Permission Granted ~ 3

Dedication to a project is always hard won. Throughout life, any project must have a purpose. That may only be my opinion, however I’ve learned it to be true for me. The purpose must also be something that fits with society, community, family. Something or someone outside of myself. I do get caught up in trying to see where a project fits, thinking too much about the why’s. Or maybe, I just don’t want to do the work. Writing is a good example of both permission for a purpose or permission to do anything else but write. My present, and very long time, writing project is about my experience with having very stable epilepsy. Writing down all the thousands of words over many years has been easy, but recently was becoming boring. Nothing more to say. Nothing to see here. 

Yet I joined two more writing groups, began to drop some social activities, replaced those with reading and wondered what I was doing. I write both in a journal and on my laptop. The only injuries I receive from this sedentary sport of the pen is stiffness from sitting too long! Dedication to this next part of my project is a tough one. Clarifying, organizing, and putting all those words to bed. It’s like herding cats! However, I work at putting aside all the excuses to re-write one more page, revise one more sentence, cut one more paragraph without waiting for permission.

“Write. Rewrite.When not writing or rewriting, read. I know of no shortcuts.”

~ Larry L. King, author

January 1929 - December 2012

It Felt Good

There are days when everything clicks along from the time eyes open, this wasn’t one of them. It was deceitful. Eyes opened, morning moved along to breakfast and then it was time for a nap…..a long one. When I thought about it, the last several days had been busy. Keeping me on my toes whether I wanted to or not. It happens to everyone. How many know when to stop and just breathe - or take a nap. Listen to body and mind. Many of us have an old message on repeat play that says ‘You’re lazy’ or ‘Get the work done and quickly!’ Even if it’s the weekend or retired. So changing the message becomes the challenge. Giving permission for time for some ‘me time’ and then taking it. Our futures just may depend on it!

“When you rest, you catch your breath 

    and it holds you up, like water wings….”

~ Anne Lamott

 

p.s. After I had rested, I finished the laundry……and some other things on my to do list.

On a Morning Walk - Please! They're Only Geese.

Two crazy ladies

Went for a walk

Slipping, sliding

They talk, talk, talked.

Hundreds of gabbling geese

Gathered far out on the lake

Like soldiers they lined up ~

To the skies they did take

They each took their turn

In grand, well-ordered flocks

While the two crazy ladies

Watched from an ice-coated dock.

“We are perishing for want of wonder, not for want of wonders.”

~ G.K.Chesterton

On a Morning Walk - Thursday was Cold!

Thursday was cold!! 

Huddled and puffed 

against the cold.

Heads hunched 

into fluffed feathers.

Pecking and poking 

at frozen breakfast.

“Alas! He is cold, he cannot answer me.”

~ Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

(Today it rained.)

Standing Alone - From My Journal

My journal: Nov. 22 2016. Long before I retired, or moved, or the invasion of this virus. I was working on writing exercises that month, specifically Creating Settings. I rather liked the setting and story I created on that day. It also seemed to fit this November's Permission theme. Giving permission to ourselves to feel our feelings is important. This time of year, as the Christmas season ramps up, it is too easy to ignore our feelings in our rush to fix one more Christmas. In this time of Covid 19, far too many of us in cities, towns or country are alone. So here is my little piece:

Standing Alone

“The colour of the sea and the sky are one. Only the softness of the clouds is different from the choppy waves. All is greyness and damp. The ships flag hangs limply, wilted against the flag, too wet to be flapping in the brisk wind, wrapped around the pole trying to get out of the rain. Morning came early and in the dark wet there was little light. Only from inside the ship. Where stewards with urns of steaming coffee were posted just inside the portals. Stepping outside, not caring about the weather, I stood alone on the prow, away from the heat of the great body of passengers stirring inside the great town-ship. There is a space, a void in my heart that is as gray and dark as the morning. I know I can step inside to the warmth and camaraderie of the ship, but cling to my loneliness as one clings to a life raft. The captain says the rain will soon stop, but will my tears? I have left a life behind me that I can’t return to until I have released the pain from my heart to the elements. A pain never truly gone but no longer flooding my soul as the rains and the ocean flood all around me. There is a loneliness that heals.”

“Remember: the time you feel lonely is the time 

you most need to be by yourself. Life’s cruelest irony.”

~ Douglas Coupland, Shampoo Planet

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

*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.

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

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

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.)

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

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

On an Evening Walk - A Cold Wind Blew

Riding on the crisp, cold wind, 

the call and chatter of hundreds of geese navigating ice and icy waters 

drowned the whoosh of night time traffic, rather like many gaggles of politicians strutting their stuff.

“A great wind is blowing, and that gives you 

either imagination or a headache.”

~ Catherine the Great

Author's note:  The numbers of geese were amazing, but the wind vibrated my little camera! Didn’t know it ’til I got my photos up on my iPad.

Forever Stories....and Stories....and Stories...

There are always stories

Even across a frozen lake

Skating parties, skiers,

Waterfowl and rabbits

But tonight’s story is far more interesting. I was led through a hallway by pink plastic flashlight by a two year old adventurer after animals and a monster or two. Four stuffed animals were found, set side by side on her bed and promptly dispatched to the tune of ‘four stuffed animals jumping on a bed, one fell off and fell upon his head’ ……..over and over and over and over and.… You probably get the picture. ….and over. Fortunately for the animals, no heads were actually broken. No monsters were found - all banished from the bedroom - and not really scary anyway.

“A two year old is kind of like have a blender, but you don’t have a top for it.”

