Shades of Blue

Can anything be so perfect

as the cerulean blue sky

cut against 

the stark yellow branches

that suggest Spring?

or the circular swirl

of a Ceil-coloured seashell

swept ashore

to be found 

by searching hands.

but these hands

have found the magic

in Maya blue

running to Palatinate

that flutters delicate wings

and my heart.

Ah, but my heart

loves this blue best.

Tiffany blue that wraps

around my child's

petite frame

and keeps her snug 

and warm

until Spring will finally break

at last

~

A Reawakening

The snow melts

and waters flow.

A muddy sight

for cheery soul

Spring is near

and birds now sing

Life reawakes

rebirth begins

Clad in squishy boots

and wet snowpants

my girls point out

a line of ants

We follow close

And then we see

That all those ants

Have entered the home of ME!

^^^ ^^^ ^^^

Well G-Man, while I am thrilled that Winter seems to be retreating under Spring's imminent onslaught, I am not impressed that it has brought those little creatures to life. At least in my house. Yuck. Hate ants in the house. Better than in your pants though, I guess.

Happy Spring folks.

No Chamba, No Marriage, Just School

Now though, I sat in front of hundreds of nervous pupils as they received their marks. I was at the end of a line of  the school’s twelve teachers, and tried to follow the proceedings as best I could. I was able to get the gist of the fact that they were reading out all the students marks from recent testing, and the results were not good. New testing formats had been implemented and it would seem that the majority of the students had failed. I silently wondered at the practice of reading grades aloud, so that everyone could hear how well or poorly one did, but then remembered their lack of supplies. They could not spare the paper to write down individual student's marks.

Once the dismal results had been read, speeches began.  I was lucky to get a quiet English synopsis of the speeches that the teachers addressed to the students. There was an announcement that a new junior primary school was to be opened the next term. It would only be for Standards one through three, but it would help to reduce the walk that some of the children had to make, and the hope was that the school could be expanded later. I was shocked to learn that some of the students had to walk upwards of four-and-a-half kilometers to school every day. The reality of that would be that many of those children would just not bother to make it all the way to school on many a day.

The Head Master continued and spoke of the ills of “chamba” or marijuana. I looked out at the children in front of me and was saddened that this was a reality that needed to be spoken, but glad to hear that the issue was being addressed. Another teacher spoke against the practice of early marriages. It would seem that many families married off their children young, so that there were fewer mouths to feed. The problem with that though, was that it only served to create new young mouths to feed.  When children begin having children at age 14 or 15, there was time enough to have quite a few babies.

I processed the experience the best I could through my translator, trying not to disrupt the proceedings. My head swam with the details and my heart ached at this very real picture of life in Malawi. All of these smiling faces in front of me held such beautiful promise, but their odds of success in the school system and later in life were bleak. Some of these children would continue on to high school. Even less would be able to attend university. As the ramifications threatened to overwhelm me, a young girl crept over and tugged at my skirt, reaching for my hand to touch. With a smile I returned to the present, and promised myself that I would not forget this day or the lessons that these genuine people offered me. The warm heart of Africa had stolen mine. 

A Drop in the Bucket

Somehow I ended up sitting at the head table with all of the teachers, and Head Master. A sea of little black faces looked towards me, listening intently to the speeches being poured forth by teachers, Head Master and Deputy Head-Master. The only white face out there was Brett, almost invisible though he was, swamped by the hordes of little boys that fawned over him with his magical camera slung around his neck once again.

As we walked to school that morning, our entourage of children had grown from one or two, to a large contingency by the time we reached the Mwaya Beach Public School. Children danced and skipped, hooted and hollered, as we walked along. When we neared the building, our group merged with the other students that milled about, and Brett and I found ourselves under the wing of an adult now. The Deputy Head Master at that!

