invasion of the body scanners....

Like the rest of the world, I was left with horrifying "what ifs" in my head after the attempted terrorist attack on Christmas Day, and was very relieved that it ended the way it did.  Since then, the intense knee jerk reaction to the event by politicians and the media has been very bizarre indeed.  Baffling too.  I'm just glad I'm not travelling these days to the United States.  It's not worth the hassle nor the anxiety.

We've seen the stories of the long line ups at the airports.  New carry on bans have kicked in, leaving everyone completely confused as to what you can or cannot take on board. My heart goes out to the frequent flyers whose successful work weeks are dependent on the swift arrival, departure and connections process....  God help them! 

Pat downs and frisking is the order of the day.  Hysteria has permeated the planet.  One guy on a suicide mission has altered travel as we knew it. One guy, whose Islamic terrorist ambitions were documented prior to the incident has rattled the nerves of the world!  We're now about to be invaded by body scanners. Canada just announced the purchase of 44 new scanners to be used in the 8 biggest airports in the country.  Does anyone else see this new approach to combating Islamic terrorism as absurd?  It's ABSURD!

Have we not just added yet another layer of security on top of a security system that needs to be fixed?  If the communication of information had been working properly, wouldn't we have picked up on this guy and not let him on a plane?  I mean, his own father called the authorities to let them know his son was on a mission to kill.   Shouldn't we be FIXING that problem rather than adding more to it?  We have the technology to ensure the authorities have the information.  I completely agree with identifying certain countries as high risk.  Profiling already happens informally.  Why not formalize it?  Why should EVERYONE be put through the same intense scrutiny?

I can't help but think Bin Laden and his buddies are in some cave giggling their faces off.  Chaos and fear was triggered in our collective emotional sensitivities and we've reacted by playing right into their hands.   We are now being invaded by the body scanners.  Is this the equivalent of street proofing?  Both provide a false sense of security. There is no guarantee that x-raying every single traveller will stop all other terrorist attempts.  What happens when THIS fails?  Do we strip down to our unbuffed buffs? Nude flying?  Starkers Airlines? 

Hey, maybe thats what we should do.  Maybe its time to embrace our lovely wrinkly banged up bodies by stripping down and flying in the buff.  Pack away your clothes and accessories.  Put away your self conscious worries.  No need to spend all that money on body scanners.  Flaunt your flesh!

Crazy!  This world has gone absolutely bonkers.  Where does the insanity stop?  How DO WE stop it?

Bath, UK

This week's photo theme is Travel.  If I had my druthers, I'd be a travellin' fool.  I haven't explored near as many places as I had thought I would do by this point in my life and I hope the my future will offer up the chance to.  I did have the wonderful fortune though to spend a week in England at the end of the summer.  The majority of my time was focused on attending the Greenbelt Festival.  The first two days, however, was spent ambling around the city of Bath, which I absolutely fell in love with. The history, the architecture, and the whole feel of it being the land of Jane Austen novels left me smitten to return for a much longer visit.

Above, was the view from my room at the YMCA hostel.  Wow.  I absolutely LOVED it!  It was interesting staying at a hostel again, though this time I chose to have my own room rather than sharing it with 20 others like i did when I backpacked across Europe in the 80's.  The room however had no amenities.  Nada.  But, it was clean and the bed was comfie and given that I hadn't slept on the plane over etc, I figured I was just going to crash anyways.

Well, that was the plan until the fire alarm woke me from a deep sleep at around 10 pm and I had to get dressed and get my butt down to the front courtyard.  Not many even left the building and in fact the cafeteria was FILLEd with Spanish students singing and playing a loud clapping/cheering game.  They were having a blast, but oblivious to the amount of noise they were making.

The only people outside were older folks, all off whom seemed disinterested in starting up a conversation with anyone else.  It was kind of strange.  I had expected a lot of interaction, but there was none.  Couples stayed within themselves.  Groups were focused on eachother.   Given that I was wide awake at that point, I took the risk of entering the cafeteria to make myself a cup of tea, and then went back outside to enjoy the warm summer night....... and to listen to the chattering cheering Spanish kids.

There was a man sitting beside me whom I presumed was another traveller staying at the Y.  I made some comment about the incessant cheering.......... a conversation starter little joke.  He volleyed a comment my way and before I knew it, I was into a chat with him.  Very quickly, he informed me that he wasn't staying at the Y.  Phil, in fact, was a homeless person who had slept on the same bench for the past 8 years.  Well, he got MY attention!! I was full of questions.!!   And once I told him that I used to work with people on social assistance in Canada, Phil too was full of questions.  Our conversation took off in many directions.

I learned about the welfare system, about his family travails, about his struggles with alcoholism.  Phil described his bench, how it was contoured to fit his body.   He talked about the animals that live in the area and how he had tamed them.  He described the whole area, and the other towns I had passed through from Gatwick to Bath and shared a few stories of growing up in Swindon, which looked so worse for wear when I travelled through it earlier in the day.

When I asked him about subsidized housing, he admitted that he couldn't live inside.  He felt too claustrophobic.... to closed in.  He had tried, but it never panned out.  Consequently, he had been living outside for most of his adult life.  Given that he is the same age as me, that means he's been homeless for over 25 years. 

