My Lonely World

I encountered a lonely Alzheimer's patient today, and I could not forget that look of desolation on the face of this unfortunate individual.  Of all the debilitating diseases of  old age, this disease and other forms of dementia scare me the most, because of its depressing tendencies.  It is so terribly sad to see because  it makes you feel so helpless and inadequate.

My Lonely World

You came into my world today

You saw, you understood

The presence of a poignant loss

Of something sweet and good

You gazed into my woeful eyes

Your sympathy profound

My smile was weak, my outlook bleak

But your empathy was sound

You held my shaking hand awhile

My fingers you caressed

My face was blank but in my mind

I knew you were impressed.

My dynamic life has faded now

Its exuberance diminished

My vibrant verve nonexistent now

My zest for life is finished

I appreciate your kindness

I am grateful for your caring

But compassion now is bittersweet

As is the Pity you are sharing.

We cannot turn back the hands of time

Or control our aging progression

We but hope to face, with a calming grace

The end without depression.

I'd Like to Be

Today I feel wistful and dreamy, wanting to be something I am not.  I have no idea where this feeling comes from.  It's not that I have anything missing, or unsatisfactory in my life , but it's just that.......

I’d Like to Be

I’d like to be a blue bird

Trilling lilting melodies

In wild abandon, never ending

Mother Nature’s rhapsodies

I’d like to be a bumblebee

Soaring, roaring, through the air

Landing softly on the blossoms

Bright and fragrant waiting there.

I’d like to be a perfume

Wafting softly in the breeze

Melding visions, nature’s beauty

With wonderful memories

I’d like to be a dew drop

Shining bright in the morning sun

Sitting on a lovely petal

Of a blossom newly sprung.

I’d like to be a rainbow

Arched above the world so high

Glorious colours softly blending

Like a halo in the sky.

Treasures Lost

I  was just reading  letters Ruth Jackson's blog  http://www.memoirwritersworld.blogspot.com/ where she posted  her father-in-law's letters from World War I,    Ruth is very fortunate to have such personal and intimate records of her family members.


My father, Dmetro Bailuk, served in the Austrian Army sometime back at the beginning of the century but I have no records of it other than an old portrait of him in army uniform.  (This portrait was damaged in Dauphin's flood of 1975 so not even that it is in the best condition.) Both my Mom and Dad came from the Ukraine at the turn of the century, but never preserved any  records. 

I was not  trying to do extensive records like Ruth.  I simply wanted some information for our family tree but such sources of information are difficult to obtain now. I envy Ruth her rich and reliable records.  Few of us are that privileged. I tried variations of spelling but was not successful at obtaining information.  Even the 1916 census did not have him listed because he must have been away from home and working somewhere.  Mom is listed as the head of the household in that census. I even tried contacting Bailuk's on Skype in the Ukraine with no success.

My father went to work on the railroad here in Canada after he married my mom (they married in 1914 and farmed in the Mossey River municipality of Manitoba.)  I'm sure he wrote letters  home also, but Mom never thought of preserving them.  So all I can say is: those of you that have old records like that, cherish them.  They are more precious than gold!        

Give Me Time

Give Me Time

Let me revel in the splendour

Of a blazing sunset

Reflecting on a glassy lake

Is shimmering hues

Rivalling the heavens above.

Let me bask in the glow

Of an evening campfire

Brilliant tendrils of flickering flames

Reaching into the darkness

Like outstretched arms

Eager to embrace the night.

Allow me the luxury of a leisurely walk

Meandering through lush green meadows

Musing on the shyness of the violet

Watching wild daisies bow their heads

To hoards of working bees

And lazy flamboyant butterflies.

Let me savour the ticklish trek

Of a misguided bumble bee

On my outstretched arm

Searching for that nectar he’ll never find.

Grant me that enchanted moment

To smell the velvety chasm

Of an orange tiger lily

Mindless of the brown smear

That stains my nose when I get too close.

Permit me to relax serenely

On a rushy shore of a meandering brook

A refreshing coolness caressing my bare toes

And a soft breeze toying with my hair

As I listen to the haunting cry of a distant loon

The bark and howl of a lonely coyote

Echoing through the evening hush.

Let me forget for a moment

The must-be-done tasks

Those endless mundane chores

That always wait for me

And must be done - again

And again, and again, and again……

Morning Glory

The Pleasures of Summer

Nothing heralds a wonderful morning more gloriously than the sights and perfumes of summer blossoms.  I love morning glories and it is a pity that morning glory blossoms don't smile at us this way throughout the whole day.  Alas, these gorgeous blooms are at their loviest in the mornings but shyly fold in the hot sun.

