Easter Tradition

My grandfather is Ukranian, so when he married my grandmother she was determined to master the art of perogies, cabbage rolls, borstch, and every Easter.... Pysanky (Ukranian Eggs). It was a wonderful tradition. We'd all be gathered around the kithen table while my grandfather watched, his eyes twinkling and he'd laugh as he called me his little kushka (chicken)... My grandmother always had all the supplies laid out for us and encouraged everyone to experiment with different designs. She, and my Aunt Nicki, always made the best pysanky in my opinion. They had the patience for the intricate details, a character trait I wish I'd inherited from them.

The above photo is from our cross Canada trek in the summer 2008. We stopped in Vegreville, Alberta. This giant pysanky is a roadside attraction there that we just had to stop and admire. It was created back in 1974 to commemmerate the 100th Anniversary of the RCMP. The design represents harmony, vitality and culture.

Words on the tip of my tongue (or rather... my fingers)

I had hoped to start blogging this year with a renewed vigour, but instead find myself staring at the computer screen waiting for the words to return to the tips of my fingers.
Have you ever had that feeling, you've got something to say, words on the tip of your tongue but you just can't find them? It's a great way to describe writers block... because even though the words are failing you can feel them burbling under the surface.
I remember years ago, going on a poetry retreat with a friend who is an amazing poet (and I believe she is now the poet laureate of the City of Victoria... a very witty and inspiring woman!) Anyways, prior to this retreat I was writing away, trying to get something half decent on paper to workshop while I was there but the only thing I could get out was either too rhymey or too whiney. Yet after a few days of workshopping these really bad poems at the retreat, something shifted in me, and I came away with something I was proud of.
Recently I was at a Steve Bell concert and he, a songwriter, was talking about writers block, about heading off alone to a friends cabin in the middle of nowhere and how it took days of sitting alone on the couch, just meditating on the scene in front of him before a song came burbling out.
It'll be a few months before I can head out on a weekend retreat but I think that is just what I need. In the meantime I'll have to start searching for ways to have mini retreats: a long walk, a good book, a hot bubblebath, a bikeride through the woods...

Beatle-opoly

A lovingly competitive round of Monopoly on Christmas night at my brother's house went on for about four hours. We picked up Beatles Monopoly as a last minute Christmas present for the boys after playing a round of it at my Dad's house. (He had bought the game as a Christmas gift to himself and we decided to do the same.) It was a big success.

We try to keep up a tradition of family game night throught the year, but it doesn't compare to the fun we have when everyone is together, satisfied from a savoury turkey dinner with all the fixings, under the twinkle of tree lights, and a steady stream of Beatles tunes to keep us in the groove. "A very merry Christmas and a happy new year. Lets hope it's a good one, without any tears"

Nostalgia

This silver airplane ashtray lamp was in my grandparents house for years before finding its new home in my Dad's livingroom. My grandfather, who passed away in 1992, was a maritime patrol pilot in the Canadian Airforce and this piece always reminds me of him. I remember when I was a kid thinking it was so cool that the plane lit up from the inside, the light reflecting out the windows. The lamp feature broke years ago but I still think it's pretty cool . My grandparents bought this in Toronto in the late 1940's, when they were a young married couple, before they adopted my Dad, before they moved out West to Vancouver Island, before a multitude of milestones, long before I was born...

A View of the World

This telescope and globe are on display next to a row of windows in my Dad's home. Outside those windows there is a patio. Beside the patio is a garden bed. Beyond the garden bed is an expanse of yard surrounded by fence and a big wide gate to the road. At each end of the road there is a trail to the beach. At the beach there are barnacle covered rocks, waves lapping softly or ferociously depending on the wind and a haphazard collection of driftwood that has rolled up against the shore. Along the beach is the ocean and beyond the ocean a view of islands and distant mountains and an expanse of sky. 

On this globe my Dad's home is not even visible. You couldn't even put your finger on the street where he lives. You'd have to peer intently at the smudge of land that represents the 450 km long island where I grew up, to see the tiny dot that represents the town of Comox, with a population just over 12,000. 

And to be honest, you could look at the globe for hours and still you would only see Comox if you already know it's there. This all makes me think how the world is so big and so small at the same time.

My Haphazard Garden

This year I am really pleased with my garden. I am not an avid gardener but I do enjoy being outside digging in the dirt. This year my garden has offered me a refuge. I pull in my driveway filled with anxiety and I see a new blossom. My anxiety lifts. In the morning I sit in my backyard with my morning coffee and take in the lush greens, purples, yellows and blues that surround me. This morning quiet rejuvenates me and prepares me for the day ahead. It is a haphazard garden, somewhat like my life, and I love it.

Happy Mothers Day

I arrived home on Saturday afternoon to find this incredible bouquet of flowers on my doorstep. A loving note was tucked inside from my husband who phoned long-distance to flowers on top, our favourite flower store downtown Victoria. He is still in language training just outside Montreal and won't be finished for another few months. I love this spontaneous romantic side of my husband that surprises me with his extravagance. I love how much he appreciates my role as a mother. Sometimes it feels like a pretty big role to fill. Other times (most times) it feels like the most incredible opportunity. I cherish my three children and on mothers day this year they made me feel like they also cherish me. I think they learned that from their dad.

No Straight Road

Our lives are inspired by the dreams we have from the earliest stages of our youth. When you combine passion and hard work, then success is always possible. While no road is ever straight, dedication and persistence will always lead you to your dreams
Starbucks The Way I See It #63

This was the message on my coffee cup this morning. I was struck by the words "while no road is ever straight..." I have been longing for the straight road, for clear direction without awkward turns, but this road I long for is not appearing. Instead I am faced with the road to Tofino, complete with big trucks blaring past me and the occassional bear sighting ... Of course I am being metaphorical. If you have ever travelled the road to Tofino you will know exactly what I mean. It's a scary road to drive. But the destination! Wow! It is incredible. At the end of this windy narrow old-logging-road-turned-highway you arrive at paradise: the most spectacular expanse of ocean on Vancouver Island.