It was a true two way conversation......... Phil was very curious about life in Canada and about why I was travelling alone, why I was in the UK.  When I told him I was going to the Greenbelt Festival in Cheltenham, to meet up with friends I had met through the internet, he was ALARMED!  Once I elaborated a bit on the friendship connections and how long they had been nurtured, he shook his head and told me he thought I was a risk taker!  This from a man who lives hand to mouth every single day!!  It made me laugh...... and I pointed out that his life was risky on a daily basis.

I also described the vastness of the country and how cold it gets in the winter..... how there are a few homeless people in my city who somehow manage to find a place to sleep outside even in -20 degree weather.   I told him a little bit about my family, and about the beauty of it.   Phil then described his dream to me.  If he could, he would have his own cabin in the woods in Canada.  I wasn't surprised and told him so.  There is a sense of freedom and independence captured in a dream like Phil's.  No neighbours, no interuptions, no structured routine.  Surrounded by nature, and left to your own survival skills, a cabin in the woods would be the perfect dream place for Phil.

We talked for an hour or so...... long enough that the Spanish cheering squad had finally called it a night.  There was never a moment when I felt uneasy or in harm's way.  Phil was a true gentleman.  Polite, and just as interested in connecting with another human being as I was, he shared so much of his personal story with me, and when he asked, I shared some of mine.  It was an amazingly open and interesting conversation.... two people who from an outsider would appear to be so very different, found common ground within minutes of meeting.  Our lives have evolved in such different ways. Our experiences, stresses, struggles, opportunities were polar opposites.  Where we met was at a place of hopes and dreams and feelings...... we shared an interest in humanity.

When it was time for me to head back in to try to catch some sleep before a full day of sightseeing and then catching the train to meet up with Pip and Paul in Cheltenham, I stood up to say goodbye.  We hugged like friends do, and wished each other well.  He turned and walked towards the dark alley leading to the road and eventually to his bench, and I headed inside the YMCA hostel feeling very lucky to have met him......... feeling very lucky that my week travelling on my own was no doubt going to be interesting. 

Phil continues to linger in my thoughts.......... I wonder if he's found any comfort tonight?

For more photos on Travel............and maybe a couple of stories to go with them, check out Carmi's blog. 

The view I had while sitting on the other side of the Avon River having a picnic lunch.  Bath Abbey looms large over the centre of this absolutely beautiful city.

the inclusivity of collective joy.....

Collective Joy at a CISV celebration....
Odell Park, Fredericton, June 2009

I say hey I'll be gone today
But I'll be back all around the way
It seems like everywhere I go
The more I see
the less I know
But I know one thing
That I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you
Michael Franti

The other day, when I needed a little sign to push me forward along the way to Greenbelt (nerves kicked in) I got one. The first voice I heard on the radio when I turned on the van was Michael Franti, the headliner from last year's GB Festival. He said..... "the definition of joy is when the human intersects with the Divine....." He went to describe his interpretation of communal joy..... when people congregate to celebrate and feel a sense of oneness. Not only is it a celebration, he described, it is also a life affirming opportunity to feel at one with many.... to recognize equality and common ties that bind.

For an hour, Franti had my rapt attention as he spoke of his experiences being on the stage and looking out at the crowds.... the collective joy vibrations lifting up into the air to where he stood singing and leading them on.

Smiles and tears..... laughter as well as those melting heart moments when the air feels thinner, when the air has that electricity you just want to inhale.

Whether its at a concert, in a church, outstanding in a field gazing at the night sky with a group.... whether its at a wedding reception, in the middle of a rousing game of capture the flag ... whether its in the middle of a peace march, on a hike along the Fundy trail with 10 of your buddies..... whether its at a hockey game, baseball game, rugby game .... at a Pub on Friday night or in a quiet chapel in the country with family .... collective joy contains the ingredients that affirms and reinforces all that we hope to feel in our lifetime. But, it's more than that, because it takes you out of your body and into a realm where you're greeted by the echoes of many souls..... A trip like no other.

As I gather my thoughts today before I kiss my family goodbye and hop on a plane, I know I leave with an essence of what is to come this weekend. Simply an essence...... gathered from what I've read, and what has been shared with me from my friends I have met through blogging and email connecting. Looking at the expansive itinerary of the four day festival, I feel like a complete neophyte.

Not one name on the list of "talks" is familiar to me, except of course my emerald friend Pip. I recognize (barely) some of the names of the musicians. I know I will feel familiar with some of the worship services, but many of them I won't. I don't know the rituals.....I have a feeling I'll know some of the hymns....but many will be new to me. It will all be new to me. What isn't new is that feeling I have experienced in the past with collective joy.....

Pip writes and BELIEVES ....... "Growth does not reside in a place called comfortable." I think he may even be expanding on that during one of his talks.... (I can't wait to see him up there leading the group I will be a part of....) Personally, I have taken on his statement and have allowed it to be a conscious guide in my life, knowing that I have always believed this myself. I just hadn't made the connection to it until my life intersected with him. When I reflect on my most important learning, it was when I felt the most challenged....the most stretched..... the most juiced up with itching curiosity. Thirsty for growth. Thirsty for the sense of standing on a precipice feeling humbled.

"It seems that everywhere I go, the more I see, the less I know........ but I know one thing, I love you..... " Franti's song is a bustling rhythm that lifts you up onto your feet... his words sing in my head this morning. The feeling I get when I listen this song is the reassurance that my joy is your joy, that my life is your life... that there is an inclusivity contained within collective joy. For me this will take place in Cheltenham England.... where oneness with collide with discomfort .... where learning will collide with knowledge .... where laughter will bring me to tears too .... where growth resides, both personally and collectively.

