They're Not Just Books!

     I've loved books since I was gifted my first one by a family friend on my tenth birthday. Books had played little role in my life until then. They were absent from our postwar Belfast bungalow, my parents not being readers. There were books at  school, of course, but upon grasping that  "Little Women" was my own to peruse as often as I wished, I was hooked on reading for life.

     After sixty years of collecting, my home library now numbers in the thousands.  I lend, give away and  donate frequently, even as bookshops and thrift stores lure me in to gather more, often on the same day!  A prodigious reader, I burn through many volumes in a year, in genres ranging  from fiction to biography, geology to true crime, and everything  in between.

     Books were what got me through a troubled childhood. However chaotic  my home life, however lonely I found myself to be, I had my books to turn to. They offered consolation when needed, along with the promise of a gentler  future, a reminder that was sorely needed amidst each day's ongoing drama. 

     To me, cradling a book is akin to holding a loved one's hand. Found there is memory, trust and the shared history of years. If it is a book given to me by a friend or is one equally cherished by them, then for a moment that friend is right there with me. That is a source of great comfort to me.

     I've come to realize that books are not just a part of  a home...books are a home to me. They have unfailingly provided me with respite, contentment and stimulation in varying amounts. I don't consider any book to have let me down, however mediocre the story or meagre the content. With every page read, I learn more about the world, and about myself. What more could I want?

     I am contemplating a move, and am trying to winnow down my possessions. I care little for such things as dishes, clothes, and furniture, but deciding which of my old friends to keep is a bigger challenge.

      I know I will never part with any book written by  the Bronte Sisters, who have inspired me to write since I read the first sentence in "Jane Eyre".  I have not a fraction of their talent, courage or the tenacity needed to achieve what they did, but their shared spirit continues to awe and inspire me.

     And how can I let Jeffrey Archer go, he of immense story -telling skills and fascinating life? My major collection of archaeology, history  and forensic books are must-have references and I cannot contemplate giving away my theatre scripts or my volumes of Shakespeare.  Harry Potter stays, as does Jane Austen. The stack of Irish writers I've amassed also remains as does a shelf of beautifully bound and weathered English Literature classics that have been read and reread throughout  the years.  As for my numerous art book so carefully sought out over decades..could I seriously let them go?

You see the challenge I face. Books have provided one of the true constants in my life. I do own and eReader, have books on CD and book apps on my  iPad and iPhone, but the  hard-covers stacked beside my bed offer a comfort nothing electronic could ever give  me. 

     

                

           Books influence everything I do. Going into a strange house, the first thing I look for are the bookshelves...and the dogs.  If I find neither books, nor dogs, I begin to wonder why I'm there. And I both love, and hate, knowing that no matter how many books I read, I will never get to them all.

 
 
 That said, I mean to give it my best shot.

                


 Must run... literary places to visit, characters to meet, old friends to check in with, and many unread books to devour before I part with them.

  I'll be in my library, should anyone need me. 
  
 Just ignore the Do Not Disturb sign...lol!

In Aunt Helen's House

In Aunt Helen’s house, time seemed to pause in its endless journey, as if lulled into forgetting its usual sense of urgency.

Pale afternoon sun would arc across warm, wood floors and come to rest in the folds of a cardigan draped loosely over a chair. Logs would crackle gently in the  fire, filling the air with a familiarity that declared this was home.

The first thing one noticed about Helen was that each and every day of life was an adventure, a cause to exclaim, “Well, isn’t life wonderful”.

 At ninety-seven, she still  lived alone, yet she never had to fear feeling lonely. Family and friends, (of the two-legged and four-legged kind) dropped by daily to soak up the atmosphere of contentment in a life well-lived that Helen and her surroundings exuded. There was always a bracing drink for the humans and cheese and biscuits for the many dogs embraced as loving friends now that her days of pet ownership were behind her.

 

 With time, she weakened and could no longer get around as well as before...but she still missed little and continued to greet each day with anticipation.

