meaning....?

Blue on blue.

Letters spelling affirmation. 

High above the littered streetscape

Where homeless hearts in tattered disrepair 

Hand clap to enhance blood flow

To seek warmth.

Bravo!  You've survived another day.

Bravo!  Another coin drops into a hat....

Bold applause

Remember to clap.

Remember to pat yourself on the back.

For what?  

For surrendering spare change with false pride?

Perhaps these letters sneer in sarcasm 

Exclaiming the real truth. 

We can do better.

Bravo indeed.

This week's Photo theme is Letters.  Signs, signs everywhere signs.....  For more shots of the words that remind, rekindle, remark and sell, sell, sell ....... check out Carmi's place right HERE! 

Looking through the Lattice-scope

When autumn splendour tips into the long stretch toward frost and flurries, after the brilliant splashiness of reds and oranges have fluttered off the branches,yellow continues to smile from the aging leaves. 

Everywhere you look it is the predominant colour on the Canadian landscape at this time of year. On lawns and streets saturated with rain, a textured collage of yellow leaves splay beautifully dormant. On sky reaching elms and old man willows they dangle, giggle and dance, radiating winks of light at passersby. 

Long after the harvesting of its fruit, woven vines with broad yellow relics decorate lattice and fences. And when the daytime beckons night, the rays of the streetlights blend and reflect off their branch tips creating halo archways you just want to walk under because it feels like good luck. 

Even in the dark, yellow beckons you home. 

This week's Photo theme is "yellow..."   For more interpretations and photos, check out Carmi's blog. 

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.......

in from the chill

Autumn has a teasing paradoxical soul heaped with both gratitude and scorn, bountiful harvests of plenty and bereft fields littered with discarded misfits. Colourful and muted.  It flirtatiously engages you with its vibrant reds and yellows and then grounds you with it's russet tones.

Autumn has a soulful melancholy lament when the frost-nipped wind is allowed to bellow and moan, bending the trees desperately trying to hold on to their youth.  Brittle bone leaves rattle-cackle as they tumble on grey pavement.  On the other hand, chilly cheeks and rosy lips nipped by the invitation from  the brisk air remind us that there is life in its sharp eyed allure in its breath. 

It's turning cold.  Night drapes early, echoing a bluesy cadence.  Stars shimmer a vibrant delight, flirting with harmonic blues. Inside, embers glow heat.  Light flickers a welcome to cocoon under soft fleece, to sip tea, to sit close, to rediscover the meaning of growing old together. 

Come in from the chill.......sit close with me by the fire.  It's time to share a few secrets only spoken on a cold autumn night....Time to come inside to enjoy the comforts of cozy talk, red wool socks, of quiet love, of slow dancing.  Let us celebrate life as this paradoxical season shifts into hibernation. 

this week's Photo theme is "turning cold...."  For more interpretations and variations, check out Carmi's blog right here!

drifters

St. Andrews, New Brunswick

August, 2010

Worn and well past their original purpose, these tide drifters have a new function.  Their storied eloquence have been gathered to create an eye catching sculpture.  

Parallel drifters and floating markers, 

weathered grey pallor aside worn rouge

nestled together in testimony.

Crooked lines settled with elderly ease 

gifts from the tides

queued in comfort 

as the grass grows between their pose.

This week's Photography theme is parallel.  My parallel is always a bit rough and crooked.  I like it that way.  For more takes on the theme, go visit my friend Carmi at Written Inc.  He lives here......

Growth and Elements.

"Let me wave to you,"  she said.

Sunflowers inspire me. Whenever I see a garden clump of them, their heads tilted like posed models, I am struck by how otherworldly they seem.  How can they possibly be from this planet?  From a tiny seed shoved into the dirt comes this majestic open faced beauty standing over 10 feet tall.  In one season. How can that be?  Though they seem still and sturdy, I always figure that if I watch them long enough, I will see them grow.

Sunflowers grow upward on the strength of their stalks until their fancy dress petals unfurl cusping the elegant eye which glows with the contrast of vibrant yellow and earthy shades of brown.  Beautiful. Elegant.

But never perfect..... If you look at them up close, you can see the visible imperfections which always accompany stretching and growth.... Like humans, nature's blooms must struggle at times against the elements thrown at them.  Elements take their toll, while challenging the very idea of perfection. They leave tatooed scrapes, unusual shapes.... beauty marks that tell their unique story. 

