Friday, November 14, 2014

My walk with Mom~

The one and only willow tree along the banks of the Harrison lake sways it's long, elegant, arms to the music of a northern wind. Mom and I stand and watch as if the theater before us was a special act just for us. The mighty mountains painted small and in layers one behind the other across the vast of the lake appear just behind the willow tree, casting the spirit of a painter, one that I could surely imagine in my father in the earlier days out from the city.

We stand still for yet a moment, bringing the steam of our coffee cup up to our lips for a therapeutic sip of the scene, and cast out a breath of awe. It is then that we applaud the nature and turn to walk within it, down the wide gravel path now hugging the old forest a whispering along the edge of the lake.

I miss these walks with mom. For years while I worked at a deli in a grocery store Tuesdays were our days-one of my days off. Almost into three years later with a far better job with amazing women, my weeks are-found full. And my weekends are found lethargic. This weekend however, I'm thinking of mom-even though I have in my head the special day of Tuesday and the loss of it all.
I should think however, any day with mom is a special day.

She has always been a soft lady with moments of excitement in her voice over anything, my mom. She is not opinionated, but, has this way about her to lightly voice a possible scenario without you knowing it until later. She's wise, and reminds me of the many things that matter and the many great things that don't.
My oldest daughter of twenty-three has become very close with my mother over the years since Tee moved out and had a baby. My children have always been close with her, though. She is Nana, and considered big Nana by her great-grand-daughter, to our amusement, because she isn't so much bigger than I.
I am so thankful for the relationships my daughter's have with my mother. When work keeps me from the important parts of family matters, my mother is always there standing strong with her arms open wide. She is my no fail. She daughter's no fail.

She bakes and bakes. Sometimes I think she does this to keep busy. Mom had left her friends in Langley when they moved out here ten years ago. Mom doesn't drive and dad doesn't drive very far.
Mom doesn't leave dad's side for long either, though he's sprier then some men younger than him. But he's had a few close calls.
I wish mom would join something in the community and meet others, like she used to when they lived in the city years ago, but she won't leave dad. Not yet she said.
I know I shouldn't wallow about it as I do, but quietly in my mind-I do. Its as if I bare witness to two souls roaming a house and yard confined, though I know better of it, and know it to be not so.

Hath with the season change and all will come from my parent's home in Christmas delight. I should think of this instead, than to worry so.

Upon every Wednesday since my grand-daughter was born, my parent's would expect her, sending her momma out to do her thing. And with Christmas upon the horizon, my father will cast out one by one all the jolly noise makers that sing and dance and sit upon the fire place. And then he'll watch, oh, with delight as his great-grand-daughter will dance about the living room in tune.
He'll have also-set up lights in the back of the house and in the front house with great detail, bringing out the larger sized reindeer he'd made of wood, and that of red ribbon around the neck of the deer mom would have tied. Mom could always tie a beautiful ribbon. She recants she once wrapped presents for Woodwards back when she was young. Sometimes I try to imagine her young. Sometimes I try to imagine her with her own mother of which I never met. I sure wish I could have met her-we sound so alike.

All that comes with a change of season will be met by all of us with joy, surely. It'll also be met with a lay off of work over Christmas for myself which, I'll take in stride and think, of the many special Tuesdays to be had. As in anything, one forges on to find in the end a little something to look forward to. I shall look forward to many things come my way, paying attention to the little things and the things that most matter.
And I shall look forward to my walk with mom.

Like the photo above taken by myself with mom earlier this year upon a walk up at Cultas Lake-I shall walk again. I shall also marvel over and over again with my mother's expression year after year with the emptiness of the camp ground, from which we often pass along one section of the lengthy walk along the lake.
She will also at one point, surely as I know it, stop in her tracks and open her arms and breathe in the sharp coldness of the mountain air as if she's been cooped up too long, letting out a dramatic breath sounding ever so soothing. Smile as I will at her, knowing of her lesson, I will echo the same dramatic breath.

Woven through the mighty old trees is the path above, bringing one past the empty camp ground and to the beginning rows of summer cottages along the lake.
The cottages mark time, not just the ghostly movement of years and history of the soil beneath, but of stages of my own life. Often than not I see a quick image of a small redheaded girl about four years old bouncing down the path. A new path to us. And then as if a thousand years had passed  I see another redheaded girl bouncing down the path. Oh, how the years have passed when once I held her little hand in mine, and now the legacy of her own-mirrored image that makes me shake my mind from past to the present.

It is along this very path that I first took my mother and young daughter many years in the past when my parent's lived in Langley, and I was new here. Mom had taken a Grey Hound bus all the way out on a glorious cold sunny day. She had marveled the scenery all the way out with sight of the great Mount Baker in the distance glowing under the morning sun with pink snow.
My little daughter Tee and I brought mom up to this path. Mom's expression was of wonder even then, and with stories of her youth coming out to the lake from the city.
She was enamored with this area and thought how lucky we were. I wouldn't have never thought years later I would have mom out here for good, hm, still walking this path with me.

In those days the row of cottages along the lake shore were all mostly quaint signs of histories past. Mom and I loved every one of them. They spoke in low whispering tones as we would pass them laying quiet without wintering humans, each with a different story and different weathering image. Some were sad, and some like one, never had the storm shutters ever opened upon a summers sun. It stood like that for years. Last time I was up there..... it was gone, like a puff of dust, and just like the rest, one by one.

Its a bittersweet walk these days, having not my little one's along the lake searching for eagles feathers and unique rocks to show me, and, watching as the years have brought money and new cottages to the lake. However much though, we have the memories. And through conversation we'll keep those memories alive.
As for the cottages? a few remain astonishingly, resilient, and gallant like soldiers nestled tightly along side of
enormous structures from which people consider today, cottages.
One day I'm going to save one of those little cottages. But until then, mom and I'll continue to walk mindful of the very things left of nature and history, which still bodes larger than anything money can ever change.

