Baby Pictures!

How do you make a baby smile?  The things we are willing to get down and do is actually pretty awesome!  Suddenly, the makeup, hair and clothes are totally not an issue.  It’s all in the face and body language – and the number of ways that you can express yourself in ‘goo goo’ talk!  Our eyes are never brighter or wider; our smile is never more honest or engaging; and our play-acting is downright inspiring!  Did I mention that there is no better workout – for the heart, the body, or the soul?  There is also no way that you can fail the language exam!  If fact, the more mistakes you make, and the sillier your sounds become, the higher your reaction score gets!  It’s too bad that we can’t put our cameras in the hands of babies.  What amazing pictures they would take.  They are experts in bringing out the best in us.  We would all be surprised at the way that our love and laughter transforms our faces!  Suddenly, there is that little child again – shining through our wrinkles and crinkles – smiling and laughing, unaware of the depth of beauty that the baby saw. 

Next event: 36th Annual Artisan't Show & Sale - Prescott, ON

NOV. 16^th -  9:00a.m. to 4:00 p.m.  -   36^th Annual Arts & Crafts Show & Sale

      South Grenville District High School – 1000 Edward St. N., Prescott, ON

225 tables – Free parking – Free babysitting – lots of door prizes – canteens

Should be an amazing sale – I’ll be there with my books and artwork.

This event and so many other similar ones give us a glimpse of the amazing pool of talent that exists in our communities.  It is a chance for all of us artists and artisans to offer to the world our best works.  It is not just an opportunity to gain financial reward for our efforts, but it is also a chance to dip into that precious pool of encouragement and compliments that comes from those viewing our works.  Hats off to all of the vendors!

Next Stop: 'Zoomerland'!

Next stop: ‘Zoomerland’!

I’m taking a good look at what happened during my trip through ‘Boomerland’ - that magical place where this life of mine was planted, filled with beautiful, powerful, and sometimes frightening ‘booms’ that have challenged me to accept who I am.  When I wake up each morning, (after I take a few deep breaths and coax my eyes into staying open this time for sure!) it is with the realization that I am a very small piece of a very complicated puzzle.  I offer up a prayer that whatever I am and can do, will help to make this world a better place, and I ask for help in overcoming whatever fears keep me from doing that.

 I step out of bed, hit my toe on a table, and boom! all of that positive vibe has moved aside to make way for a false set of priorities, carried in by my unwanted shadow, the worry bug: ‘Oh Lord, I need to vacuum the house, clean the windows, dust the piano and cover it back up again (We’re still in house painting mode), rake the leaves, and paint something!’  My heart tries to break into the conversation: “Ahem, perhaps you could go for a walk, do some writing, work on your next book, try some sketching, practice your guitar or jump into those leaves!?”  These are all things that might distract the worry bug and get him to lighten up - He’s such a serious fellow!

In the end, we are who we are, with all of our unique imperfections, but also with the immense potential that resides within us, waiting to be asked to come forward.  We are largely unknown to ourselves; the face that we see in the mirror each morning hides behind it someone unique that wants to meet us and be included in our day.  What do we do?   Cover it up with makeup of various kinds, and give it nasty looks as we ignore its hopeful gaze, and try to form it into some version of ourselves that we think is expected or will be accepted by the world out there. 

Perhaps this next trip into ‘Zoomerland’ will allow us to relax and grow in charming ways - like a weathered barn, a fragile little shed, or a mature graceful tree - more beautiful with age.  In my third children’s book “How To Stretch A Puddle”,  I included a poem called “The Mighty Little” and it asks the question:  ‘How could something once so small become a tree so big and tall; It looked around just glad to be, It didn’t know it was a tree.”   Never underestimate your inner strength, your potential or your Zoom!  

The Treasure Seekers!

The Treasure Seekers!

I’m starting to wonder if there may have been pirates skulking around the branches of our family tree at some point.  That might account for the fact that I’m such an avid ‘treasure seeker’!   I passed three garage sales yesterday and I was barely able to hold the car on the road.  I don’t go looking for anything practical at such places – It’s the obscure little gems among the obscure little treasure chests that I love to uncover, items that no one else but me, with my super keen eye, might notice.

The treasure hunt doesn’t end at garage sales: Strawberry season is upon us, and my first taste of those luscious red fruits took me back to old Padgeberry Farm and the fun times I used to have scanning the ground amongst the tall grass in the untilled part of the farm.  These little mini hunts led to a peaceful refuge, a Shangri-La – a place where bluegrass, daisies, buttercups, sorrel and yes! - wild strawberries were in abundance.  I joined my children and became a little kid again as we dropped down on our knees and filled our hands and mouths with those tiny delicious treasures, our chins dripping the tangy red juice.

