walls

I  am

the beautiful girl

that people look back 

on  remembering

the sweet pieces

of a heart 

which

sur-

vived

only by 

being tucked 

behind a windowless wall

they don't remember 

helping to build
but i do

Sepia Memories

no matter 

the words, deeds 

or other valiant efforts

yesterday will always be 

this old tattered snapshot

that keeps fading into sepia memories

which only I can see
~

scars

soft petals tinged by

past breezes, freezes, memories

forever noted

yet beauty amidst the scars

show strength in our tomorrows

ghosts

The ghosts come from my closet
the door swings open wide
voices fill the airwaves.
I must take it in stride

I didn't know the door was shut
I never knew it slammed
upon so many faces
til suddenly I'm deprogrammed

Now time's a funny object
It's given me some gifts
I must decide which are welcome
and which ones to set adrift

Do they all come wrapped in paper
present everlasting truth
or do some hide secret messages
to uncover like a sleuth?

As history slides still further
I feel it yet inside
it's left a permanent mark
the scars I can't abide

Doubt crosses many borders
I grapple one on one
with ghosts who stand in front of me
and wish this had never begun

Happy Memories

Homework assignment:

Try to recall the day last year when you were happiest. Why then? What were the circumstances? Did it happen because of something you did, or did it just happen? When I asked someone this question the other day they said, "I can't remember the day but I can remember the hour very well. Is that good or pathetic?"

   ~ Jonathan Carroll

Last year...

Is he referring to this past year, 2014, or rather the year before? I suppose I can take licence in answering that, so define it as 2013, as I think of 2014 as this year. Or is it the year past? Hmm... I fear I am dithering though and shall just get on with the task at hand.

I slipped into a new decade

So what did 2013 hold? This is an interesting challenge for my memory. The biggest, most obvious thing must have been my birthday in July. I turned 40, but the date held far less fireworks than I imagined. The number came at me like a bulldozer trying to run me down, but after a few weeks, didn't have the punch I had expected. There were celebrations with friends and family, cake, and a trip to Sunfest with my girls for a taste of international music and arts. But it didn't make my heart stop. And I don't know if it contained my happiest moments to be truthful.

What else happened in 2013? At the time, I was pretty happy to meet my boyfriend's children in August. We had dated for what seemed like plenty long enough, but there were always reasons why we couldn't be introduced. When the date finally came, it was sprung on me at the last minute. I still had time to get nervous as all get-out though. To my delight, they happily liked me. And when I finally got over the fear of being the dreaded "other woman" I had hope that we could be one big happy family. We spent many happy moments together later that summer and fall, catching fish, carving pumpkins, and creating snowforts. The kids all got along better than I could have dreamed. The future looked bright. But as circumstances have since changed, I no longer have much to crow about over those particular memories. They sadly get lost amongst questions and lies.

Well then, where else did joy lie that year? There were plenty of smiles and laughter anytime I got together with my sister and her kids. And if I think about it, I know that my happiest moment was not a when, but with a whom.

2013 Clovermead Bee Beard Competition

Together with my sister, we went to Clovermead to see their annual bee beard competition. We hit the Ontario Science Centre in the spring, and gathered maple syrup, easter eggs and Autumn leaves; all together as a family unit. In those moments I felt most myself and at ease. I didn't have to be anyone else to impress. I wasn't required to be on my best behaviour. I could smile and laugh without fear of reprisals or ill effects. A pure love existed which didn't judge me, nor my actions. It wasn't big and spectacular, but all those moments were filled with the best of me and the best of what I hope to share with the world.

So I cannot say what my happiest moment of 2013 was. In fact, in 2014 I would probably have the same response. The "when" lay in the people whom I had the privilege to be with. My control of it had more to do with the fact that I chose to be with them. My family. My sister. Our love. Unconditional and joyful. And in recognizing that, I give thanks that I am blessed not with one sole happiest moment, but rather a happiest feeling when I am privileged to spend time with those I love most.

What is your happiest moment of the past year?

Nail in the Wall

Unpacking pictures 

old photos of days gone by

memories long spent

moments no longer relived

not worth the nail in the wall

Silent Saturday

Swimming in the last few drops of
yesterday's sweet suns
squeezed from your skins
stamped from your hearth
as I greedily swill you
  d
    o
      w
         n

Aye, you bring me Saturday night
through the eyes of my clear
Sauvignon Blanc, I see
yesterday,
  days long gone...

