savoring new mediums

Emerging creativity is an activity we savor in this family.  Whether its photography, watercolour painting, dance, theatre arts, fashion design, writing, or a new form of collage and paint, creative pursuits allow you the gift of moving out and beyond yourself even for a short stint.  It tickles imagination fancies and awakens new soul tributaries which hold colour compositions just waiting to be discovered.  It heightens confidence, teaches focus, offers expressive outlets one may not even know existed.  Zesty savoring!

Creativity is exploration into the realm of turning dreams into action.  How life affirming is that?

I took this photo of my daughter Martha last night after she arrived home from one of the Art classes she is taking in the evening.  On top of a full load of courses in her last year of high school, she is taking 2 evening courses at the Craft College in order to help her develop a portfolio to be submitted with her application into the Fine Arts program at Mount Allison University.   

So determined!  So full of purpose!  She is on the cusp of transitioning into a whole new world and is very busy trying to make it happen.   Last night, the little girl in her was revealed again.  Excitement radiated from her smiling eyes while she described the process of a new technique she had applied and her gleeful satisfaction on the finished product.  

I wanted to savor the moment.  I wanted Martha too as well.  So, as she signed her artwork (one that will eventually be framed and hung in the dining room because I love it too!) we took a moment in the middle of a very busy Autumn to recognize our mutual love of creative expression.  It will always be a tie that binds.....past, present and future.

Like me, Martha will forever have a project on the go.  Her hands will be covered in whatever paint or glue or ink continuously.  Her ticking brain is constantly gazing both inside and outside.  The way she looks at the world around her is seen through an every changing lens of imagination.  And when she gets an idea in her head, she has to follow through on it in order to let go of it.  It's hilarious to listen to her when she has a new project in mind!  I hear the echo of me in her!   

And in turn, I hear the echo of Martha in me........  it makes me smile every time I think of this.  Man oh, man I'm going to miss her next year when she head off to University.  Where does the time go?

Savor, savor, savor..........

For more photo interpretations on the word "Savor,"  check out Carmi's blog.......

gathered dreams.......

In the quiet of a soft whisper sigh, two become one when silence is shared comfort.  In a clearing, a step away from the woods, they stand together.  Looking up into the night sky so vibrantly alive with star memories of gathered dreams they toss their own into the mix.  

Hope and endless possibilities breathe out from their sparkle tips, spreading beyond the galaxy of wishes,  slipping into the otherworld where good spirits weave heartbeats of desire.  Without even a glance, their separate hands reach out to be held at the same time. Fingers clasp.  Warmth flows.  Belonging transfers. Love radiates in the silence of their shared comfort.  

Quietly he steps behind her and wraps his arms around her waist as she tucks into the safety of his arms.  Somehow, in this big old goofy world, they have found one another. 

Swaying sigh........

:)

furious angels

On those days when darkness covers the world around you, then somehow slips under your skin when you're not paying attention, you find yourself counting shadows instead of sheep.  Contented dreams remain out of reach. Calm is peppered by a hideous invasion of internal noises.  Shadows can be loud visitors.  They don't lovingly bleat like sheep and happily hop back over the fence. Instead, they stick around hovering under your breath until you begin to fall into night's bottomless cavern.

one,

two,

three,

four......

Shadows resemble a chorus of fear, accompanied by the looming rhythm of your own heartbeat. Regular pathumps intensify to a loud drumming of dread.  These pulsing disturbances push you past any realm of comfort to a suffering soul place. You're struck hard by the acute realization that you come from dust, and that no matter how hard you try... no matter how long you seek out relief through a solution, the fact is what it is. All suffering is simply a version of coming face to face with mortality. 

five ......................................................... six

seveneightnineteneleven

The din continues, ...... a nagging rapture of furious angels leap out from the shadows to summon your drumming heart. A blurring flurry of fussy wings thresh, summoning awareness that all you've ever known is not enough....that what you're struggling with cannot be fixed by your combative ego .... that the reins you've held onto so tightly for control have to be released.  When it feels as though the air can't be any darker, when the hum of angels hit a crescendo making the shadows dance like they have won, surrendering is the only option.  

Just when you're about to let go of any form of faith you have, your hands automatically turn upward with plea in your heart.  To stop the flight of furious angels.  You've heard their message.  It is then and only then that you have opened up wide enough to let in the light of God. .... to ask for His guidance.  

May you stay right there amongst the dancing shadows, the frenzied angels, and the pain of suffering until you can hear an answer to your prayer.  Don't let your ego get in the way. 

river girl.......

She was never one to walk in a straight line.  Wandering suited her life tempo. You could describe her thinking process that way too, as she much preferred to allow her mind to drift into creating whole scenes of possibilities inside her head.....multi-sensory scenes fed by the flurry of interactions which made up her days.  More often than not, she kept them to herself. Every once in a while, she would share them with people who were open to listening, open to believing that truth requires a broader leap than even faith.

When she combined her wandersteps with her straying mind there was no telling where she would end up.  Maps confined her.  Routines bored her to a point where she would feel suffocated by the deadening air of predictability.  No, straight line ambling made her feel out of touch much more so than the freedom of embracing the mystery of an unveiled meandering. For it was then that she fell in touch with her faith.