Here in our new abode, I have discovered my very own patch once again, at the side of the property.  Shiver me timbers!  There they lie, just waiting for a little more sun before coming into fruiting. Next to those wee ones is another treasure chest: our mulberry tree, and there we are:  myself, a hundred or so hungry birds and the extended squirrel family – a line-up of treasure seekers just waiting for the ‘ripe’ moment.  Avast ye lubbers - Let the race begin! 

Of course the real treasure is not the prize itself or even the finding of it – It’s the joy you feel when you are sure that you are going to find something exquisite – I think they call that hope!

On that delightful and more realistic note, there is the promise of new hope about to be gifted to our family in the form of a baby granddaughter, ‘Brenna”  - a true wonder that this treasure-seeking Nan can’t wait to meet!

Thanks For The Dreams Dad!

Thank You For The Dreams Dad!

My childhood world had defined me as being little and nice, quiet and smiling.  I didn’t really mind this description, but it provided two options: to use my ‘littleness’ to make a difference, or to abuse it by letting it excuse me from challenges.

Life moves along quickly, and once the ride begins, it insists on leading and picks up speed  - heading to destinations unknown! 

  In 1965, at 17 yrs. of age, I set off on a neat detour - I got my first guitar, and with my father’s tutoring, I learned to play the basic chords and to keep a beat with my strumming.  My first inkling that the world might not have me totally figured out was when I sat down beside my father with my guitar in hand.  It was my father’s exclamation:   “I’ve been waiting for this for so long!” – that touched my heart, and printed a wonderful indelible tattoo on it.  Dad had kick-started a dream.  Suddenly, I had been given the key to a new door in my life – I had been invited into the music club!   I count as some of my favourite memories, sitting and playing along with him, and contributing to our family sing-a-longs.  Another is of standing on his shoes and gliding around the living room on the strains of a waltz.   

 Over the years, I began to realize that my heart had a whole storage bin full of dreams - intriguing side roads that beckoned to me to ‘come on and explore!’  Musical rhythms began to fill my head more and more, and those playful characters invited words to jump in and define them.  That was when I began to write poetry.  While listening to beautiful pieces of music, recalling nostalgic scenes, watching children play, or many times, lately, just trying desperately to stay asleep at three in the morning, I will feel my heart calling out to my hands:  ‘Write this down!”  - NOW! 

The world will tell you many things about yourself – some true, and some not, and while it takes courage to follow the voice of your dreams, it is ultimately where you find true fulfillment.

Life is a highway

Crossing mountains and streams

But it’s often the detours

That lead to our dreams!

Thank you Dad for believing in me and handing me the keys to the ‘dream mobile’! 

A Great Big Warm 'Boot To The Head'!

A Great Big Warm ‘Boot To The Head’!

We could all use one, every once in awhile!  Listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter singing ‘Grow Old Along With Me’ and along came that big fuzzy boot – knocking me on the side of the head and giving my heart a good kick in the process.   It’s amazing what music can do: jolt you back to exact times and places, and bring the people that you love into sharper focus.  My memory, not great at the best of times, (and don’t get me started on names!) is somehow given turbo boost when music is playing.  So many beautiful lives and events come in and out of focus, like precious flowering herbs – balms that have been there to feed and heal my life.

As we get further from our starting point, the map becomes very complicated – and in my case, fuzzy - and we forget where we started out, where we stood when that seed of love was planted in us, encasing a child’s hopeful faith that everything would be bright and beautiful.  It was planted in each of us, and left in our care to nurture and protect – and to fall absolutely in love with.

Lately, my mind is pulling on its own boots, kicking up a fuss and telling me that I’d better add some colour to this grey matter - fast!  Just when I think I have figured out some of the big issues, my spirit gives a big sigh, picks up one of those boots and whack!  ‘Sorry, you have landed on a snake and have to go back and try again to figure life out.’  So, I pick up my humility card and start out afresh with my little bag of hope in tow, picking up new perspectives, new colours for my garden.

That original plant is still calling out as well and patiently waiting for me to stop covering my head, and to notice the ‘with love’ salutations that accompany the boots.

‘Don’t worry about those weeds’, it is saying – ‘just pour on the nourishment!’

Though the road may bring twists, turns, sorrows and challenges, love, wearing its great big fuzzy boots, is ready to take on all challengers.  

“Don’t be afraid of the odd kick, and don’t worry – I am custom-sized just for you – Stay with me - ‘The best is yet to be’.”

