pressed flowers and other revealing things

 These ones stayed..............

I lost count on the number of boxes I filled with books during one of the most humid nights of this summer.   There were times when I hesitated.... caught by a memory of when one of them had been added to the shelves.  A Christmas present...anniversary.....birthday gifts.  The much coveted novel, enjoyed immensely.  For the most part however, I was on a roll.  With a glass of wine on hand, and my musical preferences to keep me company, I spent hours decluttering, cleaning and stacking the boxes for future retrieve.  

My focus tumbled around 2:45 am.  Not quite the witching hour.  Almost. 

I came face to face with a  large reference tomb of a book . My resolve melted momentarily.  It had nothing to do with the book itself.  Rather, it was the pieces of paper towels sticking out of through the pages that caught my eye.  Caught breath.  Wavering balance.  My initial reaction was to recoil like I had seen a water moccasin curled up on the bottom shelf hissing at me!  It was just a book for goodness sake.  How in the world can something so inanimate create such a visceral reaction?  Well, try living in a house whose familial foundation was startled by thundering betrayal.  There are little emotionally ticking trinkets mocking you for months afterwards.  Bloody loud they can be! 

As soon as I saw them, a realization hit me in the gut.  Inside the creases of the paper towels were beautifully pressed flowers.  Pansies, daisies, forget me knots I had picked from our first house and placed in the book many years ago to dry.  My intentions back then were to use them to decorate candles or note paper. 

But, then I got busy.  The craft project was forgotten. The flowers were abandoned.

Two children to raise.

A career that kept me busy.

A home to run. 

A marriage to....................?

I took a bit of time to look at the flowers laying open on paper. My hands open to hold them.   I took in their delicate beauty.  I remembered where I had picked them...out of the garden of our first house.   I cried a little.  Not enough moisture to bring them back to life.....just enough to moisten my cheeks.  Then, I tossed them into the trash. 

I've tossed a lot of stuff along with rearranging pictures and painting walls.  Enlightening....... and lightening. Everytime I've reached that place when I could let go of "the stuff"  my whole body feels like it is somehow defying gravity for a thin air second. 

To get to this head space, I have worked hard taking one step at a time.  There are some who feel that I should be farther along the path. How do I know this?  I hear it.  Then, there are some who comment on how well I'm doing.  I hear this too.  Who the hell knows..... except me.  I am where I am.......   More importantly, I am fine with where I am.  Right here.  Living.  Moving forward at my own pace.  If there is anything I can control, its my own pace and my own readiness to tackle yet another piece of the "letting go" puzzle.  Those overcrowding yakety yak books were my chosen target the other night. When the urge hits, you've got to move into that headspace and go to it even if it takes all night long..... which it did. 

I put the kettle on as the sun raised it's orange eyebrow over the river horizon.  The boxes of dusty books were stacked high in my kitchen along with a few holding memories of past gift giving days.  My shelves had been scrubbed down with lemon scented cleaner.  More minimalist, they were reborn with the novels and reference books that were mine and the kids as well as a few bright coloured clay vases, a couple of woven baskets, a few framed photos....  I swear I heard the white painted wood heave a sigh of relief as I stretched out my own muscles while realizing for the first time how tired I was.  

Content too. I hadn't felt that broad contentment in a long time......

The sun rose into the peace of a hazy summer morning, accompanied by the choir of birdsong that always makes me feel happily connected with the ground my barefeet touch.  At that moment, I felt alone, but not lonely.  All of those sense of accomplishment emotions were lightly stirring the remnants of my energy.  Gladness. Wing fluttering gladness kissed by the sweetness of honey nectar.   It was a moment this summer that I will never forget because even though it seems like just another chore found on a "to do" list, it was so much more than that.  

A few of the people in my life who have walked with me knew what I had been up to that night.  I can honestly say that their spirit tapped me from time to time and kept me moving forward. I was always in good hands. When it was late enough in the morning, I phoned one of them........ in  a tired but satisfied voice, I announced that my latest decluttering mission was accomplished.  

Full of encouragement that only comes with understanding he invited me over to his place where there was a cool bed in an air conditioned room......... away from the rest of the familiar world.  I took him up on his offer, and as he went about his own chores, tackling his to do list, I slept more soundly than I had in months, lullabied by the constant whir of cool cool air, while being checked on from time to time by the caring eyes of a dear friend. His kindness I will always hold onto.

