finding the lost highway....

Progress in our fast paced world is a twelve lane highway which allows us to get from point A to point B as fast as possible. Rarely is there anything to marvel at along the side of the straightaway but it doesn't matter really because the speed at which we are going doesn't afford us a chance to appreciate the journey anyways. Beginning to end.......lickety split! We have our music blaring, our hands free cell phones operating, and we are looking forward, forward, forward with our thinking and doing. Oh, that's fun isn't it? Personally, I love getting lost.

I don't know who penned this, but have always like it....."Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away." Driving on a straight and fast highway only allows for breathing. Taking a turn on a lost highway offers those moments which just may take our breath away. The true oxygen needed to stretch our minds is found on the bumpy potholed neglected little highways, which more often than not winds and bends along the shorelines where life is lived. It may take a lot longer to get from point A to point B, and sometimes we DO need to put our foot on the accelerator and get in the passing lane. But don't tell me there aren't days when you can afford to take the off ramp to find the serenity of a slower pace.


I don't live in a province where we have or need 12 lane highways, but I do live in one where the unwritten nickname is the "drive thru" province because most tourists zipping through New Brunswick are headed to Prince Edward Island or Nova Scotia..........both beautiful destinations. Our new highway system which was needed and is very welcome, is also so efficient that it lived up to the unwritten nickname. We are more of a "drive thru" province than ever before. Part of the old "Trans Canada highway," which theoretically links this huge country from east to west and back again sits comfortably just down the hill from home. In fact, I can see it from where I am writing this........through the trees between me and the Saint John River. I am very happy that all the transport trucks are gone........that the incessant noise of the highway when we first moved here has long gone. But I feel sorry for the tourist traffic in the summer who will miss the glorious beauty of one of the most scenic drives in this country.



My lost highway, which I treasure whenever i have a chance to travel it is what captivated me the first time I drove along it one early dawn many years ago......dotted with family run hotels, diners and fruit and vegetable stands........through the heart of the province where valleys of farmland met the shore of the ever changing river... where thriving sits next to poverty, where fresh paint rubs against the worn out lustre of not quite making ends meet......where village names represented both aboriginal and royalty........Nackawic, Penniac, Pokiok, Prince William, Sheffield, Jemseg, Fredericton, Lake George...... where unusual little businesses sat along the side of the highway in an unassuming way that you may just miss it the first time around because your eyes were on the road AND taking in life across the lane on the other side ........ where I watched the sunrise from my driver's seat while listening to Mark Knopfler's soundtrack from the movie Cal.... not knowing at that point I would end up settling here .... I was captivated by the feel and the look. I felt like I had discovered a place that had the potential to take my breath away often. Ironically, my first trip along that road was a drive thru trip.......we were on our way to Nova Scotia. But, the feeling I had ........ the sense I felt that I could easily live here permeated in a way that obviously formed the option in my thinking, which in turn became a reality.



I must add however, that there were MANY times when the old highway was a right pain in the arse. The frustration of getting behind a long convoy of Winnebago pressured even the most patient person. The incessant noise of the traffic used to impact our home life (we bought our house knowing the new highway was being built and the noise was only temporary). But as I drive the same stretch now, I am saddened by the loss. The little family run motels are mostly boarded up. Some have turned into residential spots for people living in poverty. The diners and general stores have disappeared. One of the most predominant produce stands, run by a local family for many years is up for sale. Who knows what will happen to it? People are too darn busy and too darn focused on the destination to care about life and learning along the shorelines.



There should be signs on the big efficiently boring Trans Canada that scrapes through the scraggy brush of this province away from the natural beauty of the land of the living that point the way to another route. They need to say something more than just "scenic route" because so much MORE happens when we discover the lost highway........we can rediscover ourselves. We can rediscover what is important in our lives because the lost highway is where the heart dwells. And if we can connect to the heartland, we will be left breathlessly smiling many times over.


ps. I've included these three photos which I have taken over the past year....samples of the beauty along the lost highway near me........ now how can this place be a drive thru province?

This week's prompt at Writer's Island is lost highway.........travel a few more by clicking HERE.

Torridly Nice

An old joke:

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

"Can everyone please get out of the pool?"