Some would describe her as an anchorless nomad, who wasted time. Flaky and terminally beyond practical matters were their opinions.  Others found her unconventional manner beguiling and wished they could trade their own life trappings for one amber taste of a free flowing spirit.  As much as they were captivated, however,  they were tentative about whether they truly wanted to know how vast the realm of the unknown was.  Some seemed to accept her ways without question.  But most people didn't even notice her.  For them, she was an invisible human being whose life never really mattered in their own lives. 

Interestingly, she noticed them. 

For those who paid attention,  they all agreed on one aspect. She was a river girl.  It suited her to be close to unstill waters that drifted from a mystical source.  They could see how much they were the same; how her spirit blended in with the spirits present in the moving currents which created new patterns as it flowed in its unfolding, and cascaded freely towards the open tidal bay.  The same description applied to her. Like the river, her journey was full of surprises.  Her life steps complimented the character of the river and in fact it was where she preferred to meander.

Nothing triggered the broadening of her imagination than a visit to listen to the cold water echo nuances.  On most days, you'd see her standing along its banks, or sitting under a weathered old maple looking down stream, lost inside her dreams.  Sometimes when no one in her family needed her attention, she would set off for a short walk and end up stipstepping along the path until the sun went down...... the sure sign that she had once again lost track of time.

"A rambling stroll down to the river was like greeting a kindred spirit," she often said upon her return.  Hardly anyone understood what she meant, but that didn't bother her.  She was comfortable in her own shoes, with her own beliefs.  It was her truth.  

Strangely, or maybe not, her favourite time of year to filter the clarion sighs of the river was in the dead of winter........ in February when the bitter winds nipped reminders of hallowed stories muffled through winter shadows. At this time of the year, when the world was as quiet as a deep sleep, her whole being was captivated by a sense of being vibrantly alive.  

When the climate was just right, she could grasp the river sounds aching in grumpy indignation.   Her flesh felt pierced by the river's icelips leaving shivers under her woolen bravery.  It was like the river held onto its stories like a holywell holds onto tears and wishes until the silence pervaded the last surface rippling.  It was only then that there was enough trust to reveal its true identity.

Like a few others, the river girl instinctively knew when the long winter shadows formed along the riverbank, then and only then did they reveal their deeply held secrets.  This never happened during the summer months.  Shadows in July are used simply as shade against the heat of the light flowing day.  Shadows in February, however, breathe an ancient hunger, through frosty voices which scrape against their brittled courage.  

Their legends held the ingredients needed to awaken her ability to inhale the truth held beneath the frozen valley, and to fuel her awareness that she was exactly where she belonged............ part of the legacy of life surprisingly unfolding as it should.

feeling empowered...

It's an energy thing.... empowerment.  There is a feeling of uplifting clarity when one lets go of those harboured illusions initially constructed for protection and sees that nothing has shattered in the process.  Feeling empowered is the result of a long process of personal growth which begins with vulnerability.  We feel insecure, uncomfortable, off kilter when we are vulnerable.  Naked in the eyes of our selves and there's no place to hide.  Vulnerability is the result of acknowledging fear enhanced reality.

In order to eradicate that feeling, we begin to chart out a plan by expanding our thinking through assessment and critical analysis of the situation which is making us feel so shaky.  Its the decision to fight rather than take flight. We problem solve. We begin to think it through, talk it out.... contemplate.  By so doing, we usually stumble across an idea.... a "hey" moment that could possibly be the solution to whatever the "woe" is.  As soon as this moment kicks in, so does our energy.  When we begin to feel a sense of empowerment, our confidence is fueled.  Hope is regenerated. Enthusiasm is restored.

There is nothing more motivating than feeling weak kneed vulnerable.  Nothing more humbling either. 

poker face....nah!

Is there really such a thing as a neutral facial expression?  Is it possible to hide all of our emotions from another person?  If all it takes is one little cheek flutter, one speck of a face tic, one blink longer than the other, a lick of the lips, a downturned look, a quickening flush of colour.........just one of those finger on the nose movements to communicate that something is afoot, how can anyone boast about having a poker face? 

Stare into the eyes of another a little longer than you usually do, and the game is on to figure out the thoughts of another.  What are trying to convey?  Interest? Sexual desire? Are you trying to intimidate the other person?  If you turn them away too quickly, are you hiding something? Feeling uncomfortable? Lying? Or are you just taking a break and thinking about a response?

More times than not, we aren't even aware of our own message projections.  They become so much of our pattern of communicating, they spill out unthinkingly.  When was the last time you consciously thought about the messages you inadvertently passed on?  When was the last time you read the person's face talk and got it completely right??? 

The human interaction game has some rules, but retains a sense of puzzling mystery........ enough to keep us interested in playing because we all hold different cards based on our comfort level, our personalities, our skills and gifts.  It is fraught with underlying motives, layered in with a level of attraction,  repressed feelings, thoughts and past experiences.  Wounds from broken down attempts at connecting with another play a part too.  As do our past successes in smoothly going where no one else has penetrated before. 

