Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Living in a Dream

The view from my home in the morning

Today I walked the kids to the bus stop which is right beside the ocean.  I said to them "look at that ocean!" to which Martina replied, "we live in a dream!"

What a beautiful sentiment.  Sometimes a 7 year old has a better perspective, a better grasp on appreciation than adults who lose their way when the world seems more of a nightmare than a dream.  This week, with the events on the news, the talk of guns and violence against children and the sadness of what is happening to our neighbours south of the border, it's difficult to stay in a positive optimistic mood.  Particularly when the powers that can make change seem to remain inert and unwilling to do so.

But no amount of our misery can make another happy.  Christmas is upon us, our family is healthy and our move is well over half done.  We are living in a small apartment with our new house becoming available on Christmas Eve when the current tenants leave.  It's this house, the upper level so the rest of the move will consist of renovations, painting and then filling it full of new furniture.  We are very excited.  We will be debt free when it's all done and our business income will be higher than before.

And finally I will be able to fully concentrate on my writing career.  Without going into details, it is all coming together on that end.  I have a commitment to write my second novel and it looks like my second poetry collection will be available before Valentine's day, appropriate since it's a collection of love poetry.

The house has 5 bedrooms, one of which will be my writing room.  I let the girls choose first and they left me the upper level gable room that faces the ocean.  Exciting.  I'm planning on working on a collection of Newfoundland inspired poetry next.

Just over two years ago when I first decided that it was time to move back home, that this is where my heart is and where I needed to be to fulfill my dreams, I had a picture of how it would look.  That photograph in my mind has developed, become clearer and clearer like one of those Polaroids that develops as you watch, showing with clarity, what has been captured.  You can only point and shoot and trust that it develops into something good. The picture is still developing, as life here unfolds, but so far I am loving our new home. 

Last night I spent the evening wrapping 46 little gifts that we had hand made for the kids' new friends and teachers.  The little tree we bought was lit and the house was filled with the sound of Christmas music.  The girls giggled and wrapped and cut and argued and the cat played with ribbon and cellophane while the puppy guarded the chocolate and marshmallow dipped spoons and hot chocolate with his fluffy life.  It was not a movie of the week evening.  It was a perfect, real and imperfect family evening.

For years I have awakened at night  with the overwhelming smell of wood burning.  I was told it was an auditory hallucination.  I've always felt it was so much more.  Now I consider that it was perhaps a premonition.

For when I walk in the evening, listening to the ocean wrap itself around the shoreline and pulley clotheslines with their scroop scroop scroop blowing in the breeze, it is smell of the woodsmoke in the air that gives me the greatest feeling of being at home.  It is on those clear evenings when the stars are bright and the moon hangs that I know with the certainty of a seven year old, that we do indeed, live in a dream.


Sunday, December 9, 2012

This is Home.

On my first walk around I took this photo of a dory at the edge of the ocean.

The adventure of moving clear across the country is complete.  And what a journey it was!  Delays that started at the outset(we weren't ready on time) to mother nature's interference in the Gulf of St. Lawrence(high seas) left us with time to explore a bit of Cape Breton and consider what we were really getting ourselves into.  And we're good with it all!

So now, I live by the sea again!  I can see it from my driveway and will see it from my living room window once I move upstairs in our new home!  I am delighted with the town, the view, the neighbours, the  people and even the weather which has been unseasonably mild!

There are as many colours to the ocean as there are fish in its depths.  I go outside each day to a different shade of its grey/blue surface.  I consider that perhaps this ocean and I have much in common.  Moving, rolling, calm, sometimes fierce and always changing.  Maybe that's why I feel such a kinship to it.

Now comes the details, little girls are in school, the season of Christmas is upon us, family lives all around us, my wonderful husband has a brand new job and is training in St. John's and our house has sold in Ontario which makes us financially flush.  I plan to put nose to laptop after the bustle of Christmas and finish a book or two!  My mind is bursting to write, my heart is filled with inspiration and my life is filled with joy.

And of course, there will be a visit to my home town soon.  I pass the sign to the ferry and my little car almost shakes with the desire to turn left and drive there.  Soon we'll explore the magic of Change Islands again.  We dream of buying a place there, a small summer home maybe.  We dream and the dreams will come to fruition because we dream.

And perhaps a visit to St. John's.  I would like to head in there boxing day but it'll probably be well after Christmas before we go.  But go we will, maybe a hockey game at Mile One as our  hockey drought continues and we're both thirsty for a bit of blade against ice action.

Yesterday I purchased some baking supplies at a local store and picked up a CD of local music.  As I drove around listening to the accordion and fiddle I was filled with such a sense of content, tears filled my eyes.  This is where I'm supposed to be and this is where I'll find my niche, make my mark, live my life.  This place that I am just starting to know is where I'll stay, until I feel drawn to another place because I do believe my heart is a nomadic heart and I'm just the servant who follows it.

Meanwhile, I will walk up the main street, watch the ships in the port and delight in their transient nature.  For like the ship, I too slip in and out of port, enjoy the waves and the journey and the destination with equal fervor.  And like the ships, I'll know when it's time to move forward again.  But for now, this is where I stay.