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

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

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

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


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


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



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

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


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


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



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

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

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

Shadow Boxing Destiny

Destiny is defined as "a predetermined event that will inevitably happen in the future. "

I don't know about you, but I read that definition and I feel like putting my hands behind my head, leaning back and waiting for the Fates to intervene. I mean, what's the point of struggling up river, against the swift current when my lot in life is already totally predetermined? Anything I do is just going to be rendered a waste of time. I've been dealt my hand. I'm just on this earth to (hopefully) enjoy the ride. Why fight it?



Not so fast............Existential Psychologist Rollo May describes destiny as "the part of our lives that is determined for us, our raw materials, for the project of creating our lives." In other words, it is the clay, markers, paint, glue, feathers, pompoms, googly eyes, plaster, gimp, charcoal, wax, felt, construction paper, tissue paper, cardboard, crayons, and sparkles...........a craft shop full of materials that allow us to form our own fate.

Accompanying this destiny of raw materials is it's alter ego .......... FREEDOM! It's freedom that allows us the capacity to take a hand in our own development; our own destiny. It is our job to mold ourselves with the gifts God gave us. Sounds simplistic? Think again. When are you the driver and when do you let Jesus take the wheel? With the strength of your faith that will allow you to even consider your options..................Co-drivers possibly?



Freedom of choice inevitably creates anxiety. What to do? What to choose? Which path should I take? Am I on the right path? Will my choices affect others? Am I choosing with my heart or my head? Can I figure out a way to choose with both my heart and my head? What do I want? What do I need? If I choose the more difficult path, will I have the strength to follow through? Can I rely on my faith to guide me? What if I choose a path that goes against my values? Can I live with that? Fret, worry, fighting the daimon shadows................................Paradox shadow boxing....... freedom and destiny duking it out. What a big stomach ache it can cause.



To quote May: "Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom." How many times have we felt paralyzed by choice? Gee, on some days, it's a bugger just to choose the gum flavour you want let alone tackle the big googlie-eyed decisions. Sometimes, it's much easier to take the easy path, with no bumps, no conflict, no puddles to jump over. Calm denial, head-in-the-sand mentality can take you right to the end of your life.....to a predetermined destination. But, is it what you really want? Is it fulfilling? No. Life on it's good days is a big meanie.



May also explores the concept of "Will." Will is your level of determination to tackle the big decisions and by doing so, to take the reins of your destiny. Will allows you to use your raw materials generously.....................to soar, to create a masterpiece with your life. Will is the motivational mortar to help you achieve your goals and to make wishes come true.



Eros, on the other hand, is the love that balances the strong-willed Will. According to Rollo May, "Man's task is to unite love and will" thereby finding a balance between eros wishes and blind determination. Love is the predominant daimon that motivates the will to make decisions.



So, what does all this mean? It means that the hand I was dealt can be altered and manipulated based on my desire and determination on fulfilling my wishes, wants and needs. It means that I have a huge hand in how my life unravels. My destiny is my choice if I am clear what I want and need. I can stick my head in the sand and go with the flow, or I can confront the whistling whipping winds of conflict and change, with the strength of my faith, and go for the gusto. I have the materials I need to create a destiny that is fulfilling and life affirming.



After I decide on the pack of gum I want......................


This week's Writer's Island prompt is "destiny......." Check out other interpretations right HERE!

looking around..........

In search for meaning, we blindly entangle ourselves in daisy chains. We may be surrounded by beauty, but no closer to figuring out the reason, the meaning. Why? Because we are too busy searching, we aren't recognizing what is right in front of us! So, we continue to add more and more daisy chains...........one of them HAS to have the answers to the questions, we think.

All of a sudden we glimpse outward one day when we are taking a break from all that heavy duty mind numbing THINKING only to discover we have a room full of daisy garlands woven in and out and around. EVERYWHERE we look, daisies are staring us down with their playful yellow and white faces. Smiling..........

And you smile back............how can you not? Daisies spring memories of carefree childhood summers. They are nodding bouquets picked for princesses tiaras and tea parties. They are the wild simplicity waving at you amongst the tall grass of the farmer's fallow fields. Accessible, friendly, simple, inviting........

pick me

pick me



pick me



helovesme, helovesmenot, helovesme, helovesmenot



whothehellishe?