Sunflowers........ may we always look to them to learn a few life lessons, to recognize we too have the potential to thrive, not despite the elements we face, but because of them.  As my Emerald friend Pip says,  "Growth does not reside in a place called comfortable...." 

The garden of life, thankfully is not a comfortable place to be living in  most days.  May we have the strength to dwell there until we learn we too are all beautiful in our imperfections and that we thrive because of the elements, not despite them.   My we accept our flaws as what they really are.... beauty marks that tell our unique life stories.

if i had a boat............

Rowboat wannabe 

Victoria-by-the-Sea, PEI

Its surprising how well a little boat can carry you over big waves.  Sure, it would be much easier if what you're sitting in is bigger than a bailing bucket.  However, you can still ride the waves if you just relax a bit, whistle a tune and go with the tides.  Prayer helps too.  And for God's sake, don't forget the oars or you'll be out there floating around forever.  Sometimes you need to get your feet planted on solid ground.  Sometimes it  takes a bit of rowing to reach the shore.

Don't you just love this little boat? What character!  

imagine

Imagination, be it friend or foe is the firelight that beams into your soul.  It is the necessary tool to be able to expand on a raindrop of an idea.  It can also turn one teardrop into a puddle big enough to splash around in.

Our imagination carries us beyond the mind by inviting us to enter through passageways of possibilities.  It is the sweetening of wonder.  It is the booster juice of inspiration.  It is the fuel injection required to unblock and unleash the musings wandering aimlessly in the galaxy, motioning them to formulate creatively. 

Sometimes that curious imagination finds out things before you're even ready to go there.  It thrives on questions and various "what if" scenarios and turns them into wicked flights of fantasy where wishes upon wishes transform into a multi-sensory carnival of dreams just waiting for you to unleash your inhibitions, doubts and fears so you can replace them with passionate exploration.  If you allow your imagination to run freely you may find yourself on a ride you never knew existed, or you thought was beyond your reach.  But, if you can imagine it can you then transform it into something tangible and real?  Can an illusion ever be held in the palm of your hands?

Imagination dips itself into the well of mystery........... oh, how it LOVES a good mystery.   Feed it with pieces of life puzzles and it folds itself into a hideaway nook to savour ever single tasty morsel.  Be careful of the stings.  Be prepared for some surprising feelings.......for our imagination often has a unique way of rebuilding the puzzle.  It may not be how you want it to look, sound, feel like.  It may be dangerously painful.  It may distort the lines of reality all the while trying to convince you of its honesty.  Sometimes our self created imagery will carry us into a sinkhole of doubting dialogue and with one full swoop, send you far away from any comfort you have carefully tucked in all around you.

At times it seems almost impossible to rein in our expansive fabrications.  We start spiralling down into a tunnel, haunted by memories and prickly pain only to land with a thud inside a chamber of horrific thoughts?  Why do we allow ourselves to go there?  Do we need to experience the dark side reality of our imagery in order to eventually let go of it?  Is this where we kick and kick until we bleed daylight?

Maybe the travels we take down the side of the mountain where the sun doesn't shine forces us to wrestle the truth from the sticky goo of falsehoods.  Maybe its all a part of learning from our sorrows. Maybe it allows us to ask the question.... "IS this the truth?  Is what I'm thinking the truth?"

Most days, I embrace my imagination and allow it to lead me beyond the wild.  I love the fact that my mind is an endless babbling two way conversation with ideas rich with possibilities.  On days when it is my friend, I can float on optimism and hope.  I can plan productively, think clearly, sharpen my view of what could possibly be beyond the horizon.  Its those other days when the it feels more like a noose around my soul and all I can hear is the same dialogue.... the same song over and over again. It's an obsessive mantra full of failure and rejection, cascading over a waterfall of tears. 

My imagination can lead me to an open beach with life affirming salty breezes where I feel loved and at one with this glorious world all around me, but it can also steer me into a abandoned alley reeking in human waste.  No matter how hard I try to avoid those stinking alleyways, sometimes its just impossible. 

