A Kicking Horse ~ Mid-Day and Night

      Inevitably when camping you forget something inconsequential, extra shirts, soap, cutlery, your favorite vegetable, but rarely the routes you planned on navigating through and novels that escape the folds of the mountain that contain you, we did both.
      No compass was necessary on our first intrepid route, Hal loathed Hamilton Lake, the first 800 meters enroute to Emerald Peak. Winds tinged the surface rippling wisps of feathery waves as we  contoured its edges. Turquoise waters enticed me, tempted me oh! so eagerly, as my fingers dance notes just below the surface with a stark cold compelling retreat, that glacial waters and my body repel one another. Angling upwards towards the ridge we thought brought us to the summit, the description that we had rehearsed to memory warned us about false apexes. Larger and larger boulders grounded our anticipation till huge rocks forced us to perform body contortions to maneuver through a final chimney. Alas! Hal could eat his Spanish chorizo, peanut butter rolls, and a hidden beer in his pack.
      One of our loves from childhood onwards is attending the nightly Parks talks at the Amphitheatre. Tonight show was Practising Biologist ~ we became the guinea pigs, as we wandered from station to station solving the Parks problems from bears eating grain on the railroad ~ their highest mortality, to looking for signs of animal presence ~ there were 13 of them, can you guess? Listening to bats cry, matching skulls to animals on a chart, and finally viewing animals prints and figuring out what movement they were doing at the time. Thoroughly engaged, we fell asleep as each night with a podcast. A man named Peter Bergman ~ aka and unknown soul - arrived in Sligo, Ireland, stayed at the local hotel and within 4 days dispersed of all his belonging out of view of CCTB and was found dead on the Ross Strand in 2009 and he didn't drown, to date his identity and death are a mystery.

Day 2 started a little slower....the temperatures were high, thus the 4 liters of water towing my back down was necessary..... a new accommodation (burden) I've had to adapt to in the last year. Figuring that we wanted to do a challenging hike tomorrow we thought...foolishly that Mount Field would  be easy day. Never doubt that 1365 meter gain with route finding challenges one. Heavy clouds brought comfort to my dwindling water supply after the first 900 meters. Scree varies from pebbles to large stones, when the former brings us to feebles fools when every step forward, slides 2 back, our vernacular changes from the brilliant spectacle in front of us to grunting hounds. Up top we stayed only a short time for fear of being showered with lightning bolts and downclimbing slippery hard scree.

The next day we did 2 short hikes with still amounted to 6 hours, so much for sitting around drinking beer, eating Hal's favorites ~ Hawking's, my licorice, and our grub.....no no we had to grasp the opportunity to seek out Wapta Falls and Emerald Basin.

My concern is heat... menopause...I create my own chinooks, mother nature just messes with me further.

Stary stary nights.....

Stary stary nights how sweet it is when the rain subsides and we can gaze skyward through our mesh imagination and lust into our galaxy. Leaving Smither's, and Larry and Kaaren, was difficult enough bouncing energy into our solar system, their enthusiasm contagiously mystic, ethereal,  and without boundaries can't replaced in the electric city. The heat was on climbing Kathleen Glacier and Mt. Hudson sucking in 3 liters of sustenance while encouraging 3 Bolivian women: an overly energetic pregnant daughter, an exhausted mother and a grandmother dressed in flowing fuscia and mustard colored pants, and her black bowler hat up the mountain and down.

Connection that's what this entire trip has been, inside our minds walking up mountains and melding with family and friends. Discipline - focusing on "His" goals for me not mine, trying to get out of routine while breathing in God's creation, I realized that Kaaren's and Larry's life might seem idyllic is truly so much more up my alley, as I've had some destitute sleeps since returning to the city yearning to put up the tent in the backyard and return to the womb. Five weeks sleeping on the "grind" as they say in northern Ireland is enough time to return to our ancestry. Beds, homes, and expansive places might console others not this cozy cuddly girl. My soul rejuvenates with natural light, creative spaces, and electric friends.

Wilcox campground was Hals' stomping ground with the boys and yet we created our own memories that he melded to the old ones. Beauty Creek tantalized us from the moment we spotted her off the highway. Her bounty teal color adorned the rocks, rushing, gushing and riveting at our side for 3 hours up to her source. Keeping a secret till the end she never gave away her true beginning like a man luring you into his depths, we finally succumbs returning exhausted, and dusty vowing to return and find her jewels.

Nigel pass gentle in nature yet after 30 kilometers of bleak water and unimaginative provisions brought us close to breaking at her majestic surrounding mountains, rivers and swamp lands. It took everything we had to leave her returning to our camp only to have our magical nightly show blow our minds trillion stars at a time shooting, gliding, dazzling our eyes
from one side of the sky to the other without light pollution from the city whilst mountain goats moved past our tent unaware we could see them.

Get our into the wilds and be free.

Waterways on a Beluga whales

 

Belugas whales are rare to see up close, Hal's lips, not so much, he woke up swollen from lips to chin, with no dentistry work, fights, or red tide. Days of rash, not from hash, blotchy chest from dipping in frigid waters brought some concern, but hey were on holidays and Stuff happens. Viral hives is the technical terms of swelling, bleeding from scratching the blithering out of your body and mind, thinking perhaps you have shingles from the pain yet reducing with each pill popping pleasure of Reactine. Flashbacks of Europe and the U.S. trips where a mere towel from a hotel set off flames a devil made while tearing strip of his arms, and they call this holidaying. Forget the bronzed body and  wicked stories they are passé, waking to new spots to analyze is hype, hip, and on way out.

