Shy Greetings

Summer sweet peas grown tall,

    peer shyly over the fence

    to nod hello to passersby.

“The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.”

~ William Wordsworth

Blue Light

Iridescent cactus flowers bloom,

opening into moist Victoria air,

to grow and to glow.

“Beauty surrounds us.”

~ Rumi

A Homely Creation

Ten minute tasks

designed for motion, comfort and growth

clean laundry ironed smoothly

writing a muse

gathering garbage and taking a stroll down the hall.

writing a book review

freshening bed sheets and fluffing the pillows

writing an essay

cleaning up my plate and washing up the dishes

writing a poem

while a loaf of bread rises

and the oven pre-heats.

Ten minute tasks

so I get all chores done
dip and dive into word-crafting

keep an afternoon appointment

crochet a few rows

and keep my home cosy and comfortable.

“Productivity is never an accident. It is always the result of 

a commitment to excellence, intelligent planning, and focused effort.

~ Paul J. Meyer

Book Review: The Marrow Thieves by Cheri Dimaline

The Marrow Thieves opened this years book club that I attend. It was a lovely day, we met in a lovely home, grass still green and cars travelling freely. Our host welcomed us into her home with a warm welcome. Then we discussed this dystopian story that paints a bleak picture of emptied and forgotten neighbourhoods, how travel was furtive and for survival, welcome was hesitant and cautious. A world where trust had been as badly damaged as our land and our communities. Cheri Dimaline told Frenchie’s story ~ the story of an eleven year old Indigenous youth in a city that had been Toronto, and the acute White/Indigenous divide that made survival almost impossible. His story begins with the sacrifice that his cousin made ~ Mitch’s life for Frenchie’s opportunity to escape the Recruiters. Mitch had been Frenchie’s only surviving relative. His journey begins there, as he clung desperately to a pine tree for hours to avoid Mitch’s fate. His journey continues alone, hungry and tired, but his father had given him directions to keep going north. He does find community ~ a community led by Miigwaans who has gathered a rag-tag group of disparate individuals from different tribes all escaping from the Recruiters. They are of different ages from Ri-Ri age seven who finds some beautiful pink boots, to Minerva, the elder of the community, carried and protected, who sacrifices her life to protect the tiny community. They have to draw on their skills of tracking and knowing the land, a challenge for the young urban raised people in the community. Their community has no name, but has the dreams and beliefs of the elders that they will continue to survive. Dreams are often mentioned throughout the book. This word engendered much discussion trying to sort out what it meant. To me, it meant an intuitive belief in the connection we have with each other. The white population had lost that ability to dream and were seeking out any ‘qualifying’ Indigenous individuals to extract their marrow and find the DNA that would give them back their ability to dream. Thus the Recruiters and thus those Indigenous individuals whose greed for a pay off was greater than a desire for community.

I was skeptical when I learned that this was work of Children/Young Adult fiction. Our book club members are all north of sixty five years old. I did however, trust the judgement of the woman who suggested this book. I’m glad that we read this book. Yes, it was dystopian and tragic, but the human elements of looking for home when your home has been taken from you, growing family relationships when your own family has been destroyed, and experiencing feelings ~ pleasant and unpleasant ~ engendered by extremely unpredictable circumstances made this story very real.

“We go to the schools and they leach the dreams from 

where our ancestors hid them, in the honeycombs of 

slushy marrow buried in our bones. And us? Well, we 

join our ancestors, hoping we left enough dreams 

behind for the next generation to stumble across.”

~ Cheri Dimaline, The Marrow Thieves

Title: The Marrow Thieves

Author: Cherie Dimaline

Copyright: 2017

Format:  Issued in Print and Electronic Formats

ISBN-978-1-77086-486-3 (Paperback)

ISBN-978-1-77086-487-0 (html)

Type: Children/Young Adult Fiction

Publisher:  Cormorant Books, Inc.

Printed and bound in Canada

United States Library of Congress Control Number:  2016945346

Waltzing the Weather

While all the growing things ~ plants, animals and humans ~ in our land welcome the mist, the rain and the coolness, there creeps a sluggishness behind my eyes, my blood grows thick as molasses in my veins, my feet set themselves stubbornly on the floor unhappy that they’re not allowed to get up on the sofa.

While I am grateful to have the trees, flowers and gardens watered with this soft wetness from above, I struggle to be grateful with this slow waltz into late summer, and yet know that Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers portrayed the beauty of the slow waltz only picking up the tempo when the music changed.

While that long ago child who has grown up would love to pout and sulk, this ~ kind of ~ mature woman has found a forgotten energy held in reserve ~ reminders that as this warm summer sort of weather changes it ultimately brings opportunity for roast chicken and homemade soup, scalloped potatoes and home canned apple sauce.

So, just for today, I’m willing to settle into a slow waltz so that I can see possibilities for growth in this quietness, the possibility of refreshing my container gardens, and the possibility of a lovely slow waltz ~ minus a beautiful gown - when the barometer changes.

“God, I love the waltz, the way the elegance of the one-count 

draws your attention away from the restlessness of the two-three.”

~ Elizabeth Little

After Dinner

Chocolate and mint ~

planted, plucked, and 

blended for our pleasure

~ two great gifts from nature.

“There is something of the marvellous in all things of nature.”

~ Aristotle

A Writer? Me?

If I were a writer ~ a writer of talent and wit ~ my words would flow as the ocean at high tide and the speckled pebbles on shore would ruffle with the music of the tide going out.

If I were a writer ~ a blank page would not daunt me

but that blank page would challenge me to sharpen my pencil, put new ink in my pen,

plug in my computer and dive into the canvas before me.

If I were a real writer ~ agents and publishers would 

be knocking at my door begging me for one more

drop of my great wisdom and creativity

and I would pull out a finished manuscript and gift them.

If I were a writer? Oh. I guess I’ve just written this poem!

And ~ on a blank page that has been challenging me!

No, there are no agents or publishers in sight

and no finished manuscript in sight, but that doesn’t matter ~

Because I am a growing writer ~ of sorts ~

with no dreams or expectations of being great but 

I sharpen my pencils, use up my pens and

plug in my computer each day ready to play.

Because I am a writer ~ I dive into blank pages 

to imagine what if’s and what could be,

to tell a story or to rant about injustice

because that’s the job that I do each day.

“If you wish to be a writer, write.”

~ Epictetus