Second Stepping

It was tiny
It was wee
It was one step at a time
A step at a time that takes one second
When all the steps are added up in a day
A challenge that seemed over whelming is met with a sigh.

“Big things have small beginnings.”

~  Prometheus

'G' for Grumpy

Keeping the words from escaping into the air...
darts ready to toss but not ready to hit any decent mark
thinking that wrapping them in ‘wisdom’ would dull any sting.
A desperate desire to speak my mind and not so softly
And yet…..
From early morning, snappish and cranky
words had begun their insistant escape
tone of voice tinged with annoyance.
The tone of the day set to ‘G’ for ‘Grumpy’
And yet…..
Working through each minute
challenging time and patience to win out
tidying and organizing
following policy and protocol 
keeps the words quiet…..sort of..

“Speak when you are angry and you will make

 the best speech you will ever regret.”

~ Groucho Marx

Each Day a Challenge

Directions for recovery resources shared by professionals

handed out on plates of cardboard or china

forks, knives and spoons tucked away inside

waiting patiently to be picked up and used

Each day

When the plate sits in front with no action

food grows cold, the roof falls in and supports slip & fall away

where does the money come from when the banks are dry,

shelter from elements standing empty or non-existent

Each day

Faces, expectant and wondering why

running and playing in the fog of drugs or alcohol

seemed the right thing to do when it beckoned with bony bejewelled fingers

to come outside of the supports and shelters money draining away

Each day

Recovery belongs to the individual

setting lonely tables with flowers and candles

until the deafening silence of early recovery

becomes peaceful and normal and ordinary

Each day

Recovery is shared with family and friends

slowly banishing loneliness with kindness and fun

until there is music and dancing through each twenty four hours

smiles and sunshine balanced with dark days and tears

Each day

“When I dare to be powerful ~ to use my strength in the service of my vision, 

then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.”

~ Audre Lorde

Searching for Keys

Early morning but not as early as a usual day shift.
Not a day shift in nursing but a meeting of minds broken by blocks of time to unwind
long discussions looking for the key to seemingly unsolvable problems
until time to move forward for home.
Failure to find ignition keys ignites futile tracking of last possible whereabouts while they lay on the seat behind the sunwarmed glass of the locked car.
BCAA saved that part of the day only to be blocked at every turn, like the morning discussions, with traffic flowing towards the site of summer Snowbirds display. 
Impatient or steady driver’s of bicycles, trucks and cars stopping and starting for police, like the ‘powers that be’ stopping and starting discussions and ideas on the way home. 
Open dialogue and communication to ask for assistance is only one of the keys to keep any journey moving forward.
Patience and determination, despite challenges of lost keys, traffic or ‘powers that be’ allows vehicles and ideas to reach their destination - a bit late, but home.

“If we are going to live with our deepest differences 

then we must learn about one another.”

~ Deborah J. Levine, 

Matrix Model Management System: 

Guide to Cross Cultural Wisdom

Book Review - Veil of Time by Claire R. McDougall

Have you ever been in a museum looking at artifacts from times gone by and wondered about the people that made them, worked with them and lived with them?  

Claire R. McDougall, in Veil of Time, has woven such a story.  One protagonist in two time periods - the present day and a time just at the entry of Christianity into Scotland, before the time that witches were hunted and burned. In her time travel, Ma-khee experiences the challenges of those early days just to survive when in the present Maggie lives with limited convenience and abundance. 

The setting is in an actual location in Scotland, Dunadd, where some stone markers survived in present day. Maggie, the protagonist ~ or Ma-khee ~ slips back and forth in time while she awaits brain surgery. Maggie, divorced, has a son in the present day, on the brink of adulthood and still needing his mom. Ma-khee meets and falls in love with a man in the past, whose daughter is the same age as the daughter Maggie had lost to epilepsy. One wonders if her dreams are just that ~ dreams and the effects of her epilepsy ~ until she leaves her wedding ring in the past with Fergus, her new love. When she awakens in the present the ring has vanished.

Important emotional entanglements in both time periods leave Maggie/Ma-khee with a decision. Which time will she return to and stay in?

Because I have epilepsy, I was immediately drawn to the story.  Shortly after the beginning, that connection fell away. I kept reading because the story was interesting and engaging.

“It’s all a shadow of time.just reflections in water.”

~ Margaret Livingstone (Maggie), Veil of Time

Title:  Veil of Time

Author:  Claire R. McDougall

Copyright 2014

Publisher: Gallery Books - A Division of Simon & Schuster

Publication Date: March 2014

Format:  Soft Cover

Type:  Fiction

ISBN: 978-1-4516-9381-2

ISBN: 978-1-4516-9382-9 (e-book)

Monday at the Farm

Monday morning at the Farm is a pleasure.
I do have a clarification from my blog last Monday ~
I said there were llamas ~ and I was in error!
Clarification:  Alpacas, sheared and sleek, long legs gracefully walking in their yard
Sadly one alpaca, Donny, passed away earlier this year.

In the neigbouring pen are deep voiced, insistent and wooly Jacob sheep








And in the corral across a narrow lane is Peanut Butter, the resident matriarch and miniature horse, who turned 24 years old in June!

Her companions are two donkeys (only one shown here).

Today, on my way having finished my work, there were a group of volunteers raking one of the other yards.  Volunteers with physical and mental challenges. Volunteers giving their all for the animals at the farm. 

Many of the children who come to the Farm are getiing a very first opportunity to see animals outside of a story book, getting down in the woodchips with the baby goats, or watching as a sow lays on her side to feed her babies. There is much wonderment in the Farm each day.

“What was wonderful about childhood is that anything in it was a wonder. 

It was not merely a world full of miracles, it was a miraculous world.”

~ G.K.Chesterton

Letting Go

Edith had clutched the letter in her hand, or kept it in her purse for so long it was crumpled and worn. So much so that anyone else would have thought it had been a letter she had received from a very dear friend. But it was not. It was a letter that she had written to herself at the beginning of this oh, so very long journey. A letter that simply said ‘I love you. You are worth every step of the way.’ She had signed it with the name her grandmother had given her. ‘Punkin.’  She had stopped being Punkin a long, long, long time ago but when she went deep in her heart Punkin was still there.

She sat at her kitchen table and knew that it was time. Time to let go of the letter. She was so tired of all the challenges that had been set up in her way ~ and all the challenges that she had created for herself! She could barely remember what she had written but Edith knew that she would not be able to read it unless it was delivered to her. That had been her promise to herself when she had been to the first treatment centre. She carried the letter with her to detox after detox, treatment center after treatment center. She was often tempted to just throw it away but each time changed her mind at the last minute.

Today, Edith stood in front of the big red mailbox on the corner. She looked around to see if anyone else was coming.  She needed time to let go of the letter. 

‘This is insane! Mailing a stupid letter to myself.’ 

In her heart, Edith hoped with the magical thinking of a child, this strange action would finally help her to let go of all the baggage she had been lugging around, keeping her fixed to that temporary courage of powders and spirits.

Hand on the cold steel handle, she slowly opened the yawning mail chute. Carefully she edged the wrinkled letter, address down, on to the cold metal hatch. Turning her face away she opened her hand and let go of the hatch. It slammed with a metallic clang. Her letter was gone. She had finally let go.

“Even on my weakest days

I get a little stronger.”

~ Sara Evans