I felt like an honoured guest, as we were treated to a tour of a class room and the main office. The Deputy Head Master had a running commentary of life for the students in his community, as he showed us the sparsely decorated class room. There was a chalk board in the simple rectangular room, but not a chair or desk to be seen. In fact, most of the lessons were done outside in the open air, as it made little difference if they were inside or out, except for on rainy days. Supplies were almost non-existent and the chalkboards could not even sport chalk to illustrate points on a good day. The beleaguered teachers had classes that numbered in the hundreds. How could one person teach effectively to a class of over 300 pupils? And why would they want to, when their pay was poor and usually late?

This was a far cry from the schooling that I had gone through back in Canada. I could not help but think that the teachers there had nothing to complain about in comparison.

A tour of the cramped office was a little better, but still dismal in its breadth. Stacks of books sat on the floor and on shelves, but when compared to the numbers of pupils, it was a far cry from the necessary needs. There were 1096 registered students at Mwaya Beach, and the stacks of books I saw numbered at most close to a hundred; probably less. When the Deputy Head Master learned I was from Canada, he picked up a book and handed it to me with the cover open. My national pride fluttered, as I read that it had been donated by the Canadian government. It would seem that they had sent several text and workbooks. It helped, but looking out at the sea of students, I knew it was just a drop in the bucket. 

The Interpretation of a Poem

calico cat naps

snuggled under purrs of love

stretching the moment

Last night I read poetry to my girlies before I went out. I read selected poems from the chapbook that I created for my book club. I read some of my poems, and some from many other poets, known and not-so-much. At four and six, they don't care if the poets are wildly famous or not. They just like the sound of words strung together. 

In fact, the ladies of my book club didn't really care if the poets within the pages of the chapbook were known or not either. I know that I dragged some of them to the table of poetry, but for their part they were game to play along with my suggestions. Did I get any converts to a passion for poetry? Yes? No? Probably not so much, but they all claimed to like the experience. I read a few poems and they all exclaimed that the poems sounded so much better for the reading of them. I myself often read aloud words as I write them down, as I too like to hear how something sounds. If it doesn't sound right or flow right, then words are just scribbles on a page. 

Ah, but true poetry is all in the readers interpretation. This I found fascinating over the evening. I was surprised by people's reactions to poems, that I had never thought of. Poems that I had grooved on, were passed over, while other poems were held in high esteem. Interpretation and personal bias is key. No one is right or wrong in their opinions, and I hope that I allowed everyone to express themselves, without fearing to hurt my feelings. No matter, the experience was a good one and an experiment I might try again. 

Of the poem at the top, I wrote it for my daughter. T kept encouraging me to read another poem and another, until it was almost time for me to go. She likes to hear the poetry I create, and I in my turn love to share my meager creativity with her. She suggested that I should write a poem about a cat, so I used our dear Miss Kitty as inspiration this evening. She seems always to be a sleepy ball of fur, and now I should take my cue from her. 

Good night my friends and thank you to those of you who allowed me to share your few precious words with me. I am indebted to your kindness and offer you payment in loving kindness sent to you. Peace.

The Colour of Poverty

Brett and I lingered over our candle-lit dinner, and reflected on our day.  While I had taken the opportunity to lounge the day away, he had ventured out with his camera slung around his neck, intent on capturing the heart of Malawi via his lens. Children had swarmed around him, jumping, posing and begging to have their pictures taken. Laughter followed him around the beach and through the village, as he wandered. The sparkle in his eyes told me that he had enjoyed every minute of it.

I had seen that myself, when he ambled up the beach with his entourage of boys giggling and yelling. They had stopped at my towel where I was reading, and their antics were a sight to behold. Gregarious boys were laughing and running circles around us. Shy girls quietly clung to the outskirts of the circle, a part of the fray, but by their nature, removed. A few daring girls came over to feel my hair and skin, to see if it felt any different than their own black counter-parts. I encouraged their curiousity and admired their beauty as well. It was a delightful exchange and the mirth was infectious. By the time the group dispersed, I was smiling and laughing too. 

Over dinner our conversation was a little more serious though.  While the children had been happy and friendly,  their poverty was all too apparent. They were dressed in nothing more than rags. Excessive wear had robbed the clothes of any colour that they once may have sported. The contrast between their childish glee, was strangely muted by their drab monotonous colour palette. While it did not dampen their enthusiasm, it did diminish our joy.

