Monday 26 December 2022
Wednesday 23 November 2022
I'm holding tight & letting go
"I'm holding tight & letting go" are words from a poem in my last book, Collages & Letter Poems.
Today, this week, these months and these last few years slip silently into these words.
Screaming in the silence.
Every morning I listen to the news on CBC radio, often listening to NPR for a few minutes as well, to follow what our neighbour to the South is talking about.
But today I again turned off the radio before the newscast was over.
Too much pain.
Too many shootings of people in public places.
Too many missiles raining down on civilians, destroying cities and tearing families apart.
Too much conflict that I have no control of.
Even when I turn off my radio so as not to hear about the famine, floods and murders, still they happen.
My heart hurts.
And now, some medical experts are "worrying about a potential “tripledemic.” yalemedicine.org writes that "There’s no scientific definition for this term; it simply refers to a collision of RSV (respiratory syncytial virus), flu, and COVID-19 to the extent that it might overwhelm hospital emergency departments. "
I remember many, many years ago fighting for abortion rights in Canada. Supporting CARAL in its fight to allow abortions without the approval of a hospital Therapeutic Abortion Committee.
And abortion laws were changed.
When I was at college in Boston, I marched supporting integration in the schools. And our efforts led to some changes.
Now injustices around the world seem out of reach.
I donated to the Red Cross and wear a sunflower pin to indicate my support of Ukraine, but nothing changes in this brutal and destructive war.
My support of climate action doesn't make crops grow on parched soil today or tomorrow.
So, I am doing what I can locally.
I am a member of Avodah, the social action group at Congregation Emanu-El in Victoria, and we are active in supporting local organizations and schools. "Briefly, we presently are engaged in an ambitious and broad-ranging set of initiatives to bolster food security, to address housing challenges, and to promote health and well-being among youth"**
And, with this work, we can actually see the benefits.
Avodah has supported a local school for 2 years, helping to fund "good food boxes" which delivers fresh fruit and vegetables monthly to 3 families in a low-income area of the city. Foods I buy for my own meals, regardless of rising prices.
Through two local community centres, Avodah is contributing to housing assistance.
We were told that a local family has avoided eviction because of our recent contributions.
While I can't stop the horrid murders in shopping centres in the United States or the destruction of whole cities in Ukraine, I can make a real difference in the Victoria community.
While my heart still hurts, these local opportunities allow my shoulders to relax just a little, and the pain to subside a small amount.
I am actually doing something at a time when I often feel so useless and unable to do anything at all!
If you would like to make a donation to help us continue our commitment and assistance to local organizations please phone Congregation Emanu-El at 250-382-0615 Please indicate it's for Avodah.
*Canadian Association for Repeal of the Abortion Law (CARAL) was a coalition of abortion rights activists, created in 1974, to protest the incarceration of Dr. Henry Morgentaler, who was jailed for providing safe, yet not legalized, abortions in Canada.
** from the high holiday issue of Koleinu, from Congregation Emanu-El
Tuesday 18 October 2022
nowhere
Occasionally something happens that makes me go "WOW!" Something unexpected or simply just perfect.
This occurred today.
I will be giving three art workshops through Quadra Village Community Centre and, in preparation, I've been gathering my supplies together. The classes will introduce groups of women to creating small collages on 2 1/2 x 3 1/2 inch cover stock.
I'm packing two small fruit boxes with pages of various colours and designs that I have torn from magazines over many years. I've also gathered an assortment of cards that I've made, again over the last several years, to give the participants an idea of what's possible.
side of the card. Some of the words I've chosen are: dreams, joy, courage and laughter.
My original intention was to pick one each morning and to hold the word throughout the day.
I've made a few cards with large letters and numbers, mixed with colour, to show the possibility of incorporating text.
Today, when I looked at one of my selected cards, I thought "Oh no!" The cutout word spelled NOWHERE. No Where. This seemed negative which was certainly not my intention! Nor did I want to use it as an example.
As I imagined how I could alter the word, perhaps covering part of the letters, the WOW happened.
NO WHERE shifted and became
.... NOW HERE
From being lost to being fully present in the moment
It's often just how we see things!