A month later, when I walk into my living room (which will in itself be transformed very soon) I can feel the refreshened difference.  This particular weight is gone.  All it took was to reveal the flowers caught in the spine of a book to let go of years of dusty words.  When the time was right.  It is that simple.  You just gotta be ready on your own terms.....

ps.  You know, the last time I had pulled an all-nighter before this task filled adventure sure had a different reason for it!  And it had nothing to do with chores!!!!  hahaha!  gotta have another one of those types soon too!  :)

Skip

  "Whatever the intellectual quality of the education given our children, it is vital that it include elements of love and compassion, for nothing guarantees that knowledge alone will be truly useful to human beings. Among the major troublemakers society has known, many were well-educated and had great knowledge, but they lacked a moral education in qualities such as compassion, wisdom and clarity of vision."Dalai Lama.

 Besides my parents, there is one person in this whole world who had as much impact on the development of my values and on the choices I made as an adult.  His name is Skip.  Well, his real name is Bruce, but I've never been able to call him that. It would be too uncomfortable!  He's Skip.  Always and forever.  Just like I am Muskie always and forever. 

I'm not alone.  I daresay there are quite a few people out there in "summer camp land" who wouldn't hesitate if they were asked to identify the person who impacted them the most when they were growing up besides family members.  The first name to come to mind for many is Skip. After they declared that, out would tumble a whole canoe full of stories that revolve around a place that remains sacred in our hearts and memories. Alive and well these stories are!  All you have to do is tickle a Kawabi kindred just the chin and BING!  Out shines a story about Skip.  

Some of them would begin by focusing on that sense of childhood fear of this man who generated an untouchable admiration and desire to please in many!  Two thumbs up from Skip and your feet didn't touch the ground.  However, the underbelly of this are the stories of when at age 13 you got caught in the middle of the night performing crazy antics when you were supposed to be sound asleep in your own bunkbed!  I get shivers just remembering how it felt when 12 of us campers who had reunited after a long winter of wishing for camp again, were in the middle of taking photos of all of us on one bed........ with every single flashlight on and a loud cacophony of laughter peeling through the tent walls!  

Through the sound of 12 girls humming like a crowd at a bottom of the ninth world series game 7 with the score tied and the heavy hitter up to bat...... a seriously sharp baritone would cut the air and slice through the loud din! Silence ensued immediately.  For out in the dark on the path you had to take to get back to your own tent was a man who walked those same paths without a flashlight EVER in glow in the dark white tennis shoes.  That's all you could see!  The shoes!  It was probably best not to see the stern brow on his face.  You knew it was there anyways.  

I've never even attempted to write a piece on this blog about Skip because I find it daunting.  Not that I don't want to..... its just that so many conversations, activities, campfires, games, and interactions come to mind all at once.   What underlies all of the stories I share with him are the values he lived and taught daily.  Compassion, love and belonging were expressed through his actions.  Like tasty sweets, they were shared with everyone who had the bloody luck to be under his wing for even one summer.  Me?  I had 12 joyful summers.  

As a camper, I found my sense of belonging and a mentor who cared deeply for every single kid that got off that bus on the first day of camp.  It was his goal always to know the names of every one of us by dinner that first day.  It was his expectation of his whole staff too.  If he was stumped............ he bought you a bag of "tuck."   

Skip led us in song, taught us new games that opened up the whole camp property into a place of adventure.  He handpicked his staff and gave them his blessing and complete trust to lead their little packs of campers through a memorable time learning how to swim, how to sail......... how to canoe....... how to shoot an arrow..... how to sing a round of Fire's burning....... how to make new friends and work as a group. 

On the first night of my second year on staff, Skip wanted to talk to me.  He had brought along the two female senior staff with him, so I knew right away it was serious.  Much to my genuine surprise, he wanted to talk to me about my contribution as an Assistant Counsellor the summer before.  Not that I had screwed up completely........ With an assertiveness but also with compassion, he told me that he was disappointed in me as he had expected more from me.  He saw me as a more proactive leader than what I was showing. 

I was pretty stunned by the whole encounter and couldn't understand why he had to have these two staffers with him.  Until he explained that he wanted them to take me under their wing.  He wanted to make sure I had the best guidance that summer so I would be ready to take on the role of Counsellor the following year.  He wanted me to succeed as the Leader he believed I could be.

Needless to say, I worked my ass off that summer.  If Skip thought I had it in me, and he wanted to see it shine, well dammit I was going to prove to him he was right!  Though my confidence took an initial knocking, by the end of the summer I was 16 years old, I felt an even greater sense of belonging and a good feeling that I too had left an impression on the lives of my "campers."  

One of the most important aspects of that "SKIP TALK" night was how it opened up our relationship to a place where he and I could talk more about so many other topics.  True, there was still a sense of reverence one has for their mentor, but there was also an levelling of our interactions.  Adult to adult.  He put his trust me.  I put my trust in him.  He gave me responsibilities and guidance, and I fulfilled them as I tapped into my gifts.  We learned the human side of one another.  We worked together.  I thrived being on his "team."