One image remained in my mind of a little boy in the group that had been wearing a pair of trousers that were bereft of a crotch or bum. His little “chaps” spoke volumes of the standard of living that was so disparate from my own, so far away.  While Brett reminded me that he probably kept his better clothes for school, that could not shake the vision from my eyes. I would not have kept his clothes for rags back home, but here he was running around in public without adequate covering. I am not overly prudish, but his exposure hurt my heart and soul.

 As we watched the last light of the day disappear, we wondered what we would learn the following morning. It would prove to be interesting, as we would see exactly what some of these children did wear to school. It was the last day of the term for the students at Mwaya Beach Primary School. A couple of boys that Brett had met on the beach had invited us to tag along with them to hear test results and tour their classrooms.

I watched the full moon rise into the sky, before being driven under my mosquito net for the night to dream of my date at the chalkboard.

Heart Song

golden haired angel

with gentle nature and charms

riding love's heart waves

fed by birth's memories and

the joyful sound of laughter

Happy Birthday Princess
My first baby turns six today.
Love you forever

If you are looking for a glut of poetry
you could go take a gander at the folks at One Stop.
Today is Wednesday and the poetry is, as always,
hot and ready!

Tired

So

Tired.

Full of visits,

Disney songs,

Excited children.

All hyped up by cousin’s

play with squeals as

they  chased  the

poor cat, who’s

now asleep,

as should

be I.

Yawn

Disney On Ice

Taking kids to Disney on Ice!

~A post for Six Word Saturday~

Just a quick note, as I should be putting the last of the clutter in the kitchen away. My sister and her family are coming into town to join us. My brother-in-law's parents are accompanying them as well, so I really should get back to work. I hope you have a great Saturday!

Gotta Go!

With 2 birthday parties

on either side of town,

a present to buy

& diner to prep

for friends and family

coming over tonight

the computer is the last place

I should be.

*

but I cannot help

but throw my 160

out there for Monkey Man's

Sunday 160.

Shared Meals

Lobster tails

Oh, yummy reminders from Christmas! Delicious, and all the better for me not having any part in making them. I was spoiled over the holidays with so many wonderful meals being made for me. The one above was Christmas Eve, complete with Prime Rib, mashed potatoes, some other veggie matter and  bottle of Vino to wash it down with complements of my step-brother. Felt like a queen!

You all can probably guess what the next night's dinner was. Yup, the all-powerful image of Christmas and families coming together over the piping hot bird brought forth from the oven; Turkey! I love me some turkey, with all the fixings. Ohh, dressing and mashed potato, cranberry sauce and brussel sprouts, plus my Mom's famous icky orange stuff (carrot, squash mix -always different, but good!). I love it all, especially the camaraderie of family laughing and sharing around the extended table. Plus my dear, sweet aunt made a point of separating parents and children from each other. So yes, I did not have to sweat about whether my dear R ate a bite or not (The best part? hmm). And no, she ate almost nothing, but I didn't have to witness it directly, so it was all good. 

Of course, not everyone loves turkey...

The Carcass

After sweating all day in the kitchen and smelling the turkey roasting away, my aunt is almost loathe to even sit at table with the blessed offering. She tries every year to convince us to cook anything but turkey. No turkey, no family though. We cannot help, but rub it in afterwards though. Mean, but what the heck!

And New Year's just kept that good food coming. We dined on yummy Ecuadorian food at my sister's in-laws, with a little more turkey thrown in for good measure. Midnight came and champagne helped toast in the year to come with glee and bliss. After dancing the night away until the very wee hours, we finally crashed where we dropped. And not a creature was stirring, not even the kids!

My last decadence was the very next day. As dawn came much too soon, energy levels had not a chance of renewal. We managed a meal or two for the sake of the little ones in the house, once we returned to my sister's. By dinner, Chinese was in order though. Ah, Chinese food; the salvation of lazy cooks everywhere! 