Evenings I stood twitching,
shivering in prayers
and short skirts
for late night smiles
from last minute hopefuls.

As the "LAST CALL"
peal was rung,
the rueful cabby
swung (as I still clung)
round to meet us.

He always done drag us off
more often than not
single and three sheets gone
what a loss
(not), I'm afraid.

No thoughts to tomorrow,
painful and vague,
from those ill-conceived concoctions
drunk in earnest
far from sane

Did they ever truly present
sweet dreams or even slim chance
of pleasant tomorrows?
Or rather misty moments lost in time
and willingly forgotten in tonight's
  s
    i
      l
       e
         n
           c
             e

missing

I rolled over and my arm fell on the cold spot in the bed.

How long would it be before that wasn't a shock to the system anymore? No one else warmed the sheets. No one else would be making the coffee. No lover stood in the shower, or had walked out the front door on their way to work for the day. No one else filled the gas tank or my many waking hours. I was alone.

After so many weeks, how was it that fresh tears could still form under swollen lids? Was I doomed to this nightmare forever more? Would I ever wake up from this sick and twisted turn of my life? The answer of course was no.

Life no longer held another to be responsible to or to care about my fate. I could bypass the potatoes when buying groceries and never step into a hardware store ever again. But I was drawn to them none the less. The ten pound bags of yukon gold made my cry. I wandered the aisles of big box stores, feeling lost, but somehow drawn to the next lane to see if there was some other item that I really did need. When I did find something to purchase, I stared at my choices for what seemed an eternity, not wanting to fail and never confident enough about my own decisions. I needed to prove myself, but felt like I always set myself up to fail. The wrong size, shape or consistency doomed me every time. I returned the next week to try again though. And again.

This missing appendage was bigger than the spot on the bed and it amazed me how it grew with time. I now questioned food choices, TV shows, wall colours and more. I couldn't decide on a new bath tub, as what would happen if I picked wrong? How could I live with myself if I chose one roofer over another and the sky fell in?

Somehow the challenges kept coming though. Somehow I managed to choose. And one day I recognized that you weren't really missing anymore. You had been there all along, catching every tear that I shed. You applauded my choices and did your best to offer advice in the only way you could, through memories and slight of hand persuasions that I picked up on, but never quite realized. You sent me praise through a friend's touch or faith from your daughter's eyes. And occasionally, I found a piece of you that you left in my path  and I knew that you would be with me til the end.

That spot in the bed is no longer cold and I feel your smile on my shoulders strong. It is amazing that I was lost for so long, but slowly I awake and find I am missing no more.

♥♥♥

Again, not quite fiction, but drawn from a prompt at Mostly Fiction Mondays brought to us from Stranger and Me

Meagan

throat aches
as tears roll down
to touch old wounds
and scars that forever remain

four years ago
erased all new moments from
the time that should have been
your life

but a soul
is not erased
by circumstances
beyond my control

alive
you live on in
tears, hugs and souls
that carry your name forever

and you remain
in hearts and lives
that refuse to let you walk alone
through a valley not dark in death

Blessings to you
smiling through 15 year-old eyes
and hands that whisper gentle
along our souls forever still

peace to you Meagan
on the anniversary of your death
and a day we celebrate
your life all over again

Talking to the Wind

Dear Grandpa;

You lead a full and satisfying life. To you, three daughters were born, and have since gone on to do you proud. They presented you with grandchildren, whom you spoiled and cherished, every chance you got. You even got to see a great-grandchild before leaving this living world. Indebted, we are all a legacy to you.

You saw so much in your lifetime. The television came into existence, along with VCRs, fax machines and now the internet. You fought in World War II and served for many years afterwards in the Air Force. You sweated in steel mills, but I remember you sweating in the garden most. That lovely garden you built on Pender Island, along with a beautiful house to go with it. My memories of that house and garden will warm me for a long time to come.