B.C. is burning up literally as each lake we pass isn't an excuse to jump in, its mandatory for survival. Temperatures are reaching peak heights of 25-35 in the interior and our hiking is now restricted to 8-2 for safety. Water has the power to crush hamstrings as my brother in law found out, bring back childhood memories at the cabin with the sun sinking into the horizon as scents of bricolles smother in the background under the grill. Mirroring the surrounding mountains, clouds and docks sparkles in the fading light as a gentle breeze brings ripples lapping onto our toes. Jumping fish snatch flies, resting for once on the water instead of the last morsel of skin that hasn't been attacked.

Reaching Smither's we nestled into the Soby clan for the evening meal of news of the bus tour, Cheechum, Craig and the kids movrd out in a school bus from Calgary. Their home situated in Telkaw adjacent to Kaaren and Larry's has brought joy and jubilation.  Children, 12 and 8 have brought an eternal youthful buoyancy to their lives. Rosy cheeks speaking about their capacity, resiliency, purpose in a grounded environment. Passionate conversations of politics, spirituality, and a heap of podcasts sets hearts pumping, as Fernie beer cools down temptations to change the exact position each of are in. My heart is aching to leave Calgary, as a watch someone else walk a path my soul yearns to move in soon. Silence is only disturbed here by zipping of bees to pollen, wasps to their next prey, mosquitos to shade, wood peckers to ants higher up the tree, and the sound of our heart pounding as we detach conscious from heat taking apart nails out of wood for three hours. It feels good to contribute a tiny bit to their 45 year venture of living off the land, sans l'eau and electricity. Hal keeps whispering that he couldn't live like this he needs his comforts while my head processes how to build frames, gather firewood and water for the winter, and get on call for part time jobs in a couple of years to strive in our oasis. Calgary for now, yet my dream of living here has founded roots that exceeds the necessity plants need for water, for if we can grow grapes, hops then our passion will be rejuvenated.

Blessings from Smither's
Godspeed

Valdez - Land of the Rich, richer and getting seriously drunk on oil

Kirk Franklin couldn't have said it better, as we walked along the shoreline in the depth of the tropical forest at 98% humidity it was "negro spiritual hot". Sweat was being ingested instead of exiting our bodies. Yodeling like a banshee due to the large "berry filled scant" along our route every few hundred meters, Hal voice was course within 6 mile when we finally reached the ocean. Having arrived the evening prior under ominous clouds we decided to hike what we could under the midnight sun. Local trails around town were strewn with bears, eagles, salmon running upstream, and a few sailors spewing their local dialect of @#$%^.

This photo was taken in the winter as they don't get that much snow directly in town and what the summer doesn't cover is the extensive oil fields and plantations that don't dot the scenery, they are the scenery. The beauty is abound in the vast lush hills that surround this town yet the odor is one of if it doesn't move - kill it. Numerous fishing, and big game hunting outfitters line the sidewalk, the gentle spiritual sense of Haines, is not here.

The Maxine and Jesse Whitney Museum was fabulous, but that too took its tool on the indigenous people that lived in these areas. She came here with her husband in the late 40's and quickly fell in love with the artifacts that the locals were making, and began a large enterprise selling them in the lower 48. The museum has a vast collection of their clothing, tools, living conditions, and animals they hunted, using all parts of it, unlike the white man that almost ran numerous breeds into extinction with the opening of the Alaskan Highway. The nighttime talks at our campsite by locals Natives have been very informative.

Nightly podcasts are keeping us abreast as to the plight of the "immigrants' in the United States, those coming in from Poland, Czech Republics, Philippines, are all stating that even after 2 generations many are not welcome or considered American by many white males. Jobs exist for immigrants but many white men don't want any other nation to take them. High unemployment and 11 million illegal immigrants are causing havoc on their system, yet they are tax paying citizens, so why not have them legitimized?
Here in Valdez, money flows like water yet not much thought according to the locals has been placed into creating a creative space for their kids, a safe place. We saw a myriad of kids high, drunk, and dabbling stupidity, covering all demographics and people. The outdoors doesn't seem to entertain them unless they are on a boat, on a plane, or heli skiing, all expensive and doesn't give them a sense of connection to the land. The only people on any trail we saw were foreigners from Europe or Canadian!

Unable to track down any relatives, we are going to head to the wharf for some fish, as I have been fascinated by the catch, cleaning, and filleting of Sockeye. We've tasted some local fair and it is excellent, if only we'd brought a fishing line. Jonathan Livingston had it made, these birds wait patiently for the remnants to be discarded and then feast.

Godspeed to all as we head to Glennallen tomorrow.

