window of wonder

“A blessing is a red light that stops you, says ‘No, don’t do it yet, take time, have another look.’ It allows presence to become clear. For our rhythm to be restored, we need some kind of stillness, and a blessing offers this chance, a window of wonder on to what is happening.” John O'Donohue.

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 There is nothing more guilt producing than the pleading eyes of my dog Lily when she needs to go outside for her last walk of the night.  Well, she's pretty pathetic during thunderstorms, when fireworks are exploding or some errant  hunter starts blasting his trusty gun at dawn down along the river during duck hunting season.  But, that's fear.  Her stance and glance come from a different place.   She wants protection.   A "take me for a walk" on the other hand, has the energy of a jumpy runner at the starting gate.   Except there are four legs doing the happy dance, and a long wet nose to nudge you towards the front door.

At this time of year, when the bitter winds feel like it's shredding your parka into bits of fluff, Lily's desire to romp outdoors after dark sends rippling shivers from my head to my toes.  It takes all of my reserves to force myself to bundle up and take her out there.    It's WAY worse when I have forgotten to complete this last routine of the day and have already had a long hot bubble bath, put my flannel jammies on and slipped into bed in search of stillness and sleep.

Ah, but the look....... the Labrador lingering look never fades.  It begins to pore into your comfy cozy conscience until the guilt shoves you out from under the puffy duvet, down the hall and into various layers of outdoor gear.  All the while, my lovable dog, who spends her day lazing about snoozing on various pieces of furniture and beds when no one is around to tsk, tsk her, turns into a snow puppy prancing while wagging her long happy tail.  Happy dance!  Happy prance!  

This was the scene the other night as I dutifully pulled my fleecy hat down to my eyes, my shawl under my long wool coat up to over my chin..... cheeks and eyes were all that were visible by the time I opened the front door and stepped into a chill so desperate it originally took my breath away.  It literally freezes the snot in your nose!  Instantly! 

Out we went.....me trudging in my fashionable mukluks, wrapped like a colourful mummy ...... she galloping over snowdrifts like they were wild growing hedges blooming in the summer!

As Lily bounded towards the end of the driveway, I slowly followed along.  It wasn't until I reached the road that I realized a few new centimetres of light fluffy snow had fallen earlier in the evening when it was a little warmer than it was now.  Did you know that sometimes it gets too cold to snow?  The temperature had dropped drastically during the time between snowfall and dog walk.  

Pristine.  Purely untouched powder lay on the street.  Not one foot print nor a tire tread had disturbed it.  We were the first crazy explorers to traipse through the powder.  As Lily ran ahead to attempt her trademark snow angel body rub, I stopped to look at the beautiful scene, and to listen to the muffled silence that only winter offers.  It was a quiet as an ancient prayer spoken inside the heart.  Peaceful as the sound before the first note in a song. 

I stood under the streetlight in front of my home and felt the stillness I had tried to capture inside when I was tucked in bed.  And, as soon as I felt this wave wander comfortably through me, I saw the artistry all around me, realizing right away that I had been given the gift of a blessing.  For on the new fallen white velvet were millions of winter diamonds shimmering a greeting.  Because the temperatures had dropped so drastically, the top layer of the snow had formed into glistening crystals that captured the light and reflected it up to my eyes.  

Irridescent glitter acting as minute mirrors startled into a rhythmic dance by the bitter cold air swirling above captivated my newfound gaze.  When I took a step, these clear gems delightfully jiggled all around me.  When we walked beyond the streetlight, they still sparkled as brilliantly as the stars above.  Perhaps they were pieces of fallen stars.....?  These beautiful sequins on white velvet opened the window of wonder just for me.  And I almost missed the red light.  I almost missed the blessing displayed outside on a cold January night.  Luckily I have a dog with pleading eyes...... She is a blessing too.

an osprey comes to visit....

Out of the grey winter light

bleaked of colour

streaked in mourning sombre silence

you simply appeared, taking me by surprise

filling my vista with your fierce beauty

in flight.

In one articulate motion

your majestic wings,

feathers dappled in shades of clay

stretched beyond the toptip of the Poplars

propelled you forward

closer to where I stood

in my home on the hill.

Your fan-tailed brawn

mottled to blend with the winter woods

swept my into sight

like an awakened temptation,

and a longing to absorb your swift assurance

so powerful

so resplendent

so gracefully exalted.

My breath caught in awe.

Our eyes met for one standstill second

until an invisible wind draft

aroused your sense of freedom

awakened your fervent hunger

invited you to soar downstream

above the open river water.

Slow wingflaps lifted you up into a natural floating soar

a perambulation with a friendly downwind.

