Bubbles of Joy

On the bridge over the Fraser River

I find it so incredible that Thanksgiving is once more just around the corner. Where did the last months of 2011 go?

Soon, it will be Christmas! And then New Year's Eve...and the year 2011 will drift away into the past.


Years ago, when I was in my teens, I wondered where I would be when I was in my sixties. I didn't realize, at that age, how quickly the years pass...and that I would be here, in my dotage, before I knew it.

The Williams Lake Stampede Grounds

And really,I couldn't grasp the fact that each day would quickly recede in my memory, into the mists of Time. In my youth, I truly thought I would remember each and every moment...of heartache, grief, intense joy and anger.

I do remember the dramatic, life-changing occasions...yet the details, the fine-tuning that occurred, what I did to learn the lesson that had been presented to me...those have mostly left me.

Williams Lake

Sometimes, something will come up, however, in conversations or events that jog pieces of memories I've buried deeply. Dreaming also reminds me of choices I might have made throughout the moments, days and years of my life.

Not all of those choices were correct...in fact, many of them weren't. And these are the ones that come up, during quiet or even not so quiet, moments. It seems quite strange to me...I thought I had put the past completely to rest.

The beautiful, green Chilko River

But every once in awhile, a sharp dagger inserts itself into my heart...a dagger which reminds me a former decision may have had severe consequences...maybe not so much for me, but for others in my life.


It is quite like an awakening.

Pelicans! Photo taken from information booth

I've learned something, though, with all these old thoughts and decisions I made years ago trumpeting their way back into my mind. This time around, when those past actions return to haunt me, I actually am able to face them, to unravel them, to allow the hurt to appear, to forgive others and myself, and then to let them go.


Something I quite obviously did not do the first time around, when these events actually happened. I'd guess the actions required to reach forgiveness were not done at the time.

Information Booth

It seems to me, during this flood of folderol which moves through my senses, I am happier after I've let some relatively small thing go...and so, as these past events assault me now, I have learned travelling to the other side...the forgiveness side...well, it might be difficult for a few moments, but once it's done...there are bubbles of sheer joy which flow throughout.


So even if time passes so quickly and memories fade with its passage, it seems events which turned out badly, if they haven't been dealt with, will come back...at the age of sixty, or seventy or even older.

Hay field in the Chilcotin

I know a lady who is 95 years young, with an inoperable cancer. She told me she lived her life in pure denial. Every time harsh words were spoken, every time an accident occurred, she would take the words or the accident and shove them deeply inside. So deeply, in fact, that more often than not, she never thought of them again.


Until now. With a laugh, my friend told me it was impossible to get away with anything...those deeds that were hidden in a bottomless void in her mind eventually caught up with her.


At the age of 95.


Thanksgiving, of course, returns each and every year. As I write this, I try and remember past holidays, specific things about Thanksgiving. I cannot. They all meld into one. 

An old barn in the Chilcotin District

This is the thing, though. I am not in control of when the troubling past returns for me to deal with. I wish I was...hurting thoughts, from the past, can engulf me at the most inopportune moments. And then, I can find myself reacting to something in an angry or emotional manner. I find my reaction is fuelled from a past event...and not the present one at all.


It's a really good thing to know...

I feel much lighter these days, those bubbles of happiness much more prevalent.


This year, we will travel to the Coast for another Thanksgiving with the family. This year, I will go with a little more awareness of what makes me tick.


The years pass by so quickly, as if life were all a dream.

The Sun, Clouds and a green Orb!

Perhaps one day, in the near future, I will awaken completely, to a life no longer held back by dark, slimy sludge.


Sounds pretty good to me...


Happy Thanksgiving! May your day be filled with good thoughts, from the past and the present!

Comfort

It began to Snow when I arose this morning. Here in the Cariboo, Snow covers the ground very quickly, once it begins. It isn't very cold...only -5C...but still cold enough that a day indoors sounds extraordinarily wonderful!

It is the kind of day where I can imagine sitting by the Fire with a hot cup of Tea and a good book. I promise myself I will do this exact thing...but first, I am on a mission.

I dreamt last night about my mother. She is close to me, these days. Perhaps because it is near Christmas, her favourite holiday when she was still alive.

The dream involved making Gingerbread with her. And when I awoke, I remembered that afternoon my mother and I made a very sticky loaf of Gingerbread. I don't believe it ever became a family favourite, since I only remember that one time...but it was an afternoon made in Heaven.

I was very young; many of the ingredients in this loaf were exotic and strange to me. It was the first time I tasted Molasses; I have loved it ever since. And then there was candied Ginger, Almond paste, Honey, Almonds, Sugar Beet syrup...for a budding foodie, these ingredients made a huge impression on me.

The whole afternoon became a memory instilled deep within. I can still vividly recall a Stormy day with steamy windows and Air redolent of the scent of Ginger, Allspice and Cinnamon. That day, it was only me and my mother...other family members were not there. I had her complete attention all to myself, not something which happened very often.

The loaf my mother baked came out of the oven very black and sticky. It was beyond good...I recall licking bowls and utensils while the loaf baked and being in utter awe at how such sticky batter could ever bake into something like a loaf of bread. And yet it did...