Friday 23 September 2022
in my pine desk
My dresser is really an antique pine desk with 4 drawers, or what Wayfair.ca calls a "drop front secretary desk". The drawers hold my clothes and, in the upper part, there is organized clutter.
There is some jewellery tucked into small boxes and a blue travel soap container holding a strand of moonstones. A ziploc bag holds charge cards I seldom use (one from the Bay another for our bank in Sedona) and holds Brian and my records of vaccination.
Behind these cards is a small stack of yarmulkes, some from bar mitzvahs, and a single black one that was my dad's.
There is also a heart-shaped cookie tin with Superman on its lid where an intricately carved ivory necklace and a simple ivory bracelet reside, no longer worn because of the ivories' origin.
My father's watch, unable to be repaired, is there too.
But what I see first when I open this desk is a photograph of me.
It is part of a passport photo. Removing my sister's and mother's images from this photocopy, I had used this single picture of me in a tiny collage,
I look perhaps 5 years old, wearing a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar and bangs cut in the manner popular then, and never seen today.
The passport allowed us to travel to Tucson, Az where my mum and I spent one or two months for me to get relief from my asthma.
Memories of that time exist solely through photographs of me in jodhpurs sitting atop a horse named Jigger and a now-missing image of me with braids tied with beautiful ribbons, standing in front of a Christmas tree at the nearby clubhouse.
Yesterday, when I told a friend of the strong attachment I felt to this photograph of my young self, she asked me what I was like then. Was I quiet? Shy? Outgoing?
I said that I didn't know but that I remember my dad telling me that sometime during my time in the desert, I had started lying "rigid as a board" (his words) refusing to let my mother help me to dress.
So I conclude that I was already strong-willed and stubborn!
But my attachment to the photograph rests less with who I was and more with the not knowing.
I think of that little girl just beginning her journey, not looking to her past or imagining her future.
Unaware of the challenges and joys and disappointments that lay ahead.
Unaware too of the choices she would make.
I am proud of her!
Wednesday 27 July 2022
generosity
time sits heavy
with my arm held tight
and
the garden knows i can only look
and
wish the weeds to disappear
i sneak between the plants when no one is looking
and
pull a few
the ones with shallow roots
and
friends have been generous
bringing food
from their kitchens
and
a big box of chocolates
to help with the healing
of a humerus* fracture
with my arm held tight
and
the garden knows i can only look
and
wish the weeds to disappear
i sneak between the plants when no one is looking
and
pull a few
the ones with shallow roots
and
friends have been generous
bringing food
from their kitchens
and
a big box of chocolates
to help with the healing
of a humerus* fracture
shaped like an L
*the large bone in the upper arm
.................................................
below are some recipes for the meals wonderful friends cooked for us
moroccan spiced chick pea salad
3 cans chickpeas, rinsed and dried
1/2 cup red onion, diced
1/3 cup red pepper, diced
1/2 cup apple, diced
1/2 cup mint, chopped
1/2 cup cilantro, chopped
1 cup dried cranberries
1 lemon, zested and juiced
3 tbs red wine vinegar
1 tbs honey
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp curry powder
2 tsp salt
1 tsp olive oil
mix together in a big bowl
keeps in the fridge for up to 5 days
............and another
organic chicken thighs - bone in skin on - olive oil - sweet paprika and salt - bake 1 hour @350
this was so good that i ate a piece standing by the stove, even before it was plated.
no more skinless boneless chicken thighs for me!
........................................................
another friend made a big pot of chicken soup, based on the recipe for 'homemade chicken stock' from barefootcontessa.com. with quantities and ingredients adjusted
the addition of dill added a subtle flavour and i will add some in my next batch
...................................................
when i asked the chef for the recipe for her paprika chicken and olive orzo dish, i received this response 'with regards to the recipe i don't actually have one. i made it up as i went along-memories of previous meals.' she then added 'i'm relieved it worked out.' me too!
..............and another
the delicious meal we were gifted didn't have asparagus or spinach
the lemon stole the show!
.................................................
