Design Fragments

Ideas are mere design fragments ~

pieces of greater puzzles

falling into consciousness

corner pieces here and there

edge pieces one at a time

random pieces fitting 

~ or not ~ 

the final picture can be

whimsical or grand.

One missing piece does not

ruin all the other ideas.

“These fragments, these shivers of my heart 

are mere lifetimes enclosed in a minute.”

~ Zubair Ahsan, Of Endeavours Blue

The Other

There were pictures

Thudding sounds

buildings frayed like old, worn shirts

an old woman, gray hair streaming,

sat on a bench, a ragged quilt around her

Walking home 

from the grocery store

traffic and bird sounds stalled

this old woman, gray hair tucked in,

wore bright colours and a warm coat

The Other

seemed far away and

sadness and gratitude mixes

their men, women and children dying.

our men, women and children live.

“We are the other of the other.”

~ Marco Aurelio

Inspired by a photo of a Ukrainian woman in the war zone posted on CBC

A Builder’s Nightmare

A pile of parts

A picture of what should be

A single page of limited directions?

A youtube video for tomorrow’s build!

That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

 “Excellent!” I cried. “Elementary,” said he.”

~ Arthur Conan Doyle, The Complete Sherlock Holmes

Re-Ordering.....

When all seems out of order

outside our homes, 

inside our heads,

seeing where our feet are

stills any fear or dread.

Are shoes in need of polish?

Or toenails painted red?

Sniffing still air around me, 

is it time for homemade bread?

Few short steps into the sun, 

see hummingbirds out of their beds ~

Look way up to treetops, ebon crows

squawk, finding mates way overhead.

Painting doomsday pictures for 

the world outside or in our heads,

keeps us stuck in overdrive

spinning tires without a tread.

So, listen to what’s deep inside 

our hearts and not our frightened heads.

Choose gratitude and fortitude,

and leave the rest unsaid.

“With all it’s sham, drudgery and broken dreams,

it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

~ Max Ehrmann, Desiderata: A Poem for a Way of Life

Summer Sweetness

Ice cream was melting so the picture is not the best!  

The picture was taken well after the poem was written so there may be some discrepancies:  no chocolate dip but chocolate chips; hard ice cream not soft.............

            ~~~~~

Ice cream cones with 

soft, sweetness 

nestled deep in a waffle cone,

dipped and coated in luscious chocolate escaping down big or little hands on a summer’s day is unlike anything else. 

Such exotic deliciousness 

eases any worry 

with no thought of nourishing 

anything other than childhood innocence,

and decades long tender memories 

escaped but retrieved by that cold sweetness.

(Rumour has it that some

do not share the joy of ice cream.

No proof. Don’t believe it.)

“Age does not diminish the extreme disappointment of 

having a scoop of ice cream fall from the cone.”

~ Jim Fiebig

Soul Food

While reading Ruth Reichl’s book My Kitchen Year, she showed me word pictures of how food feeds not just the body, but the soul. I have often gone to the kitchen with the pretext of wanting some specific thing to eat but found myself more entranced with the creation of a dish - usually from left overs or just whatever is in the cupboard or fridge. The follow up eating of the food is merely a tasty completion of this process. Did the taste match the imagining in my head? Was the texture right, was it too soft or not soft enough? Of course, someone has to do the dishes and even that, sometimes, is satisfying to me. This writing exercise should prove interesting over the next eleven days as I have no clue what I may ‘cook up’ in the way of word crafting! 

Normally

Ounces

Unique

Rations

Ice Cream

Scrambled eggs

Hash brown potatoes

Morsels

Exquisite

Necessary

Temptation

“We must never stop dreaming. Dreams provide nourishment

 for the soul, just as a meal does for the body.”

~ Paulo Coelho, The Pilgrimage

Salt Spring Island She Shed Tour 2018 - #3

The second stop, #3 on the She Shed program, was ’Amarah’s Artland', Amarah calls it her Shabby Shed and was a bit difficult to locate on this sprawling property full of gardens with plants of all kinds. But following the sound of women’s voices busily chatting, as well as a call ’who’s home’, we were directed down the correct path and ushered into a She Shed full of  artworks of all sizes, brushes, storage boxes filled with all manner and colour of paints. Every wall was full of finished large and small paintings with larger paintings propped against the walls. The most stunning discovery for me was three still life’s of single sweet peppers, each one a different colour. My hand stayed off of my wallet and I stepped away to examine Amarah’s selection of art cards. Her artistry, while brilliant and lively was not to my taste - except for the trio of sweet peppers. She also had collaged some ordinary plastic chairs with words, phrases and names from old magazines. A collaged chair she seemed most proud of were all names of women from a specific woman’s magazine - the writers, producers, and contributors.

I must admit that as I was on this tour, I had not yet thought of doing a series of blog posts about the trip. It started out to be only an interesting and fun day with friends. I usually write only one post on events or places that I attend. Consequently, my pictures seem quite insufficient, but all taken while we toured about for this very important fundraiser for Saltspring Women Opposed to Violence and Abuse. 

“Art and life are subjective Not everybody’s gonna 

dig what I dig, but I reserve the right to dig it.”

~ Whoopi Goldberg

You can find more information about Amarah Gabriel at saltspringisland.com.

Texturing

When I look around my home

out of the window to the street

I see so very much that seems cluttered

and yet there is also simplicity in 

   each piece of decor

each tree, 

  each bit of fence ~

simple or complex,  

they all lend texture to our world.

