Moving Forward
Setting out in humid heat,the sky relentlessly blue, wedip into the ravine tofollow the trail taking us deepunder the shading canopy on ourquotidian mission to fully enjoyour natural surroundings,breathing air cleansed to apurity shared by the birds andsmall beasts whose home it is.We are gratefully shieldedfrom the sizzling sun whosebroad strips of light illuminatethe clear green of the leafage,through which it filters, as etherealand lovely a sight as was ever seen,as we pass beech and birch, oak andbass, maple and Hawthorne,the forest hardwoods.Overhead, the low rumble of aplane on its trajectory, thenanother, resembling thunder buthardly credible, the visible landscapeof the sky pure and clear. Yet, amidlong pauses there, clearly enough isthe long baritone boom of thunder.No imminent threat, we nonchalantlyassume it bypassing and indulge inthe usual prolonged ramble.The blue and the clear amiddancing fingers of sunlight ourassurance the steadily increasing,drawn-out booms represent one ofnature's bluffs. Ah, but then overheaddistantly oncoming ragged cloudswiping the sky clear of blue,replaced by washrag grey. Then thesound and the fury manifestly above,we find purpose in moving forwardwith a purposed alacrity to quitematch the storm's arrival.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Privilege
We nonchalantly shrug, wellaccustomed to our rightsand the privileged rites ofcitizenship in this vast land,rich with opportunity andimmensely gainful naturalresources, the envy of theworld community; peaceful,orderly and secure, where amultiplicity of originsconstitute the population.And there is Faye, she of thesmiling brown face, awaitingthe status of permanence whilediligently nurturing otherpeoples' children. Her owndaughters have seen six birthdayswithout their mother's presence,the single gift they hunger foras they grow into a maturitythat Faye has never witnessed.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
My Comfort/His Concern
It's all right, I tell him,don't bother. But hesmiles at me in response,love and patience so veryevident, exuding hisfondness, warming meimmeasurably in theprocess, as he does, indeed,bother. Bothering tolook to my comfort.
Monday, May 28, 2012
We were children when we first met. Both of us were fourteen, and although I didn't know it at the time I was actually a few months older than he. I knew, when I saw him, who he was. In the sense that he seemed somehow familiar to me, as though I had met him before - in my subconscious perhaps, in dreams. On the few occasions I mentioned something like that to him, many many years later, he scoffed.
We weren't thinking of having children, in the first few years of our marriage. It wasn't until we were both twenty-two that we realized I was pregnant. And that pleased us mightily, for we had of course, felt confident that we would have a family, eventually. One-and-a-half years precisely fits neatly between each of our three children's births; two in October, one in April.
The April birth was different than the other two. That was the one that the doctor didn't seem quite able to make it to, in time. Just as well it was at Branson Hospital in Toronto where a British-born midwife-turned-nurse was on duty that night. She handed my husband a green outfit and mask to cover his mouth, and instructed him how to assist her. As our daughter's birth was completed, the doctor and the anaesthetist rushed into the operating room - imperiously prepared to 'take charge'. I insisted I had no wish at that point to have the services of either.
With the first birth of our first son I wasn't the least bit nervous or concerned; reasoning, I suppose, that what I was about to undergo was the most natural and common and by extension, most primitive act on Earth. Everything went very well, no problems whatever encountered, none anticipated.
I recalled reading somewhere that a lactating mother should drink plenty of fluids, although it went against the grain for me. I experienced no difficulty whatever breast-feeding our children. It was as natural as giving birth. The babies exhibited no hesitation, no problem in doing their part of the life-giving procedure. All went well in that department.
Adjusting to becoming a mother was not at all difficult, just tiring. Since my husband contributed constantly and encouraged consistently, we were both pretty fulfilled and happily immersed in our new roles.
Now, when I read about the burdensome difficulties that women experience in conceiving, in bearing children, in the agonies they experience attempting to breast feed their babies, I find it difficult to relate. When I was young I made it a point not to listen to people who insisted on telling me about their trials and tribulations, how hard and painful childbirth was, how excruciatingly irritating breastfeeding was.
