old friends

Moving towns and cities has been a constant in my life, largely because of my dad’s and then my husband’s work. Each move has brought with it new adventures, friends, and fond memories. My knowledge of how to pack up and move a family, establish a new routine in new-to-me surroundings, and go about finding my people has become more of a muscle memory than a conscious skill. Even so, in some places the transition has been fairly seamless, while in others it’s been more of an arduous process and a felt sense of home and belonging has eluded me. When I was 16 we moved across a border and continent and my experience in our new home turned out to be more of the arduous, awkward, I-don’t-belong-here kind. It took a long {speaking from a 16 year old’s perspective here} year, but I did eventually meet people who would become life long friends. This past weekend three us travelled to meet up with a fourth, who lives in a tropical clime for a good chunk of the year. The four of us, plus several others, have kept in touch via cards and emails over the years, had the occasional in-person visit in the four decades since we were all in school together, and since Covid, been seeing one another regularly on a zoom screen for an on-going book club we all relish. Nevertheless, I had some pretty good anxiety about how this whole weekend would go…specifically of the ‘would I belong?’ variety. In the 40 plus years of not being together regularly, I’ve been through some ‘stuff’, and I was fretting over whether or not I’d be accepted as I am now, given the changes I’ve been through. However, in the days leading up to our get-away, I heard someone say that your people are for you, regardless of what you might be going or have gone through, look like, can or cannot do. And this weekend confirmed that to be utterly true. Honestly, I should have known better, because these women have been nothing but kind and caring, genuine and generous of spirit towards me, always. And it turns out we’ve all been through stuff. Of course we have…’it’s only life after all’. There was great warmth (both literally and figuratively), laughter, and oh so much to catch up on and connect over. We shared many substantive conversations and heartfelt hugs. Something indescribably wonderful happens when you spend time with friends who knew you way back when…and find out that you have belonged all along.

Here then follows a smattering of snap shots from this very special time spent with my old friends, some of which were taken by them and then graciously shared with me. These ‘postcards from the road’ serve as a bookmark for the memories made…it was worth every mile travelled to make them.

photo credit: jen

photo credit: kyle

photo credit: random stranger passing by.

photo credit: glen

photo credit: kath

my heart

This sweet (and somehow, seemingly, very old and familiar) soul arrived on April 19th. She has had us all utterly enthralled every moment since.

‘Your heart and my heart are very, very old friends.’ (Hafiz)

there is love

‘Well then what’s to be the reason for becoming man and wife | Is it love that brings you here, or love that brings you life | For if loving is the answer then who’s the giving for | Do you believe in something that you’ve never seen before | There is love. | Oh, there’s love.’ (Noel Paul Stookey)

A smattering of photos from a {relatively} recent ‘Saturday morning session’ with these very fine humans (who I am privileged to call mine), days before the arrival of their newest wee one.

the wonder

“…here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)”

e.e. cummings

a chain of love

Any day now a wee lad will make his way into the world, and this couple will become three (plus beloved canine makes four), and our entire family will once again expand. I’ve joined the ranks of ‘the older I get the less I know’ gang, but one thing I know for sure is that love begets love. Who we love, how well we love, who loves us, and how well we are loved—life, my life, hinges on these matters. Watching these two make ready for their boy, seeing how completely they love one another and the family and friends who stand by to support and surround them, is to witness a chain of love like no other. There is no place I’d rather be, no privilege as immense to me as this—to be here with them now, awaiting the moment of our collective hearts’ expansion, when love begets love begets love yet again.