A couple of years later, Skip approached me one evening during pre-camp.  He asked me if I would join him in talking to an Assistant Counsellor who needed some guidance.  All of a sudden the big staff girl shoes were on my feet.  It was my turn. I was the one who would follow through with this staff person and help her process the message from Skip, but also be by her side that summer.  It certainly surprised me, but I was honoured to play this role.  Passing on the values.......... passing on the compassion, love and belonging.  Developing trust.  Developing deeper interactions with one another by sharing.  Growing in leaps.  

Along the way, this staffer and I became lifelong friends. :)  Oh, and let me add too that one of the big girl staffers who was with me the night I got my talking to?  She's very much in my life still....... We all may live in different provinces, but we are in touch almost weekly.  Thank you facebook! :)

Years later, after many accumulative moments of shared feelings........ I returned to camp for a 40th anniversary reunion.  It had been 15 years since I had walked up the camp road towards the Lodge.  This time, I was accompanied by my own family.  For the first time, I was introducing them to my home away from home.  A place they had heard so much about had finally become the real thing........ the sweet scent of pine needles scattered on the soft ground in the woods, the tall trees that allowed only slivers of sunlight to pierce through, the sounds of laughter, boat motors, water play........ the cool breezes.... it was all there as we got out of the car and walked up towards the buzzing of the people there for the same purpose as I was.  To relive, reunite, rekindle, relight once again.   

As we ambled up to the top of the small hill on the road, I saw in the distance this man whose blonde hair had a little more grey in it, wearing a golf shirt, shorts and those glow in the dark tennis shoes.  He stood there waiting to greet us and I realized that I hadn't seen him since the night of my wedding reception where we danced together, Muskie and Skip.... mentee and mentor.  It took every single muscle in my body not to go right into a sprint towards him.  It felt like I had just completed the Amazing Race and he was standing by the finish line!  

I held my composure right up until I stood in front of him.  His arms went right around me like a big bear as I proclaimed..... "I'm home!"  

"Good to see you again Muskie..."

Tears? Oh yeah!  Both of us....   Then Skip turned his focus on my daughter whom he had never met in person before.  

"You must be Martha.  Welcome to Camp Kawabi.  I hope you will call it home too just like your Mom does because you belong here too." 

Transported through tunes...

 Beautiful Celtic sound at the Market. 

Instantaneous, in vivid sensory sound, music can literally transport you to another place and another time. We've all experienced this time travel to a past moment in our lives, triggered by a tune.  One or two notes and we're filled with a stirring of emotions all tied to a song.  For me, more often than not, it is the melody that pokes open a memory portal and before I know it, I find myself surrounded by a clear as day flashback.  

Badaboom!  I can name that tune in 3 notes....

Music flashbacks for  me  pack the biggest memory wallop because they clearout all of the other senses like draino and make way for a textured 3 dimensional multi-sensory performance.  One poignant song from my past can push back the curtains, lighten the air and heighten the emotions in a split second.  Before i know it, I'm seeing, hearing, inhaling the gift of that moment all over again.  Faces and events, my surroundings at the time, the stories which are tied to a song reveal themselves in a blink of an eye.   

Stumbled, startled, surprised, stepping back.....into an blast of the past...

Sometimes they are painful reminders of loss and trauma .... how time has marched on along with events you never would've predicted.  These are the ones I fell into many times over the last 8 months and for a while just had to avoid the music tied to the memories.  I find now they are softening.  These flashbacks aren't kicking me in the gut as hard anymore.  Instead, I can seek them out before they are unpredictably foisted through my sound boundaries and use them as a means for letting go of the hurt.  It wasn't so long ago...just a couple of months...... that I wouldn't dare put on a Van Morrison CD.  Now, he is back in my repertoire as he should be.  I turned off the jarring flashbacks his music created and turned into the smiling nostalgic times I hold close to my heart. 

Emotional awakenings pluck the spirit.....

Sometimes music flashbacks lift you up into a joyful dance that begins in the middle of your heart.  With a rippling effect, it sends rays of energy through your whole being and out of your limbs.  Before you know it, you're belting out the tune along with the musician with a sense of passion you have forgotten existed.  Anthem type songs tend to do this best.  Good old rock and roll numbers generate this energy, and can rip me right out of my present moment activities, placing me smack dab in the  middle of a concert, a party, a crowded club........... to a place where dancing with abandon was embraced with JOY.

Sometimes a song will leave me melting into my favourite chair as the soothing memories massage my temples,  leaving warm kisses on my spirit.  Just like comfort food, music is food for the soul.  These are the songs I love to stumble upon most often.  Many seem to tied to soundtracks from movies.  There are certain artists too who, guaranteed, will send me spinning slowly back into a place where I belong.  From hymns to the soft plucking sound of the guitar, to a orchestral symphony with wide open multi-layered harmony, to the old standards can wrap me up like a fleecy shawl.  