"Lighten up," the daisies say...........

A room full of daisy chains.......there's no meaning behind them except that they are beautiful. They make us Look UP and away from our ever obsessive navel gazing activities and take notice of what's OUT there. Our search for meaning can lead us to a simple conclusion....but an important one.

It is what it is...........



that's all....





It is what it is............






How empowering.

This week's prompt for Writer's Island is empowered...........it is what it is.........

Channeling Mr. Waits

strumming here on this cold winter night

trying to wrestle getting it right

numbed by reality

tired of it all

can't get you in focus

can't get you to call

fogs rolling in blinding the trees
naked bare boned knuckles and knees
scraped by its wake
bloodied and bruised
no one will want me
torn battered up used.


I'm numbed by reality
tired of it all
can't get you in focus
can't get you to call.
I guess I don't blame you
there's no second chance
when hurt has replaced
a broken romance.


i lay here shackled wondering if He
pays any attention, hears my deep pleas
cried out sorrow
tattered old song
your love I have wasted
your trust has all gone.



I'm numbed by reality
tired of it all
can't get you in focus
can't get you to call.
I guess I don't blame you
there's no second chance
when hurt has replaced
a broken romance.



night crawls with echos of your tender voice
I long to forget, I messed up my choice
yearned and forgotten
i lie here alone
aching for nearness
chilled to the bone.


sleep is a memory fading away
replaced by loud silence covered in grey
ripped from your faith
blame shares my skin
even Jesus has left me
distrust soaked in sin.


I'm numbed by reality
tired of it all
can't get you in focus
can't get you to call.
I guess I don't blame you
there's no second chance
when hurt has replaced
a broken romance.

This week's prompt on Writer's Island is "second chance..." For some reason, Tom Waits has been visiting my internal CD player this weekend, so I thought I would try my hand at a piece of broken heart yearning.... hope you like it. :) For more glances at second chances, click right HERE....

temptation.......

Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.

Carl Jung

Interestingly, our personal shadows don't reveal themselves when we are bathed in contented light. Rather, they loom large when we find ourselves visited by darkness. It is in the discomfort of darkness where our desires form and envelope us until we are forced to acknowledge them.

Or not. Some people never acknowledge their true wishes. They will live a life trying to maintain a homestatic blandness, a tight sphinctered repressiveness of thought control. I pity them because they are basically getting through life without the taste of it.....without inhaling the freshness of a new day.........without quenching the thirst and hunger of passionate living.

Desires disturb our sleep with chain rattling discomfort and manifest themselves as seemingly unreachable visions of longing. It is a longing fed by our sensations that drive our quest to satisfy our appetites....our cravings.

They loom on the shores of our personal destinations. They make us put one foot in front of the other. Sometimes attainable and yet sometimes forever beyond our fingertips.......beyond reality. They remain in an illusory cloud hovering state, dreaming temptations of forbidden fare, searing heat, bitter cold unfulfillment. We are driven by our desires, motivated to reach out beyond our cocooned safety in order to climb our next summit. It is a fire in the belly feeling.......which pushes us into the arms of awareness.

Shadowed desires can be cloaked as both positive and negative. They are formed by our unresolved and unfulfilled parts of who you are. Given that we all have in us good and evil, love and hate, greed and generosity, wants and needs, our desires may clash with magnetically strong sirens. They form our internal conflict. They force us to wrestle with God. They can push us down onto our knees in prayer. Desires strike at the core of temptation.

What is the real purpose behind our ability to desire deeply when they can lead us to both anguish and ecstasy? Why were we born with such strongly fueled passion if it often leads us to the shore of tempation? Perhaps it is desire which offers us the reason for the journey. If we didn't have this fuel, we would never leave the cocoon. We would never seek out a new signpost for discovery. We would never question, ponder, dream, aspire, want, crave, envision, create, reach out for...... Our "will" would fade away to an apparition of used to be...... Without desire, there would be no passion in creating new life....

Desire more than you can ever achieve.

Awaken the stirrings.

Desire is the cord attaching our feelings to our soul.

Love like you've never been hurt.

This week's prompt at Writer's Island is "desire".......a quenching delectable stirring thought. To read more desirous posts, check out this site........

it's what matters.........