Yesterday, I made it to the beach.  Just in time.   The singing sands beach in Souris, Prince Edward Island.  I had it all to myself.  I made the sands sing as I walked along the shore.  These sands are famous for their singing.  And when I returned to the car to head back to Charlottetown, my toes were still humming........ my friendly imagination was returning.  The noose was loosening.  Though my sense of failure and rejection still rattles inside me.  The shock of hasn't worn off yet. My raw anger has not floated away.......yet. 

_______________________

ps..... so many good things have happened to me over the past two months, and a few very funny things too.  I havent had much time to write these days, and long to.  I hope I will be able to capture some of the lighter parts soon........... Just have to find the stillness in me to start, write and complete a piece all in one sitting.  Its seems impossible right now.  Stillness is a fleeting wave  .......

summer whites

It's been a while since I joined in on the weekly thematic photography escapades.  I was intrigued by the theme that Carmi chose......... White.  Of course, my initial thought was to post a few winter wonderland shots.  I have several of them.  This is after all, the Great White North.  When I went in search of something unique from my photofiles from last winter when we had major dumps of the white stuff (we actually havent had much snow this year ..... yet), every single shot just made me feel cold.  When I stumbled upon a bouquet of white blooms, I decided I would feature them.  Summer whites are so aromatically alluring aren't they?

 Above, are double white lilacs from a hedge that was once a part of a Victorian garden.  The branches are old and gnarly, but every June, it blossoms with the effervescence of youth.  And the aroma?  It lingers in the summer breezes which float up the hill, wrap their elegant essence around my backyard, and slip in through the open windows.

Every year, I take my clippers and snip a few lovelies for my home......... and every time I walk by the bouquet, I stop, lean down and put my face right in the middle of the petals......and take it all in!  Of all the perfume aromas in the world, lilac is one of my all time favourites. 

We had a wet late spring and summer.  It wasn't the best year for blooms, especially the tulips.  They all seemed stunted and unable to show off as beautifully as they normally do.  These past prime blooms had barely survived a day long downpour when I found them aching in their beauty in a rock garden at O'Dell Park in Fredericton. They seemed more delicate than tulips normally do.  Even though they were on the downside of their elegance, their white petals seemed innocent to me, like a young ballerina learning how to pirouette.

Wild roses grow.........um............wildly in this neck of the woods.  Like the old fashioned double white lilac bushes, these bushes have a long hearty history.  No doubt this particular hedge, which runs more than 50 feet long, and a density of 6 feet, has never been sprayed or cultivated.  It grows as it should, thriving in the elements.  Not far from the Nova Scotia shoreline, it is protected by the old summer house own by a friend of the family, but still it must take a beating during the harsh winter months.  

The white and pink roses cover the hill to the side of the house, and the perimeter of the backyard.  They smell DIVINE!   I love to visit this glorious hedge when we visit Spencer's Island, Nova Scotia in the summer to inhale the sight and aroma of them.  Their brilliant randomness always takes my breath away. 

Shasta..... Daisy.  I have them growing in my own garden every year.  These flirty perrenials arrive mid July right smack dab in the middle of a multitude of other colourful blooms and stretch up until they are about 4 feet high.  For some reason, my personality relates to the Shasta Daisy.  It's not sophisticated, and not too showy.  But, it makes its presence known. I think that's me too.

Carmi?  Thank you for the chance to revisit.  I havent looked at these photos in a while and on a night when the cold winter air seems to have found its way through the cracks in the foundation of my home chilling my feet.......when the lingering snow sits just outside the door, a breath of aromatic summer beauty is just what the doctor ordered.

For more white photos, check out Written Inc by clicking on this link.......

what used to be.

 Boy for sale, Bath UK.

You can never go back to what use to be,

Returning is not part of your destiny.

Whatever happened, its all in the past,

No matter what present shadows it casts.

How much control do we have as we live out our lives?

Those choices we made unfurled with surprise.

History leaves us scratching in pain

Sometimes joyful memories to revisit again.

It was what it was, but when its all said and done.

Those moments are part of what's yet to come

You can never go back to what used to be.....

Becoming is part of your destiny.

a walk around the block.....

When mornings are heated by the intensity of counselling sessions, a noon hour walk is a must.  It clears the old noggin, and allows me to lose myself a bit through the lens of my camera.  Somehow the very act of seeking out colours, lines, designs, angles with my own internal lens, I can draw out all that I'm withholding in my cluttered brain.  It helps me refocus for the afternoon portion of my job.  

