To Work My Dreams

Dreams are the ultimate trap  

when I don’t know how

when I’m afraid to ask for help

but they are so beautiful

I could look at them all day

until the sun threatens to set

~ a bridge from sky to ground

the only chance to free them

from the trap of my own making

landing gently on the ground

dreams are the ultimate purpose

to shape my life as a potter shapes

wet clay getting wet, dirty and tired

until the joyous work of the dream

frees my fears and is as beautiful as the sky.

“Dare to live the life you have dreamed for yourself. 

Go forward and make your dreams come true.”

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Out of the Shadows

Out of the Shadows

“Midnight on the bridge. Come alone.” Jock found the note taped to his computer. He laughed and brushed it aside. Mike must have put one of the secretaries up to this. While he finished up the days entries, he thought about his so called buddy. Did he really think I’d fall for something that juvenile? The cute little heart in the corner? I’m passed all of that. So I haven’t had a day off in over a year. I barely have time to sleep anymore. Four jobs just to keep body and soul together. I should be mad at him

~~~~~

He loosened his tie and then tightened it again. The mirror couldn’t tell him which was better. Jock hadn’t been able to make a decision about what to wear. Not that he had much of a wardrobe. Casual for work. Suit and tie for going out. He had two good sweaters for work. The navy one was clean. Even his mother approved of it when he wore it to Sunday dinners. When he put it with his other clean shirt and his red tie, she said he looked ‘well turned out’. He grimaced at the thought ‘There’s my boy and so well turned out. Now straighten your tie.’ At the thought, he loosened his tie. “If she knew what I was about to do, she’d probably send me to my room. Or at least try to.

~~~~~

And now here he was, hiding behind a large bush in the park, the smell of hydrangeas and roses softening the night. Bright lights from the city lit up the park, throwing long shadows across the bridge. Rustling in the dark bushes made him uneasy. The park was often home to the homeless at night. Had he disturbed someone? Mike’s note was a fake, just to see if he’d show up. Jock was about to turn and leave when he heard a sob. And then ~“@#$@#% ~ That mean, stupid *%^&*%^! He’s probably two feet away laughing at me. Well, I’ll show him!” The bushes parted violently, leaves torn from their branches. “You! What are you doing here?!”

“Brenda?! What are you doing here?” Jock was almost whispering. Brenda was not. “I could ask you the same thing, Jock. What are you doing here? I got a message to come here alone at midnight. Well it’s after midnight, there’s no one even on the bridge. That’s why I’m hiding here ~ to see if anyone would even show up on the stupid bridge.” As tough as Brenda sounded, Jock could see tears glistening in her lovely eyes. Softly he said “I got the same note Bren. Look.” He pulled the wrinkled note from his pants pocket.

~~~~~

There wasn’t anything to do in the park after midnight, and only one all night coffee shop open in the city’s central core. It was diner fare and the coffee wasn’t the best, but Jock and Brenda decided that they needed to talk. Over an early morning breakfast of crispy fried eggs and soggy waffles, they plotted and laughed.

“Sometimes a Cupid plays hard to catch

as he always got new couples to match.”

~ Ana Claudia Antunes, author

Author’s note: Another writing exercise <writingexercises.co.uk> 

The exercise: Random dialogue: “Midnight on the bridge. Come alone.” This is the second draft of this story. The first was handwritten and completely stream of consciousness. When I was transcribing it an hour later, there was a sudden and unplanned name change! ‘Sam’ became ‘Jock’. Sam’s story fizzled out. Jock had an entirely different story to tell. I know, always blame it on the characters!

A Silly Story

A Silly Story

The town of Gnatsbridge was barely a spot on the map. Only its name was a curiosity. Curious enough to attract the occasional passing tourist. Passing may be a bit of a stretch. Gnatsbridge was five kilometres off the main highway and one hundred km  from the nearest city. One restaurant was attached to a small motel, elegantly named the Grand Gnatsbridge Motel. To get to this quaint little town, there was a bridge to cross. An old wooden bridge over the Gnat River.  

Each tourist that detoured to Gnatsbridge for gas, for a night off from the road, or just because was treated to Ma Malarkey’s story of how the town got its name. No one really knows if it’s true because Ma is the oldest woman in town. She was just under four feet ten, her long white hair was piled randomly on her head. A navy dress with tiny flowers was her uniform along with blue suede track shoes with white soles. She always carried a stack of Gnatsbridge Sights pamphlets in her voluminous apron. “Well now, I’ve got you in Unit 105 and I’ll walk you down there, show you where everything is.” 

“In 1905, when my great-grandfather homesteaded here, the river was barely a stream. Always clouded with flying bugs. Oh, he hated those wicked things. But, the town, struggling as it was, needed a bridge to get to the next town….that town’s gone now but they still needed a bridge to get to the main road. In those days, horse drawn wagons brought goods in from other towns. And we’re so glad you’re here but you wanted to know how our town was named…..you did, didn’t you?” Ma didn’t wait for a reply. “Well, building that bridge with only picks and shovels, hammers and nails was a big, sweaty job. The men complained and complained about the bugs. They fought them off ~ swarms of them, clouds of them very unhappy with having their stagnant river home disturbed. One day they were particularly bad. My great-grandfather told me ~ so I know it’s true ~ that all the men threw their tools down and left him alone. All of them grumbled but one of them hollered “You and those damn gnats and have their bridge!” Great grandfather smiled and said ‘Gnatsbridge. That’s what I’ll name the town.’

The man and woman looked at each other, rolling their eyes. She whispered to her husband “Do we dare ask how one man could name a town?” He looked panicked, shaking his head wildly. She touched Ma’s shoulder to stop her. Ma stopped in her tracks. “Yes dear? Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no. It’s just that my husband and I are extremely tired. You know, we’ve been driving a long time. We’ll freshen up and go to the restaurant for supper and it’s off to bed for us!”

“How disappointing! I’m not working in the restaurant tonight. But that’s ok, I’ll finish my story in the morning. You dears get a good supper and good sleep. Check out time isn’t until 11a.m. so we’ll have lots of time to chat in the morning.” 

