Forget Everything You Think You Know About Personal Development

December Poetry Challenge

Hi folks! Still going strong. I really appreciate those of you who have been keeping up and following along with this Poetry Challenge. Thank you :-)

I’ve made the decision to post poems only from Monday to Friday to give all of us a break. Gives me a chance to get caught up on writing (and reading your blogs), and if you are following along, you can read at your leisure.

See you Monday. Hope you have a great weekend. And now, on to the next poem…

Cover me mother,
take me under your wing.

Hide me from this,
the remembering.

Darkness enraptures,
it pains me to watch.

Cover me mother,
take prisoner my thoughts.

Your shades of remorse,
overshadowed, unkind.

I misunderstand
your love redesigned.

Your actions, your words
strike misguided chords.

An innate connection,
in the past was adored.

Shaded in shadow,
recaptured from flight.

A memory rekindled,
of our similar plight.

Cover me mother,
take me under your wing.

Encourage this practice,
the remembering.

Photo credit: DerrickT

What does this poem mean to you?

What have you learned from your mother?

{ 13 comments }

December Poetry Challenge

Sigh.

Sweet breezes on my cheeks.
Gaze fixed on scenery below.
Shades of green, forested peaks.
Yellow daisies glow.

Peeking through morning summer mist.
golden rays shine.
Mist is fresh, cheeks are kissed,
nature’s call designed.

Trickling whispers, a babbling river,
release glistening waters to sea.
A comfortable sigh, bursting, I shiver;
in the woods I stopped to pee.

Sweet breezes on my cheeks.

Sigh.

Photo credit: Jungle Mama

We’ve all been there and done that right?

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December Poetry Challenge

I cannot tell a lie. On day two of this challenge I’m already struggling. I may bend the rules a little and skip the odd day, or write more than one poem on the days when I can. That’s better than posting just because I said I would… and posting something that I don’t feel measures up.

I’m living and breathing poetry now; while I brush my teeth, do the dishes, or make the bed. Every idea or visual I recall is considered as fodder for the next poem. Makes me laugh and that’s a good thing, because I could easily take this way too seriously. Ya think?

The story behind this poem comes from childhood memories when I lived on a farm in northern Ontario. Winters were blustery and our house would turn quite chilly overnight.

My grandmother, who I was very close to and who passed away in 1991, would rise before any of us to build a fire in the fireplace. By the time we all woke and gathered downstairs the fire was alive and crackling. The kitchen was warm and comfortable.

Grandmother’s spark

My grandmother wakes at the spark of dawn,
stirs from her bed with a whisper.
Her shadowy silhouette withered and drawn,
eclipsed by the sunlight that kissed her.

A wintry breath, so rhythmic and deep,
twisted fingers of frost in the air.
The farmhouse rests in a seasonal sleep,
Smouldering, yet aware.

A smile flickers through grandmother’s eyes,
frozen memories rekindled and strong.
Glowing red embers, a long wintry sigh,
ignites a familiar song.

Withered and drawn, lingering, kneeling,
palms cradle the glow of the blaze.
Thoughts are alive, tender with feeling
surprised, it’s my own hands that catch my gaze.

Photo credit: Npmusikchild

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31 days & 31 poems

Call me crazy, but on the spur of the moment I made a decision to join Matthew Dryden in his December Poetry Challenge.

This is a creative pursuit that I can’t ignore and a fresh inspiration to wake up to every day this month. Just what I’ve been looking for. The month of December at Shades of Crimson will be a laid-back, creative month. A place for you to relax and enjoy a new poem every day (I hope).

You might recall my announcement from a few weeks ago that I was going to slow down on blogging.

“I have decided to shift my focus and spend less time blogging and re-prioritize my life.”

My focus did shift; I started doing things that I’d been missing and somehow, magically, blogging is still finding a space my life. Funny how that works.

ABC poem

I have no idea if I’ll be able to come up with a poem every day this month, but I’m willing to give it a go. Like I said, the idea appealed to me and I decided on the spur of the moment.

Here is the first submission. If you’d like to join in this Poetry Challenge, visit Matthew’s blog Writing with a Pulse for more details.

This is an ABC style poem. It is a poem that has five lines that creates a picture or a mood. The first four lines are composed with words or phrases, with the first word of each line in alphabetical order. Line five is one sentence.

Poem #1: Canine Catnap

Zenith sun upon his face.

A lazy paw, whimpered speech.

Beneath his slumber,

Cats to chase.

Dreaming… still he sleeps.

Photo Credit: SarahB

If you’ve ever watched a dog while it sleeps, I’m sure you’ve smiled once or twice.

{ 23 comments }

I looked high and low

A friend recently loaned me her bread-making machine to let me try it out. Less than two hours after making the loaf pictured above I had bought my own machine. That’s how impressed I was. That, and the fact that London Drugs happened to have a great sale on a Black & Decker All-In-One Automatic Breadmaker.