I often feel like I travel many miles within the course of a day interacting with other individuals.  Sometimes it feels like a very bumpy road.... sometimes it feels like the trip takes no time.  Sometimes it is draining, filled with more rest stops than normal, just to catch one's breath. Many times, there is relief, progress, change, happiness, anger.... heart touching stuff, all of it.  

Broken and beautiful.......healed and stronger.

Travelling with another through snippets of their lives is always astonishing.... always a blessing.  It's a blessing because it doesn't happen if trust isn't established.  It doesn't happen unless a connection is made between the two of you.  To me, this is the most fulfilling type of travel I can think of.  To learn to walk a mile in someone else's shoes.  

When I'm involved in listening to someone's life story, I try my best to concentrate as much as I can.... in order to absorb the nuances and meaning behind what someone has decided to share.  Cues from the non verbal stuff feeds the intuitive nature of counselling.  As much as I love it, in order to continue on, I have to seek out balance..... I have to clear my head in order to be ready for another trip with someone........... 

A walk around the block with my camera companion is always the best way for me to find that balance again.......... that and a good cup of tea.   These chosen photos are my favourites from today's little jaunt under blue, blue November skies........

Travel is the photo theme over at Carmi's this week............for more travel shots, check out his blog.  You won't be disappointed.......... I always love that trip to Written Inc.

remembrance......

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

John McCrae, May 1915

We wear the red poppie on dark lapels in remembrance.  Inspired by Dr. McCrae's poem which he penned after losing a friend during the Battle of Ypres, we wear the poppie as a way to keep the faith, to keep the stories alive for those who sleep.   My last contribution this week to the photo theme, RED.  For more photos, check out Carmi's blog. 

lost in discovery.... always a good thing.

Yesterday, my daughter and I walked along a path through the woods together, both carrying our cameras. Everyone else was way ahead of us in no time. Knowing what we were up to, they left us to amble at our own pace.

As we
stopped and pondered....
visually framed and reframed....
found unique light and angles...
attempted to capture a feeling, a mood
enjoyed quiet peace,
we shared our growing interest in photography and nature.

Lost in discovery together.

What always amazes me is how a shared walk can look, feel and be experienced so differently. I guess it just depends on the lens you use to see through.

Tonight, Martha posted a few of her photos on her blog, from our walk through the woods up on Keswick Ridge. Her ability to capture a feeling..... a mood is a gift. Her ability to confidently design visual collages of life stories like its a simple thing to do always makes me smile. At age 16, Martha is finding her own path...... and it is a beautiful one indeed.

Please check out her blog and let her know what you think of the photos she chose to post. Though I am biased of course, I think you'll like them. Besides, we all know how much a little encouragement (besides from her parents!) has the potential to stretch beyond the horizon.....

thanks.

ps...the photo above was taken by a friend.

joy and woe

lighthearted life, UNB woods
October, 2009
(click on the photo to make it bigger!)

It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

William Blake

Amidst the swansong sadness of the season, sometimes life is affirmed by a little miracle moment when just the right light appears. It reminds you that joy is never too far away. In fact, it may just be nestled in the woods. Grace, waiting to be discovered.

ps. I had several comments on my last post that somehow
were assigned for "moderation"
somehow and it looks like they were lost in a blogger glitch.
Sorry about that.

the unsexiness side of being in heat......

I was so hot today that I was sweating in places I didn't know I was allowed to. Even thinking produced a dewy dilemma of trickling streams down my front and back. So I stopped. Thinking. With any clarity.

I became obsessed with the oppressive heaviness brought on by the humidity which made the air temperature feel like 40 degrees Celcius. That's 104 dgrees Fahrenheit. My inner core growled in a rolling boil. Ick. My feet, which ALWAYS have to remain cool or I'm really in trouble with retaining any sense of decorum, were throbbing in their sandals. I thanked God I wasn't a roofer or a road paver as I kicked off my shoes in order to place them on the coolish tiles in my office. I tried not to move too quickly.

