Posts Tagged ‘poetry’
from the pages of an old diary – ironing day
Do people iron anymore? In these days of permanent press and busy scheduling, who even has an iron?
Until my husband retired last year, I ironed a shirt for him every work day for 30 years. They were permanent press shirts, too, but no one could ever remember to retrieve the shirt from the dryer when it could be hung up without wrinkles. And so, I ironed.
Most people grimace when I tell them this, but I found it an enjoyable task. It was soothing work, with the warmth of the iron, the cool of the fabric, the rhythmic slide of the iron back and forth, and the ironing of each part of the shirt, always in the same order.
Ironing wasn’t always so easy. On our hearth are two flat irons and a stand, the ones my Mom’s family used for ironing when she was a little girl and they had no electrcity. Each flat iron could be fitted with a handle, and irons were exchanged as the first iron cooled and had to be replaced with the hot iron on the wood stove. Inattention would be rewarded by a neat triangle of burn on the ironed linens.
My great-aunt would have used an electric iron. In her diary, during 1957, an entry like ‘did a big wash and hung it out’ occurs approximately every second week (she and her husband lived alone, so this was probably an effective and efficient approach). In every case, the diary entry the following day says ‘did a big ironing’. In 1957, she did her ‘big ironing’ 25 times, a major task in her round of housework.
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ironing day
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a wedding band wears thin
endless washing of dishes
scrubbing of floors
holding wrists, stroking arms
and heads
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worn as wooden handles
on the flat irons by the stove
hand clasps and presses
back and forth, the lift to test the heat
to fit a hotter iron from the fire
to seal the press, prevent the burn
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a molecule of gold, residue
on every task
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© Jane Tims 2012
from the pages of an old diary – spring cleaning
My great-aunt’s diary shows she cleaned her house with regularity. She had a big two-story house on the main street of the village, with a porch on the front. On the main floor the rooms included a kitchen, pantry, storeroom, dining room, small front room and sitting room. There was also a ‘little porch’ and a ‘little entry’ where the wood box was kept. Upstairs she had the main bedroom, a ‘spare room’, a bathroom, and other rooms, joined by a hall and a ‘little hall’. The house had a cellar, and an out-house.
Each year, she punctuated her regular cleaning with a vigorous bout of spring cleaning, beginning in late March and lasting through May. She also did another round of ‘doing up curtains’ and ‘cleaning storm windows’ in October. Her spring cleaning was methodical, involved a room or a couple of smaller rooms each day, and went from floor to ceiling. Painting was included as part of the process.
In 1957, the diary entries related to spring cleaning are:
Mar 26 ‘cleaned my kitchen ceiling walls’
April 1 ‘I painted some in pantry… I washed dining room ceiling.’
April 2 ‘I painted some this a.m.’
April 3 ‘I finished painting the pantry.’
April 5 ‘I cleaned china closet. linen drawers.’
(I have one item from her linens, an embroidered table runner with her initial)
April 8 ‘I painted one rocking chair.’
April 15 ‘I cleaned the small front room.’
April 16 ‘I cleaned sitting-room.’
April 17 ‘I cleaned dining-room.’
April 18 ‘I did the dining room curtains up also the tidies in rooms. went over the house. ’
April 27 ‘we took the storm windows off cleaned windows on the out side.
I also cleaned ½ store room.’
May 1 ‘I finished store-room cleaned bath room.’
May 6 ‘I did the spare room washed curtains got them up. ’
May 7 ‘I wash[ed] my bedroom curtains this a.m did them up this eve.’
May 8 ‘I cleaned the back front rooms upstairs. washed ceilings did the floors.’
May 14 ‘cleaned the bathroom little hall’
May 15 ‘cleaned hall stairs.’
May 21 ‘I cleaned little porch.’
May 23 ‘I cleaned the cellar
painted window sills upstairs windows wood-box down stairs in little entry.
also cleaned out-house.’
House cleaned, she turned her attention to the garden. On May 20, she wrote ‘I planted my glads dahlias.’ and on May 25, her husband made and painted a new flower box for her.
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cobwebs
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bits of cloud spellbound
by ceiling
they mesmerize
and float, dust appended
to spider’s web, thought appended
to tongue, nothing built on nothingness
rumours banished by a broom
~
© Jane Tims 2012
a linen table runner, embroidered with scalloped edges and her initial, made by my great-aunt
from the pages of an old diary – the weather
For any given date, the first entry in my great-aunt’s diary is a note about the weather. Weather was important to my great-aunt. It dictated what could be done during the day, if a wash could be put on the line, if she could go out walking to visit family and friends, and if a fire had to be kept going.
She described the weather in various ways: ‘nice fine day’, not very cold’, ‘dark day’, ‘fine very cold’. Sometimes it just says ‘nice day’.
Bad weather was sometimes called a ‘dirty cold day’ (April 11, 1957).
Some days were described in a bit of detail. On September 23, 1957, she wrote, ‘fine in the morning very windy cloudy in late p.m.’ On March 20, 1957, she wrote ‘a big snow storm on drifting and blowing.’ March 21, 1957, the first day of spring, says ‘roads all blocked still snowing some’.
Christmas Day, December 25, 1957, was ‘quite cold, a few snowflurries’.