2 friends adapted a chili recipe from the moosewood cookbook. they said that they reduce or eliminate the bulgur, ' then use whatever vegetables we have. Always red/yellow/orange peppers. Always the lemon and we put cheese on when we eat it.'
they said 'we think it’s because of the spices they use that we keep using that recipe. But it’s always slightly different each time. '
with huge gratitude
i'm still in the immobilizer holding my shoulder and arm close to my body, so again i'm typing with only one hand- so no capital letters or proper punctuation that needs 2
Saturday 9 July 2022
thank you e.e.cummings
okay. here goes
I'm going to try and write a blog using only my right hand, so no capital letters, question marks or other keyboard clicks that need my left hand as well.
please insert them yourselves.
the reason for my single handedness is because of a fall i had monday morning at about 6 00 am
starting to make my bed, i stubbed my toe on at the metal corner of its frame, recoiling so dramatically from the pain that i lost my balance, landing hard and flat upon my left shoulder.
i knew i had broken something.
somehow, i managed to go upstairs to wake brian, shaking his arm and indicating with sign language that he needed to put in his hearing aid and that he had to get up and take me to emergency for x-rays, right away
and
all the while, cradling my left arm tight against by body.
once inside the emergency entrance of the royal jubilee, i was told to use sanitizer before checking in. near tears, i said i couldn't. she pointed to brian, asking him to help me, but quickly realized that even that wouldn't work
and
she motioned for me to come forward.
after showing her my care card, i was told to take a seat in the room to my left. i felt optimistic as there were only 2 other people seated there.
i was to learn that this was just room one
i'm not going to continue with the hospital saga because that's really not what this blog is about.
it is rather about how this painful proximal humerus fracture* has suddenly changed my day to day life
and
how alongside this pain there has been connection.
to set the scene, i am in a immobilizer that holds my shoulder and arm tight against my body, a cloth substitute for a cast, which would be impossible for the injured area. it's a bit like a tight sling.
the doctor told me i'd be 'dressed' this way 24/7 for 5-7 weeks, only removing it to shower or bathe.
and
i've been wearing the same tee shirt since monday morning.
i'm writing these words and sentences to help me move forward while sitting very still.
i'll start with sleep
and
the necessity that i sit up for this essential segment of my life.
yes, to sit up throughout the night ...exclamation mark...
my daughter, hilary, ordered a wedge-shaped foam for me to lean against
and
i moved one of our couch's large pillows onto my bed to try out as well.
pills -coffee- -breakfast -toilet paper -zara -her food and socks - each present their unique challenges.
jar lids are either off all together or loosened or, like this morning, brought upstairs to a sleeping husband to unscrew.
last night i was in tears when i saw how only 4 days of neglect had impacted my garden.
tall plants leaning over, crowding their neighbours and the path, peonies not dead-headed, weeds on the march
and
precious potted plants dry and struggling.
and
my art.
scissors, glue sticks and a table covered with uneven layers of special papers and cut-out letters are now hidden under wraps. the small collaged blessing cards i had been creating still remain between heavy books to keep them flat.
and
week-day fast-paced walks with my dear friend s, are cancelled. walks when we talk about our lives, present and past, and make-up stories about our futures, gradually becoming trusted guardians of each others deep and complicated selves.
on tuesday, without looking, i pulled one small card from a beautiful antique butter bowl which is in our hallway. in this collection, each card has a single word written on one side
and
they originate from findhorne, a foundation of 'transformative learning experiences' in scotland.
the word i drew was 'communication'
and
that is what has been happening.
friends reaching out and asking what we need
bringing delicious food
and
my wonderful neighbor twice washing my hair
and her partner getting out of bed one night to figure out how to reassemble the immobilizer we had removed to cut away a scratchy label
and
a busy friend i hadn't seen in over 2 months has spent time with me twice this week
and
another drifting friendship has become reconnected over the promise of a pot of soup
and
both my wonderful daughters have phoned me every day.
accepting what is being offered to me with love has been a humbling experience.
maybe i can step away from being invincible
and
just be me
*a fracture occurring close to the shoulder joint
Saturday 4 June 2022
"We are our choices"
Although Jean Paul Sartre has been accredited as saying "We are our choices", as far as I can tell the only person who said that was Dumbledore.
"It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."
These words have surfaced again and again these last several months, insisting that I pay closer attention.