I did my best to conjure up the memory of what it feels like in February when the temperuature is -40 Celcius. But my fired up wiring wouldn't let me. I couldn't lift up out of the haze of the heatwave. It tackled me with the same feeling you get when you first open up the door to a sauna and you're left short of breath. What I did realize was that when there is an extreme in our weather here in Canada, we react the same way. February's icy glare slows us down as much and brings out the same moodiness as August's melting moments. We tend to shuffle in these extremes.....physically and emotionally.

Tonight, as I sit unlady like (so as to feel the cool breezes!!!) in front of two overworked fans, I purposefully attempt to count my blessings, recognizing that this always ends and I will forget just how gross it feels to be covered in a stickiness. Come February when I am scraping the snow and ice off my windshield on a frigid morning, when the sun is simply an illusion, I will have just as difficult a time remembering how hot it can get.

What I hold onto is that it will end....... relief is coming..... unfortunately so is the chance of some pretty nasty stuff. Thunder storms are in the forecast. So is Category 4 Hurricane Bill crawling with purpose up the east coast of the United States, with the potential of making landfall somewhere in Nova Scotia by Sunday.

Tonight, distant sky rumblings have begun, unless I'm hallucinating and hearing things. This hot lofty weather reminds me of two life lessons.....
1. We can prepare for whats in store to some extent, but then we have to let it unfold as it will.
2. We can only control how we emotionally react to a situation.
and
3. (I've lost my ability to count) I'm too sexy for this heat.

Now if you excuse me? I'm going to resurrect the art of midnight backyard pool hopping. Lets hope the neighbours have mercy on a naked middle aged woman whose lost her mind floating in the deep end.

___________________________________

This week's photo theme is summer. I had a variety of ideas and a few other photos I was considering most of which were light and colourfully airy beachy ideas, but my abandoned sandals took precedence. The lighting in this photo reflects a glare to me that was the most representative of how I'm feeling tonight...... For more summer theme photos, check out Carmi at Written Inc. He's got a great shot of swim goggles that I really like.

hangin' out the laundry....

Get those clothes to the laundry
Get them shiny clean
They go into West Guilford
They use 24 machines.
Because they stick to your skin
The smell is a sin,
They're just not fit to be seen.

(Song written and performed by my friend Kirk, aka Skagg one night while hanging out at a laundromat near the camp we worked at.)

Sometimes I wonder at the interesting little artifacts and snippets housed in my brain. Carmi at Written Inc. has chosen the photo theme, "laundry" and ever since he posted it, this little ditty has been escorting me, as well as the memories of a seemingly ordinary evening doing laundry with a friend in a place so small its not even considered a village. West Guilford, Ontario. Maybe it's bigger now, but back then, it had a laundromat and an old fashioned bowling alley. I think there was a rundown old dance hall too. Nice combo, n'est pas?

Three very distinct memories come from that night......Kirk happily messing with new chord arrangements on his guitar, strumming away and eventually making up a silly song that he eventually performed and taught to the kids at camp (it was a HIT), me chilled and sitting inside the drum of a warm dryer with the door open listening and chatting with him from there. I can imagine what it would've looked like to anyone who happened to walk into the place...... you couldn't see me. You would've only seen a guy all on his own facing a dryer strumming away, responding to the "voice" coming out of the warm dryer. Luckily (and this is the other memory) only an old drunk stumbled in, three sheets to the wind, intent on cleaning up his booty. I can't remember all the items that he threw into a machine, but most definately one of them was the paper bag used to hide his preferred libation........London Supreme perhaps? He was so hammered that he was harmlessly funny.

More Laundry..........

My daughter arrives home today for a two day respite from her camp. Its been two weeks since she was home...... and I can't wait to see her. Sadly, her accumulated laundry will be accompanying her........damp, dirty and LOTS of it. ugh! At least it won't be as crazy as her last trip home. That time, she brought two lovely and exuberantly wonderful new friends home along with their laundry. Oh, no.........I didn't take it all on. That would fall under the category of "Enabling Parenting Techniques..." We all took turns until our dryer heaved a sigh of relief when it was done. For the most part, we were organized and kept everyone's stuff in their own piles. However, I have pulled out a couple of thongy looking bits of material out of my underwear drawer that I know for a fact ain't mine, and wonder if they could fit anything but a Beanie Baby.