So why am I re-hashing all this? Well, food jags are not a new thing in my house. My littlest one gives me a run for my money most nights around the dinner table. Since the holidays have ended though, I have had a bit of a respite. I don't want to speak too quickly and jinx myself, but I think (please!) that maybe she is getting it. I have tried to make meals that have appealed and stuck to my guns on taking food away after 30 minutes. She in turn has been excited to show me an empty plate, or at least not crushed when the timer beats her  and dessert is denied (bribery you say? Why, yes!). I think I have also chilled out a little, what with having helping hands and smiling faces of other adults to carry the load. Bliss!

I think that I will close by putting out the invite to any of you delightful folks that wander through my pages, to please, please, please stop by for a meal or two anytime. I usually have a bottle of wine kicking around somewhere or other, and we love the company! It makes for a better day for us all...

Dinner Time

Meal time at my house;

Yeah, not a fun thing at present.

I make a meal,

any meal, be it liked or no

and then commence to nag!

I take a bite of my food,

then say "eat".

I take a sip of a beverage,

then say "Eat".

I stare at my daughter,

then say "EAT!"

and at some point thereafter

I lose it

again.

I have threatened no dessert.

I have threatened no stories.

I have stated that this meal

will be served for dinner tomorrow,

but no one cares.

Do I?

Hell yes, as I am beginning to feel like 

the Wicked Witch of the West!

Eating my meal

with fire in my eyes

and evil in my heart

ready to screech out my hollow wrath

at the drop of a fork

She says she will eat her dinner 

"when she is a Mommy"

I tell her she will never grow to be an adult

without food in her belly,

but unblinking eyes register

NOTHING.

She is not a Mommy yet

and will eat when she is good and ready

apparently.

and apparently

my battles that I wage alone

are not so uncommon,

but I still wish

that this phase would pass...

Winding down...

Just having a little fun today.

The kids and I hit the mall one more time.

Crazy!

I know,

but they had to get something for Grandma!

and then I forgot about the babysitter.

groan...

Every year I think I am done and then one more thing pops up,

and then another, 

and another.

I am never quite done until Christmas Eve

when the mall doors close

and I sit back

to turn my focus to wrapping.

Yeah.

That is never done until late Christmas Eve

when the kids are in bed.

Christmas carols play softly 

on my sad excuse for a stereo

and a rum and eggnog sits primly

by my elbow

waiting to fill me with cheer.

Ahhh!

But you?

How are you doing with your Christmas prep?

Are your cookies baked 

or bought :-}

Are the presents made/paid for,

wrapped and waiting under the tree?

or are you still scrambling,

 trying to figure out what tree,

and where to put it?

never mind decorations!

ohhh...

Well, the days are winding short.

Perhaps a quick mulled cider

will give the inspiration needed

to hit the stores Christmas Eve

with a flurry of spirit,

spunk and savings

and you can wake

Christmas morn

to cheer

& love

for all

*

Snow Day

I am calling in a snow day. Today was day two of a snow squall that has settled over my fair city. We have received upwards of 30+cm already and they are calling for that again in the next 24hrs. The schools across the region were closed and we were grounded at home. That being said, I call my own snow day. No work done today, aside from cookie baking & the proverbial dinner. A rousing game of Trouble filled in the afternoon before we went out to shovel again. Now the kids are abed and after the last 36 hours, I think I shall call it quits as well. Be well, stay safe and bless you all my friends for all that you offer me. 

I'm a gummibar

Just wanted to share a little piece of my Momma hell with you. This has been stuck in my head all evening. Delightful. The kids think it is hilarious. My brain isn't going to offer you anything more from its gummy state I'm afraid. Perhaps tomorrow I will be able to find a poetic pen...

Cleaning Spree

Time to empty shelves.

We discard old

and broken items

that no longer hold love or attention

in hopes that St Nick

will come to offer

shiny new baubles

for our play!

$$$

Yesterday we headed to the mall and spied Santa on his throne. My eldest hid behind me, but little R headed straight for the Big Guy's lap to chat. I figured that made it a good excuse to clean the playroom and thin out the toy shelves down there. Perhaps I will be able to see the floor for a day or two...