They seem to hold both purpose and power, leading me to review the choices I have made on my journey in this lifetime.
Dating a popular boy at aged 16, feeling lucky that I had been chosen.
Marrying this young man at 20 and moving to Vancouver, far away from my Montreal family.
Divorcing as I turned 30 and caring for my two very young daughters, aged three and five.
And then, the following year, opening an antique store with my friend Nora.
WHAT?@!
Neither of us had any experience running a business, so there was a steep learning curve, although, truthfully, it was the buying trips that sustained our excitement.
Four years later, I swerved again, as I made choices that were to change the trajectory of my young life.
I moved to Duncan, on Vancouver Island, purchasing 30 acres of forest land on the Cowichan River.
WHAT!?@!
Our home, hidden in the forest
While renting a house in town, I worked to prepare a large garden on our new property, while the construction of the house I had designed hadn't yet begun.
An experience I had at this time still makes me both laugh and shudder.
As I worked alone on this isolated piece of land, mixing manure into the soil, I heard a huge roar and two burly guys pulled to a stop near me on their motorcycles.
I was young and blonde and wearing a bikini top and cut-off jeans.
Without thinking, I raised my arms and my voice telling them to leave as this was private property!!
And they did. VROOM!
It was after they had disappeared down our half-mile gravel driveway that I began to shake.
Six weeks after moving into our new home with my daughters, then aged 9 and 11, I met Brian, now my husband of 41 years.
Several months later Brian and I went to the immigration office in Nanaimo so that he could renew his visitor visa.
It was then that we found that it could not be renewed and that Brian would need to return to his home in Britain.
I kinda proposed to him at the immigration office and we were given three months to get married!
Another choice.
Gardening, painting, canning and home-brewing filled the hours that I wasn't cooking or caring for my kids.
Gumboots were my footwear and life was good.
My dad visited many times, working in the garden and often sitting on a large tree stump smoking, while overlooking the Cowichan River
dad in our herb garden
On one of these visits he told me that he and my mum had assumed that I would return to Montreal
after my divorce.
WHAT!?@!
It had never occurred to me. I hadn't lived "at home" since I had gone to college in Boston, just as I turned 17.
My life's choices had guided me to other vistas and to other areas of exploration and discovery.
How very different my life would have been, back in Montreal, within the radius of my sister and parents.
Expectations. Conformity. Comparisons and norms.
Instead, my choices have guided me to live the fulfilling life I have now.
A home surrounded by enough space to grow a beautiful garden.
A working studio and gallery planned and built during our first year in Victoria.
The ocean 21/2 blocks away.
A salute to Dumbledore!
a painting by Brian showing the camas meadow on our Cowichan Valley property
another painting by Brian of the fawn lilies, also on our property
The system to leave messages on this site is fragile at best, so please email or leave me a message on Facebook
Monday 7 March 2022
good enough
I seem to be more introspective than usual. Reflective, pensive and whatever other words indicate looking inward in a contemplative way.
Maybe I'm just noticing my emotions even more clearly during this time of Covid and of Russia's war to eliminate Ukraine.
Maybe it's because I have a venue to share my thoughts through this blog.
Whatever!
As I've written on Facebook, I have had a book of my Letter Poems printed. Forty copies, which I believe is a real show of bravery.
Poems are still making themselves known to me...my job is simply to paste down the letters.
In these new poems the letters are not bold and colourful, but rather smaller black letters cut from magazines and their background colours are muted shades of cream. I have found out that to scan these more subtle poems, a more sophisticated scanning process is necessary, and involves an increased cost per page.
Upon learning this, I have gone into a spiral of doubt. "This is too expensive." "I can't justify paying this much per book."
Read.."..my work is not worthy of these prices." "The poems aren't good enough to spend this amount of money on them." "Maybe people bought my Letter Poems book simply because they are my friends".
Finally, I saw the absurdness of my story-line: the fact that I've generously donated money to organizations and family members and yet couldn't support my own self in this very tiny way!
It wasn't the small monetary increase that was the issue...it was my worthiness.
And then two things happened on Saturday that were integrally connected to my circling around worthiness.