Flashbacks are spontaneous in nature. They aren't moments we can purposefully manufacture. Their essence springs from an element of surprise.  Whether they lift, soothe or send you soaring down the steepest part of the roller coaster ride, they are moments to treasure.  Why?  Because they are the play buttons that offer us insight into the split second moments in our lives when we shifted from unknowing to knowing.... from unaware to enlightenment.  Personal growth had happened in those moments we reflect upon.  Interestingly, whenever we are given the gift of a flashback, we are given the opportunity to stretch our learning again.  Growth continues. Life has a way of providing these lessons.  Free for the taking. 

East Coast Music Awards, Songwriter's Circle.  

Stephen Page, Jean-Francois Breau, Damhnait Doyle, Thom Swift and David Myles

This week's Sunday Scribbling's prompt is "Flashback."  For more offerings, check out their blog. 

blue moons...........

Full moon over the Saint John River, Dec. 2009

taken from my driveway.

An ancient folklorist once said that a blue moon has a face on it that will speak to anyone whose light it shines on.  Tonight, under the second moon of the month, on the last night of the year we have an opportunity to converse with the moon.  Howl at it too if we want to.  Or maybe just lift our glass of cheer and toast its constant presence.  For no matter how sunny, cloudy, or thunderous the world around us becomes, we can rely that silly moon to be right up there in the sky.

So much of life is temporal..........a collection of fleeting moments strung together haphazardly.  How we respond to the events is basically the only thing we have any control over.  Personally, I abhor New Year's Eve and the celebration that happens at midnight.  I wish I had the capacity to program my brain to the light and fluffy dryer cycle in order to sail through the night in some sleepy bliss.  Wine helps.  But, you have to find that happy balance thing with wine.  Too little and it doesn't work.  Too much and you become a soppy mess of snot........ desperate to grab hold of the karoke microphone.  Ick.  Light and fluffy would be nice............ there are drugs for this state too I realize.  I just wish sometimes I could naturally fall into that blondish mindframe.

Unfortunately on nights like New Years, my brain is my enemy.  I get stuck in a groove of reflections and the fear of how quickly time is passing.  EVERY single YEAR!  Even though I will thankfully be surrounded by friends who know this about me.......... it is still so difficult to put this one stupid night into perspective.  I like it over.  Tomorrow will be afresh.

However, tonight............. I have a blue moon to converse with.  You do too. Let its light shine down on me.  Let its light shine down on you. I don't know about you, but I've got a helluvalot to say to it concerning this past decade. 

Happy New Year.  May we all take a good step forward into the mystery tonight. Change is in the air. Bring.it.on!

out of the blue..........

 the old craft shop, where it all began.

sometimes a smile finds me when i'm least expecting it

I may not expect it, but I always know where it has journeyed from.

It comes from you.

Out of the blue, I'm captured by a twinkling moment

when you squeezed my shoulder as you walked by

when you looked over at me from across the noisy room

when you were sitting beside me and all at once we turned our heads at the same time

like we knew it was time to really look into each others eyes

My smile arrives when I remember how my heart felt

uplifted

hopeful

fresh

excited

like a shooting star in a sky so full of night magic.

it still skips a beat

when the smile from you arrives..........

sometimes a smile finds me when I'm least expecting it

but when I need it the most.

out of the blue, it comes from you.

it's like you know when to send me reassurance

that I matter.

still matter to you.

sometimes i find myself stopped in mid stride

my focus is beyond the farthest point I can see with my naked eye

to where you are

out there living

Can you feel me there with you?

out of the blue, I return a smile to you.

it's what kindred spirits do for one another.

without even thinking twice.....

red

When dreary is the order of the day, the hubris of Red boasts with a sense of daring bravado, there is no way to ignore its charisma. Red absorbs light and catapults it outward with such vibrant expression that you can't help but feel happily blushed by its warmth.....by its eccentricity.

This colour tantalizes the eye with a flirtatious tickling, inviting you into its heart. It's almost as if Red has the mysterious power of pulling out the blues while tapdancing troubles away with its sauciness. Like the allure of gypsy freedom, red thrills our sensibilities with daring delight.

Both exotic and common, Red is the empowering breath of life in all its mysterious elements. Paradoxically, it is also the shocking slice of a weeping wound, terrified by its own stark reflection. Either way, you just want to hang around its energy don't you?


This photo is a small section of a welcoming place called the Tiny Tea Tent where friends gathered during the Greenbelt Festival. I am left with warm memories of this wonderful little spot, where the energy of red light brought smiles to everyone I had the pleasure of meeting there. (some of whom I contintue to remain in touch with through facebook.......!)