I bid you a moments farewell for now. Until our next walk~


PS.I once wrote an essay titled-You Can Change My Landscape But You Can't Change Me. I sent it to the Letters Section of our local newspaper.They published it.Its a yellowing piece of paper now, with others that were published, but it had people talking for a time.

Saturday, November 1, 2014

The Little Hand That Met Mine.....

It had rained sheets of water bullets from a thick grey sky all day. And about dinnertime it ceased and went away. We all couldn't believe our luck. Magic was in the mix of the night.

The area from which we walked was a blaze of human goblins and fairies and super hero's. This was the place to be for all. Lovely homes nestled together in a community of it's own. Land laying on rich soil with hidden history and new picket fences. The old trees that remain tell a story, where one would need to come close to hear. The dim street lights shine through the old and draping branches casting eerie shadows across the ground. There's sudden spurts of sound that pop and crackle in the distance, throwing magic in the air.  My mind comes back quite suddenly, and feel her tiny hand there.

At the age of three....she couldn't possibly know how much she's loved from us all who walk with her at her side on this Hallows Eve. It's all she's ever known-her aunt, uncles, great uncle, grandmother and,  mother and father. We follow her with every step clutching our hearts. And every now and again you'll hear a ring of laughter out from something she might of said.

"Hi, duck!" she said, with her little chimp monk voice while we walked past a parent who was dressed as a penguin.

Her tall daddy all dressed up as goblin, pushed the rented wheel chair her momma sat in clutching the small round of her belly. She had only been released from the hospital hours ago with a second emergency, out from the first a week ago. The burst of the cyst was evil and scary, but prevail......the tiny baby in her belly.

She was a little insect faerie with stripped socks, feelers like antennas, and a pink fluffy dress. At first she thought she was a monster, what with the black and white striped antennas, but later changed her mind.

Like always she is in a wide mix of a great many entertaining adults. She bounces around like its any other day, or night on any given occasion from which we gather. She is the first, after all, of a chain of events that will occur in stages of life as they unfold within our growing family-much like my own first, with her momma, in a small group of adoring adults.

We gathered here at home in tradition to set off fire works with which great uncle Dave supplies every year. My brother.
This year we had more of us in the gathering. The ever so apparent growth of the family is happily evident. I quietly took note from the other side of the living room with the excitement in all that gathered, Lil with her boyfriend and Tee and her husband with, my nephew and new girlfriend-all of which are young adults full of laughter and conversation. I couldn't have been more happier of this setting scene. Nor happier with the ending of a week that took us all through a strong head wind, and out through the tail~

May you find ease and calm through any storm that finds you. I know. I know. For there is always, always, relief upon it's blustering end.
Today the sky is blue. Truly. Casting sun beams across my floor~

To Avarie, should you find me (here) through your life, grandma loves you.


Friday, October 17, 2014


I watched her in all-her-red-haired glory sweep out of the house and towards the driveway and into a friends car. I felt the weight of my heart, just a little, and waved it away as surely as it came.

She was a winter baby, born on a dreary week in January where the wind was fierce and the rain slapped  against my hospital window like monsters, almost eighteen years ago.
She is last of two daughter's-home. You'll understand. Its difficult sitting here alone.

It would seem for the moment, that I'll never get used to seeing her and her friend's grow into young women, not when my visions still hold they're small and youthful faces in my hands.
And I'll not get used to seeing them jump in cars and set off, leaving me to feel as if I should ask the hours of driving one has acquired before lift-off. Certainly I've belated Lily's road test as much as I can, well, until she told me of her December appointment for the final road test. I've got to get her ready quickly now.

Should I feel better that both the girl's just told me that they're high school parking lot is a demolition derby at it's best? "Snorts." There's video I hear on youtube of it. But! oh, they laugh now, wait until they go to the Shoppers Drugmart parking lot on seniors day! Your in for a-one-glance-treat! But you best have your foot on the break and ten million eye balls. They'll see, hopefully.

It'll be a sad, dark, day, without chocolate when I finally realize that no one needs me anymore. I only wished once, and that was moons ago, that the girl's were old enough to get out of their own...damn seat belts and plop out of the car. I never expected them to completely grow up. And I certainly never thought my last child would provoke in me a wish to be invited along with the girl's to the mall, in that goofy looking bug of a car they just jumped into."Humph."

Friday, October 3, 2014

Everyone Has A Story.....

Blogs are an interesting concept, don't you think? Endless words that can go on and on and paint pictures of all kinds of moods swaying like the long---strands of wheat bent with a brush of a cosmic wind.

I've been blogging a long time. A really long time, actually. And in some ways one can grow weary of all the time spent inside the head, contemplating, (gosh....) contemplating what will be said next. Or even, whether anything will be said at all.

 Is it not a boiling pot of robust flavors stewing over a high heat which that unleashes the aroma of only  two specific ingredients that makes you think of all the others? Then of course, one would expect only a prelude to what would come, wouldn't you think? Hark! Not, but, for what beholds of two ingredients, could very well then mask the true identity of all the rest.

What the hell am I talking about........


About the way we write, sometimes in riddles so as we avoid the truth, or to avoid the great-long-life-version.

I simply want to write,is all, though, find no avenue or simmering pot of inspiration to do so, outside of a few sampled tea spoons of flavor to my lips, which I'm not content with.

Oh, I have much to write of, indeed. Like the recent news of my husband's decline of a job offer and drastic move from our home, and, the long road of emotion through our family in the lengthy wait of decision where, I'm now spent and weary and lethargic of words, wondering if at all! saying anything really matters.
Because everyone's got a story.