Polynesia Hues

Polynesian music wafts through the visitor center as a large figure gently slides his fingers over the local map inquiring while guiding us through his life. Low clouds hovered seeping into Hal's mood while inclement weather has always brought forth my ability to stay rooted, absorb others and desperately reach into another realm of calmness. Haines highway from Haines Junction, Canada pulled the car over a myriad of times to photograph its grandeur. Massive mountains reached skyward leaving a stark contrast of black granite, glaciers blues, and a plethora of greens only Ireland could compete with. Vast valleys took our spirits one direction then another towering our greatest expectations, Haines seemed so minute when we finally arrived, we both yearned to drive back sooner than later.
Drizzling rain added to the towns ambiance walking up and down roads searching for Church Mass times, brewery's, gift shops, state park camp grounds. The Brewery had all the appeal one could ask with cedar shakes, bluegrass in the backgrounds and local teaching us about how to appreciate their finest hops. The terrace looked up to a glacier framed in fireweed, apricot tiger lilies, and lettuce.
Gifts shops enticed us with a pathway of cherry treess, as the owner informed us "This is a zone 5", to Hal's amazement, raspberry bushes, thimble berries, and bluebells ordained his lawn and inside a litany of literature was discussed mainly early explorers. Satiated in the wordsmith we exchanged authors, titles, and mused in his presenc assimilating his ideals of how he trained as a mechanical engineer 43 years ago, never wanting to destroy nature, turned to sculpting and having visiting Haines at the age of 24, has never left.
Along the ocean front the river from Chilkoot lake to the ocean reels were spinning, fish were being lured, caught, filleted right on the shore lines, with two brown bears challenged a warden on a bridge.
After paying for our campsite fees the "host" informed us that bears frequent the site often. Hal's eyes widened with fear, as the owner now with our funds in hand, seems rather nonchalant in his 5th wheel, as our minds deliberated recent news about  mauling's. That night in the local bar our attention was diverted while listening to the fishermen speak of their "daily salmon catch" as it was high season for hauling in 10-30 thousand fish per day.
Light beer with a double tequila chaser was on tap that night, we stuck to the craft beer, and watched in awe as a party of 25 came in just having sprinkled their mother's ashes over the ocean ordering, "local farts", a concoction of Kalula, Bailey's and Crown Royal, my tongue tasted the sweetness and cringed, yet I could think of many a friend licking their lips on that one, for this gang was ordering doubles and triples.
Hiking on the ocean trails and up Mt. Ripinsky in clouds perspiring out toxins and ingesting a depth of oxygen that was intoxicating.
A short jaunt out to another state park brought us into contact with Rich and his wife that entertained us with his version of what the @#$%^ is wrong with American's and especially Alaskan's that voted Republican and the trouble with youth these days, American Natives, the economy, and local ecology. Hal and l listened attentively as he was well versed, highly entertaining, opinionated, and comedic in one breath. He thought as many Canadian's do, What the heck have we just done to our political system? along with we deserve it! He has lived in Alaska for a decade and loved it, now retired volunteerism is big on his list and trying to downsize to a modest house that doesn't exist in America, "The trouble with American's is we want everything to be big, bigger, biggest....If the entire world was as contemptuous as us, we'd be #$%^.
This trip has truly allowed us to breath in literature as we are now on our 6-7 novel each, and listen to locals, they love it, we enjoy it, in between hiking and listening to our podcasts that Hal downloaded prior to our trip on his Ipod, we've learned about our Natives plight living in distant communities, the troubles in Myanmar, Australian refuges, debates over economies, Immigrants in the States - Germany and Canada, to name a few, daily doses keep our dreams hoping.
Tomorrow we are back to Kathleen Lake in the afternoon to pack up for a three day backpacking trip to the Slims Valley in Kluane.
Hope all are well learning, growing, and loving this magnificent country, planet we are blessed to visit. Godspeed to all.

Rock On !

After multiple conversations in my mind and watching Hal become increasingly nervous, anxious, we aborted The Donjek and sought other hikes. My heart sank as I so...wanted to show him the mist amazing terrain, yet it was easy to give up when the man you love means the world to you, and being in their presence exceeds any vista.
Kimberly Meadows, a gentle 3 day backpack up over a pass and into some meadows, it all was too idealic. 4 kilometres up a trail the route finding started, dodging the ragging river coming down, yodelling to ward off beasts, while grasping branches on the edge to avert plunging into the frigid waters, and thrashing through alders carrened by puffy flowers sap residue that clung to our hair, what more could we ask for.  My mind began to wander within hours if we'd got ourselves into a pickle. Hal's leg began acting up at about 2 pm, 5 hours in, just when we found a mere 30% angle to hang the tent off. Grass surrounded us with massive moraine, glaciers and not a soul in sight to claim we'd made it.
The skies of the midnight sun wasn't a problem for me to sleep through, Hal resembled Zoro wearing an eye mask each night, as I flinches each morning waking up to a stranger.
Day 2 over the pass and down to the passive meadows, right?
Over the pass, a massive moraine brought snow to glide down for 300 meters then the warden cautioned us to keep right, knarly rock, high brush and those blasted alders kept us company for 6 hours. Our lake we so sought had dried up as had the creek on the topi map, a mere mistake the warden forgot to mention, which meant back tracking on a lower contour only to be sought by tundra, tuffs of earth that might cushion your foot if it didn't fall over, our aging hips were screaming. In the back of my mind I kept  hearing Jim Gaffigan, a comedian, rolling on about how his parents loved him and thus never took him camping and we were doing this on our own accord. The vast open corridor was magestic from our camp sight just above the glaciers creek and we celebrated our achievement with an extra ration of hash, silver lining always exist, you just have to look really hard at times. While waiting for a heard of caribou to move through we swated flies watching the colors of the skies change and discussed Irish literature and how to inject it into our next year curriculum.
Day 3 God blessed us with a lovely hidden glacier route up the far right flank and within an hour we were at the pass. I leapt up Mt. Descoli part way as we knew hours of fun lied ahead in the river. Just when we thought we'd out  smarted ourselves the high waters of the afternoon caught us stranded bushwalking, something I'd vowed not doing after living in Interior BC for half a decade and being part of the search and rescue crew that did it all to often. Lest to say we got out, never enjoyed a shower so much in Haines Junction and ventured down the road to Kathleen Lake.
The evening interpretive talks on Inland Salmon, and Grizzlies, 2 nights in a row were brilliant, the warden was extremely well versed for 26 years old, serving tea and intellect were a welcome exchange. We'd decided to hike up the King Thrown, having read the sign stating 1300 gain, it felt refreshing without our heavy loads, albeit, the 500 down hard scree took a toll on our aging knees, today is a rest day as we plan more hiking down in Haines, Alaska. Best of all to you.