I hadn’t tasted fresh bread that didn’t taste like crumbly cardboard since starting the gluten-free diet over seven years ago. I ate three huge pieces of warm bread that was liberally spread with butter. Oh god, oh god, oh god it was delicious!

I made loaf number two in the new machine less than three days later. After washing and putting away the machine, I realized that the paddle was missing. I looked everywhere, and I mean everywhere.

After searching unsuccessfully through the cutlery drawer and the dish rack, I peered behind the fridge and stove with a flashlight. Still nothing. I felt like a dog looking for a crumb that he was sure he’d seen fall to the floor from the corner of his eye.

Grumbling to myself, on my hands and knees, I checked every corner of the kitchen and under the kitchen table. I even looked in the freezer and in the freshly washed coffee cups in the cupboard.

I was perplexed and becoming more frustrated. I mentally retraced my steps over the last few hours.

That led me to check the laundry of all places; I’d recently tossed a towel in there and thought just maybe this bread paddle had been caught in the towel. Nope.

I had made soup that afternoon and remembered the piles of Nappa cabbage that had littered the counter. Maybe, JUST maybe… the paddle had been scooped up with the cabbage. Seconds later I was stirring the soup, peering into the swirling mass of broth, shiitake mushrooms and veggies. Alas; it was just soup.

CSI – Crummy Situation Investigation

Maybe I’d watched too many episodes of CSI. At any rate, this was becoming a game. Despite my frustration I found myself laughing at all the crazy places I could think of to look. The more frustrated I got, the crazier and more ridiculous an idea I’d come up with — just to spite the situation.

The last place I looked was the garbage, half-heartedly. I mean, who really wants to spend time rooting through their garbage? I convinced myself the paddle wasn’t there. But after checking everywhere a second AND third time I stood in my kitchen at a loss.

Reluctantly, my focus returned to the garbage. Minutes later, there I was tenderly picking through piles of veggie clippings, coffee grounds, tea bags, papers, an empty yogurt container and a couple of egg shells — all dumped in my bathtub. Cleanup was a breeze — I’ll say that much.

After all this, I still had not found the missing paddle. It wasn’t until I was on the phone about to order another one, that a thought occurred to me.

Seconds later we were both chuckling. The paddle had been baked into the loaf of bread — it was hidden just out of view in the bottom of the loaf.

I think my story made the operator’s day. Maybe it made yours too? :-)

{ 33 comments }

Too young for romance

It’s midnight and I’m lying in bed staring at the shadows on the ceiling. My thoughts are loud and I can’t sleep.

I find myself thinking about past relationships; even my first crushes in public school. There was Eddy in grade 2, Michael in grade 3, Neil in grade 4 and David in grades 5 and 6. There were crushes in high school, but I’ll save that for another post… maybe.

All I’ll say about those years for now was that my first kiss was on a stairwell in grade 11 with a guy named John (that relationship lasted three weeks). My next boyfriend who was truthfully called Mr. Right (but was definitely Mr. Wrong), actually told me he wanted to go out with my sister. Brute!

The extent of my crush with Eddy in grade 2 happened while he was passing out papers. He stopped at my desk, reached towards me with the paper and smiled. I was hooked. I think that crush only lasted for the duration of that week.

Michael sat behind me in grade 3 and he liked to tease me by pulling at my long blond pigtails. Neil had a crush on a younger girl (he was in grade 4 and liked a girl in grade 2). He didn’t even know I existed. David? Well, I had to share that crush with my best friend. And we stayed best friends because neither of us ever had a chance with him.

The most romantic moment

It happened over 25 years ago and I remember it like it was yesterday. I received flowers from a secret admirer with a card that read: “Just a little something to light up your day like you light up mine.” (Remember that one guys — it’s a winner.)

Turned out he was the baker that worked midnights with me at a donut shop. Ours was the most romantic relationship I remember. On our first date he got in an accident. He was staring at me during conversation and drove through a stop sign — tee, hee. How romantic!

On our second date, we drove from North Bay to Toronto in one swoop to have a Chocolate Monkey at Mister Green Jeans in the Eaton Centre. We never made it. That was the first year the Toronto Blue Jays finished first in the American League (1985). We got caught in the traffic jam on Yonge Street and Mister Green Jeans was closed by the time we got there.

We dated for about three months until he broke up with me on New Year’s Eve. Great timing eh? Speaking of which, let me remind you that it’s not a great idea to date someone you work with.

The romantic future

Many years later, at the tender age of 45 I find myself single again after ending a five-year relationship. Single and wondering what’s next. Who knows?