At the funeral of my father in law, George, last May I was struck by the story his best friend told as part of his eulogy. Peter and George had been close friends for many years. They had fought in many political elections together......George the candidate, Peter the organizer and fund raiser. Both big presence people, with the ability to draw many into their magnetism. George had an illustrious career in politics in Ontario and held many ministerial portfolios. Peter is a self driven businessman, self made millionaire in land development. He has travelled the globe, skied many mountains, and continues to live a very full life. Busy successful men, the two of them.

Peter had an armload of "war stories" he could've told about their antics and experiences together........stories that would've been impressive on many levels.......the people they had met, the inside meetings they had attended, etc. Many of these stories were shared with family the night before over scotch and some good reunion laughs. The remember whens which included wives and kids, other friends and other families were all set aside.........for before and after the funeral.

Instead, Peter drew us all a picture of two friends sitting at the end of the dock one summer evening in the early 1960's. They had rented a cabin and had spent the day fishing in a part of northern Ontario known for that. After a dinner of fresh catch, they sauntered down to the end of the dock with a drink in hand and sat quietly in the peace. He described the endless starry sky and the quiet solitude of the moment where two friends realized together that life doesn't get any better than that. Stillness shared.

It was the most poignant moment in the whole service. One elderly man remembering his dear friend with a single treasured slice of life. Together that moment as one and it hit Peter in the core of his heart as he spoke of it. When he finished, he unconciously looked up, smiled his infectious smile and composed himself again.

Friendship, as comfortable as a favourite shirt worn soft, recognized in the stillness of a moment shared under the breath of the stars. Warm breeze, contentment, carefree acceptance when your insides tell you that you may feel like you're fighting the good fight day in and day out all alone........."HERE is moment of reassurance, your insides speak, to let you know that you are never alone. Treasure it."

Friends, the worn shirt kind, are the treasured gifts we receive from God.


The prompt this week from Writer's Island was treasure. To read more, click here.

we drank a toast to innocence

dana and pia sharing spirits,

watching the sunset on the beach in Victoria

circa 1982.

What I'll give you since you asked is all my time together
Take the rugged sunny days, the warm and rocky weather
Take the roads that I have walked along,
looking for tomorrow's time
Peace of mind
As your life spills into mine, changing with the seasons
Filling up the world with time, changing time to reasons
I can show you all the songs that I never sang to someone before
We have seen a zillion stars lying by the water
You have climbed the hills with me to the mountain shelter
Taking off the days one by one, setting them to breathe in the sun
Take the lilies and the lace from the days of childhood
All the willow winding paths leading up and outward
This is what I give, this is what I ask you for
Nothing more
Since You Asked, Dan Fogelberg (1951-2007)

It was the season in between adolescence and adulthood........the time of crossroad solstice where you can turn around and still touch campus life, final exams just a breath away. Ahead is perceived responsiblity fraught with unknown seriousness. Ahead you see brass ring opportunities, ideals that turn real............changes you will be a part of. The future is within reach...........almost........

But only after you spend some time floating and bobbing and enjoying without making any big decisions. Many people never have a chance to experience this particular transitional season. This is a luxury to take a breather from the intensity of studies, from the omnipresent looming career path. I was one of the lucky ones. Well, that's how I see it now.

Then? Well, I was getting over severe heartbreak as well as trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do with my life since it had just taken such an abrupt turn. I was definately at a crossroads, having finished my undergraduate degree, deciding to take a break before entering graduate studies. At the time, it seemed like I was bobbing............in a boat without oars.

When the chance to spend the summer on Vancouver Island poked it's head at me, I seized it with both hands like a lifesaver. I needed fresh air, a new setting, a completely different boulevard of dreams in order to restore, repair, re-energize my whole self. I needed to run away, to stand in the summer solstice to find my own stillness again. My season in between adolescence and adulthood.....well the first part of it........was spent in a house in Victoria B.C. with 4 other females and another free bird who would join us in between tree planting expeditions and sleep in our backyard naked. Sometimes she put her clothes on for breakfast.

Anyways.......there I was, healing and soaking in some downtime, working a summer job running a day camp program, learning, growing, dating, drinking, carousing, sailing, laughing, camping, tanning and getting to know one particular friend named Pia.