The thick and luxurious vines are quite easy to grow, and, depending which  type you choose to plant, they can grow up to as high as fifteen to twenty feet if you provide some sort of a trellis or netting for them to climb on.

I had a maple that died one winter when a February thaw turned cold and killed it.  I trimmed some of the branches down and planted morning glories around it. I also hung finch feeders on the bigger branches.  Between the sights, the sounds and the fragrances, this arrangement provided me with many wonderful hours of pleasure.

I also  grew them along the side of my deck and often by mid-August through September they would almost totally cover the open side where I provided them with the netting to climb on.  They actually gave my deck the ambient  look and feel of a  rich tropical garden room.

Celebrating CANADA DAY

                                            Celebrating Canada Day

Okay, I apologize.  We got rain.  A nice downpour yesterday during the day but by evening it had cleared out very nicely to give us a most glorious evening for watching the spectacular fireworks.

 At 10:30  in the evening, we joined the throngs of people who lined up along the Promenade overlooking the serene and verdant River valley to watch the fireworks over the distant High Level Bridge.  It turned out to be a beautiful evening, balmy with just a whisper of a breeze. A magnificent moon,  like a sovereign in the heavens, watched over his dominion of twinkling city lights below.  Even  the cacophony of cheering voices failed to quell the tranquility of this nature's oasis of the peaceful river valley in the middle of the bustling city rush surrounding it.   I wish I had a camera that could capture the atmosphere.  Still pictures just don't do the trick at all.


As we walked home after the display, a hint of delicate perfumes of various blossoms permeated the air to enhance the ambiance of a perfect summer evening.  What a beautiful country we live in!   

Oops! Somebody Goofed!

                                         UH, OH, Wrong Again

They said it was supposed to have been raining today.  They said it was supposed to be raining all last week and the week before, too. I think we only had a few light 15 minute showers out of the deal.  Where did all that rain go?  Those forecasts are just "guesswork". Instead of "Man plans and God laughs", I think the new saying should go, "Weather forecasters predict, and God laughs".

Don't get me wrong.  I am enjoying the nice weather.  It is just that I keep hauling all this rain gear with me every time I go anywhere because I am always preparing for the downpour that never comes and all I get is lots of sweat and sore arms. I'd have been better off to just leave the rain gear at home and taken my chances at getting wet.  I had to shower to wash off the sweat anyway so I could have just had a "free" shower.

Oh well, that was my gripe for the day and now that it's off my back, I'm going out to enjoy the sunshine and all that gorgeous weather.

However, I do think we should stop guessing and just admit we know nothing about what Nature is planning to do.  Perhaps God is telling us "Not thy will but Mine be done."

Tranquility

Here is another of my poems that I wrote in my poetry days.  Perhaps I could rename it "Reminisce" because that is what I do when I recall the day that I wrote it.  At that time I called it simply:

                                        Tranquility

The ultimate serenity

A quiet evening stroll

Where the heart finds it haven

On a quiet country knoll.

In my dreams I often wander

Where time and life stand still

Pausing neath the tree top

Where sings the whippoorwill.

Through the quiet of the evening

Into the stillness of the night

Fanning feathers softly utter

The sound of the owl in flight

A hovering pair of nighthawks

Their silent wings unfurled

Gliding slowly o’er this portrait

Of an enchanted wonder world.

The aura of the meadow

Of fresh daisies doth proclaim

A wild fragrance none can capture

A sweet perfume none can tame.

With the sigh of an evening zephyr

The angels softly speak

Touching softly as they linger

Like silk upon my cheek.

In the breeze, the trees are swaying

With their branches gently bent

Mother Nature rocking calmly

In her armchair, so content.

In peaceful quiet rapture

My soul perceives its haven

This Paradise, this Eden

God has so freely given!

Garden-fresh Veggies are Worth the Pain

                               UH, OH, Late Again
My, how the time flies!  I should add "when you're having fun."  But that would not be entirely true, though, to be perfectly honest, it would not be entirely false either.  I love gardening, and I am thrilled that my daughter now owns a place where I can indulge that passion.  Apartment living does not allow for such hobbies and most often I'm are relegated to store-bought produce that just missed the boat in the taste department. Oh it's not really bad-bad.  But anyone who has picked a sun-ripened tomato right off the plant in their own the garden will know what I'm talking about when I say that a sore back, aching muscles and dirty fingernails are a small price to pay for that special treat of your own garden-fresh vegetables.  There really is a difference in the taste!.