I admit that I do get lonely sometimes, but I am also content with my life. I live in a beautiful city where I have some good friends. I have the luxury of having time to myself. I appreciate and am comfortable with who I am; for the most part. The growing never stops, but the growing pains become more manageable. A person learns to laugh at themselves.

I’d rather be happily single, than miserable in a relationship. I’ve considered how or where I might meet someone; join a club perhaps, or try online dating. None of this feels “right”.

I believe it will happen when it happens. While laying there at midnight, staring up at the shadows, I was content in believing that a person can try so hard to find a mate that they become obsessed with it. I imagined walking down the street in a cloud of feminine pheromones.

That’s when I miss Mr. Right; when I’m blinded by pheromones. Instead, I’m more likely to meet Mr. Karma and we engage in a roller-coaster romance. We work out karma that maybe we didn’t have to work out until 10 lifetimes from now.

Meanwhile, Mr. Right was just around the corner; minutes away, and our paths never crossed. I think I’d rather stop and smell the roses than be blinded by pheromones.

To sum it all up, people need to get out and mingle as themselves. Doing what they enjoy doing where they can be their authentic selves. Those are the pheromones that attract Mr. Right.

And now, it’s 1:30 a.m. and yes, I’m still single. But I think I’ll be able to make safe passage to dreamland now that this is out of my system.

Photo Credit: Mamjohd

{ 46 comments }

I just wanna do yoga

Today I went to my first yoga class in over five years. I was looking forward to it because I’d always felt great after a yoga class. There used to be a yoga studio one block from my apartment and I would go two to three times a week for an hour and a half-long class.

About five months after going to these regular yoga classes, my step-father passed away. I flew home to Ontario to help my sisters make funeral arrangements and take care of his farm.

Taking care of the farm meant shoveling manure and lots of it — cow manure. Shoveling cow manure is like shoveling wet cement. I spent an afternoon cleaning stalls, shoveling for hours. As I shoveled, I dreaded the muscle aches I would have the next day.

The next day? Nothing. Not one sore muscle. Not even one! I couldn’t believe it. All because of the yoga classes — what else could it have been?

That yoga class had been one of the best I’d ever been to — I enjoyed the instructors and the gentle style of yoga. It felt right and I had no interest in looking for another class when they closed the centre. I continued doing yoga on my own at home for about a year, until it gradually dwindled off to nothing. Sigh.

And so, that brings us to today. That same yoga organization had opened at a different location and I was looking forward to the familiar poses and guidance from the class leader. I picked the General Class because it had been a while for me. Surprisingly, I was still pretty flexible and remembered most of the poses.

I don’t want to be a Yogi

I wasn’t prepared for the business pitch after class. The class leader called my name as I was gathering up my things to change into my street clothes. I didn’t have a chance to get past the door.

He referred to himself as a Yogi, having lived in India and given his life for this practice. I appreciate that… however, he was trying to “convert” me.

He encouraged me to sign up for their new Course Series that would include lectures and study of their philosophy, telling me that they don’t promote the General Classes as much. He stressed that by going to the General Classes I wouldn’t advance in the practice and would be held back by newcomers just learning the postures.

These Course Classes are only held once a week, after work hours. Yet I can choose from five General Classes throughout the week at various times of day. That fit my needs perfectly — to pick and choose from the General Classes that accommodate my irregular work schedule — to not make a commitment to one particular class. I was there purely for the pleasure of doing yoga and to connect with other people — nothing else. I don’t want to become a Yogi.

I listened to his spiel, standing there in my bare feet, holding my shoes and socks, with one hand on the doorknob. I can appreciate when someone is dedicated to a spiritual practice in their life, but as spiritual as this man claimed to be… I didn’t feel it. There was a lack of warmth and openness — and, inflexibility. He was living in a box, labeled as a Yogi and trying to sell that same package to me.

I couldn’t tell if he was blinded by his own philosophy or business practices; probably both. This reminded me how important it is to know your customer so that you don’t make assumptions about what their needs are.

I’m unsure if I will return to this yoga class, but I am certain that I will spend some time shopping around for the class that is right for me.

Photo Credit: Scootzsx

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The Deep Friar’s Watercolours

As some of you may know, I recently purchased some artwork from The Deep Friar. I know some of you have been curious about this artwork, so you’re about to find out all about it.

I remembered seeing one of his posts from earlier this year where he had showcased A Few New Watercolors, and so I checked in with him to see if he had any for sale.

I was in luck. It wasn’t long before he’d sent me some samples and I was in a quandary about which ones to choose. Of course I wanted them all, but I had to narrow it down to three. From that bunch I chose two.

The one you see above is called Alpine Rocks in the Yukon. For this one, he hiked up a small mountain north of Dawson, along the Dempster highway.

Right among the wind-blown rocks above the treeline he found some delicate alpine flowers and took a photograph. Friar says this one took a lot of nit-picky work to get the shades of the rocks right. Despite the simple composition, it’s quite a technical piece of work.

