Only a Tick

In the space that is only a tick of the clock, 2023 arrives as if it were a Maserati ~ all shiny and new, waiting for us to get in and travel the world.

“Remember tonight…..for it is the beginning of always.”

~ Dante Alighieri

Book Review: I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

Writing this review is rather like trying to put together a puzzle. But I can’t find the corner pieces, or the nice neat pieces that go around the edge of the picture. To envision the eight year old child, Marguerite, speechless after her rape and the Maya Angelou, 86 years old at her death in 2014 an articulate, wise and honoured woman there seems to be no one ‘picture’. In graphic detail, her experiences, both emotionally and physically are displayed in a voice that really seems very kind. As a young child, and then as an adolescent that kindness still had to develop. With each of her experiences, from the abuse at eight, to the brutal travel to Mexico with her father, the overt or hidden racism that every black person of any age has to deal with, Maya Angelou has not only stepped out of the cage that society had forced her into, but developed a strong and wise voice in story and poetry. Each time she survived an attack on her being, whether physically or emotionally, she learned the lessons of resilience. She had the benefit of having strong, loving female relationships ~ her grandmother (Momma) in Stamps, Arkansas ~ staunchly religious and owner of the local general store, her mother, Vivian Baxter (Mother Dearest), independent and fun loving, in San Francisco as well as Mrs. Bertha Flowers, a local teacher in Stamps who helped little Maya regain her voice after several years of silence. Her other stalwart was her brother Bailey, who was her confidant, until he was at the grand old age of sixteen.

At fifteen, Maya went against rigid societal norms in San Francisco and became the first black female street car conductor. She questioned her sexuality after reading The Well of Loneliness, a lesbian novel (1928) and realizing that she was tall, deep voiced and not as developed as her friends. Another societal norm to puzzle about until learning she was pregnant. All in all, Maya Angelou, climbed through, over or around what life had to throw at her. Fear, anger, wonder, curiosity, and determination bolstered her all along the way.

“She comprehended the perversity of life, that in the struggle lies the joy.”

~ Maya Angelou,  I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Title: I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Author: Maya Angelou

Copyright: 1969
Copyright renewed: 1997 by Maya Angelou

Forward Copyright: 2015 by Oprah Winfrey

Publisher: Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House company of New York

Type: Autobiography

Format: Paperback

ISBN: 978-0-345-51440-0

ebook ISBN: 978-1-5883-6925-3

A Cat's Tale - A Feline Rant

A Feline Rant

I am healthy, handsome cat. 

Finally. Going outside. But in the little cozy thing my human carries me in. Instead of letting me out to chase the squirrel I always see ~ which I wouldn’t have done anyway because I just detest the snow, I was carted off to a place that made my nose twitch. Quite unceremoniously, the box I was in was turned upside down. Poked and prodded by a human I didn’t even have time to smell. The final indignity? He pulled up a piece of my skin ~ without even asking! ~ and poked me with something sharper than my claws. I was so unnerved and offended!

Oh, I’ve forgiven her ~ after all she does feed me.

“I’m a cat. We aren’t required to make sense.”

~ Seanan McGuire,  A Local Habitation

Chapter Two, Episode 116 - Out of the Blue - Situationally Theirs

Out of the Blue

“My, my! Elizabeth will be very pleased.” Digby had come early to his office at the back of the kitchen. Even the coffee machine had a high polish on it. The water reservoir and the coffee bean receptacle were both filled. Clean mugs set out. Spoon container filled with clean spoons. All that was left was to choose a mug and push the right buttons. Not a dirty dish in sight. Clean table cloth on. Elizabeth always left the kitchen just as spotless, but on the few occasions when someone else was tasked for cleanup, it was never as good. He wondered if the excellent work was just Miss Emelina and Dez, or if the men had helped. Sure he’d learn those details from his wife, he just smiled.