Ok, time to pack.....

home....

We are 142 years old today.

Every year there seems to be more and more Canadian patriotic paraphenalia out there in consumer land for our purchasing pleasure most of which makes me laugh...especially the Moose motif stuff. Gotta love our gangly Moose.

My son and I were in the local dollar store the other day to stock up on a few of these items so he can take them to Costa Rica when he attends a CISV village in late December and use them as traders with the other kids who will be there from around the world. We stood in front of the HUGE display which ranged from hilarious hats shaped like leaves to dancing beavers, maple leaf key chains, tatoos, frisbees, squishy footballs, stuffed moose, neck ties (FOR A BUCK!) and were in fits of laughter over the tackiness of the lot. Of course, we were determined to grab the best kitsch we could. Let's hope he's allowed through customs with that Canuck craziness in his suitcase.

When I was a kid, the annual fireworks were lit on Victoria Day in May. This was the tradition. We all saw it as the beginning of summer.....the first long weekend. Of course as members of the Commonwealth, we all understood the seriousness of celebrating Queen Victoria's birthday in style.....er, I guess...... by blowing off little checker firecrackers and running around with abandon holding onto a sparkler, also known as a piece of wire on fire.

Though we still have the long weekend in May, and the Monday of it is still recognized as her birthday (funny how it changes dates every year). But, somewhere along the line, our country's fireworks celebration moved to July 1rst, Dominion Day.....the day we recognize as the anniversary of our national status within the Commonwealth. Maybe we switched because it was easier to make a cake in the form of a maple leaf flag than the head of a sexually inhibited sourpuss? Or maybe we began to embrace our own sense of pride, separate from another country?

Obviously it wasn't an overnight thing.....one day we scoured at any display of patriotism and the next day we adorned our homes in all things red and white? No. It was a gradual, albeit swift turn around. Even now, I would wager a bet that most Canadians feel an attachment to this vast and magnificent wilderness we call home more so when we cross its borders? But there is definately a different feel to our celebration of our "home and native land...." Hence, the desire to don a goofy leaf pointed hat, pull on a Moose motif t-shirt and go with the flow of our known sense of humour while sucking back a few pints and singing off key?

Did you know Canadians are a very funny lot? Absurdity is in our blood. Satire swims all around us. We crack each other up! And it turns out we do a pretty good job exporting our finest comedians. I think it has to do with choosing to remain on this freakingly cold tundra in February and go about our daily routines like it was just a little irritation to start your car when its -40 degrees and a wind chill? You gotta LAUGH! You gotta bundle up too or you will die!

Then of course there is a that wonderful myth created by the late Pierre Berton who stated that you know you're Canadian when you can make love in a canoe. Ask any Canadian if they've accomplished this feat and they will affirmatively reply, with a sly smile and a look in their eye that tells you..... wouldn't you like to know how this is done? Ah, its all in the balancing between the thwarts. Its in the melodic movement of the gunnels....its how you hold your paddle.... Is there any other country who defines their patriotism through such a lens? We crack each other up.

There are definately benchmark events which foisted us forward into a more contented place. It wasn't so long ago when our national past time was a collectively navel gaze..... where the cry of the "True north strong and free" wasn't an anthem we now sing loudly at sports event and instead was "Who are we? How are we different than our neighbours to the south? How do we define ourselves...." Such nervous nellie self absorption is finally disappearing. We have grown up a bit. We've won our fair share of international hockey tournaments. We gave the world Celine and Shania.

Dominion Day. In 1982, the same year the Canadian Constitution and Charter of Rights was signed, Dominion Day was renamed Canada Day. Hindsight makes me wonder if this was the turning point. Before this significant moment, maybe we were allowing someone else to make our beds? Whatever caused us to stop feeling so damn inferior and to care so much about that fact that the rest of the world doesn't really give a rat's ass about our identity, I'm glad. Why? Because what matters most is how we have come to terms about our own selves as multi cultural individuals who call this place home. The confidence felt is new to us. But it will be our growing confidence along with the accumulative stretch marks from eating the most recent national food concoction...."poutine...." (dont ask! it's gross! I'd rather smoke pine needles) that will allow us to shine on any international stage. Or not.

When I was 18 years old, I flew across the pond for the first time with a backpack on my back and a much searched for Canadian flag patch stitched on the outside of it. I had to look high and low for it. For one thing, there were no dollar stores around, and I didn't live in the middle of a tourist hotspot like Niagara Falls where touristy kitchy gift shops were at every corner. It was a different time. Patriotism was kept under wraps. Patriotism was frowned upon as a tacky display of emotional wanking best left to the flag waving country below the 49th parallel. But, I found one, and proudly sewed it onto my backpack. And I'm glad I did. Because every time someone saw that little flag, they would ask me questions about my home....my country, and I would have to think about how I would describe it's beauty, it's strength, it's people......its history.

Like many of my neighbours, we learned our patriotism....and our heart filled fondness for Canada by leaving it's borders and looking from a far. At age 18, I began to see just how lucky I was to proudly state that I am a Canadian. Though, it was said in a tentative whisper compared to my open flag waving loud anthem singing boldness of today. OH, who am I kidding?? I may be wearing my very best moose t-shirt today, and I will definately take part in some of the Canada Day celebrations this afternoon down on the beautiful Green along the Saint John River. Fireworks are in the plans after a big potluck at a friend's house. But, when it's time to sing O Canada? My boldness will quickly evaporate and my silly red pointed leaf hat will be lifted off my head. My heart will fill with gratitude.....and I will lose my way in the meaning of the words. I'm too much of a softie...... and our anthem always leaves me choked up and in tears much to the embarrassment of my family. It's a good thing they're used to it.