And it’s mine, mine, mine! :-)

This one is called Rocky Mountain Study and is from a photograph he took just off the Trans-Canada highway, between Banff and Jasper.

I like the movement in this one; how your eye is drawn from the pink flowers along the meandering river and up to the top of the mountains. A brilliant composition.

I’m extremely pleased with the choices I made. Alpine Rocks in the Yukon is my absolute favourite. And the more I admire both of these on my wall, the more I like them.

The next two, Pine Beach in Winter and Tombstone Mountains in July, are still available. And not to mention Friar has more than a dozen others for sale.

To see other samples visit Paintings For Sale on his blog.

I know from experience that painting with watercolours is not easy. Friar notes that “The hard part is not painting, but knowing when to STOP.”

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Interview with Joanne Wannan

NEW LIVES will move your spirit. If you’re a dog-lover you’re primed for this. If you’ve ever rescued an animal, and know the joy it could bring or if you’ve lost a pet and found it again you will understand.

Joanne takes her readers on an amazing journey that only hints at what she must have experienced while writing this book. Stories of perseverance, courage, trust and triumph will bring a smile to your lips and yes, maybe even a tear to your eyes. It’s all good.

Joanne, thank you for making all this possible and for sharing this interview.

What was your inspiration for writing this book?

My first dog as an adult, was Haida, a wonderful Schipperke who was truly the love of my life. When Haida got cancer, at the age of 12, I was devastated. The series of vet visits, treatments, and alternate spurts of hope and despair were a nightmare that I seemed to sleepwalk through. However, there was one incident that I remember very clearly, and which had a profound effect on me.

On one of my last visits to the veterinary clinic with Haida, just before she passed away, I was in the waiting room. A woman, who I did not even know, saw the distraught look on my face, came over, and gave me a hug. We talked awhile, and she told me that her dog, a Rottweiler, was from a shelter. It was her second “Rottie.” Her previous dog had cancer, and after it passed away, she decided to adopt a shelter dog in his honour.

I thought this was a fitting and beautiful gesture, and wondered if I could do the same. Schipperke’s are relatively rare; how was I ever going to find one who had been abandoned and needed a good home?

(I thought back to when I first got Haida. I had visited shelters on several occasions, but only big dogs were available. I was living in a small condominium, and didn’t feel keeping a big dog in a small space would be fair.)

However, times have changed. More dogs are in need of a good home, and with the Internet, finding the “perfect dog” for you is easier than ever. I was, quite frankly, shocked when I logged onto petfinder.com, an Internet website that links shelters and rescues all across Canada and the United States. You can search for animals of every kind (dogs, cats, rabbits, etc.) according to age, size, and breed. Hundreds of Schipperkes came up in my search.

Petfinder.com was a starting point for me. I then learned about rescue organizations that exist for every specific breed – from Mexican Hairless, to Labrador retrievers, and everything in between. Homelessness in animals is truly indiscriminate, it seems.

I ended up adopting Emma, a little jewel of a dog who was found on a busy highway, in the pouring rain. Emma had pneumonia, was skinny, and had very little fur. She was also shy and a bit skittish at first. However, she has continued to blossom and grow.

I had joined an animal therapy group with Haida, and we visited patients in the hospital, spreading a little cheer. I decided to test Emma as a “therapy” dog, as well. Even though she was shy at first, she loved visiting seniors at a local Seniors Centre, and became a welcome Friday afternoon visitor.

My experiences made me wonder: how many other people did not know about the number of animals in shelters waiting for good homes? How many other people did not know about websites like petfinder.com? How many people did not realize that homeless dogs come in every size, shape and breed – and that there are wonderful animals just waiting for a good home?

What was the most challenging aspect to writing this book?

One of the most challenging parts was to narrow the stories down. I had intended to write a series of 40 shorter stories. However, as I researched and talked to people, I decided to go into greater depth with each story, to include more information, and to have each story represent a different aspect of the human-animal bond. It was very difficult to decide which stories to use. People were so generous with their thoughts and experiences, and I felt badly when I could not include someone’s story for one reason or another – for example, if it overlapped with another one.

You met and interviewed many people. How did your connection with them influence your writing?

I learned a lot as I went along. I had no idea of the many ways dogs are contributing to our health and well-being. One woman I met is a social worker who works with foster children. She brings her rescued dog into her sessions. The children are often able to open up and relate, in a way they otherwise wouldn’t have done, because they – and the dog – share a similar background.

I was also unaware of the problems facing those with disabilities, when it comes to getting a service dog. There is a shortage of dogs bred for service by traditional organizations, and as a result costs can be high (this isn’t always the case; there are several wonderful organizations that use fundraisers to help make dogs available), wait lists can be long, and there is often restrictive eligibility criteria. As a result, only a small percentage of those with disabilities are able to get a service dog.

