Peace of Mind Advent-ure

imagesThe slip of the moon shines through the slats of my window blinds, and three lines below – the morning star bright and clear. December days lack in daylight, but the advantage is that the pink sunrise arrives at a respectable 8am. A sense of peace prevails, as I smile back at the moon.

Peace defined as: stress-free state of security and calmness; a freedom from disturbance, war or violence. Peace, a word we toss around this  season, as we light the second Advent candle and wonder how does this message of Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men, pair against the late night newscast and our own videos that play in our heads.

Just over six years ago, I met Mitch (not her real name) at the drug clinic I worked at. Dr George, the founder, asked if I would spend some time with one of his most inspirational-quote-peace-2challenging clients, a young woman with a  troubled past, and an addiction of mass quantities of her current prescription choice. Perhaps I could take her out for coffee, now and again. Little did I know … Over many coffees and conversations and trips to the emergency department, I got to know Mitch fairly well. At one point she told me that there was a constant battle going on in her mind between an angel on her right shoulder and a little devil on the left. Clearly the left was winning. She illustrated for me what Paul wrote in Romans 7: I can will it, but I can’t do it … I decide to do good, but I don’t really do it. I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. She is not alone in this mind battle; it is one thing when I am fighting the extra chocolate cheese cake in the fridge, or an overdose of barbiturates. 

It has been said that time heals all wounds, it can also be said that time wounds all heals. Unless we come to terms with what has happened in our lives, we GMPOMimagescannot stop the whirling activity of mind. I thought I would be celebrating Christmases with a large family, three children, and the grandkids   adding the extensions so all could fit around the table. It was not to be. And the voices in my head could whirr on …. It has become my daily choice to accept that my life has not turned out as hoped or expected, but there is still much beauty in life. There is a depth of beauty I had not known before. There is a peace that comes when I realize that I am not in control.

I have long said that you can get scriptures and statistics to support any cause. I also have the gift of misinterpreting the ancient words. (It is not mentioned in most spiritual gift listings.) In the NKJV, Phillipians 4 says: Be Wayne_Peaceindexanxious for nothing … I took that to heart. For many years I would be anxious for nothing, wondering if I’d said the right thing, got involved here, donated to the right cause, and the anxious for nothing list went on. This Advent as I ponder the candle of Peace, I am reminded that my great battle for peace is for peace of mind; and I need to practice my Mind of Peace-my Mop. With my Mop I sweep the doubts away.  *I choose to accept my life as it is, not how I wish it was, *I choose to see that there is much beauty in this world, and *I choose to believe I need help in this war. I practice this Mop, this mind of peace with the help of the Prince of Peace.

Peace – one of the greatest gifts of Advent.

Jocelyn is author of Who is Talking out Of My Head, Grief as an Out of Body Experience

Recently someone reminded me of Simon & Garfunkel’s version of Silent Night with the newscast as background; 48 years later it still haunts.  Here are 2 links, the first one with the newscast visual, the second with only the 1966 cover album.  the links:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1X_a9o4ezw

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WgYFXCUEL4Y

The Advent Adventure

IMG_8685Even before the Hallowe’en masks disappeared, Christmas merchandise appeared in the stores. Every time fresh snow fell the song, It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas jingled in my head; and we had snow in September, so it’s been awhile. Thinking about the season of advent, I wondered if adventure shared the root word. With the ease of Google search, I found out that  advenire ‘arrive’ meaning the arrival of something is at the core of both.

Advent is defined as: the arrival of a notable person, thing, or event, while adventure is an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity. For many children Christmas is exciting, while parents can dread the season. The expectancy of something big happening fills the air. But, for people in grief, or challenging life circumstances, it is not the most wonderful time of the year. And if Santa Claus is the only one coming to town for December 25, I’m not sticking around for it. (Bah, Humbug!)

In the far past, I thoroughly enjoyed December, and more hope-beach-sunset-quotes-quotesrecently I have rekindled a love of the Christmas season, coming out of a ten year mark of a world turned upside down, with personal catastrophic events that made the Christmas of 2005 my most dreaded ever. The Christmas that mocked me with All hearts come home for Christmas, the first Christmas that two of my three children were not on this planet, the first Christmas without my husband … I feel a strong kinship with the Biblical descriptor of  The people walking in darkness have seen a great light, on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned …   The dawning of light, is the beginning of hope. The beginning of the great adventure of Emmanuel … God with us … through thick and thin, through darkness and light.