Some people exude a sense of confidence, an attractiveness which acts like a magnet, pulling others into their space.  Do you know anyone like that?  Are you like that?? Charisma.  Energy. An alluring smile.  They are masters at the game of human interaction, moving from a flirtatious coyness to a determined yet friendly approach that can make someone else feel like they're the only person in the world that matters right then and there!  Fascinating!  Where do they learn this skill?  Is it an inherent thing, or do we learn through modelling and observing other's expressions as children?? Not one word need to be spoken, and yet the energy emanating between two people radiates with such an aura that it seems to be in colour.  

According to Eric Berne, the Transactual Analysis guru,  "games are a compromise between intimacy and keeping intimacy away...." The game of interaction holds many rules.....but it comes down to how close you want to be with another, and how close they want to be with you.  Sometimes it is a cat and mouse game...... I'm OK, You're Not OK.......  Sometimes it can be a mouse and cat game ..... I'm not OK, You're OK.  Sometimes the energy between two people is so repelling or perhaps the opposite, so electric that its too frightening to contemplate intimacy, and it turns into two bears vying for the same cave... I'm not OK, You're not OK.   

Ah, but then there are times when two people, under the right circumstances, in the right moodlight, with the right chemistry and with the ability to read the facial expressions, the body language, the intentions behind the game that they drop the pretences, relax and move into a place of spiritual intimacy that can only be considered a perfect match.  No more games......... Just an I'm OK, You're OK checkmate.  It's lovely when that happens........... 

Today's writing prompt from Sunday Scribblings is "games."  Though I do love a good game of cribbage, and have been known get all heated over a game of scrabble.......... the human race game is the one I prefer to play.  For more game playing interpretations, check out Sunday Scribblings.....

riddles.

Natures red carpet.

"The wound has left an imprint....labour and discipline of creativity refines our blemished seeing, and gradually an unexpected gift comes to light.....nothing is said directly in creative work; it is obliquely suggested. Perhaps creative expression is a way of telling something indirectly that we could never tell out straight...."  

John O'Donohue,

Beauty, The Invisible Embrace.

Creativity is never linear is it?  Come to think of it, neither is love. They both contain complicated riddles that act as cues to peak our curiosity, and to hook us into delving deeper into the world of human imperfection.  

Life is full of surprises.  Amazing how often we see reality through the lens of an illusion.  Amazing how often we settle into an illusion convinced its reality only to be surprised by a confession.....a truth. 

My leap of faith is wanting....... I wish sometimes it was simply a linear journey where the destination was at the end of a red carpet and the gift was sitting at the foot of an old maple.


Life is a riddle.  So is creativity.  So is love.

spirits..........

"We have falsely spatialized the eternal world. We have driven the eternal out into some kind of distant galaxy. Yet the eternal world does not seem to be a place but rather a different state of being. The soul of the person goes no place because there is no place else to go. This suggests that the dead are here with us, in the air that we are moving through all the time. The only difference between us and the dead is that they are now in an invisible form. You cannot see them with the human eye. But you can sense the presence of those you love who have died. With the refinement of your soul, you can sense them. You feel that they are near."
John O'Donohue, Anam Cara.

Spirits defy human logic. Sometimes logic is overrated. Instead, let us recognize their presence in the moments when our creative efforts find a fluency emerging from the depths of our lyrical possibilities.

I think we can easily become estranged from the loving forces around us who carry us in ways we may not be able to understand logically, but are there to support and guide. During times when we are integrated with our creative side, we move out of the logic of cerebral contemplations and into a space where we are openly vulnerable to receiving direction from the soul spirits of those who guide. Creativity defies logic. Creativity dwells in the illumination of our heightened senses. Spirits help us move beyond logic and into a place of sensory perception. We wouldn't have art without a little help from the Spirits all around.

Let us toast their nearness.


ps. Happy Halloween. May you enjoy my jack o'latern sunrises. Brilliant orange has been the most predominant colour at dawn where I live......

restless secrets

Hold on tight to your restless secrets if you want to. Sadly, I'm sorry to inform you they have a way of showing their true colours........ your body can't hide the stories. Your mind rattles outward, rippling your body restlessness in discomfort. Mystery reveals itself in your.......
sighing wandering woes
fretful fearful legs
skipping heartbeats
ringing ears
swollen joints
blurry vision
agitated guts
itchy skin
itchy skin
refreshed....and you keep scratching.........
itchy skin
itchy soul leaving you unable to focus.

Restless secrets gripe and groan the loudest just when you think no one's paying attention. When you relax. They spit reality onto your pillow of dreams.... in illusionary rainbow arcs. Try to keep them quiet and they will feast like head lice under your hair covered scalp belching in shameful agony.

Shame has a way of shooting out of sleeping thoughts. They retch up unspoken murmurs and swirl in a devilish weave of desire. Inside the brokenness of pain where ache feeds on restless secrets, your conscience rattles with tight lipped disdain. Denial simply stretches skin into a thin throbbing membrane disturbed by the unrelenting obsession to bleed........
Let it bleed.
Let the bleeding come.
Let it come
Come out! For God's sake!