For now, this is home.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

If I love You

 If I love you

If I love you,
I burn you with my touch
my heat addictive
like a drug
leaving a residue on your tongue
you taste long after
you are finished
sampling my desire

If I love you
I sear you with my eyes
seeing your soul bare
and raw, touching the tears
that drop with my finger
and tasting the salt
of your sorrow
as if it were my own

If I love you
I let you be all that you are
and lift you up to be
all that you are meant for
I keep you there
gently, supporting you
ready to catch you the moment
you stumble

If I love you
I am present always
just far enough away to let you breathe
but close enough to
feel your breath
far enough away to touch your heart
but close enough
to let it beat its own rhythm

If I love you
you are my everything
and I am myself
better than I could ever be
I learn better lessons
scale bigger mountains
sow better seeds
dream sweeter dreams

 If I love you
I give you eternity
and fire and devotion
and my whole world
is your whole world
and all I am is you
and you are all I need.

If I love you
you are not wrong
you are not guilty
you are not weak
and you are not
 you are my everything
my all
If I love you
I love you

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Canadian Fields; Lest We Forget

Canadian Fields.

Atop the pedestal of the mountains
ensconced just beneath the snow
disclosed oft by the heat of memory
sanguine in the bitter cold

On the seas that both bear and bury
 infinitesimal tombs on the tide
dancing in effulgent splendor
like shrines that will ever abide

In the heavens their contrails still linger
where solo blooms have learned to take flight
seen only by the eyes of the souls
who have arrived in that endless night.

In the grass that blows in the meadow
soft blades of a sateen green
a heath of immeasurable acreage
in a country great and serene

On a sunny morn in November
with all the blessings that sacrifice yields
be inspired to always remember
that poppies bloom in all of these fields.


Tuesday, October 30, 2012

A Halloween Story! The Dead Won't Hurt You!

Last week, as I prepared to start my terrorizing novel, The Tempters, I concluded that the best horror stories are those written about ordinary people in ordinary places. To live in a place where the earth smells of damp berries and juniper, a scent sweeter than the most valuable cologne, or where the sky, with its offerings of millions of twinkling lights just out of reach of its inhabitants, isn't ordinary to most people I suppose, but to the people of my home town, Change Islands, NL, the breathtaking beauty of the island, is commonplace.

It is in this speck of heaven on earth that my story takes place.  It happened to someone just like me-or you.  After all, who is to say that if something can be imagined, it can't also be true?  This is a story about ordinary kids who did an ordinary thing  and-you can judge this for yourself-extraordinary ( or maybe even more frightening-ordinary) things happened to them!

Here it is.  Enjoy!

“The Dead won’t hurt you, ‘tis the living you got to watch out for.”  It is what my pop always said. I kept that in my mind that evening as we picked our way along the rocky path leading down to the valley below.  I shifted my load a little.  It wasn’t heavy, just clumsy.  A big pillowcase full of just about everything I needed for a night outside.   

It was October 30th, the day before Halloween.  Not a single breeze tickled the air except perhaps for the occasional one that ran like light fingerprints down my spine at the thought of what we were about to do.  

There is a flat, somewhat grassy area at the bottom of the valley.   That was our destination.  We had decided against plopping our tent in the middle of the white marble stones that were set up like some giant board game.  That had been the original plan.  Spending the night in the actual grave yard, no matter how many times my pop had reassured me that “The dead won’t hurt ya" terrified me so I convinced the others to revise out of "respect for the dead."  They fell for it.

Unfortunately, the lack of wind, worked against us.  Mom had been crazy against the idea and said if there was any chance we could blow off the cliff there was no way we could go.  I know she wanted to stop me anyway and I wish she had but a dare was a dare and with her reluctant permission I trudged slowly in my rubber boots to the spot we thought it best to set up.

Pop pop pop, the boys tent went up, followed by the girls’.  Thud thud thud, Troy hammered the pegs in to the ground, bending several as they hit rock but managing to secure them after a bit.  Sleeping bags were spread inside and the door closed with a zip.  

A tiny sea beat against the rocks but it was half-assed, as though the ocean had given up, decided just not to bother today.  The sky darkened as the sun set and I sighed.  It was clear like July and my hopes of a sudden storm to end this crazy adventure, fizzled out.   I searched for an out, an idea, a way to escape while still saving face but I gave up too, just like the ocean had.

We spread about then, joking, laughing, gathering the wood for our fire.  Driftwood, dry and grey made the biggest part of the pile.  Along with some stallikons the boys had hauled in for several days before.  We would do a small fire, keep it burning as long as we could.  Roast marshmallows, wieners, and just put in time.  John would tell ghost stories.  He was the bravest and I shot him a look.  He was the reason we were here anyway.

The thing is, all this was about a dare.  It started when John dared David and his buddies to walk the top rail of the causeway.  Then as David hopped down, the last of his friends to succeed, he had looked at me, eyes squinting, his face triumphant because he knew what he would dare.  Ever since I had told Miss Power about his cheating off me on that science quiz, he wanted to get me back.  And he also knew what my biggest fear was.  And that’s when he made said it.