For some reason, the camp Martha is attending doesn't have laundry services arranged, which is crazy! Given how yucky wet it has been since they officially turned this country into a Rain Forest zone in June, I can't imagine how anyone there has stayed ahead of the drizzle, grime and mud. When I was at camp, every week each group of campers and staff (usually 8 campers and two staff) would sort their collective pile and stuff it ALL into assigned canvas bags the size of large mail bags....... for transport to West Guilford. Can you imagine??? 120 kids, 30 staff.........??? We sent it just after dinner one night and it would arrive clean, folded and still warm by breakfast the next day. It was a miracle I tell ya!! A freakin' miracle! Though I did feel sorry for the folks on the other end who put in a full night of work.

24 machines........... making everything shiny clean.

I remember one "laundry" night after a particularly wet week of fun and frolics. We had played some kind of wide camp game which ended in a fun filled Kangaroo Court. The youngest group of boys who lived in a cabin together called "Bears Claw" somehow won the chance to have their choice of camp counsellor tuck them in and read them a story. They chose me. What an honour! So, off I went that evening to share my best story voice to a bunch of 7 year old boys.

When I arrived, I was so surprised to find them ALL in bed already with their sleeping bags pulled right up to their chins. Normally, they were a rambunctious crew. I had figured they would be hanging from their bunkbeds being silly. Instead, they seemed overly nervous about me being in their cabin. I wondered how long it would actually take me to get them all sleeping before I could leave and let them be for the night. I also wondered what was going on....it felt like there was a secret amongst them, which I wasn't privy to. Well, it turned out that their own Counsellors (Skagg being one of them...and we know how he feels about cleanliness. He wrote a song about it!) sent EVERYTHING to the laundry except for one pair of gotch per kid.

Even though I was a grown up in their eyes, the thought of having a "girl" around knowing they were only in their skivvies was beyond the pale! Years and years later, at a celebration held in Toronto for all the staff who had worked at Kawabi, I sat with a few of those same boys....all grown up in their 30's and had a beer with them. I hadn't seen them since that summer. It had been my last one as a camp counsellor. So, when I spotted them sitting together all rowdy and having fun, I had to join them! And the memory of me visiting their cabin that night was mentioned in laughter. :)Hanging Laundry...............

There is nothing more aromatically inviting than the smell of crisp clean sheets dried in the summer breezes on a clothes line. Its funny how there used to be rules about not hanging out your laundry on a Sunday. Offensive to God? Was it just that you werent supposed to do any work on that day, so hanging out the laundry was a no no? I'm sure there were many homes back when this was an issue that were filled to the rafters with wet things draped everywhere..... just so there wouldn't be any nosey neighbours tongues clicking! We sure have strange human rules don't we?

This summer hasn't been a great drying season..........for the hay or the laundry. So, when a nice day happens to show up in between the sheets of rain, you can count on every single person with a clothesline to be busy hanging it out no matter what day it is. Crisp and clean once again....... for a while.

For more Laundry episodes and photos.............check out Carmi at Written Inc. He and the others have a few picture stories to share......

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....

Dusk on the Saint John River

A tip of the hat

A wink and a nod

A soft shuffle exit

A touch of elegance before the final curtain

One last beautiful breath

captured in the smooth sound of Sinatra....

Melodic right down to the last croon.

Encore!

Nice and easy does it every time......

Bravo!

This week's theme at Carmi's place is dusk. These photos were taken a couple of weeks ago just up the hill from where i live. We are blessed to witness the glory of the sunset simply by looking out our window. But the best view is up on Springhill Road or down by the river's edge on an evening when the water turns to a pool of glass. Tonight, we are in for a stunner. You know, my dusk is someone's elses dawn. I like that thought. For more natural beauty, check out Carmi's blog. You're in for a colourful show.

one of a kind signs

You always wondered where paradise was located didn't you? Spencer's Island, Nova Scotia is most definately a piece of paradise to this family. Once a thriving ship building community along the shores of Greville Bay, a part of the Bay of Fundy, this little village has been the ancestral home of my husband since 1778. The Old Shipyard campground is located right along the beach, where the tides flow out farther than anywhere else in the world........ You can almost see the beach growing before your eyes..... or shrinking depending on the time of day. And the view? Spectacular!