In my naivete I reasoned that anything that common and quite simply natural, could not be that difficult.
I never regretted that decision to dismiss out of hand all the unsolicited and often alarming advice I was given. I did it my way, and it worked perfectly well.
We weren't thinking of having children, in the first few years of our marriage. It wasn't until we were both twenty-two that we realized I was pregnant. And that pleased us mightily, for we had of course, felt confident that we would have a family, eventually. One-and-a-half years precisely fits neatly between each of our three children's births; two in October, one in April.
The April birth was different than the other two. That was the one that the doctor didn't seem quite able to make it to, in time. Just as well it was at Branson Hospital in Toronto where a British-born midwife-turned-nurse was on duty that night. She handed my husband a green outfit and mask to cover his mouth, and instructed him how to assist her. As our daughter's birth was completed, the doctor and the anaesthetist rushed into the operating room - imperiously prepared to 'take charge'. I insisted I had no wish at that point to have the services of either.
With the first birth of our first son I wasn't the least bit nervous or concerned; reasoning, I suppose, that what I was about to undergo was the most natural and common and by extension, most primitive act on Earth. Everything went very well, no problems whatever encountered, none anticipated.
I recalled reading somewhere that a lactating mother should drink plenty of fluids, although it went against the grain for me. I experienced no difficulty whatever breast-feeding our children. It was as natural as giving birth. The babies exhibited no hesitation, no problem in doing their part of the life-giving procedure. All went well in that department.
Adjusting to becoming a mother was not at all difficult, just tiring. Since my husband contributed constantly and encouraged consistently, we were both pretty fulfilled and happily immersed in our new roles.
Now, when I read about the burdensome difficulties that women experience in conceiving, in bearing children, in the agonies they experience attempting to breast feed their babies, I find it difficult to relate. When I was young I made it a point not to listen to people who insisted on telling me about their trials and tribulations, how hard and painful childbirth was, how excruciatingly irritating breastfeeding was.
In my naivete I reasoned that anything that common and quite simply natural, could not be that difficult.
I never regretted that decision to dismiss out of hand all the unsolicited and often alarming advice I was given. I did it my way, and it worked perfectly well.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Sacred Slaughter
They were born, as are we all,with tender flesh but notof tender hearts. Primitive savagerywas their inheritance, and it wasdeliberately installed securewithin their tribal psychesas a grim memorial to the past;distant but never beyond memory.Bitter rage and biting hatredof those not of their superior clanwas carefully instilled as theyoutgrew infancy to attain thematurity of tribal justice andthe assurance that The Prophet(may peace and blessings be upon him)approved only of their brand of Islam,scorning all others. That scorchedcore of their hearts became the stoneof heartlessness enabling thepitiless slaughter of the feeble,pregnant women, the aged and thetender under-aged, silt upon the Earth,better destroyed than to degradeIslam with their sectarian impurities,those miserable apostates, thosescum on the glorious face of Islam.Horror to the compassionateonlooker, the kuffar and infidels;a blessed duty of those enjoinedto jihad and sacred martyrdom.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Essential Rites of Spring
Serenely possessed, the woods
are now, frenzy of early spring
concluded. Under a cerulean sky
gentle breezes riffle the bright green
canopy. Birds that whirled the
atmosphere with their punctual
arrival, now nesting. The spring
flowering succession is well
underway. Hawthorne blooms,
Serviceberry and honeysuckle
have faded with the entrance
of cherry and dogwood. Gone
the woodland and dogtooth violets,
the trilliums and foamflower,
replaced by Jack-in-the-Pulpit,
blue-eyed grass, buttercups, phlox
and columbine. Butterflies,
beetles, bees and dragonflies
leave their courtesy signatures
on this day's bright essence.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Risky
AdVentureBut, then, nothing ventured,nothing gained as the oldadage contesting thecaution-afflicted in agenial chide would have it.Those who rise to the challengenever quite see the impliedand very real dangers posinga problem for themselvesfor they are possessed ofall the athletic elementsof strength and endurancerequired for success intheir venture to ascendchallenging heights and meetweather extremes. Thatconfrontation between cautionand fearful opposition isnot one they need strugglewith, their confidence in selfis supreme. And they willtake the risk to achieve theirpersonal triumph. Relieved tohave completed the impossiblemade possible, they speak ofthose whom fate and fortitudefailed, left to perish, theirfrozen bodies ever memorializedin their vain efforts tosummit and to survive.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Social Niceties
What's that? asked the young girlof her grandmother. Deportment,
my dear, it is a matter of acquiring
good motor skills, standing tall,
straight and proud, coupled
with a grounding in the social graces,
called etiquette, to ensure a
young woman is aware and capable of
comporting herself competently
and with graceful assurance.