Oh, and this little ditty is my entry for the Sunday 160 over at Monkey Man's as well. 

Hope your Sunday was swell!

A PA Day in November

At 3:00 PM this afternoon, the temperature went up to 17C (or 62F for my American friends). That was according to the Weather Network in my little corner of SW Ontario. It is mid-November and that has got to be pushing some kind of record (Yup, just checked the Weather again and we haven't seen that temperature on this day since 1964). I remember plenty a day when the world has been covered in white in years past. I know that Ms. C will slap me silly claiming I am jinxing the world, but I am still in a little bit of disbelief. It was just gorgeous with nary a cloud in the sky!

Ancient dinosaur wandering the woods

So rather than sit inside and cook, clean or tackle the never-ending laundry pile, we packed into the van and went a'wandering with friends in tow. It was a PA day for the girls, so a special treat to have such glorious weather to enjoy. We headed to a local park for the girls to play, then explored the forest surrounding it. My idea of a perfect day and these smiles give proof of the fun that we had.

The girls tamed the beast into a ride

Everywhere we went, we found giant stumps that I couldn't help but snap another picture of. The little hams were only too willing to climb up for their photo op.

After the woods were conquered, they ran back to the playground 

for one more round of swinging fun

Before calling it a day,

 noshing on dinner

and climbing into bed

 for sweet, sweet dreams

 of a day spent under a magnificent, clear blue November sky.

If it's Yellow...

“Voila!”, he proclaimed.

A small, blue oval was held aloft by the end of the needle-nose pliers.

“This was your problem,” he stated, as rain drizzled on our heads bent over the upside-down toilet lying in the grass.
 
My eyes grew large, as recognition hit me.

Grrr…


“Darling, little angels,” I exclaimed to his laughter.

Marbulous Marble Run

Oh G-man, that was my tale of woe for you in 55 words. 

Seen here is the blue disk discovered in its foiled escape from my house

The Tale of my Toilet: Yes, my darling little angels were the ones at fault for all my loo's woes. Just as I expected! The little blue oval  was the landing pad for the marble game game shown above. It was wedged in the last bend of my commode's siphon tube, trying desperately to be flushed out to sea. Alas, all it was doing was backing up water and whatever other contents were placed into the latrine, ahem. My tale does not have a shitty ending though, as life has returned to normal in the workings of my lavatory. And if you will excuse me, I think that the WC/Dunny/Privy is calling...

and remember, "If it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown flush it down" So says Wikipedia, and so say I.

Bwahahaha! Happy Friday!!

Everyday is Halloween

BOO!!

Happy Halloween all!

Couldn't resist a blast from the past

(for you too Ms. C)

Too tired after returning from my sister's house and the mayhem of a 5 year old's Chuck E Cheese party,

plus the 2 1/2 hour drive home, 

followed by a mad scramble to carve a few bumpy pumpkins

 to offer you another scary scribbled tale.

The blissful sugary-anticipating grins from my little ones

makes it all worthwhile,

as I rub my tender tootsies

and bid you good night...

Enjoy this taste of Ministry

(A band I gothically glammed to in my teen years)

and my Halloween treat for you.

The very bad, no good, terrible day

The very bad, no good, terrible day
started yesterday
with meetings delayed
or thrown aside (I'm afraid)

No time to cancel the poor
babysitter's tour
with my babe's that adore
her infectious crafts (always more!)

a book not read
when I finally laid my head
to pillow for rest
you will finish! (my brain requests)

tomorrow dawned bleary
and my sighs made me teary
but the coffee was put on
and rain gear was planned to don

the house was left in a flurry
(we are always in a hurry)
but our efforts were for naught
as the bus had left (my curses fought)

My children begged to follow
- the will to fight was hollow
The field trip could be saved,
but our trek slowed on roads unpaved.

A pee break made us miss
the wagon ride of bliss
so I surrendered to fate
giving that we were too late.

Turned the van back to construction row
a new path we would go.
For apples we would look
and at the sand hill I finished the book!

Now to bed I fly
as I can barely lift an eye
I hope for a new day to be
more graceful for you and me...