 From her wing chair by the fire, Helen would tilt eagerly toward visitors. “Now tell me what you did today, dear,” she’d encourage us, her interest genuine, her focus centered on the response.   

When questioned about her own day, she’d beam widely and talk about the history article she’s just read, or give us her take on the latest news story. 


Of course, conversations inevitably came back to the widespread family she adored. It was clear we were all of us cherished.

 Helen’s life is the standard by which I’ve begun to gauge my own journey. I may or may not manage to write the book I’ve talked about for years, or finish getting my Fine Arts degree. Other interests may prevail, obstacles will no doubt demand my time and attention. 


But if I live each day to its fullest, and find joy in every one of them, as she did, I will be content. 

To the best of my ability, I want to be present in each moment , and if I’m fortunate enough to share my days with the people and animals I love, then I too will be able to say, “Isn’t life wonderful!”

We lost our beloved matriarch this weekend, when her tired body gave up the fight and led her to Heaven,  but we will forever bask in the light of grace that blessed those of us fortunate enough to be taken into her boundless heart.

Now it is in our hearts that she will rest with us always.

We loved you immeasurably, Helen. We will always remember your kindness, your generosity of spirit and your capacity to wring the best out of each day even when it seemed impossible. 

We will do our best to embrace life with the same vigour you did, and when we meet again, it will be to sit once more by a crackling fire and exchange the stories of our lives...

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D is for Dog

Dogs have always been a part of my life. In my six and a half decades, I can count in months the times I have been without one.

This is the story of our girl Meeghan...

We  went into the pet shop to look...just look. 

Our beloved Yorkshire Terrier had died just three weeks previously, and a  large piece  of my heart had died along with Angel. I knew I could not bear to go through that pain again...I was done with dogs.

Angel

The shop was bursting with puppies that day – chubby, fluffy  wee dogs that did their bouncing best to get our attention. I barely glanced at them. Lost in thoughts of Angel, I was numb to the possibility of beginning again.

Turning to leave, we spied a scruffy black bundle cowered silently against the window while a much larger pup bounded on and around her. I caught her timid glance and felt something stir in me despite myself.  Michael asked them to bring her out, and once the shaky wee soul was in my arms, I was lost. The shopkeeper explained that this little one had been rescued from a puppy mill. As the ragged body pushed into me fearfully, he described the first three months of her life spent caged, unloved and filthy from lying in her own dirt. She was severely underfed, weighing only four pounds. I could feel every rib, every notch on her backbone...

There was no  considered decision to say yes or no; of course we could not leave her there. It was clear that she needed us. Even clearer to me, was the truth that we needed her.

Because it was St. Patrick's Day, we named our new girl Meeghan. Matted, dull-eyed and underfed, she was traumatized and fearful of everything.

As it turned out, I did not have to wait long for the pain I'd been trying to avoid. On the complimentary vet check provided, Meeghan was quickly diagnosed with a heart murmur...she had congenital heart disease that would prove fatal. The vet calmly suggested that we return her for a refund as she would almost certainly die  in a matter of months, if not weeks. It went without saying that since she couldn't be sold again, she would be euthanized, but not to worry, he went on...there were lots of cute and healthy dogs to choose from.

Meeghan had been mine for two days and  it was all the time we needed to bond. I was the first person to hold her. She trusted me from the start and I cherished her in return. There was no way I would give up on this little dog who'd never had a real chance at life. 

We immediately took her to our own vet, hoping for a miracle. He confirmed the diagnosis of Patent Ductus Arteriosus or PDA.

In humans and animals, a miniscule blood vessel that supplies oxygen to the lungs in utero should close at birth when the lungs fill with air. When it does not, the result is PDA, a condition that overworks the heart, fills the lungs with fluid and leads to congestive heart failure.

With Meeghan, her weakness and shortness of breath were all too obvious. She curled up beside my head on the pillow for safety and I lay every night with the sound of her speeding heart thrumming in my ear.

Our gentle vet offered two options: we could shower Meeghan with  love and attention...make her life joyous for the short time left before her heart gave out on her. Alternately, he could do open-heart surgery to try to close an incredibly small valve in a risky operation he'd done only twice before. The surgery would cost several thousand dollars and the chances were good she would not survive.