I clasp my hand around a stone you polished and set. I do not know if it was specifically for me, but I cherish it none the less, for your effort into it. You were always working with your hands, creating something whether it was a green house, the ‘discomboobulator’, a ‘gotcha stick’, or your famous peanut butter sandwiches. You were always doing something. Even in your later years you were President of your local Legion, played bridge once a week with your lady friends on Pender, and you still had time to help advise your children and grandchildren on major life decisions. I recall my Mom, your eldest, asking for advice on job offers. Your youngest also consulted you for advice on important decisions. You had a good head on your shoulders and everyone knew it. Even in your last six months, you were looking into a job for me, despite major operations, recoveries and meeting the newest of your seven grandchildren.

Grandpa, you were the father that I never had. You taught Kerry and I (your favourites, you always said) how to spit, to collect wood and stones (still do that, especially this trip), to gather eggs when you had chickens, to fish, to play crib (and count via muggins), to blow my nose (which I should do now- sniff, sniff) and many of the manners that I rely on today. I have iconized (I know you would tell me to look that word up!) you in speeches (remember my grade 5 speech on your inventions!), in my memories of the summers Kerry and I spent with you and Grandma, (integral to my growing up and formation of personal beliefs and traits), as a teacher (I too have asked your opinion, mine on writing). It seems you had a hand in everything. While expert may be a bit of a strong word, your general knowledge was broad and indepth.

I love you for your hat and suspenders. I picture me snapping them and …Aggh”! Despite your military breeding, that I did not necessarily always agree with (“Front and Centre!”), it taught me respect for my elders and authorities, at least to a certain degree. We finally got you to start using a “please” now and then though, with much effort from our army of kids.

Now I recall helping you on with your socks and can see in my mind’s eye your varicose veins; snakes or worms you called them. I picture you in your rubber boots, with a chain saw in hand, sticking out your dentures at the kids (“arrh!”) and Grandma complaining “Geordie!”

Oh you could make us laugh! I recall more images of you slapping the blunt edge of a knife into elbows, with the words “elbows off the table” or “are you tired?” Your famous pout-catchers almost always got us laughing again, despite stubborn tears. The dreaded whisker rub made us shriek every time too. I could go on and on.

Grandpa, I love you dearly and always will. I carry you with me wherever I go. You are a part of me, as you are a part of everyone you touched. I cannot even begin to paint a complete picture of you, as the colours I have available are insufficient and drab, as compared to the rainbows you left on people. The respect you earned from the world, I flaunt as a memory to you. Many will pause, as your spirit touches the wind.

To SGT George McLeod: husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather; The 23 years I have known you are not enough, but as the hurting flesh is laid to rest, your essence carries me on. May your heart be felt forever in those that pump your blood. Go well, strong warrior. Stay well.

Love ∞

And with that, a scotch was raised to my lips in memory of a great man. My eyes stung, as the ice clinked against my teeth, but I valiantly swallowed my sorrows along with the libation. My Grandfather had died the month before on my birthday. Teardrops littered my journal, as I paid homage to him. The hugs I needed and craved for release were over 6000 kilometres away, but there was nothing that could be done about that now.  I was alone with a grief that needed to be heard by someone, but all I could do was talk to the wind. So I did. 

Leaving on a Jet Plane - The Musical

After yesterday's post, I just couldn't help but share this song. It reminds me of days gone by in a sweet melancholy way. No jet planes in my near future, but I can still dream of good days to come. I can still dream of arms around me, as I remember sweet kisses in your smile. 

sweet kiss

morning's bliss

forever a song

in my heart

~

Snapshot of my Past

Mother's Day 2005

Sun shone.

Air

gentle and mild

plastered faces in smiles

My first Day.

Eyes held a beginning tale

that would conclude 2 years later

when Daddy faded

from this picture


-/\-
(Aw shucks, that isn't a very happy mother's day poem is it? The pic was taken on my first mother's day; a few weeks after Daddy was diagnosed with cancer. Daddy's kind of help to make Mother's Day more special, so even though it is supposed to be a day to celebrate me, I tend not to be so excited. I know my girlies have special treats for me though, so I will do my best to smile for them & be a happy mommy)


Happy Mother's Day to You
& Happy Sunday 160.
Go visit some of the other folks
who link in and get your fill
of reading about Mommy's praises
as I am sure they will abound.

Happy Anniversary!

This post

is number 500!