Wild West Wrangles an Eastern Heart

July 16th

Father Joseph from South America gave a resounding message about God's pruning. Gospel was stacotic as he pushed words into being that a congregation seems unable to swallow.
"As a child, he bellowed, I hated being repremanded." His words had hardly left his mouth when a flood of all my follies rushed like a raging river into my mind brimming over the edges, tilting my head to keep them from overflowing into the next seat and loving those that hadn't given up guiding me.
"Do we really know ourselves, he said, or do we enter life, marriage and all relations  yearning never to be chastised. Wow! Another ephiphany.
God was loving sending others to assist us and like stubborn storms we refused to subside, and stampped our feet in defiance. His gospel filled my soul yearning to rest at his feet in his protection, his care, kindness and generosity for the day.

The laundromat was the perfect place to put prayer into practise, as our untouchable decided to have a play date with someone else's, laughter erupted in place of fear, anger, and true embarrassment. Clothing a life of their own tumbling into new beings that spring forth from design, concepts, material, sizes, countries, I'll paid labourers into my hands and for what to ward off inclement weather when all I truly yearn is to be one with nature, to wear her clothes.

Beer, Hal's second friend, depth, tasteful, bubbly, and forever looking for new opportunities to exist. Winterlong - hosted an Alberta crew of barmaids, brew master and clients. Alberta barley swept tastes of prairie into each sip savouring long hues of earthly tones over and over reaching perfection on one's nose. A francophone contingency converged on the fringe of the brewery children drawing, while women folk sipped flavours their men gulped life into their kin. A game of cribbage brought laughter as rules were made up en -route to accommodate victory for moi. Vogue 30 somethings were now becoming beer connosouirs that our generation could have only hoped for. Along with the IPA they slurped, and sucked oysters centuously while making love in their minds.

Libraries are my sanctuary as Hal receives more notes from old students that want to meet up for a pint, they are everywhere, just yesterday in the middle of WHitehorse, he met up with parents of 3 children he had taught. They invited us to dine in their 5th wheels and we could hardly believe the lap of luxury I'd been missing miling around on the ground in our tent. I also saw a story rich in content of a family death, an inheritance, sentiments, not yearing someone else's hardships. Sleep came easy as our pod cast left us deserted on an island of ideas about morality, to what extreme the human mind would go to hang onto it, or alleviate the disappointment of knowing it was easily abated.

Godspeed from Whitehorse.

The Unlikely Passage of Hal and Kate

 

The Unlikely Passage of Harold and Kate

      In the midst of reading the Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry it came to me that our yearly journey’s around the world in search of hiking trails that seek to satiate our wildest dreams, albeit always grand, need something different this year, and thus begins our journey to satisfy God’s wishes instead of ours. Daily time with God will ensure his will is being done. Thus July 4^th is the first day of our migration into the unknown.

      Summer brings a myriad of literature into our eyes realm, and as my eyes feast on “The Trouble with Goats and Sheep,” another message is clearly pressed into my heart, that I am to feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, invite the needy into our home, and look after the sick and visit those in prison, all of which has been and continues to be presented to us this season.

      When our minds our open to his command miracles abound daily. Each day I asked my students to smile at those they don’t know in the hallway, sheep do as they are told, and come back with mysteries unexplained, goats simply disobey and never see the wonders of his world, for I tell them daily, it has nothing to do with me, you will not remember me tomorrow, yet I pray your journey with Christ is forever.

            C.S. Lewis – The Chronicles of Narnia is also on my list again, and timely as always he too will lead us into temptation to see the world through his eyes and not our own. Come along with us, as we begin with a brimming strong cup of coffee out on the back deck just prior to making our final packing preparations. Hal is scattered with one sprig of hair resembling Alfalfa, as sleep lures him back into fantasies that can’t be answered right now, for there are bills to pay, and dancing of the fairies prior to this ship embarking of its maiden voyage.

           

The Agenda

 

 

“When are you going to stand up for yourself? I would have stopped her in her tracks, gave her the eye, and put an end to it.”

“You have the capacity to not be a victim.”

“I just realized it had been going on for some time this week.”

Tangled in a web of deceit, what does God ask of us? I held it out to him, time and again in the last 24 hours and I realized, I’d been away from worship too long and that I have the ability to stop it. I stopped it once before, and she understood the consequences and now with just a few weeks left in our term I would have to do it again.

Sabotage, the willful act of destroying or damaging something with intent to hurt or injure. That says it all, my question time and again is why me? Why not look internally at what your issues are, I keep to myself, don’t gossip, and question my morals and work ethic daily.

My husband said it best, “When someone doesn’t feel good about themselves, they attack others, regardless that they have no clue to what crosses others are carrying.

Luke 6 27-36 Calls us to command out thoughts and take action. Love thy enemy. Wow!, alright find ways to reach out to those that have issues with us, without understanding why, simply do good.

“God help me find a path that is righteous to do this work in my mind and in body. Let it be genuine and help me comprehend not their agenda, simply how to build a bond in the grand canyon, for me to be humble in my approach and not look for immediate responses.”

 

 

Life Changes

Sons are the greatest invention for men, husbands, brothers, uncles, and grandfather to comprehend their lineage, their heritage, their pride, joy, and very being. This had been a new calling to me for a decade coming into a family of testosterone. Being brought up in the lofty air of estrogen, it was new encapsulating, invigorating, enchanting, and sublime all at once. I failed so often at comprehending how to interact, soft voice, strong emotions and actions, I hope they view it humorously now, after years of praying, I believe they know my element was in nature, not in a home, and this is where we communed with nature and one another.

They are men now, and like their father are venturing into new frontiers in the wilderness of love, careers, self-awareness, life and the tremendous blessings God has bestowed upon them. Observance has been my greatest gift watching men interact, listening to their hearts, souls, and desires, pour onto the dinner table with a craft beer in hand vulnerably accepted.