"Deny yourself," said the Carpenter through your sleeping fog.
"Deny yourself.........."
What did He mean by that???

Restless secrets never sleep. They moan through silent dreaming and rise out of the foggy facade in the kingdom of makeothersbelieve. Your sorry storybooks are filled with tampered truth, with dormant devils of dismissed denials. Transparency blathers out the truth.

Let sleep linger on
Let sleep linger on and on...
And while you forever linger in the taut grip of a hot tightrope of fantasy napping, try your best to stay inside the sleepy mystery where your ruminating imagination soothes unspoken thoughts wrapped up in innocence past its due date.
let sleep linger....if you can.
Ignore, deny, suppress, create stories, try to live on.
My God, it's draining your energy.......

But,
If you open your eyes,
If you open your sores to dashes of salty sting reality
BE PREPARED
for wet spitting dreams on your pillow.
spit.
disgust.

You may not know yet but........
your mask slipped off.
That facade is a fateful fallacy.
And all I can feel is
sorry for you.

All I wanted was the truth. Was that so wrong?

If only you could poke at those swollen secrets
Make them blabblabblabblab away with relentless seeping
If only you could give them air
Give them life
Let those fucking secrets breathe
You'd be set free.
If only......what is stopping you???

Truth will set you free................. no matter what the cost.
no matter what the cost.
The freedom of your soul is more important than the restless secrets you keep.
It's never too late.
Never too late....

Pssssst.... guess what?
If you do decide to come clean....?
You will still be loved.
Unconditionally.

meanderings...

Home alone.....in the peace and quiet of a hot summer days-end, and my thoughts and feelings are meandering through the slowness of the pace. My favourite music is on, finding my stillness like the heartwarmth of being with a kindred spirit. Somehow music has the ability to spill breezes of belonging into our souls. A light touch kiss, which softens any hardening of the spirit. Just the right choice of music can steer you into a contented harbour where you are welcomed and loved as you are always......

Maybe that's the reason why we gravitate to it like thirsty pilgrims in need of a sip of cool, cool water. The melodies which touch our individual souls, the lyrics which tap into the essence of who we are, the voices which we seek out during times when we need reflective solace is like stepping into paradise.... As Van Morrison sings so beautifully..... "this must be what paradise is like....it's so quiet in here, so peaceful in here. " Enlightenment is captured in the verses of the hymns we long to hear..... and I love it!

Even when the choice of music is in need of ripping volume, one can escape into the cavern of its notes and find a corner to sit and allow it to flow all around and inside you...... This is so at any concert I've attended. It's an encasement inside joy and sometimes if you're very lucky, rapture. Is there anything more life affirming than reaching into the core of rapture??

It all depends on our preferences too, where this rapture dwells ..... the sweet sexiness of jazz, the body movement tempo of a ballad, the heat of a rockin' guitar riff, the heartbouncing beat of a drum, the soulful sound of one pure voice, the blur of a metal band, the magical echoes of a group whose music grabs your innards and yanks it through your tear ducts. It depends on where we are, and what we savour. Music soars through our veins inarticulately.....

Me? I love all types of music, and often will choose based on where I am emotionally, physically and spiritually . Sometimes I want it to parallel how I'm feeling, or make me feel it deeper. Sometimes, I pick tunes that will lift me up and out of a grey cloud. Sometimes, I want to play music that I know so intimately in order to conjure up memories of gladness and loving security. I don't own an I-Pod because I prefer to have it playing in the air around me and not directly from machine to ears. I do like that at times, and have tried it, but it makes me feel like I'm not in touch with the rest of the world. If I am out walking or travelling, I want to hear the sounds around me...... they are just as important as music. However, I have asked for an I-Pod for my birthday this year, because my CD's skip!

Today, at the end of a slow pace.....an "in the long now..." leisurely kind of day when I am meandering through past and present reflections, my choices would seem quite varied to anyone who doesn't know me. But they all seem to represent different parts of my essence.

Right now, I am listening to a Van Morrison CD that my husband made me.....he entitled it "Celtic Soul." On it is the song we danced to on our wedding night....Irish Heartbeat. I remember the first time we danced to it....on a New Year's Eve when we first realized how strong our feelings were for one another. Somehow the song melted our hearts together. Somehow that song brought us together, and away from all others. It was a dance which began the courtship that continues.....

I smile today.....full of thoughts and feelings of what is and what was.....of where I am and where I hope to go.... captured in the chords of gladness. C'mon over. I'd love to share this quiet place with you. Please bring your favourite tunes to help with the meanderings inside a Saturday evening sanctuary. The piano plays on.....do I hear a saxophone....?

"this must be what its all about ..... this must be what paradise is like ... so quiet in here, so peaceful in here...."

this made me laugh.....