Of the virtual wave of a hand I cast this unbecoming conversation aside. Moments have us in states of mind that thankfully fleet with a cosmic wind.
 And I shall be like my parent's who late in the evening indulge in a slice of toast with a thick layer of homemade jam,strawberry,and nestle in to watch the TV show, Who's Line Is It. 

Monday, August 4, 2014

A Shooting Star A Little Too Late~

In the wee hours on the night of August the 2nd I caught a quick glimpse of a shooting star soar across the sky.

The element of surprise was there for a micro second.I was sitting in my lawn chair in the back yard tilting my head back watching the night sky and allowing myself a pinch of solace from recent hours gone by, when,
my thoughts after the shooting star event began to seep into the quiet pockets of my mind-where the gate keepers stand withholding to anyone else but me.
There would be no wishing upon a shooting star tonight as it would be, I thought, into the silence of the night. Not because the opportunity of a the wish was lost in the speed of the offering, but, because it simply...
came too late.

The wedding ceremony started on a quick note, panicking me as to where I should be.
A holler of  "the mother of the bride!" echoed suddenly on a summer gust of wind that hurtled through the club house and on up the stairs from where I stood.
I ran down the stairs in my black strappy heels praying not to twist my ankle and, not rip my gorgeous pencil gray dress with the speed of panic, meeting up with a driver of a golf cart who drove like a ninja to the awaiting groom and his mother.

There he stood, all six feet of him looking handsome as ever along side his smiling mother, offering up his other arm for me.In the seconds that we stood as three my mind raced the prior years with deep heart and images of strength and love between our families, and of the times together holding one another through hospitals with heartache and hope, and desperate spirit.
In that moment as if I hadn't felt it before....I knew ever more that I wouldn't want to stand next to any other family than this one.
 And so, we began our walk as three, full of emotion along the path with aging fir trees hugging either side of the path and up past all the smiling faces of family and friends, upon a grassy hill in white chairs over looking the majestic flow of the river and in front of the picturesque mountains and, under the bluest of sky and summer fanning winds inviting one more guest....the soaring hawk.

Music began and the grooms men followed the path to a James Bond song as they joined the groom and JP at the flower laced arbor facing the river and the mountains.

The music starts up again, only now it is of such beauty and harmony.Lil, my daughter, leads the way for the bridesmaids, with her coral dress flowing in the wind and her long red hair and smile, moved my soul-I was almost reduced to tears right then, but, suddenly we all stood and watched my oldest daughter glide up the path with her father holding her hand, and with them, holding my daughter's other hand, was our two-year-old grand daughter in all her delightful glory,wearing a white dress of lace and a silk flower hallow of pin roses from which, ironically her own mother once wore at our own wedding-moons ago.

To know all that she's gone through in the last few years, my daughter and her own brushes of death, and then to see her walk with her own, young and healthy daughter with her father at her side...."ah," reduced to me to tears.
And with no one at my side to hold onto, I gazed the rows of faces for sight of my mother, who rightfully should have been sitting in the front row with with me, caught my crying gaze......
and returned her own tearful gaze with a heartfelt smile~

The beautiful ceremony ended as quickly as it began, a family ever bonded as a whole, though no matter, has always been.
The bride and groom exited the ceremony sight above the river to the song, "tonight's going to be a good night!" where everyone cheered and followed toward the club house.Which reminds me, a moment where I found amusing-the clan of golfer's in the foreground watching the wedding ceremony clad in Scottish looking golf attire.I wonder how many of them we'll laugh over in any of the wedding pictures!

There wasn't a stone unturned when it came down to my daughter planning this wedding, much like the beachcomber she was as a child-no rock was left unturned.
And no matter how much we all tried to help she took it upon herself to organize and make almost every aspect of this big day, giving us trickles of odd jobs and reason to sit and craft pinterest ideas with my mom while sipping coffee on numerous occasions.

Not only was the music chosen perfectly along with the DJ friend who later all taught us to dance to certain songs, but, my daughter also made a complete candy table full of clear bowls on stands full of every candy one could think of, delighting some of the most unsuspecting candy eaters lingering with full candy bags.
Outside the club house, on the wrap around deck was a photo booth, well, so to speak, with a box full of wild and crazy costumes and an old picture frame to take your picture with.This particular activity was very popular later that night, as you would suspect.
 Sometime through the evening I walked back into the reception area to a charged up crowd of guests playing one of my daughter's planned out games.Each guest table was a team.The DJ would ask for a certain item and one or many for that matter, peeled like lightening from they're tables across the dance floor to the DJ.It was hilarious! just about as fun as watching the great many single male and single females vying for the guarder belt and brides bouquet! The images alone still make me laugh!

As the sun went down behind the surrounding mountains and the trees became images of black cut outs, many like myself, took to the balcony for the movement of the nights cooler breeze, leaning on the railing in conversation and the occasional look out over the darkening green.

It was good to see old friends again, we all reminisced the days gone by when we all were only setting out in life! We had some real hell raiser nights! that's for sure! ripping up the dance floors to bands like Bon Jovi and Poison all over Vancouver and laying cities! course, those days are gone, though, oddly enough I see those days return when our own kid's blare tunes the likes of Acdc and Kiss, to my ever so youthful heart.

Whoever hadn't left soon after sundown, or after the dinner and first dances and slide show, were up on the dance floor and mingling on the patio.
My brother had gotten his wish later in the night upon his exit to the parking lot, he set off a few hand held sparklers to ring in the marriage to many watching and cheering from the balcony.

As for my grand daughter....I'll always be amazed at how much she appears to be quite the little host of events.
Nearing the age of three, she danced the entire night away, dragging anyone and everyone off their chairs to the dance floor.She even followed my brother ( great uncle) clear across the room and into the men's bathroom before he noticed her behind him, or that I could catch up before the bathroom door closed behind them both! (ha!) He then scooted her out in a quick hurry to me.