What is the definition of a man- physically, metaphorically, psychologically, and literally, in the complexities of life, this household is profound for truths. Rawness aches at the superficial level as it seeps to unveil the layers of societal norms from reality. As each child comes to terms with their capacity, their boundaries, their expansiveness and influence. Who they truly are to themselves and the world.

Just today we saw a young 30 year old musician in his element unbound, unplugged, singing solo on in an empty café completely encapsulated by his talent. It was clear he needed no one to entertain his ego his eyes closed moving within his melody pressing viscerally inward making love to his music. I always wonder if every human could reach this level of connection with the self, would we need conflict, disconnection, war. It gave me permission to grieve the times I haven't been honest with myself.

We only have one life one short chance at befalling, let not a second evaporate without purpose.

Bless the sons of the world to be honest to themselves first, to truly grasp who they are, their joys, their fear, their vulnerabilities, their values and beliefs. May they always be good to themselves, listen to their hearts, know what they want on a daily basis and see that true peace comes from relationships not earthly gifts. Recall the memories of friendship existing in simple places. Remember our humble beginning return to them often assist those less fortunate for this is where the heart opens fills and refills plentiful again and again.

 

Sanctity

The Church brings many different bodies into one with Christ, is the same body that strives to continuously teach us the gravity of family. As death comes into our family we stretch our memories to recall the blessings that the Father has bestowed upon us. I can't claim to comprehend what it's like to have someone tell me I have a year yet probably only a few months left to live, yet having lived through this experience too often within my family this week has brought the focus of family and the sanctify of Christ into our hearts. Our differences, although many and difficult at times, melts into vapour as we linger over what comes next.
The pause abruptly stopping our routine commands out attention. Those willing, stop, taking heed of the persons life, their vulnerability to themselves, society and their dignity. Our culture hasn't mastered death, in fact we've placed it so far from our immediate existence we fear the act and pray the Father entrance. When reading daily prayer with my students I remind them that since we don't know when the Father is going to call us back, it is imperative we are ready at any time. Beginning each session with our sins, forgiveness, acknowledgement of his reverence, the founding rock to which we humbly come joyously into each day.

Health

Most of us take it our health for granted, me included. We exercise to stay healthy, try and eat right and maintain our sanity at work and try to attend church, that refocuses to look outside of ourselves, even if just for a few moments. Then something happens, seconds lapse into moments and those to hours and then are gone. Test, more tests, internet for consultation, (not the best) back to the doctor and then home again. When all fails after days of nausea, vomiting, diarrhea , and head-aches, we finally relinquish our human powers and let the experts take over.
I called a friend to take me to hospital since all family members were out of town. Humiliated by not being able to drive myself due to the Vertigo I had been diagnosed with, I gingerly removed myself from the bathroom floor, heaved over la toilet, and stealthily moved into the front seat of her car. Being Italian I hung on for dear life. I focused my eyes on the bottom of a R & W bag which almost worked till the last round about when I lost it. Fluid started coming out and not even the willpower of a rock could stop it. A young man at the hospital flopped me into a wheelchair like a sack of potatoes and kindly removed the bag and gave me a nice pink bucket. I held on while Sue, my friend parked the car and was even kind enough to hang on for the nurse to take my vitals. And, then in front of 14 other patrons in the weighting room, my body lashed out 5 times, before Sue could swivel me around obstacles and into washroom they all knew who I was. Hanging onto the guardrails for dear life, wafts of fluid escaped me. At first sounds of rushing mountain streams or gushing brooks could have simulated the chant. Yet the haunting dry heaves that escaped my vocals, not even I could comprehend. From deep within vast convulsions escaped, no horror movie could duplicate. My body rocked back and forth shoulders heaving as air sucked into my lungs crying as only horses can as it exhaled.
I hadn't looked up yet, as the vertigo would rush down into my innards and send another wave. My eyes cast downward for 2 hours I begged for time to past or my name to be called. And, once finally inside I thought my body would have the decency to grace doctors and nurses with some sort of decorum. But no, yellow mustard bile escaped me in rockets bringing humiliation to a halt. There was nothing more.  I passed out, like any decent human should have done hours ago.
Thus today, days later I am not recovered no where close, yet I bless the Lord for the health I have too often taken for granted, for my body that has up until now given me few, very few ailments. How is it that this has to occur for me to stop in my tracks and take note.
For those that have endured far more my heart is with you, especially those with dizziness, and nausea, I humbly bow at the feasts you must be going through and pray for your recovery. Let us take a moment and vow when we say grace to remember our bodies...one and all, for the glory they are.

How to become a Saint, marry one

Sadly God didn't grace all of us with sainthood, for those of us who do aspire to it we won't reach it, yet that doesn't deter us from being in complete and utter awe of those that are canonized. For they have devoted every morsel of their being to God, now that in itself brings a humble hear, a bended knee, an eyes facing skyward to our Father that has never seize to bless us again and again.

Today in church we had a guest priest walking towards the pulpit, all 6'5 feet of his being, with purposeful conviction. Hands out stretched towards the walls God's being took over him, and with fire in his voice raced through the gospel on overdrive. Our eyes widened with each cry for us to look internally at our "morals people". Had we truly given thought to our offering, as Catholics are not as fervent demanding 10% of their congregations as many evangelical denominations are, it is simply implied. "Are you looking at the blessings God has given and returning your 10% of your income, for only those that give will be given opportunities to work in larger portions of God's grace ." Motion was felt in the pews, side chatter, raised eyebrows, then with waving arms flung from one side to the other, he bellowed, Well have you?" Silenced reigned the cathedral....momentarily then he told...