This week's photo theme at Carmi's place is RED. I just may stick with the theme all week along. Thank you Carmi. November needs the energy of Red to counteract its gloomy presence.

gifts and blessings....

This morning, I awoke to a wonderful visual gift ....from my emerald friend, Pip. He took my Greenbelt Festival Soulspace story and turned it into 4 expressive pieces of word art. Here are two of them ..... I will see if I can have it blown up and printed into a poster for my office.

I LOVE the internet....and the magical friendships I have made because of blogging. Surprised by joy and full of smiles I was this morning..... Below is my favourite photo of my emerald friend.... (a GEM through and through), which we had to plan and secretly SNAP while sitting in a poshish beautiful restaurant in Londontown last year. We had been told that in no uncertain terms were we allowed to take photos. Well, that stirred up the devilishness in the both of us..... after sharing the most delicious tea .... peppermint .... and delving into some good level 5 conversations, I got my camera ready......... and CLICK. :) I keep a copy of it posted above my computer at work and smile everytime I look up.

Pip, I want this on the back of your next publication. xx

The two beautiful pilgrims below, Joan and Pip...... we were on our way to Canterbury Cathedral, but of course had to stop for a cuppa and some sweets to tide us over. LOOK at what happens when Mr. Pip Wilson has a few sweets.... Joyful JUMPING Jacks along Pilgrim's Way.
BEE-UUU-TEEE-FULLL.

Loveitloveitloveit.... Thank you bhp Pip... I am blessed to have you and Joan in my life. Happy Anniversary to you both.

soaking in familiarity

'Cause down the shore everything's alright,
You with your baby on a Saturday night,
Don't you know that all my dreams come true,
When I'm walkin' down the street with you......
Tom Waits, Jersey Girl

I'm a drifter ..... a mindflowing drifter floating in a bay of remember whens on an upturned umbrella. The cold rain showers continue to fall from the grey skies like sobbing sheets. Slick wet dropping goblets saturate the fields, and make the last vestiges of flowers bow their heavy heads in humilty. Walking down the street with you seems so unattainable and yet so irresistibly imaginable like it was not so long ago......or was it longer than I want to believe it to be?

My thoughts keep reclaiming the past, but it seems less real, more blurred by time. Its the same feeling I get when I'm in the car late at night, when the conversation is punctuated with sleepy comforting silence.... when the music playing through the speakers is soaked in the sounds of ancient smoking whiskey ... vulnerably real.

There are days from the past which creep up from out of nowhere and bite you in the arse, leaving their nostalgic signature. Are there days like this from your past? You know, the ones when longing wrestles with familiar breathing.... of air already surrendered. Special little personal history moments that seem so ordinary to another because they just don't resonate with the same deep meaning, all of a sudden reappear out of thin air. Those "just had to be there" feelings which are so bloody meaningful can so quickly fill me with a lingering glad-sadness.

Nostalgia has the magical energy to connect you with just one other person out there in this lonely planet, to leave you wondering what would happen if you picked up the phone and you said..."Oh, my God, do you remember when we.....????" Would they smile the same memorable lopsided grin and fall right into the same chasm with you? Chances are....

What holds us in a state of nostalgia? On those rainy grey days when twilight hovers in a state of flux, why do those homesick attachments revel inside our sombre souls? We send out our dream scenes to collapse in a cold puddle of vanity, hoping for something we can never grip onto again. Are we afraid of standing in the long now? Are we afraid our glory days have skipped past us? Are we afraid that we are no longer attractive to others in a naturally flirtatious youthful way? Why do we cling to nostalgia rather than focus on the here and now.

Holding on tight to our memories, like a miser hoarding cash, like a puppet gripping his strings, like a lost soul looking for a warm body, we avoid our present day anxieties. Drifting into stories from our long agos is an escape hatch from mundane and stress as well as a reaffirmation of self. Glad-sadness.... joy and sorrow meshed into one.

Sometimes, we need grounding. Sometimes, we need to reconnect with the moments, with the lovely loving people whom we shared them with. They remind us of who we were, and who we are, and who we may becoming. As I drift along on an upturned umbrella, soaked in the familiarity of lived out written scripts, I will recognize my need today to revisit moments from my past and use the tangible feelings to help me understand how I made it this far.

Not stuck, just visiting while the rain falls down......

.....and to think it all hit me when I walked into the room where Mr. Waits song was playing........whoosh...and I was there.

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.

whiskey soakin'....

Fix me a glass of your restless complications
I will drink them 'til I bleed
Let me inhale your tenderhearted secrets
the ones you won't let me read.

Weep no more inside your fighting soul
Complications can unwind
Straight up whiskey summons late night stories
share with me what's on your mind.

Pour another round of hurting memories
Amber drops to ease the pain
I'll sit with you 'til the moon's forgotten
when that loving sun delights again.