“People smile and tell me I’m the lucky one | And we’ve just begun | Think I’m gonna have a son | He will be like she and me, as free as a dove | Conceived in love | Sun is gonna shine above

And even though we ain’t got money | I’m so in love with you, honey | And everything will bring a chain of love, oh, oh, oh | In the mornin’, when I rise | You bring a tear of joy to my eyes | And tell me everything is gonna be alright.” (Loggins & Messina)

octobers

“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.” (Lucy Maud Montgomery)

On an otherwise uneventful Monday morning, Cohen and I set off to the local pumpkin farm. There had been a festival on the grounds over the weekend, but by all accounts it was officially over and we’d missed it. In any case, when we pulled up to the empty field designated for parking, we crossed our fingers and hoped it would be okay for us to wander around and perhaps snag a left-over pumpkin or two. The kind souls on site granted us our wish, with great warmth and generosity. It turns out the best day to go to the pumpkin festival is the day after it’s over! At least, it was for us. There weren’t the vendors and games and such, but there also weren’t the line-ups and crowds. We had the entire farm to ourselves, minus the few workers that were otherwise occupied in the veggie patches, and it felt nothing short of magic…like being a kid in a toy store after hours. We had a grand time ‘shopping’ for the perfect pumpkins to take home, running through the corn maze, and playing on the tractors. As his nana, any one on one time I get with Coco is something special, but our one on one time in the empty pumpkin patch was something else altogether beyond special.

poetry

By definition, an ekphrastic poem is ‘a vivid description of a scene, or, more commonly, a work of art’. The poetry publication Rattle recently honoured me by choosing one of my photographs for their monthly ekphrastic challenge. They posted the image below, titled easy like a sunday morning, and received 468 submissions of poems inspired by the photograph. The editing team then narrowed down the field for a favourite to be chosen, one by the editor and one by me. I felt it a great privilege to read all of them, and a completely daunting task to choose just one. To be sure, it was both fascinating and thrilling to see all the various scenes and stories that could be spun from one singular image. I thought it worth bookmarking the final selections.

This Room by Devon Balwit

He asks to make love, and because he asks, I do,

though my aging desire has turned instead to

the bedside table, to the London Review

of Books, to the now sexier pursuit

of end rhymes and long walks through

leaf-blaze. I’d never thought it true

that the fathomless lust of thirty-two

could silt and still. Now, I must brew

it up if I want it. It’s not you,

I hasten to tell him, unclewing

his anxiety and letting the breeze undo

it. How much earnest whispering this room

has witnessed—plans to make new

life, plans to help failing parents move

to their last dependency, rue

at lost chances, the shy wooing

of new ones—this, too,

what lovers do between the sheets. The view

from the window doesn’t get old, the moon,

and morning peeking in, the bed imbued

with both solemnity and mirth, the glue

that binds us, like two ancient, tangled yews.

STUDY ABROAD by Cassie Burkhardt

His name was Francesco and he was the first boy who ever made me a coffee

the morning after.

I say boy, but he was a million years older than me, wore a suit and worked at a bank in Paris.

I say morning, but it was 2pm

and we had been rolling around in the sheets, windows wide open

for hours and hours, in and out of half-sleep and is it Sunday?

Hair a blonde rumple, pillows gasping for air,

underwear slingshot across the room.

This is love, I thought.

I was twenty.

He was the first boy I didn’t want to forget instantly the next day, no need to slink off

into the terrible sunlight leaking mascara, no,

he made me a coffee,

an actual coffee, a café au lait,

with the bialetti on the stove,

poured it into a bowl as big as my head

or what was inside me holding its breath.

Pour toi, ma belle.

This is what adults do, I thought,

as I tented my fingers around the warm bowl.

I tried to sip it gingerly, make it last, but

it’s hard not to gulp what’s good.

We took another tumble into the bedroom, grabbing and melting into each other’s bodies,

whispering secrets in two languages: j’ai envie de toi, te voglio bene.

It was the first time sex was pleasure and I wasn’t about to hold back.

I am alive, I thought,

and went home wearing his t-shirt, which smelled exactly like clouds

and vibrated like a cello on top of me, which Francesco also played

beautifully I should add here.

He picked me up on his motorcycle whenever we went out

and I have no memory of anywhere we went

because my arms were around his waist and my brain got lost in the

roundabouts, my hair a streak of blonde against woolen coats,

the gray November sky, Paris, my heart,

a pigeon taking flight out of an alley,

buildings illuminated, a blaring siren, the Seine.