I was delighted to learn of organizations that rescue and train dogs for service. The dogs fill an important service “gap”, creating NEW LIVES for themselves and their owners. (This is where the title of the book comes from.)

What effect do you anticipate New Lives will have on its readers?

The goal of the book is twofold: to let people know about the wonderful ways that dogs are helping, healing and giving hope; and to advocate for shelter animals. I hope people will laugh, cry, and want to hug their dog. But mostly, I hope people will be motivated to help, and consider looking at a shelter or rescue when they want to adopt a dog.

As a writer, how do you motivate yourself when you experience writer’s block?

The hardest part is just sitting down to write. Unlike a lot of writers, I don’t set regular hours. Instead, I aim for a certain number of hours per day or per week. Then, if a favourite TV show is on, I don’t have to wrestle with obligation. Instead, I decide to write earlier or later in the day.

I remember reading Julia Cameron’s book, The Right to Write. She says that books are made up of chapters, which are made up of paragraphs, which are made up of sentences (although she said it more eloquently). I always try to remember that some days it will seem like you’re going around in circles, but even if you get one sentence done – or even one idea solidified, or even one word – it’s a step in the right direction. In that way, I try not to be too hard on myself.

It is important to write about what you love. I was so inspired by these stories, that even when writing seemed like drudgery, I felt a sense of dedication to the people who had shared their experiences with me, to bring them to light.

What message do you have for your readers?

There are millions of animals in shelters and rescues across Canada and the United States. For most of them, their “crime” is simple: they were not wanted. They are not violent biters; they are not badly behaved. Sadly, most of them will not make it out alive. Yet these animals make wonderful healers, pets and friends. They have so much love to give, if only we will only open up our hearts and lives to them, and allow them the chance.

I also hope that people will learn about service dogs. Several of the people who I wrote about in the book, who now have a rescued service dog, had given up hope. Many were turned away from traditional organizations, and it was only by sheer luck that they happened upon organizations that use shelter dogs, or (in some cases) helped them to train their own pets. These dogs make such a tremendous difference in people’s lives, turning isolation and despair into hope and healing. It would be incredibly rewarding if even one person’s life is changed because of this book.

Thanks again Joanne. This was a fantastic interview. For more information or to purchase New Lives, please visit 3 Black Dogs.*

*No sales commissions will be received for this referral.

{ 18 comments }

The realignment of my blog universe

There has been a slight wobble in my planetary axis this past week; we shall call it the flu. First bout with flu in years and it really knocked me, shall we say… out of orbit.

Not H1N1 thankfully. Although I will never know for sure because I didn’t get sick enough to have the luxury of having a swab stuck up my nose to name this bug. A fever of 102 kept me pretty much on my back and yes, on my arse in front of the computer too.

I ended up spending more time on Twitter because there I didn’t really have to think. I had no real energy to read or write and so this post has been simmering while my blog has been at rest.

Funnily enough, this wobble of my axis has come at the same time as a planetary realignment in my own life. I’ve been resisting this for a while, feeling too comfortable basking in the warm glow of blogging. Didn’t want to let go of my self-perceived sense of STARdom.

The big blog bang

The big blog bang — say THAT 10 times! :-)

Blogging had become the centre of my universe and everything else forgotten or given less attention to — in the dark — eclipsed (had to sneak that one in there). Juggling blogging with running two businesses became my life. In hindsight, this gradually squeezed the life out of me.

My circle grew in the sense that I had more connections, but yet my life grew smaller. The blogging cycle became a merry go round that was spinning at a dizzying speed.

In my personal experience, it became harder to be creative and come up with new ideas to write about — because I didn’t have a life outside of blogging.

I think that’s why so many bloggers find other bloggers are writing about the same things. The fun and creativity is lost or smothered by self-imposed pressures of obligation. The inner critic has a wonderful time with this, distracting you, knocking around your ASSteroid Belt.

And so, I have decided to shift my focus and spend less time blogging and re-prioritize my life. The Starship Davina is returning to Earth.

I’m going to go back to a yoga class, dust the cobwebs off my cookbooks and join a hiking group. And maybe… I’ll even read a book.

I won’t be posting to a regular schedule but I will still be posting when I feel inspired, and I’ll still be orbiting around to read my favourite blogs. And if you’re on Twitter, I’ll see you there too.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to make some tomato and wild rice soup. Lots of fibre, lycopene, and vitamin B and C for this healing body of mine. You can add shrimp to make a real meal out of it — delicious!

Photo Credit: Hellobird

Can you say Big Blog Bang 10 times fast? ;-)

{ 27 comments }

The Fall season shuffles in

“To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.”
George Santayana

It’s autumn in Vancouver. In September I found myself taking notice of the lush green foliage, realizing the trees would soon be bare. I was not looking forward to saying good-bye to summer.