Soon the dance floor was only but a few guest's left, whooping it up with the bride and groom.
I could see the little one fizzling out, sitting on the dance floor playing with her glow stick necklace.It was clear she danced her last moves of the night, just like her momma used to dance when she was little, to the end of the night.
It was time to rustle up the posy and head to our motel for the night.We had the grand-daughter, my other daughter, Lil, and her boyfriend, which was a sticky situation of which Lil's dad didn't like, however, we brought him with us, and I felt while his mother was away out of town a responsibility to look out for him, so, I brought a sleeping bag so he could sleep on the floor.

The motel we stayed at was one out of a chain of motels along a main road of a small town nestled against the mountains near the river, where, all the highways spread in different systems leading into the BC interior.
Many family members and close friends, including the bride and the groom were staying at our motel, others stayed at motels in the area, like the grooms family.All of the motels were full in town, in fact every place to stay was full from here-clear on down the freeway to laying towns and cities, being that of our long weekend.That being said, the great many of us were relieved for pre-booking months in advance, and were looking forward in laying our heads down for the night with the plan of gathering in the morning in the motels breakfast room for coffee and something to eat.Course, that wouldn't happen in the end.We were so close! so close to ending a perfect day unscathed, breaking a curse.

On the way to the motel the little one fell asleep in her car seat, to my relief.I hoped to gently roll her into Lil's bed once we arrived at the motel, but (sighs) she woke as we arrived in the parking lot, chattering it up like a grasshopper into the late night.
Needless to say I spent an hour in the motel watching cartoons with her while Lil and her boyfriend walked up to the Mac Donald's and back-a stones throw away.

Lil's dad finally arrived, catching a ride back from the wedding reception by our good friend's who were staying in the same motel.
Lil and her boyfriend came in just after him, jabbering about something I couldn't put my brain around, when, suddenly my husband flew out the room and slammed the door.My stomach scampered and tightened as I looked to Lil and J for answers.
 Lil said, she had passed the bride (her sister in a heap of tears on satin and lace) and the groom in the lobby and found out the motel had given away their room.

And so the saga begun.

It was late.The TV chimed with wacky cartoon noises where the little one was drawn in, thankfully, munching on a granola bar.Lil and I ( my greatly mature seventeen year old) tried to figure out a plan to save the bride and groom and calm the father of the bride down, now in the lobby ripping a strip off of the old guy behind the counter.
Both Lil and I came up with several scenarios seconds later, though, neither was affective unless we just went home, leaving the room to the bride and the groom and opting out on the morning breakfast with everyone, which we were all looking so forward to.
In the end it was a no brainier, we gave up our room, though not before leaving with painful images locked up inside my head.

My husband had came in and out of our motel room at least two times puffing like a dragon, then disappeared.I had to become the matriarch of the family and gather up the kid's with a stiff upper lip, which I should be used too! but a farce it really is, I'm jello inside.

While I got Lil and J to keep little one occupied, I ventured outside to see if I could find the bride and the groom.Parked at the edge of the gravel parking lot of the motel, under a street light, shone a candy apple red, older model car from which my son in-law borrowed for his wedding.
I found them both sitting there, my daughter, still in her beautiful wedding gown, knees drawn up on the dash board and her face in a white tissue.My son in-law was on the phone to every motel and hotel around, finding everything booked up from here to Tim-buck-two for the long weekend.I did everything to convince the kid's to take our motel room, but they couldn't answer out from seemingly being struck in the moment of shock, much like a deer caught in headlights.
It was now nearing midnight.

The kid's had booked their motel room like everyone else three months ago.In fact, my daughter stayed in this same motel with her bridesmaids the night before, with no problem and well wishes upon her wedding day.
So what, really---was the problem that ended a perfect day?well, the kid's credit card number was punched in while we were all at the wedding and declined after one try, with no phone call, or phone call to any number of us bearing the same family name staying at the same motel.

I couldn't find him at first until my daughter mentioned she'd seen him walk towards the back of the motel.The bride and groom followed me, my daughter dragging her beautiful wedding gown twinkly in the night light and being dragged behind her over the gravel parking lot, until we reached a set of stairs behind the motel where we found her dad sitting, and looking rather spent with emotion, running through the anger and now, finding the defeat of it all, and placing it on his face with the glint of tears, where his daughter, the bride, crumbled in his arms.It was such a sight I could hardly bear, though I spoke softly in an effort to convince him to go home, that nothing more could be done.

It was his last puff of defiance, fueled of course by the beer in his hand as he trotted back to the motel lobby to say his last words.I sent my son-inlaw straight after him while I ran to our room and packed Lil and J and little one in the car, and drove slowly over to the entrance of the lobby.

I found my daughter sitting on a tiny step in front of the lobby while I could see my husband waving his arms around inside as if he were exasperated, the groom with him looked seemingly unsure what to do.
Tee, my daughter with this large gown I keep speaking of, was a vision of sadness you might have seen in a movie, under the motel lights, sitting there with her petite arms wrapped around her knees and her dress billowing out over the pavement with the odd sparkle, glinting through the now dirtied lace, was a vision from which broke my heart.

I walked into the lobby to see what I could do about getting my husband to go, when I heard him ask the man behind the counter, "how many times did you punch in my kid's credit card?" the man looked up and said, quite defeated like, "once...."
I could tell by this mans face he knew he had done wrong.My husband then said to him, in an earnest sales rep kind of way, "who punches in a credit card once and doesn't think maybe the numbers may of  have been punched in wrong?" The man said nothing, he just lowered his head.
The fact was, the kid's (did) have room on their card, there shouldn't have ever been a problem.
In hindsight, of course, I should have booked their room for them, as a gift, however, the wedding was expensive and had stretched us to the point of weariness, but nevertheless, I silently beat myself up over it, and I know my husband did too.