On va chez moi? Oui, on y va.

And we were back in the sheets,

his hands cupped around my ass.

I am a woman, I thought,

a desirous, covetous being:

toes, breasts, hip bones, curve of spine on cotton…

I divided him in half with my tongue, a slow line from hip bones to lips

before I undressed him completely and then we switched.

He could taste the hunger in me, could tell I was one wick

and a handful of matches on the inside.

He fed the fire.

He fed it motorcycles, sex

and coffee.

This lasted for exactly two months

until I could tell something had worn off. Quelque chose a disparu.

He wasn’t answering my calls, suddenly very busy. I stared into my Nokia for days.

Finally, I panicked, cut class, showed up at his place in the afternoon unannounced,

knocking furiously at the door.

The room stopped, bows midair.

I had interrupted their string quartet rehearsal, my high heels and halter-top-desperation

oozing all over the salle de séjour like octopus ink.

I am a fool, I thought,

and excused myself to the bedroom,

stared out the big beautiful window at the foot of his bed,

watched the curtains take deep breaths.

Eventually, he came in and sat down quietly beside me

like how you might at church, a funeral.

He handed me a coffee. He didn’t have one.

I smoothed the sheets, held the warm bowl to my chest.

The curtains, caught in midair, were clinging to the wind.

Don’t say anything, I whispered. Please.

Let’s just sit here for a moment and look out the window.

Let’s just look out the window

and watch the curtains float a little longer.

solace

Hello my dear. I don’t know that you can see or hear or know what we, those who loved you and love you still, are up to—but I also don’t know that you can’t. So, just in case, I thought to mark this day by telling you how much I miss you. And while I know you miss all of us too, there’s one in particular you must miss fiercely, because that’s exactly how you loved him. So, here’s a few photos of him, for you. If you’re watching, you already know that your boy and his dad are honouring you in magnificent ways. While they mourn you still {every.single.day}, they also move forward with their arms and hearts wide open—holding the space that will always belong to you, and at the same time welcoming in the rest of the world, the rest of life…just as you taught them to.

“Solace is not an evasion, nor a cure for our suffering, nor a made up state of mind. Solace is a direct seeing and participation; a celebration of the beautiful coming and going, appearance and disappearance of which we have always been a part. Solace is not meant to be an answer, but an invitation, through the door of pain and difficulty, to the depth of suffering and simultaneous beauty in the world that the strategic mind by itself cannot grasp nor make sense of. To look for solace is to learn to ask fiercer and more exquisitely pointed questions, questions that reshape our identities and our bodies and our relation to others. Standing in loss but not overwhelmed by it, we become useful and generous and compassionate and even amusing companions for others. But solace also asks us very direct and forceful questions. Firstly, how will you bear the inevitable that is coming to you? And how will you endure it through the years? And above all, how will you shape a life equal to and as beautiful and as astonishing as a world that can birth you, bring you into the light and then just as you are beginning to understand it, take you away?” (David Whyte)

3 things

“In the end, only three things matter: how much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.” (Buddha)

this boy

He’s a bright light.

bird by bird...redux

It’s been awhile. Again. But I’m here now to either resurrect this long lost practice of picture making, or I’m here to let it go. No matter which, bird by bird…as Annie would say.

for joy

‘…the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.’ (Pema Chodron)

Here’s to joy.

questions and answers

“There are years that ask questions, and years that answer.” (Zora Neale Hurston)

If nothing else, this has been a year of questions for Mr J and me. Lately though, there’s been a bit of a shift and some of the puzzle pieces are falling into place. There’s an imminent move to what will be our new home, exciting job prospects are in the works, and then there’s this: our first born is having her first born. A year that came in with some profoundly challenging questions will be exiting with some wildly exciting answers. So stay tuned…I know there’s going to be a lot of beautiful somethings, and someones, to share with you. :)

pandemic style

One fine day this past spring these kind people surprised me with a {socially distanced} gathering on a rock by the ocean for a picnic. There was lemon buttermilk pie and prosecco. Wind, and sun, and the sea. And a very happy birthday to me. Pandemic style.

desolation

Since my last post, there’s been a whole lot of life happening in our corner of the world (and beyond). Too much to recount really, and I have no idea where I’d even start. So instead of words, I’ll just start with a few pics from a few days last fall in Desolation Sound, BC.

no small gift

A footnote of sorts, to my previous post.