The most famous ship built in Spencer's Island was the Mary Celeste. The above placque, attached to a cairn right beside the boat launch (and where the old wharf used to be) describes it's ghostly fate when it was found off the coast of Portugal with its sails up and no one aboard. This spooky story is best told after the sun has gone down on the Old Shipyard, sitting around a glowing campfire toasting marshmallows and the only lights are the flickering ones of the ships out in the bay..... For more on the Mary Celeste, check this out...

This week's photo theme is "signs"......Wanna see more? I invite you to visit Carmi's blog

human fingerprints

Unshared thoughts are like lost embers floating up from the chimney flue when they're not anchored to spoken language. If we consider the words we choose and the feelings we use to express them, we quickly learn that language has the capacity to capture a fraction of what we mean. As much as it adds lustre to a perambulation of the unspoken idea finally freed, language is also held within a mystery. We can't ever cover all that we want to communicate. And, more often than not, when we do? It's misinterpreted.

Why do some people think you can read their minds? Why do some people think they can read your mind? Or even more annoying, why do they think they have the right to even attempt it?

I may seem like an open book in this venue, but I'm not as open as I appear. Like you, there are many more facets of me than you will never know.... heck, there are some of mine I havent even met yet. Truth be told there are only a couple of people on this planet who I may be emotionally comfortable enough to completely strip down to place inside me where I am that vulnerable. That type of "safe" is a very complicated place to reach.

We have a tendancy to try to sum someone up with a few descriptive sentences don't we? And for most people, that's just about enough for them. They don't want to go any deeper than that. Most descriptions are really only a reflection of themselves....of what they value, of what they like and dont like. They are judgement statements decorated with adjectives, whose definitions have a beginning and an end. In fact, I believe that most of these statements float in the cosmos of an illusion created by perceptions rather than in any essence of clarity.

Ask someone to describe you. What words would they choose??

I'm guessing if I asked 5 different people in my life how they would describe me, there would most likely be common threads....some of which may be correct. Some may be completely off the charts simply because of the situation or the events surrounding our encounters.

Believe it or not, there are some out there who think I'm simply a moody complicated opionionated blowhard! Can you believe that??? There are some who think I'm a bleeding heart pushover whose lead by her spilling out emotions. Can you believe that??? Then, there are some who would put money on their belief that I'm just a dramatic wingnut who can't get her life in order. Can you believe that???? Ok, here's one...... a threat. I'm a threatening overbearing shit disturber. Now, that's very difficult to swallow isn't it? :) Wait a minute! I think there may be one or two who see a few angelic tendancies in me, but how can that be? Then, there are some who think I'm nice. hmmmm..........very Canadian, I am.

Do I care? Of course I care. But, there's probably not a damn thing I can do about it.....people form their opinions on impressions they make in a slice of an instant. weird. Interpretations are simply that.....owned by the one who formed them.

We are all multi-layered. I may seem to be an open book, but there are several chapters I have yet to reveal. There are several chapters I have yet to discover. I may have all of the above characteristics, but slice me another way and you'll see I am more like you than you may be willing to admit..... or I may be willing to admit.

Humans have much in common.....we all have the same goods inside us, but we are far from cookie cutter replicas or one another. Our sameness.....the capacity to feel the same feelings, to yearn for the same dreams etc is what allows us to connect. Our differences is where we either clash or appreciate each other's unique gifts. My fingerprints are etched with my own design as are yours. And the only way I have to clarify who I am is through my language.......

oh, wait a minute..........

I could show you who I am too. Action without words? Now that's a thought. Sitting together in a comfortable stream of silence? Maybe that's the ideal place to delve deeper into the understanding of our unique human fingerprints. Maybe we rely too heavily on choosing the right words, on trying to find a common language........on trying NOT to be perceived the wrong way.........on trying to project an impression we may think is suitable, acceptable, welcoming....or even trying to be outrageously memorable?

Sitting together in silence strips away pretence and somehow levels any sort of power imbalance. Though it offers up enormous room for interpretations and second guessing as to what the other is thinking etc, eventually if both people are authentically genuine and honest in their physical expressions ...... comfort will be felt in the softening of the holy space between.

As John O'Donahue so eloquently captured in his writing, an unspoken essence between two friends is also present, no matter what the distance is. He referred to it as the holiness of Spirit. It makes me wonder if this Spirit's language can express our truth far better than we humans ever can?

My second posting on Carmi's thematic photography theme...."human." Check out more at Written Inc.