From the moment we met......we hit it off, even though we were complete opposites.....extroverted English me, introverted Swedish Pia..........where we met were our interests, our love of the outdoors, our penchant for spontaneous outings, and our love of music. During this season of my life, it was Pia who introduced me to Dan Fogelberg...........I fell in love with life again listening to "Twin Sons of Different Mothers" while travelling along the ruggedly beautiful west coast of Vancouver Island with Pia in her little red volkswagen. Windows down...........seasalt breezes accompanied by the stirring instrumental harmony of Fogelberg and Weisberg......new friends feeling, tasting, inhaling freedom together.

I listened to the music today while at work after I heard that Dan Fogelberg passed away at the young age of 56, vividly remembering the very first time Pia popped the cassette into her car stereo.......quietly and tearfully mourning the man whose music was the soundtrack of my season in between. I also wondered where Pia is travelling these days.............our paths never crossed again after that summer of sharing........me pulling her into boisterous life, and she coaching back into calm stillness. I have this strong feeling that she was thinking of me today too............somewhere out there in this biggish smallish world.

Pia? You out there?? Let's drink a toast to innocence........

My Vauxhaul I bought for 100 dollars. She was the same age at me. 21 years old. At the end of that summer, I sold her for 200 dollars and put the earnings towards a plane ticket home.

The prompt this week for Writer's Island was "the season......." For more seasonal seasoned seasonings, click right here.

my moment tonight........

Slivering off one moment

while surrounded by

familiar faces in an unfamiliar setting

revealing hardship

lost time

grey aging scars of survival

of a hard life

misfits in oversized winter coats

many whom I know

their stories I have heard over the years

enjoying a moment of fellowship

and a warm festive meal

together

accompanied by piano tunes of the season.

I am there to help serve the turkey dinner.

My eyes not resting as I survey a crowd of faces

It's my nature

And I see some who have recognized me

as we distantly acknowledge each other with a smile.

"You look familiar"......she states

quizzical looks focused on me as I sit down at the table

with dessert....

"Are you a doctor? How do I know you?"

Squinting, thinking, peering at one another.

"No, I'm a counsellor. We've met I think.

You look familiar to me too...I'm just wondering......"

Two beings caught in the moment before recognition.....

Then the light bulb goes on.......

her youth behind the grey pallor of rooming house living

traces through

her voice, one of assurance

friendly, engaging familiar voice,

familiar sounding even after 15 years.

I remember

"Did you take a Life Skills class years ago?

I think you were in my Life Skills class."

Nothing......no stirring of memory.......

not right away.....maybe i'm wrong.

Maybe I've mistaken her for someone else.

It has been a long time and now I'm doubting myself,

my own people memorybank.

But I try again..........

"It would've been about 15 years ago, I think......downtown?

Remember?....it was a month long course...."

Still quizzical looks, but determination settles in.

"Or maybe not...... "It was a long time ago....perhaps I'm mistaken..."

She's trying very hard to place me......

still looking, and checking back in thought time.

Then I say.....

"I'm Dana." (as I silently thank my parents once again for giving me a unique name)

"Are you're D____ aren't you?"

Her survivor guard melts away,

a smile of recognition lights up her face

erases some of the hardship

Her arms come forward with a bursting hug.....

"Where have you been, she asks. I have so much to tell you!"

We will meeting again, just the two of us over coffee in the New Year. I am looking forward to an endless conversation with her, and to find out what happened........... she is the last person I expected to see still living one step away from homelessness. I hope between the two of us, we can rectify this.

This week's prompt at Writer's Island is "moment." And, boy oh boy did I have a lot of ideas for this one...........which I think will filter out of me over the course of the Christmas season. Past moments seem to accumulate at this time of year as we reflect on old ones as well as create new ones. For more interesting moments, check out Writer's Island.

promises to keep on a snowy evening.......

Tonight, we are becoming blanketed by the snow as it whirls and swirls like wispy ghosts mocking you into thinking its a dream. It's real alright....... and everyone is tucked into a month known for it's longest nights. When a storm arrives, it brings with it a sense of forced internal stillness. We wait it out, and if we're lucky, we wait it out in a safe warm home, where reflections can visit in comfort. That's a good thing since my reflections are taking the same path as the snow........around and around and around..........

