Tuesday, December 18, 2012

A Walk With Mom Today~

Often mom and I take about town and do a little lunch somewhere.Mom is in her mid seventies and is as agile and up right as a 40 year old woman on a mission to remind me to stop and inspect the small things in life, hence the surmountable nature in this robust, green, BC, valley. Today we had lunch at Timmy's. Sometimes we'll take lunch up to the lake but today we opted to wait no more and take morning coffee to the lake instead.
It had been a month or so since mom and I went on a long, meandering walk anywhere, well, since I started working full time. I miss her. She misses me. Our walks mean more than anyone would know.So...the pull for that walk in the weeks filled with stress was the antidote, especially shared breathing in the mountain air with her.

With our hot coffees in hand we left the small parking lot facing the lake and took for the path along the lake, passing the many summer and year-round homes and cottages.
The mountains that hug the lake had been dusted with snow and the lake itself was calm and cold looking. The wintery clouds that loomed were too high for snow, yet, though we could feel the moisture in the air and the scent of snow.
Nearing the end of the path we took to walk up and behind the cottages to another row of homes along a long narrow road. Many of those homes are new, empowering what money can buy. All that was old and summery and simple has been vanishing to the modern style of living. That said, mom and I sauntered past at least two new homes with workers clacking away.I suppose winter doesn't even stop what money can buy.
Other than the odd worker in this small lakeside community there was little movement from others. Mom and I could see more and more wintering up there but, the other half wouldn't be present until summer, which, hm...makes for the lake walk a calm and serene one with the lake to yourself.

Mom and I passed a couple walking their dog; a common occurrence up there, as is the friendly greeting to one another. Small communities boast the most friendly people sometimes.
As mom and I neared the end of the road we saw a mother with two daughter's ahead, delivering newspapers to the sleepy houses. Mom was deep in conversation all the while we passed the little girl that looked up at me with newspaper in hand and headed to someones door.My mind wandered from mom's conversation for a moment as I studied the little girl, thoughtfully. She had long blonde hair that waved down her back and lay against a blue jacket she wore.Her skin porcine and eyes of blue.For a moment I saw the world in her eyes small, simply, and innocent.It was then when I gauged her age to be about seven, the age of the twenty children that grew angel wings in Connecticut.
My mind then instantly went to that dark place of morbid that no one wants to go, though, it does. In an instant I shook my head and minds eye and the little girl was gone, since passed and was caught up with her mom down the road. It was then when I heard my own mother talking and the end of the road opening to the small parking lot. I was jolted back to the present, thinking of how much the many of us have changed;pulling up our guard, and growing an undeniable protection for every little child we see, from now and forever~

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

It begins with the "Know."

If you know me-I might tell you a tale or two, or paint you a picture, one so blue.If you know me-I might be contemplating things I would never do, though dream them up and wish them true.If you know me-I might look upon the simple, a weathered cabin near a lake with a view.If you know me-I might have come across something heartfelt and moving and something new.And if you know me-I might have watched a documentary or two, with one that depicted hero's-
just like you.

Kimberly and Scott, Roberts.

The "Know." My favorite channel.

If you know me?

You'd already know......

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Hold fall close and the ghost's far~

Bringing indoors the fall flowers is like the drying of dew drops upon the cheeks of yesterday.
It is the morning blue sky and smiling sun that one finds deep inside the woven threads within where one finds encouragement of every tomorrow.And while the fall flower brings about small easy pleasures of magic in every stem and does the extent of the plant and production with every blue sky upon each blessed day with yet more glorious wonder, wonder from which is found in every sweet and fresh scent of ripe and plump fruit begging to be picked.
I am reminded that the world around me goes on as does the nature with it's seasons.And although it's been yet another trying fall within the globe of our small family I pick up where I lost and find the little 'somethings' in marveling occurrences within my garden.
What was yesterday is no more than ghost's that linger among the tiny threads of the spiderwebs stretching from the porch light to the front door, swaying gently in the back ground until one day when they too-
are no more.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Oh, I must read on. Lady Of Hay~