It is why families of good breeding
and social standing sent their
daughters off to special schools,
to gain those skills, much admired
and expected through exposure to
finishing schools abroad. Polite
society demanded it from that
social class. Without it, there
could be no grand coming-out
parties, no debutante seasonal balls,
introducing marriageable young
men and women to one another.
Oh, said she, how elaborately artificial
life must have been back in the day.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Button, after a swim in a Gatineau Hills lake |
Missing Her
Life and living is inconstant flux as we move onfrom loss, somehow dealingwith the anguish and miseryof an absence in our lives,a poignant void thatrefuses to be absorbed intoregrettable experience. Welaugh with joy and affectionat the anxious antics andunalloyed, frantic curiosityof a neighbour's new puppy,while later a mourning veilof depression brings back theimmediacy of a silence whereshe once was, a sweet and gentlereproach as guilt suffuses usat memory of our vanishedcompanion. That old age,infirmity and loss of physicalsustainability from failed organswas the means; the methodyet too cruel to bear.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
The Absolute of Fewer Tomorrows
How disconcertingly peculiarit is to confront that visage,like someone's cruel caricature,my likeness in a mirror,only there is nothing to likeand surely its distortionis very much unlike howI appear to those viewing me.But there it is, looking backat me, never failing to takeme by surprise, alarming meby the passage of time thathas so inevitably altered mysenses, but surely not mysingular appearance to so greata degree of visual discomfiture?Ah, there, problem solvedas correctional lenses filtermy gaze to record accuracy, andthere it is: verisimilitude.Yet I am no more comfortedthan a child sobbing terrorof the fearful unknown awakingfrom a nightmare. Might itbe the child in me, having somehowforeseen the abyss of agesurrendering to death...?Having secreted it in somedark, hidden passage from whenceit has been suddenly resurrectedin the looming gloweringabsence of tomorrow...?
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Jack-in-the-Pulpit
There's a mystical, magicalsecret place in my gardenwhere an ardent believerreturns unerringly yearupon following yearto express his faithin the enduring certaintyof nature's irrepressiblecommitment to thrivinglife. While all is barren,bereft of the symbols ofrebirth, expectation hangson the very air all breathe,and then, suddenly heappears, to convince usthat yet again and intothe eternity of the futurewhile time erodes the present,there exists sound reasonto remain alert to the promisefor fortune's elder sisternature, deems it so.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Exclusive Clientele
As much as we ourselvesadmire and are thankful fora gorgeous weather day, it isevident that the forest denizensare similarly besotted with the day.They greet us with heart-warmingenthusiasm, large black crowhot on our trail, securing forhimself one of the cached peanuts,crushing it open, eating theprizes, making way for a redsquirrel, indignant that he haspre-empted her entitlement.We are confronted soon bytail-swivelling black squirrelsaware of what we carry todispense, challenging us to remitthem directly, and we oblige. Theytake possession, to rotate thepeanuts in their grasping little paws,trustingly turn their back to us,happy with the transaction andbusy themselves with theconsuming business that ensues.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Camera, Action!