I love the heat, the long sunny days and green grass; especially the smell of freshly cut grass. I prefer going barefoot. Listening to the rustle of the wind in the trees is heavenly. Did I mention the heat?

The lush green foliage I’d been admiring began to change into familiar brown, yellow, red and orange seasonal colours. Mornings were cool. Low afternoon sunlight cast a pale yellow, whitish light and shadows stretched long and narrow. The sun noticeably set earlier. Noticeably.

Taking change in stride

One particular afternoon I took a walk, feeling a little melancholy about letting go of summer. I became caught up in the sound of my feet shuffling through the leaves that blanketed the sidewalk and covered parked cars. People were raking them. Squirrels scurried through them. I could see bird’s nests in the branches that otherwise would have been hidden by leaves.

A father and his young son stood in the middle of their lawn, surrounded by leaves. They were holding hands and the little boy was motionless, staring down in wonder at the ocean of colour that surrounded him. I got caught up in his appreciation. He was noticing.

I stopped trying to hold onto summer and began enjoying myself, noticing more of what I liked. I took my camera out of my pocket a number of times to capture the beautiful colours and scenery.

Strength in letting go

This beautiful, young tree caught my attention. Two weeks later I passed by and it was naked. I was surprised that it looked stronger than it had with its leaves. Beautifully barren.

I started to look forward to cooking beef stews and spicy soups. Hot coffee in the morning tasted even better — imagine that! Snuggling on the couch under a blanket was cozier. Candles would brighten the longer evenings.

The sound of rain was louder on the fallen leaves. One evening I stood on my balcony in the dark just listening to the rain, sipping a glass of red wine. It made me shiver, in a good way.

I liked feeling cozy. Rather abruptly, those cozy thoughts gave way to thoughts of the next season to come — winter. I shivered; not in a good way. Some things never change.

What has caught your eye this season?
What do you have to let go of to enjoy this new season?

{ 39 comments }

Chapter Ten: Imagine that

“It seemed like such an earthy, male thing — a man doing up his belt buckle; it was sexy and suggestive and made her mouth a little dry…. Heaven be praised if he didn’t bend down to search through [his toolbox]. His jeans pulled tight over his thighs in a way that made her give thanks to Levi Strauss…. The work gloves stuck out of one back pocket and looked like fingers waving at her. It was almost as if they were calling to her, ‘Look here…’”

I giggled loudly and then embarrassed, turned around to make sure nobody was standing behind me. I was sitting on a log at the beach, reading a romance novel called That Summer Place. Hadn’t read one in years and though I knew I wouldn’t have time to finish this one, I was enjoying reading the “good parts.”

My last day at Island Thyme Bed & Breakfast had been a quiet one and after the previous day’s hiking adventure on Mount Gardner I was happy to rest tired muscles.

Every step down the stairs to the beach that evening was painful. I had picked my way carefully over the wet gravelly beach, looking for a log that was dry enough to sit on to watch the sunset. I felt like Goldilocks looking for a bed that was just right.

Waves lapped against the shore and the cool breeze was light on my face. The air was fresh. Mountains posed in the ebbing sunlight, showing off an array of shadowy crevices.

I watched a blue heron land on a rock beside the boat directly across from me. He eventually climbed aboard and I couldn’t see him anymore; never saw him fly off either.

The day was fading quickly and I put the book down to watch the sun sink lower, staring as it perched just above the horizon. It was poised before making the final descent and I imagined that if I stared at it long enough it would stay up longer.

In a matter of minutes the sun had disappeared completely, leaving the sky awash with orange and yellow streaks. I couldn’t deny time was passing and didn’t stay long at the beach — too long would have only made leaving harder.

Savour that

Dinner was decadent. I found some lemon pepper seasoning that added delicious flavour to the lamb and roast potatoes. Red pepper and garlic was roasted in the same pan with the lamb and the garlic caramelized. It was so good! I sipped the rest of the red wine and savoured each bite of food, drawing out dinner as long as I could. Still, time passed on.

I refused to waste time packing that night. I knew my resistance to leaving would only draw it out longer than necessary. Better to wait to the last minute and get it over with faster in the morning.

I took a cup of coffee out to the deck to star gaze, wearing a comfy terry cloth robe I’d found hanging in the closet. I felt sensual wearing the robe — comfortable with feeling sensual.

It was a calm, warm night and I lingered in the dark staring up at the glittering sky, listening to the crickets singing. A neighbour was playing the piano. The notes echoed through the night, adding to the pleasantry of the evening.

I hoped I’d see a shooting star. That sudden streak of light cutting a path across the indigo sky had always excited me. But after a while my neck got sore from watching and waiting.