Its the little details that reminds me that all has not gone in-vain~ Good morning sweet world, and all little details. I am softly at your side~ This morning is kept new, fresh, and with rain upon spring, spent quietly alone with my thoughts, abundant and gently rocking with the image of a weather-worn-boat. There are little details of the morning over lapping small details from days prior that, hm, remind me, oh, no matter of the other notions in my head this day and days ahead will be lead with gentleness, and, little, inspirational, details. And so the morning lays forward. Knots of thought push to the surface, spreading tendrils here-there-and-every-where. Here we go~ I am immersed in this book, Lady Of Hay, written by, Barbara Erskine. I know not of this author though, England I believe she may reside. I have read at least one book before this of her's and believe with no shadow of a doubt, that, this woman is particularly amazing at her skill, or might I say? craft? she certainly has a gift. Yes. Indeed a gift. Jo is her name and she is a hard hitting journalist living in present time. Jo's assignment is to debunk reincarnation through visit's with various hypnotist's, however, Jo is particularly sensitive herself to being hypnotized and inadvertently has herself as the test subject, where, under a state of hypnotism she lives a life of Matilda from Wales;1175. It is not only the character, Jo, (who I must remind myself is a character of a book) but myself who is ever so immersed in the young woman, Matilda, and what next will happen in her young life in Wales, castles and horsemen, Kings and Heir's, land feuds and great dangers and, a loveless marriage and true love. "Sighs." It is no mistake the love of history is, oh, but a large fraction of my lure to this book, however, it is so much more, too. I'm finding difficulty in concentrating on the real world from my own world, out from the strands of the imagination of the author and all that she possessed in knowledge set forth in writing this book of Lady Of Hay. I am immersed to say the least, as is Jo, who is now able to go back in time as Matilda on her own without the hypnotist, upsetting what I believe is anything but natural, bringing forth echoes of ancient time in an energy unknown and dangerous within her present time. "Oh...." I must read on.... I must remind myself of my own present time in doing so, too. Lost I get- Lost I am- Lost I fear- Till the book is done- I'll know what- And where- I'm from.- Dee~ 2012

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Beverly Mclver~ People That Inspire Me.

Who are you inspired by?

I'm inspired by many, though at times, yes, preciously, I am inspired from 'whom' the moment brings me.
Tonight I am inspired by a woman named Beverly Mclver, a wonderful artist from which paints in oils.
I might have not heard of Beverly otherwise from tonight if I hadn't had such a passion for a particular channel on TV, -BC's Public Educational Broadcaster.

When in spare time, evening time, in the back of my mind while channel surfing, it is this channel that I think of.The Knowledge network is commercial-free, which I love, and funded by an annual operating grant from the provincial government and through donations of public supporters.
Outside of this channel being Canadian, which, "chortles," I adore anything Canadian, it is a fact coming of late, that, I support no other channel than I do this one, out from some of the amazing stories and documentaries.

Tonights documentary was named "Raising Renee," The story of acclaimed artist Beverly McIver and her promise to take care of her mentally disabled sister Renee.

Outside of Beverly's story of raising Renee we also saw Beverly just as she is, no frills or fancy airs, but a wonderful sense of humour and a love for painting.
As the documentary hit mid section I knew that if I ever had a chance to sit around with a coffee and shoot the breeze- it would be with this person. I also knew, led by the inspiration, the slight yearn to take to a brush, paint, and canvas, something my father had done years ago and I dabbled. One day perhaps I'll buy all that I need in paint supplies and paint, till then however, you'll not find me painting any walls or ceilings in my house- I loath the work up to the actual job on hand. That said? this is a self portrait of Beverly.
Finding peace.

Monday, March 26, 2012

A Game To The Death?

A beach, a fair, and an arena were the locations where I found myself innocently shuffling along from one odd occurrence to another seemingly alive and quite real.

I can't remember the beach scenario so clear, but, I do remember the path from which stretched for miles along a small bluff and all the people laying below, and frolicking about.
The sky was blue with not a cloud hanging in the distance and, the temperature was lovely with the ocean breeze softly moving over my face. I felt in my inner being that I was in L.A. -twice visited, long ago.
There was no reasoning as to why I was there, though like a picture book, pages were flipped quickly and I was no longer there but in a campground.

Evening was upon me and I stood as I watched the sun come down and bring a soft streak of pink through the dimming blue.
In this small camp site was a trailer, mine presumably, old and lit up, much like my own here at home in the driveway.
I remember being calm and serene standing there next to the trailer and looking out over the rip-less ocean, which is in fact something I had once done many years ago in a beautiful campground in the State of Washington. However, just like 'that odd picture book' pages flipped and I was no longer at that friendly campground.
Strangely enough I sensed fear soon after the pages flipped. I saw myself huddled in the old trailer fearing I'd be caught, though never a time came where I knew from whom.
Next I'd be somewhere else.

A fair. I was at a large fair where at first I recognized some of my surroundings to be the Vancouver PNE, then the images changed about and brought me to area's of a fair I no longer recognized, and a feeling of being alone in a strange land.
Had I lost my family? I couldn't tell, even now I can't recall, I just know I felt a huge sense of being lost and alone, and very far from home at night.