I once had this recipe. But I wrote it down in my twenties as my mother recited it to me, in pencil. I can no longer read it well enough...the writing is faded and the paper is thin, after having been folded so many times.  The ingredient amounts have been erased with time. I wish I had asked my mother once again for this recipe, while she was still alive.

That's the thing...regret can become a friend once one's parents are gone...

So this is my mission today...to find a recipe which is as good as the one my mother baked that long ago afternoon.

Perhaps this new recipe will not have all the ingredients my mother used, since many of them would have been European, but I will adapt it to include as many of them as I can remember. And I will cover the baked loaf with Almond paste, just as my mother did.

Recipes are all about adapting, aren't they? No matter what the recipe is for...

And then...then the Fire will still beckon. With a cup of  hot Tea in hand and a slice of Gingerbread, I promise myself I will spend the rest of the afternoon in warmth and comfort, watching the Snow fall with silent speed.

With my mission accomplished.

" Had I but one penny in the world thou shouldst have it to buy ginger-bread." Love's Labour Lost...Shakespeare

Wild Roses

Many long years ago, when I was a small girl, the best part of the school session was the month of June, and not only because it was the beginning of Summer holidays.

I travelled home by school bus. The weather had warmed up by June; the bus windows were all open. And every once in a while, a waft of Air would bring in the scent of the wild Rose, which grew rampant on the sides of the roads.


I was amazed at this flower. She came back year after year, without any tending. And Rose's scent...clean, fruity, sharp, sweet and unmistakable...made me gather fist loads of her to give to my Mother, never minding the thorns. I did this until I discovered how fleeting the life of Rose's flower was, once picked.

Her beautiful, scented blossom is meant to be admired outside, where Sun and Rain and Wind release her ethereal essence. It seemed to me that she breathed out the very smell of the upcoming Summer.

And here she is again. Our property has wild Roses everywhere. Some do not like her; they pull her, they poison her, they bulldoze the Soil around her. And eventually, she does not come back.


There are very few wild Roses blooming along roadsides anymore.

But I love her.  She can be difficult to love, with her running roots and her habit of hanging on to her dead canes until there is very little of her blooming canes left in a huge tangled bush. Rose does so for a reason...those old canes give her support when she leafs out, when she blooms, and finally, when her red hips hang ripe and luscious.

When I cleared the lower bench, I took out those old canes, and pruned the others.  Rose has rewarded me with an abundance of blooms...but she can not hold herself upright, if the canes left were small. One of the jobs on my list is to stake those dangling, lovely balls of pink, in so doing giving Rose strength to grow those large hips.
 

She will send up other canes.  If they are in the same area as the cane left after clearing, I will leave them, in order to build  a bush.  I did this with a small, wild Rose I found when we moved in, right by the West side of the deck steps.

After two seasons, she glows.  She is clothed in pink with very healthy dark green leaves, used almost as a fashion accessory. It is as if, at any moment, she may pick up her skirts and twirl and dance, as if in a minuet.


From a very unassuming little Rose, about the size of a minute, she has grown three feet, possible more if I had let her. But I pruned, fertilized and clipped, last year when there was little in the garden to nurture.


And she has certainly rewarded me! Now my concern is for how large she will grow...and how much clipping and pruning there will be, in the future.


When I smell her unforgettable scent, as I work in the beginning stages of what will be a garden, I am transported back to my childhood.  It never fails to make me smile with anticipation for the upcoming Summertime.


It doesn't matter that I no longer have Summer vacations such as I had as a child.  I am flooded with happy memories, all of which shower me with joy and well-being. In reality, my childhood was not always like this; yet, Rose only sends me cheerful, buoyant recollections.


And this is the way I prefer to remember my past...with joy. I have left the rest...the garbage left over from lessons learned...behind.


Wild Rose takes me back in time when I first began my journey. A time of anticipation and innocence, a time when life's sorrows had not yet tinged happiness for me.


And I wonder...perhaps it is time, once again, to view the World through those proverbial rose-coloured glasses I once owned...the ones I put away long ago? Perhaps it is time to put the scarred, cracked and blackened ones away,  along with that left-over garbage?



The scent of Wild Rose tells me it just might be so.

Future Dreams

Another trip to the Coast is over.  It seems to me my life, right now, is split between visits to the Coast and time spent here, in the Cariboo.

It is becoming more difficult to leave the Coast.  I have discovered a very important facet to myself...that is, I love my family far more than I ever imagined...and that was a big imagining.

When we leave, a bigger piece of my heart remains. It will not be possible to continue leaving too much longer.


With this in mind, Graham and I talked, on the long trip, about where we want to retire.  We both agree it will be on the Island, with no other reason than family ties.


But the last sentence is not really true.  The Island draws me, as I knew it would...it is where I grew up, after all.  The ties and roots are very strong. And Ocean, when she calls, I cannot resist, nor do I want to.

And so, much of my time, at the moment, has been spent researching various different towns and villages on the Island. So many areas from which to choose!


There is great anticipation on my part.  This time, when I move, it will be different from all other moves in my life.  Most, if not all, were done without too much thought, because circumstances did not allow time for much research...and many times, there was no choice.