“I dare you to spend Halloween night in the cemetery.”

The boys had been excited and even my best friend Melanie seemed totally on board with the idea.  They were relieved that this was all they were asking.  That’s why we were here.  That’s why we were alone, on the side of a cliff,  spending the nightWe did whittle it down to the night before Halloween, and as I said, out of respect(yeah, right, out of absolute terror)  just outside the cemetery though close enough to it to count.

We sat in a “U” around the fire, facing the graveyard.  This may have been accidental on the part of the others but for me it was entirely strategic.  I figured if the zombies rose out of their dirt graves and took to chasing us I would at least have the advantage of seeing them in time to run.  

Flankers popped and cracked into the sky and we were settled on the ground, as the heated flames warmed the front of us and the cool air brushed against our backs.  

It was calm and John was telling us about zombies.  For some odd reason, zombies didn’t frighten me.  

 Perhaps all the zombie games I had played online had desensitized me to them.  And as he talked about worms coming out of their ears and them chasing after us for our brains, I found myself chewing on a blackened weiner and totally forgetting where we were.

 I was anxious for midnight.  We had hours to kill until then.  But we had agreed, had agreed this was the best time to go into our tents and sleep.

 To make a short story long, is easy.  To make this story short, that’s hard.  Perhaps because there aren't words or understanding to quite explain what happened.  But without a lot of words, it becomes less than what it was. 
Perhaps a less spooky night could not have been found to have such an adventure.  I smiled at the thought and looked at the ocean, where a moment or so ago there had  been nothing but a round red moon suspended there, surrounded by a million or ten fractures of light. 

It was already there and I gasped at the oddness of what I was seeing.  The moon and the stars now had company and it was a stranger.  It was fog....like.  You see, it  was square and almost formed, not loose and floaty like the fog.  It moved.  Rather quickly.  Drifting forward, not as a gaseous mist but as a block of pure black.  blacker than lassy,  dark as coal.  Black as...black as death.  It chomped forward swallowing the light of the moon and the stars like some corporeal video game character.  Chomp chomp it came, physical, solid, yet, fog-like too.  I could hear the cricket-like sound of its movements.  Chomp chomp chomp.   I stared at it for a brief moment, dumfounded.  The storm I had hoped for to put an end to our adventure was coming.  And now, I wished, with a strange and familiar intuition, that it would just go away.

Troy saw it first after me and he sat up and pointed, mouth open like a cobra about to strike.  Then he shut it fast so that I heard his teeth clack closed.  Without taking his eyes off the thing, he knocked John on the shoulder with a closed fist.  John was pulling a marshmallow off a stick and burned his finger, stuck it in his mouth and looked at where Troy pointed.  He pulled his finger out, mimicking John's cobra face and dropped the stick back into the fire. 

Melanie jumped seeing it exactly at the same time as John.  She screamed .  We all jumped ready to run as though the scream was the gunfire at the beginning of a race.  But time had stalled where we stood and sped up for that black block of darkness.  It caught up to us, as though the scream had been a call to it, like a whistle is to a runaway dog.
I know now, that if absolute dread were a physical thing, it would feel like someone had tied your arms and legs to your torso and fastened your legs together.  Immobilized,  I watched the fog pull up just short of us and we backed up as one unit, as uniform as the square of black hell that moved over and around us until we were enveloped in its evil cold.   

Then the misery came.  Simultaneously, fear and tears formed.  A fear and a misery that was unbearable.  Then we were all one.  I could feel every emotion of the entire group and I knew also that they could feel mine. We could not read each others thoughts, that wasn't quite it but we knew without doubt the absolute agony each of us was in and it combined with what felt like the fearful misery of all of the souls of humankind.  It was black cold and I knew then that they had gotten it all wrong.  Hell was not a hot inferno of brimstone and flame but a cold deep grave of misery and dread.  And we were, without actually being dead, in its eternal depths.

The black was black and my eyes could see nothing.  But I could sense everything.  Every hair on my body was standing on end and I felt the tiniest rub of some sort of something against my face.  It was like the cold kiss of a demon and I shuddered from top to bottom and struggled to bring thought through the feeling.  Then another and another tapped its demonic lips on any exposed skin, my hands, my legs where the socks had ridden down from the ankles.  I felt I was bleeding from those excruciating touches and I could not only feel my pain but the pain of those who were with me.  Melanie and Troy and John were experiencing the same agony.  But worse than the cold, worse than the black, even more terrifying was the inexplicable feeling that this torture and torment would go on for eternity.

The voices started next.  I felt them too.  Ethereal and white they called and whispered and my heart pounded and I knew I was still alive.  My consciousness could not accept that there was more.  That it was possible for there to be more  pain than what I was feeling combined with all of the pain of the entire earth.  My cheeks stung with tears and they were kissed them away with the freezing lips of my tormentors.    The voices plummeted me even deeper into absolute despair and I knew then, what they wanted.  