The pages rapidly flipped and I was sucked up like a vortex.

I found myself in a large, dimly lit area.
It was night once again, though night it seemed inside it could have been daylight outside with all I knew.
Vast this arena was and full of people sitting in miles of rows of seating- stretching from the floor to the ceiling, looking on to what I couldn't see, though, it felt like a strange gladiator event was about to occur.
How I sensed that? or even knew the image is beyond me, I just knew.
I was on a small shuttle in the front riding in a train of box cars with a link of women whom looked oddly fearful of the man behind me. We traveled along the top level of the dimly lit arena going half around.
I sensed the fear of these women and remembered my own when prior of the pages being flipped, and, soon could feel my defiance bubbling as I could feel, or sense? the arrogance of this man behind me seep through the arm I now felt draped slightly over my shoulder.He knew too, maybe by senses also that? of the women in the box cars behind me I was the one he needed to control-
but why? This ran through my head as I could feel a cool breeze across my face as we traveled slowly to what felt like into danger.

I thought quickly as we moved along through the dim of the light of what, and where we were going and where I would jump off. I had thought of the women behind me, looking behind a few times at their grim faces of defeat.
Worker bees and only that, so it seemed, dressed in dirty cotton, button-down shirts; some in ripped skirts the length of they're knees and others in shorts, sweating, grimy, and exhausted looking, with hollow eyes.
My assumption was quick and loose ended, I hadn't known who they were though sense as I had sensed all night that they were doomed and I was to save myself.

The train of box cars from which we road now neared a massive metal door ahead and latch. It was literally the largest piece of metal I've ever seen.
Feeling the man still behind me and his heavy pompous attitude with his arm still weighing his presence,I could feel his movement once again, sleek, arrogant, and purposeful, grazing my breast.
Rage entered my body and all of which once was meek in myself in other worlds was now a box of explosives ready to go off; I sat stiffly waiting for the perfect moment, smelling his hot stench of his breath on my neck.
"Goddamn it- now or never!" I scream out in my mind, while hurtling myself out of the box car, meters from the massive metal door, sprinting like some born athlete in a pair of gnarly looking cross trainers light on the pavement.

It was then, and only quickly in my defiant mind and with my sprint for my possible freedom that I remembered the thousands of people in the arena, now cheering.
Running with stealth and power closer to the metal door I realize the deafening cheers becoming louder the closer I came to the door and freedom. I glance slightly to my left and down, seeing faces tilted up towards the top level of the arena from where I was running, shouting louder and louder. I raise my hand and make a peace sign with my fingers in a gesture of mostly defiance of control, my control, still running until I approach the massive metal door and leap like a super-sonic-maniac to the latch, with pouring cheers echoing through the arena. I stride up, mid air, slapping against the cold of the door, I flip the latch and see the pin drop a notch down, I fall to the ground landing on my feet and pull the heaviness of the door open enough to squeeze through, though, stopping myself to look back at the arena of people, knowing that the train of box cars were near, and once again holding my hand up, I formed my fingers in a defiant and triumphant peace sign, hearing bellows of cheers from thousands inside and stepped out into the cold of the night air and freedom-

awaking out of the second horrifying dream in one week.


On a better note, I found and finished a wonderful book from which has nothing to do with my dreams just of late, but of the precious time I had in fleets here and there where I found a new author named, Barbara Erskine, and a book called, House Of Echoes. Wanting to go to bed eagerly to read was a nightly thing of pure-pleasure. I highly recommend this book, especially if you love history and the switching forward modern day.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Where The Heck are You? JS~

Does it not appear as if our family of JS writers are evaporating?
Have you noticed there's a few missing? notably, Kate and Roz and a few others?
I find it heart breaking. Some of us have known one another for literally years, online, in fact? I counted my years of blogging by Miss Lily's age and came up with ten years, ten spectacular years of getting to know some really wonderful souls, and really great writers.

For myself? I feel that, hm, most likely I wouldn't be still here writing if it wasn't for my family from the old Journalspace site, those of whom hunted me down and made certain I was accounted for in the family nest,creating a new home for our writing, out from the crash and demise of our writing site, JS.

It-is-what-it-is-I-know. With that however, I found solace tonight in knowing upon entering and reading the fresh words on Bobby's, Cap's, and Westy's blogs that, they're near and still here.


I'm thankful.