In silence,

I stood in the shadow of your wonder

as you flew beyond a speck in the grey winter light.

Alone again,  left behind

with new dreams

that I too

could sail above the valley with outstretched wings........

thank you for that.

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**inspired by a brief but memorable visit on Sunday morning from the full grown Broad Tailed Osprey who lives somewhere along my riverbank.  I didn't have my camera nearby, so the photo I've used is one I found that resembled it's beauty the most.

winter is here

 

It began to fall in the middle of last night and it continued all day long accumulating in a soft silence.  To look at it from an indoor perspective, the snow seems so innocent.  A fluffy white blanket of beauty transforms the landscape into a picture perfect wonderland. It hypnotizes flurried brains too full from the dizziness of trying to get organized for Christmas Day, and leaves us with time to ponder.  Winter is here.

Winter is here.  Pine bows laden with new snow bend with a sense of reverence.  Christmas lights wrapped around garlands of evergreen, peak out from their new white vantage, giving off a shimmering prism of colour like the ancient stained glass in far away cathedrals.  Lawns cloaked in layers of uniquely shaped flakes whisper a pristine elegance.  Forgotten calm returns in memories of days gone by....... Stillness is what we seek. 

Off in the distance, I can hear tires spinning...... people striving to get to their destinations, stressing over the slippery roads in need of sand and salt.  I was one of them earlier in the day.  I felt that electric anxiety as my wheels spun haphazardly while trying to navigate a hill.  It left me exhausted and frustrated, afraid I would get stuck with no place to turn around.  Somehow I managed but it seemed to take the last of my energy to outmaneouver the elements.  Perhaps that was what I needed to slow down...... to let go of trying to control the unfolding of the season, to return to those memories forgotten in the rush.  I'm home now.........safe as I yawn towards hibernation.

Tonight, the wind is lifting from sound of hallowed aching, its gusts creep into the house..... chilly drafts through cracks in foundations.  It makes flannel and fleece the preferred comfort.  My thoughts are here with my family all present and accounted for......... all tucked in for the night.

Winter is here.  So is Christmas Eve.  So am I, reintroducing myself to peace.

abandoned

She sits behind the dull vacant stare of her greying dry eyes under the matted woolen remnants of yesterdays past, unnoticed by those who are supposed to care. She's tried. My God, she tried. But no attempt to reach out to others brought any relief to her once constant aching loneliness. The ache is gone, replaced by stone. Stone lonely.... hardened cold, void of heartsoftness, void of emotion. Inanimate and unloved.

She sits below the road, away from the flow of humanity in a place where driftwood and discards stare at her in mocking abandonment. Her own breathing keeps her company, makes her realize she is not inanimate like the waste she sits amongst. Every day however her breathing becomes more shallow and more laboured as she moves another day farther away from the tender times in her life when she was loved. She remembers she was once a baby too.... a beautiful child of promise. Now if she was to look in a mirror at her cracked lips untouched by another for far too long, at her grey eyes once sparkling in green light now stripped of lifehope......she would simply wonder who the stranger was staring at her.

Disconnected, she cowers in old hunches as she searches for warmth. Ice chatters in the water's waves by the shore. The wind threatens this drab existence and howls down its mournful whistle.

Two lovers wrapped into one another appear up above, dressed in bright coloured coats and matching hats. They stop to look out at the water vista while whispering to each other in their smiling cocoon. Their eyes blinded from seeing anything but their rose coloured view, never catch sight of the old woman just below. She sees them......and catches the aura of promise in the air all around them as they continue to stroll over the bridge leaving her alone again in the wake of none.

Her vacant stare returns. She moves inside herself. The cold presses her temples as she takes her last breath. She slips away into the grey sombre light as the rest of the world carries on beyond the unheard dirge.

Brought to you by this week's photo theme, "drab." You can blame Carmi at Written Inc. if this little piece brought you down.........while I go off to pour myself a drink and try to stir up some happy thoughts. :) DRAB Carmi? Its March in Canada??? Salt in the wound man! Salt. in. the. wound!

Kitchen parties from the past....

During the long bitter cold days of winter, the welcoming warmth of Canadian kitchens filled with savoury aromas and the comfort of fresh baking help the gentle folk of the Great White North survive....and thrive. In fact, our interactive always active sweet tasting kitchens are sometimes the ONLY allure that will entice us enough to don our parkas, and furry paraphenalia when the temperatures dip below what is humane on a Saturday night and head outdoors. When its so damn cold that the moistness in your nose insta-freezes into scraping shards, when the night air is so freaking frigid your blood chatters like ice in a manhattan, the anticipation of a kitchen party keeps the engine rumbling.