On November 26, 1957, it was so cold, she wrote ‘I washed, clothes froze before I could get them on the line’.
It might be interesting to compare the actual weather records for 1957 with the weather she recorded!
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September storm
-response to a diary entry for September 5, 1957
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Thurs. rained hard last nt [night] also thunder and lightning.
Dad took car up to L.S. to fix. I made dough-nuts [and]
biscuits, did a small wash. went up street.
– A.M.W.
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last night dismal, thunder wobbled
the windows, a leak
in the pantry, the rain in curtains
across the yard, forked lightning
the clothes pole vulnerable
car would not start, the driveway in runnels
freezer and the day’s baking
at the mercy of indecisive
electricity
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© Jane Tims 2012
- socks and mittens knit by my grandmother (my great-aunt’s sister)
Copyright Jane Tims 2012
eight days – brass dragonfly
Our cabin at the lake is situated at the top of a hill where the wind is always blowing. In summer, this wind keeps the black flies and mosquitos at bay. Any remaining flying insects quickly become the prey of our vigorous dragonfly population. Like mythical dragons, they swoop down and, as sunlight reflects from their transparent wings, cast glints of fire on the landscape.
On my recent trip to see family in Ontario, I was reminded of our insect dragons … on the hearth was a small brass dragonfly, contemplating his next fiery foray!
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brass dragon
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burnish absorbs light
conjures spirit metallic
re-invented as transparent
breath as vague as warmth
of dragon wind
lift beneath wings
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© Jane Tims 2012
eight days – antler
During my trip to Ontario, we spent lots of time, on cold days, enjoying the wood stove.
On the hearth was a deer antler, found on a walk in the woods. Usually they are hard to find since the mice chew them to nothing very quickly.
I was drawn to the antler because of its resemblance to a bony hand.
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antler
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ivory hand, posed
for incantation, shadows in unexpected places
relic of a woodland walk, artefact
enchanted, deer rub
cedar bark to summon
mist, acknowledge the passage
of days, manifest between
separation
and the gnawing of mice
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© Jane Tims 2012
eight days – ice storm
During my eight-day stay in Ontario, the highlight of uncertain weather was an ice storm. The freezing rain fell for hours and coated every surface with a layer of icy glass.
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freezing rain
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trees, bare branches, wait
wood snaps in the stove
budgies peck at cuttle bone
pellets of rain, tossed
at the skylight
a second transparency
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bare twigs turn in wind
to even their coating
in these last moments
before temperature turns
the snowpack on the picnic table
shrinks at the edges
shoves over, makes room
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branches gloss so gradually
candles dipped in a vat of wax
over and over, acquiring thickness
the sky, through the skylight
dimpled tile, rumpled mosaic
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rain stipples bark as narrative
appends to memory, pane here,
light there, layers of glass
cedar twigs turn downward
as fingers, ice builds
layers of skin
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© Jane Tims 2012
eight days – witch ball
When I was visiting my family in Ontario, my eye was constantly drawn to a window where plants were growing. Suspended above them in the window’s light was a ‘witch ball’. The ‘witch ball’ is a hand-blown glass ball with glass threads in the internal space.
The ‘witch ball’ was used in 18th century England to ward off evil spirits. In its modern form, these balls are used for decoration. When the light traverses the glass and enclosed area of the ball, it creates patterns of light and shadow, beautiful and mysterious.
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witch ball
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topsy-thwarted, turn
and tangle, strands
of glass and atmosphere
in innerscape of melted
ash and sand dendritic
paths a maze and morph
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light and shadow
confused
congealed
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© Jane Tims 2012
eight days – snow storm
During my eight days in Ontario, we had a snow storm whose memorable characteristic was the size of its snowflakes. They were the biggest I’ve ever seen, as big as large marshmallows. Every fluffy snowball must have been the composite of a dozen individual snowflakes. After the storm, the trees were coated with white. The cedar were particularly beautiful, with their evergreen leaves each hanging beneath a personal burden of snow.
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deep snow
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snowed all day, sealed us in
knee-deep, snowflakes
the size of mittens, wrists
of cedar hang
weight of snow, on backs of hands
boughs of fir, three-thumbed
and frosted, fists on fence posts
impressions of boot
in the hollow of leg-prints, fingernails play
the wind chime, brief
reminder of summer, signals
in-coming cold
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© Jane Tims 2012
eight days – glass floats
In days before plastic and styrofoam, fishermen used glass and wood to make floats to keep their nets buoyant.
These floats are colorful symbols of the people who make their livelihood from the sea. In fishing communities in the Maritimes, we often see fences and walls festooned with painted wooden floats and buoys.
Glass floats are rarer because they are so breakable. At home, my Dad’s collection of sea shells was always accompanied by a couple of glass floats he found at auctions. On my piano, I have a small collection of glass floats in my favorite color, green.
The tradition lives into the next generation… when I visited my family in Ontario for eight days, earlier this month, I was delighted to see a basket of variously-colored glass floats on the hearth of the wood stove.
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glass floats
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the fog’s still glow
penetrates glass
and air incorporated
an age ago
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weightless, flamboyant
on salt water
swell
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glass inflation
tethered by hemp
on an ocean
whipped to froth
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© Jane Tims 2012
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