Another perfect day. A great day for madcap rehearsals for the massive community theatre show. But was it the power or the water utility responsible? I don’t remember, and the people i’d ask are either dead or otherwise out of touch. Anyway, the town had no water. No water is no big deal as far…
Category: memoir
Coming to Canada: A Gardener’s Meditation, Part 1
A garden is a long work. Yes, you can turn soil, plant seeds, harvest in that same fall. In that sense, to grow a garden is a simple task, unskilled labour; weed a little, watch the water, wait on the season, and done. Gardening, though, is more than this. It is the communion of human…
Being Here, Now, Part Two
So, I was saying I met Ram Dass? That is to say, in the library of the good people who invited me to live in their house (and made it seem I was doing them a favour by house-sitting), among the books was this dark purple one, called ‘Be Here Now.’ I’d never seen anything…
Being Here Now, Part One
Long ago, in Mexico, I lived by myself for the first time in my life. All alone, in a traditional Mexican house, which closes firmly to the street, but opens into a courtyard, which ends at a rough stone wall, shared by several neighbourhood houses. I’d lived in that town for about half a year,…
Worm Medicine
earthworm, indivisible one, you feed on smaller things what is dead, and what is rotting food of worms, no glory until above you, sky riots with beauty that feeds on your tiny work was it you? st. francis held in his hand, praying make me a channel of Your peace here, this reeking moment, break…
Shimmer
Who remembers, jingles with the buzz; if you hear 1981, do you see those small tables? jostled round by young sophisticates, and here, one northern bush kid, easy tan of metis (years before capital M and definitions that don’t matter in the shimmer of the music). This girl is 16, down in The City to visit her sister…
Spirit Mothering
I was 23 when I met my spirit mother. I’d buried my father and my older brother, gone to university, gotten put on probation, answered an ad that seemed the answer to my prayer for something meaningful to do with that year, some path that mattered. The path led to Mexico, to a teaching…
This Cracked Violin
Consider a heart as this cracked violin this instrument of various parts does it matter where it’s from? Not descended from noble European houses, it has not played in Marseilles no craftsman in Italian baroque leaned close and breathed genius into the grain. My fiddle is a metis fiddle but not Metis, not from Red River and…
On This Holy Night
When they saw the star, they rejoiced exceedingly with great joy. – Matthew 2:10 Tonight, I am home in the quiet, Mom. This house is old-fashioned, with the kitchen at its heart, like a farm house. My living room walls are gold, like yours were. I keep a garden, Mom, and I bake bread. I…
Her Singers, Her Songs
I will sing for joy. – Psalms 92:4 What music brought joy to Mom?What were Mom’s favourite songs, and who were her favourite singers? A daughter can’t always know that, as every one of us has songs with meanings we hold only in our own heart. As for the songs and singers I do recall,…
Ten Things
You have filled my heart with greater joy. – Psalms 4:7 This simple statement has squirrelled round in my head all day, while I wondered what to write. Finally, I saw a photo of David Letterman, now old and bearded, like some unexpected hermit, and I’ve taken that as my way in. Dave, if you…
Toes for God
God loves each of us as if there were only one of us. – St. Augustine If not for my Mom, God might have taken my toes, along with my horse and my money. I was the third of six, middle daughter, youngest of the ‘big kids.’ Sometimes I felt a bit invisible to Mom….
