into the glare.

Upward half way, or it may be Nearer the summit, slowly steals

A hay-cart, moving dustily With idly clacking wheels.

By his cart’s side the wagoner  Is slouching slowly at his ease,

Half-hidden in the windless blur  Of white dust puffing to his knees.

This wagon on the height above,  From sky to sky on either hand,

Is the sole thing that seems to move  In all the heat-held land.

Beyond me in the fields the sun  Soaks in the grass and hath his will;

I count the marguerites one by one; Even the buttercups are still.

On the brook yonder not a breath  Disturbs the spider at the midge.

The water-bugs draw close beneath  The cool gloom of the bridge.

Where the far elm-tree shadows flood  Dark patches in the burning grass,

The cows, each with her peaceful cud,  Lie waiting for the heat to pass.

From somewhere on the slope near by  Into the pale depth of the noon

A wandering thrush slides leisurely  His thin revolving tune.

In intervals of dreams I hear  The cricket from the droughty ground;

The grass-hoppers spin into mine ear  A small innumerable sound.

I lift my eyes somewhat to gaze  The burning sky-line blinds my sight:

The woods far off are blue with haze:  The hills are drenched in light.

And yet to me not this or that  Is always sharp or always sweet;

In the sloped shadow of my hat  I lean at rest, and drain the heat;

Nay more, I think some blessed power Hath brought me wandering idly here:

In the full furnace of this hour  My thoughts grow keen and clear.

2017 In Jacksonville Ill visiting with Great John

2016 Driving home after a wonder date night at the movies

2015 Arriving in Lipton Saskatchewan under smoke filled skies.

2014 Finishing a summer top for mother.

Grandma Snyder

©twosnydergirls 2018