~~~~~

Mr. and Mrs. Jones left at 4 a.m. leaving their key on the table, thanking the credit card gods that their payment had been made.

“Stories are like children. They grow in their own way.”

~ Madeleine L’Engle,  A Swiftly Tilting Planet

Author’s note: This story grew out of a writing exercise on the website writingexercises.co.uk 

The exercise: Town Name Generator: First I was to generate a town name: Gnat came up. The second step was to choose an ending. I chose: bridge. I liked the silliness of the name and a story began to form. It was fun!

On a Morning Walk - Pensive

The roiling water reminded me of life that has passed beneath

bridges built to get us to the other side, paying the water no mind until

errant waves scoop up and wash across our many bridges built 

of solid iron, wooden slats or 

heavy cables that carry us over the past.

“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.”

~ William Faulkner, Requiem for a Nun

One Summer Afternoon

Kiwanis Park, Regina

A gentle waterfall

to a turquoise pool

A quaint little bridge

in a beautiful little park

A group of new friends

gather on a cool summer day.

Kiwanis Park, Regina

“Since there is nothing so 

well worth having as friends, 

never lose a chance 

to make them.”

~ Francesco Guicciardini

Living Villages

Villages are where we go 

when urban life becomes too hectic

and rural life feels too isolated.

We poke into shops and stores,

have coffee or tea in small cafes.

We stroll the sidewalks rather than 

striding with harried purpose.

Villages are where,

in spring, summer and fall,

we go to find a smaller world.

Cold rains or icy snows of winter 

signal time for villages to blossom inside

growing new strengths and plans for 

the scores of people that cherish them.

Villages are where we can be friendly,

chatting with friends or strangers from

countless villages and neighbourhoods ~ 

travellers from around the corner or across the globe

join together, remain or return home. 

Villages are where urban densities have grown

as roads and bridges have gathered them together

into one big urban landscape although

villages, like the individuals that make up humanity,

have made up that whole daunting city.

Villages are where all roads meet

sharing cultures and beliefs until 

we each find a niche that allows 

safety and comfort to envelop us.

Villages are where we all meet and live.

“Even if you live in a big city, everybody lives in a small town. 

We identify ourselves by our neighbourhoods - 

‘I live in the Village, or in Chelsea.”

~ Karin Slaughter

Bridges

Bridges

“Gentle, never garish, honey. Remember you’re sending this Thank you card to your grandmother in Tuscon. She sent you a lovely going away gift so just be careful what you write. You’ve only met her once and then you were a sweet five years old. She’s never met you as the wild child you are now.”

“Oh, come on mom. You’ve sent her pictures of me with my pink hair and torn jeans. Surely, she would have figured out that I’m kind of ‘garish’ - whatever that means.”