In a last ditch of words that echoed through the lobby, with my husband now throwing up his arms dramatically, I hear him say with great emotion and tears, "thank you for ruining a perfect day for my daughter! and a perfect morning he could have had with his elderly father and step mom from out of town, for now I have to go home."

And with that we all stepped out into the parking lot, where once again, poor Lil stands in the middle of all the mess with wide eyes and silence.Oh, how I feel for her at times-getting lost in the shuffle again, like tonight, standing guard at the car with the now sleeping little one inside.

Before I got in behind the steering wheel and chanted I could do this, what with the forty-five minute drive home along the mountains through the unforgiving darkness of the lonely freeway out into the valley, I watched as my husband grabbed his daughter (the young bride) in a hug that would send chills down your arms and pierce your heart and mind forever.Then he turned to the big guy, the groom from which we saw grow into an honorable man and marry our daughter, and grab his hand with such gusto in a handshake I couldn't try to explain away with images, but to say the hug that ensued between them right after moved our hearts.Just as the big bear of a hug the groom gifted me, sending my mind down a fast elevator with the images of him and I on each floor sitting in front of hospital beds night and day.He is a good man, a very good man.

The kid's accepted our offer of our motel room, later stretching the many wedding cards out on the bed to distract them from the earlier hours.
As for us? we headed toward the mouth of the dark freeway and embarked on a white knuckle drive in complete silence, with great relief on my part that we were going home.

And so there we were, sitting at home out around the fire pit looking up and around into the early am night, Lil and I and her dad, neither tired, but expelling the hours into the dead silence of the neighborhood still air, feeling a bit less emotionally charged when I see out from the corner of my eye, a shooting star,
a little too late.

 Father and daughter dance~

We received a phone call from my daughter in the morning.She said, while having breakfast this morning at the motel the old guy behind the counter from last night found her, and apologized to her and the groom, then wanted to say how much he was very sorry for putting her dad through what he did.
My daughter then witnessed the mans tears as he spoke, she then too, began to cry, at the sight of his emotion, which then she tearfully accepted his apology.
Soon after that Tee went looking for the distraught man, and found him in the laundry room weeping while folding laundry, she then hugged him.

I've done right somewhere.I've done right.She's made it right.

Needless to say all the families rooms were free, as you would suspect in the end, but not without the great feeling that all this shouldn't have ever happened, but did, unfortunately.And so in that simple mistake from a simple man nestled among the mountains in a quiet town with summer winds, the ending feeling from us all... is, lay it to rest-lay it to rest, the man has been through enough.



Monday, July 21, 2014

The Answers To The Questions I Couldn't Find~

Dedicated to Luanne Rice and Audrey Loggia~

If I hadn't noticed the obvious rattle of my hand gripping the handle of my full mug of coffee every time I pursed my lips to the rim, I might have been fine.Probably not.

Then of course there was my mind, "humph!" talk about let me down! seemingly full one moment, then vastly empty and grabbling the next, or more over, instantly empty on cue when asked a question about myself.

Perhaps I wasn't prepared, hellfire! I know I wasn't! And in many cases when in a jam I take without warning the position of a comedian-God knows what you women thought of me!  
Its a good thing I can chuckle at myself without any self persecution,which I recognize as a familiar trait of a Canadian-when all seems lost in translation-laugh!

If you'll remember, dear ladies across the round wooden table from me, in the far corner of Elliot Bay Books in Seattle- your question to me, of which favourite book store was mine? (the line coming clean...wants to fall out with a hiccup of a chuckle, with the thought of your expression when I first said it) though I did have an answer to which book store, though my mind decided quite suddenly to change and leave me frayling with a new answer, which I was a tad embarrassed to admit (ten or more thrift stores found in my town) "coughs.."
My husband however, has a favourite book store in Abbbotsford called Hemmingways.I'm not sure he likes it for the books as much as we love the name for the store.
In thinking with hindsight, I did love Chapters Book store in Kamloops, on a snowy weekend visit.

Luanne, with your gentle voice and sisterly disposition asked me to whom my favourite actor was, and my mind went hurtling down a tunnel with no pictures then suddenly came up... facing Robert Loggia! "chuckles here!" It could have been the right answer for the moment.Certainly Audrey would have been very pleased, but I knew it wasn't really my answer, though, I remember Robert Loggia fondly while watching him in movies with my parents, which isn't a lost memory at all, but now a new memory from which I'll take with me in connection of meeting the lovely Audrey, who might I add? made me smile like so and laugh, especially....laugh~

Reality is, I haven't been to a movie theater in years-not because I hadn't wanted to go, just that I  found myself busy rushing from a to b down the highway with over ten years of Lil's baseball and work; surely I would of fallen alseep at the movie theater if the occasion found me.

And as far as plays? hm....I seen a few in Vancouver-small stage one's when Darren and I were first dating in the late eighties, anything after in the years to come were touching school concerts-the cherished ones.

In this time while questions were asked I felt an invisible hand reach across the table with the feel of an older-sisters-heart.Luanne.I wanted to grab it like a life line from a terrible sinking boat.
 If my pause was long enough and I seemed to struggle for a quick answer, the question was ever so gently changed to another.

I know in this time around the table sipping Seattle coffee and tea, I spoke of the things that I've learned along the way from Luanne, "you," only they didn't come out quite how I would have liked them-I couldn't think quickly enough in the minutes that I could hear ticking quite literal in the back of my head.It wasn't just the photos of the streets and brownstones that I looked upon with wonder, but the skyway and the way a simple garden trails along with meandering walkers over something that, well, once was.

And then there's the poets with which you pin pictures in Pinterest.Oh, how I hold such gratitude in a everyday lesson lost in the time of my youth.I am more of a student now than I have ever been.