Johnny goes to modeling class in his school for special children and he gets his piece of putty and he's modeling it. He takes a little lump of putty and goes to a corner of the room and he's playing with it. The teacher comes up to him and says, "Hi, Johnny." And Johnny says, "Hi."
And the teacher says, "What's that you've got in your hand?" And Johnny says, "This is a lump of cow dung." The teacher asks, "What are you making out of it?" He says, "I'm making a teacher." The teacher thought, "Little Johnny has regressed."

So she calls out to the principal, who was passing by the door at that moment, and says, "Johnny has regressed."

So the principal goes up to Johnny and says, "Hi, son." And Johnny says, "Hi."
And the principal says, "What do you have in your hand?" And he says, "A lump of cow dung." "What are you making out of it?" And he says, "A principal." The principal thinks that this is a case for the school psychologist. "Send for the psychologist!"

The psychologist is a clever guy. He goes up and says, "Hi." And Johnny says, "Hi." And the psychologist says, "I know what you've got in your hand." "What?" "A lump cow dung." Johnny says, "Right." "And I know what you're making out of it." "What?" "You're making a psychologist." "Wrong. Not enough cow dung!"

Anthony de Mello.......... :)

rain reflections of camp.....

I had a short catch up kind of conversation with my daughter last night on the phone. She's busy at her camp in the counsellor in training program, and is having the time of her life. So much so, that I think she's almost oblivious of how crappy the weather has been all summer long.

We have yet to have a string of sunny days. The temperatures are cool. The skies have been grey. The land is soggy. It feels more like early spring except everything is so lush it looks juicy. The flowers in the garden are bent over in surrender, too damped down by the wet lashings that they havent the energy to spring to attention. Instead, the blooms cower in anticipation of another downpour.

I asked my daughter how bad it was there in dampcampland..... Upbeat and perky, she admitted that she doesn't have a dry towel left, but they were all coping with it. In fact, she had just been swimming in the river to clean up after sliding in the mud. "It was great Mom. We put our bathing suits on and ran around the camp looking for mudpuddles to slide in. We were coated in it! It was a blast!!" Fun? WOW!

After we said goodbye, she was off to the Lodge to hang out with the rest of the CIT's...no doubt in front of a big blazing fire in the old fieldstone fireplace. No doubt someone would have a guitar in hand. No doubt there would be wishes and dreams, and plans aromatically floating from their comfort of belonging. No doubt they would offer up their hopes and bits about themselves into the communal basket of growing kindredness. Relaxed, unhurried, content, my daughter and her friends sprawled out on the wooden floor of the old lodge in front of the fire most likely spent an evening of broadening their connections through conversations, cardgames, music, and comraderie. I could envision it like it was something I had experienced myself. Why? Because I have and those memories I hold dearly.

Rainy summers working at a children's camp conjure up very different nostalgic scenes than the hot sunny long hazy day ones. Regular activities are often swept aside for different open ended adventures where you learn to live within the elements and have fun. Mind over matter always wins! Though it was hard work to push past the expectations of sunny paddles and blue sky sailings, you learned different skills by recognizing that rainy days offer gifts of deeper friendships. If you let it happen.

I remember summers when the rain was unrelenting, when moods were attached to short fuses, when pushing through the elements took a lot of energy. Leaders couldn't whine no matter how consistently dour the skies were. They were the backbone of enthusiasm. But it would take its toll. When this happened.....when there was a shift to a sense of surrender, our number one much loved leader, Skip, would decide to change things up by allowing his staff to sleep in a bit and along with a couple of his senior staff, would take every single camper, usually 120 or so on a long rainy day hike. Sounds like drudgery doesn't it? Far from it!!! Those hikes were ADVENTURES.....SKIN SOAKING FUN.

But, here was the catch. While he entertained the troops....taking them through the woods, down untravelled paths, away into the mystery of the forrest to a long forgotten old logging road and a haunted house called Blagdon Manor ..... while he led them in songs and chants and quick stops to check out new fauna, the rest of the staff had the morning to stretch, work together drink coffee and plan. Why? Because when the troops returned, swampy, muddy, happy, hungry and a little played out, they would be expecting a full out camp experience like no other. Planning consisted of working as a team to conjure up a whole slew of activities, usually under a theme, and usually ending in a dance in Squamish Hall. So many of those fantastic days swim out of my memory bank this morning that I feel upbeat just remembering them.... Staff talent nights (always hilarious!), capture the flag marathons, water baseball in the rain, Skit nights, Indoor games.... Guys and Girls, Counsellor hunts, Kangaroo Courts.... and theme days!

One year, we turned the camp into a Pirate's Training Den. It all began while the kids, then clean, dry and finishing a hot hearty lunch when a group of Pirates sailed around the point, right onto the shores of Camp Kawabi...... We had decorated one of the old outboard boats, The Stable Mabel and turned it into a sailing vessel.... A group of the most "vicious" looking staff dressed in their very best pirate rags loudly announced their invasion. Within no time, the whole camp ran down to the lake to find out what was going on, only to realize they were all held capture, thrown into groups, given pirate family names and promptly introduced to the idea that in order to become pirates themselves, they had to pass a bunch of "matey" tests, which had been set up in various spots all over the camp. If they passed the tests, they would be given their own head scarf and eye patch (all created that morning by a busy bouyant group of leaders).