I don't know where the idea that the Maritimes are known for their raucous music filled kitchen parties came from, but it's true. The very best parties take place surrounded by the beer fridge and the munchies oven. Actually if I stop to think about it, these Maritime gatherings most likely began when the majority of houses had woodstoves in their kitchens that may even heat the whole house....it was a survival thang....the rest of the rooms too cold to be comfortable except under a thousand quilts. The tradition continues.....people simply gravitate.

So, it was on one dark dementedly frigid February night when a bunch of families gathered at one house for some fun, 50's style. Normally we don't get into themes, so I don't know where the idea generated from and can only assume the host and hostess were listening to Dean Martin again while reading cocktail recipes....they do this a lot.....it's an obsession. :)

Attic costumes and second hand stores were rummaged as we chose our own garb....our own "take" on the theme. Internet recipes sites which promoted the rib sticking blandness of 50's cuisine were scoured. Hairdos, red/orange lipstick, high heels and little evening purses were pulled out of the air along with cardigans, berets, and hair gel. And all at once the modern kitchen was transformed into a place from the past. It was HILARIOUS! The food was mostly disgusting looking but memorable. And some of it was surprisingly tasty. Gotta love meatloaf, and jello mold salads....YUMMY!

Nothing like white bread and the melted plastic processed cheese which ALWAYS sticks to your teeth and won't let go.....Add cooked greasy bacon on top and you've got yourself a gourmet delight.....aka a cheese dream.... oh, i have dreams of those lip smacking treats every night....

It was concluded that one needs a tropical fru fru drink on hand while stirring the simmering stews and mashing mounds of potatos. It gives the whole enchilada a lemony twist. And if you're drunk enough, you'll eat the crap you've served.


These three kitchen divas know how to keep a party hopping and hot.....their secret? Shaken not stirred..... hahaaha! God, I love hanging with these women! They look so proper don't they? Well, one of them introduced me to the term manscaping. Amazing where the conversation leads while playing an innocent game of rumoli.

This post was inspired by friends who know how to live the life of creative kitchen party absurdists at night while posing as serious professionals by day....and by CARMI at Written Inc, whose photo them this week is "Kitchen..." Thanks Carmi.

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.

In like a lion....

Another storm is brewing this morning. We're about to be pummelled by freezing rain, wind, snow and whatever the weather fairy decides to throw at us. Of course that doesn't stop things in this vast land of multiple elements. Life carries on, albeit with the increased in the flaring of tempers and a decrease in the levelling of patience. The lion is prepared to show his presence. It's coming! It's coming!!! Up the eastern seaboard....galloping with fury....

It will be more than the month of March roaring like a lion today. Canadians who are known to be nice and friendly.....who are polite and respectful....who have a reputation of peacekeeping folks with smiles on their faces??? Well, that's just a facade, and believe me the facade falls off the optimistic humour in March when the wind blows and they get pummelled again....we do have a nasty side and it seems to come out when you're in the middle of fish tailing in your van on the way to work....or when a neighbour decides to dump all of their snow onto the road....or when some eeejit from another planet is driving ahead of you so tentatively full of anxiety that they are making things worse as you merge onto the bridge that is covered in ice.....or when your flight to Cuba is postponed.....or, or, or....

the list is endless...

you can only take so much!!! and then KAPOW! All of sudden, the nasty raging side comes out from under the hibernating covers and SNAPS!

OH, yeah, it's BEAUTIFUL out there....GORGEOUS.....but you know what? We can only handle so much beauty....you look at the same scenery, the same face for too long and then all of a sudden it becomes ordinary and dull. Beauty, like anything needs to evolve and change...it needs alterations and tweaking. It needs new shades, light, hues, colour....it needs a touch up, a reworking....our eyes have grown weary.

or maybe beauty should only be a fleeting feast for the senses so that it continues to keep the temptuous mystery.....or maybe all Canadians should have access to a flight out of here when March comes in like a lion. I'm all for that.

But first, I have to get bundled up in my once beautiful winter garb which now feels ratty and icky and go to work. shit.

winter's dewdrops

"Etched as they are against the stillness, shapes that dance can evoke great beauty. Yet the stillness is never absolute: in waves and particles of light is the continual dance which adorns the countenance of the earth with colour. Music too breaks the silence and stillness through waves of sound. These are the vital thresholds where the wonders of beauty arise. The angel of these thresholds is the imagination."