I tried not to go.  I couldn't take anymore.  I fought to will myself to stay exactly where I was because I was afraid it would get worse.  And I could feel others here, John, Melanie and Troy.  I could feel their misery and it exacerbated mine but if any comfort could be found in that deep dark abyss of horror, it was at least some solace, that I was not alone.   

But I couldn’t do it.  I could not resist and as though moved by some force so large, so powerful, it could pull me through the very doors of hell, my legs started to move of their own volition.  One up, tromp, the other up, tromp, my rubber boots made noise in the blackness and agitated beyond all human comprehension, I gave up my resistance.  Now, robbed, even of our own will,  completely defeated, our collective minds wondered what we had done that was so horrible, that we had ended up in this icy Hades.

The only thing that gave me any hope, and a glimmer so small as to hardly be worth a mention, was that the sound of my rubber boots marching was echoed by three other pairs.  Misery loves company but attached to each of our relief, so that it became as much of a horror as the black was, clung an overwhelming sense of guilt that we were happier heading to our ultimate terror if we were taking our friends with us.

The voices grew louder, like whistling through tin, they shrilled and called, beckoning us and in the black we stumbled, though none of us fell, single file through the rocks and grass.  I knew where we were headed, though there was no real sense of direction.   And my heart pumped in my ears, a beat like a native drum, and though my eyes couldn’t see yet, our collective consciousness knew without doubt that those voices were bringing us where we had all been afraid to go, into the graveyard.  The ocean would have been my preference.

The stones weren’t the pieces in the game, we were, as we were pulled, tromp, crunch, tread, still tortured by needles of cold and the agony of evil.  My hand banged off something hard and I glanced down at it, surprised that I could see the outline of the stone.  And while I can’t say my fear receded, I was able to think again.  Dark emotion was no longer the overwhelming crux of my existence.

The pain and misery vanished.  Relief washed over me for a mere moment before I realised that now I couldn’t feel the presence of my friends. I looked back, too mesmerized by all that was happening to be grateful for the free will I had suddenly regained that enabled me to think. 

That was when I saw them step, eyes ablaze with horror, one after the other, Troy, Melanie and John, out of the block of black icy hell that stopped exactly at the edge of the moonlit graveyard.

Then the voices started again.  We looked around, looking for the source of them.  And this time, of our own free will, and without speaking(afraid to use our own voices yet) we picked our way through the maze of stones.  I had somehow become the unelected leader, just by virtue of being in the front.  I walked solely from intuition.  

We were still scared but it was not the mind numbing misery that we had felt in the cloud of black, but a normal, human, adrenaline squirting, heart-pumping fear.  

And then, standing in front of us, as clear as day, was a pure white block of light the size of the kitchen in my house.  It too was solid in form but it looked warm and inviting and the fear dissipated as my feet, of my own free will, stepped into it.  I heard the others follow and our minds again gathered as one in a pure gift of emotion.  This time though, the emotion was deepest bliss.  

It’s not fun to wake up in a cemetery.   

But I guess it's better than waking up dead.

It took me a moment to adjust.  The sun was breaking to the east and the wind had picked up overnight.  I shivered a little from the cold and I hurt all over.  My hands had little bruises all over them and when I touched my face it was tender as well.  

Memory swept over me like one of the heavy waves that battered the shore just off to the left.  The wind had picked up.   I sat up and glanced at what I was leaning on.  It was a grave marker and the name it was my mother’s maiden name, perhaps some long ago relative.  I got up quickly.

“What the devil happened last night?” Troy had found his voice and was sitting up.  

"Read the stone"  I told him.   He looked at the grave marker that had been his pillow for the night, it was slightly askew and he tilted his head.

 “Wow, his last name is the same as mine!”  His face had slight purplish marks on it and I imagined I looked much the same. 

“I think this one is kin to me too”! Melanie said, “she has the same name as my grandmother on Dad’s side. She got up slowly, and looked at the marks on her hands, touching one and wincing as she did.  Her eyes lifted and met mine.

 What about you John?” and I wondered at how calmly we were discussing the graves we had slept on, and not talking about how we had come to be on them in the first place.

“Well I slept on a stranger,” he joked, and we all laughed...just a bit.  We-the other three of us-glanced at each other...see there had been rumours that perhaps his father wasn't actually his father so we knew that it was just possible...well I'll leave it at that.  Could just be gossip, you knows how it is in small towns.

“What happened?” I asked and we all looked at each other.  Troy shrugged his shoulders.  "Perhaps we had a dream."   But our bruised faces and hands reminded us that dreams don't dent you like a tin can and leave you to sleep in a cemetery.
“Is it safe to leave?” Melanie was standing, looking towards where the black cloud had been.  There was no sign of it at all, the morning full of juniper-scented sea-salted air. 

“ I think so.” I said as I lead the way towards the camp.  It was surreal to take this walk back, and remember how we had walked in complete abject misery over the path the night before.

The fire was a blackened reminder of the night and we gathered our things careful, furtive glances towards the sea from where our hell had drifted and we were walking back the path, dare completed and a pact to never give or accept another dare made.