As the skies threatened above, we were able to ignore its menacing ways and band together in a day of fantasy and imagination. How cool is that? Fun? WOW! A rainy day..... and I bet it was one of the highlights of almost every single person, no matter what age, of their summer. Laughter and song shared with 150 people is hard to ever forget. I loved rainy day activities..... I loved finding those mudpuddles and showing my group of campers how to slide with glee. You can always get clean..... You can't always find the mudpuddles...

After a long energy spilling day, which always left everyone smiling in exhaustion, we'd tuck our campers in and head up to the lodge. In quiet small groups, we'd form around the fieldstone fireplace. No doubt someone had a guitar in hand. No doubt there were wishes and dreams, and plans aromatically floating from our comfort of belonging. No doubt we offered up our hopes and bits about ourselves into the communal basket of growing kindredness. Relaxed, unhurried, content, and closer than ever..... rainy days can do that.

Ah, I now want to go find Blagdon Manor again. And why do I all of sudden want to wrap a scarf around my head? Arrrrrrrrr..........matey.........

ps.... what do you know? I finished this piece and the sun came out.... for a little while. :)

Meet the Author of THE FEY: Claudia Hall Christian

Welcome friends! I'm so excited to announce that I'm the Canadian host of Claudia Hall Christian's Book Blog tour. Through the virtual magic of "blog-energy," our writing paths crisscrossed a while back and ever since we have been regular readers of each other's hijinks, heartspills and hilarity.

Personally, I was pulled into her dynamic and interactive blog knowing I had found a person who was actively working on a dream, using both her head and her heart. I liked what I read and I loved the sassy personality that is my Colorado blogfriend. Optimistic, respectfully opinionated, and kind, Claudia puts out unconditional positive energy. I love visiting her site, Out on a Limb with Claudia (link on my sidebar)

Recently, Claudia launched the publication of her novel, The Fey, a gripping thriller chalk full of espionage, fast paced twists and turns, and a whole lot of page blazing passion. In fact, the story brims with threads of expressive feelings which weave the characters together with loyalty for one another and a deep sense of loving respect, all revolving around the main character, Sargeant Alexandra Hargreaves, also known as The Fey.

It had been a while since I picked up and read fiction, though it used to be my number one love before I began writing again, and my reading of choice morphed into mostly non fiction to feed my own muse. So, I was looking forward to getting lost in a story that would transport me into another world. Claudia's talents did not let me down. In fact, I sat down, cracked open the book and for the rest of the day I was happily lost in the lives of Alex the Fey and her band of risk taking, large living, sexy spirited team of dedicated men who worked for the American military. I was hooked from page 1. Now how often can you say that about a novel? The Fey is a terrific read, comparable to all the great spy genre books. And I've read dozens of them! Claudia has hit this one out of the park!

So it is with great pleasure that I welcome Claudia here as she tours the blogworld promoting her book and sharing a little bit about herself and the writing process..... Claudia? Welcome to Fredericton, New Brunswick. Let's just jump right into the questions shall we?

Where did the story idea for Alex the Fey originate?

Boy, that’s a good question. I’m not quite sure. In a dream like state, Rebecca Hargreaves came and sat down on the edge of my bed. She came night after night for at least a week. I couldn’t eat or sleep until I started working on the first draft of The Fey.

Once your imagination kicked into gear, where did you go from there in planning out your novel and the characters you've beautifully brought to life?

I didn’t really plan out the novel. I simply worked to understand, and speak for, these characters. I wrote a lot – back story, front story, and lots of side stories. I wrote three entirely different versions of this story until I felt like I had the story right. My attempt is to be a clear scribe for my characters.

How much research was involved in the process?

I did a lot of research. Although I’ve known quite a few people in the military, I’ve never been in the military. There was a lot to catch up on. I’m also not Catholic, so I needed to uncover minor details which help make the story feel more real. And, while my family is originally from Northern Ireland, there was a lot that I needed to research there.
Gratefully, the Internet is a vast resource of people and information. I was lucky enough to be able to find almost everything I needed to know either through someone on the Internet or on various Internet sites.
Newsweek is another fabulous research tool. I have a subscription to the magazine. I clip out interesting articles then scan them so I’ll have them always. I’ve learned a lot from different Newsweek articles.

Who is your favourite secondary character and why?
It depends on the day. lol. They are each rich and interesting characters. I like different things about them. And, as the Alex the Fey series continues, we learn more about them.

As I finished the book, I was left with a desire to know more about Alex and her relationships with her team. I also wanted to know much more about the men she's related to. I could see how so many of your characters had the potential to be the lead in a storyline. Tell me a bit about where you will take us in your next installment.
Learning to Stand is the second in the Alex the Fey thriller series. The books begins in Paris where Alex and Raz begin to clean out the Fey team storage locker. In this book, Alex must start moving on from the events in her past. Of course, there’s lots of romance, rip roaring action, and laughter along the way.
The third installment, Who I Am is the most personal book of the Alex the Fey series. In this book, we get an inside view as each character must come face to face with himself or herself. We also have lots of laughs, adventure, and romance.
Learning to Stand is undergoing final edits for publication right now and Who I Am is in first draft form. There are eight books outlined, but I will continue writing the series as long as the characters have something to say.