Walk With Me - Fly For Me!

Walk With Me - Fly For Me!

As I walked, or should I say flew, down Sophia Street towards the river yesterday afternoon, the sun was shining brilliantly, and the wind was flexing its powerful muscles as it literally pushed and pulled me along.  A seagull, also heading towards that magnetic river, was flying along at a standstill, just above my head.  Not to be outdone, I lifted my arms and leaned into the wind, letting it fill the sleeves of my red windbreaker – an interesting name for the little red jacket that I was inviting that wind into!  I could hear my seagull pal’s high-pitched  ‘Cree edie’ cheering me on!

As I continued my walk, up on my tiptoes, arms outstretched, I felt exhilarated. The little child in me jumped up and cried out once more:  ‘Red Rover, Red Rover, I call Edie over!’ A few of the neighbours that I passed laughed and waved me on - encouragingly?  That only added to my fun; it was amazing what uplifting (literally) ripples that gusty warm wind was making as I tried to break through its arms!

Then, thoughts of my mom, laying in the Care Centre came into my heart and mind – I wished that I could invite her to come along with me on one more walk; let her feel those wonderful healing gusts of fresh air.  Mom is traveling towards her own magnetic river but her journey is a very different one: Her arms cannot lift to catch soft breezes; she is walking that difficult path that we all must eventually take, and she is doing it with graceful submission to powerful headwinds that are pinning her down.

As I let the wind continue to fill my hair, my lungs, and my jacket, I felt all of my tensions and sad thoughts just up and take flight.  At some point, a mighty wind will fill Mom’s being and lift her towards a landscape of light, with its own sparkling river, and she will answer the voice of the beautiful little child within her, who is calling out: Red Rover, Red Rover, I call Dolores over!

In the meantime, I will continue my own journey; hopefully with some inherited grace, and with a few pointers from Jonathan Livingston Seagull!     

If I Were Twenty Years Younger!

If I Were Twenty Years Younger!

Wait a minute!   I am twenty years younger - than I’ll be in twenty years!  And what was I doing twenty years ago that I can’t do today?  At 44 years of age, I was the mother of three beautiful, active teenagers, was into extreme gardening (about 3 acres worth!), was helping to raise and sell chickens and turkeys, had an active social life which included being part of an amateur theatre company with a group of wonderful friends; was involved in church activities, and danced with my husband at many weddings and parties.  I was even able to work in some artistic endeavors in between the above.  It was a hectic life, but ultimately, very rewarding – Ok, I’m losing my own argument here. 

Fast forward to today:  I am now walking and going to exercise classes to replace the gardening lifestyle, so that I can continue the dance, and I have moved on to planting seeds of a different sort – poetry and artwork that I hope will inspire hope and warm smiles for this world so much in need of those ‘plants’.

I have definitely slowed my pace, but I am still learning new steps:

One of my New Year’s resolutions was to begin playing my guitar again – It was my dad’s guitar, and every time I pick it up, it smiles back at me, adorned with its colourful stickers - shamrocks and musical notes.  I find myself inviting Dad to jump in and to use my fingers to have one more go at it.  At this point, I wonder if he is the one with the time advantage – living past the veil where time has a completely different role, enabling him to contribute to the pattern of life in unknown and amazing ways.

I figure, in another twenty years or so, I will be able to play well enough to join him in one more duet, and I’ll wonder why I ever worried so much about ageing.  Time is a wondrous journey, and our steps in time should leave sparkling gems for others to enjoy, twenty years down the road and beyond.  Onwards!

Where The Wind Blows!

Where The Wind Blows!

I just had a wind-blown epiphany!  I figure that today, the fourth day of Spring, will be a great day to do it:  open my window, grab my worries by the scruff of the neck and toss them out as hard as I can!  Some of the ones I’d been holding onto were gaining weight to the point that they were getting awfully hard to lift - I had to drag them kicking and screaming across my mind.  There!  I shall welcome in the new season of growth with some smiling seedlings of relief and hope. Ahhh…Peace…Ommmm.   In the process of clearing that nasty clutter, I suddenly felt the urge to giggle, and then to laugh – a lot!   Luckily, no one was here to notice – except that wind?  It seemed to suddenly pick up speed as it passed by my window!   Wait, hold on - I feel another purge coming on:  little gusts of guilt are starting to slip back in, bringing their baggage with them – sneaky little seeds of  ‘bad attitude’ – Out they go!

Attitude is like an amazing home that we all are given, to build, renovate, and decorate with whatever colours and inputs we choose.   Filling it up with ill-fitting, imagined fears and old grey grievances is such a waste of a fantastic space, and ultimately, it is within that space that we will live out our lives, and invite others in.  

