Tuesday, July 26, 2011

My World Tuesday

 On the west coast of Canada, the cry of seagulls is a common and welcome sound in the air.
.
Yet, in spite of the years I've lived here, and the number of birds I've seen, I had never gotten a close glimpse of young gulls.
.
 Imagine my delight then, when I came across these youngsters in White Rock last week.
.
As we often do, my husband and I had stopped at the beach to enjoy ice cream cones and a walk on the pier.
.

Approaching the old railway station/turned gallery, I noticed that all eyes were fixed upward.  Claiming everyone's attention were three balls of speckled fuzz perched precariously on the roof! Wobbly and awkward, these little ones huddled together in their shuffling attempts to navigate the steep asphalt shingles.

We could hear their thin chirping calls, and the tapping of their beaks as they examined every scrap they found to see if it might be edible. 
.
 Hovering nearby, the parents kept a careful eye  on the youngsters, but let them continue their explorations. 

. .
It was not long before tiredness overcame the trio. They scratched about for a spot to settle, curling themselves into tight little balls.

This fellow gave our hearts a start. Every time he lay down, he began to slide backwards to the edge. More than a few of us were ready to leap in and catch him if necessary...mine was not the only gasp of apprehension.
We need not have worried. Eventually, he found a corner under the eaves that offered shelter and security, and immediately dropped off to sleep!
.
While I was delighted to have my camera along that day, the sight of these little guys  is something I'll be able to recall in an instant.
.
There's definitely a reason our province is called Beautiful British Columbia!
.
For more shots from around the world, do stop by My World Tuesday and check out the amazing entries...
.
http://www.showyourworld.blogspot.com/

.
I am also linking up with World Bird Wednesday...I hope you'll stop by and visit the other participants...
.
 http://pineriverreview.blogspot.com


.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Succinctly Yours: Arbitrary



James stepped into the workroom, noting the sun’s pale light on orderly rows of tools, and the workbench thick with curled, cedar shavings. Arbitrarily, he picked up a wood file, its rough edges as familiar as his own skin, as evocative as the sharp combined scent of sawdust and oil that peppered his childhood.
.
.
Yet this was not the time to ponder the past. They were waiting for him at the church, anxious for whatever wisdom he might share to make this loss bearable. The role of family patriarch was now his to don, with its uneasy mixture of pride and apprehension.
.
James stepped out into the sunshine. He swiped a hand across his dark suit, dislodging small strings of dust. Squaring his shoulders, he whispered softly, “ I love you, Dad,” as he gently closed the door behind him.

(140 words)
.
As a wife and mother, I’ve railed against the concept that men should stoically bear the weight of grief, unable to weep openly because it is their job to be strong and ease the pain of others. Surely, our husbands and sons should be free to fold themselves into our arms in time of need, knowing we offer a safe and secure refuge in the midst of life’s trials. Sadness, like love and joy, is meant to be shared, after all…
.
Grandma's Goulash hosts the wonderful microfiction meme, Succinctly Yours, where each week she posts a photo around which we might spin a tale in 140 characters or in the same number of words. Extra credit is given for using the optional word of the week, which today is, "arbitrary".
For more takes on the prompt, follow the link below.
.
Our thanks to you and your daughter for this fun challenge, Grandma!
.
http://grandmas-goulash.info/
.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Will You Still Need Me, Will You Still Feed Me, When I'm 64?

Some people never grow up…and I am proud to count myself part of that illustrious group, in spite of the arrival today of yet another birthday!
.
Chronological markers play only a part in the cycle of aging, after all. I have talked to teenagers so jaded and cool that they’re old before their time…and met seniors who have never lost the sparkle in their eyes. Spirit isn’t defined by time, nor is there an age limit on one’s enthusiasm and sense of anticipation. While my body knows without a doubt it is no longer young, my inner child recalls with stunning clarity what it was like to be eleven… remembers with every fibre of her being how she marveled at the breadth of the Great Lakes and was rendered breathless by her first Canadian snowfall.
.

 Snowfalls still enchant me, and if I ever get back to Lake Huron, I will rush forward with pure glee and throw myself in head first, clothes and all!
.
Today, I turn into a Beatles tune, the very song I belted out cheerfully as a teenager, never grasping for a moment that one day I, too, would be that age. I admit to bewilderment at how quickly I got to this point.
.