Within the texture is space for movement

  across my living room floor

    through patio doors to the great outside

      along sidewalks that guide our feet forward

        streets and avenues guiding our vehicles hither and yon.

The picture of it all looks so very complex ~

stacked up apartments or condominiums with windows facing the world

each yard given attention great or small.

Then the wind blows in,

and with it’s own random simplicity,

ruffles all of this texture

giving crows and gulls busy currents to glide on

sending wrens and juncos deep against tree trunks or into bushes.

carving twigs and branches from trees, 

stirring softened soil into the air

When the wind settles, the designed texture returns ~

with its few minor adjustments ~

and seems to wait for 

the next gust or steady blasting wind

  a slashing or drizzling rain to wash the grit away.

“A great wind is blowing, and that gives you 

either imagination or a headache.”

~ Catherine the Great

Resourceful Rhonda Rules

Resourceful Rhonda Rules

Resourceful Rhonda. That’s what they called her. Some said it with a snicker. ‘She could just go to any store - if she had any money.’ Some said it with envy. ‘Where does she find all the time to make all those things?’ Some said it with energy. ‘Let’s go and help Rhonda. She’s got a project going and needs some extra hands.’

Rhonda, however, didn’t listen to the hurtful words. She felt sorry for folks that couldn’t see the value in everything on the earth unless it was in a store. Walking the beach and finding lovely stones, beautiful driftwood was a joy to Resourceful Rhonda. Each thing she saw or heard stirred her creative soul. In parks, fields and on the beach she saw food for man and beast. She took them all as nature’s stores. At home she liked to go through her cupboards and closets to find treasures she had tucked away, or just a ball of yarn she had forgotten about. Painting a new picture with found paints, creating a new garment from forgotten yarn, or just playing as any of us did as children. Seeing her home, not just as a collection of furniture, but her ultimate resource. The beginning of all her own projects and the projects of others. The souls of her family, her friends and all those that passed through her life had given her resources beyond measure with memory whispers and love.

“Now is no time to think of what you do not have. 

Think of what you can do with what there is.”

~ Ernest Hemingway

Author's note: Edited February 23, 2024

Flu Season

“I’m not getting very far here.”

Andrew had started a thousand piece puzzle. He was confined to home. Not because he had been put under house arrest by police, but by the flu. The annoying flu. Andrew had been in bed for two days. He dragged himself out of bed, aching and restless. His wife took their children, two boys, to school then went to work at the Technology Institute. Andrew was home alone. His wife, Elise, had left salad and soup in the refrigerator. He could manage the microwave and to make tea and toast. He wasn’t completely alone. His old terrier, Max, followed him from bedroom to living room.

For awhile, he just sat in his easy chair in the living room, the sun streaming in the front window. He put his head back, closed his eyes and soaked in the warmth that wasn’t yet spring. He could almost feel himself stretch into the warmth, but was still too exhausted. After a short doze, he willed his muscles to move. That’s when he went to the hall closet and pulled out a puzzle from their vast collection of puzzles. He didn’t decide on a particular one, just took the top one and carried it to the dining room. He and Elise kept a card table in a corner just for jigsaw puzzles.

The tea kettle pierced the quiet house. Andrew needed some tea while working on the puzzle. He looked at the picture on the box. A gigantic tree in full leaf with red flowers, dwarfing a two story house in the corner of the picture. A tiny piece of sky. He pulled his housecoat tighter around him, his feet warm in old socks and slippers.

“I don’t know about that tree, but the sky…..” Andrew began turning over each piece of the puzzle. His muscles felt so weak. The tiny cardboard pieces felt heavy. Andrew had a principle for putting together any puzzle. Restore order. Start by turning over all the pieces. Get the corner pieces out. Andrew sat heavily on the card table chair, leaned forward and began. He forgot his aching and weak muscles as he began the search for the picture. Matching colours and shapes. Forgetting he was just barely recovering.

Andrew got up once for his glasses and another cup of tea, moving a bit more easily. He let Max out and then in again. Loving the quiet of the house, he returned to the puzzle. The house was built, the tree trunk started and that piece of sky was complete. Sitting up straight and stretching his back, he reached down and scratched Max’s ears.

‘Come on, boy. Let’s go have a nap. This tea is cold and the rest of the puzzle can wait.”

“Everything is hard before it is easy.”

~ Goethe

Adriana McKnight - A Story

Adriana McKnight - A Story

Adriana McKnight was preparing for a holiday - a long holiday.

When she first decided to go on a world wide walking trip, her family all thought she had completely lost her mind.

Adriana, with her mousy brown hair and shabby sweaters, had never even traveled outside her home town of Caborford.

Reality set in one day when she looked at her picture in the High School year book and then looked at herself in the mirror.

Even then, in high school, she had been shy but was planning to travel the world.

Naturally, after high school, there was a job - just temporary - and another until the plans and dreams faded.

Eventually, involved in community activities, usually with children’s groups, she stopped thinking of them at all.

Seeing the young Adriana in cap and gown, her shy face bright with hope, sadness flickered briefly and fell away.

Studying the brochures of her world wide walking trip, Adriana picked up her plane ticket to Dublin, shouldered her back pack and left her home for a great adventure.

“Once you’d resolved to go, there was nothing to it at all.”

~ Jeannette Walls, The Glass Castle