If experience is your chosen mistress
then the blues will set you free
Fix me another glass of your complications
Restless fears never frightened me.


the words found me during a drive this morning to Saint John while I was thinking about a friend.

one giant leap for mankind...

40 years ago today, I was 8 years old, staying at a rented cottage near Haliburton, Ontario with my Mom and Dad and my two younger sisters aged 3 1/2 and 3 months. At that point in her newbie life, my youngest sister was the baby from hell. I think Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin could probably hear her collicky wails from the moon. Our temporary cottage neighbours definitely could. Luckily one of them was a doctor and prescribed a drug to calm her down. I think it was a narcotic. Nowadays, we grin and bear collicky babes. Back then, we drugged them.

Our vacation that summer continues to be dredged up during conversations when nostalgic family vacations are served up. The unnerving wails that literally kept us awake, especially my Mom night after night was only part of it. The cottage, nestled on the shores of Blue Lake turned out to be a sham of sorts. It had been advertised by the owners as a comfortable haven with all the amenities including a fresh water clean lake perfect for swimming. I think they even sent my Dad photos. Needless to say, it did not live up to its description. The cottage was pretty bare and all of the furniture was primitive uncomfortable. No comfort was found. And the lake? It was the colour of murky green algae complete with slimey reeds and muck on the bottom. I recall a water snake hovering around the dock too.

This was my Mother's worst nightmare, and I think it was the last nail in the coffin of ever considering the idea of buying a cottage.....something my Father has lobbied for years. Blue Lake continues to be the benchmark for how a vacation destination can go awry. Everyone laughs about it now ..... and I bet it was discussed today in my childhood home as the world recognizes the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 11's successful landing on the moon. It was most certainly what I've been thinking about today. Why? Because the other memorable part of this trip was watching the fuzzy screen of our black and white TV which had accompanied us for the sole purpose of watching Neil Armstrong take that first step on the Moon's surface.

The TV reception was very poor.......you could just make out a blurry outline of Armstrong and every now and then the picture would clear a bit more. But, we had sound.....and we were connected to millions of others who were also absorbing this unbelievable feat.

It's difficult to describe to anyone who wasn't born then how monumental the event was at the time. Given that the space program basically fizzled out and trips to the Moon and proposed attempts to reach Mars was shelved after Apollo 17, this remarkable feat lost its grand enormity in the annals of history. Plus, there's an almost lax attitude, 40 years later...... one that almost dismisses the importance of the event. But, on that day when Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin donned their big bulking space gear and bounced off the steps of the module..........the whole world held its breath in awe and excitement.

Anything seemed possible then.....even quieting a collicky baby.

ps. My baby sister, who had her own 40th birthday this year did stop crying is the quietest of us all. I guess she got it out of her system early. :) She and her family are coming east for a visit next week. I can't wait to see them all. I hope we'll have a chance to sit outside to enjoy the nightsky together....and I will rehash the story she has never been able to live down.

i'm a happy enchilada....

There is a man whom I have never met face to face but who has been in my life longer than my husband and has followed me around wherever I've roamed. On days when I sorely needed some grounding and a little lightheartedness, I have ALWAYS been able to count on this man to put a legal/illegal smile on my face. In fact, this man impressed my husband so much when I introduced the two of them that I believe he had an impact on the fate of my ensuing marriage to my husband. He even told me so!

Well, it turns out this man is coming to town, and I plan to send him an email to invite him for dinner. It's time we met face to face....to sit on my back deck and swill a few beers and talk about "how the world goes round....one day you're up and the next you're down....it's a half an inch of water and you think you're gonna drown.... that's the way the world goes round...."
Or maybe we'll chat about "blowin' up your TV...and movin' to the country to plant and little garden and eat a lot of peaches and try to find Jesus on your own." OMG, what fun it would be to have John Prine for dins! I mean the man's gotta eat...why not at my house??

Unfortunately....tickets to his concert sold out faster than Leonard Cohen for God's sake, and we weren't one of the lucky ones to nab any of them!! So, we'll be heading to Saint John to catch his concert there. Personally, I blame Terry Seguin who BLABBED on and on and friggin' on his CBC morning for the past week and got the whole damn county all frothy about getting tickets! GRRRRR! (Terry, if John Hiatt happens to show up in this fair city, I will sabotage your microphone until I can get my hands on tickets....either that, or you're taking me with you!!!)

Despite my disappointment that I can't see Mr. Prine sing Fishin' and Whistlin'....and croon about the Angel from Montgomery....sing about his Grandpa who was a Carpenter in my own town....I am PSYCHED that I will be sitting pretty at the Imperial Theatre sometime in August soaking in the words and tunes of a one of a kind raconteur....