(minus the deleted entry due to spam up the ying-yang)
-aside from a picture of Grandma, you aren’t missing anything

I have also

been scribbling

My thoughts & ramblings

for two years

As of the end of March

(1st post - March 30^th, 2009)

Exciting Times At

A New Day

>< >< ><

Those are my 55 words for G-Man

but I thought I would celebrate

by re-posting a few pics

of the woman behind the

blinking cursor

Taken during renos that got a lot of blog play back in Jan 2010

There I am with my boyfriend on a date away from the computer

Loafing again - From Dec 2010 snowstorm

A Delightful take of me from Christmas 2010 (must have had a few drinks that day!)

Aha, the missing photo!
Now you are all caught up.

so grab a glass of something yummy,

as its Friday night

and I think

the fact that I have kept at this little writing experiment

for two years!

is worth celebrating!

**CHEERS TO**

A NEW DAY!

may tomorrow bring you the heart

and wisdom that you desire

~

Mid-Summer Reflections

Hello my friends. Good of you to stop by today. I have had a wonderful summer thus far, full of relaxing by the beach, visiting with family and friends, gardening and whatever whatnot that has held my fancy. I have to admit though, that works has been the last thing on my mind. Not exactly true, as I have thought about it, but just have not undertaken much paid employment. Things are about to change a little bit in that respect though, which I have to admit is probably a good thing. My little bee in the picture knows the value of a little labour. I think it is time I did too. This might mean a few less posts here, as I will be doing writing for others so my brain might be empty at the end of the day. As this has been my focus for the last couple of days, I don't feel an awful lot of inspiration today. Since I didn't post yesterday, I had to pop by for a few minutes anyway though. I thought I would take you for a wander through my garden today for a change in pace. I hope you are having a happy week, be it productive or relaxing. Enjoy!

~~~

Balloon flowers still blooming

These delicate little flowers were a gift that I was allowed by a dear woman that I gardened for last year. Their beauty  and hardiness remind me of her every time I look at them.

My butterfly bush hoping to attract a few winged friends to the garden.

 These unique sunflowers have a heady honey scent that is tempting for bees and me alike.

A green zebra tomato that is almost ripe. I cannot wait to taste this heirloom variety and hopefully save a seed or two so we can continue to preserve its quality.

This little gourd is compliments of last year's leftover Thanksgiving display. I cannot wait to see what colour it ends up and how big it grows!

Another heirloom variety plant picked up from the Gathering on the Green in the spring. This is the second eggplant I will have got from this plant thus far. I bought the plant on a whim, but my first taste was pure Yum!

and a little more sunshine at the end of the day

peeking through the black-eyed Susan.

I Remember...

Memories:

 *Splashing in huge puddles at the side of the road as we walked home from school in spring/summer. We would yell to the passing cars to "speed up" and "splash us! splash us!" laughing madly every time we got soaked to the skin. Truly a dirty little experience and dirty little memory, but a smile drifts in...

*The smell of fresh bread baking in Grandma's kitchen was enough to make any soul salivate, with little hands and faces plastered to the oven door to watch the golden goodness rise to its full glory. Any leftover dough (and Grandma always made sure there was a little left over for her googly-eyed Grandkids) was transformed into fried treats sprinkled with sugar. We thought we had died and gone to heaven...

*Staring up into my Mother's spent face as she explained that my Father had died. Our vigil was over. This was my time to say goodbye, before life moved on. Standing at the side of the bed I stared. My five year-old brain did not have the words to say a thing. I stared and stared. Life moved on...

*Sitting in the back of a speeding big rig in nowhere Namibia wondering what had possessed me to think that hitch-hiking was okay, and safe, and a good idea? Screaming to my guardian angels to please, please, PLEASE help me out of this one. "One day I would grow up and realize that I wasn't indestructible and if I could just get this little favour and end up outside of this truck in one piece mentally and physically, I would Learn!" One scary lesson to learn from those said angels. Thank you

*Having wave after wave of the worst pain I had ever experienced slam into me. Looking up into my husband's eyes knowing that just his presence alone was enough for me to keep going. Wanting release, but not wanting to give up for me and for the baby inside of me. The blessed bundle ratcheting my pelvis into a position it felt appropriate regardless of my physiology. Knowing that I could do it, despite everything my body tried to connive me into. And doing it. Breathing with wide-open eyes as the miracle of life was bestowed upon me. A shared moment of love with this man. This man that I had walked with, talked with and now created with. We made life eternal in the form of a tiny human girl. My touch with perfection and the pristine pool of pure love.