This place I call home......? I loveitloveitloveit.....

Happy Canada Day.....with a glowing heart from me

Going down the road....

The photo theme prompt this week at Carmi's place is "road." Surprisingly, I seem to have quite a few pictures of roads, all of which are far more eye appealing than this one, but none with more meaning. Worn and paint scraped with a few bumps and cracks in the foundation.....this a picture of a small portion of the old Trans Canada Highway.

Taken last summer after having dinner at a roadside diner about 20 miles "upriver" from where I live, I was so surprised at how empty it was. I grabbed my camera and stood on the pavement with NO concern that I would be hit except perhaps by a loose Moose! Progress had replaced this portion of our national highway with a much more expeditious route. As soon as it was built, this old one transformed into a designated scenic route that offers wide eyed glimpses of the Saint John River Valley. BEE-UUU-TEE-FULL!

Theoretically, this two lane “ribbon of highway” begins in Saint John's, Newfoundland and ends in Victoria, British Columbia. 4,680 miles long, it takes in some of the most beautiful scenery along the way….bodies of water, beautiful forests, majestic rivers, the Great Lakes, breathtaking snow capped mountains, undulating hills, small towns and villages, wide ranging farmland of the prairies and the spectacular rock faces of the Canadian Shield.

It cuts through industrial pockets and rides past enormous office buildings which sprout up and dot the outlying cities. It often parallels the train tracks, many of which have been turned into the Trans Canada Trail system. Designated picnic area stops, drive through Tim Horton’s and tourist information pavilions, and Mom and Pop diners and budget motels have their place along this multi faced road, as do hitchhikers, cyclists and truckers off to the side idling for some shut eye rest. From the shores of the Atlantic to the shores of the Pacific, this long and winding road symbolically connects us. I feel that deep in my bones.

Almost 22 years ago, in a jammed packed car driven by us and a stuffed little truck driven by a friend, my soon to be husband and I made the trek east along the Trans Canada highway to a new life together in a new province, in a new city. After 14 hours of driving, we would’ve made it to this point in the road….where I took the picture…..close to where we pulled off for much needed respite. I thought of that day while standing there remembering the move, but hardly recognizing the old road because in the summertime, it used to be vibrantly alive with slow moving camper vehicles and van of families all headed to vacation destinations. It was well used.

Meaning… this road takes me home…to my family and friends in Ontario and to my family and friends in New Brunswick. In fact, if you were to keep driving from this spot, you would end up driving right by the street which leads to my own. In the wintertime when the trees are bare, I can see the old highway from my living room. In the summer, I can only hear the infrequent echoes of the cars passing by. Some of them are folks opting for the scenic route. Some are people passing through onto a new life, or getting away from an old one. It holds meaning.


While standing there…..I also thought of Terry Fox as I looked down this straightaway and wondered what it was like for him when he reached this spot in his trek across the country. His story is etched into this cracked and worn pavement. I could almost picture him coming towards me. His Marathon of Hope story was picking up steam and being passed along from one person to another....there's a good chance that the people whose homes line the highway were out waving him on..... I can picture it completely.

Our national hero….a young man with a dream as wide as this country. His determination continues to inspire me. Accompanied by his best buddy who believed in him, Terry Fox dipped his artificial leg into the Atlantic to start the run. His plan was to dip it into the Pacific when he completed the journey. 4,680 miles of sheer will.

We all know he never had a chance to finish it on his own. Cancer got him again….knocked him right off the Trans Canada near Thunder Bay. But his legacy and spirit continues to be carried in the hearts of every Canadian….his goal to raise money for Cancer research…to find a cure….was passed onto the people from coast to coast who continue to organize “Terry Fox runs” every September, who continue to tear up every time they think of his stamina and guts! More than anyone else before or after (except for the 1972 Canadian Hockey team…J), Terry Fox linked Canadians together. More than anyone else, this young man pulled a bunch of separate communities together. He ran on this pavement…… Hop, skip, run…..

Yes, this little photo is a patch of the larger ribbon of highway. It holds meaning. It holds the collective history of a vast country filled with people who know one another.

Thank you Carmi for the prompt. As usual, you kick started my memories. For more road stories, check out Written Inc....

footprints

Travelling light works best with a friend.

Carrying the load

Singing a tune

Speaking inspirations

Tossing snowballs

Teasing

Laughing

Standing in awe

Wandering in wonder

Sharing secrets

Exploring the mystery

Expressing reflections

Sipping from the cup of life.....with a friend.

Travelling light....

2 sets of footprints...much better.

Let the journey be the unfolding of your prayer.

For my friend Mr. C.....my reply to your thoughts and the stunning photo you posted today.

ps. I came upon this little deer a couple of weeks ago during my work travels. I asked him where he was headed. He smiled and told me he was just waiting for his buddy and they were headed down the road to Alaska. Fancy that eh?

the first star i see tonight....

twilight along the trans canada

where the skies yawn pale pastels tucked above the low cloud front

where front porches smile their welcome in an amber glow

where the sweet aroma of smoke lifts in curls from old kitchen woodstoves

where pulp mills belch out smoking dragons held hostage in the bitter air

where lonely steeples stand on tiptoes above rooftops

where tracks of snow machines weave

between the snowladen evergreens and criss cross in fields of freedom

twilight along the trans canada

where silos erect and proper sit silent in their protection

where abandoned tractors sleep until spring

where the warm growthlight of greenhouses whisper hope

where the expansive sky darkens in tangled blues

where the bilingual signs announce, express, direct....

bienvenue....au revoir.....