All night, I have been struck by a few of the same thoughts, which often happens when I have looked at a creative writing prompt or a piece of prose sometime throughout the day. Over and over in my head, I have been wondering about the real role of kindred spirits. We are lucky to find one or two throughout our lives because they are more than simply a friend arent they?



Kindred spirits are like guardian angels, though in the flesh. They are reflective guides, supports, mirrors of who we are and who we can become. They understand us without the necessity of words, though its always wonderful to have a chance to spend time talking and talking and talking together. Because the talking is never at a superficial level. Rather, the conversation dives deep into the well of what really matters. Who but a kindred spirit can you jump blindly into that well knowing any topic is safe, knowing that any deeply felt emotion will be caught in their arms and couched by a downy pillow? Safe to share. Safe to be exactly who you are becoming.....

I believe there is an unwritten, unspoken feeling between two kindred spirits which perhaps is what makes the relationship that more enlightening..........a promise to be present even if distance keeps them apart. Both human beings always have a sense of the other, no matter where the journey takes them, and it is felt most deeply during the dark nights of the soul. It makes me wonder if our kindred spirits are really our guardian angels.

Life is more fulfilling, more exciting when one can promise to another that they will be there for them, no matter what.........."you never have to apologise to me", my kindred spirit said to me once........."you can be as crazy as you want, and share anything with me, because I am not going away." Kindred spirits love and accept you unconditionally, and will be there in spirit when they are needed. You simply have to call out. It makes me wonder if they were sent as a messenger from God to help us figure things out, to help guide us just like a guardian angel?



I will hold onto that idea........and hope that throughout my journey, my kindred spirits will help point out the signposts for me.......the ones that may be covered in snow along the way. And I will do the same for them.

Sometimes promises are like sand sifting through fingers...............or like trying to hold water in your cupped hands.......impossible to perform. But a promise to a kindred spirit, or from one? These are worth every penny, because they are made from the centre of their heart. It is a conviction pressed on the heart of another. These are the promises we keep before we sleep on a snowy evening in December, safe in the harbour of knowing we are human beings becoming (a special nod to my emerald friend Pip for the phrase...loveit:)) with a little help from a guiding spirit.





for more on promises at Writer's Island, click here.

hmmmmmm, i wonder..........

Yesterday, I went for a walk in the woods on my friend's property to do some tipping of evergreen. After I had a bundle of pine, spruce and cedar.........enough to make a big wreath for the front of my house and a garland for the railing of my back deck, I sat on this rock to listen to the peace in the trees. What I heard was the choir of life. All around me.........music from my memory sounding like the soundtrack from the movie The Mission. It fit the moment.

I love how our musical memories exist as our own life score.


And as the choir continued to keep my peace company, I began to think that soon, the little brook will be iced over, the path will be erased and the boughs will be covered in snow. Dormant life, but never silent.....never dead. It made me wonder if winter is the most productive season of all, when the gestational pull of a dream grows in hibernation.



Perhaps, I thought, perhaps dreams need to lay dormant so that they can turn from an outward illusion to an inward vision to be awakened in the spring? Then, I thought..........perhaps my dream needs another winter to be able to blossom and bear fruit...........?


I stood up, feeling hopeful and excited about the pending winter months. I called the dogs to join me for the trek back to the house beyond the barn . My arms were full of sweet smelling pine and my heart was awakened by my new idea. I somehow felt lighter.

Dreams is this week's prompt for Writer's Island. Check out the others.

flickering light of friendship

Candles have a way of warming up the ambience of a room. Just a couple of flickering candles glowing on a mantlepiece make a room feel so much more inviting. Though I sometimes light them in the summer on the back deck, my real urge to light candles doesn't seem to appear until the fall. Maybe because it starts getting darker earlier. Maybe it's because it's colder outside at night and somehow they make a difference.

Amazing too that only one simple flickering light can make a difference. At the camp I worked at as a camp counsellor when I was young, there was a tradition that was followed every "last night" of camp. After the big banquet dinner, all the camper groups and their counsellors would congregate on the beach to share a letter that each group had written while sitting surrounding a blazing campfire.