We spent a winter in southern Florida back in the eighties and we were dumbfounded to see how they grew tomatoes down there.  It was coral rock and fertilizer and water. Because the coral rock does not retain water, it was covered with plastic to keep the water from evaporating!  They grew lots of tomatoes and hauled them to market with big trucks where they were packaged for export to places like our grocery stores.  After witnessing that "mass production" of my favorite vegetable, I understand why I willingly put up with those sore muscles to grow my own tomatoes.  I just prefer my home grown beauties.  That chemical fertilizer and water and coral rock just cannot produce that same quality.  And that's only talking about tomatoes! Other vegetables endure the same fate.

So I can't say I'm having fun when I'm in pain.  (My body is used to sitting at a computer for the better part of the day, not bending, weeding, hoeing and digging in the soil.) But I'm still an old farmer at heart so I'm nuts enough to like working with the soil.  So it hurts sometimes. So what! It's worth it! Tomorrow I'm having fresh garden salad that I grew myself. And I've already long forgotten the sore muscles that I suffered with when I planted, weeded and hoed around it!    

I Miss My Deck!

I miss my deck!  I knew when I moved here that I wouldn't have one.  Still, I liked the apartment, the layout the building, and the location of it.  The place had everything!  Everything, except my own personal deck.  I knew that, but I still took it. There is a public deck up on the top floor. It's available to all of us.  It is seldom crowded so it is semi - well, almost semi-private most of the time.  I could deal with that.  No big deal.

 But as summer approaches, again, I'm finding that I DO miss having my own private deck!  Not enough to forego my lovely apartment, mind you, but Oh, how nice it would be, to  take my cup of coffee and my laptop, and step outside and work in the fresh outdoors without a major upheaval in my daily routine. I'm spoiled   I used to have a large deck before I moved here.  I  practically LIVED there during the summer!

I tried to take my laptop outside to work one day last week.  I took my cart that I use for grocery shopping and I loaded my folding chair, my folding tablemate, my laptop with cord, external mouse and mousepad (I hate using the fingertip mouse on the laptop), a sun hat for the hot sun, a jacket if it got too breezy, a can of juice if I got thirsty, then I got my keys, locked the apartment and pushed my overloaded cart to the elevator to take me up to the 12th floor public deck. There were a few people there but they were friendly so I chose the opposite corner of the deck and proceeded to unload my "work area".  There was plenty of room for all of us! Within ten minutes of setting up, I realized that the two solid walls of the deck trapped the sun's heat in, but kept the breeze out. I was sweltering and the computer was heating up.  This was not going to work.

I refolded everything, repacked my cart and took the elevator to the ground floor. Pushing the heavy cart through several heavy doors, I finally arrived in our beautiful courtyard. I unpacked everything and set up my work area again and started on my computer.  The beautiful flowering fruit trees offered shade from the sun's warm rays but the breeze had free range here. I think it had even picked up  in the last half hour. I donned my jacket but it failed to ward off the chill. Then my laptop ran out of power.  I moved closer to the gazebo and plugged it in, but the outlet there was shut off. By now, I was  too cold to be productive anyway.

 I refolded the chair and the table, repacked the computer and all its appendages, packed everything back into the cart and pushed it through those heavy doors to the elevator to go back up to my 4th floor apartment where I unpacked everything again. By the time I got everything into its proper place I was too played out to work anymore. The whole day yielded two paragraphs of writing plus my total exhaustion!

Now if I had my own private deck, I could have gone there in my PJ's and written a whole book by now and I wouldn't be feeling half as tired!  I MISS MY DECK!

Eclipse of the Sun

I am not sure if the recent  solar eclipse had crescent-shaped shadows because I missed it, but following is a poem I wrote the last time that we saw a full eclipse (early1970's).  As the moon was moving off to the side, it was a fascinating sight to see the crescent-shaped shadows.  We don't see the shape of the shadows when we're outdoors but we happened to be inside the house that day and the shadows were on a flat floor.  We were surprised to see that the shadows were in the exact shape of what we saw of the sun! Watch for this phenomenon next time you see an eclipse the sun.

 Crescent Shadows

Crescent shadows dancing on the floor

Through the maples around my door

Cast from a disk of a crescent sun

Rays of light, demarcated view

Bits of sunlight filtering through

The maple trees with teeming leaves

Dancing in the breeze.

Above

Where the sun was sovereign king

Just a short time ago

Single, alone, in the great beyond

Unchallenged, undisputed, unrivalled.