 The wind is blowing past my window right now, picking up the birdseed and blowing it across the lawn, then picking up the wings of the little birds and giving them a ride – a neat game of let’s catch our dinner on the fly!   Picking up my recycle bin of worries should be a snap for it!   I’ll make sure to put it out every recycle day and to keep my home bright enough to see the colours.  The wind may pick up speed at times; at other times it seems to disappear, but it will always return, stirred by little butterfly wings of hope – Wait for it, and get those recycle bins ready!

Shall I 'Kind Of' Compare Thee

Our daughter suprised her husband with a very special Valentine this morning - a sonnetgram:  Dressed in full formal attire, St. Lawrence Shakespeare Company's Artistic Director, Ian Farthing delivered Shakespeare's Sonnet #18 to our son-in-law while he was at work at the Post Office.  Not to be outdone, I decided to write my own version for my dear husband - my valentine!  I'll be delivering it at dinner tonight:

Shall I ‘Kind Of’ Compare Thee?

You’re kind of special,

Kind of sweet,

Kind of cute,

Kind of neat,

Kind of handsome,

Kind of fine,

Best of all,

You’re very ‘Kind’!

You’d make a perfect

Valentine,

So, would you, kind of, like

Be mine?

My Roof's Got A Hole In It

“My Roof’s Got A Hole In It!

And I might Drown!” These lyrics from a catchy old song called “The Crooked Little Man”, by the Serendipity Singers, were running through my head this morning.  Fortunately, I don’t think we’ll actually drown.  The hole I’m looking at is not in our roof, but in our living room ceiling, and it was self-induced!  It wasn’t a case of just being curious about what was under that neat white painted surface – it was done to discover what was causing the curious star shaped bulge that formed in it and then started to spit drops at us.  I thought perhaps the house was into entertaining us with a balancing act: now that we had the ‘roots in the drain’ problem temporarily solved – it called out: “Oh dear, sorry about this, I held out as long as I could, but look up!”  It seems like, once it let go, it decided to let it all hang out – “You might want to check the ceiling in your bedroom – whoops!”

  I’m now looking out at our newly-built, tightly sealed garage, and wondering where I might fit a bed!   Actually, the news is not all bad – In the process of having to re-surface the offending flat roof on one side of the house, we will go for the full renovation that we were planning to do down the road - including new flooring!  So much for our budget for the foreseeable future.   In trying to be positive, I keep thinking that we’re lucky to have a pretty nice home, despite its problems: It’s been keeping us snug and warm and deserves to be treated to a few treats – like ceilings and plumbing and drains and weather stripping and airtight windows, and…….sorry about that.  My mom would probably have taken  these problems in stride, with her large store of patience - She raised seven children in a very tiny renovated cottage on the banks of the Rideau.  When I come to think of it, I believe that the above song was a favourite at our family sing-a-longs!  And I was oblivious to the fact that, for my mom and dad, it might have been hitting a little too close to home.  Music was and is a great healer – it helps to patch the holes in our roofs.

‘Wait Training 101’

My little poem “Wait Training” came into my head yesterday, as we signed up for the ultimate ‘wait training’ course in the Brockville General Hospital Emergency room.  After checking in, and my husband being assessed by the nurse, we joined the line for the free course that was running – and filling up quickly – in the waiting area.  It’s an interesting concept – learning how to build up our ‘wait’ muscles.  Of course, not realizing how intensive and time consuming the course would be, I neglected to bring along adequate equipment – in the form of a good book.  It turns out that had I brought along ‘War And Peace’, I could have finished it and done a short presentation for everyone!  I instead had to find alternatives to sinking within myself, or a book:  I quietly observed the real problems that the other participants were enduring.  Some seemed to have a handle on their ‘wait training’ and sat very patiently; others were not doing so well.  Bit by bit, conversations began, stories were shared, common threads were woven, and in between, I offered silent prayers for all of the good people around me who were sidelined by various crises.  A mother coping with a possible dislocated bone in her shoulder was actually keeping everyone, including her two children, entertained by her interactions with them.  Others with broken bodies were making the best of their situations and trying to help her out – the Christmas Spirit was still making itself felt, even as the staff were removing the decorations from the room.  At the end of the course, when my husband had been seen and a solution prescribed for his bronchitis, we left the ‘training room’.   I returned a few minutes later with a copy of my “How To Wash A Puddle” book for that lovely mother and her two patient children.  I wish her the best of luck – she passed the course with flying colours!