Now, for your own personal Unconscious muttering....words related to The Fey :) (this is a Sunday regular word association post on Claudia's blog, Out on a Limb.....check it out and join in!)

courage :: to breathe
conflict :: ed
terrorist :: revolutionary?
secrets :: kill
queen bee :: lays 1500 eggs a day in the summer
Colorado :: is near the center of the United States

Paris :: my favorite city on the planet
suffering :: passes
intrigue :: fascination
passion :: to live, laugh and love

Here are a few "Vanity Fair Proust" questions for you Claudia, ready?

a) What is your idea of perfect happiness?
I think happiness comes from knowing and accepting yourself. Perfect happiness is when I know that nothing is personal and everyone goes through what I’m going through. With my ego out of the way, I can just live my life, to the best of my abilities, in the manner in which suits me.

b) What is your most treasured possession?

The people in my life that love me.

c) Which words or phrases do you most overuse?

Just <--sneaky little weed of a word.

Simply <-- overhyped, toxic word that means almost nothing


d) What is your greatest fear?
That I will get caught up in my own dream and miss my life.

e) What is your motto?

“Why not?”

f) Honey or maple syrup?
As you know, I am a beekeeper. I will let you in on a secret. I can’t eat a lot of sweet things. In fact, I can only eat a tiny bit of honey or maple syrup. I do love our home grown honey. It’s different every year depending on the weather. I’ve heard people say that about maple syrup, but I don’t use it enough to notice.

Thank you! That was fun! Friends? If you're looking for a summer book to take to the beach, or if you live in the southern hemisphere and are itching for a story you want to sink your teeth into on a dark cold evening under the duvet, The Fey is just the right choice. If you're looking for a fresh new novel for your bookclub, why not choose a good fast paced thriller? I wholeheartedly recommend The Fey, and personally look forward to the next in the series.

Claudia? You've done well!!! Congratulations!!

To order The Fey, simply click on this link..... If you use this code: CCEESWU3, you will receive a 10% discount on your order.

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....

comfort in searching....

Out on the highways and the by-ways all alone
I'm still searching for, searching for my home
Up in the morning, up in the morning out on the road
And my head is aching and my hands are cold
And I'm looking for the silver lining, silver lining in the clouds
And I'm searching for and
I'm searching for the philosophers stone
And it's a hard road, Its a hard road daddy-o
When my job is turning lead into gold
He was born in the back street, born in the back street Jelly Roll
I'm on the road again and I'm searching for
The philosophers stone
Can you hear that engine
Woe can you hear that engine drone
Well I'm on the road again and I'm searching for
Searching for the philosophers stone

Up in the morning, up in the morning
When the streets are white with snow
It's a hard road, it's a hard road daddy-o
Up in the morning, up in the morning
Out on the job
Well you've got me searching for
Searching for, the philosophers stone
Even my best friends, even my best friends they don't know
That my job is turning lead into gold
When you hear that engine, when you hear that engine drone
I'm on the road again and I'm searching for the philosophers stone

It's a hard road even my best friends they don't know
And I'm searching for, searching for the philosophers stone

Van Morrison.


This song fills the air around me on days when I need to listen to it. Inspirational, knowing....it captures much of how I see life's journey. Today, I have Van to affirm my unbridled yearnings to continue to seek out the philosopher's stone.....to accept my role in turning lead into gold and in trying to help others learn to do the same.

Comfort is found in the most interesting places....not just in joy.....not just in the passionate blues..... but in the silver lining thinness of our expansive imagination. We are only bridled when we turn away from our purpose. We are only bridled when we allow ourselves to be held hostage to our resentments. We remain bridled if we choose to stay enclosed in a room where we can't find our breath. It is when we are out on the road, out on the road where the spirit of our breath allows us to exhale making room for fresh air forgiveness and the sweetness of surrender.

ps. I couldn't find the song on Youtube, but if you've never heard this song, I'd highly recommend I-tuning it.

milk and cookies

In a world where chaos is the order of the day, when honking horns and blinking lights penetrate our overcharged senses, when even existing within the ordinary realm of life at normal speed seems to gyrate our inner core, the very idea of a lullaby can help soothe and comfort. When fear grabs hold of our air passages, when adrenaline sends trickles past impossibility, when we find ourselves gagging over what is expected of us only to trip over one regret after another, a lullaby can spread new tendrils of hope towards a better way.

Consider the feelings wrapped in the motion of a lullaby. Say the word aloud.... it sings on its own from your curled tongue and kissed lips like a soft welcoming whisper spoken by someone who cares.

Calm, secure, reassuring...... you are loved.

Not all lullabies are expressed in the form of a song or poem. They are multi-sensory in nature.....even the pouring rain can offer solace if you want it too. The rhythmic rocking of the subway home has a reassuring feel to it after a long day in the city. The trickling of the brook, an afternoon breeze, the sound of a sleeping dog, the purr of a cat.