Neither my husband nor I hesitated for a moment. We had no idea how we could come up with the money, but we could either watch Meeghan suffer through a painful illness and die before she'd really lived...or put our faith in a doctor whose skill and compassion has been well proven. We simply had to give her a chance. 

The details aren't important, 

though it must be mentioned

that this wonderful

 veterinarian ended up 

charging us only a 

nominal fee for this 

complicated surgery. 

What matters most is that

 she survived the

 risky procedure and

 ultimately flourished.

 Four years later, she is a bouncy, 
spirited dog who loves her life 

and wrings joy out 

of every day!

She remains a scruffy girl in 

spite of constant grooming. 

As the runt of a Schnoodle  litter, 
she can enter no conformation 
shows.  Nor can we try 
for obedience or agility trials...our 

lackluster training skills being 
more to blame for a lack in

 that area than her obvious,

innate cleverness. 

No matter...we need

no certificate 

to know she's beautiful 

inside and out.

Meeghan is still hand-shy  

-she was clearly mistreated-

 ...is timid with strangers and rarely leaves my side. Her eyes search my face often in a day as if to reassure herself I'm still there. While she loves the rest of the family, there is no question she is my girl...we adore each other unreservedly.

Yes, my heart may be broken again one day, but I will always cherish this small saviour  who helped lift me from the depths of despair  when it seemed an impossibility...a precious companion who enriches my life immeasurably each day by her sweet and simple presence.

I am linking up to the wonderful ABC Wednesday. For a real treat, stop by to see more stories and pics from around the world...

http://abcwednesdaymrsnesbitt.blogspot.ca/

I will be away the week this is posted, but will get back to everyone as soon as I can...

Shadow Shot Sunday: Dogwood Park

As British Columbia's main port, Vancouver attracts immigrants from every part of the world, many of them coming from South Asia. In countless neighbourhoods, including my own, this migration is reflected in the numerous nationalities that co-mingle on our streets.  

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I love living in the midst of this cultural diversity, and particularly enjoy when my Indian friends and co-workers prepare for weddings by decorating their hands and feet with mehndi. There is a unique and striking beauty to the art of drawing patterns and designs with henna that is simply breathtaking.

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On a recent walk through Dogwood Park in nearby South Surrey, my attention was caught by the dappled shadows that patterned the dusty trails. 

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They struck me as being

 similar to mehndi,

 though paling by

comparison with 

the complexity and

detail found in

the traditional

Asian adornment.

 

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This off-leash dog park is

 a favourite for our Sunday

 jaunts. The lacy canopy 

offers wonderful shade

from the hot summer

 sun, a treat for dogs

and people alike

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If dogs could smile,

you would see

Meeghan with a

grin on her face

every minute of

the time we spend

 in this park!

For a variety of wonderful shadow shots, do stop by Hey, Harriet and check out Tracy's Shadow Shot Sunday. You'll be very glad you did...

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http://heyharriet.blogspot.com/

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Saturday Centus: Dear John

Jenny Matlock hosts the wonderful Saturday Centus, where she invites us to weave a tale around the word prompt she provides. Inclined to throw in extra challenges, she has limited us to 60 words this week using the prompt, 'Dear John'. This is my fervent, (but in good form), contribution...

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Dear John:

I can't believe what a jerk you are! You steal my truck, take my money and run off with my sister! And then you kidnap my dog!?! I love that dog!

Keep the damned truck, and my cheating sister, but bring Brucie  back or I'll haunt you 'til the day you die! Seriously!!

Sincerely,

Lucy

Photo courtesy of Google

For more microfiction, do check out the link below...

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http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/

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Remembering Angel...Repost

Because today is the anniversary of a

beloved friend's passing, I am reposting this piece to affirm that love is the one thing that never dies....

We only had eleven years to share with our beloved Yorkshire Terrier, but they were years we will always cherish. Angel was a delight to us...so bright...so loving and sweet. She adored us with every fibre of her being and wanted nothing more than to share her life with us. We are so very grateful that she did...