And another pact was made as well.  To never ever tell what had happened.  Nobody would believe it and neither of us quite had the words anyway.

As we got to the top of the hill, and started down the other side, our bags heavy, Troy looked at me and asked again, still regarding me it seemed, as some sort of leader.

“What happened?” and two additional pairs of confused eyes joined his and I looked away. 
“I don’t know, I wish I did.” I said with a big sigh.  I looked at the white marble stones, sparkling in the brand new sunrise.

“Guess Pop was right.  The dead won’t hurt you.”

And in a strange déjà vu, our feelings connected one last time and we knew, without doubt, that in our case, it was the dead that had most likely saved us.

 The End.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Why not you?

Well it seems that people like video blogs.  Who knew?  I have had quite a bit of feedback from my first vlog post so here is a second post.  It's  just me, rambling on.  But I'm wearing lip gloss and that counts for something right?

Thank you to all of you who sent such kind messages.  I really and truly appreciate that you took the time to email or text me. 

This post is called "Why not you?"

 Direct Link to Youtube is HERE


Monday, October 15, 2012

Amanda Todd

Unless you have been living in a bubble, you have heard the name Amanda Todd over the past week. And if you're like thousands of other Canadians you have felt your heart break for this very young girl who was harassed and bullied to the point where she felt that taking her own life was her only escape from the pain.

 It tears at my very soul that a child was stalked, beaten, teased, tormented, used, abused and chased just so it could start all over again wherever she moved to escape it. My heart breaks for her family and their anguish but unable to allow my own heart to imagine the depth of their loss. I have also watched the outpouring of support for Amanda's family online. I have read the enraged and righteous indignation of many people who proclaim that "if only they had known her" they would have done something and their outraged cries of "where were the adults in her life?" as though they would have done the parenting better than Amanda's parents did.

 I have read and signed petitions that would find the perpetrators of her emotional torture and prosecute them under the law. I have watched as social media and the traditional media is bombarded by comments and commentary on how horrible and tragic and what we should do about those who failed Amanda Todd. And here is my take on it all. Most of US would have done exactly as they did. Nothing. That's right. Very few of us would have helped Amanda Todd.

The vast majority of people would have done exactly as the people who did know and see and could have done something. We, far away and removed from the situation are not gifted with some great compassion and ability greater than those involved in the situation. We are not special or better than they are. In fact it's the attitude, that we're somehow better and would have behaved differently that is at the heart of the problem. I'm not denying that we all FEEL so deeply for this child and her family. Of course we all do!

Where we fall short(all of us) is being proactive on this sort of thing and translating our heartfelt empathy into action BEFORE it becomes tragic. We need to prevent having to express passive sympathy by engaging in active empathy. By active empathy I mean, we not only have the ability to put ourselves into the emotional shoes of another person but we take action to support and help them through their difficult times. What we are doing now, with our condolences(heartfelt as they all are) is engaging in passive sympathy. And by passive we mean we will feel the sadness, express our emotion on it but we take no action
in our own personal lives to prevent it from happening again. We take no note of our own behavior to others to see if we are contributors in some way to the bully mindset.

What was happening in this girl's life is not unusual. I've put two girls through high school and it's a hell hole for many kids. I can give you an example of almost this exact thing happening to a teen in my kids' life. What I have observed is that while most parents are absolutely terrified of their kids being bullied, not many of them consider that their children might BE the bully. Where do children learn to be bullies? That's not difficult to figure out. The nut doesn't fall far from the tree. Pay attention to the words you use? Are you judgmental? Do you put down others? Participate in gossip? Do you barrel through life like you're entitled and special and that the people around you are there for your benefit? If so you can expect your children to adopt some of those traits. Kids are masters of duplication, it's how the human race survives. If they are raised in a home that knocks down the weaker, they will knock down the weaker, if they are raised in a home that raised up the weaker, they will duplicate that behavior. Do you knock down your children or do you raise them up. Do you punish or do you support. Are you a tough disciplinarian or an emotional coach to your children?

I asked my daughter if she could name a child at her school who might be considered a bully. She named one. I was not surprised at who she named. He's the child of the parent who treated me quite poorly a few years ago. See bullying isn't just a teenage phenomenon. I encountered it myself a few years back in a volunteer position where a group of women decided to oust me out of my leadership role. One woman was the ring leader, but true to form, had her group of friends do her actual dirty work. Absolutely incredible how they fell for it. She convinced them I had wronged her(there was a simple misunderstanding that could have been cleared up with one phone call) It escalated to the point that I had to take legal steps to protect my reputation and to stop further slander. There were face book exchanges that put most teenagers to shame(I did not engage in any of them but they were saved and forwarded to authorities)that included lies about me and my family. I am an adult and had no problem handling it emotionally. I knew they had a reputation for this kind of thing and I also knew no real damage could be done.

But I imagine a younger person, a child or teen, being the target of such spite and immaturity, would be devastated. It's not always this black and white and remember, children have two parents, and many other influences that make them feel the need to gain power over a chosen target. The fact is, any one of us might be setting up an environment for the bully mentality to develop so we need to be aware of those things in advance, then take action to prevent it.