I went to Cobbs to buy cinnamon buns to bring to a friend's place later in the morning. The woman serving me, while shifting the position of her mask, told me she was so very tired of "all of this". A conversation followed as I told her that I too was struggling and found this was the hardest time since the beginning of restrictions. Also, that friends of mine found this too.
As I prepared to leave, she asked if I liked blueberries. When I answered that I did, she slipped a blueberry scone into a little bag and handed it to me.
Later that day I went to Canadian Tire to buy some plastic containers to hold my millions of cut-out letters.
As if by magic, a sales person there began talking to me. She said that she has a friend in Kyiv and that she was very worried about her. She continued that the woman's husband was very ill so that they couldn't possibly drive out of the city. She talked about how they were texting and that these messages were a way to hang on to each other.
Before returning to work, she thanked me for listening and for caring.
I saw that I was valued by these two women and that it was past time for me to realize my own worth.
By the way, I am continuing to write and create collages for my next book!
Saturday 29 January 2022
our inside selves
A few days ago I visited with an artist-friend in our studio. My newly made Seville marmalade was the excuse for our meeting and partnered with her freshly baked scones, we settled into conversation.
I had shared some of my Letter Poems with her through email, and I showed her another, pulled from the drawer. It was one I knew well, so I recited it to her rather than reading it.
She immediately said that she wanted to video me, standing against the white wall behind us, reciting the poem. My reaction was loud and clear...."absolutely not!" The suggestion ignited terror in me.
She responded that she was completely surprised by my reaction as she sees me as a person "out there" and "so self-confident".
Other people have said something similar. It's what they see. It's not how I usually see myself.
I often come back to something a therapist shared with me, perhaps 30 years ago:
"We compare our inside selves to other people's outside selves."
I think that my friend was comparing her vulnerable inside self to my outside self. Meanwhile, I see her as an artist, not only of creative excellence, but also of great confidence.
Later in the day, while speaking to a friend, I spoke of a memory I had from my early days in Duncan. At that time, I had immersed myself in painting: I was free and having a wonderful time.
An artist friend invited Brian and me to her studio where she had a show of perhaps 40 portraits painted on small metal panels. We took our time looking at her work, and chose one to buy.
My perception was that she was extremely confident in her work to exhibit such a large number of paintings.
What that meant to me was that she was super confident!
I was comparing my inside self to her outside self.
I am preparing to have books of my Letter Poems printed, perhaps as early as this week.
HOW BRAVE!
Yes, that my be true, however that does not stop me from trash talking to myself!
"What am I thinking?!" "Who will want to buy one?!" "I think I should reduce the number of copies Island Blue is printing!"
These negative thoughts are then added to my criticizing the poems I've selected to have printed.
So, while people see my bravery and confidence, they don't see the inner torment I'm facing, the "not good enough" cloud resting on my shoulders.
Writing this, I see that my vulnerability is part of who I am. This emotional exposure and uncertainty makes me easily hurt, however it moves me forward. It allows me to risk, trying new things
Monday 3 January 2022
my dear friend
"Will I ever read this book?" I ask myself. And the question, "Will I reread this book?" follows in quick succession.
A pile of "No I won't" balances precariously on an Ikea black stool in our den.
I see a piece of paper tucked between the "30 Minute Seder" haggadah and The Diary of Anne Frank.
As I begin to read, I see it is a letter I wrote several years ago after my dear friend Jean died.
Today, as my blog entry, I will transcribe this note, just as I wrote it.
It is an honouring of Jean.
"dear source. I am needing your comfort right now as I feel compressed- holding myself too close- I wish to understand where to find comfort for the sadness I am feeling with the loss of my dear friend Jean and the sadness I feel that I will not be able to walk around the neighbourhood with her and notice the trees' cones and the flowers, with falling seeds to put into our pockets. Who will miss me, I wonder- and where is Jean now? I believe she must be somewhere, floating around making shadows on my studio wall- beside me as I tidy my garden. Oh, the source of all- where do people go when they die? Where will I go? Who will hold my shadow in their arms, as I hold Jean's.
Jean is with you- though in a different manner than before. Your parents are also beside you always. In the sun's rays, in the clouds' forms and in the dancing shadows on your studio walls."
May her memory be a blessing.
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