Now the moon has invaded

The sun’s imperial domain

Blocking its regal rays

Impeding its heavenly reign

Obstructing its path of light

Declaring again

Its singular subjugation

But temporary!

Ahh!!!! Wild Mushrooms!!!!

T'is the Season

I had a  call from a friend yesterday and she told me that I was missing out on a very important pastime that used to be a very important part of our life when I lived in Dauphin.    This spring ritual was mushroom picking - morels - to be exact.  Four of us  used to take off into the bush areas of the countryside and pick these special delicacies that Mother Nature provided so abundantly just for the picking.  Granted, some areas also yielded woodticks in almost disgusting abundance as well but we warded them off by wearing clothing that repelled them and the more stubborn ones, we simply  killed off.  Those mushroom expeditions  were worth any inconvenience,  any sacrifice to us!  What a delicious treat  these were, served up in a sauce of sauteed onions in rich cream, (preferably straight off the farm).  Oh the pleasures of country life.  Nothing can match it!!!! 

                                   

Letter to My Mom

Letter to my mom

I can’t believe it has been fifty five years today since I last saw your weary face, those eyes that barely could move to acknowledge our presence.  Yet how I miss you still, and even now I am wracked with feelings of guilt about wanting it all to end.  It wasn’t that I wanted you gone, Mom.  But we could not relieve your pain, could offer you no help, could not make anything even just a little easier for you.  You were suffering so terribly those last two weeks, yet still you waited – and waited – until your last baby could be at your side.  Only after John was able to come did you let go.

I know you are in a better place where you are, and I am grateful to God for relieving your pain and taking you to His Home.  Yet even now, I still miss you after all those years. We celebrated Mothers Day today and my memories took me back to that sad day when we lost you.  I still need to talk to you sometimes, because I know you would understand, would empathize with me, would rejoice with me at the good things and would cry with me about the bad.  Yet all I can hope for is another dream.  At least I get those.  They feel so real and as we go about our dream world tasks.  I feel that peace, that connection and that comfort of working alongside of you even if we are only attending to mundane tasks together.  Thanks for coming to visit me every now and then.  Good Night Mom.  See you in my dreams.

Jackrabbit Mania

                                                My front yard in Dauphin

                                                        My backyard in Dauphin
   
                                          "That Wascally Wabbit"
I look outside my apartment window and I see our own private Easter Bunny preening himself in our courtyard four floors below.  (I am on the forth floor of our Apartment Building").  I call him "our own" because he spends alot of time in our yard.  When I first saw him, when I moved in here three years ago, I cringed.  Oh, it's not that I don't like bunnies.  I truly do.  In fact, I had some very pleasant experiences with a jackrabbit that we raised from a baby when we were on the farm. (His story is related in this blog back on January 16.)  That was a GOOD jackrabbit. It's just that I have encountered BAD jackrabbits since, so I now view these cute rascals with a wary eye.
 When I lived in Dauphin, I had a resident jackrabbit that caused me no end of frustration.  I used to plant alot of flowers around my home.  (One year I even won a prize for my beautiful flowered yard.) 
However, those flowers did not come cheap,  thanks to a resident jackrabbit that had a penchant for flowers and my petunias were his special favorite. He would eat the young plants down to the ground and I would have to replant them again – and again. One time as he sat there chewing on my painted daisies near the fence, totally oblivious to my unveiled threats, I got so angry I took a slingshot and shot at him. Of course I could not hit the broad side of a barn. The pebble zinged by between his ears and just made him look up as if to say, “What was that?” Then, unperturbed, he just went on eating, unabashedly ignoring this neurotic woman that was attempting to cause him unnecessary stress.
 As a rule, I love animals and bunnies are particularly cute, but if I could have been a better shot, I would gladly have finished that moocher off. I used tons of paprika and cayenne pepper on my plants and all it did was delay him until the next rain or heavy morning dew, though I do believe he did develop a taste for spicy   salad. He never paid room and board. He just made himself at home on my lawn between feedings, relaxing, sprawled lazily out on the grass near the flowers like it was his own private estate!
So you can understand why I didn't trust the jackrabbits here in Edmonton.  But I'm eating crow now. Alberta bunnies are GOOD bunnies.  Our gardener plants alot of flowers and in the three years I have been here, the rabbits have not touched any of them.  Are Alberta jackrabbits specially trained to be GOOD???

A Dreamer's Dream

A Dreamer’s Dream

I ask not for fame and fortune

Or great mansions trimmed with gold

Give me but a hazel thicket

And a loving hand to hold.

A babbling brook outside my window

The soft whisper of a breeze

Grassy meadows all around me

And wild songbirds in the trees.

