Friday, August 25, 2017

What does one do to tick off the hours of the night...

 When one finds them self alone;

Its an interesting mood that wanes towards loneliness and not.
 I suppose in the scheme of things I should embrace the time alone as a gift, for the house was brimming full--oh, a few days ago. I know better not to dwell of this empty space and, make due with myself, its only for a short time.

At any rate, what does one do to tick off the hours of the night?
you make coffee.

About mid evening I put on a pot of coffee which ignited the endorphin's inside me. I poured the liquid comfort into a pale blue mug and stirred in two sugars and milk, preferring of course, cream, but settling on a generous splash of homogenized milk. At this time of night the sun was setting, and the evening air had a tinge of a chill like the tail end of September-the summer days were passing swiftly, too swiftly.
The cats were at random around the house, Ginger sleeping on a sleeping bag I was yet to put away from a camping trip in Washington State, then Dora lounging on the back porch, and kitty, the cat we found on our porch on a cold winters day, now draped over the back of the sofa.

What does one do to tick off the hours of the night?
sit at the computer.

I felt I could've engaged in a full conversation within a group of people tonight, but could see that my time zone did not include the friend's online with which I normally converse with. I phoned my forever friend to come for coffee but she was working the night shift up at the hospital, and so, I did the next best thing, I poured another cup of coffee in that pale-blue mug and sat and read all of you, and others.

It isn't unusual of me to pass through a night quietly reading online, though its been a spell since I have.
Its a gentle weaving through social media where, you can imagine hearing conversations perfectly through the written words with which linger long after, like echoes of life. And its that unusual time that you stumble across the written words of one who inspires you, like tonight, a friend of a friends...though it doesn't matter 'who...' as much as the desire to join in on the conversation. Its easy to do so, if not on a whim, but I'm stubborn in that way.

What does one do to tick off the hours of the night?
re-frame from joining other social media sites.

Been there-done that, though tonight I could feel the stirrings of looking in from outside of facebook, wanting to join in around the virtual table of chatter. Its funny how that sense of urge wanes every now and again, well, until I urge it all back. I suppose in the end, I am well enough with the places my words tend to fall, like a home for all my thoughts in an apartment no one knows about.

What does one do to tick off the hours of the night?

She's a nut. Not you, her.You might not know that of me and my quiet thoughts, because I like everyone, but this is the truth in secret-I've never been more aware of one person to which I can read as clear as a perfectly polished window. I suppose the most frustrating part is--why doesn't anyone else? or do they.
All things said, a vent is a vent, it blows air, and sometimes it clears it like.

What does one do to tick off the hours of the night?
get unhinged.

About now, half past midnight, I can guess without looking outside, that the night air carries only but the sound of a distant car, and the occasional rustle from the drying gardens-gasping with the last of summer. The sound of the TV is an exception-it keeps me company. I feel bold and nonchalant, but then weepy. I reflect upon the day with mom and our drive down the freeway to see her friend, and our lovely lunch at the golf course. I'm losing mom inch by inch in conversation. Its hard to speak of. I assume to believe its not happening. I leave it on my pillow at night. Last week she didn't know a black eye susan, though I only know of the plant because of her. On the bright side, mom named all the other plants in the neighbours garden.

What does one do to tick off the hours of the night?
say good night.

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Into a poetic night.

I find it oddly poetic in the love and war I find with the way the evening turns down the light every night, across the landscape with an easy brush-stroke so familiar, and yet, mildly different each night. 
For one, almost impossible second I can feel the relief in its change to another day, into another night, for those other nights lay me (not) heavy with sleep, but-like a ghost lost through the endless threads of night.

(This night) however, gives a crescent moon-smiling, hopeful, and sinking in behind the black of trees so close I could touch it--while, a passenger-plane fly's high against the fading light westerly in the horizon. Its easy to imagine the rows of people on the plane looking down over the valley at the scattered and clustered household lights, twinkling, and some of the dark patches of farm fields full of young corn, blueberries, and hops in the outskirts.
I guess in retrospect I can only hope to float, too, like the plane or the crescent moon-or, like the clouds I can't see hovering through the night. Or the shifting winds found in the bowl of the valley-spreading spells through wind-chimes under the constellations that-sprinkle glitter with dreams so light and poetic into the night. 

Thursday, May 18, 2017

From Me To You. Adventure State Side.

 The lit sign on the freeway said the nearest border crossing wait was twenty minutes, but in reality it wasn't. I'll get into that in a minute.

Our day trip was a last minute decision. I love that we can be spontaneous and venture to places not our own. I'm glad I renewed my passport, I forgot what I was missing out on.

You could see from the freeway that the clouds were breaking up to the south. I felt a pang of excitement because we were heading that way, leaving behind the perpetual string of menacing clouds that have been drifting through BC for weeks. The prospect of clear sky's and adventure might have (no it did) possess the child in me with a bounce in my seat and a quick grab of my husbands arm, in excitement. Lately I've been letting go like this-theatrical like, in the efforts of smoothing out the frown lines of prior days in my husband. I find its terribly therapeutic to act silly (sometimes), at least for me. Its my new mantra! with no notions of purple or red. Salmon colour all the way! and flouncy white linen.

The border line was minimal, curling slightly around the corner-three lanes total, one being the nexus lane for members who paid extra for speed. We moved one car length at a time, and sat, then moved, then sat, until we were moving no more. The nexus lane however, became popular with non-members who began to cut into our lane ahead. It was a bald-face-act of entitlement. We see it from time to time on either side of the borders, but nothing like this blatant disregard for others obeying the rules.
It wasn't long before two Canadian custom officers came out of the building to turn back the weasels who budded in. Justice was served! As for the US border? they opened another booth, and we passed over the quickly.