Throughout the years, I’ve struggled to be decorous. I’ve played the role of good daughter to aging parents, supportive wife to a long-time husband, responsible example for growing offspring to emulate, (all right, this last one may not have been carried off with great success, if my chortling adult children are to be believed)! Still, I’m universally recognized as a dutiful employee, a dependable friend, and an all-round decent person
.
I am, however, no angel and often chafe at life’s restraints. The girl inside me enjoys a good spot of fun and still fancies shaking up the status quo on occasion, no matter how mild an exterior she displays to the world. I do think she’s entitled to get out and play a little more often now after her many years of patience!
.

Turning 64 doesn't make me old.
 .
I think I'll know I’m old when I’m described as ‘sedate’, or am said to have ‘settled down’. Yuk!
.
And the day - heaven forbid! – when I’m held up as a role model to anyone…. then I’ll know I’m old!
.
Until then, I will unapologetically crunch on candy necklaces in public, fill my pockets with rocks and treasures picked up from the ground and splash happily through rain puddles in my bare feet whenever the urge takes me. I’ll dissolve into giggles at the slightest hint of mischief, and will never, ever get too old to laugh at my own foibles.


.
 I will play hide-and-seek with tiny friends, though scrunching up in closets has become a challenge, and will return their little girl hugs with all the fervor kids put into every second of their lives. Birthdays are just another day, filled with endless possibilities as each one is! There are shells waiting to be gathered at the beach, puffy clouds to be watched and wondered at, and stories clamoring to be written down. Of course, I will also wash dishes, weed the garden and mop the floor, as mature adults must.
.
But there is a big bottle of bubbles I bought last week that has yet to be opened…trying to get a good shot of a fleeting, iridescent bubble should amuse my child-like sensibilities for quite some time!
.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Thursday Tales: No. 68

The night felt like a dream to me but the dread I experienced on that path was all too real. Ahead of me stood the shadowed house, its sinister presence looming over the subdued landscape, oblivious to the surly clouds that roiled around the malevolent tower. As evil as it looked outside, it was knowing what the tower sheltered that caused fear to grip my stomach in its icy hands. He was there…and I was the only one who could end his madness.
.
I shakily moved on, slowly putting one reluctant foot in front of the other…sealing my fate as surely as if I’d taken a knife to my own throat. What did I think I was doing? I could not possibly win. How could I hope to defeat one whose sole goal in life has been to inflict endless misery on the innocent? Yet, it was for these same innocents that I had to try. If we were ever to be free again...if we were ever to breathe air no longer tainted by the dark fog of despair, I had to go on.
.
The large front door swung slowly open as I drew near. Seeing a stark shadow outlined by the putrid yellow glow from inside, I understood he’d come down from his tower to welcome me personally. I took a breath, and muttered to myself, “Fine! I don’t need to deal with your groveling minions. This is between you and me now.”
.
“Well,” came the silky drawl as I slowed to a halt, “It’s you they sent in the end, is it?”
.
I tilted up my chin and defiantly met the hard gaze that washed disdainfully over me.
.
“I suppose I should have known it would be you,” he continued in the same soft tone. “Indeed, we have a history, you and I, do we not?”
.
His mouth turned up in a rictus of a smile. It was a horrible thing to see, this travesty that lacked all warmth and humanity. I had not known such a smile was possible before he’d introduced terror into my life
.
Abruptly, the fearsome figure bowed at the waist and swept an arm backward into the room. “Do come in, my dear”, was the grand invitation. “Make yourself at home”.
.
I had no choice. Though I wished nothing more than to flee, I knew I must enter the foul domain...live's depended on it. I stepped across the doorway with more confidence than I actually felt, managing to repress a shudder when the door closed gently, but resolutely, behind me.
.
It seemed the feeble farce of civility had lost its charm for my host. The eyes that met mine now were empty and cold, the face assuming its impenetrable mask once again.
.
Silence stretched on interminably before he continued, the same cold softness of his tone chilling me to the core. “Now, remind me again how old you are, my plucky girl”, he purred cruelly. “Ten? Eleven?”
.
Anger and humiliation threatened to choke me. “I’m not...” I began, but quickly coughed to hide my pathetic attempt at a response. “I’m not a child! I’m thirteen, almost fourteen,” I managed to get out more firmly this time.
.
Another silence greeted my words, until at last my adversary deigned to answer.
.
“Thirteen, going on fourteen, you say, “ he mumbled, looking to me for affirmation.
.
Unable to speak, I jerked my head in the approximation of a nod
.
“And when exactly will you turn fourteen, dear one?” he drawled, clearly enjoying the fear I was not altogether able to hide at his oily words.
.
“My birthday’s next month,” I responded in a voice that came out more shrilly than I’d intended. “I’ll be fourteen then”.
.
The dark figure turned away from me. When it seemed he had forgotten I was there, the force of his hatred came round to me once more. Again, the mouth twisted up in an odious line, and I knew with certainty what he was going to say before the words were spoken aloud.
.
“Whatever makes you think I will let you live to see another birthday?” came the expected response, breathed out in the quietest and most measured of tones.
.
I could no more stop the tremor his voice sent through me than I could erase the twisted past that had brought us both to this defining moment in time. I opened my mouth to speak, but what, after all, could I say?
.
Instead, I stood silent in the face of evil personified, and waited to see where we went from here…