Melanie was trying to get Jodie to communicate more frequently with her grandmother. Melanie didn’t get to see her very often at all. They had been fairly distant when they lived in the same state, but now they were not even in the same country. Canada had never seemed anything but a land mass on the map before her job had taken her to Vancouver. At first Jodie was angry. Leaving all her friends behind, friends she had grown up with, was ‘absolutely the worst thing in my life and I’ll probably die!’ Once they were settled, Jodie settled. Texting and email and FaceTime made their move seem not so distant. But her grandmother didn’t text, didn’t think she’d like email or FaceTime, so Melanie thought that sending her a card in the ‘really old fashioned way’ (Jodie’s words) might be interesting to them both. Jodie agreed and did seem interested, but trying to get her to sit down and write was next to impossible.

“Mom! Come here! It’s Grandmother!”

Oh no, something dreadful has happened. Melanie was frightened, sure that her worries about their move had come true. That her mother had fallen, was in the hospital. Melanie’s mind revved into high gear as she raced to the kitchen phone. Just as she got to the kitchen, she saw Jodie smiling?

“Come here! Hurry up! Mom’s here Grandmother. She looks all panicked so you’d better tell her you’re ok.”

“Mom! Is that you? When did you …..how did you……”

“Melanie, dear, slow down now. Don’t you fuss at me for spendin’ a little bit of money. Miss Britches here helped me buy this contraption before you moved. There was a workshop at the Seniors Centre and I learned how to use this fool thing. Do you think it makes me look old?”

“Grandmother, you are old! But it doesn’t make you look ancient. Mom, what do you think?”

Jodie was jumping up and down with excitement.

“Well..um...well..ah. I don’t know what to say? It’s wonderful. I was worried that you’d not get to meet each other again. And now, well now I guess I don’t have to worry anymore.”

“Well now, honey, I’m sure you’ll find something else to worry about. Meanwhile this wild child grand-girl of mine will keep tabs on you so I don’t have to worry.”

Grandmother and Jodie had pulled off a huge surprise for two people that barely knew each other. It was all thanks to a deep need to keep family together - and of course, thanks to the technology that created that bridge.

“It’s not faith in technology. It’s faith in people.”

~ Steve Jobs

The Incredible Bridge

The Incredible Bridge

A much sturdier bridge than the Incredible Bridge!

From this end of the bridge, it didn’t look so incredible. There was an ominous toll booth guarded by helmeted gargoyles. The closer Sam and Oliver came up to it, the more ominous it seemed. The gargoyles grumbled and growled to each other, shaking their spears and scraping the ground with their long toenails.

“Why are we going to that bridge?  Isn’t there a better one?” Sam was shrinking back into the dark forest filled with enchanted magic.

“This bridge is closest! And there’s only two gargoyles at this one. These two are puny compared to the other ones. Trust me - I’ve checked them all out.” Oliver pulled Sam forward.

Sam sputtered. “It’s only a rope bridge! Look at the chasm below! I can’t see the water but I can hear it crashing against the rocks.” 

“Look” Oliver sighed. “This was your idea and I just happened to agree with you. Have you ever been on one of these bridges before? No. I didn’t think so. I have. More times than I can count. But I’ve never made it across because I was trying to do it by myself.”

“Why have you kept trying?” Sam looked very puzzled. He had heard all the stories and had never dared ask why until now. If he was going to cross this so-called Incredible Bridge, he wanted some information.

Oliver leaned against an old burned tree stump and closed his eyes. Then, as one tear slid silently down his face he said “I have family on the other side that I just can’t let go of. No, I don’t want to let go of. I have torn up my life. I have wrecked many relationships. My children need me. Yes I have children and yes I love them with all my heart. But do they really love me? I’m so confused but I need to try again. I know I can go part way - and each time I’ve gone on the bridge I’ve gone a little farther. Maybe I can make it all the way this time. If you’re with me.”

Sam had nothing to say. He had no pre-conceived ideas about what he would find on the other side or even if he wanted to stay. The other side was a world he had let go of to set off adventuring in the Dark Forest they had just left behind. They had only the clothes on their backs, a loaf of old dry bread and a flask of water between them. They left all of the dark magic behind. The gargoyles would take their bread and water as a toll or make them make dark magic with them. This was a heavy toll either way. Oliver was determined to set foot on the bridge once more. Until Sam had suggested it, he had decided that he was stay in the Dark Forest forever. Sam was his only friend. 
Rather than be lost and alone, he decided to try again.

