A Passing Idea

Early morning ferry

Mists risen from the water

A passing idea of rain.

“There is nowhere morning does not go.”

~ Leah Hager Cohen: Glass, Paper, Beans: 

Revolutions on the Nature and Value of Ordinary Things

No Borders

He stood tall and ancient,

bronze on a marble pedestal

fighting for ideas of freedom

Women and men ~

warriors who fought and died

brought home and honoured

yet for each life still lived

shattered memories trail behind 

faces carved from painful experience.

Remembering the spirit and sacrifice of uncles, aunts, grandparents, sisters, brothers and friends

swells a pride that has no borders.

“In the aftermath, we are because they were.”

~ RJ Heller, Holding Grace: Prose & Poetry

Author's note: Edited January 30, 2024

The Poetry of Grief

When grief empties our heart

music
fills the void

Worldly ideas dive deep 
washing 
the darkening grip 

Honouring 
the life just released.

“We are so lightly here. 

It is in love that we are made.

In love we disappear.”

~ Leonard Cohen

Author's note: edited January 30, 2024

Open

Creativity looks toward
new space for an old idea
Breath in ~ Breath out
Ground and feel the reality
Of wisps of rhythm and calm

Creativity finds it’s own space
Like water 
Through sand and rocks
Seeking ever growing levels
Filling up to a moist and healthy base

Creativity flows forward
Gentle lapping against
The shore of my consciousness
My mind opening to 
New spaces for old and new ideas

“Be brave enough to live life creatively. 

The creative place where no one else has ever been.”

~ Alan Alda

Book Review: The Illegal by Lawrence Hill

I hesitated to write this review tonight because of the election in the United States. Not many will show an interest in a book review when the government of a neighbouring country is mired in the election of two figures who both have questionable popularity. 

However, Lawrence Hill’s most recent book, The Illegal does show the reader what can happen when a government disrespects individuals within their countries. The Illegal read like a political thriller, fairly perdictable and straight forward, with completely fictional countries in a completely fictional sea. The protagonist, Keita Ali, is the main ‘illegal’ amid many, many individuals that were undocumented or just the wrong social group. That is unless they were useful to someone in governmental or monetary power. Journalism and the spread of alternate ideas and exposés was brutally excised. Keita Ali is a young man whose only desire is to be a marathon runner, yet he finds his ability to run races easily challenged by needing to stay ahead of those that would control, kill or maim him. His father, an independent journalist, is killed by this government. Later in the story, his sister is imprisoned, again by the government. Keita Ali must run actual races for the money to save his sister, and run a race against time to meet the deadline he was given to get the money in.

My main take away of this story, is that when there is trouble, many very disparate people step up to help. Keita Ali comes in contact with several characters, all completely different in gender, age and ability, that ultimately aid him in his race to the finish.  Tough Viola Hill, proud, gay, and disabled, is a hard headed journalist who wants to find out the truth about government corruption and a disappeared young woman. John Falconer, a young and very gifted teenager, runs throughout the story, chasing down the players for a documentary that he is making for a school assignment. Ivernia Beech, an 85 year old woman who is at risk of losing her independence finds purpose in helping many illegals and especially Keita. These are only three, but they each find their own place in the story.

An easy read, The Illegal told a story that, globally, most are all too familiar with. Refugees that are homeless and stateless and must just survive. Lawrence Hill has made this struggle palatable for his readers. 

“Every voter knew that the Family Party had come to power promising to deport Illegals, to manage it’s borders more efficiently and to ensure that people of traditional European stock weren’t overrun in their own country.”

~ Lawrence Hill, The Illegal

Title:  The Illegal

Author:  Lawrence Hill

Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

Publication Date: Hardcover 2015

Format:  Pbk edition 2016

ISBN: 978-1-55468-384-0 (hc.)

Type:  Fiction

In Praise of Limits

Praising limits?
Really?
Yes.
Praising a life well lived ~
But limited
Only by my imagination
Limits set by epilepsy
Or not by epilepsy but 
Limits set by my chosen management of epilepsy
A condition that, for me, is not actually very severe
‘Easily treated’ my neurologist tells me
And it is
It is not fragile or brittle 
But it is there.
Not just in my head but in my brain.
Not just an idea but a reality
I could live outside of the limits
And it would be a gamble
Would I enjoy my day or
Would my day be blurred and forgotten
Because of a seizure (fancy name: tonic/clonic)
A seizure that occurred because 
I wanted to push limits in the wrong direction.

“Once you see the boundaries of your environment, 

they are no longer the boundaries of your environment.

~ Marshall McLuhan

Shorty's Story

Ducks at Beacon Hill Children's Farm 2014

Writer’s group on Friday afternoon had a ten minute writing assignment. A small group of seven, our host offered each of us a lovely green pottery bowl filled with bits of paper. We pulled two words. In ten minutes, write a story to join the disparate words. My words, Farm and Puppy, were pretty easy, but ‘garbage and tulips’? Fun, a tear or two and memoir were penned while the timer ticked. Here is my ten minute story. Make sure I’ve used both words! 

Shorty's Story

“He had floppy ears. His left eye was blue with a big black patch around it.  Otherwise he was as white as snow. Shorty was his name because his legs were just too short. But because he was a puppy with big feet, he hoped to grow up to be tall and handsome. Shorty had three sisters and two brothers. They were born in the barn in the big hay mow. Once they were big enough and strong enough, his mom took the whole family around the farm to see all the interesting things that would become his playground. Old tires, chickens to chase, and a pond for the ducks and for the puppies to swim in. As he grew up, Shorty did get taller. So much so that his name didn’t seem to fit anymore. Each one of his brothers and sisters were taken away. Mom said they had been adopted. For a long time, Shorty missed them. He had no one to play with. It was much more fun to chase chickens and ducks with someone else.  He also felt neglected and left out, sure that he had not been picked because of his one blue eye. Then Farmer John began taking him hunting and showing him a bigger world than just the farm. He had been given a special place on the farm. He was also the protector for all the farm. Anyone that came in the yard would be checked out by Shorty first - sometimes before they could even get out of the car! But Farmer John would tell him who was ok and who wasn’t. Shorty would lie down on the front porch and snooze until he heard sounds that didn’t belong on the farm. Shorty had started out a cute, short funny looking puppy and ended up guarding their little farm world.”

“I suppose there will never be a lack of things to say, 

of stories to be told and shared.”

~ Erin Morgenstern, The Night Circus

Author's note: Looks like I didn't use the two words: 'garbage and tulips'!!