John O'Donahue, Beauty, The Invisible Embrace

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The fluency of icicles, formed in a moment of time when the temperature leans in melting limbo, capture our attention with their dangling defiance and their ever altering pointed tip shape. Surprised, caught off guard by flash freeze motion, these light catching shards decorate our staid architecture like frosting designs a cermonial cake. The difference? Ice art never remains the same. Like it's counterpart, the free flowing waterfalls, icicles continue to move. It's all in how we understand the concept of time.

In a place where white envelopes the landscape, where colour fades from existance under the stillness of February's death rattle, winter's dewdrops hang from our eaves daring us to smile again. Still life beauty behaves within the rich timeless stretch of eternity. It is my belief the winter faeries, with their frost wing tips and delicate touch have a hand in teaching us this otherwordly lesson of looking at time and beauty with more fluidity.

Or, is it just in my imagination?

change of light

"I watched the sun as it rises and sets

I watched the moon trace its arc with no regret"

Bruce Springsteen, Kingdom of Days

the view down my street from the end of my driveway.

it's hard to gather from this photo but the piles of snow are

taller than me.

This morning, I fell into a portal of learning and was absorbed by the new and old. I LOVE the information highway!! It fed my need for knowledge and my desire to figure some stuff out that had accumulated after a week of strange and interesting interactions through my counselling work. If it isn't processed and reflected upon to some extent, then it clogs my own safe harbour.

Good thing I needed to put the kettle on again and looked out the kitchen window. Good thing the puppy needed to saunter outside for a morning airing and needed a companion. Good thing I lifted my head up in time. Because what was unfolding as I had my head in my own clouds of trying to figure out the past week, was a present moment gift on the horizon. An impressionistic canvas of colour filled the morning sky. I almost missed a little miracle.

I love the textured billowing of the clouds and the shades of pinks and purples. These two photos are untouched. The sky this morning was exactly as it is shown here. Can you see the little heart window in the picture below? I wonder where it leads?


"Sing away, sing away, sing away, sing away

Sing away, sing away, my darling, we'll sing away

This is our kingdom of days

This is our kingdom of days"

Springsteen, Kingdom of Days

Winter's sunrises are always spectacular. I think God intended it that way to lift us a little out of the bleak landscape every now and then, and to help us remember we are living in the kingdom of days. We just have to lift our heads more often to receive His gifts. We are surrounded by beauty.

lovely simplicity

lost in a clutter filled life,

behind monuments and trophies,

remnants and weeping trash....

complications

mired in endless ruminations

tied to webthreads of dusty dread

are the sweet simple trinkets

held in my cupped hands.

i want to share them with you.

Can I share them with YOU?

a glimpse of the last of sunset's glow

one blooming delight

a festival of candlelight

sunwarmed juice of strawberries ripe

the smooth taste of deep red merlot






a hushed silence felt in comfort
the touch of our fingers entwined
an embrace on a lonely winter's night
a long lingering kiss goodnight
and three simple words expressed in the breath of a whisper....
I love you




clear away the clutter and you will see my cupped hands.
they hold the simplicity of an evening together.
they reach out for you.
lets pour that glass of wine
turn on some soft music
pull closer to the warm embers
and bask in its glow

on this stormy night of angry blowing snow.

Brought to you by Carmi's Thematic photo word of the week.....simple. I guess i'm a simple romantic trying to de-clutter. For more simple offerings, check out Carmi's Written Inc link on my sidebar. And may you find a few moments of shared simplicity for yourself this week.

"I will rise now...."

I waited for the sunrise this morning and was disappointed to see the day emerge void of life affirming colour. Clouds full of snow threatening to drop down on the landscape seemed to cloak the sky's breath and depth of possibilities. Omnipresent like a sneering bully on the playground, they hovered....arms crossed, immovable and bossy!

I walked away, determined to ignore it's wintry threats and began to focus my attention on slipping into the beauty of the imagination where the spectrum of possibility perches on the precipice of eternity. Over a cup of tea of course. Imagination and tea are happy partners in generating thoughts and feelings. No cloudy bully was going to break my spirit! HA! Not when I had a steaming mug of tea by my side.....especially when the mug, purchased on my trip to the UK, has a quote by Billy Connolly printed on the side of it....(love that man!)

"Never trust a man who, when left alone in a room with a tea cosy, doesn't try it on...."

OK.....imagination, tea and a twisted need for a sip of the absurd....my ingredients to bite back at the bully clouds....to see the world around me with a new set of eyes.

Pretty soon, I swear I heard Bono singing in my head....a beautiful backdrop to my own imagination fueled by my happy tea mug. Like a whoosh, I was pulled into it's orchestration. The music memory awakened expressed love like the opening of Solomon's Song of Songs.... it's breeze clearing way for enlightening. Ah......love's stirring yearnings....