Next week?.....a whole new ballgame for ticket purchasing. The other man in my life ... my son, Sir Maxwell silver hammer....? He and I are going to attempt to secure two tickies to see McCartney in Halifax. Wish us luck! Chances are they too will sell out in 5 minutes or less. :)

A slice of Prine.....enjoy his song and his Happy Enchilada story.... ! He owns a piece of my heart this man....

memorable trips...

I wrote this post originally as an email letter one evening not so long ago. My intention was to simply send a link to an article I had just read, but what came out was a story wrapped in many memories of my Grandmother, Mabel. In return, I received the story encapsulated in a piece of word art designed my emerald friend, Pip. SO COOL to see many of the key words pulled together! It caught me by smiling surprise. I decided to post the story with a few tweaks and a few updates along with the Pipdesign tonight as I take time to remember Mabel. This week is the 6th anniversary of her death. Everyday she continues to travel with me.

Good evening friends....hope it is warm and toasty where you are as it is here in my little writing den. I have some my music on.....and am tucked under a dark purple duvet ...my reading lamp is the only light on.....it feels like a little cave with books and pictures and photos..... outside the weather is drizzly fog. Indoors, I'm surrounded by stillness.....comfort.....in my den which I named after my Grandmother, Mabel Darby. This is the "Darby" room. We had it built after we received some money from her that she had inherited. She shared this late life wealth with all of us, making sure every grandchild and great grandchild would benefit. So, when I'm in here, I think of her and wish, she was still alive to share this part of my journey with me.

I know, I know... she IS...but I'd sure like to talk with her about it all. There is a framed picture up on the bookshelf of just Mabel and I on my wedding day. Its in a frame she made at a woodworking class she took in her 70's.

There's another one on that shelf too...of my Dad, Jamie, his Dad, George and his brother...on a summer day at my parent's cottage before George's Alzeimers kicked in. I think it was the summer my little sister was married and we were all home to celebrate.

There's another of my two nephews who are young adults now standing in a hay field behind the old house Jamie's mother grew up in Spencer's Island, Nova Scotia with my beautiful Max when he was only 3. It was the first time they had met!!! My nephews live out west and we rarely see them...the three of them, despite the age difference took to one another....the big boys never leaving Max out of whatever beachcombing adventure they set out to enjoy. It's a bittersweet photo now, because it looks like we have lost our access to that old house and the property.....but that's another story I will write when the estate is finally settled. Lets hope thats soon. It may be. But, the result of the estate settling is just going to be sad.....

Maybe i should keep in mind the lesson of the woodcutter..."Whether it's a blessing or a curse, I do not know....."

There are lots of photos in my Darby room. Ancestral, generations of tugging and huggin belonging. Our roots. My roots. My little family's roots. I love writing in here.... :)

Over on my desk, there is a hilarious photo I took of Martha and Max acting up together Hmmm how old were they there?? 5 and 9 years old maybe? That one silly shot strums a whole story song which jumps right out of the frame!

We were on our way from Fredericton to Burlington, Ontario (a 14 hour drive when the weather is good....) to celebrate Mabel's 90th birthday. She was born on the same day the Titanic sunk...April 14th, 1912.... So it was April 2002. The van we owned at that time had been a lemon from the moment we drove the damn thing off the car lot. One thing after another had gone wrong with it, like it was possessed by demons. It was so bad that financially we were being hit like we had two car payments a month. But you know what happens with a car like that? You think.....ah.....just get this one thing fixed and then everything will be alright...NOT!!!

So, there we were, car tuned up, everything checked over before we hit the road. Our plan was to make the trip in one full swoop...no overnight stop. With all the amenities in the car to do just that, and then some........we piled into the van along with our trusty chocolate Lab, Lucy. 14 hours of being in the driving ZONE!

6 hours into it, we pull off the highway just outside of Quebec City for lunch and the van goes.....kachunk, kachunk..... oh no!! It was the kind of KaCHUNK that is never good news. The mechanic who couldn't speak any English, motioned to us that it was what we feared...transmission problems. He suggested we take it to the transmission place located on the highway a couple of miles back.... kachunk, kachunk off we go to Mr. Transmission in the land of french speaking Canada....no anglais...!!

As Jamie went in to the greasy little office that smelled to the heavens of transmission fuel and gasoline and oil slicks....I sat on the curb in the parking lot and lost my composure completely. I knew it was going to be expensive and I didn't know what was going to happen.... whether we would be able to continue on or not. However, I knew my grandmother was aging and beginning to weaken so being at her birthday party was very important to me. But, it was a Friday afternoon in Quebec City and we had another 8 hours to travel without a vehicle...the party was on the Sunday.