Hartland

Grand Falls

Edmunston

Cabano

Notre Dame du Lac

St. Louis de Ha Ha!

Riviere du Loup

Rimouski

up and down along the dotted lines

into valleys alive with homes under twinkling streetlights

over crests of darkened woods and farmland covered in snow

past dieseled double trailer trucks moving in tandem

inside the comfort of our vehicle filled with familiar and loved music

accompanied by the reliable north star beside us

shining bright even before evening pulls down its deep blue shade

we move westward as one.

twilight along the trans canada

where every hill announces a poetic vista

of rolling hills shorn of summer green

of snow dappled evergreens

we find ourselves tucking in to sleep

between here and there.

I would love to travel my particular portion of the Trans Canada Highway one day with someone who has never been to this enormous country, or has never experienced a major highway that isn't congested with other vehicles. In the daytime, one can see some of the most beautiful scenery. At night when you move onto part of the highway which isn't lit by the glamour of bright lights, you can see a sky FULL of stars and a smiling moon...so close you feel you are a part of them.

the pilgrim

The pilgrim returned home to the people in her village who were eager to know about her travels into the wilderness. But how could she ever find the words to fit the feelings in her heart and soul of what she had experienced? How could she explain the beauty as well as the savagery she encountered on her journey? At first she tried. Using analogies in her descriptions so as to help bridge the world of wonderment she had returned from and the place where the people who love her dwell.......where she too dwells, she began to describe the faces, the places and the holy spaces beyond the horizon. But the bridge wasn't sturdy or wide enough to help them see into this frontier. Her words met with bewilderment.

She said. "You will have to go find out yourselves."



To help guide them, she drew a map of the wilderness on a big piece of paper and included as many details as she could. But no one took her advice. Instead, the villagers gleefully pounced on the map and lovingly framed it to be displayed in their community centre after they made copies for themselves to study. Every person who had the good fortune to have a copy poured over the details of the wild frontier they had never set foot in. However, they became experts. In fact, they learned about every tree, brook, culvert and path to a point where some even began to believe they had been there in person.

Pretty soon, these new experts began to preach about the wilderness, spreading false truths to their neighbours living throughout the countryside. It was then that the pilgrim realized how dangerous it was to draw a map for the people who simply chose to stay within the parameters of the village and never venture out to seek their own answers. They will never really know if there is truth or not. How sad.

where it lurks

It dawned on me today that happiness is found in a muddy puddle left from the rain. You can't splash around making a blessed mess with gladness if you havent had a good rain.

I'm off to find a few puddles, a couple of streams, and an enlightening lake or two. It's time to take a bit of a breather.

You're very welcome to check out one or two of my previous posts while I'm gone. There's close to 900 of them..........maybe there's sometime in my archives which may catch your fancy? I'd love to know..........

Canada, eh?

Gateway to the Green from Buckingham Palace to Picadilly

I was standing in line in the WH Smith store in the Gatwick Airport with a bunch of last minute goodies in my hand when the fire alarm went off and an announcement over the public address system told all of us to vacate the area. It was kind of scary, but I did as I was told and followed the other lemming touristas down a hall to what I thought would be an exit. Instead, it was a long walk to another part of the terminal with no airport employee to meet us or to direct us or to tell us what was going on.

Along the way, I ended up talking with a young woman East End of London who was heading to St. Lucia. We chatted about how disorganized things seemed and whether or not we would be forced outside and whether or not our flights would be late in taking off. Before we were told, we turned around to head back to the area from whence we had begun this journey of hallways and tunnels (with 500 other folks..........we werent the only ones not attending to the one announcement we had all followed). On our way back, we shared a bit about our trips............mine to return to Canada and she to visit friends and relatives.

Then she asked the question............... "What's Canada like?"

I am not someone who spends much time whining about the fact that most of our neighbours south of the border have no real clear picture of who we are and what this vast and magnificent country is all about like so many Canucks. This is a pasttime for some.............a way of trying to figure out our identity by pointing out the differences. I've travelled enough in the United States particularly to have had my share of bizarre conversations with people, some of whom live within a baseball throw of the shared border. Not a lick of knowledge.......... and as much as i find that strange, especially from people who live near the border, I certainly don't lose sleep over it.

Outside Canada house, beside Trafalgar Square

I'm cognizant of the lack of information provided through news and in schools etc about this country. On the grand scale of global things, our role is minor. Yes, we may be a member of the G8, and unless something changed today, we are active members of the British Commonwealth. But, we arent ever going to be a big player........... we aren't going to be the ones picking the music at the dance. Ah, but we will be there to dance!

I didn't expect this in England though. I don't know why, but I guess I kind of thought there would be some awareness and knowledge of my home and native land. Given the historical links, the same parlimentary system, basically the same social welfare system, our penchant for the same kind of humour..........the fact that the Rolling Stones played a pivotal role in our political history by partying in the 70's with Trudeau's crazy hippy dippy wife..........given that Old Bessie's profile is on our currency..........that we probably love dogs just as much......... I guess I thought I wouldn't be asked the broad questions.