Visually we can step into its beauty when we appreciate the expansive sky, a garden of blooms, a canvas splashed with watercolour glory, a mantel dressed in a multitude of candles flickering in the night. The familiarity of lavender essence, baby powder, the aroma of coffee perking in the morning, cinnamon buns in the oven, the smoke from a campfire. The taste of a cold glass of milk and chocolate chips cookies freshly baked, a sip of cointreau to warm your lips and throat, an ice cold beer after a long hot sweaty day working hard, vine picked sun warmed ripe strawberries bursting in your mouth.

We seek comfort in the simple gifts....all are lullabies when our mental health is flooded by panic and stress. Close your eyes....think of your lullabies.....picture the place where you can go to feel the healing goodness of your sanctuary.

A hug, a touch, an I love you so much........

hush, hush, hush.....

____________________________

Comfort Inside of a Lullaby

unsmiling spirits follow you around
their voices shriek a horrible sound.
faded glories and dreams rush quickly by
seek comfort inside of a lullaby.

loneliness echos from a rumpled bed
sleepless nights keep company instead
used up air filled with uneven sighs
come inside the comfort of a lullaby

worries need gathering, hung out to air
rock to the rhythm of an ancient prayer
unsmiling troubles will soon say goodbye
when you find comfort inside of a lullaby.

hush all the stirring, let your sleepy head rest
there's light to guide you back to your nest
soft voices to cradle, to soothe away cries
come inside the comfort of a lullaby

hush, hush, hush......

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

___________________________

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?

whimsy

The best toys are the ones which allow us to vibrate with creative juices that flow happily onto the canvas of our lives. A heightened awareness, a turning on of possibilities..........a motivator to generate open expression of passion. Toys can offer the avenue to share some fun through interacting and focusing on open ended excitement. Even the most staid looking invention that seems to have only a one speed kind of function can be altered simply by using one's imagination.....by feeding our thought horizons with some whimsy. Turn on the imagination, and let whimsy be the guide.

When I was a child, I remember playing in the tall grass and fallen leaves at the back of the yard near the creek. At first glance, the area didn't look like it had any potential for whimsical adventures. And yet, we played back there for hours raking up the leaves and stomping down the grass to form rooms in a make believe home...........designing a sacred place where we acted out various scenarios.......playing house, playing school.............acting, plotting, planning.....just having fun.

Have you ever watched a young child on Christmas morning after the presents have been opened? There they are surrounded by dust collecting huggable toys or battery operated thing-a-ma-jigs......stuff they wanted even.........and yet they are more fascinated by the boxes?? Did you ever have a chance to play in a LARGE box that used to hold an appliance? Sure it was fun for a while to turn it into a hiding place, but then it became a tool for open ended ideas. The ends were opened up. Some windows were carved out of the side. Sometimes the exterior was painted or drawn up. It became a house, a tunnel, a slide.............whimsy was the culprit. Whimsy breaks open the possibilities.

As adults, we seem to suffocate our whimsy to a large extent. It's not something usually invited to big important grown up meetings. It's not allowed to attend serious performances as an audience member. Churches aren't too big on allowing whimsy to take a seat in the pew.....too darn unpredictable. And when unpredictable whimsy alights, well...................people get scared of what may happen, of being embarrassed by it's delightful nature.

Whimsy is an oddfellow.............and yet we suck up it's sweetness when we can let go and be creative beings. We welcome it into our lives when we need an outlet, when we have acquired a new idea seed to enlighten our passions. Personally, I keep whimsy close by because I love how it stirs me into new worlds of creativity. I love finding another seeker of whimsy as well because it's meant to be shared............a delightful alight.......... Yes, whimsy performs best outside of the box, away from institutional thinking and structures where liturgy is expected to remain rigid and unmoving. She likes wide open spaces best.

Any creative open-ended project, plan, approach needs someone to step outside of their world and their thinking in order to let the possibilities churn. If that someone can find themselves out in their own margins of thinking, they will be warmly welcomed by whimsy.....a bright colourful animator of fun who loves to shake things up a bit. And on this Sunday morning as I contemplate the importance of illogical, spontaneous, colourful whimsy as the catalyst of creation, I'm thinking that perhaps God is her strongest advocate.

Look around!! Do you think He would've been able to create the endless beauty we have around us if He wasn't a whimsy believer? No way! In fact, I wouldn't hesitate to suggest that not only did God call upon whimsy as his interior and exterior decorator, He thoroughly enjoyed learning how to colour outside of the margins.

Whimsy is our best friend and will continue to be loyal as long as you recognize her need to be included in colouring our lives. Take her on.....show her off! Wear her with pride...........let her paint the canvas of your life....

batteries and any foreseen shyness are not included........anyone for pole dancing? I hear theres a Princess out there willing to show us how! All as a means for good wholesome exercise of course. Oh, and when she visited me lately, she informed me of a whimsical new game to play with firefighters....i've heard of lawn darts.........but arse darts? I love her whimsy side.

Hey Princess? Can I wear my new leggings pole dancing? It would make me feel sarahdipitous no doubt.