Because, famously, chancefavours the prepared, I agreedwith myself that this was asgood a day as any; breezy, mild,sky cloud-bedecked with anoccasional glare of a disgruntledsun, to take along my little digitaleye. Almost resigned to themisfortune of missing that elusiveblue-eyed grass, I hoped for otherexciting flora or fauna to oblige.But those great birds of thewoodland forest seem to delightin foiling me. I know this to be so,as one haunts me with a taunting"Hoo" do I think I am, and theother, flighting brilliantly beyondmy camera maniacally chortlesin high-pitched delight at hisclever feints and passages.High above, fleetingly enteringmy vision the Pileated settlesall too briefly on what's left of amoribund, well-cratered poplar trunkhis red-crested head aglow, thenexits as I focus a split nano-secondtoo late. As I worked in my gardenthe Great Grey's call reverberatedfrom the woods giving me hope.Today might be the day, whoknows, that I might capture itsimage to wonder at and treasure.Even a peek below the leafage ofa ginger plant to espie and pictureits retiring little flower, would do.Instead, camera at the ready,there was Mr. Grey's tease, along plume of a brown-stripedfeather, mocking my feeble intent.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
The Gardening Bug
What's the big hurry, youask, why the panic, sincethere's always tomorrow,lots of them, no need tobusy yourself at breakneckspeed to get it all donein one fell swoop. Ah, yes,true enough, but onlysomeone not infused with agardener's passion wouldutter these comments. For,you see, reasonableness hasnothing whatever to do withthe irresistibility of gardening.No panic, you see, noneat all. But the exhilaration offinally nature and climatewilling to indulge, oh yes,indulge in the joy of flirtingwith the process wherebynature herself, and only herself,creates spontaneously,effortlessly, wonderfully.Gardeners are mere pretenders,dilettantes, hopeful aspirants,but what fun, what challenges,what exquisite rewards!
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Funny, You Think!
That's one wicked sense ofhumour; friend texting"Where are you?!", whileshe frantically searches theschool perimeter for the bususually parked there, now absent.That message should havealerted her to said friend'sinvolvement in skulduggerygeared to goad her to panic.A friend previously confidedin, aware of how traumatic andisolating she felt about being leftbehind, a remnant of a dim memoryof years before when she wasindeed lost as a toddler. As shesearched the bus interiors for cluesheads slumped out of view. Theidentifying number the driverwrote on a taped paper, removedthoughtfully by this friend.Grandmother listened and wasdeeply empathetic to thedaughter of her daughter, forsome arcane reason inheritinga neurosis she thought was allher own, and she recounted theways, even now, how nightmareshaunt her sleeping hours, as sheroams unfamiliar streets, invain seeking the comfortof familiarity and home.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Matriarch Supreme
A gift from Mother Nature,this exceedingly finemid-May day, freely offeredto all who value thespirit of life and choosethis day for a pleasant ramblein the re-awakened woods.There, in full living colouris Trillium grandiflorum, atri-cornered white beauty of thespringtime forest. Its shy,painted cousin and brashcrimson counterpart, there too.Admire their beauty but notto overlook Anemone canadensiswith its ivory-buttercup blooms.Look! delicate little strawberryflowers stippling the forest floor.!Wild! Lily-of-the-valley's starrywee florets, and there lovely plumesof Tiarella cordifolia, Linnaeus.Caution! innocent of looks andsincerely attractive puffedfloral heads of Actae rubra(Red Baneberry) Be-ware!Everywhere capturing our gaze,viola canadensis, sweet violets,soft white and purple-mauve.And look, over there, wildcolumbine some call mouse-ears.Bellwort too, and Marsh marigold -cowslip to you. Dandelion makesits statement firm of presence,Coltsfoot more the retiring type.Look up, in the trees, yes,Serviceberry and Hawthorneflowers twirling in the breeze.Best for last, the Petit precheur,Jack-in-the-pulpit, bashfullyhiding its purple-striped glory.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
The Myopic Innocence of Misanthropy