And of art, from which in the simplest picture displayed, my mind finds corners and soft places to have coffee with a friend, just like the calming pictures of white and what brings of it with the sense of soothing, which often is found in a good friend~

I will always be grateful with learning from you the things I might have never known otherwise outside of my own home, such as, all that you wrote of regarding the movement of desperate people over an unforgiving Mexican desert, in your book, The Lemon Orchard.
And that, not all from one side of a countries border carries a black heart when the desperate scratch with dehydrated nails against the borders door.You'll find, like you have, sympathetic hearts with wings of an angel touching the scorched dirt of a barren desert~
 The meaning of such horrific travel seems lost in some who stand guard, no one really wants to leave their home and dear families as much as they want to make a better life and return, though, sadly in some cases its far too dangerous of a place to return home.

I have learned about sisters in you, though I have none of my own, I hold close a few sisterly friends.
I feel with such heart the entanglement it can bring, quite unexpectedly, leaving you to flounder for understanding with a great open heart and deep loss.I had felt that with my oldest daughter when she abruptly decided she wanted to grow up and out on the cusp of eighteen, leaving thick air behind with the caption that she hated us all.
I couldn't lock the front door for weeks.I cried and cried- for not all of my heart was home.

There is simply a wealth of various things I found along the way with you, Luanne, with which I have learned, makes you the person you are and makes the person I am-I know we're wonder! "clucks my tongue!" at myself! we only need to remind ourselves every now and then.

 As to what Audrey had to say to the left of me about an audition for-well, I shall keep that to myself and chuckle into the weeks and months to come.I could have literally listened to stories from Audrey and Luanne for hours.Simply.

I don't think I was prepared to talk of myself, what with the slag of my mouth with no words to follow.
Ironically, I have questions now of my own, clearly losing the mark on the one night I could have asked them,"hm.." which I feel with deep regret, though, still, there's no other regrets I can come by in the time we shared together in one of my favourite cities, or on a night in July that I'll remember for sometime, and on.

Thanks, Ladies! from my heart to yours, on this old computer I love, and through the flash of a camera I'll chuckle over with every future flash.Audrey.

As always, Love from BC. 

PS.I never knew.I couldn't have imagined.Paths that lead our feet to unexpected connections.


Friday, June 13, 2014

CBC Radio Show Junky.I Think I Became My Parent's.....

So when did I become my parent's?

It's almost 10pm on a Friday night and I'm listening to the CBC Vinyl Cafe (radio show) online with the song (paper moon) playing in the back ground while I perk myself a half pot of fresh coffee.
 Soon the Vinyl Cafe's story exchange will begin, where ordinary Canadian folk write short stories with hopes to be read online.Many of the stories I've heard on the radio or podcast remind me of Alice Munro's writing, what of the inspiration of such landscapes far east from here, Saskatchewan to over yonder through fields and intersections of colourful town folk onto Ontario and far beyond....

Yes, when did I become my parent's where I find myself sitting here pursing my lips to a steamy late night cup of coffee listening to a radio show, and contemplating a midnight snack of toast with homemade jam."What the hell?"when did I forget all about the days of Bon Jovi and Journey for the stories of Dave and Morley?

Well.....probably on that day a few weeks ago driving through Surrey BC with my husband where, he adjusted the car radio dial to CBC and the Vinyl Cafe with the amazing story teller, Stuart Mclean.Stuart reminded me of author Luis Alberto Urrea, who, I recently listened to also on CBC-two men who could captivate an audience for hours just telling stories.

At any event, I could use some toast and a thick layer of homemade jam and another story of Dave and Morley, I'll just wear my Journey tshirt while doing it.

Friday, May 2, 2014

The naked Cowboy In Chaps On My Wall.....

I grew up in a house in Vancouver that my father claimed to be nearly a hundred years old.But if your thinking with your minds-eye-and conjuring up a lovely heritage home? allow me to say, "chortles," it wasn't.Not that it was an ugly home, just that it didn't have the unique elements that you see in older homes.
I've never once believed dad that our home was THAT old.Even now I speculate, however, perhaps it had changed throughout the years before my parent's bought it-one wouldn't know-least I don't.All I know is our home was encased in stucco, not of the plain white look but of colored glass, which I remember being embarrassed of.Now however? "hm.." my thought of it is of particular beauty-the sun would shine through the millions of shards of tiny glass along the skirts of the house, making it one of the more unique looking houses on a hill over looking the city.
 I think my parent's bought the home for $15,000-nothing these days.When the Vancouver realistate market started to sputter to life, right in the beginning? my parent's sold our old house for over $200,000-which is peanuts these days, being that the house now could probably fetch half a million.
Dad always said the house would be torn down-the value of the property was worth more.I suppose in the years to come he was right.And in hindsight? it wasn't a bad home, it was a lovely home that bared many good memories throughout my childhood.In fact? a doctor bought it and never tore it down.
Anyways, the object of this post was inspired from an old blog post I had done on an artist (painter)It reminded me of  my own days of painting.

I had an attic bedroom that was led up by an old narrow staircase with each step painted pink with black-hard-plastic-non-skid nailed to each step.When my parent's first bought the house the attic was one open room with sloped ceilings.My father then created two separate rooms for my older brother and I.Luckily for me I was given the larger room.I suspect at the age of four they figured I'd acquire a lot of things and would need room to play, even though I never really played up there but hauled my Barbie van and motor home with barbie dolls spilling out, downstairs to the small living room of dark-wood paneling.
I liked my bedroom by day however, but by night my sensitive, wild imagination would take hold.My mom would allow me to fall asleep in her bed on the main floor early in the evening and they'd carry me up stairs to my bedroom, until? well, until the last I remember one of them uttering that I was getting to heavy.After that I remember sitting about four steps up in the smallest of glow from the living room-scared to go to bed.