On the way in, he picked up the mail and planned to open it when he got to his office. “Coffee first.” Martha was still asleep, so he just slipped out of the house quietly. It wasn’t really a work day for him, so he was dressed casually. For Digby, casually meant he didn’t have a tie on and a suit jacket was replaced by a ‘Mr. Rogers’ cardigan. Martha had been teasing him about that for years. Once at this desk, he set his mug of hot coffee and the mail down. Settling in to his chair he leafed through the mail. A power bill, a letter from the Estate lawyer, two requests for donations and ….. he set them all aside. The last was a letter from his brother Tom! He hadn’t heard from him since he and Martha had visited them in the summer. 

Hello James! 

You know I’m not much of a letter writer any more, but I’ve just come in from clearing snow. More than there was last year. Purchased a pretty heavy duty snow blower that can clear a side walk a lot faster than the old one I had. But it still takes a lot of work and shakes my arms half off my body. Been watching the news and heard the reports of the snows you’ve had. Probably all gone by now with the rain. 

Sofia and I have taken up this new sport ‘Pickle Ball’. Do you have it on the Island? Strangest name for a sport I ever heard of, but we have fun. The town has a community building with a gymnasium where they set up the nets. It’s kind of like tennis, ping pong and squash all combined. Sure beats clearing the snow. After our games, the group always goes for hamburgers. There’s the usual cranks that want to run the place, but we just let them be with their worries. 

That’s about it for us. Drop me a line when you have time and maybe we can get together again this summer. Say hello to everyone at the Estate ~ we enjoyed meeting everyone.

Hope you and Martha are well. Sofia and I enjoyed your visit this summer.

Love Tom

Digby read the letter over again. On his desk, he kept the photograph of the snowy forest that James had sent him. Out loud he said to Tom’s letter “Yes, Martha and I do need to make another trip up, but in the snows this time. Not sure that’s a good idea. I’ll have to talk it over with her.” He heard footsteps at his door. “What do you need to talk to me about?” Surprised, his wife must have been up practically after he left for the office.

“Martha, I’ve had a letter from Tom. Mostly it’s about snow blowing and Pickle Ball. That sport you want me to get involved in. He wants us to come visit again. He said this summer, but what do you think about a winter trip?” Seeing a frown pass across her face, he hesitated. “Well maybe not, but could we think about it?”

“We can think about it, James, but isn’t travel in the mountains in winter dangerous? We’re Island people and if anything happened….  We’d have to buy new winter clothes and boots… How would we get there safely?” Martha was already planning and worrying at the same time. “Well, let’s just discuss it and I’ll call Tom tonight and see what month is usually the best for travel.” 