Like an adder, she rears back,then strikes, drawing blood withevery pitiless, pointed barb.With viperous accuracy sheinstinctively seeks the gapsin her victims' psychic armour,leaving them reeling in injureddisbelief at the venom curdlinginto their very marrow. Thesheer malevolence of the attackhas them gasping, unable torespond, other than to withdrawto nurse their injuries in theprivacy of puzzled pain. Andshe later rails at the unjustnessof existence, a life that has lefther with little of emotionalvalue, friendless, wonderingwhy it seems that peopleunaccountably conspire amongthemselves to somehow avoid her.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Expressions of Love
I need no reminder
that I am the mother
of your children, nor
my memory nudged of
all the years that
have passed since
that long-ago time
when we, scarce out
of our own childhoods
knew that our lives
would be spent in this
tandem of companionship
where you smile me into
happiness and transport
me to comfort, by my
side, indefatigable
in your many, varied
expressions of love.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Memories
Those of recent vintageabrade our emotionscarrying us to a darkdeep place of longingand despair. We lurchfrom sorrow to a celebrationof her life with us in themellowed memories of ouradventures our joys in life,she beside us, delvingas deeply as did wein all those experienceslong past and thereinlies our sole comfort.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Abandoned
It is a street like all othersthat structure the urbanlandscape; orderly, solidlymiddle-class, pride inownership evident in thoseneat facades nicely painted,gardens and lawns sprucedfor spring, and the bypassingeye sees nothing remarkableuntil it is arrested by thebleak sight of one home in thecomplacent neighbourlyrow of houses whosewindows are boarded andwhere telltale black singeshave marred the even colourof brick and siding. Thehouse, looking bleak,forlorn, even puzzledat its sheer misfortuneas though grieving for theyesterday when all was normalin its pride of presence,children's voices echoingin the halls, respondingto a mother's call to assemblefor the family meal.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Friends
Each time I espie himmy heart leaps and warms.I so admire his bold spunkinessand intelligence, his curiosityand carefully surmisedconclusion that he wouldhave much to gain by offeringme his friendship. I reciprocatein the only way that a taillesssquirrel might appreciate,greeting him familiarly byname and never without anedible gift. The sound of hisname expressed by my voicecan draw him from withinquite a territorial radius. Heis patient, awaiting the largestpeanut in my sack, leapingconfidently off with it,resembling nothing so muchas a small black rabbit.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Hello Garden
Hello garden, my old friend,nice of you to visit, yetagain. It is true that anounce of bright renewalcan banish a half-year's-worthof pining regret for whatonce gave insouciant impetusto the wondrous glory of life.So glad to see you've survivedanother winter's excess ofunforgiving rancour; the miserableblasts of that season have leftus reeling in dismayed disbelief,relieved now by the benevolenceof spring's balming essence.We bask in warmth, gentle rainand unblinking sun beamingpermission to tender shootsemerging from rich, damp soil.So, hello you tulips and daffodils.Welcome back, clematis, hydrangeahoneysuckle. So good to see you,bergenia, glorious Magnolia!
Friday, May 4, 2012
Without Doubt
Without doubt, things arechanging. This is a lovely day.Gone the incessant rain events,the unseasonable spring flirtationwith that winter reluctant to depart.Finally, the sun is out to drydrenched landscapes whereforsythia, tulips, daffodils anddandelions anxiously vie forattention and acclaim as thefirst of the season, earningour grateful adulation.And you seat yourselfawkwardly in the waiting roomcrowded with people, wonderingexactly what you're doing there,amongst those who are grosslyoverweight and pitifully underweight,bent crooked, stumbling, unwillingto meet the eye of a stranger. Youwonder why it was you dressed toward off cool, damp weatherand now feel constricted, hot.Names are called and thosewaiting respond, tottering tothe inner offices, their facespeaked, lined, pale, concerned.You return to your book, the oneyou read only in such places, atedious novel to match a tediousprocess. And that is why you arethere, the process today includeselectrodes and a weekend-wornheart monitor. Your doctorexhibits rather peculiar whimsies.
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