Travelling I have found offers me a chance to re-visit my own interpretation of what it is to be a Canadian and of what Canada is all about. Though there is usually some goofy article in the newspaper on a pretty regular basis harping on this very thing, I personally don't spend much time navel gazing on our identity until I am standing somewhere outside of the border. And it is then that I have such a strong surge go through me when I realize just how damn lucky I am. As much as I would LOVE to spend time living in Notting Hill (fell in LOVE with the area). As much as I know I would LOVE to live in many places around the world, I can't ever imagine calling any place but this country home. This feeling is always strengthened when I have a chance to be someplace besides here. Maybe everyone feels that way when they have had an opportunity to leave their familiar borders.

I loved my week retreat...................my week of seeking and being on my own in the UK. I felt comfortable, connected and happily ensconced in the welcome arms of my bloggie friends......so much so that it felt like we've known each other forever. Though there are many differences between the UK and Canada, there are enough similarities to give a wayward Canuck the confidence to explore on her own, and to seek out the differences. I guess I assumed that this was a known thing........... it certainly didn't bother me, but it did fascinate me.

What's Canada like?



How does one answer that without spewing forth some psychological/political/philosophical thesis?
ummmmmm..................



We like hockey? Though some don't believe it or not.....

There are a lot of lakes?

Anne of Green Gables is only a fictional character but would probably do well if she ran for Prime Minister, but she'd never ever beat our classy sassy Don Cherry?

We export Divas and Comedians? For the record (mine anyways, you can keep Celine)

The majority of us own toques..............and know what they are used for?

Atlantic, Pacific, Arctic...............Rockies, Great Lakes, and lots and lots of trees?

Beavers, Moose, Deer, Loons and Geese............most of which share our currency with the Queen.

We are into a thing called a musical ride........just ask any Mountie.....


Our greatest hero was a young man who tried to run across the country on one leg and a prosthesis?

Where does one begin? It was a wee bit daunting really to be asked this by that young woman in the airport, but I think I managed to sum it up as best as I could................

What's Canada like?

"It's vast and magnificent," I replied................"and it's home."

travelling.......

Through fear of knowing who we really are and what we want, we sidestep our own destiny which leaves us hungry in a famine of our own making.

John O'Donahue.

There is much to sustain us if we receive life as an ongoing feast of becoming. Who I want to become is the mystery meant to be lived, not a problem needing a fast food fix. I have many fuzzy pictures in my sights about my own career livelihood and as much i would LOVE to have someone sit me down and say...........i have it all arranged, you don't have to think about it again. Whatever you want is set up to happen, because that would ease the mind a bit, I don't really want that. I have always loved a good mystery, and for some reason have always been drawn to a good British mystery. What role I play, who I will become, and when...............well they are all up for ruminative discussion.



I have many dreams.......................some I will put in my cupped hands and blow them away and see where they land. Some I will plant as best I can in the warm soil I will try to fill with nutrients, and some I plan to act on this week.



My plan to is get lost for a bit......................I'll be in touch, but I'm shutting down my cerebral thinking and clearing the cobwebs........................it is where I believe I will find some of the feast ingredients. Famine for me is not an option. My belonging in this world is found in my longing to live the mystery and to share those ordinary moments with extraordinary love.



I have landed in London, and I'm sitting at a desk with a little sign staring at me. It reads: "You are beautiful........."



lovely...................


It's not the particular choices we make that matter.....................a career path is only as good as how much it can lead us back to who we are.........and how much it can enhance the journey. It is truly the travelling which makes all the difference. And if it includes a dinner at a nice curry restaurant in the heart of London town, well, then this journey is a feast.

Mabel Darby

Every time I have a chance to think about my upcoming trip to London, I automatically think about my Grandmother. She always enjoyed an adventure and never hesitated to either organize one for a bunch of seniors on a bus tour, or hop on a bus, plane, train on her own and go find one. She loved to have a friend with her, but it never seemed to stop her from forging ahead on her own. In fact, the last time she made the trek "across the pond" to the place that her Mother called "the old country," Mabel was around 80 years old and travelling solo. She did have a brother living there, but her intention was to purchase a rail pass and see the places she had always wanted to see but for some reason had never had the chance. This is exactly what she did. To learn about one of her endeavours on that trip, click here.

If my Grandmother were alive today, we would be celebrating her 96th birthday. Mabel loved a party..........loved any kind of celebration...........and loved having picture taken! In honour of her birthday, I have scanned a few pics to share. These photos, circa 1935, are classic shots of Mabel and her friends, many of whom were in her life ALL her life. They were a closeknit group living in Hamilton Ontario together, and remained in touch through all the trials and tribulations life threw at them.


I love this shot. They look kind of daring and carefree don't they? As far as Mabel was concerned, nothing was more important than her family and her friends.........especially her girlfriends.

This is a picture of Mabel and my Grandfather on their wedding day. I never met my Grandpa. Sadly and tragically, he passed away in his 40's when my Mom was only 9 years old. He was the love of their lives.

This is a photo of Mabel, my Grandfather and my Mom before my Uncle Johnny was born. I like this photo. Tonight when I was scanning it, and looking at a much larger image I was struck by how much my eyes are similar to my Grandpa and my Mom. I also see the resemblance connected to a couple of my nephews too. I had never noticed this before.

Mabel was a wonderful seamstress and in fact used to teach sewing at the local high school night classes. She had a creative flair in many areas and was always working on projects. This is a photo of her fancy outfit for Christmas, 1956.