“Breakfast’s ready, you two.” Martha had already spoken with Elizabeth about their lack of breakfast before leaving for work. She hadn’t eaten either. Almost speechless about the polish that had her kitchen shining, she almost hesitated to get cooking. “Just scrambled eggs, toast and tomatoes.” Martha finished setting the table. The three friends sat down and over the simple breakfast, James told Elizabeth of Tom’s letter, Martha filling in possible travel plans while they ate. After the excitement of Christmas had calmed down, it felt good to look forward to this new possibility.

~~~~~

“Without leaps of imagination or dreaming, we lose the excitement 

of possibilities. Dreaming, after all is a form of planning.”

~ Gloria Steinem

On my Way to the Bus Stop - A Cartoon Character in Snow

This little one, just resting in bristly foliage and enjoying the warmer (as in not as cold) weather, caught my eye as I walked past. I just about ignored her, but if clouds in the sky can look like dragons or rabbits, them why can’t snow look like a charming cartoon character? By now, several hours later, she may have acquired dimples from freezing rain!

“When you least expect it, nature has cunning ways 

of finding our weakest spot.”

~ Micheal Stuhlbarg -  Mr. Perlman

On an Afternoon Walk - Snow Beard's Song

Snow Beard's Song

Snow Beard, his snow cap rakishly on his head, sang a sweet song of softer temperatures when he could put away his cap and shave his beard. But until then, he would sing his songs to passersby huddled inside thick winter coats, scarves, toques and mitts. Few dogs wandered about and for that Snow Beard was grateful, for the snow around his roots was as white and pure as could be.

“When snow falls, nature listens.”

Lama Willa Miller

Christmas Present

Ghosts of Christmas’ past 

vie for my attention like a child’s tug o’ war ~ 

soft glow and fond memories of family, food and fun, 

against gray grief 

    and angry angst that seem, 

each of their own accord, 

to want a solid win. 

To date, no concrete decision!

honour bound, each finally bows to the other’s need

the struggle, the tug o’ war, is a draw: 

one cannot survive without the other

The Winner:  Christmas Present

“Christmas gives us the opportunity to pause 

and reflect on the important things around us.”

~ David Cameron

Christmas Eve Quiet

Swirls of Beethoven and Berlioz, 

a perfect ending to a lovely evening

with family present, missing 

dear ones far from home and 

  souls no longer on this earth

but their presence curled through 

spaces around the table 

in laughter and story.

“Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, 

not a creature was stirring , not even a mouse.”

~ Clement Clarke Moore

Its Own Memory

Almost lost amid the clutter and glow of Christmas, so fragile yet its delicacy would be missed. 25 or maybe 35 years old, my precious red reindeer is carefully wrapped in tissue at season’s end ~ tucked away with all the others. 

Where did it come from? 

Which store? 

Which city?

Was it a gift?

Details lost in the clutter and rush of time. 

’til my little glass reindeer has become its own memory.

“When you look at a piece of delicately spun glass you think of two things: how beautiful it is and how easily it can be broken.”

~ Tennessee Williams, The Glass Menagerie

Story Telling

“You’ve dressed me up with finery,

'neath the grandest Story Tree of all, 

yet ask of me to tell you, 

what story to tell this eve. 

Look all around you 

in the home you’ve landed in

and tell me 

there’s no story here at all?”

I listened to the wise old tree

and gave his trunk a hug

for each step I’ve stepped,

fallen and stood up,

each mile I’ve traveled

‘round twists and turns has

brought me to this place today.

The wise old tree nodded as if to ask 

“what more is there to tell?”

A lovely shiver sped down my spine

as memories came to me

of family, friends, and mentors

living many life times with me,

sharing laughter, tears and just a day.

We’ve all come through good times and bad,

letting go and hanging on;

believing in each other when 

everything seems quite done.

As long we keep our steps a-stepping,

keep family, friends, and mentors in our lives 

we’ve stories we can tell.

“My friends have made the story of my life,

In a thousand ways they have turned

my limitations into beautiful privileges.”

~ Helen Keller

Chapter Two, Episode 115 - Snow Magic - Situationally Theirs

Snow Magic

Saying goodnight to Samuel and Elizabeth was like letting out a last breath of air. The silence that fell had a hint of loneliness to it. The sisters went back into the kitchen, looked at the destruction they had wrought to Cook’s kitchen and sighed in unison. “That’s only the half of it, Em. We’ve got all the dishes in the dumbwaiter from upstairs.” Dez paused, ran her fingers through her hair and said. “Weren’t we going to clean up as we went so we wouldn’t have all this to do?” Em put the kettle for tea. “That was the plan, Dez. We got a start by loading the dishwasher before supper, but we were having too much fun upstairs. Who did win that game of Monopoly? It sounded pretty rowdy!” With a clean dishcloth, Em was washing the stove top and cupboards. She stopped, leaned on the counter and looked around at her sister. “Where are Jeremy and Matt? It’s awfully quiet up there.” As if they had heard her calling their names, the two men burst in the back door, stomping their feet and laughing. “Girls! Come quick! It’s snowing!” Snow on Vancouver Island wasn’t all that unusual in December. It never lasted long and so was treated as the most exciting event of the year. Dez and Em stopped what they were doing, looked at each other. The dishcloths they were using were wrung out and hung on the sink. “We can do this later.” Coats, boots and mitts on, cleaning the kitchen forgotten, they joined the men. “Hurry. It’s coming down pretty steady. Forecast today warned that we’d get a lot of snow but I didn’t believe it. Looks like they were right.”

By the time the four of them got outside, snow had covered the still green lawn, weighed down branches of even the tallest tree and softened sharp edges of fences, rocks and roof. While Em was standing stock still transfixed by the beauty of it all, Dez was patting handfuls of snow, eyeing Matt who was doing the same. Jeremy didn’t know what to do ~ stay with his love, or get in on the snowball fight. His mind made up, he called softly to her. “Em.” No answer. A little louder and more insistent. “Em!” Over her shoulder she said “What is it, Jeremy?” Turning she said “Isn’t it beauti………” Splat. Right in the middle of her forehead. “Jeremy Crawford! Don’t you think you can get away with that.” Scooping up a handful of snow, giving it enough pats to hold the snow together, she fired the snow ball at her husband. He ducked and it caught Matt in the back of the head just as he had lobbed one at Dez.” These so called adults played until exhausted, but didn’t want to go in. Having too much fun, they hadn’t noticed that the snow was coming down heavier and the temperature was dipping. Dez had slipped and fallen into the ever deepening white blanket. Instead of getting up, she looked up, opened her mouth and caught snowflakes on her tongue. “Make a snow angel, Dez! You remember. We used to do that whenever we had snow like this. Here let me make one beside you.” Em lay down beside her sister and they shushed their arms and legs through the snow. “Let’s look.” She pulled her sister to her feet. “It’s not easy getting up without wrecking them, but we did pretty good. Brrrr. I’m getting cold!” Dez, brushing the snow from her coat, shivered and was heading back to the house. She heard Matt call her. “Hey, Dez, look what Jeremy and I have done!” She was ready to ignore him and get into the warmth, but she turned back and saw the two men looking as proud as two peacocks. “Great snowman! But where’s his hat and pipe and……” Matt cut her off. “I know, I know, Here I’ll give him my toque. The snow has covered up any twigs, do you think Cook would get mad if we pulled some bristles from her broom for arms?” Em had already been in the house. She came out with a carrot for his nose. “I dug through Martha’s sewing things and found these two big buttons for eyes. Here’s an old scarf of mine, but I don’t know about the arms.” Jeremy had gone onto the porch, where there was a stack of brush waiting to be dried and burned in the fireplace. “Here’s his arms, Matt. A bit skinny but I’m sure he’ll be ok with them. He hasn’t been much for words. Maybe he’ll come to life after we’ve all gone in.” 