My spirit automatically lifted. Amazing how the harmonious blend of lyrics and sound can do that, even if it's a memory playing just to yourself. Sure there are days when dirges can fill the spirit if you let them. Today, however, there seemed to be no need to push any sorrowful tunes away. Bono was prayerfully present to stir my thoughts! With my eyes closed absorbing the words, the sound and my feelings, I smiled and took a couple of meditative breaths....

It's a beautiful day

Don't let it get away

It's a beautiful day

Touch me

Take me to that other place

Teach me

I know I'm not a hopeless case

I looked up and out the window again. Day had broken without the cresting colour just above the horizon. That time had come and gone. Instead, it had patiently held onto its empowering beauty, joined forces with the words of the wind and braided its luminescence through the bullying clouds. Shadows and light tasting colour seeped out its drama, like a life living its dramatic score.

Still in my sexy red plaid flannel pyjamas, I exchanged my cozy slippers for my furlined boots, slipped on my big woolen coat, grabbed my camera and headed out the door into the crisp coldness of a January morning. A fresh layer of snow cleansed the salt and sand on the street. The front yards covered by knee deep powder reflected the new light of day, it's shadows forming in the windswept drifts. The winter nesting birds warbled their own welcoming sound.

I felt alive and connected to my part of the world......alone standing in the middle of my street.....I enjoyed the unveiling of a beautiful day. Let the drama begin.

getting through....recapturing peace of mind.

It seems as though I suffer more from the "getting throughs" at this time of year than in the peak of summer. Everything requires so much more effort starting from getting out of bed in the morning when its still dark out. It just feels so unnatural, like our own internal need is to hibernate....to sleep deeper, to stay tucked under the duvet, to wait until light begins to pour through the window. Just the knowledge let alone the reality of having deal with parkas, hats, mitts, big fur lined boots, icy sidewalks, cold cars just to get out the door in the morning to go to work can invoke the mind altering "getting throughs...."

"Can't I just stay home??? This is what the little whiney voice says in my head. "When does Friday come around again," it says as the aches of wanting to hibernate kick in.

I'm beginning to realize that my "getting throughs" are in direct correlation with the absence of enough light in my life. I need it to boost my energy. The paradox here, however is that I love winter nights when the pitch outside has an infinite space to it, when the twinkling lights inside glow brighter in contrast. I rarely feel the pushing sensation of wanting it to end, of wanting to get through it.

It's been a long week full of the regular responsibilities accompanied by a multitude of other activities thrown into the mix. Its left me with an empty cup. Somewhere in the middle of the week, my focus flipped forward with such yearning for Friday to come. That "in the moment" frame of mind kept slipping out of my grasp and the more it did, the more energy I had to expend in order to stay on task. Wishing one's week or day away is an unsatisfactory trap because you do miss out on the collective nuances of breathing the air around you.

I had a few amazing counselling sessions, and connected with a few colleagues at a deeper level.....sharing personal histories never shared before over the lunch hour. I celebrated the historic inauguration of Barack Obama, soaking up his stern message to anyone who was listening clearly that it was time to grow up and take some ownership on our global and personal affairs. I spent one evening trying with all my might to remember how to figure out the standard deviation of a bell curve. HELLO!?? Thank God for my blogging friend Breadbox who came to my rescue with a quick tutorial for my daughter who was studying for her Math exam. Thank you N!

All week, I advocated, conjoled, promoted, counselled, listened, interacted.....all good stuff but tiring too.....especially if your mindset is focused on the end of the week. I am literally all talked out and spent from listening and coaching and trying to find solutions. Spent. I havent one new idea in my head......not one. I used them up.....

So here I sit on a Friday evening....having made it through another week. I made it! I'm sitting on my oh so comfortable couch, snuggled into the corner, tucked in under great new blanket my parents sent as a Christmas present. Everyone is out tonight for a short while. The dogs are sleeping soundly. I can faintly hear the singleness of a lonely car driving by below on the old highway along the river. No music is playing. The TV is off. Every now and then, I stoke the logs in the fire and listen to the last of the sap steam through the cracks in the wood as the flames lap up in a heated dance. That's as boisterous I'm going to get tonight.

I'm happy, grateful, peaceful, warm, reminiscent, wondering and content. It's Friday evening and I'm enjoying every minute of it's nighttime darkness and inside twinking light in the quiet comforting silence of my home....a place where I can hibernate and recharge my batteries.