I ask you one question. Are you absolutely sure you're not doing something in your life, with your words, with your attitude that is hurtful to another human? Are you engaging in the belittling of another human being in any manner, whether behind their back, or to their face, on Facebook. Are you, conversely, watching out for people, particularly the young people in your life, to make sure they're safe from this because while a handful of people did the bullying of Amanda Todd, many others were aware, stood around, and did absolutely nothing. Be very sure you're not doing the same?

Personally, I'm taking inventory of my behavior right now because for me, a simple RIP on a blog isn't taking enough moral responsibility. But this does beg the question. What exactly do we do? It is a complex situation. But first of all we have to check our own behavior and our own words. Ownership of our responsibility to be above that sort of activity must be taken by adults. We must set an example for our children and engage in open and honest communication about how to treat people. We must second that by raising them to be strong enough to not just stand up for themselves but to stand up for others. To befriend the child sitting alone in the lunch room. To be the one who cares for those who have no one else to care for them.

If you don't have children, perhaps you need to take steps to get to know the young people in your life? Get engaged in an active relationship with them Become a safe place? A refuge? A shoulder to cry on? Be that person. Perhaps you'll be able to help the bullied. Or better yet, prevent the bullying. If every single one of us who writes RIP on Amanda Todd's Facebook wall or Youtube video, made a solid commitment to be there for the young people of the world and each other, perhaps we can prevent another child from being tortured to death. Be kind to each other. Be the person who lifts up others, who offers a hand, a hug, a kind word to those who need it most and have it the least. And has Ghandi said, Be the change you wish to see in the world. Godspeed Amanda Todd.


Saturday, October 13, 2012

Follow your Tail!

 It is October!  Where did my summer go?  I am not as upset as usual to be heading into winter this year.  I have been so busy trying all sorts of new things!

One of them is to start a A video blog, aka, a VLOG!

I have stuff to say and not much time to write on here so I decided to keep up with the blog with a quick video.

I've recorded several and this is the first one to make the cut.  It is a bit long but I think perhaps you might be able to relate to some of what I say.

Here you go, this is me, doing something I do a lot!  Talking!

Cheers and be happy!

Sunday, September 30, 2012

Free to Dream; Free to Fly with my Dreams!

Ready for a book signing;  Ready for the rest of my life!

I'm sitting here in my pretty yellow office, house immaculate, kids in the living room watching a show, preparing to work out.  There is a sunbeam shining through to my left, illuminating my hands as I type, tempting them to stillness like a happy napping cat but they resist its beckoning to stop my writing and go outside.

These past few weeks have been tumultuous to say the least but within the chaos, there has been a sort of calm that makes me smile.  The reason is that at last, I know I am on the absolute right path.

I love my children.  I have enjoyed every single moment of their babyhood and their demands took precedence over mine for 22 years but with my youngest about to turn seven I finally can start to fully turn much more of my attention to my own dreams and ambitions.

Of course seven isn't raised but it is a far cry from the demands of babyhood.  I'm comfortable working around them, they spend a great deal of time in school and because I raised them, they are incredibly self sufficient and independent.

They're girls who are growing up with a mom who is not going to set the typical example of martyrdom that many girls see.  They're going to see a mom who is forging every one of her dreams into reality and my dream for them is they will duplicate it.  If I had sons they would have had a mom who taught the men in her life how to respect her and would duplicate that to the women in their lives.

What has prompted my pondering on this topic?  Well two of my friends have recently had beautiful babies.  And invariably, as I coo over their immense cuteness and chubbiness, I get the question.  Do I miss having babies since I had such an affinity for the lifestyle of early family life when I was living it.

And my answer is a resounding no.  My forties have been my very best decades so far.  It is where I see that now I get time for what I want, what I want to do.  I feel I have come into my own in this decade, I have never had better health, a clearer vision of what I want my life to look like and new dreams keep appearing and I now have more freedom to pursue them fearlessly and without encumbrance.  It is liberating!

I am looking forward  to a chance to live my own life, something that can't fully be done with one dedicated to parenthood, for either a man or a woman.  Children are in no way a burden or a trap, but I always knew that I had more in me than parenting, that having small children to focus on was a temporary stage and that I needed a little more room to grow.  I also knew I would take full advantage of the freedom when it came and it started with me writing a novel the year my youngest girl started school.

I am now free to explore the world with independence sometimes.  I now have the abundance to enjoy more fully the freedom of being an individual for a week or two at a time, traveling with friends, staying in hotels, tasting new foods, drinking new wines, making and nurturing other relationships that serve the adult me.

I am free from Dora and Diego and Barney except in the joyful moments I spend with my Grandson and those moments are not often shared with a television!

I am free to take on new projects, ones I dreamed of doing for years, like a collection of books about Change Islands, my home town.

Yes there is still some planning but it's so much easier with big kids.

I cannot imagine the stress, emotional investment, the diapers and the demands on my time of a baby and looking back on the time when it was all I knew, I can't see how I did it then!