Give perfume of the roses

Wafting sweetly through the air

The droning hum of bumblebees

Sipping nectar hidden there.

Give me cobwebs mid the posies

Glistening bright in the morning dew

Morning glories day proclaiming

In deep pink and azure blue.

Give me butterflies on my daisies

Soft white clouds in the sky above

Tender arms to gently hold me

In sweet bondage of true love.

Sweet solitude I’ll treasure

Its serenity divine

In profusion, simple pleasure

That great “fortune” that’s all mine.

Just Wondering

                                                  Can a Trick Like This Work?
This morning, I received an emailed  copy of an article from the April 30/12 issue of the Toronto Star that really made a rather painful impression on me, particularly today.  The article  stressed the need for exercise for many of  us here in North America. According to that article, we could eliminate many medications if we just exercised more.  That article certainly applies to me, I know. So far, I've been lucky so medications are not a big part of my life but I do know I would be much better off if I exercised more.    
This computer, for instance, while I consider it essential to my well-being, and as such, my best friend, is also my nemesis at the same time.  I don't have those new fangled gadgets that you carry in your breast pocket that keep you in touch with  family, friends and the outside world. Nor do I want  one of those things.
Nonetheless, my computer keeps me in my chair alot of the time.  I exercise but I don't exercise as often, or as much, as I should, or could, perhaps.  If I did, I wouldn't be feeling all these aches and pains.  I did some lawn and garden work at my daughter's yesterday and today I'm sore in spots I didn't know I had.  Granted the work I did there was not normal exercise but if I was in shape, it would not bother me outside of making me tired - not sore.  So I have to grudgingly admit that I'm in poor shape - because I hurt!
That article expounded on the many benefits of exercise and even suggested that doctors should "prescribe exercise" instead of drugs!      
The Ukrainians have a saying that translates "I don't need a priest to tell me that Sunday is a holiday".  Would a doctor's prescription really make a difference?  I wonder. I honestly don't know.

Summer Herald

                                                    A Hint of Things to Come
What a wonderful feeling to get out there and not have to worry about coats and scarves and boots as you make your way to the polling booths to cast your vote in this  provincial election.   I am certain the voter turnout would not have been as good had the weather been nasty.  Today, everyone is almost eager for an excuse to get out there for a stroll in the beautiful sunshine (and a full 20 degrees with just a lovely hint of a breeze).  I met alot of people out there today and everyone was smiling.  It's a wonderful world.
I know that this weather won't last. It is way too early for the 20's yet so this is but an image, but we will accept whatever we get.  I don't know about everyone else, but for me,  coming from a farm background, I feel like that calf that has been let out of the pen, eager to kick up my heels and frolic freely after along period of confinement.  It is sheer exhilaration!  I'm heading back out there so till next time - ENJOY!!!!

Goal Achieved

                             Unexpected Success


When I started this blog, it was with the purpose of getting the stories from my books out to the public - to those people that were not able to obtain my book because of financial constraints, storage or distance limitations or some other difficulties. I thought that if I blogged the stories from my book, it would make them available to everyone free of charge, albeit piece meal over a lengthy period of time.

Fairly early in my sojourn into the blogging world, it became evident that there were several serious drawbacks to that scheme.  

First:  some of my readers at that time, were unfamiliar with blogging (and/or computers) and I was not reaching those readers anyway.

Second:  Many of my stories were too long for a blog. This made it unappealing and thus defeated the purpose of the blog.  In addition, it limited my opportunities to express opinions, make observations, or anything else I might wish to include in my blog.

Last, but by no means least, I now had an excellent and efficient editor (Marilyn Christian) who is publishing my books on line With Lulu Publishers – free Ebooks for those that just simply wish to read it.  For those that wish to purchase a book to keep, they are available for sale in beautifully laid out, bound books on the  Lulu site.  (I do have coil bound "Small Beginnings" at home. As well, my books are also available at Dauphin Musical Supplies in Dauphin Manitoba. They are my distributor there.  Books Purchased directly from me or from Dauphin Musical Supplies are cheaper at $12.00 per book and you save shipping charges if you pick them up personally).

The original purpose for the blog was therefore being met much more efficiently with Lulu's publication and I could still use my blog for my personal views, opinions, observations etc.   My book "Roots - A Life in Review" will be coming out as an Ebook as well as in a bound book form from Lulu  within the next month.

Incidentally, Marilyn is also putting her husband's (Dudley Christian) Poetry Books on line.  Just Google the authors name and you'll see them.  