Possibly to be continued...
.
( 755 words)
.

I'm not sure why all my tales are creepy lately, but I'm liking it immensely! The spooky photo prompt, aided by the fact that it was cold, gray and rainy this morning made this an obvious piece to pen. I've been thinking I would like to try writing for teenagers/young adults, and this story strikes me as having possible appeal to the Harry Potter crowd. I'll have to do some research...
.
Unfortunately, the meme's word limitation of 777 forced my story to an abrupt end. I very much enjoyed the exercise, however, and may continue it next week if the prompt seems conducive.
.
For more Thursday Tales, do stop by Leo's page and check out the entries...
.
.
The wonderful photo this week was provided by Thomas Neilsen at Deviant Art...
.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Signs, Signs: Belfast Murals

.
The Twelfth of July parades in Belfast and elsewhere in Northern Ireland commemorate the victory of Protestant King William of Orange over Catholic King James II at the Battle of The Boyne in 1690. People begin celebrating this event on the Eleventh Night with the lighting of huge bonfires that have been months in the building.
.
Gathering fuel for the fire...
.
This ‘marching season’, as it is known, historically re-ignites sectarian violence. Members of the Orange Order assert their right to walk with Protestant marching bands along the same route every year, accompanied by the racous protests of nationalist groups decrying what they consider a  blatant show of Unionist dominance over their Catholic neighbourhoods.
.


This year was no exception:
violence broke out and
riot police were called
upon to deal with the
hooligans.
.
.
.


.
On a visit home a few years ago, I took
pictures of the murals that were painted
at the height of the Troubles.

These murals are beautiful, horrifying
 and heartbreaking
 all at once…they are people’s lives and
hearts laid open for
 the world to see.

I pray that my beloved Northern Ireland will one day find its way to a lasting peace that recognizes each of her citizens as equal and free...


.
.
.
For more signs from all over, pop into Lesley's wonderful meme and check them out...
.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Magpie Tales: No. 73



.

Reach out your hand...pull

me near that I might not

lose sight of all I love.




.
.
.
This painting speaks to me of the disconnect we sometimes feel in our lives...in our families and our passions. Too often, doing what's expected of us has little to do with what makes us feel gloriously alive....
.
Today, I feel infused with life as I've learned about a poet with whom I was not familiar, and a painter.

The piece above is titled "People of Chilmark', painted in 1920 by American artist and muralist Thomas Hart Benton. His lush, earthy work highlights everyday scenes of life in the U.S. As an admirer of Diego Rivera, I recognized some of the same elements in Benton's work.
.
This is my first time to join Magpie Tales. For more tales based on this photo, do stop by the link below...
.
.
Additionally, my friend Debra left a comment on my page referencing the English poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins, whose striking and unique approach to language enlivened the strict poetic forms of the time. Thanks D.,for brightening my day! 
.
.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

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.  
 .
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.
.

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

They struck me as being
 similar to mehndi,
 though paling by
comparison with 
the complexity and
detail found in
the traditional
Asian adornment.
 

.
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
.
 


