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Saturday, November 27, 2021

Storied Photographs - An Essay

I remember suitcases full of my cousin’s photos - well maybe only one suitcase. But I was a kid - a long time ago. I still have some of those photos, and photos from who knows where they came from. Black and white, white curvy edges. I even have a little flip one with green paper covers. 

Then there were, and still are, photograph albums. Scenic padded three ring binders made only for holding photos. Photos held under yellowing cellophane on both sides of thin cardboard pages. Most coloured, but some black and white. Especially the ones in two big white albums that all of the babies, children and parents through many decades - even my grandparents. Grandmother up from Maryland, U.S.A. My dad’s hunting buddies from as many decades ago. Photos of people whose faces look familiar but no name comes to mind. Everyone remembers a different name, if at all. 


Those albums are in a big cardboard box with loose photos taken through the more years, more places and time. Framed pictures taken down from walls with each move. Old pins from dad’s Elks club or mom’s Royal Purple ladies. Patches from my son’s minor league baseball club. An old passport with the corners cut off, a little notebook with my dad’s farm lists - or maybe it’s mom’s writing.


Today the suitcase is this laptop. Flat coloured images of friends traveling on Vancouver Island, my trips back to my second home in Texas, working at the fruit stand in Kelowna, weddings, babies, kids. I can make any of the black and white, change their colours, crop them to fit what ever I need, fix the poor exposures or just delete them. All the duplicates I can take care of - but that would involve a lot of mind numbing work. And there is another problem with them. I can’t write on the back of each picture in pencil or pen so that three decades from now grandkids can say ‘That’s my grandpa’s handwriting! See the funny way my aunt wrote all curvy!’ Of course there may not be anything like handwriting in thirty years.


“There are no rules for good photographs, there are only good photographs.”

~ Ansel Adams

Friday, November 26, 2021

*To Celebrate This Good Life

Birthdays. I love them. Anyone’s birthday, but especially the real birth day of a child - a new family member. On this day, 74 years ago, my mother pushed me out into a world of which I knew nothing. Away from a warm cosy world that could have been busy, chaotic or quiet. For that very real labour of love and necessity, I am grateful to her and my father for this life. 


I celebrate more than just an added year in my own life. Thanks to my parents for my life and the life of all my siblings, my sons, my grandson and his growing and budding family. For without my mom and my dad, none of us would be here. 


“Gratitude bestows reverence….changing forever 

how we experience life and he world.”

~ John Milton


*Thanks to Shirley Grebinsky for these words.

Thursday, November 25, 2021

A Musing Metaphor

Have I ever written that geese sound rather like politicians? Of course I have. This immense gathering of geese gabbling away on the thin ice of their world, certainly suggest they do. We can barely see them in this photo, all gathered around the patch of open water, the flock stretching as far as the open water stretches. Only fat and feathers protects them from the cold. There are those that fly a short distance, then try a safe landing a few feet from the flock. The landing is not always so safe, their flat webbed feet sending them sliding across the ice. Not one of them fell, spreading their wings for balance. Maybe my metaphor isn’t quite right. Politicians never skate on thin ice. Or not - politicians often skate on thin ice!!


“A perfect metaphor: something important, solemn, 

while still easy to understand.”

~ A.D.Aliwat, In Limbo

Wednesday, November 24, 2021

Chapter Two, Episode Sixty - The Tangled Hedge - Situationally Theirs

The Tangled Hedge


“Whatcha lookin’ at Miss Dez? I wondered where Brewster had got to. I called for her, whistled. When she didn’t come I decided to take a walk.” Rain dripped from grey skies and from Samuel’s old hat. He looked up at the sky and shook his head. “Hope this rain stops soon so I can get to my outside work.”


Dez was standing stock still looking off down a grassed over trail leading away from the garden. Rain dripped from her umbrella. Brewster didn’t seem to mind the wet, giving a good shake every now and then. She ran down the old trail, splashing in grassy puddles, and ran back to Dez. When Samuel walked up, she changed directions and went to him. He squatted down, his raincoat dipping into the wet grass, scratched her ears and let her go off to run. Dez turned to him. “What’s down that trail, Samuel? I’ve been out here many times, but usually just to the orchard and the house. Out walking the track everyday, I’ve been noticing things. How many acres does this land cover anyway? This place is huge!”


Samuel grinned. “C’mon with me, Miss. All the bush hides what’s back there. Good thing too. It’s the ugliest part of this place. Never have time to take care of it, until days like this. I can do some work inside of it, but not tearing it all down.”