An endearing story about a boy who was at church with his mother and she was revealing all the saints in each of the stained glass windows. One day in school a teacher asked the students how saints were created, and the boy energetically raised his hands and said, "Light goes through them." This metaphor blew us away. The literal meaning for this little boy was obvious, he only saw the saints in the  stained glass windows with light coming through, yet for us the possibilities were endless.  The Light of Christ, Christ light within all of us, and we are the beacon to guide one another, are just a few. Over supper and evening chatter this little story resonated so much into our lives, and those of our students in the coming days.

Hal had been discussing Salt and Light with his students asking them to come up with a saying and one of the most troubled students in the class drew a picture of one person assisting another who had dropped their books. The caption read" If I could help everyone I would, but for now, I'll start here."
Why is it so often those suffering the most teach us how to be in Christ.

I have never been so blessed as the day I met my husband. Our union revolutionized my theory of why God allows us to marry. Many a person has asked us how we have a strong marriage, and without a flint, an inch or a nudge, I say God. By bringing ourselves closer to him, we begin to comprehend the deep complexities of our spouses, and at the same time, it dawns that regardless if they espouse to use all their darkest emotions, we are far from ever understanding who they truly are. Another reason to rely heavily on Christ. We humans are multifaceted, a labyrinths of hard and soft wiring.

How to become a Saint, marry one

Sadly God didn't grace all of us with Sainthood, or perhaps for those of us who do aspire to it, won't reach it, yet that doesn't deter us from being in complete and utter awe of those that are canonized. For they have devoted every morsel of their being to his cause, now that in itself bring a humility, a bended knee eyes facing skyward to our Father that has never seize to bless us again and again.

Today in church we had a guest priest walking towards the pulpit, all 6'5 feet of his being, with purposeful conviction. Hands out stretched towards the walls his being, God's being took over him, and with fire in his voice raced through the gospel on overdrive. Our eyes widened with each cry for us to look internally at our "morals people". Had we truly given thought to our offering, as Catholics are not as fervent demanding 10% of their congregations as many evangelical denominations are, it is simply implied. "Are you looking at the blessings God has given and returning your 10% of your income, for only those that give will be given a larger portion for which to handle by God." Motion was felt in the pews, side chatter, raised eyebrows, then his waving arms flung from one side to the other, asking, well have you."

He told an endearing story about a boy who was at church with his mother and she was revealing all the saints in each of the stained glass windows. One day in school a teacher asked the students how saints are created, and the boy raised his hands energetically, light goes through them. This metaphor blew us away. The literal meaning for this little boy was obvious, he only saw the saints in the  stained glass windows with light coming through, yet for us the possibilities are endless.  The Light of Christ, Christ light within all of us, and we are the beacon to guide one another, are just a few. Over supper and evening chat this little story resonated so much into our lives, and those of our students in the coming days.

Hal had been discussing Salt and Light with his students asking them to come up with a saying and one of the most troubled students in the class drew a picture of one person assisting another who had dropped their books. The caption read" If I could help everyone I would, but for now, I'll start here."
Why is it so often those suffering the most teach us how to be in Christ.

I have never been so blessed as the day I met my husband. Our union revolutionized...to be continued

Slip sliding away

Wiping the last vestiges of cacao from my lips as the car pulls into our home. Heaving the bags of laundry carrying memories of spaghetti stains, dubonie, corn chips, and too few cloths worn for a week out, indicates success. Thoughts of crusty colleagues, and endless work projects creep into my mind during prayer while away, pleading with Christ this summer for a break, what I have learned is his intent of teaching me to discipline my mind. Life's been so good for so long I've become lazy, real lazy, in spirit, mind and soul. Forgot how to memorize scripture, no wonder vagaries reside in my head, tossing it this way and that like my mother sizes up cabbage at the grocery store. Away from idleness life begins, first in your brain, then the body follow.
Vast valley of greenery disguises the anxiety breaking the surface of my heart, as my head pounds against the waves needing to relieve, what, years of conformity to someone I never was. They say it's too late to rejig in your 5th decade, it can't be too late to be honest. Out in the wilderness is where I feel sane, at peace, out of touch with society and in touch with me. Me, what a concept, I plead my students to reveal, create, imagine, what the best of themselves is, and I face them desperate to get out, but my good conscious, duty, obligation and patronage, and responsibility to my mortgage, inanimate objects keep me from "loafing" - defined beautifully in The Razor's Edge, by Maugham, a character named Larry, 20 years of age, born at the turn of the 1900 century, that yearns to 'loaf', read 10 hours a day to become learned in his realm, to breath British history, taste its literature, feel the curves of Renaissance, and conquer the Greek God's, instead of being indoctrinated by a courses that contorts, and asphyxiate the last vestiges of our creativity at University.
Lying on a beach towel absorbed by the Somerset Maugham, I recall the first time I read, truly read 14 novels in a row, Jeffery Archer,  dodging work, my parents, boyfriend and rowing commitments. My first addiction, words, 26 letters necking, pecking, massaging one another, bringing tears, screams, revolts, a satisfaction like no other.....and don't say sex...regrets have weights.
Quiet nights, listening to squires drop bombshells, pine cones, hunting and gathering for winter feasts as the National Camping Parks close, leaving an even further peace without the intrusion of late night profane neighbors that didn't get passed the "F" section of Webster's dictionary and under the influence of bad beer, as Hal would say, they played with fire, the earliest invention to keep man warm, entertained with a stick, and drawing one's name in the sand, over and over again.
Sun lathered our bodies with warmth, caressing the endless nerves soothing years of under sleep, overwork, adrenaline junky, and the need to please all, feed all emotionally, psychologically, etc.
Each dip in the lake took layers of undealt with bullying releasing it into the waters, feeling lighter by the day. While others frolicked watching clouds crest the mountains forming shapes of animals, fairy tales, and fantasies kept me occupied.
With my parents reading, sleeping, beating me at cards, and wondering about further vacations, it was lovely to be in their presence, listen to their lives, over and over again, I never tire of it. Delicate movements, motions, once tight and precise, take time to form, yet sharp minds catch us watching them, caring to much. Don't do this, be care about that, "Stop pestering me, I'm not dead."