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We chose Angel from a kennel in Revelstoke, knowing as soon as we met her that she would become part of our family. On the long drive home to Surrey, she lay content in my arms, the beat of my heart soothing her in sleep and bonding her to us so easily it was clearly meant to be. She had been named Angel because she was a scrappy little devil, full of mischief and play. We kept the name because surely if there are angels, they would come in the form of this most loving of companions.

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She was everything you could ask for in a friend: funny... feisty... loyal...and always there when comfort and unconditional love were what was needed. I like to think we enriched her life as bountifully as she did ours, but I don't believe any of us shone as brilliantly as she did.
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Angel has been gone for three years now, and it has been difficult to move on without her. Quite unexpectedly, we found another little soul who needed us as much we needed her, and we are dog guardians one more. With a boundless capacity for love, our hearts can always find room to accept more...but for all time, there will be a special place in each of us reserved for the joy that was Angel.

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We love you, Angel...we miss you terribly... and will never forget you and the blessing you brought to our lives. You were the best girl in the world...

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Sandy Shadows

All week long, our little dog waits patiently for Sunday. While she is walked several times each day, Sundays are for adventure, given over to shady groves, woodland trails and the joy of new things to explore!
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We're fortunate to have many parks within easy reach. A favourite with us all is on the edge of the Fraser River, underneath the Patullo Bridge.

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Its main appeal is a huge mountain of sand that borders the park. It is not picturesque sand in an idyllic beach setting, but is strictly utilitaran...a great mound piled onto an empty lot in an industrial site to prepare the ground for construction.
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No matter...Meeghan and I love scampering through sandy dunes of any sort, (though it's more accurate to say she scampers and I plod clumsily behind her)!

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I love to watch as long afternoon

shadows mark deep, dark creases across the dunes. The drifting sand with its peaks and swirls mimics perfectly the landscape of the world's great deserts.

I grab my camera to get pictures of Meeghan as she and her shadow lope happily across the rippled sand.
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There is something about this sand that reminds me of the moon with its cool, pocked surface and oddly shaped formations. Of course, my imagination has a tendency to run away with itself.
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I see much beauty in this cluster of weeds, the light tracing spindly shadows outward from each plant, as if penned by a calligraphic hand.
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The shifting silver sand and sharp shadows are a perfect place to explore the play of light and dark that I so love.

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Many thanks to 'Hey, Harriet' for hosting this Sunday event! To see more shadowy shots, do drop by her page at...

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http://heyharriet.blogspot.com/

Weird Water

As I went through digital folders of beach photos I've taken to see what I might post for Watery Wednesday, my attention was drawn to the shots of water that had moved beyond being only a puddle or pool, and become a different entity altogether.

By shooting close-up and excluding the context of sand and shells, some of the resulting pictures seem to me to resemble abstract paintings. The colours and textures look plastered on as if some artist had gone mad with his jars of moulding paste and acrylic paints!

Most of these shots were taken both in White Rock, and at Semiahmoo Beach a short distance further down the shore. Semiahmoo is always a favourite spot for us to visit, as it is one of the few places that allow dogs onto the sand in summer...a rare chance for them to frolic through the water with their guardians, and dig sandy holes. Very much appreciated by those of us who are dog-lovers...and who always clean up after our pets so we'll be welcomed back!

Sunlight on the water creates an effect that I think resembles the marbelized end papers on old books.
Ripples, reflections and a radiant light are things that always will catch my eye.

This picture makes me smile, with it's effervescence and immediacy, as if the wave might leap out and splash me at any moment.

By contrast, this cool study in light and dark perfectly reflects the tranquility of the pond in Watershed Park where it was taken.
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It has been a wonderful summer for water photos, and now that Fall is here and the rains have begun, there will definitely be no shortage of winter watery photos!!

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I'm linking this post to Watery Wednesday! For more photos that are damp, doused and drenched check out the link below!
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http://waterywednesday.blogspot.com/
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