Rather suddenly and quite tragically, we lost our sweet Bowen Blu (just shy of his turning 5 months old). It’s a long’ish story, and not one I feel inclined to elaborate on here, except to say we were fairly shattered by the turn of events. Time is doing what it always does and our hearts are on the mend. Having said that, I suspect there will be a permanent hole left, one that belongs solely to him. But we can now talk, and reminisce over photos, about the wild and happy ride we had with Bowie— feeling nothing less than grateful for the {all too short and completely sweet} time we shared.

“Because of the dog’s joyfulness our own is increased. It is no small gift.” (Mary Oliver)

Indeed.

i'll never

How many times have I uttered the phrase “I’ll never {fill in the blank}” and then gone on to do exactly that very thing? There are any number of examples and after each, I declare “I’ll never say never again!”. But then, as you’ve already guessed, I do just that and say it again. Oy.

Well, here’s another example to add to the already hefty pile. We’ve gone and gotten ourselves a puppy. And yes, I said never. Another dog maybe, but never a puppy. The energy, the learning curve, the inconvenience and sleepless nights. And while we are living in the US renting a house?…nope, never. Never, never, never. Oooph.

But here we are. H and I and our sweet little Bo Blu. And I am smitten.

I think now what I’m really meaning when I say I’ll never is “I can’t imagine I will ever {fill in the blank}”. And I really can’t, in that moment. Sometimes it is a pure lack of imagination, sometimes it is a complete unknowing of circumstances yet to come, and sometimes it is a straight up declaration based on what I wholeheartedly believe to be true. These latter statements are based on values; hence, I feel quite confident when I say I will never, and I have held true to many if not all of those nevers. The former two, however, are the ones that I continually eat crow over. Because life changes, we change. We grow and learn and adapt. A few years ago, I could never have imagined we’d be living in the US. I could have predicted, and did, the quiet of a completely empty nest, but I couldn’t really feel it in my bones as I do now. H’s long hours, and my inability to work down here leave me with plenty of time…which I have no problem filling, but which I’d like to enjoy with some company.

Colleen said recently that this family had a dog-sized hole in it that needed filling asap. Well, now it is filled. And while the whole family has yet to meet him, those of us who have are loving him up. We named this sweet nubbin Bowen Blu…for a variety of solid reasons…but he’ll likely be called Bo most of the time. After the name was chosen I used the google machine to see if it had any other meanings than the personal ones we’d assigned to it. Turns out Bo is Scandinavian for ‘living’. And that just cemented the choice.

Because, and this falls into that third category of I’ll never’s, I’ll never not want to be living, so long as I am.

p.s. what follows is likely waaay too many pictures…but wait, is there any such thing as too many puppy pics?…and yes, there are photos that have humans in them, but we all know that this particular post is alllll about a pup.

to the ones i love

What’s not to love about a day designated for lovin’ on the ones I love? The ones who support me unconditionally, who call me on my b.s. gently, who school me with their own wisdom kindly—not to mention make me laugh uproarously, and feel at home completely.

Yes, this is dedicated to the ones I love.

oy.

i have decided

I have decided to find myself a home in the mountains, somewhere high up where one learns to live peacefully in the cold and the silence. It’s said that in such a place certain revelations may be discovered. That what the spirit reaches for may be eventually felt, if not exactly understood. Slowly, no doubt. I’m not talking about a vacation.

Of course at the same time I mean to stay exactly where I am.

Are you following me?

~ Mary Oliver

the root of the root

i carry your heart with me (i carry it

in my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

…

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

~e.e.cummings