July 1st. Learning Patriotism

July 1st comes and goes and do we as Canadians' truly honour our country, well think again. We ventured down to Bowness Park and found the UN of Calgary. Large gatherings of Islam's, Jews, Nigerians, Somalians, Filipino's to name a few of the clans gathered to celebrate this day. Throughout our walk some were singing O'Canada amongst themselves while others quietly displayed our countries flags while others still others had face painting with maple leafs, and all enthralled to be in a beautiful park with extended family. You know what we didn't see, my family, with my extended family, that was so common when we were younger. Aunts, uncles, cousins, playing an assortment of games, eating cake first our course, then watermelon, spitting the seeds as far as we could, skipping my aunts tomato aspic, moving right into egg, cucumber and ham and cheese sandwiches, hot dogs cooked over open flames, and smores. No the absence of those of us that immigrated one to two generation ago was gone.
The question begs to be asked, are the new immigrants teaching us old timers how to live again. I think so.
My step son is dating a Filipino and twice a year they gather in large numbers to celebrate life, participate in the play egg toss, dress and run games, walk like an Egyptians four to a board, and dance the Zumba. I've never laughed so much, had so much joy and seen so much inclusion.
We decided right there and then to meet as our extended family, as we used to.

I thank the new immigrants who rekindled our family values, beliefs, and how to gather with our kin.

Finding Truth

I recently heard a podcast on NPR about a police unit in Denmark that decided to change how they were tracking boys that went missing in 2012. It all began when a distraught couple called the police station to inquire of their missing son, within 3 months 23 boys were missing. All had gone to ISIS. Originally they asked questions of the local Mosque, and this only sent the media into overdrive and the members of their community into a lack of comprehension and hatred grew quickly. The leaders of the Mosque were as equally upset about the boys and together they devised a system to begin inquiring.

Torlive and Allen, Danish police officers, got a hold of several of the boys who had returned from ISIS and simply asked them in for coffee. Coffee? No arrests, no questions, simply coffee.  When their trust had been established within months more and more boys intending on going overseas began showing up on their doorsteps. It was a 24 hours shift.
I call it the Complementary Shift. Instead of inundating teens and young adults with queries, they decided to allow the boys to fill in the gaps, regardless if they believed them, they took them at face valued and their community started to rebound.
The crime against Muslim's decreased, the bombardments of comments in schools about Islamic cultures declined. Did they save everyone ones, was their no hate, no, but they had found in the face of adversity that Care, Love, Understanding and admitting wrong brought humans of all races together.

Here is my challenge. Watching the hate crime against the blacks in the U.S. rise daily. Wouldn't it be past time that American police precincts begin to train their officers to do the same. Approach every pulled over vehicle with questions, instead of accusations. Form bonds between police officers and the communities they work in, opportunities for people to have coffee together. To begin to comprehend what each one is fearful of, dreading when they drive home, yearning in their lives, assisting one another instead of alienating one another.

Trump has an opportunity to speak about how they yearn for All American's to be Great, and truly include All American's. When I head the divisive advertisements coming out of the Trump Campaign, I am angered that All American's aren't demanding that he begin to see that if he truly yearns for a leadership role he can't alienate the Hispanics, the Blacks, the Women, and live in a world where he doesn't have to face poverty, homelessness, drug issues. A true leader is able to walk with his people when they are at their lowest, lead from the front and be able to nudge those that need support from the back.

All I hear is a campaign of bigotry, defamation of character, slander and biases, that divide a nation. It allows the worst of all of us to come out, and it will. He will be left with a 330 million people hurting on such a level he has no means to support them.

How about a campaign where both candidates truly dedicate the next 4 months proving how they are going to make America Great by placing policies into place and were the money is going to come from. Not lofty empty promises and cartwheel out of control, simple health care, education, and social services that all American can attain. Offering opportunities for All American's to be heard, have open mics, at all levels of government, set up websites where citizens can make constructive contributions to their community. And make all civil servants accountable to the citizens we serve.

There isn't time for hatred, we have lives to change, minds to mold, body to heal, and soul to hold. American's deserve to Campaign that outlines goals, at all levels and a congress that is truly for the people, no American left behind.

Sunshine Coast Wonderlust

    
     Majestic blues penetrate our souls on our first moment of arrival. The district smell of the ocean pierces our nostrils as we turn away yearning to see the vista but escape its odors. The lapping of the waves eases the driving aches out of my neck and shoulder that have been stabbing for hours. With my parents riding side saddle their comments come as wafts in the wind, "Kathryn, your driving too fast and too close to the next car." I take pride in my driving expertise and believe the smoothness of the trip wasn't appreciated. We arrived in Hope, just in time for me to order some oatmeal, as 2 slices of cantaloupe wasn't going to satiate the simplest of souls. My father was always honest with his wishes and ordered a Big Mac as if it was the last one he'd ever order. My mother was a guessing game, she never liked what my father would order, but hesitated getting what she really wanted, this was her curse.

    We'd planned on taking highway 7 but then decided against it when the tourist guide in Abbotsford was greatly suggested that it would be "way....too....long... in her 20 year old wisdom...and besides she said, what for?" as if we'd lost our minds.

     We were to meander along the coastal route of Vancouver oohing and awing at all the homes architectural marvels yet that turn came and went along with the light house that never made itself present.