Oh, I wrote too soon.......! Gracie the puppy has just pounced up on the couch with her new bone and is desperately trying to bury it in my new blanket! Drats! Looks like I'll have to share this couch cocooning with rawhide and puppy breath. The little bugger has literally crawled up behind my back and is staring down over my shoulder watching my fingers hit the keys. Too funny.

Off to stoke the fire and find a chew toy for you know who.....and get back to the blanket before my bare feet feel the cold.

good night.......hibernation awaits...I've been so looking forward to it.

snow, snow, snow....

Ah, the beauty of snow. I took these last week and will be dealing with the same bleak road conditions and winter weather blusteries today. School is cancelled, but the parents have to go to work. This isn't fair!

"Passable, but snow covered and slippery...visibility is fair to poor depending on the wind blowing in your area....." that's what the experts say. YUK, YUK, YUK!

It has been snowing since yesterday morning....light snow which has accumulated quietly and it continues. This doesn't stop life around here like it would in other parts not used to this weather. Rather, it just makes it messy and frustrating.....it tests your self motivation reserves.

Oh, yes there is beauty in the fresh fallen snow. I'm just not seeing it this morning as I gather my energy to go forth and deal with it. OH! They just announced the temps are going to increase by noon which will make the snow turn into freezing rain! Oh Goodie!! Happy Monday!

I wanna stay home!!

song for a winter's night

As we draw closer to the longest night of the year, I have been thinking a lot about how much the essence of winter is in the soul of a Canadian. It seems as though our personal rhythm is tied closely to the seasons. No matter if the coldest months are spent in Florida, winter's weave remains in our fabric. Its in our literature, our movies, our art, and of course our sports. It's in our humour, our perspective, our interests, our pursuits. Heck, it's even in our sex lives.......we have many many babies born from August to November......you do the reverse counting.

It's no surprise then that one of my favourite Canadian love songs is nestled in the lonely yearning of a winter's night..... Written and sung by Gordon Lightfoot. There are other versions, but I prefer Lightfoot's rendition. It was the one playing inside me last night as I stepped outside into a calm wonderland of freshly falling snow.

The lamp is burnin' low upon my table top

The snow is softly falling

The air is still within the silence of my room

I hear your voice softly calling

If I could only have you near

To breathe a sigh or two

I would be happy just to hold the hands I love

Upon this winter night with you

The smoke is rising in the shadows overhead

My glass is almost empty

I read again between the lines upon each page

The words of love you sent me

If I could know within my heart

That you were lonely too

I would be happy just to hold the hands I love

Upon this winter night with you

The fire is dying now, my lamp is growing dim

The shades of night are liftin'

The morning light steals across my windowpane

Where webs of snow are driftin'

If I could only have you near

To breathe a sigh or two

I would be happy just to hold the hands I love

Upon this winter night with you

And to be once again with with you

here is a very young Lightfoot's version...Song for a Winter's Night.

Torridly Nice

An old joke:

How do you get 25 Canadians out of the pool?
Answer:

"Can everyone please get out of the pool?"

The prompt this week at writer's island, which is located in the searing tropics under the persistant heat of the noon day sun, is torrid. The word fits well THERE but HERE in the cold northern tundra where winter has choked the passion out of the land???......you have to use your imagination.....close your eyes and envision lying on the island's white sand warmed by penetrating rays, while being massaged by a dark mysterious beautiful man whose deep voice soothes and stimulates with it's charm as he encourages you to relax..........to let your mind flow into a fantasy of timeless lovemaking with the person you have always wanted to.......

But, torrid in Canada? Does torrid exist here? And if it does, do we import it? Or do we just keep it under wraps until the timing is right to let a flaming sense of fervour lap up with sizzle?

One of the qualities that always tops the list of describing a Canadian is "nice." It is somewhat complimentary, (I think people are being nice when they describe us that way, so you have to accept it nicely........:) )but it does have a scent of vanilla wafting around the word and vanilla is anything but passionate. Can nice evolve into a hip grinding salsa without apologizing for stepping on the partner's feet......? (We say "sorry" a lot around here too. ) Can the citizens of this country embrace the raging hunger of the heart needed to engage in torridly fueled passion? Or are we a doomed group of frontal lobotomized chipmunks who get bent out of shape doing the right thing? Can our brains turn off in order to allow the spicy feelings to be squeezed liberally from the heart?

Yes. It may show up in different milieus, but it's there, not too far under the surface. When it rears up into the soul to stir the loins and hearts of a Canuck, it echos across the ice covered tundra like a mad woodsman pining for the love of a voluptuous woman after being out too long in the wild. There's nothing as torrid as a lumberjack in heat except perhaps a Moose. May I recommend that you be nice and just get out of the way if you happen to see either?