Her curiosity aroused, she was on the trail before the gardener could stand up. The trail lead up to an unkempt hedge where only a narrow opening could be seen up close. “Samuel! And here I thought you took care of every growing thing on this place. Just look at this hedge. It’s all tangled and overgrown.” Dez folded up her umbrella and was wedging her way through the hedge. “I’m going around this way, Miss. There’s an easier way over here right from my old shack.” Dez didn’t hear him, or even wondered where he might be. She had to use the folded umbrella to push aside the stubborn branches and when she got through, she leaned on it and stared. Muttering to herself she said, “It’s not what I expected, but it’s the perfect place. If Samuel could save one side of it, trim the hedges back………”


~~~~~


When Dez stayed out with her sister upstairs, and now when she was down in the Martha’s old office she always felt just a bit uncomfortable. It was more of a squirming when there were moments of silence. The discomfort vanished when she was with her sister or Cook and especially when she was out at the orchard. Her life with her sister was really quite expansive, but that amorphous discomfort was like a stone in her shoe. She even felt a bit guilty having been given so much. The odd coming and going of these feelings troubled her. When she was at home, in the quiet and comfort of old family surroundings, she relaxed. While recovering out at Em’s, she had to be outside as much as possible. When her sister asked her if she could live out at the Estate, she didn’t want to answer. Not because she would have to say no, but because she couldn’t say no or yes. She had thought of how she could satisfy herself and her sister. Since her accident she’d watched more television than usual. Bored with all the usual political chatter about Covid, binging on old movies, one documentary caught her eye. ‘Tiny Houses, A Better Life’.


~~~~~


Samuel had finally caught up to her. “Miss, you’re getting soaking wet!” Dez was leaning on her umbrella, a smile on her face. “What? Oh, Samuel. This is perfect. I wonder if Em will think it’s perfect. Probably not. Too….too…..dirty, unkempt. She wouldn’t know what to do with it. But you would, wouldn’t you?”


“Now, slow down, Miss. If I’m to be mixed up in this, you need to tell me what I’m mixed up in.” He was half amused and half wondering what Miss Dez was talking about. Brewster was scratching at the old garage doors. A ray of sun escaped the greyness, lighting up the bit of cleared ground in front of the dilapidated building. “I’m not sure yet, Samuel. And you don’t have to be involved in this at all, unless it’s part of your job. But what I’m going to propose to Em will involve this perfect spot. I can’t tell you anything more until I talk with Em.” She sighed with relief, looked down at the ground. She took a deep breath, straightened up and said “I’m going back to the house. Em should be back from the city. Just don’t knock this place down until I can tell you more. It might be a pie in the sky idea, Samuel, but I have to see what I can do.”


~~~~~


“Cook, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve finally dried off after a good walk out on the track.” Dressed in warm sweats, Dez was towelling off her dark hair. “I’ve put the kettle on for tea. I’ve had enough coffee for today. Cleaned out the coffee maker and the pot’s upside down on the draining board. Can you have tea with me while I wait for my sister?” Cook had hung her wet things in the mudroom while Dez was talking. “Of course I can, Miss Dez. I’m a bit chilled myself. A hot mug sounds good.” 


They were just sitting down when Em came in the back door. She came into the kitchen, walked past the two of them and set her brief case on the far end of the table. “Look at you two, all warm and with your tea. Is there enough left for me?”


Tapping her fingers on the table, Dez said quickly “Yes, Em, and there’s something I want to talk to you about.” Em looked at Cook. Cook barely shook her head. “I haven’t said anything to anyone else yet. And it’s just an idea anyway.” She poured herself some tea and sat down by her sister. “What is it, Dez? You look kind of strange.” 


She took a very deep breath. “Ok, here goes. It’s about the old garage.” Her sister looked puzzled. “What old garage?” It was Dez’s turn to look puzzled. “You don’t know about the garage? The one Samuel wants to get working on?” Still no look of recognition. “Behind the tangled hedges?”


“Discomfort may be a doorway; don’t run from it.”

~ Joseph Deitch, Elevate: An Essential Guide to Life

Tuesday, November 23, 2021

Feeling Grinch-y



Feeling rather Grinch-y tonight, I really needed to begin releasing Christmas magic for this season of fun. My sun-tea jar had sat on the porch covered in snow and was to be tucked down in the basement til summer’s back. But I just couldn’t do it. What about decorating the inside? I do like decorations. I have wanted to fill the jar with a little desert scene, but that’s for summer. So I brought it in the house, washed it and dried it. Once it was polished and shining my vision had changed. And so my beautiful tea jar is now filled with holiday sparkles and glow - and one Rudolf. All that’s left is to watch syrupy Christmas movies!


“Holiday who-be-what-ee?”

~ Dr. Seuss, the Grinch


(It still needs more Christmas balls - not quite full yet.)

Monday, November 22, 2021

On a Mid Morning Walk - Places Please



Ice crystal thin

skiffs of snow in drifts

skaters, skiers, rabbits chase ducks and geese skyward

putting everyone in their place




“Ice has a social life, its changeability shapes the culture, 

language and stories of those who live near it.”

~ Robert Macfarlane, Underland: A Deep Time Journey

Sunday, November 21, 2021

On a Mid Morning Walk - Stepping Out





A heavy leaning tree branch

stepped out on the lake 

layered with thickening ice.






“Everything you want is on the other side of fear.”

~ Anonymous