We ventured down a road (less traveled?) just off of the Mount Baker highway. We followed three semi trucks from Canada that seemed to know where they were going. It was a beautiful drive, to say the least. The road wound around mountains, and spilled into valleys--where dots of forgotten and rusty towns hung onto life under the present sun. Farms and ranches and old buildings with crooked seams, and old groves of timber and swaying grasslands with bogs, is what met us through a pleasant 45 minute drive before we came out to the town we've been before, Sedroe Wolley.
The last time we were at Sedroe Wolley-- was years ago for our daughter's ball tournament.
The old town was open and bustling with a street party where food trucks expelled the scents of onions and hot dogs and cotton candy.  The ball field too, was bustling with teen-girls competing from the US and Canada. No one cared who won the tournament, it was a grand weekend.

Now, present day, we find a ghost town within the old part of Sedroe Wolley. We park and wander along the street. It looks like a day version of what painter Linden Fredrick might have painted, its lonely and exempt of people. For an early Saturday afternoon this struck us odd, however much, a few neon signs in store fronts broke the spell. Eventually we passed a human--of the teen years and I spontaneously found humour in asking him, "what did you do with all the people?" he laughed, of course, and kept walking.

And then we came upon an old-burned-out-building, and another human looking lonely as sin, for he walked among the cinders (security guard).

I don't know the story of the building or what ignited it's down fall. But the image met me with a gasp and falling heart from which moves in such a way--when witnessing the fall of history. I had a dozen of questions whirling in my mind, but no one to ask. Secretly I wanted to poke around the building for old treasures-a few old bricks or door knobs, but clearly the building wasn't safe. And I wouldn't  remove anything that wasn't mind. Curse of the zombies.

The next place we planted our walking feet was, Anacortes, in Skagit County. This is a great seaside town.
We've been here many times exploring when our children were young. It was hard not to be nostalgic.
I was thrilled to see the up-to-date-preservation of the old buildings, and the dwellings that included, inviting coffee shops, gift shops, and to our surprise! many antique/thrift shops.
This antique, and thrift store I utterly loved!
No word of a lie---we must have gone around this store four or five times in a state of excitement. If I had a room in our car and a chest full of American money, I would be yelling, "start the car!"
This place, folks, is a haven for interior decorator's who get all excited over different eras. I picked up a large, vintage style print for only $4 dollars, and the coolest, new patio lantern with white twinkle light wrapped around a white, mesh, globe-for $5 dollars. But that's nothing compared to the deals they offer on their antique furniture. I saw the most adorable, antique, writing table painted in white. It had the most precious upper doors in small pain glass-and a sold sign. Duh.
From what we take on this store its only open once a month, and buys estate sales. I can't tell you how one can get very excited over other people's treasure! always a grand story left behind, least for your imagination.
We'll be back next month. Just because.

While exploring Anacortes, we came across another gem. Although you could consider this antique store more of a museum than anything. My imagination simply went wild when we entered the upstairs bedrooms full of life stories and heirlooms.
Here is one of the rooms chuck full. I couldn't decide whether I was more excited of the old, closet-less rooms, or what was in them. Lets just say I said a lot of "oh's, and awe's."
We left Anacortes with our minds whirling of history and excitement set in our bones. Adventure is the best! We fully intend to visit next month. Watch out for smiling Canadian's with crazy eyes.

It was getting close to dinner when we rolled into La Conner, another seaside town. The drive was short and sweet. Soon as we got out of the car we were hit with nostalgia with our kids. Before there was Lil, there was Tee, who stopped traffic with her bright red hair and blue eyes. It didn't matter whether we were in Canada or visiting the United states, we were stopped all the time with folks smiling and talking with little Tee. But then Lil came along six years later with her mop of red hair. All together we were a walking show. It was so funny and cute.
La Conner is a wonderful place to visit, what with its old buildings and stores lining the street up from the water front. Its a magnet for tourist's, sauntering in and out of stores with gorgeous blown glass, antiques, gifts stores, and many eatery's. That particular day we could smell steak simmering on a grill somewhere.

We came across this big beauty with more growth-life-lines than I could count. I'm not entirely certain of the tree history, I tried to look it up to no avail. But I imagine, Skagit County was full of these enormous beauties at one time, and might still be.
We ended our gloriously, adventurous day at the Skagit Casino for an outstanding seafood dinner. I felt like a princess. More over, despite the nostalgia of our kid's that seemingly lingered in my heart with every stop, I felt the youth of myself within, and that honey-moon feeling with my husband. "Ah..." life changes in surprising ways. Its all good.

From me to you, hope you enjoyed the adventure.


Wednesday, March 15, 2017


What does spring mean to me....

Its not the rain that comes like mist

day after day

that moves me

as much as the glory of the sun

drying up the day-

casting warmth over the earthly beds

to the newly rising

with a morning yawn

sticks of green

I salute

mug in hand

sipping fresh coffee

in the fresh air

with mauve and orange crocus's

and white snow drops

to say a few-

daffodils and tulips

are due


and so

it all begins

with the birth of all things

in some rightful places

and in brilliant

random places-

simple things


the way an unattended yard will fill of dandelions

in a open sea of yellow

so vibrant


you see nothing else-

or like the way my mother will stop

steps behind me

and gaze down at the smallest cluster of Lilies

of the valley

against the edge of the forest

over looking the lake-

where the song birds sing

of spring

calling, calling

to the end of winter

to the end of night

to the end of darkness

for the morning light.