Faraway Roots

A Nostalgic Glance At My Past


This picture surprised us from a parchment placemat in a Toronto restaurant about 10 or 15 years ago.  My sisters and I had stopped in for a coffee and were astonished to see our picture staring up at us.  The owner had picked a random picture out of the Ethelbert Homecoming book and it happened to be ours.  What a wonderful and exciting surprise that was!  Inspired by the nostalgia that picture invoked, I came home and I penned this poem and called it:

                          Faraway Roots

A city far away

Strange and unfamiliar

In a restaurant, simple, homey

I sit staring, unbelieving

At a placement - unique, yet unpretentious

“Just a bit of nostalgia” they called it

“True Canadiana” they said

Just random photos of bygone days

Reproduced and printed

On white parchment with scalloped edges

Decorated with antique scrolled designs.

But the picture on that parchment is not insignificant

The people in that snapshot are not nameless

Where did it come from?

How did it get here?

This picture of my old home

The house with the whitewashed walls

And the double window that faced the morning sun.

My brother and I

Standing just knee high

To our older grown up sisters, brother

Solemnly posing on the front steps.

Those steps that my father built

From wood that stood behind the old shed.

And mother coming towards us

Along the picketed flower bed

With a sidewise glance at the photographer.

I gaze in awe at my past

Looking back at me through years of time

And wonder at this marvel

Prompted by a stranger unaware.

Not insignificant, this picture

It’s me, my roots, my childhood home!

My early youth,

So long forgotten

By a stranger unknowingly resurrected.

A house no one considered important

A family no one recognized but me

This home looking back at me

From this picture in a stranger’s unlikely abode

In this faraway place of “now”.

The Angels Among Us

                                         The Angels who walk among us
I had a very traumatic experience today and, to me it was extremely stressful.  I was convinced it would end tragically for me, but thanks to a couple of guardian angels that live among us, my faith in the goodness of people is restored.
I never go anywhere without my purse so I always expect to have to have something on my arm. Today, however I had a second bag that I was carrying.  Because I was in a hurry, and I already had that other bag on my arm, I forgot my purse in the bus shelter by the Westmount Mall.  I did not realise this until about 10 to 20 minutes later. In an absolute panic and fully convinced that all my important belonging would be long gone, my friend Ann drove as quickly as the traffic would allow, back to that bus stop in a vain hope that my purse would still be there.  As we drove up, two ladies were happily pointing to us obviously relieved to see me come back for the purse which they realised I'd forgotten in my hasty departure from the shelter.  Patiently, they had stood guard over it, waiting for me to come back and pick it up (as they suspected I would as soon as I missed it.) I was only able to offer them a hasty thank you as we were in a bus stop area and a bus was waiting behind us.  The kindness, patience and generosity of these women has restored my optimistic faith in our human race.  There truly are angels on this earth and they do walk among us.  I only wish I could thank them again and get to know them.  They must truly be wonderful human beings.   I am hoping that somehow they will see this or hear about this and feel my overwhelming gratitude.

Just Wondering

                                                    Been There, Done That?
I was watching the news on TV the other day and they had a clip about some kind of a new technical device that that has just come out. It's hardly bigger than a cell phone but has the technology of a micro computer. They showed a one-year old little kid playing with it.  He was navigating through the programs like a regular pro.  The little tyke cannot even talk yet, but this gizmo presented him with no problem at all.  Now I realize that there are geniuses no matter what age but COME ON!
This new technology is stonewalling me at almost every corner while these kids come into this world and they're just homefree? I may not be the sharpest blade in the cabinet, but I'm not a total dud either.  So how come this new generation coming up is so savvy with all this technology?  It's as if they have passed this way before.  What is this?  Are brains being recycled now, so these kids are born with pre-programmed knowledge while we old folks have to learn everything from scratch?  I protest this unfair distribution of acumen.  I try so hard but it seems like each time I master something new, someone comes along and shows me how little I really know and how much more there is to learn.  This "born again" thing is taking on a whole new meaning for me and it doesn't look half bad.
 (I am not poking fun at the "Born Again" Christians here either. I'm on a totally different track from them on this. In fact, I sincerely apologize for using their line but those particular words just seem applicable in this case.

If Life Gave Notice

If Life Gave Notice

If life were to give me notice

That my journey ends tomorrow

Would I see flashes of regret?

Would I feel pangs of sorrow?

I know my dirty dishes

Would not really matter much

Nor would I feel a bit contrite

At leaving dust untouched.

I would regret not having gone

On that trip when the kids were small

And missed the rapture in their eyes

When they saw that waterfall.