Much and many to you all-xo


Sunday, February 12, 2012

Medicine Man~

Oh, one saved blog post after another, draft after draft, like yellowing paper and envelope of days gone by with no stamp, no destination, no finished piece; that's how its been in my blog-sphere of late.
I'm writing again however. Where the inspiration came from I don't know.
So many drafts of stops and starts-no endings-lots of yesterdays.
I purged from my mind and heart what I needed too, I suppose, and found, well, not a strong woman standing here but one whom rather run to tomorrow and start again, and again.
And find? hm, yes, find comfort in images of places I've been.

It's haunting in the off season at Harrison Lake but, in the right frame of mind it can be quite magical.

The wind off the vast lake is biting this time of month. I yearn for the warmth of spring like no other, though, ah, the mountains in the far-far distance across the lake usher thoughts of patience; the snow dressing the mighty peaks gives me an odd chill down my spin and a slight feeling of awe of who's in power, where closer I sense more than see lingering ghost's that come in and out of the Fir trees lining the beach, left of me, where a trail winds to an old cement encased hot spring, spitting out steam and sharp scents of eggs.

Off the path and through the old growth of the trees I see what was once a very old street light tilting on its side, English in style, transcending images in my head of time long ago- men in suits and top hat, and dainty women holding ruffly umbrellas wearing Victorian dresses. They came. I know they did, pulling back into the forest a present culture, now ghost's of the forest and ancestors presently drumming, calling out to the children and of the Eagle with each beat of the drum; carry on, carry on. Whispers into the wind, traditions. Carry on.

There isn't much stirring along the sidewalks lining the store fronts along the beach. A sense of eeriness lightly touches the corners of my mind, giving me notions that of being watched, though, I see nothing straight on but to the corner of my eyes.
Little beings and magical powers ducking in and out of doorways?
I smell the faint scent of jasmine incense with a hint of a melody chiming with soothing notes (the Dragon Fly Store).
I approach this mystical store of many unique gifts and peer into-faint light.
The sign on the door say's closed for the winter, though, hm, oddly enough I could have sworn I just saw movement. Blinking a couple of times to clear my eyes from wind-tears, I peer in again to see...."what-the-heck?" falls out of my mouth.
I see fluttering around in and out of the shadows what quite possibly could be a firefly, "right here! in the store!" I can't believe it, never have I seen a real firefly, EVER. But that wasn't the only movement that came about, to my utter shock a dragon fly out of no where accompanied the firefly in a dance that stilled me when they landed on the inside-store-window, buzzing their wings in a fast fashion cropping up a dust that sprinkled a small area of the window, from which I was peering through with substance-like-glitter, making me jump, then laugh.
The melody I heard earlier of a song grew louder inside. The world that I carried on my shoulders slowly lightened, then dissipated. A couple holding hands passed by and smiled at me, I smiled back, though quickly peered into the store window-nothing moved. Confusion surrounded me but not as much as the confusion I felt when I looked back at the couple now walking away that smiled, clad in colorful native-Indian-garb and wearing moccasins on their feet- Eagle feathers adorning long strands of hair twirling like the many wind chimes in motion along the store fronts magically, and, hm, yet with no wind.....

A whisper came then and I knew it was from my own voice, hanging in the air questioning out loud, searching my mind for stability, finding that what one can't explain though feel comfort in has no importance for any explanation at all.... for time brings us strange and wonderful things, even from the past to the present, lessons and healing.

I turned from the Dragon Fly store and caught a glimpse of something sitting on one of the few wooden bench's set out for summer tourist's. Coming closer I could see a small leather satchel with a draw string laced with many glass colored beads-clearly it was native, and clearly it was left, but for whom? for me?
I sat next to the satchel and placed it in my hands, feeling the soft of the leather and marveling over the ancient beads.
Slowly, gently, I loosened the draw string and the mouth of the satchel fell open.
A puff of dust stirred up into the afternoon air smelling faintly like sage, and, out from the satchel flew with the speed of light, one fire fly and precisely... one very obvious...and excitable dragon fly. Around and around they went around my head; I sat still not knowing what to do when suddenly I felt all my being, that of mind-body-and-soul come together, lifting my spirits up, up, until it tickled; I laughed out loud then. And as soon as I laughed? my little winged friends dissipated into the thin air.
I didn't question it, I knew better, for all things not explained can be gifts, its all in how you perceive it, so, with that, and the satchel still sitting in my lap?
I realized now the native Indian man and his whisper that now rung softly near my ear-" you need not know of all the answers to life my little Ginger bug, but, seek the solace in your soul. It is in nature's creatures, mystical and small-take note of the guidance-hearing the beat of your heart and the faint tap of the drum-the scents of sage and know, for all questions need not have an answer and have little substance in truth. Seek not but know, the little things special will grow."

-Medicine man~