*Opening up the newspaper and seeing my face and my name perched beside an article written by my hand. Knowing that I had received my five minutes of fame by reaching out to touch the world with a picture that I could share of me to whomever was willing to read. And knowing that people read, cared and liked what I had to offer, even going so far as a brief TV time slot. Pride and fame are mine...

*Taking my two girls by hand and walking with them into the future. Approaching the building that represents their start of tomorrow, their independence. Breathing smiles into me and my progeny. We have been one. Love binds us together. Trust must let me walk beside them for a distance

    and then wave goodbye...

School starts September.

Change comes eternal for me and you

Never stand in way

Friends and Reflections

   I was happy to hear all the positive feedback from my last post. I write for myself, but do appreciate the fact that others enjoy the written word. I think that we can all look back on special memories from our childhood and smile. I value the fact that baking with my children will be a memory that they too will be able to look back on and smile about. My memories are shared across generations and that is special to me.
   This evening I shall create different memories. These ones I anticipate will be rather fuzzy though. I will be getting together with old co-workers for dinner and laughter at Yuk-Yuks. This has become a tradition, despite the fact that the cast and crew are mostly former employees of said workplace. We all shared a time and space though and appreciated each others company. The food and laughs are welcome in my world and I look forward to hugs from old friends. I dare say that tomorrow I may not be feeling as chipper as today, but I accept my fate. I know I could potentially do something about it (abstain?), but I also know me and the people I will be with. I worked with all men and they like their beer. The laughter just seems to help the bevvies slide down faster than other times. Perhaps I will be savvy and mix in water between adult beverages? Hmmm
   Hopefully you will still see a post tomorrow, but we shall have to wait and see. I expect that my prose will be lacking regardless, but I will have a crooked smile. A smile that says I was wanted and loved and appreciated for being me.

Memory Lane via Cookies

     Chocolate chip cookies. Yummy!

   As promised, cookies were baked this morning. My girlies love to bake and it is a sweet moment to share this love with them. My Grandmother fostered this love in me, as she always baked with my sister and I when we were little. I cherish memories of the delectable smells of freshly baked bread, sugar cookies, thimble cookies, jam jams and so much more. If we were patient, it was a treat to be given a beater or spoon to lick the sweet confections off of them. The bowl was the "icing on the cake", if you will. There was never a fear of  becoming ill from the raw eggs in the batter. I have eaten so much raw batter that I do not worry about it, although the baked cookies are more to my taste now. My children's delighted faces that light up with the promise of their own spoon to lick is a beautiful reminder of my youth. I cannot help but smile and send lovely little "thank yous" through the air to dear Grammy that gave me this gift in the first place.

  

   My Grandfather also comes to my heart and mind, as the baking progresses. I have two of my Grandmothers baking sheets that my Grandfather made. While I have a cupboard full of baking sheets, the two Grandpa made are my favourite. The cookies always come off perfectly and the sheets clean up easily. They look brand new and I know that is a sign of quality. They have seen umpteen number of treats and they will see numerous more if my children have anything to say about it.

   My Grandparents were a special part of my childhood that I hold close and cherish more as my days go on. I appreciate their self-sufficiency in a world they literally built from the ground up. They constructed a house blasted from the Rocky Mountains in British Columbia. Grandpa kept chickens and we gathered eggs by the dozen when we visited. The fowls also graced the soup pot when they were done laying, a fact that bothered my childhood sensibilities. 

   Today I let nothing go to waste and boil chicken carcasses into stock with a nod to Grandma again. A raised garden bed filled their kitchen table and larders with veggies. Raspberries, peas, strawberries and beans were thinned out by my sister and my little hands with glee. The canning process that saw their produce saved for winter serving was something I attempted to recreate this Fall. I aspire to get better at it as the years go by. My modern family thinks I am a little goofy for spending so much time at these menial tasks, but my jams are always accepted by all. Should we slow down and appreciate the gifts that are offered us by Mother Earth and memory? I cannot answer for all, but for myself I know the glee glimpsed on my little girls faces when aprons are pulled out tells me yes. Most definitely yes. 

Thank you Grandma. Thank you Grandpa. Merry Christmas.