I’d miss the croaking of the frogs

Of spring’s overflowing creek beds

Walking, searching for new blossoms

Of marsh marigolds in the wetlands

I’d miss the gentle raindrops

Of summers’s slow warm rain

Cause my hairdo I had wished to save

How could I have been so vain?

I’d wish I’d stayed out doors to watch

The stars on a bright summer night

Instead of wasting precious time

Watching reruns and TV lights.

I’d regret going indoors just to sleep

When the northern lights did dance

Not standing there to watch them

When I’d had that perfect chance.

I’d miss the blazing autumns

With their flaming colors glowing

When mundane chores held me captive

And robbed me of their showing.

I’d wish I’d sat there on that deck

On mornings warm and bright

Hearing finches chirp “Good Morning”

As for each seed they’d fight.

I’d regret not visiting my good friends

Who were lonely, ill that day,

To give them each a little lift

And to cheer them on their way.

So I know not how much time I have

But I know I will be glad

To live each day as if t’were my last

So my last will not be sad!

Ahh Spring!

                                     Pleasures of Spring
Well April, Easter and obviously spring are just around the corner.  I spent all afternoon listening to the twitter of huge flock or birds in the tree outside my window. I think they were juncos but I'm not too sure because the tree was abit far from the the building and I'm on the fourth floor.  Add to that, my limited eyesight, and I cannot be certain.  But my ears were working fine and so was my memory. Those cheery birds did not thrill me as much as they could have because of the memories their chatter  invoked.  To me their chirping still spells frustration, pestilence and supreme annoyance.

When we lived on a farm in Manitoba, back in the 50's 60's and 70's, we considered those early flocks of juncos a most unwelcome harbinger of the spring season.  We had a  small "orchard" near the house with a few fruit trees that we cherished.  Each spring the fruit trees would burst forth with masses of beautiful blossoms that presented spring as a magnificent and fragrant wonder world, along with a promise of luscious fruit in September.
 
Then  the juncos would arrive - en masse.  They would attack those blossoms with such voracious appetites that within a few hours there was not a petal or a stamen left on any of the trees.  Of course, that took care of the bees and thereby the fruit for the year.  Trying to chase or keep the birds away was an exercise in futility.  They rarely left the area until they had stripped the trees bare.  Seldom did we manage to salvage any fruit from those determined raiders unless the weatherman foiled their assault with an untimely spring.  On those occasions, the blossom times would not coincide with the arrival of the flocks and the blossoms and pollination would be spared.  Those times we always considered ourselves lucky.
I understand that after their long journey the birds are hungry, but can they at least leave something for us?    Oh well, t'is the price of spring and all its pleasures have a price I guess.  Happy Easter to all.

Kissing the Blarney Stone

Okay I suppose I should be back on my way to Ireland to kiss that Blarney Stone again, because I need a refresher course.  I did that back when I was in Europe last time but I think the blarney thing wore off already.  The good memories remain however.  In case some of you do not know how you kiss the Blarney stone, I will show you.  You hang over a 300 foot drop,  you hang upside down,with a death grip on to a couple of iron bars while a handsome young Irishman  holds onto you so you don't drop over the precipice.  Then you kiss the silly rock from below.  If you don't hang on tight enough to those iron bars above you, you may fall down to the rocky ground 300 feet below.  But here is the consolation.  If you do fall, you are coming down with those Irishman's arms around you.  Even if it isn't a soft landing, it is sure to be a happy one!  As you can see in the picture, I held on tight. ( See you in Ireland!)

Gloom

This poem was written during a time when things were dark and dismal. There a dismal times in all our lives and sometimes we just need to vent.  It's cathartic. 

Gloom!

In the shadows of despair

Anguish is my intimate friend,

My persistant companion.

T'is the silent shadow at my heels.

My cheer - t'is but a lie - repeated…..

The false facade for my secret pain

The negative force for my positive stride.

Like a fog, the uncertainty is thick, relentless

A tide of pessimism I can not control

Gripping, crippling,

Suffocating my ailing confidence.

In vain I grope for truth and justice

I search for solace, fruitlessly

Some crumb of faith to stave my yearning.

A soothing balm for my aching soul.

Like a drowning waif in a pool of quicksand

I trash against assaulting fear

I fight despair, I shun depression,

Repress anxiety with no success.

I sense defeat, strong, - and forceful

(There's little hope of a mistake)

No calm awareness of peace evolving

To stem the tide of sheer regret.  