     Roberts Creek was truly a stones throw from the port up a lovely deeply forested road that appears on the map to be secluded, that is except for the hundreds of people that live here and are never seen. Each house is nestled into densely forested woods, shrew over in vast amounts of black berry bushes, holly and thistle. No home the same for in God's time their was choice, diversity and no universal paint that was on sale for home exteriors at the same time.

    With mom and dad nestled into the Adirondack chairs overlooking the ocean a few meters away Hal and I busied ourselves with unpacking. A stroll along the beach in high tide revealed tens of aqua,violet and mauve clam shells colors no canvas could duplicate, flowers hung from branches begging to be photographed and fifteen shades of green canopied the foliage. Nature had arrived, with contrasts to take us to the moon and back.

     We feasted on local fish, vegetables, and home bought cookies, our first of 40 days. I don't like to say that Hal and I gave up anything for Lent, for it is truly nothing in compared to what the Lord gave us, but perhaps to mention that we withheld from cookies, chocolate and cake and thus to indulge in a cookie was delightful, flavours burst forth that otherwise might have seemed mundane. Life was grand as we watched the sunset for hours from the upper balcony. The lapsing of the ocean gently caressing us to sleep at night, all was right in the world.

    
   

    

Bonded by Family

      

       I distinctly remember my mother being curt with a woman at Steinberg's when I was five. I recall looking at both of their faces and seeing how different their expressions were. From this day forward I observed how these abrupt tones, words and expressions affected me.

      Married to a man that has 4 siblings that have all done very well either in business and the oil scene, I have observed how differently their children see the world. Money does change things and perhaps the best word to describe it is, entitlement. I don't say this lightly and I am not judging yet when some parents present money to children, and inform them of their difference to others in wealth, their minds form differently than those that see the financial freedom their parents have yet are not entitled to it, or are taught how it was achieved, through hard work.

    My mother was brought up in an upper middle family and I recall her telling me that her cousins had to live with her because of their financial difficulties. Wouldn't we see this as a blessings as kids, more time with friends, and family. My older siblings informed me that our mother had told them that they were different than others, and that they were special, more so than other children. I never heard this message and as a Christian I would have had to rebuke it, as I've always believed in at a young age that we are all EQUAL, everything single last one of us. Rich, poor, fat, slim, gay, heterosexual, educated and ignorant, are EQUAL.

     We all want to be loved and humans will gravitate to people, and circumstances that will fulfill those needs if they are not met at home. I was the child that manifested what my siblings were feeling. I became quite ill in high school, eventually being hospitalized. I blamed the world, myself, my parents, and God for something I truly couldn't comprehend. Why was I in need to control my world. My world was unravelling around me and the only way I knew how to hang on was to control my eating and exercise. I had no real interest in either before, yes, I danced, swam and played basketball, yet I wasn't the star nor did I have any interest in being one. I was the kid who was athletically gifted without the competitive drive. What was striking to me was my parents lack of interest in anything I did by high school.

     The one sport I did finally entered at the end of high school took me so far away from who I really was, it was devastating for all involved. I was desperate to fit in and be with my older sister, and to her unfortunate timing, she was trying to strike out on her own. I was floundering,  I lost my compass, so I followed her University path and her sports. Destroying our relationship that I so yearned, I couldn't see the writing on the wall, and my parents weren't strong enough to say NO!. Most of my friends had gone to different high schools and I wasn't one to beg...thus although I enjoyed high school I wasn't focusing on my future, I was stuck in a vortex.

     My parents had their lives and it seems we were to somehow fit in. Both my parents worked, and so many times I had wished my mother was at home with me, but it was never to be. She was happy with her career, or at least that is what I thought, but there was always something lingering. She spoke often of other Aunt, neighbors, friends back in Montreal, categorizing them as wealthy, unproductive, fat or lazy. I recall in high school asking her why she did this, she never answered. My oldest sister was privy to far more of this banter than I and she became a manifestation of what she thought my parents wanted. Success to her was being slim and making lots of money. This couldn't be further from the truth, what I valued, and what we had been brought up with, and what I believed my parents to value as Christians.

     They brought us up like many families going to the cabin in the Laurentian's during the summer, and on week-ends to ski and hike. We moved out west and something changed dramatically, the distances were metaphorically and literally larger between homes, schools, work and eventually our family. By the time my oldest sister hit high school, I could our family was separating. She sought out avenues to attain love, then my next sibling did something else, by the time I came along, my parents thought that by the time I was 13 I was an adult, and thus no curfews, and few discussions. I was to behave as an adult with a child's mind, too scared to ask for permission to come home at a certain time. I began restraining myself in all aspects of my life, I bought my own clothes, I worked from the age of 12 and I didn't want to rely on them to heavily. Too bad for me I was the kid that yearned to held, loved, communicate to. I loved having discussions  at the dinner table, and those disappeared too.

   I recall asking my parents to "ground' us, they looked at me rather perplexed, "Why would we need to do that? You are all so well behaved?" How blind were they....did they not care, not see what was transpiring in front of their eyes. We needed boundaries to feel safe, boundaries to know someone loves us, and cares where we are? I got scared and my anxiety went through the roof. Weight dropped off my tiny frame long before I controlled my food. Several of my friends parents asked me if I had 'Anorexia?' I didn't know what it meant so I responded No!"

     Fast forward 30 years, still observing the world and finding that the same answers that held truths then, are still holding truths today. My sibling still thinks that success is found in being slim and finically wealthy. For 30 years our voices have been strained by the bonds of family, she not realizing that slimness and wealth are merely outside appearances, real success is what lies inside of each of us. How much we have pushed love into this world, sleep each night knowing we've changed a life for the better, seen the wonders in a tiny flower nestled in a rock, looked out over the ocean and felt small, worked for a cause that assisted another's life, and sought out family members in good time and bad. For family should never been bound they should be bonded by unconditional love.