The years would change me as would my bedroom, thus being the reason of this blog post.
You see? into my teens I painted my bedroom blue, paint from which I found in the basement among dad's things.I remember my father grumbling to leave my room alone-god only knows I changed my room throughout the years more times than a season or two of HGTV.Perhaps I should have ended up an interior designer, not a casual blogger and hopeful published author of...whatever fleeting story (chortles...).

The thing is, before I painted my attic-bedroom a bold jet of blue, it was a lovely pink.
While I was away from home one weekend as a child visiting friends, my parent's snuck in my room and splashed pink and white all throughout.I'll not ever forget coming home and being so dazzled and lucky.My slanted walls were of chains of pink roses, and my floor was of a rich pink with white swirls, just the thing a young girl would love.And I did! until I became a teenager and pained my room a jet blue and decided? to....."ahem," paint a fairly large mural of a naked cowboy with chaps and a cowboy hat!
I wished I had taken a photo of it to show here! it was pretty good! I'm not sure what my parents thought of it, they never really went into my room, but I know mom knew, she said little, most likely she had a good laugh over coffee with friends.Mom was like that.She was strict but quiet when it came to things or mistakes I've done.It used to freak me out.

And so, with the recent thought of the old post I'd made about an artist and her paintings, I was reminded of the naked cowboy on my bedroom wall, all those years ago living in Vancouver.Then? I was reminded of my mother and I walking one day up at the lake here and her asking out of the blue (no pun intended) that if I remembered the time I painted "that mural? of-that-naked-cowboy-in-chaps-and-a-cowboy-hat?"
God! it makes me laugh now in thought.Both mom and I had a good chuckle that day walking.

Monday, April 21, 2014

Walk With Me~2014

The music is soft and flowing in the back ground like a gentle breeze carrying a feather throughout the house.I find myself rocking gently to the rhythm with my mind dancing through the corridors of yesterday into pockets of time, remembering those who, I used to ask"walk with me......"
So much time has passed without a whispering invite, and silent point towards a path-that, I now realize with a soul fluttering with regret.
Oh, how time has gotten away from us! And how the many of you have moved on to other paths, ones from which I cannot find and wish to summon up the invite to all....
The meaning of the walk might have lost you, or you are of new eyes, no matter, the paths and roads were found not only by chance, but of hidden need."So walk with me."

Do you see at the opening of the path and wooden marker jutting up from the ground? tis an old telling of a story and time long ago of this great place among the ancient trees whispering with fanning bows in the light of a-British Columbia afternoon.

Don't be afraid, I can see them too, the ghost's peering out from the huckle-berry-bushes and stinging-nettle----Just take my hand, they'll not bother us none, but to put images in our heads, of that, an era some still remember like the (gold rush-and on).
 See here now, upon the patchy moss covering the edges of the old paved road, too narrow for two cars to pass, and, the umbrella of trees shading our walk downward in a long-zig-zag-motion, which, actually----sparks intrigue with the thought of roads and their simplicity with a day which, found the construction suitable and with function, in a time my parent's fan with childhood memory.Course, that was long ago, no longer is there a hum of an old car rambling down the road, instead the hum is in the song of birds twittering from tree branch to bush as we walk, hearing the mighty Fraser river rushing in the distance-perpetuating images of all kinds, and stirring up emotions inside-
 (do you feel it?) But most of all, it's in the beat of the heart dashed with the pending exhilaration with the open stage we'll soon come upon.

Are you still with me? Don't let go, the old road with its years of cracks stretching with veins of moss and smatterings of small wild flower nears an end.Two large boulders mark a dirt path through overgrown bush down to the railroad tracks, where, the train will still your heart with the rush of air and the roar of hundreds of metal wheels screaming. 

To the other side the winding path narrows with exposed roots marking its linage.A plateau ahead creates a stage of sorts among the towering firs standing gallant as if in honoring the age-old-river, sharing with us a sneak peek below of it's up and coming performance.
Shall we continue?Hold tight to my arm, the downward climb isn't long but worth the effort in the gifts awaiting you.
 Down-down-down, until the canopy of the trees seem higher and higher making one feel small.
Can you see the bright light of the day parting through the trees? we've neared the end, and yet, oh, there's no true end to this adventure but a new beginning- of that with many tales passed on and on with stories known, and, ones awaiting you to find and create of your own.
So come on, I dare you the adventure.Take my hand in meeting with, Sir Alexander~

Remember when I said this wasn't the end of the path? nor the adventure? I mean it! with with every fiber of my adventourous spirit and beating heart soaring before our placement upon this bridge, feet to the metal, grate seeing through-the mighty river beneath, and, a pilgrimage of colossal thought stretching life times of others to the other end.


Dee Law~

Monday, March 10, 2014

Mazatlan Still lives In My Heart.

There was a wedding on the beach.
The employees of the hotel moved about the heat of the whole afternoon flawlessly, even joking around with coworkers keeping the mood light.We watched from a lovely table situated at an open window over lunch-then again later from my lounge chair on the beach, peering up every now and again from my book
 to see tables and chairs coming closer.

 After dark we would watch from our balcony-four floors up and under a perfect moon with a tail- trailing across the waving ocean in a majestical  dance.

 The wedding was a combination of young and old- speaking Spanish and dancing over a dance floor which changed colours to each beat of the music, echoing up against the outer white walls of the magnificent Riu hotel.
 The evenings breeze from my patio was the most radiant feeling of bliss, until....I turned my back and jumped to the sound of the first

How silly and utterly amazed I was when I realized we were not being shot at by bandits! (coughs)...
These booms to my delight and utter relief were the dazzling night coming to an end in celebration of love, pure and simple, not of the unraveling of the folds I felt nibbling at the seams in hiding a countries truths-dangers for that matter, of things I would not learn of until the following week here safely back at home, confirming an inner sense that the sun glittering off the ocean through the palms down over perfect-golden-sand with the sound of a mariachi band and a margarita in hand was-only-to my way of thinking-
a distraction to what really, truly, lurked out from the shadows.