~ Jerry Seinfeld

Like a Butterfly

Inspiration strikes

No ~ that’s not quite right.

Inspiration is sneaky.

Stirring around in the back of my brain

Rising more slowly than molasses in January!

Then ~

In the shower! 

Words flow crystal clear, fully formed and beautiful

Disappearing as soon as the tap is turned off

Somehow magically connected to the flow of water.

But I’ve been practicing….

For years!

Saying the beauty out loud

Repeating, repeating, repeating

Until pen in hand, a half hour later……

the exquisite words have vanished! Saving  

one word, two disconnected words ~

the flow, the music, the rhythm

Gone.

But not today!

I reached out and caught a phrase

Carried it loosely until

hours later, pen in hand, it has been written.

Brilliant pages of words yet to be transcribed.

Yet to be read to see just how brilliant they may be.

“We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit 

the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.”

~ Maya Angelou

Chapter Two, Episode Fifty-Nine - Clouding the Air - Situationally Theirs

Clouding the Air

The fog lifted, the clouds cleared. Puddles of rainwater reflected the puffs of clouds leftover from the past few days. Dez walked slowly, her sister by her side. They were quiet, breathing in the warming afternoon air. Gulls screamed and floated on the breeze. Crows examined the puddles, drinking from the muddy rainwater. Sparrows and juncos twittered and fed on late fall berries. There would only be a few hours before the coolness set in again. “Do you think you could ever live out here Dez?” Her sister broke into the silence. “I don’t know, Em. There’s no reason I should. I have my apartment with all of my things, you and Jeremy are married now. He is at the hospital most of the time, but you share this home with him now. He doesn’t need me clomping around here and I think I’d feel pretty uncomfortable.” The quiet settled in again. Besides the crows and gulls, only a distant fog horn could be heard. “Must still be foggy on the water.”

“Why would you ask me that Em? Just out of the blue like that. Staying out here while I’m mending is one thing, but living out here. I thought we already went through that before you got married. I decided then that I didn’t really want to live out here.” They resumed their slow pace, late grasses squishing under their Wellies. Emelina seemed to withdraw into herself, head down, hands behind her back. “What is it, Em? You went all quiet on me.”  Her sister shook her head. “Oh, nothing. I’m just enjoying walking with you. Thinking about things, that’s all.”

Dez didn’t believe her sister. They may only have been together just over a year after being apart for almost ten years, but she still knew her sister. Or at least thought she did. Maybe she didn’t know her the way she thought she did. People do change. Except for that same ‘oh, nothing’, putting her head down, the hands behind her back. That hadn’t changed at all. “Ok, Em, spit it out. I could leave it alone and believe it’s ‘nothing’ and maybe I should, but you’ve got my curiosity going.” The sisters had reached the garden shed. The chairs had been moved under the overhang so had escaped the rain. They were still a bit damp. “Let me get the blankets out of the shed for the chairs.” Emelina was glad to have something to do that would distract her sister. She had seen Samuel and Brewster coming towards them from the far end of the garden. If she took her time getting the old blankets, Dez would forget about her question. After all she didn’t know for sure what Jeremy’s plans were. He had only mentioned in passing that he wanted a house just for the two of them. Nothing more. Em wanted to agree, in fact she did agree, but she didn’t know what would happen to the Estate and her employees. Could they build a house on the property? Keep the Estate manor? Dez could live there? “Em, what’s happening with the blankets, I need to sit down and the wood is too damp.” Brewster poked her black head into the shed. Wagging her tail, splashing muddy water around, she ran up to Em. “Are you here to help me carry the blankets? Well you are far too muddy for that job, so just come with me outside. You are a very good girl with that big grin on your face.” Em, proudly not a dog person, melted when Brewster showed up.

When they stepped outside, Samuel and Dez were deep in conversation. “…the apple trees are pretty much dormant now, Miss Dez. You’ve not been out here for quite some time, have you……Miss Em! I see Brewster found you.” Samuel tipped his hat to his boss and moved aside from the chair for her. He took the blanket from her and covered the chairs. “Here Miss Dez, let me get you settled. You’re not as young as you think you might be. No disrespect. Just better make sure you take it slow.” Dez grinned at him. “Oh, all right, Samuel. You’re not my dad you know, but I’ll listen to you anyway.” She was actually pleased with his attentions. Em settled her self, while Samuel took care of her sister.

Samuel stood up, tipped his hat to both sisters. “Well, must be off ladies. I’ve got some things up at the house. Elizabeth and I are making some plans.”  He hesitated when he saw the two women perk up. “Not telling you anything, yet….” He grinned, blue eyes twinkling. “You’ll find out when it’s time. “ ‘Afternoon, ladies. Bring Brewster up to the house with you when you’ve been out here long enough.” With that he was off. “Was that enough of a distraction for you Em?” She saw the guilty look of surprise on her sister’s face. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you Em?” Her sister smiled a slow smile. “I had hoped, but you never did forget things, did you. What did I ask you? If you would ever  live out here? We don’t have to talk about it tonight. Let’s just let it drop, but think about it. What would it take to have you out here with us?” She stood up and started to fold up her blanket. “I think it’s time to get back, Dez. Clouds are coming in again. We’re not dressed for the rain!” Fat drops had begun to fall. “I guess we’ll just get wet, sis.” Dez stood and turned her face up to the refreshing water. Her sister scooped up the other old blanket and took them into the shed. Brewster bounced around, glad that these humans would finally get walking again.

“A conversation is so much more than words: 

a conversation is eyes, smiles, the silences between words.”

~ Annika Thor, ‘A Faraway Island’