This was taken when Mabel was in her early 80's, at my parent's cottage. She was fiercely independent and continued to drive her car until she moved into a retirement home at age 88.

A big birthday bash was planned and organized by my Mom for Mabel's 90th birthday and this picture was taken that day. She is posing with her little brother, my Great Uncle Chris. They always had a very close relationship, and I have always believed that it was partly because their personalities complimented one another, but also because when Uncle Chris was a young child, Mabel was very much a mother figure because of the circumstances in their home when they were growing up. Mabel was the one to step up to the plate to ensure everything ran smoothly......... and then when Mabel needed support after my Grandpa died, her brother Chris stepped in to help in anyway he could. They were constants in each other's lives. Always. It was my Uncle Chris who gave my Mom away on her wedding day too. And, it was Uncle Chris and his wife, my Auntie Helen who cared for me when I was a toddler when my Mom went to work. I look at this one particular picture and it conjures up so many family memories and ties that bind to me and my own family today.

I wish she was here today so I could share with her my excitement about my own upcoming adventure to England. Not only would she be full of suggestions and questions, she would pass on her lifelong advice.............don't forget to look up and around and take it all in. Then, she'd hound me about coming along! However, I know she will most definately be there in spirit, and I will most definately be yearning to ask her some questions I'm sure she has answered before but for some reason I was too pre-occupied to fully take it in at the time.

Today, I have been flooded with memories, of the events we shared and some of the talks we had over the phone.........with me living here in New Brunswick and she living in Ontario. What always came through loud and clear was her ongoing love of learning, which most likely fed her desire to travel on the road less travelled and to take along anyone willing to keep up with her. You just had to be prepared to sing off key, drink strong cups of tea, stop to smell the roses, and be open to befriending a stranger..............oh, and to look up and around.

Prince Edward Island.

Conversation in my house today turned to summer plans, which we havent really paid much attention to yet as there have been so many other events and activities to focus on this spring. Predictably, the topic of Prince Edward Island was brought up because it is a favourite destination every August for at least a handful of days. The place we have gone to in the past 5 or 6 years is actually off the beaten path, away from Avonlea and Cavendish where the tourists flock by the thousands of camper vans full. But, nothing on PEI is very far to travel to.

I took the above photo on a quiet Sunday morning.....early...........I had the beach to myself. There wasn't much of a breeze and the only sounds were the seagulls and the cottager behind where i was perched on a large rock who was in his cottage playing the blues on his sax.

Up to three other families have joined us at the same time, in an area where one of our friends has a family cottage.....an area he knows well because this is where his roots are. We all rent our own cottages.........the bare necessity kind of cottages, all within a baseball throw from one another.......ALL with views of the beach, the sunsets, the spectacular every changing sea and sky vistas...........where the wind blows familiarity and rejuvenation. This is my daughter Martha.

The beaches in this area rarely have many other visitors except the handfull of cottagers who seem to frequent mostly on the weekends. There is space, space, space. This is a place of serenity, companionship, good walks, great talks.................lots of shared meals and sometimes a rousing game of bocchi on the beach or wiffle ball behind the cottage. Its a place where the wine flows, the beer is cold, the music is on........... where kite flying end ups being a two hour gabfest standing in a field overlooking heaven. Right, Helen? :)

It is also the place where writing found me again, three summers ago while sitting in this spot. I have this photo tacked to my computer at work as inspiration. I am forever grateful.

These steps are located just to the left of the Muskoka chairs, and lead down to the beach.

We witnessed a few BIG thunderstorms last summer........this is one coming in for a landing. It walloped us! Thunder, lightening, wind, rain..............dark skies. Somehow I ended up as the only adult in the cottage with all the kids, including my daughter who is FREAKED by storms and was under the blankets..........head and all. What is so cool about storms like this is how they usually end up with rainbow endings and amazing sunsets.

Like this one......my relieved beauty beside beauty. xo

ps. For you Tim...........may you and your family start the plans to head north to the land of Anne Shirley.

it is meant to be.......

There are many overused phrases in our lexicon. They usually start out with a feeling of original authenticity, and then somehow end up sounding insincere and trite. Or sometimes they get picked up in the world of verbal verbosity and repackaged so that they can be lobbed out as something completely different than what it was supposed to mean. We have a tendancy to do that. It's like we're too busy to find our own words, our own way of saying something which leads us to resort to canned goods...... It's like the difference between a homemade meal and a frozen dinner. The packaging is always more pleasing to the eye than the taste will ever be.

Sometimes words just don't cut it. Sometimes they get in the way of genuine feelings that for some reason don't have the right words to convey the depth and width of how one really feels. They also have a tendancy to fill in the important silence as a way to add a glossing over in order to kill the discomfort which is needed when truth is rearing it's ugly head. Words help us hide behind the intellectualization method of coping. In order to avoid our own fears of feeling too darn much, we will use our words, particularly the canned goods cliches to put a cork in it.

But............yes, there's a but.......sometimes the words fit JUST right.

How often do you stumble across an event or someone else's path which seems to have no clear rhyme nor reason to it happening? You can bang your head over and over in the pursuit of trying to make sense of it, or you can just simply accept it as a blessing. I feel like I've been inundated with such experiences over the last couple of years.

Luckily most of the situations which find me in awe of the whys and wherefores have been positively life affirming. What comes to mind right away are the new friendships I have experienced in the virtual reality of this medium. I have found myself many many times asking the same kind of questions........... How has this happened? What is the meaning behind the connections? What have I done to deserve this? Logic doesn't seem to be a part of the equation. The probabilities are too miniscule.