Pissed and scared out of my pants.....Mazatlan still lives in my heart, oddly enough~

Safe travels~

Saturday, March 1, 2014

Pharaoh Cat's in Mazatlan

Its only been a few weeks since we came home from Mazatlan but, the lingering memories weave through my days and nights~

I acquired no such pictures of the pharaoh cats but I do have moving images in my mind of the night I watched one after another, eight in total gather out from the dark, under a dim street light across the street and forage through garbage spewing over the rim of a rusty-steel-barrel.

That side of the street up from our hotel was barren of color.Instead the small hill rising from the sidewalk was yellow and dry and had buffs of dry weeds.Our side however had a short row of businesses.At the time we were in an open air sports bar eating the largest prawns known to man, chatting with friends-when I first noticed movement one by one, leery like, slinking down from the dry hill, gathering around the old steel garbage can.

At first I thought nothing of the first cat's appearance, then another cat appeared, white as the first until I counted seven white cats, the eighth cat was striped.
"For-the-love-of-felines".....I was struck by the image as a great oddity. This was a most unusual scene to me, seeing this not in my own homeland, though I'm certain there's many wild cats, but to see so many and of one color, sadly on their own.

I couldn't bear to see them forage up remnants in the garbage and on the ground so, to stares of others I got up from my table with a folded napkin of prawns and crept slowly across the street. By the time I reached the narrow meridian in the middle of the street the cats retreated. A gust of warm wind hurtled down the street at me as my husband watched on with a smile, and I feeling a tad silly.
I should have known my outcome from the get-go! the silliness of my creeping up on so many pharaoh cat's as if they'd fall to the ground for a belly rub.
I gave up my good intentions after that and dropped from the folded napkin three large prawns near the can.
I watched minutes later when one cat after another cautiously reappeared.To my surprise little did they thank me with the great interest in prawns, instead sniffing around at a days worth of garbage laying in an early heat.

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Finding Mexico in my dreams~

Its beginning to be increasingly difficult to imagine the warmth of the sand and bath-water waves over my feet in Mazatlan what with, the beginning of winter that has only but now found the land west along the coast of BC with a slight arctic wind, and a puff of snow scattering across the land with a questionable days end.
Our winters have been mild for years, nothing of it since 1996/1997 with hardy blowing snow plugging up highway over passes with drifts so high that the military was called out to blow a hole through.That year went down on record, and that year I gave birth to a screaming-beautiful-red-headed-daughter looking much like myself through a snowy window of a hospital bearing close in memory today.

"Ah..." but Mazatlan all these years later.What an experience.What luck!What memories that I won't allow a puff of winter blast to erase.Least of all without a fight.
When I returned home I was naturally eager to write of my adventures, however, I was at the same time quite intrigued to read up on all the places around Mazatlan from which we visited with a tour guide which seemingly gave little time to absorb the true core.That said I looked up online great amounts of Mazatlan history and explored outer laying cities and communities that I found interest outside my plane window- looking down over barren land through dry mountains upon arrival and exit.
I realized in my online travel after the fact that I might have harbored a false sense of security.I assumed the great amount of paroling Mazatlan police through the city and near the resorts were of an effort to make tourist's feel safe.And while I'm sure that is a portion of the fact, later at home with my eager online reading I would discover the dangers behind my rose tinted sunglasses and sharp looking sun hat.
In a nutshell I had lost my dreamy notions of my trip.I hadn't known in this past week upon returning how to write much more of my adventure with recapturing the events of wonder and amazement, well, until last night, upon speaking with a dear writing friend.I realized there is room to talk at great length of all the positives of a country, just as there's room to speak of the sadder points from which, quite frankly, I imagine others look over out from their safety and festivities within a resort compound.

With that being said, I think within days or weeks I will return to the standing page above titled Mexico, and, continue my adventure, only writing with my first instincts upon that tour bus through Mazatlan, because? in hindsight a journalistic story had already unraveled.

Finding Mexico in my dreams~

The best to you all.Please stay tuned.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

The Ghost's Of Mazatlan~

The interesting thing about travel is that one comes home and still feels with all senses-the lingering ghost's in ones memory that plays out as if you've never left.

I can still hear the sounds of the instruments played by a mariachi band playing out on the beach just before sunset, albeit a little off key at times, but, festive nonetheless-just behind the rope that divides the resort from the open beach which goes for miles either direction.

There's simply so much in the folds of my recent memory that need be recorded before it slowly fades, especially the dramatic notions that moved me along with the simple aspects I found along the way. Like an old door in the city of Mazatlan on a tour one day. Such sights of simple doors like this one speaks to me with whispering times of long ago-quiet now with the warm afternoon breeze through a city with many interesting and, sometimes unpleasant scents.
With the many images brushed with the great many senses I carried with me through my week away from home, it is of such urge that I create a standing page with pictures and stories of my adventure. This will concur in the days that follow and will be found above with a simple click. With that I will have the greatest of pleasure and, urged thought to talk of the few interesting aspects of a country and city that changes beyond the gates of ones resort.Sharing with you a time of everlasting memories of amazement and ghost's that still call out to me in an effort to permanently record what lays between the folds.

To my writing friends with love.


Monday, January 20, 2014


 She plays from another room (I see fire) on her acoustic guitar-a song from Ed Sheeran.It makes me want to write wholeheartedly with every string picked and strum-with hand over chest and pressing heart-oh... the powerful movement more over and beyond perfect words I could ever explain-oh-dear-child-of-mine.
  She turns seventeen tonight and I'm not ready of the years coming in letting her go.
It is for me like time standing still and looking through an hour glass~
Nothing has passed but the newness I no longer smell.I see things with yesterdays mind so vivid I could reach out and touch it~
Oh...dear-child-of-mine-how I love you~


One day you'll find me-