As we arrived, we were given an unlit plain white candle with a piece of tinfoil wrapped around the bottom of it. We would circle the beach area with the little ones sitting up front and the older campers closing in behind them. Then, one group after another would have a chance to read their letter to all. The letters varied............humourous, lyrical, serious, but always heartfelt and hopeful..........kids describing the special times that they had shared living together away from home, away from family all the while developing friendships, some of which would become lifelong.

In between the readings, the whole camp would sing familiar campfire songs for the last time. Songs of the kind of spiritual friendship which makes life at a camp such a special place.

And as we shared our stories and many laughs, the blazing fire would begin to die down. The sun would begin to disappear. The evening would become solemn. Once the letters were finished being read, Skip the Camp Director would collect them all. He'd then roll them up in a tube and place them in a plastic container to be buried, only to be dug up the following year to be read aloud during the first night of camp. By the time this ritual was completed, all that would be left of the campfire would be silent embers.....enough though to light a candle.

Skip would then take his candle, bend down to the embers while talking about how one little light can make the whole difference. He would light his candle, and then turn to his wife "Nish" to help light hers. From there, they would pass their light onto the counsellors. The counsellors would turn to light their campers candles. Before you knew it, the cold darkness was gone.

If I close my eyes right now and picture the scene from my memory.......I see glowing faces of the kids quietly watching their own candle flicker from the breeze, in awe of being a part of such a simple yet powerful lesson on sharing. And in the background, the older kids would quietly start singing one more song as they huddled together, holding their candlelight, feeling the warmth of many summers of friendship.

Mmmmmmm I want to linger

hmmmmm a little longer

mmmmmmmm a little longer here with you.

mmmmmmm it's such a perfect night

mmmmmmm it doesn't feel quite right

mmmmmmm that this should be my last with you.

The song ends as soft humming continues. Each group files past the firepit to throw their candle onto the embers. Quietly campers and counsellors head back to their tents for a last night together...............a quick turning glance at the glowing resurrected flames which reveal the tears streaming down the faces of friends......arm in arm......quietly holding onto the magic of the moment.

One flickering light shared.

Flickering hope

Flickering happiness

Flickering friendship

One flickering light spreads companionship.

The warmth of the candle needs to be shared.

The prompt this week on Writer's Island is friendship. I wrote this piece last fall. When I read it again tonight for the first time since I posted it, I was transported back to my camp counsellor days, to the last night campfires and to the warm friends I shared my candle with.

That's what you are.............

I look at this picture of this one little path which leads to a beach I can conjure up in a blink of an eye and I am bowled over by the many many unforgettable moments I hold close to my heart. Camp Kawabi. A view from the lodge.

_________________________________________________

What makes a moment unforgettable? It's not the length of the moment, nor the planning of it. Many times have we stopped to gaze out at the night stars on a summer's night and yet only a few of them are so memorable that they sit on the plateau of never forget. What made them so special? Was it because you shared it with someone? Was it because looking out at the stars on that unforgettable night was the moment you were able to catch your breath after an experience or an event which meant a lot to you? Or was there a special star which caught your eye and made you wonder.............?

Unforgettable events become the tangled story of our lives. They are the snapshots in our memories which we can reach back to touch. They make our short existance real.

First kiss, first love, first time passions.

Tender first steps through transitions -- milestones which record our history

Footprints of people who left impressions on our hearts

Mentors who guide

Elders who pass on their wisdom

Kindreds who share of themselves

Babies who melt our hearts

Our children who remind us everyday of what is important.

Moments of hilarity

Segments of grief

Bone chilling phone calls or sirens or alarms.

Heart lifting songs which become soundtracks to our stories.

A time when intimacy began with a shared look of desire and ended in confusion and silence.

Saying goodbye forever

Saying hello for a lifetime

Unforgettable moments are trapped in the deep sighing crevasses where our emotions resonate the strongest.

It's where you find..............

Sharp edged sorrow captured for eternity

Joy shouting in the light breaths of new life.

Struggles, achievements, successes and failures......all of which etch out the stories tucked in our memories.

so many, so many..........................tiny time capsules

our chain linked life line

allowing us to leave our fingerprints behind

giving our existance meaning

exposing us as unique

adorning our tapestries with the sequins of our light.