Wasted Treasures

Wasted Treasures

Last week I was asked to speak at a Library luncheon to a group of ladies that were primarily readers of books.  I knew a number of those women personally and at different ocassions had spent some very interesting times conversing with them. 

Several of these women often related very fascinating stories of their past.  Many of them were of European descent and some were survivers of the war.  They had sometimes horrendous, sometimes  fantastic, sometimes unbelievably miraculous stories to relate about dealing with fear, hardship, survival, and eventual escape from those conditions.  Most of us born and raised here in Canada could not imagine, much less empathize, with the conditions they described.  Yet these women  related their stories without bitterness or malice, simply stating their facts as they had happened, just happy that that life was over and they were now free and safe.  Those days  were merely their past! - done - but not forgotten. 

Those of us listening, were thoroughly engrossed. In fact many of us were mesmerized by their fortitude, their  courage, their perseverence and their determination to find a better life for themselves and for their families.  They had left a land that had failed them, a race that had forsaken them and a dream that  had turned dark and empty. 

These women (and I realize there were men in these same circumstances too),  came to a new country where they knew and understood no one, where they had no knowledge of the customs, the traditions, the expections, or even the mores of the different ethnic peoples they were forced to live among.  They faced near starvation and frigid temperatures in a primitive land  that often offered limited shelter, no conveniences and no assistance except that of thoughtful and kind strangers, who neither spoke nor understood their language yet displayed a humane heart.   Yet they persevered and made a good life for themselves and their families in spite of all the adversities, contributing unobtrusively to the success of their new country and ultimately their own families.
 

Yet there is a sad anticlimax here.  Their stories, irregardless how fascinating, end with them.  When I suggested they write them down, for future generations, they dismissed the idea because "no one would be interested".  Several others and I protested that the stories were not only interesting but intrigueing, but still the women said that they could write them down.   They said the were not computer literate, did not type, and and could not possibly write it all down in longhand.  Therfore, those stories would die with them.  Such a pity.  Such a waste. 

I have another suggestion to those who have stories to tell.  Buy a voice activated tape recorder.  They can be purchaced for under $50.00.  Record your stories and someday someone will transcribe them.  Such treasures are far too prescious to bury!

A Different Perspective

Another Husband????

We sometimes don't realize how easy it is to turn life's sometimes common everyday inconveniences into light-hearted situations if we but look at them from a different perspective.  This following scenario played itself out a number of  years ago but it still makes me smile because it illustrates that finding  humor under any circumstance is easy if we just angle our view.

  

My husband and I were in Polo Park Mall in Winnipeg for some shopping. John, being a typical man, was not interested in following me around on my search for the perfect purchase. I, well I was not dumb either. What woman wants an impatient man at her elbow passing bad judgement on all her fantasies and choices? I was only too happy when he suggested he would wander off on his own and just meet me “right here at the foot of this escalator in three hours”. Great! I could do a lot of browsing in three hours. We set off in opposite directions, both happy with this mutually beneficial agreement. 

After three hours of relaxed browsing and shopping, I made my way to the predetermined spot at the foot of that escalator. I looked around for John, but he was not in sight. I waited for a few minutes and decided he must probably be waiting on another floor. I rode up to the second floor but he was not there either so I went to the third floor. Still no husband. I decided to go down, thinking he was probably there by now. No such luck. He was probably delayed, or lost. I checked the three floors again with no success. Convinced that he would show up at the foot of one of the escalators, I made my way up again. On my third trip to the top floor, a floor walker noted my searching eyes and asked me if I was looking for something.

“Yes,” I replied. “I’m looking for my husband.”

The man looked at me quizzically, then, glancing around, with complete simplicity and sincerity, he quipped, “Aw, pick another one. There are lots of them around.”   
What a novel idea!  ( Luckily or maybe not), John appeared shortly after that and "saved" me from the "tedious" task of choosing another candidate.  

Caverns of My Mind

Caverns of My Mind

Within the caverns of my mind

Stark black chasms, grotesque and grey

Stretch like tunnels to infinity

In gaping grottos, crowded with emotions

Haunting, dispirited memories

Hover like phantoms of an illusion

Glowing, in the darkness of deep thought.

Gloomy impressions of life’s upheavals

Fleeting morbid images of the past

Ebony drips of shorn reflections

Like iridescent dewdrops

That never, ever catch the light

Frosty icicles with jagged edges

The spikes of anguish, sorrow, grief

Like cold stalactites that weep forever

Unto opaque and murky stalagmites

Protruding from a floor of agony

Sad regrets, unearned reprisals

Stifling, choking my every gasp.