But to everything there is a season and that season, while fun, had its turn.  Now the sun shining through the window on to my hand is an autumn light as the summer of babies and toddlers moves into its appropriate place in my nostalgic treasure chest.  And the autumn I plan to live will be alive with red and gold and green and crisp with the breeze of newly found independence.

It's a Harvest Moon tonight.  I will stare at its orange beauty later and wonder what will come to fruition in this Autumn season.I can hardly wait for that moon to shine on the crops of all of my new endeavors.


Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Knowing You're on the Right Path

Flying;  She would make me do this forever!! 

Seems like life is a blur of sunshine and air and clouds and heat and flip flops and then like somebody nudged the thermostat just a little, a sweater is needed, socks and shoes are a better choice and the leaves start crisping into gold and red at the edges and autumn is here.  Plunk, like a coin in a juke box has dropped, the music of fall starts to play and it's one of my favourite tunes!

It has been such an interesting time for me this past while. A time of decisions and excitement and joy.  I've done a lot of reflecting on how life is going and how I want it to go.

Those who know me know that I meditate in silence to resolve issues, hammer out solutions, make decisions and just to fine my sense of center and self.

I realised that I had slipped just a little out of my groove over the past year or so.  Not entirely, certainly not to any real noticeable degree but something had been a bit amiss.

I started to sense that I wasn't quite in alignment anymore.  Not on the outside, I'm sure you wouldn't have noticed.  But inside something had changed.

I sat on this one day and realised that I wasn't quite the person I was just  couple of years ago.  I wasn't living my life the way I wanted to completely.  I had let outside pressures, expectations take over just a bit much.  I had no aspect in my life that I didn't want so much as my priorities hadn't been in order.

My work was overtaking my art.  And that is just not who I am.

So I started to reconnect with my writing.  I started on a screenplay.  I took some time and outlined some novels I've had ready in loose form.  I've got no real substance in anything yet but I'm in process.  I'm also spending time with artists, not necessarily writers but people who work in the arts because we live essentially the same sort of way, from the heart and creating is our purpose.  Actors, painters, musicians all feed my soul and feed my inspiration so that I can create my written work.

What caused it?  I don't know, just living I guess.  Life is hectic and sometimes it can get away from you.  I realised that while I had more things now, they're pointless without following my soul and being who I am, doing what I'm meant to do.  I'm not giving them back, particularly my BMW, but they're not what's most important.

I also knocked down some walls, removed some rules, opened my heart back up to all of the amazing people who are out there who own part of it.  I had become guarded and that doesn't mesh with the open person I just naturally am.  There seems to be a need in others to "warn" me about things.  I have a really good sense of my own intuition and a strong ability to handle what doesn't go quite right.  Warnings are not necessary for me.

I did mention this to a friend who said to me "You're always happy, how can it be that you're happier?" Perhaps I  jumped from happiness to joyful.  Perhaps I thought I was happy until I got happier.  I don't spend much time in questioning a good feeling, I prefer to spend my time basking in it.
I wish, sometimes that I could just infuse every person I meet with this feeling.  This contentment. Don't confuse it for having an easy life or not having problems.  It's not that.  It's a sense of everything will be alright in spite of them. 

Instead, I get up in the morning and make my goal to make the first person I see smile.  Then do it again all day long.  I can't think of a more noble mission for a day.  Can you?

Another person asked me, "How do you know when you're making the right decisions that you're aligned and things are the way they should be?" and I answered, "you know because it  feels right in the heart.  It's what you would do if there wasn't any influence and you could do what you wanted. And it makes you smile.  Use your heart, not your  mind."  Well that's what I do anyway.

I had a great time playing airplanes and spinning the girls earlier.  The photo above is from those moment.  Can you imagine doing anything more fun than that?  That makes me smile.  I posted it here because I thought it might make you smile.

I have healthy kids and my own health.  And at a time when my beloved aunt is about to leave this world far too soon, it's very easy to be grateful and happy for that alone.

I wish you joy.  Always.


Saturday, September 22, 2012

Art Inspirations in Literature..and Vice Versa!

 A picture is worth a thousand words as Frederick Barnard once said. (Actually he said it twice and pretended it was a Chinese Proverb the second time but whatever).  Either way, it stands as truth in my life.  Anyone who has read my novel or sampled my poetry must see that my work is very visual.  Even the screenplay I'm adapting from The Secrets of Rare Moon Tickle starts with "Life has always been about colour for me.  This scarlet sunset, that blue sky, the steel grey of the cliffs here at Rare Moon.  I see everything so vividly that perhaps I should have been a painter but instead I doodle with words.  Even love has a colour for me."

These are the words of my character, Christianna but they could be mine, for as I'm writing a scene, it feels like I'm painting.  It will appear before me and while the eyes may see the black print on the white of the page, my imagination has created a landscape on my mind's canvas as if I painted with oil.

So it isn't surprising that I would find great inspiration from the visual arts.  And it also should be no surprise that many of my friends are visual artists.

When the local ART SALON Group of St Marys, Ontario began to work on a collaboration for the Canadian Culture Days events with the theme of Art inspired by Literature I learned that the opposite is true.  That visual artists are also inspired by literary works.  I am delighted to be a part of the event as the only author showcasing my work to the public.