Tears came in frustration and anger over this damn van. My brain wasn't working well. It was tired and I lost it. My two children right then and there took it upon themselves to make me laugh. They jumped out of the van, pulled the "head hole" of their t-shirts up to frame their heads, which made their arms and shoulders hunch up. They looked like little goofballs. Then they sang me a song or some such thing. What was the funniest was to see how they cracked each other up! I laugh now remembering how beautiful it felt to experience their ability to be in charge of dishing out the empathy.

My tears dried up, replaced by recognizing the absurdity of the situaton. My kids had made me realize how silly life can be....how one has to lighten up and just go with the punches. I took the photo which sits framed in the Darby room right then because i knew that whenever i looked at that photo in the future i would promptly remember this lesson. Tonight, I remember this lesson. Go with the punches....go with the flow.

The van ended up having to stay there...they didn't have the right transmission. We somehow managed to find a rental...a much smaller car to continue on with the trip. Two kids and a fat chocolate Lab shared the back seat. After a few hours sitting and absorbing the reality we were back on the road but ended up stopping on the way overnight. The day had been way too long to push through the night. So, we arrived at my parent's place on the Saturday, still wired and frustrated over our consistently pain in the arse van problems and aching over the amount of money it was going to cost us in the longrun.

The trip ended up costing us close to $3000.00 dollars when it should've been GAS money and some eats! But i wouldnt have missed Mabel's birthday party for the world. I got to give the toast to the Birthday gal......surrounded by family of all ages.

Wow! You know, I was just going to write to you about this link to this AMAZINGLY achingly beautiful correspondance between journalist Ian Brown and Jean Vanier....I got going...my fingers tripping over the keys so quickly that I couldn't stop myself! Vanier's response to Brown's questions about aging and dying are so eloquent....so touching. It truly hit a good place in me.

I know you will like this article about accepting our own mortality. I wonder who will come to mind for you as you read it? For me it was Mabel Darby, my grandmother who died just after her 91rst birthday. She is the person in my life who in her own dying helped me be less afraid of it. I don't know how that happened. I just know it shifted me enough not to be so full of anxiety over my own death. You know what else? It was Mabel who in her ability to embrace the adventure helped me learn how to go for the gusto.

What I'm thinking now??? If Mabel were alive today? There is no way on God's green earth that i would be considering a trip to Greenbelt without her! Never wanting to miss a good good thing, especially if it involved travel and meeting like minds, she'd be demanding that i take her along.

Of all the people in the whole world and beyond, she is the one I think I take after the most in many ways. I was given the honour to stand up at her funeral to toast her, and I spoke of the road less travelled because it made a difference for her as she lived her life and it certainly makes a difference as I live mine.

Enjoy this correspondance between Brown and Vanier as i did and spend a little time with the person who comes to mind for you.

"memories come back to haunt me....."

This is my fourth Springsteen song lyric post. Yeah, have been working on a theme! I've also tried to write four distinctive pieces of writing this week.....a story, a poem, and an informational piece. Tonight .......... drumroll puhleeeeeze ...... something for Nashville. Just need someone to twang out a tune on their geeetar....any takers??

My Somebody Closer


Just poured a second cup of coffee,
Waiting for the dawn
I'm filled with haunting memories
In the body of our song
Of a day so long forgotten
In the rippling of the years
I'm lost in your soft expression
Trying to hold back my tears.
______
Can you be my somebody closer
Instead of a figment in my dreams
Or will you haunt my waking everyday
Your laughing eyes unseen
I want to live out our memories
Our love captured in the breeze
This is my early morning yearning
Please set my heart at ease.
________

We walked away in silence

too young to see ahead

No fairy tale ending binds us

Our separate ways instead

Yet through the fog of lonely

I see your shadow on my soul

I'm aching for your fingers touch

Your roughworn hand to hold.

______

Can you be my somebody closer
Instead of a figment in my dreams
Or will you haunt my waking everyday
Your laughing eyes unseen
I want to live out our memories
Our love captured in the breeze
This is my early morning yearning
Please set my heart at ease.

_________

There you go! It needs a couple more verses, but my honky tonk is tired. If anyone is interested in carrying on, please by all means.....Daisy?

nostalgia

Nostalgia,

an alluring homeward journey for comfort seekers where a fallow hearted field of dreams awaits.

an escape hatch from a terrible toothache to tarted up memories lubricated with nonsense

an old song with different words

a rejected love without the thorns

an afternoon internal trip taken in an effort to fill an empty vessel which once spilled over in affirmation

a wistful wandering means to validate a story

a desirous attempt to change the story in hopes it will change destiny

a seductive whore dressed as a maiden selling a bouquet of fake flowers

pearls made of the teeth of an old hag

ah, but sometimes......just sometimes.....nostalgia is a warm heartboosting memory on a grey snowy day that lifts a burden or two.

Just be careful what you wish for............