Have you ever gone winter camping? This is a practise many fellow Canadians embrace as a really hot time. A tent, a coleman stove for hot toddies, bundled up clothing layers to wear while cooking dinner and doing all those hearty outdoor pursuits, and sleeping bags filled with materials to withstand the arctic cold of the middle of the night. The key to staying warm? Slipping into the sleeping bag with your buddy to thaw through naked friction. Frigidly rigidly Torrrrrriiiiiiiid!


Have you ever been to a peewee hockey tournament? Not only are most of our arenas hooked up to provide heated elements and fans to blow skin drying torrid producing heat down from the rafters to the hard benches along the sides of the rink where you sit to cheer on the local team, you will find pent up impassioned parents, particularly the mothers bellowing like that Moose in heat again.......encouragement to their son or daughter playing the game. Torrid tempers reign supreme in the hockey rinks across this vast and magnificent land. I have spoken to parents who describe the moment their kid scored their first goal. With choking teary emotion, they replay the scene with such intensity you'd think they had witnessed the coming of Christ. That's puck stopping torrid.



No matter what level of hockey it is, but particularly if it's a game between the Toronto Maple Leafs and the Montreal Canadiens, the torrent of torrid which emanates in a room full of lovers of the game is comparable to the frenzied feeling of losing ones virginity in the back seat of a car. "He shoots! He scores!" Ask any man to describe where they were when the goal that woke up a nation was scored by Paul Henderson in the 1972 Canada-Russia series and you'll know how quickly things can get torrid. No need for viagra when those sweet memories are produced.

Then there's curling. Have you heard those maniac beer slogging stone throwers when they are down to their last rock and it needs to hit the button? You'd think you were privy to the last vestiges of an orgasm. They bark and bellow and moan out the most bizarre phrases......"hurrrrreeeeeeeee...... ......haaaaarrrrrrd! ....... as they sweep with a passion comparable to scoring with the local puck bunny. The typical nice Canadian watching this openly expressed passion usually blushes, but deep down they a grateful for the chance to be close to such expressed animalistic passion.


But, I'd have to say that most of our torrid packing punch is saved for politics and satire. It is this arena which pops the lid off the pressure cooker, which makes our kettles whistle, which produces the foaming boil in our beastie breasts. Whether one LOVED or HATED former Prime Ministers Brian Mulroney, Pierre Trudeau, or Jean Chretien.......whether one is on the side of the Harper government or not........one's opinions are fueled with kerosene exploding as it is poured onto a campfire. And it doesn't matter what level of government is the source of the topic for the day, municipal, provincial or federal, torrid packs a wallop. Trudeau, known for his standoffish eccentricities once said that politics do not belong in the bedrooms of the nation. He's wrong, wrong, wrong........Not only is it discussed in the bedrooms of this nation, it can actually spark the passion, which in turn kicks the temperature in the room up a few notches.


Our comedians know this is where it lies............and satirical political commentary is a cottage industry in Canada. Humour bites hard and furious. It's like we have been weaned on it's quirkiness and lap it up like an aphrodisiac. When you ask a Canadian what is the most important characteristic you look for in a mate, humour tops the list. Not sexy cheeked butts, or faraway eyes.........NO! "She's gotsta make me laugh, bye......it's a right turn on doncha you know? Who gives a flying fig if she's not got a funny way about 'er?" The next two characteristics on the list? Knowing how to put up a tent in -35 degree weather, and enjoying Hockey Night in Canada. HOLY! I just described myself! And as an added bonus, I have a sexy butt too. :)



I do think we have uncorked our repressed desires to keep our patriotism, our lovemaking, our stirrings and yearnings under wraps over the past two decades. We wave our flags a little more often. We share our opinions more vehemently. We speak passionately and with feelings which recently were too hot to handle. And given the length of this particular winter, I would hazard a guess that there will be a torrid little boom of babies born in the early fall.

I guess you just have to be in the right place at the right time to feel it..........and you just may be in luck to be in the room where torrid comes a callin.' Anyone for some road hockey shinney?

For more torrid stories, visit Writer's Island.............it's a hot hot site.

march

Westerly winds cast downward in gusts of weeping grey

shivering through stark spaces of lonely birch bodies

with long fingertip branches

reaching a hollow sky

like a prayer that has lost it's way

in the wet remnants of weathered tears

Affirming colour fades into a landscape of dulling dusk

light filtered through clouded apathy

scraping energy

from willows too tired to weep

from pine too burdened to stand tall

casting shadows no one can see

in the grey powdered pallour of mourning.