My thoughts turned to memories of difficult times — days that had at the time, seemed never-ending — like being caught in a web. But at this moment, all the heartbreak, fear, self-doubt, and personal loss didn’t matter. It had no hold on me. I was overcome with the most intense appreciation for being alive; felt a sense of connection with “something” that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

Sometimes I think things are better left as a mystery; left to unfold of their own accord; like the last five days had. I was overwhelmed with emotion and I felt like I “needed” to cry. But I couldn’t cry. There was nothing to release and nothing to hold on to.

Tomorrow I would say goodbye to Rachael the spider. She’d sat pretty much motionless in her web these last few days, but her presence had commanded my attention. I’d been compelled to just stand and watch her, mystified by just how much notice I’d taken of her.

What did she represent? What did I choose to believe? That symbolically, we can weave a web that will serve us or enslave us. It’s neither good or bad; there is learning and growth with the passing of time.

“Spider encourages us to discard the heaviness in our lives. Take only what is yours, and leave behind the old forms and baggage. Take with you only the sweetest relationships, possessions, ideas, the rest belongs to the heavy world of yesterday. Cut free from your life the carcasses of the dead, the forms of your past heavy world, and leave room for the new world of love and light.”

An excerpt from an article by Ashley Costanzo and Janice VrMeer

Comments are open. Talk about it. Whatever IT is! :-)

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Chapter Nine: To move a mountain

My heart was racing from exertion and fear. And I was angry. The thought of having to go back the way I’d come frustrated the hell out of me. This seemed to be a common occurrence with me, hiking and maps. Always getting lost.

Before I could even go back the way I’d come I had to find the path, and it had clearly disappeared. I tried to retrace my steps but after 10 minutes still didn’t recognize anything. I couldn’t understand how this could have happened so quickly. I felt panicky and when I looked around at the surrounding forest everything seemed to be a blur, like it was spinning around me.

I allowed the charge I was feeling from the anger to push past the fear. It is true what they say about how anger can move a mountain. I went crashing through the forest less worried than before about destroying spider’s webs; less worried about spiders, or bears for that matter.

The perseverance was finally rewarded when I recognized the bottom of the trail. I rejoiced, and then groaned at the thought of having to climb back up that hill I’d just come down. I was already exhausted.

I reached the top about 15 minutes later, gasping for breath. My heart was pounding in my ears like a drum — I could feel it and hear it, which is a good thing I guess. Then I noticed another path, slightly hidden by tall grasses to my left. Temptation.

I stood there trying to decide if I should go back the way I’d come or follow this new path. It was an easy decision. I went on. The triumph of reconnecting with the path after the drama below was more than enough to encourage me to continue the adventure.

I was feeling quite perky with renewed hope of finding the Killarney Lake trail. The trail was well groomed and easy to follow now. I had relaxed more and was enjoying myself. Fears of meeting up with a bear had for the most part, subsided.

I came to a sharp turn in the path a while later and heard something rather large moving quickly through the bushes around the corner. My heart leapt and I stopped in my tracks, all senses alert. It was coming closer. I froze.

Then, a mountain biker sped around the corner and skidded to a stop, smiled at me, turned around and sped off. The heartbeat was drumming in my ears again but I was relieved to see another human being and not a bear.

It had been about two hours since I’d met that woman and her dog and I was about to meet another friend on the trail. This time it was I who scared her. She was walking with her three-month-old baby, staring down at him sleeping in her arms, lost in her own world.

I showed her my map and asked if she had any idea where I was. After a quick glance she informed me that I was nowhere near the Killarney Lake trail. Why wasn’t I surprised? I had come clear down the mountain, parallel to the trail I’d followed at the beginning.

It was after 3 pm, I was tired and accepted that Killarney Lake was not going to happen. It was about an hour to Killarney Lake, another two hours to hike around it, and another hour home from there. And so, I continued along this trail, heading northwest towards Windjammer Road, back to Island Thyme. I would have come full circle.

The trail was decorated with fallen trees from which many varieties of fungus were growing. I took a lot of pictures. Eventually, I came to a clearing that opened to a paved road. I was disappointed. I didn’t want to walk on a paved road, I wanted to walk on a forestry trail. But, there was no way I was going back the way I’d come at this point. There were no signs on this road, and I had no idea where I was… again.

I passed by a driveway under the watchful eye of a guard dog who didn’t as much as growl or bark. He just stared at me as I walked past, and I at him. I walked and walked, and I walked, stopping once to pick a berry that was too sour for my taste.

My legs were sore, my back ached and the scrape on my wrist was burning. Consoling thoughts carried me back to the cozy hideaway where I would soon be sipping red wine and cooking dinner. Oh, I could hardly wait. But there was still a 40-minute walk ahead. I couldn’t believe that after all this time, and with all the water I’d drank, I didn’t have to pee. At least I’d been spared that!