Taking deep breaths and pasting smiles on their faces, they approached the toll booth, determined to refuse any offers of magic play. After letting go of their bread, water - and Sam’s ragged coat - they stepped through the toll booth on to the Incredible Bridge. It swayed with the weight of their steps. The gargoyles giggled wickedly certain they would come racing back to the solid cliff. But Sam and Oliver kept moving forward. One step at a time. The Incredible Bridge held surprises. Along their slow trek, they met others who had crossed the bridge and came back to help others forward and to show them where the weak places were on their journey. To remind them of the strength that they had found to travel on this frighteningly Incredible Bridge. And to hold their hand when fear was ready to overpower them. The bridge itself was really not that incredible.

“But we are strong, each in our purpose, 

and we are all more strong together.”

~ Bram Stoker, Dracula

Conversation

Conversation began slowly 
Like a train just beginning it’s journey
A journey with no destination 
No vision mapped out 
But to go up and down
Round and round 
over well known bridges
Through lesser known tunnels
Picking up speed until dinner was served
Delicious, mmmmm
Yum!
This is wonderful!
I can’t eat another bite.
Birthday cards their own topic of conversation
Amusing, kind and charming, witty and artistic
Conversation slowed
Watches checked, eyelids fluttered
at the journey’s end of a lovely evening.

“We don’t talk, we hold forth. We don’t converse, we expound.”

~ J.D.Salinger,  Franny and Zooey

Pronouncements vs Reality

Things I’ve heard in nursing:

She’ll die before she’s 30.
He’ll never walk again.
She’ll never go to school as she had planned.
He’ll develop dementia and be stuck in a nursing home.
She’ll have to be bedridden most of her life.
He’ll lose his family, all his friends and be unemployed.

Pronouncements made based on 
What has gone before
What is in the text books
Expectations that nothing can be done

Pronouncements that indicate
Finite outcomes with no hope of improvement
A boxed in life with beige walls of granite
A life that has had cement poured over any further activity

Pronouncements that forget about
Individual will to live, to walk and to belong
Trust in one’s own abilities and strengths
Faith in family, friends and community

Things I’ve heard in nursing:

She is 90 years old now after a long and happy life.
He walks with a limp, but he walks proudly.
She graduated with a Phd in her chosen field.
Dementia did arrive, with family and caregivers present to honour his life.
She arose from her bed, slowly and with care, for there were books to read, movies to see and discussions to have.
He did burn most bridges, but rebuilt them with time, trust and will to give back what he had been given.

“If you plan to build walls around me, know this - I will walk through them.”

~ Richelle E. Goodrich, 

Making Wishes: Quotes, Thoughts, & 

a Little Poetry for Every Day of the Year.

Bridges

Bridges have always fascinated me. Bridges that span gaps, waterways and roadways.
Their construction ~ the clangs and bangs, the growling machinery delivering pieces of these gigantic puzzles to a work site.

The men and women who design and build these marvellous structures must be creative, determined and brave. Many will just be doing a job, but making a difference anyway. Roadways and walkways elongated and open.

Bridges connect two sides of many things, bringing people together and letting people move back and forth in life.

“Bridges are perhaps the most invisible form of public architecture.”

~  Bruce Jackson

Author's Note: Edited January 06, 2024

Re-Post: A Bridge to Another World

Just a plain, ordinary bridge that looked
strong
solid
straight
not too narrow
not too wide

The night was dark ~ 
how long was the bridge
not so distant lights looked more welcoming than the land just behind ~ hostile and dangerous ~
too dangerous for this traveler of many worlds

But what lay under the bridge
beneath was there a 
deep chasm to be forever lost in
raging river threatening to drown any soul falling in
was the bridge as new and strong as it looked

how could I tell
who could tell me
walking in the world,
sureness of strength and wits
had carried much weight,
but were no longer reliable.

is this the only bridge to be crossed
dare I set foot on it
dare I try to go into this other world 
just to get out of this self-created chaos

no rules are posted for crossing a bridge this size ~
just keep to the side
hold on to the rail should steps falter
keep moving slow and steady.

The choice to turn back always remains ~ but....
what if I am the bridge?

"If you doubt yourself, then indeed 

you stand on shaky ground."

~ Henrik Ibsen