We All Need A Place To Go

"Life comes in spits and spurts, ebbing and flowing, rising and setting....etc.  We believe we are permanent somehow, even though we watch everything around us go through the stages of life  - birth, existence and finally death." ~Trish Shields ( trish-shields )

I consider myself a fairly accomplished photographer and usually  don't have too much difficulty finding the words to convey my feelings. But today I needed a stunning photo of Goose Spit and I didn't have one so I entered the amazing world of Google.  There I found this image that sums up everything going on inside of me; a bit  of magical light, some dark, overbearing clouds, a few bits of silence and at the same time, some never-ending movement creating a sense of rhythm that matches my heart.  This photo was taken by Trish Shields and she deserves full credit!  It turns out that Trish Shields is also a very accomplished poet and her words were the exact ones I was looking for inside of myself.  I love that about writing (and art in general) that there can be connections, words spoken and images created by another that simply speak to you as if the artist had known all along exactly what you needed, at exactly the right moment.

Trish Shields would not know that Goose Spit has been my go-to place since I was 14.  Even now, from far away, when I close my eyes and pull up the vision my pulse slows, my breathing regulates and a sense of calm overcomes me. It is as if I am actually there in every sense; sight, sound, smell, taste and touch.  As I lean up against the breakwater I scootch my butt around making a perfect indent into the gritty sand.  I bring my knees up, dig my feet around until the sand holds them firm and then I lean back into the bumpy logs looking for the right fit, close my eyes and soak in every single sound I can hear, every single smell I can smell and every breath of wind I can feel. I am not actually there, yet I am. I can feel the warmth of the light on my face at the same time I can feel the chill in the breeze coming off of the water.  When we were younger we used to go from the ocean side of the spit over to the bay side in order to cool off or warm up.  There is not a more perfect place on earth!

Today I need the spit.  Today I need a few moments to centre myself in order to carry on with life.  This is a challenging thing to do on the heels of death.  Many of my friends know exactly how this feels as we reach that age where new life is all around us while at the same time death is knocking at the doors of many we know and love.  The stages of life.  There has been no other time in my life where I have experienced the newness of life in such abundance.  Seven grandchildren ranging in age from 1 year to 14 years - these last fourteen years have been full of new baby loving, toddler snuggles and teenage hugs.  There has also been no other time in life where I have experienced the never ending sense of loss.  We have already lost many friends from our teen years and many of our relatives are writing their final chapters. There is a constantness in hearing these same stories from our friends.  The stages of life. They are all around us.

The busy-ness of life has subsided in these later years but it has been replaced by the "ebbing and flowing, [the] rising and setting". I am working hard to embrace it all and accept the stages as they come and go.  But it is hard. Especially today.

Nanny

You may wonder why I'd start a blog about Nanny wth a picture of Papa.  Well, it seems to me over the years that news of Papa, articles on Papa, blogs on Papa and pictures and memories of Papa have been constant, as they should be. When we think of Papa we think of teacher, principal, athlete, outdoorsman, community leader and family man.  When we think of Nanny, we think of 'mother', 'homemaker (in every sense of the word) and 'wife'.  Not too many people celebrated or wrote about what some would define as the most important 'job' on earth.  Nanny is the poster girl for motherhood.  She took this role seriously and fulfilled every aspect of it, from beginning to end.

In my mind, this picture probably reflects the happiest years of her life.  She is surrounded by her family and I don't doubt for a second that this family brought her more pride, joy and contentment than anything else she had experienced in her life.

I am not the one to tell her life story but I can tell you a few of the bits I know.  Irene Howard met Henry Watson during the war in England.  She had lost a fiancé  and he had lost a wife.  All of her friends believed she had met the most handsome Canadian abroad (and they were probably right).  Henry fell in love with Irene and found out too late in love that she was 12 years his junior.  It was the beginning of a legacy I don't imagine they ever saw coming.  They married and their first child, Brian, was born in a castle in Scotland during the war.  Henry returned to Canada and months later Irene and Brian boarded a ship and then a train to come from Hastings, England, all the way across Canada, across the Georgia Strait and up-island to the tiny town of Cumberland.  I can't even begin to imagine how difficult it was for her (an only child) to leave her doting parents behind and make the trek to a small coal-mining town on the other side of the the ocean and the country.

What a way to start a new life.  So many unknowns, such a long journey away from her roots.   So many of us describe our lives as 'ordinary' and I am sure Irene would have used this word if you had asked her about her life.  An ordinary woman does not leave her mark on the world the way Irene has.  Just ask her children about all their mother gave them in life - motherhood was her niche, her super power, her gift.  Just ask her grandchildren how she made them feel.  So much love does not come form an ordinary woman.  Irene, we will miss the 'just one more' passing of the dessert tray, the gentle touch of your hands on our wee ones, the oh-so-special shortbread and apple tarts that only Nanny could make.  Without saying a word you taught us life lessons that we will never forget.  Most of all we will miss the gentle, overflowing sense of love you gave us all.  You will be forever missed and forever remembered!  This picture below is how I will always remember. you, that gentle touch only you had and always at your best with a baby in your arms.

Your Home Town.

Happy Anniversary, Bob!

As I sit and contemplate the years that have passed and dream about the ones still yet to come I think of one word; grateful.  Anyone who is married knows that every moment over 46 years is not perfect.  But the fact remains, we got through the imperfect moments to create a perfect life together.  As we have been back and forth to the island a bit more recently it has brought back memories, especially the ones you have shared with me.   This one's for you, Bob:

Your Home Town:

We saunter up and down Main Street.
Its real name is Dunsmuir, but no one calls it that
And maybe the only reason I know this
Is because this is the street you grew up on.

I can almost feel the pain in my butt
from the dog that jumped the fence
bit you
and then hopped right back over
while you delivered papers.

I can smell the smells of Frelone's grocery store
on a Saturday morning,
as you use that hard earned cash from your paper route
To buy the potato chips with the football coin inside.

I know it always makes you smile
when you tell the story
of leaving the church for your paper route
Capitalism over-taking religion.

I know from the stories and the pictures
of your many basketball victories
hard won in the old hall
made that much more precious because your dad was the coach.

You never got the chance to play hockey
but you played a mean game of football down at the park
Kicking, passing, running
playing offence and defence
sometimes all by yourself.

I know of the time you sat on the dock
at the family cabin
fishing rod out,
waiting for the big one
And when you saw it swim by
you yanked the lure out
not sure about what you'd do
if you actually caught it

I know the route you took to school
and the names of your childhood friends
I know they too could shoot
from downtown (although not quite as well as you).

Because of you
I know my way to Camp,
Allen's Lake
and Mr. Peck's
the best candy store EVER.
I know where you were when JFK was shot
and when Paul Henderson scored that famous goal.

I wasn't around for most of these memories
but I've walked these streets with you
hand in hand
listening to you remember the stories of your boyhood
watching the changing expressions
on your face as each memory is recited

Sometimes I even feel like I WAS there.

This is just one of the gifts you have
given me over the years
the gift of your sharing it all with me
your own real "Home" town.
full of happy growing up years
the kind you can only have if your roots run deep.

And I thank you for this
and for all the years between
then and now where we have shared
our own home town and our own growing up years.

Thank you.