When I arrived back at Island Thyme I greeted Spider who was still sitting in the corner of the window. A comforting sight. I let the silence wrap itself around me and I felt satisfied by the adventure I’d had; even though things didn’t go the way I’d planned. As I stood there watching Spider I remembered wanting to give her a name. It came to me then, as clear as a bell — Rachael. Can’t believe I named a spider, but I did.

Would you have continued on the path, or returned home?

Have you ever peed in the woods? :-)

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Chapter Eight: Looking up to Mount Gardner

I hit the trail at noon, climbing uphill for the first 20 minutes. It was deafeningly quiet and I found it a bit disconcerting. The night before I’d asked Wynn if there were any bears on the island. She told me that the odd bear or cougar would swim across and hang out for a short while, before returning to the Mainland.

That wasn’t too comforting for my active imagination. I couldn’t help but think that the one bear or cougar that might happen to be on the island that week, would meet up with me on the mountain.

When I saw a woman and her dog approaching in the distance I was somewhat relieved. Her dog barked when he saw me and I heard her shoosh him. I wanted him to bark though, to scare any bears away.

I was annoyed at myself because my nerves were on edge, preventing me from relaxing and enjoying the hike. I couldn’t seem to get past this fear of mine.

A couple of years ago I went hiking by myself while my boyfriend and I were camping near Sasquatch Park in BC. He was not able to hike because of a bad back and I just HAD to go.

I ended up getting lost and the park manager later told me I had gone way out of bounds. I had been real unsettled when I saw fresh bear droppings beside the trail on my first way through, and didn’t take kindly to having to go back the way I’d come. Not one bit.

I had been hiking around Deer Lake and missed the turnoff to come back around the other side of the lake. The side I might add, as I learned that evening, where there had been the most bear and cougar sightings. Guess it was best I did miss the turnoff.

The dog didn’t want to leave my side. He planted himself beside me and stared at his owner as if to say, “You go on home now. I’m gonna go walking with this new girl.” I would have loved that.

He reminded me of the time my mother bought a dog for my sisters and I. This dog took a liking to me and would follow me everywhere. She didn’t want a thing to do with my sisters. Mom eventually bought two more dogs, one for each sister. Now I was embarrassed as this woman’s dog wouldn’t leave my side and I had to coax him to leave with her.

She told me it was 20 minutes past the bridge to the first lookout and then warned me about the bridge. Apparently it was difficult to cross, but if I held on to the cedars on the right side I’d be fine.

“Oh crap,” I thought to myself, imagining the worst. I had little trouble crossing though. I first attempted to go around but the rocks in the riverbed were too slippery so I ended up crossing just as she’d recommended; by holding on to the cedar logs on the right side.

Twenty minutes later and drenched in sweat, I rested at the first level ground since I’d begun the hike. I sipped some water and looked back at where I’d come from, feeling pretty satisfied with myself. But my nerves were still on edge and all senses were listening…

Disappointment was waiting for me at the first lookout as the view was blocked by an overgrowth of trees. Dense underbrush prevented me from moving past them, and at the second lookout it was the same situation. I was peeved. Not only was I missing out on the view, but I had wanted to take pictures for my blogging buddies.

The path levelled off after a while and I guessed I had reached the topmost part of the mountain. Every so often I’d stop to look at the map (futile, I know), to make sure I was headed the right way. I was determined to connect with the Killarney Lake trail.

After more than an hour into the hike I approached the top of a steep hill that looked like an old dried up river bed. I’m guessing it was about 50 yards down at a 40-degree angle. There were plenty of rocks jutting out that would give me something to grab onto.

The rocks were slippery from yesterday’s rain and I fell three times. The first time my camera banged against a rock and I stopped to put it in my backpack. I scraped my wrist on a rock another time.

I had to crouch real low to the ground to prevent myself from falling again. Perhaps climbing up wasn’t all that bad after all – going down was sure difficult. I finally reached the bottom and stood up, glad to be on level ground again. I looked around. There was no path. I was surrounded by thick ferns.

About 25 yards to my right it looked like the path started up again, so I began crashing through the forest and climbing over fallen logs, all the while watching for spiders in their webs, but having great fun too. I was in my glory as I pushed forward.

After five minutes there was still no path to be found. I turned to look back the way I’d come and couldn’t see the path I’d just left.

The forest appeared to grow larger at that very moment and everything seemed father away than I remembered. I felt like I was being watched. Trees towered above me mockingly, making me feel very small and incredibly vulnerable. I stood still, listened and prayed I wouldn’t hear any rustling in the bushes.

Stay tuned for the rest of the story to come on Sunday.

Have you ever been lost or found yourself in a similar situation? How prepared would you be? What would be in your backpack? :-)

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