The most profound path crossing occured a year and a half ago when I first began reading Pip's blog. Interestingly, the navel gazing questions never materialized. Instead, I automatically moved into an overwhelming sensation that I was meant to meet him. "We are meant to meet" became my mantra whenever we swapped emails, whenever he would send me loving encouragement to keep being the authentic "Me".......... whenever I listened to the music he posted on his site.

So many times when I have read something Pip has written, about the world he lives and works in and how it has touched him deeply, I could automatically relate to the thoughts and feelings he was expressing. His world, though it is across the big pond has many similarities to mine. I knew he would understand my stories at a level some couldn't. And, like many others I'm sure, there are times when I read his blog and feel that the message has been written just for ourselves to find and to absorb, particularly the ones that connect to faith. I could feel his messages seep into the way I looked at the world and the way I looked at me.

I boldly told my emerald friend, Mr. Pip....."we are meant to meet."


It is meant to be......this silly bunch of words make me smile........because they are TRUE. And you know what? My writing evolved and grew deeper and more satisfying because I knew that there was someone out there who was cheering me on.......this beautiful friend I am meant to meet. Words, phrases.........reading material fed my thinking which encouraged to stretch beyond my borders.


So............it turns out that this destiny meant to be thing? It took a different turn. Initially I tried to find a way to arrange for Pip to deliver his workshops in Canada at a conference last year for Career Counsellors. It didn't pan out the way I had hoped. However, I do believe I may still be the Canadian agent, and will continue to work on this happening. :) This winter, though, my thinking went from conversations that started with "If we meet........" to "when we meet....." and I could FEEL my yearning to spend time with my friend.............to talk live face to face..........to share in person. After the sudden death of John O'Donahue, a profoundly beautiful man and a friend of Pip's whom I have never met but whose words and poetry touched me deeply, I decided right then and there that I was going to make it happen.


Life is too short and too unpredictable not to make a leap to make things happen. Life broadens and blooms in ways that are also unpredictable when one makes things happen. As Father O'Donahue stated in one of his talks when he was quoting a man he was with near the end of this man's life............"you've got to grab hold of life and SQUEEZE hard." Right on! (Click here and it will take you to a site where you can read some beautiful words about a man who died way too young, and see part of his talk at the Greenbelt festival last year).


It is meant to be and it's going to happen in May. Life is meant to be SQUEEZED. Life is meant to be lived fully. You don't want to get to the end of it with one item on your list, right?


I am very excited about my trip............about spending time with Pip and Joan, just hanging out sipping that Cointreau, and talking into the wee hours of the night. Just normal friendship "getting to know you" stuff. Though our friendship began in an unusually modern manner, it has given us the avenue to find our way into one another's lives. It makes me wonder..........if it is was meant to be, how would it have happened without the world of blogging?



And you know what is making it even more wonderful? Since I decided to make it happen, other connections are going to happen too. Beautiful Guernsey Girl Katie is flying in to spend two FUN days with me in London! YES! And it's happening because our meeting is meant to be too. I have a feeling we'll be just as chatty in person as we are online.


When it's right, it feels just right. These are some of those SQUEEZING life times and it's all because they are meant to be. No other explanations are needed. Well, except I have a sense we'll get past the "meant to be" and slip into the essence of why. It'll be found beneath the words in a level 5 place where shared emotions abound.

loveitloveitloveit..... :)

pebbles in our pockets....

At the edge, watching the tide inch away

Do you see the heart shaped pebble?

Remember when you went to the beach when you were little? If you had pockets of your own, you would stuff them with little bits of treasures found in between the larger rocks and driftwood. If not, you passed them onto your Mom or Dad for safe keeping.

A smoothly rounded piece of blue or green glass, a tiny shell, a piece of dried kelp.......a pebble with your favourite colour streaked right through it. Flotsam scraps of colourful rope or twine always catches the eye as does a dried up baby crab bleached by the sun. Driftwood shaped like a slingshot or a fish .... the knothole looked like an eye. Tiny flowers which grew between the tall grass and the shore.....yellows and purples of late summer were there for the picking.

The perfect skipping stone....round and flat which fits perfectly between your thumb and forefinger.

Remember when you were at the beach when you were little? It didn't matter how cold the water was or whether or not your were wearing your bathing suit, you ended up getting soaking wet being chased by the waves. And the birds would skitter along with you. Seagulls flying up above circling while looking for tasty fish.

Remember taking a handfull of pebbles and throwing them into the water.....plink, plink, plinkplinkplinkplinkplink all at once....sounding like the hanging chime at home when the wind conducted it's symphony......plinkplinkplink........

And as the tide receded.......more treasures would be revealed, new sandbars would emerge and the adventure would expand.......into the sun warmed pools left behind along with creatures...oh, the creatures....jellyfish, hermit crabs and tiny little fish trying to find their way.

The pails are packed for the annual sand castle competition for kids of all ages, as are the bocci balls for the tourney on the sandbars. Oh, and a new kite!! Prince Edward Island here we come. It'll be good to be a kid again.

I'll be back next week................take care.

ps. I submitted a few pieces of writing for consideration (CanadaEast website I mentioned last week). I couldn't decide on just one, so as I have been known to do, I bent the rules a bit. Tay? I did send them the piece I wrote on Sabahat. Thank you for reminding me. And if anyone would like to read it, here is the link. Sabahat was a true guardian angel in my life.