And because it will be a few years before we actually re-locate, back to the family and the Island, life here in the Cariboo has relaxed, for me.  I intend to enjoy my time here, by the grace of Creator. I now realize I am here to understand more parts of myself...parts I may have missed had I been too close to family and friends.


As the Hermit card in my Tarot deck explains, my need to go inner, to understand where I am and who I am, was displaced by too many outer disruptions. I am here to accept the wisdom of patience...and to accept my passage into the ageing process.



One has only to look at the long Winters here, in the Cariboo, to understand that patience is a strong part of the characters who live here. There is no use at all in railing against Mother Nature. I have a feeling I have a few more Winters to experience!

But in due course, if one is willing to wait, rewards or opportunities appear. In Creator's own time...and I believe I have accepted my sojourn here, giving me joy in the adventure in which I find myself.


So many places from which to choose...I wonder where it will be? Will it be Duncan, Courtenay, Comox or Campbell River? I visualize my future home; I will know it when I find it. There is no doubt.

In the meantime, Spring is slowly, gently and very softly showing her face, here in the land of extremes.  Brown twigs and branches are suddenly showing their early glow; buds are, oh, so minutely, unfurling into their tender green.



And the weather is turning much warmer...even Rain is finally overtaking interminable Snow showers, giving me the soft, watery atmosphere I crave.

Anticipation is the order of the day, whether it be future homes or the flowering of the Crocus.

In these uncertain times, with no sure thing on the horizon, I am undeniably grateful for where I am on the present roadway.


Future dreams and an acceptance to just be...can there be any better way?



Note: Photos gracing this post were taken by my granddaughter Brianna, on her trip to Europe. I post them here with many thanks to my lovely, talented fourteen year old Bree!

Anticipation

"Anticipation, anticipation, Is makin' me late, Is keepin' me waitin' "...Carly Simon

The Wheel grinds slowly these days.

The minutes and hours seem longer than usual, when I look to the future...instead of where I am, in the present moment.

However, it seems I must test these things; so I find myself wandering off to a date in the future, when this will have happened and that will appear.


I notice, as always , time slows to a trickle, as my anticipation of the future grows.


I muse...Is this how children feel? Is this terrible, disorienting, joyous anticipation of a decision which will change my life, once again, exactly how children feel, as they look towards Christmas Day?

I think it is.

I remember it now. Time slows to a crawl.

How many more sleeps?...I remember asking, over and over again, with the desperate hope inside that perhaps, somehow, some way, a couple of sleeps had occurred, just when I wasn't looking.

This kind of anticipation surely wakes all the bodies...the spiritual, mental, physical and emotional...ohhh, the emotional bodies. It feels as if I might crawl out of my skin, it feels too tight to breathe. All senses are heightened, as I wait for a decision.

Each morning, as I wake, I wonder what day it is, how much closer am I to knowing...?

As a child, I learned that the anticipation of a holiday is sometimes more exciting than the actual event. And so, I try to balance the excitement with that thought in mind. I list all the cons...and yet, the pros still outweigh.

And the excitement spirals once again.

That wild exhilaration leads to contrariness. It led to contrary behaviour when I was a child; it is no different now.

“If pleasures are greatest in anticipation, just remember that this is also true of troubles” Elbert Hubbard quotes (American editor, publisher and writer, 1856-1915

Balance.

“Expecting is the greatest impediment to living. In anticipation of tomorrow, it loses today.”

Seneca quotes (Roman philosopher, mid-1st century AD)

Living in the present moment. Today will not come again.

“An intense anticipation itself transforms possibility into reality; our desires being often but precursors of the things which we are capable of performing.”

Samuel Smiles quotes (Scottish author, 1812-1904)

Then again, when I was a child, I would try and will into being that new doll I wanted so badly under the Christmas Tree...and who's to say I didn't? It was certainly there.

And so, as I try to live these next few days like a mature adult, I still find the dreams and hopes take centre stage...I still believe if I only will it...

Sometimes changes appear that I required badly but did not know it. Sometimes I am broadsided, looking like Grandfather Tree when he takes a blast from the North Wind.

The harbinger of change became apparent on the same day the man in the Homburg hat appeared, with his convoluted message. The bombardment of messages from different beings...I could not, after awhile, ignore them or explain them away.

Even as my faith grew, it wavered with doubt...but the doubt and negative thinking is fast disappearing with the synchronicities being displayed.

It appears my path in life is taking a thrilling curve...and I guess I'll go along for the ride.

And when I come to this realization, this knowing that I can let go and let God...I remember how, as a child, I would come to a point where I had done all I could to receive a much loved item that would be mine on Christmas Eve. I would sigh with relief...the fever pitch of excited anticipation and the patience required to wait had quite worn me out.

So it is today. Now. At this moment. What's done is done. And the waiting is part of the test.

“Hope is the companion of power, and mother of success; for who so hopes strongly has within him the gift of miracles.”

Samuel Smiles quotes (Scottish author, 1812-1904)

I wait. With hope and faith and finally, acceptance of the outcome.