~~~~~

The change from children to adults was miraculous. The men rolled up their sleeves and unloaded the dumbwaiter without being asked. The women finished polishing up Cook’s kitchen. Instead of tea, they had hot chocolate covered in marshmallows with just a nip of brandy added. This time the quiet of the kitchen wasn’t tinged with loneliness, but with the togetherness of coming in from the cold, working to restore order and warming with hot chocolate. 

No one saw Sarah float out of the upstairs window wearing a shadowy coat and carrying her father’s pipe. As soon as she put it where the Snowman’s mouth should have been, he winked one of his buttoned eyes at her and said ‘Thanks’. Her swing hung cold and lonely on the biggest tree in the yard, the seat puffed with snow. Sarah's ghostly weight barely disturbed the snow flakes. In whispers like the wind brushing the snow around, the two new friends chatted through the night.

“I love snow for the same reason I love Christmas. 

It brings people together while time stands still.” 

~ Rachel Cohen

On an Afternoon Walk - Going Bananas!

It’s crazy! 

Taking a walk in - 33 degree weather!

But there was no wind,

spectacular sky ~ blue, with a haze of sunset cloud, deep slate grey gnarled trees with stiff arching branches highlighted by brilliant white snow, hints of hoar frost in the lacy tree tops 

One mittened gloved hand exposed to icy air,

my cell phone freed from my purse,

I tried to take a photo of that image

but it just didn’t translate!

Or maybe it’s just me ~

Crazy! Going for bananas in - 33 degree weather!

“The colour of springtime is in the flowers; 

the colour of winter is in the imagination.”

 ~ Terri Guillements

At the Ready!

This tiny old gentleman, 

as his ancestors have done, 

protects house and home with 

magic from his little drum. 

Old Saint Nick behind him stands, 

ready to take toys to all the lands 

where children, whether big or small, 

still believe in tales so tall.

“This is, indeed, a place where magic happens.”

~ Amanda V. Shane, Snow Maiden