Unforgettable is the prompt for Writer's Island today. Since reading the prompt, I have replaying a few of my own most unforgettable moments...... they have all made me smile and wonder if my moments which have left indelible memories in me are as strongly felt by the people I shared them with.

are you out there?

I see
Streetlight tricks on the upshorn leaves

behind the shadow pine
catching the corner of my eye

I hear
Dry soundscrapes of tumbling remants

down the deserted road

threatening nocturnal emptiness

I listen to

An infrequent pitched squeak of a bare branch

against the window pane

warning of winter's cold breath

I feel

haunted sadness when I see your image

behind my closed eyes

haunted regret when I sense your presence

captured in an illusionary embrace

I taste
the last remnants of a parched thirst
the slow drip of salty tears wandering in lost causes
touching my lips in ache

I remember

how you looked at me,

how you used to look right into me.


and it makes me wonder about
shivering loneliness caught in the throat of a cry.

and it makes me long for
surrendering tenderness found in the shared darkness of two souls


to soothe my wounds
to remind me of my beauty
to savour when the winds moan a bitter song

of wanting what I cannot find.

This week's prompt for Writer's Island is "haunted"..........a deliciously enticing and downright frightening dare. I double dare you to check out the site........

Friends and Strangers

the park bench outside of my office.
a nice place for a conversation between two strangers

The other night, I had dinner with one of my oldest and dearest friends who was in town for a training session. We hadn't talked in a long while............not one of those rambling random updates that cover a gazillion topics......and it felt wonderful to reconnect. More importantly it was great to know that even though so much time had melted away when we weren't in touch at all because of busy lives and little children and geographical distances etc, we had not lost touch with the kinship we had for one another. It was still there, as strong as it always had been and if it hadn't been for closing time at the restaurant and individual commitments, I think we'd still be sitting there yapping away sipping on wine.

We met as strangers during orientation week of first year university.........it was a natural gravitation.......one that has no explanation. We simply gelled right away. Call it chemistry. Call it kismet. It was fate that somehow Heather and I would find ourselves as members of a small group of residents who shared a wing of a girls dormitory. Though we are different in many ways, our personalities, temperments and interests complimented one another, so much so that we travelled through Europe backpacking together, and then stood up for one another at our subsequent weddings.

Life events solidify friendships. But there is more to it than that because there are many people in our lives whom we shared milestones with, who were there when we experience the "firsts." There are some whom you worked with everyday for years in close quarters, or whom you spent time with sharing deep stuff with while working on a project. There are some you grew up with........went to school with every single day, and yet if you were to see them now, it would be like meeting a stranger. Geez.........there are some whom you were intimate with and yet they would be like one of the hundreds of unfamiliar faces you pass by in the course of a day. The connect has disappeared.

Why is that? Why do some relationships from our past never cross over to the present when you have a history together, while others whom you may not have seen or talked to in 20 years have not wilted on the vine whatsoever? It's a bizarre feeling to meet someone you spent hours snogging with years ago and you might as well be starring at a total stranger.

We move on. WE are always evolving and transforming............learning and growing........choosing new ventures, new interests, new avenues. So has every single person on the planet. What's more, we have accumulated life's scars and battle wounds too, which leave us possibly with new perspectives. We may have the same inherent personality underneath, but we have life experiences which have added to the texture and colours of our personal tapestry. So have they.

So some of those people in our past...........and I would hazard to guess that the majority of them......have evolved into strangers. We have lost the common threads.

I think this is what makes an old friendship...........one that may not have been as nutured as it should have along the way.........such a gift when the magic is still there. Though much of our conversation was on "catch up" news, we also stepped right into the present and beyond. That's the difference isn't it. We remain distantly estranged with old friends whom we can only touch on the past with. WE thrive and grow with old friends if there is the spark to chime on about the here and now, about dreams and aspirations............. and the recognition that our roots are healthy, our interest in one another's opinions and ideas is still alive and well, and that we are open to embracing each other's nicks from life.

Written especially for Writer's Island, whose prompt this week is The Stranger.......

Check out more stranger and fascinating ideas here.......