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...
.
.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Thursday Tales and Book Blurb Friday


I’m combining two mêmes today. Since the photo prompts seemed to compliment each other, I thought they belonged together in a story...
.
Leo at Thursday Tales supplies us with a picture around which we might spin a yarn of between 55 and 777 words. On seeing this stark window, I knew I would write about it, although I've altered the photo’s original context.
.
At Book Blurb Friday, Lisa shows us her book jacket, and invites us to pen a compelling blurb that will entice readers to buy the book. With only 150 words in which to do so, it can be quite a challenge. This week’s photo of the old typewriter  supplied by Lynn Obermoeller instantly captured my imagination.
.
This is my contribution...
.

.
Jen looked around in despair. Fifteen years had passed since she’d set foot inside the family home...it was now unrecognizable with layers of grime sullying the once well-appointed parlor. When her eyes fell on the long-unused typewriter, the true gravity of the situation settled heavily into her gut.

.
.
How had her mother let this happen?
.
.
How had she let this happen?



Jennifer Brooks writes compellingly of the descent into senility of a once-brilliant woman whose many books inspired her daughter to pursue journalism.
.
Settled overseas with work and a man she loved, Jen imagined all must be as she'd left it. She was wrong. Alarmed by phone calls that became increasingly strange, she returned to find her mother diminished in both mind and body.
.
Though not an easy read, the story of how Jen became caregiver to the woman who had borne her will surely touch your heart…

(150 words)

.
To view more Thursday Tales, check out Leo’s link below….
.
http://talesthursday.blogspot.com/
.
Be sure to visit Angela, who supplied us with this evocative window….
http://anne-frank.gemzies.com/show/entry_8510/Anne_Frank__039_s_Attic_window.html
.
.
And to read more of Lisa’s Friday Book Blurbs, you’ll want to stop by this page…
.
http://www.writinginthebuff.net/
.
Don’t forget to visit Lynn while you’re at it…
.
.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Signs, Signs: Route 66


When visiting the American Southwest, we always make sure to fit in another stretch of historic Route 66. It is a treat like no other driving down these old roads that so many before us have taken in search of a better life for their families.
.

Springfield, Missouri is recognized as the birthplace of U.S. Route 66, given its name there in 1926. Following the old trails laid out by the early explorers and railroads, this new highway quickly became a popular route for trucks because of its flat, open stretches.  It eventually reached across the country from the coast of California, up to the windy shores of Lake Michigan.

This was a road that offered hope. The Dust Storms of the 1930s forced many families from Oklahoma, Arkansas, Kansas and Texas to head west to California in search of agricultural jobs.

.
 After World War II, Route 66 came to define a generation looking for adventure and freedom on the open road…businesses flourished along the roadside, eager to profit from this new tourist trade.

.
As progress escalated, faster highways began to replace the old roads. Route 66 was deemed irrelevant, and in 1985, was replaced by the new Interstate Highway System
.
Many changes were made to the route over the years, with sections altered, discontinued and rerouted; yet it remains today one of the best scenic drives to be found anywhere.
.
.
.
The stretches that survive
are a wonderful slice
of history.
Diners and gas stations
line the route, reminders
of a time when
 life seemed simpler
and the
future resonated
with hope.
.
.
Time slows down on this gentle
 route, and I never tire of it.
.
We’ve covered less than half of the route so far, from California, through Arizona to New Mexico, but eagerly anticipate completing the rest.

.
.
Amarillo, Texas to
Chicago, Illinois
 sounds like a heck
of a road trip,
 don’t you think?


.
For more signs from all over the world, drop in to visit Lesley at the link below....
.
http://signs2.blogspot.com/
.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Watery Wednesday: At the Carwash




 If we keep our eyes open, there is beauty to be found  in even the mundane moments of life.
 Being fond of texture and pattern, I’ve always liked the play of water and soap on the windows in automated car washes.


.
.
 On my last visit, I thought to take these quick shots as I went through.



The results strike me as abstract art…I can easily see them enlarged on canvas and hung against steel-gray walls.  
 .
.
When I reversed the photos, I found I liked the resulting waterfalls even better.




.
In these pairs, the first shot is always the original. 


.
For other water shots more exotic in nature, do check out Watery Wednesday, graciously hosted by 2sweetnsaxy…




.