Encouragement to Soar

On the other side of motherhood and family,
my career reality shifted from
nurse, and only the practice of nursing, to
nurse and fledging writer learning how to soar on creative currents.
Retirement loomed large with the passage of time blank and staring.
Ideas and words always drifting and floating, docked uncertainly in the blogosphere two years ago today
supported by faithful readers both interested and kind whether my choice of topic was
muse, poetry, rants or story
opinions, prose or book reviews.

A very warm 'Thank you' to all my readers!!!!!!

“The reality of a serious writer is a reality of many voices, 

some of them belonging to the writer, some of them 

belonging to the world of readers at large.”

~ Aberjhani, Visions of a Skylark Dressed in Black

Nostalgia vs Reality

October, 2012 - not much different than this morning.

December 27, 2013    

Rain, rain, rain......

Still foreign 

Out of place in memory

If I close my eyes

let myself feel the chill ~

wild wind whistles me to broad flat prairies

Through slits between lashes

rain lashes umbrellas

hovers over dogs and their masters leaning 

raincoats slick with cold splashes blown beneath.

Shoveling not required

Snowman patrols missing from yards and parks

Crunchy fun of making snow angels replaced by silty cold water

Snow ball fights? Experience wanted.

In the recesses of my mind

guilty whispers demand

‘If you miss it so much why don’t you return?’

‘In reality, who would do winter’s work?’

Replies as infrequent as snow days leave me wondering.......

                            “Nostalgia is like a grammar lesson; you find 

the present tense, but the past perfect!”

~ Owens Lee Pomeroy

From Reality to Memory

From Reality to Memory

Belinda washed the beautiful fragile teacup gently in water soapy and hot. A careless moment of hurry, had broken it’s partnered bone china saucer a few years previously. The beautiful china teacup was not destined, ever, to be loaded in the dishwasher. Her dishwasher was a definite convenience, but the gold on the cup would surely flake off just as memories flake off once the reality of a moment is passed. Pouring tea, for ladies decorated in their finest on that long ago Golden Anniversary for her grandparents, was as real, and the moment as fragile as the precious tea-cup. 

She promised herself to hold all of her realities loosely but carefully. The hustle and bustle of the work world did tend to be like a dishwasher. Everything gets cleaned up and done, but the sparkle inadvertently gets rubbed off. Of course all of the should’s and shouldn’t’s, she had learned through the years just heated things up loosening past joys, and yet holding tight pieces of painful memories.

Drying the cup carefully, she replaced it, saucerless, in her china cabinet awaiting hot tea and a cookie. 

“Each cup of tea represents an imaginary voyage.”

~ Catherine Douzel

Reality as a Blessing

Reality as a Blessing

The fire burned low in the hearth. Darkness had long since settled all around. Crunching snow under my boots, now lay dripping wet at the door, and was all but a memory. Dregs of hot chocolate lay damp in my Christmas mug, the last sweet taste of a quiet day in our little log cabin. Reality, the long sought after and much abused worklife, would return in the morning. Details of the world built with our own heads, hands and hearts would continue to furnish our family’s needs, many 'wants' and many things to share with others.

But tomorrow was not yet here and my pillow called. My old dog, Andy, was already curled up on the braided rug by my bed. My wife and children ‘all snug in their beds’ had eaten more sugar plums than their tummies really wanted. Putting my book away, letting the fire die out and checking that doors and windows were closed and locked, I climbed the stairs up to bed.

“Sometimes we focus so much on what we don’t have

that we fail to see, appreciate, and use what we do have!”

~ Jeff Dixon

Merry Christmas to all.......

Streets darkened and quiet, blinking red lights then green then orange stop and go ushering the ghosts of shopper's vehicles to and fro past closed stores, their Christmas lights decorating remaining darkness.

Families, singles, couples, young and old; home or away have stopped the rush and fuss of Christmas shopping save for hanger’s on looking for a drug store or convenience store for a trinket or gift of chocolate, just to ‘have something’ to give on Christmas morning.

My reality, and I’m certain a reality shared by many others on this, and many another Christmas Eve ~ another shift ended and another awaits on Christmas morning.

All is quiet, peaceful and gentle....
A Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

“Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and

 behold everything is softer and more beautiful.”

~ Norman Vincent Peale

Assignment: Essay on Expectations

Essay on Expectations

‘Expectations - realistic or unrealistic  - are woven into the fabric of our lives. They are based on experiences all the way from childhood, information coming to us from trusted sources (duh, some like our parents!), and the immediate events of a day.’

Hmm....that sounded like a good start to her paper. After school, Cara, 14 years old, finally sat down to write her essay for class - tomorrow’s class. It didn’t really matter, because she had never liked Mr. C. anyway. Anything she did for his class was half-hearted at best. In the morning, her mother and father had been talking about expectations while they were all having breakfast. Actually they were complaining about Christmas and all the things they are supposed to do. Her dad complained about all the money that he had to spend. She guessed that they were arguing rather than talking. She rolled her eyes.

“We did it this way in our family! And we always had a real tree - and not one from a lot. It’s all about the experience - you know family going out in the snow to cut down their tree, then coming home to hot chocolate and a fireplace...” Her mom had got all misty eyed and trailed off so far she overflowed her coffee cup. Another real eye roller.

“Well, we did it this way in our family, and it always worked out. Would you please get in touch with reality! Forget a real tree, even one from a lot. The fake one we got last year with all the lights already on it is just fine. When all the living room lights are off you can’t even tell it’s not real. And besides that think of the trees that get saved!”

“What about all the fuel it takes just to make all your old fake trees! David Suzuki must have some research on that. And a real tree can be chopped up to burn in our fireplace - at least it could if we had a fireplace - and all those needles would be good mulch.  I have to look that up to make sure, though.”

“Getting all that fuel keeps a lot of folks in jobs. And what about all the presents you think we need to get for the kids. They expect more and more every year. For heaven’s sake they’re teenagers! They don’t even believe in Santa Claus anymore and you want us to go through all the drama that comes with it?”

“But they expect to have ‘all that drama’! It wouldn’t be Christmas without it!......Do you know that we have this same discussion every year?”

“Do you remember how we always sort it out?”

“Hush, dear. It’s a good thing that Michael has already left for school, but Cara might be listening. Can we discuss this in more detail upstairs this afternoon?”

Cara, a master of thumb typing had been quietly, under the table, writing the opening line to her essay while the two of them argued. Rolling her eyes one more time, she went off to meet her girlfriend, before she got so dizzy she couldn’t walk. What her parents did in the afternoon was their business. The rest of the essay could wait til after school.

“Does your reality match your expectations? If not it’s time

to change either your expectations or your reality.”

~ Steven Redhead, The Solution

Reality Comforts

Quiet room of my mind

An open window to my heart

Distant nightbird calls

Stars ride high above mists of cloud.

Cinnamon and honey fragrant in the air

Tranquil reality comforts my soul.

“I love tranquil solitude, 

And such society as is 

quiet, wise, and good.”

~ Percy Shelley