As a member of the ART SALON Group I've also been involved in the organization of this event to some small degree, helping out where I can.  There is a video interview series to be screened, Friday, Sept 28 at 2pm and then a panel discussion that I've also been invited to participate in, immediately after.  I will be at the event signing books on the Saturday as well.

It's quite a production that couldn't happen without the dedication of ART SALON Group gurus Darlean Morris and Rosemary Radcliffe.  Darlean is founder of the Art Salon and a visual artist whose works have been exhibited all over the world from Toronto to Venice!  She has work exhibited in the event in St Marys as well as a piece in the Halifax Culture Days event.  She will be flying there for the opening immediately following our event.

Rosemary is a veteran of Canadian television and film.  Some of her work includes her own television series "Coming up Rosie," back in the 70s, Second City and her role as Tina on the hit CBC show King of Kensington. You'll recognise her, she has changed little from that time, still vivacious and youthful and fun.

Working together, (they call themselves Bad Hair Productions) on the video, the event and the all of the details that go along with both, they've set the stage for what I believe will be a seamless and successful week of culture for local residents.  I'm proud to be a part of it.

Culture Days are Sept 28, 29 and 30 and the art show will continue at the Library until October 5th.

We hope locals can make it in.  I would love to see you there.  For all others there will be a follow up after the event with pictures! 

Being Directed by Rosemary Radcliffe

Lights, Camera, Action:  Rosemary Radcliffe and Darlean Morris are Bad Hair Productions!

Shooting Artist Rose Creamer's video interview

Darlean Morris working the camera

Showcase at the front for small pieces

We lined it in black for the best show

Art inspired by Viktor Frankl's book Man's Search for Meaning~one of my favourites.

I helped with art intake.  This portrait was not to be in the show, I hope we changed the artist's mind!  It was beautiful.


Saturday, September 1, 2012

Once in a Blue Moon


Nothing like a lake and a full moon to set my fancy into flight!

 Blue Moon

Once in a blue moon
in a lake's shining reflection
I found the love of a lifetime
a touch of perfection

Far rarer than diamonds
haute couture for the soul
like topaz in silver
to have and to hold

Then like an orchid grown tall
blooming just for a day
a breeze blowing errant
took those petals away

So I stare into the lake
hear the call of a loon
mourning what was but once
in a blue moon.

I marvel at the moon,  indeed at all of nature, it is my creator and the inspiration for my creations~Carolyn R. Parsons


Tuesday, August 28, 2012

On to the next phase of my life! New Project!

I like this photo..you can see my reflection and the scene behind me in the computer screen!

Sunset from Tallboy on Change Islands


First off, isn't this photo incredible?  It was taken from Tallboy, a scenic cliff, on Change Islands which, for many reasons, is my favourite place in the world.  I have seen the sun set from that place and it is breathtaking.  I asked someone to take some shots for me after she mentioned there was a storm and I knew that after a good wash the sky would be full of brilliant colour.   I had a plan for the photos and still do but today was a big day for me. 

It has been a crazy summer for me...too crazy.  I needed to step back a little because I had too many projects happening all at once and wasn't get any of them complete.  So I took a bit of time to figure out where I should focus my energy.  Turns our, the screenplay's the thing!

Today I started to write the screen play adaptation for my novel, The Secrets of Rare Moon Tickle, and as frequently happens, getting started was the biggest obstacle.  In this instance, it was that first, all important, introductory scene into a movie, that sets the stage for the entire film.  I'm dabbling of course.  My work will be remedial at best, awful at worse but guess what, it's that or quit.  Later on I'll do what I can  to get expert help but being a very visual person who wrote the novel as though I were writing a movie, it is going a bit better than I thought.

I started looking through some old photos for inspiration and happened upon these and I knew in an instant how I would begin.  From the end of course.  Duh!  And the musings of Christianna in the opening scene are very much how I see things, but of course there is a lot of me in her as I think happens with your first protagonist.  

With a caveat, that things may and will change and that it is so early in the game, I cannot guarantee this will ever be in the final draft, here are the first lines from the screenplay adaptation of The Secrets of Rare Moon Tickle.



CC(VO) (Christianna Cormack voice over)

 It has always been about colour for me. Life, I mean. This scarlet sunset, that blue sky, the steel grey of the cliffs here at Rare Moon. I see everything so vividly that perhaps I should have been a painter but instead, I doodle with words.  Even love has a colour for me. Maybe that's why I've written of it my entire life. And perhaps that's why I've been blessed with so much of it. My last and longest love was red like that sky right there, hot, burning, everlasting. But he was not my greatest love. No, there was that time of indigo, my secret lover. The one that I recognized immediately as mine, though we had never met before. Yeah, that is the one that stands out for me, the one that defines me.  I wonder if I feel it still so much because I can never speak of it? It's has never completely ended for me, this indigo love. And just my luck, it is the best seller I can never write because it was just too true to be believed...


Anybody want to watch that movie?  There'll be sex later on!

Cheers Folks.