Flickering dots alight whistling safe haven streets

opening blurried eyes refocusing gold on grey hope

seeking out the sound of reassurance

it's rays stretching out

to tickle invisible shadows

like a prayer seeping soundwaves of lights

over the land too tired to lift it's head.

Nature's canvas last night really seemed bleak while my dog Lily and I walked up on Springhill Road. At first, it knocked whatever energy I had left at the end of the day right out of me. I found my thoughts to be swirling in negativity as I swore at the black and white and grey landscape. The clouds blocked all hope of a sunset. There would be no moon, no stars last night. Out of the blue it seemed, wet snow began to drop unpredictably.........just enough to be irritating. I walked on while Lily made her way along a snowbank in search of a stick.

March in Canada is definately not a time to be promoting tourism. The sleepiness of hibernation still aches in the bones of this nation. It's true. However, so is the dogged determination to fight back..........to get outside, to plan for spring. A little bit of sunlight to begin the meltdown of accumulation carries a medicinal essence which is craved and sought. Everyone may look too pasty to be healthy. Winter coats and paraphenalia have a sorrowful look of a well worn uniform. Mittens, which have long lost their fancy fur to mottled overuse, are seen like roadkill on the sides of roads. Winter boots reek of telltale cycles of wet and dry and wet and dry. Salt stain remnants tatoo the season.

We seek out colour...........in our clothes, in our food, in our music, books, creative endeavours...........spice and colour to reinforce an awakening. Dark colours are replaced by shades of Easter affirmation. Depression has an opponent now that we're nearing the transitions of the seasons..........a four letter word..................HOPE.

The vista canvas I saw last night at dusk was like a black and white photo. It stretched as far as I could see up the Saint John River valley..... In it's own way, it was starkly beautiful. Then, the streetlights came on on the other side of the river. It was like someone took the photograph and wired it with dots of light. Have you ever seen one of those kitchy pictures? It resembled that kind of scene. The warmth altered automatically, as did my energy level....... as did my love for where I live.

We have very distinctive seasons here and I like that a lot. March (and you could argue November fits this bill too) is a season all on its own I think because of it's feel of deadness and apathy. It's like a forgotten prayer.........or perhaps one that no one hears.....muffled in the wandering aimlessness of the day. It's the persistance of spirit that remains unmuffled, albeit hidden under the layers, which helps us appreciate the gifts of nature just waiting to be uncovered.

Our appreciation runs deep when one is just waking up from hibernation. The sap is running................sweet sleepy life tastes golden.

in search of colour.......

And I found it....... It wasn't too difficult because downtown Fredericton sings with colour even when the snow is piled HIGH over the flower beds and the trees are bare boned naked. I took a walk at lunch today, and snapped many photos which I will upload over the next couple of days. This collection will give you a glimpse of how eclectically colourful my town is. With their pitched roofs, and interesting dormers, porches, stoops, verandas, and lovely woodwork, these old homes are a welcome sight on a winter's day. The above photo is my favourite shot of the day......... I LOVE the red roof of the barn right between this lovely yellow home and the majestic steeple of Christchurch cathdral. To top it off.....the sky today was robin's egg beautiful.


This is the cupola of Gallery 78, which is in the middle of an uplifting pink and blue paint job. The Gallery is home to many wonderful art exhibits, including my friend Will Forrestall who last year shared a showing with his father Tom, and his siblings who are all very talented artists. Gallery 78 is located on Queen Street, just down from my office, the Legislature and the Beaverbrook Art Gallery. Across the street from this old lady home is the Saint John River and the Green.........a beautiful walking path which at the moment is covered in a ton of snow. IT ain't green.........


I love the lines on the above picture......and the RED tin roof! I was taken by the shadows on the side of the house and from the chimney. It's one of my favourite houses downtown. The blue is gorgeous............but it's the roof that stirs my gypsy soul.

Check out how many colours in this one photo of one side of a block........mauve, mint green, red, yellow, light blue.............all quirky shades are welcome............no colour is turned down. It's so chipper looking despite the arrogance of the snow piles along the streets........

Greens, taupes, blues all working together............backside shots to show how the colours blend to form a lively city neighbourhood. I love all the angles too. Many of these big homes have apartments in them for University students. The two universities are only a few blocks away from this area.

This is my second favourite picture today..........so many angles along with the detailed woodworking....it's just one beautiful peak in an area filled with this kind of eye candy. The background blue jumps out at me too. Despite the cold brisk air that forced me to continue wearing my gloves in between taking photos, there was a lightness of spring in the air, reinforced by the hopeful sound of the chickadees welcoming the other birds back to town.

Soon...................soon.............

I returned to my office with the sights and the sounds to sustain me for the rest of the day.