This year as I light the first candle of Advent, the candle of Hope I reflect on the Hope that has carried me through a passage of grief, to a new shore. A stumbling towards beauty and grace.                                                                           

Hope is a choice, Hope has given me my voice                                                                 to question to doubt, to scream and shout                                                                           Hope has been in the midst as a spark                                                                                 as a river, a cause to shiver                                                                                                      Hope behind, hope before as it opens and shuts the door.                                                The taste of hope and I want more …                                                                                      More of the source, more of truth, more of the grace it has given                                 I want hope on this earth   …   and a taste of Heaven.

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Emily Dickinson says, Hope is the thing with feathers/ that perches in the soul. Does that make hope flighty? Or does it means it visits, when I need it most? Hope is a choice I can make. For me the source of the Hope is the litmus test of its worthiness. It is easy to miss the meaning of Christmas; it has been turned into numbers of shopping days left, and pre-Christmas boxing day sales.           May you also have some adventure in your advent season … we settle for tinsel when we could have eternity … 

A favourite Advent song of mine is Ready My Heart by Steve Bell. My apologies if the link does not work.

http://redmp3.cc/13011993/steve-bell-ready-my-heart.html

Jocelyn is author of Who is Talking out of My Head, Grief as an out of Body Experience

Thoughts of a Pacifist on Remembrance Day

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The bagpipes lead the crowd of several hundred to the cenotaph for the wreath laying. Children are shushed, hoods pulled over ears as the zero degree temperatures cause minds to entertain indoor coffee options by the fire. But for a half hour wreathes are placed in honour of those from this area that lost their lives in battle. A wise-for-his- years middle schooler poet reads his Remembrance Day poem and thanks those who have given their lives for our freedom. Tears frost in the corner of my eyes, as I feel the pain of mothers who have lost sons; these lost in combat.

While a high school student reads In Flanders Fields, I stumble on the challenge, to Take up the quarrel with the foe. Haven’t enough quarrels been taken up, and passed on? Who is our foe? (My mind asks if it could be faux pas on our part?) The very definition of foe keeps changing, as the nature of conflict is revised. Philosophical debates about war are easy, when battle zones are far removed. Daily the media gives images of some foe that brings terror to peace; all viewed from the comfort of my armchair, with a remote to help keep it removed from my life.IMG_6765

Two years ago I visited the American Battle monument in Carthage, on North African soil. I had no idea that 2, 841 soldiers were buried there, row on row. Overwhelmed I viewed the white crosses, while my heart sighed a collective sorrow for all the mothers grieving the loss of these sons. I wonder if this generation of mothers wants to take up the quarrel with the foe? Or is the foe the idea that peace cannot be achieved without war? I am not a militant activist or pacifist, but I wonder about the high cost of conflict.

And the possibility of peace, especially as we begin the season of Peace on earth, Goodwill towards men.  Oh that it would be so. How does the song line go?

Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.

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Today you are You

Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.  Dr. Seuss,

These are the heart-tug days, when your only grand-daughter is half a world away, eight  time zones ahead. I could either be sad not to be there, which I am, or I can do what I can from here. Long distance grand-parenting is a new-norm challenge. My North African granddaughter on the edge of the Sahara, chose an Arctic Adventure theme for her birthday, I chose to decorate the snowball her and I made on her recent Canadian trip.

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 In the spirit of Dr Seuss, I sent her poetic birthday wishes and a snowball picture.

Dear Maisha,

It is your ninth birthday, and there is no one you-er than you,

nor would I wish there to be, and that is truer than true.

How you love to imagine, you love many others

Including your mom and your dad, even your brothers.

How I wish I was with you, with you and the others.

You could paint me up and we could eat all the cake,

We would make up some poems, we could jump in the lake.

Or in the ocean, and swim like a dolphin, maybe a starfish,

Could be an Arctic creature … Oh I wish and I wish …

We’d have a girls’ night out, that would be fun you see

Cuz now you are thrice as old as when you were three.

You are nine times smarter than when you were one

There’s still so much fun to be had, funner than fun.

Oh Maisha, you are you-er than you

And that’s why I LOVE YOU, I love you I do!

If I could hop a plane, or board a train, or catch a fish

I’d be there in a flash, on my fish wish dish.

I’d give you a big hug in person. That would be de-lish.

But you—are you-er than you, and I am just me,

But because I’m your granny, I’m smarter you see.

Until you turn ten, and then the gig is up

by then you will know three languages, or maybe four.

You might start to think that Grandma’s a bore.

But for now listen up girl, to me and your mother.

She’ll show you the way, she’ll love you like no other.

How can I know that? Can that be true?

Cuz I’m your mother’s mother, and I’m older than new.

So HAPPY BIRTHDAY dear girl, you are niner than nine.

You are finer than fine. Have lots of fun.

And CALL YOUR GRANDMA SOMETIME!

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Missed the amazing cake, but thanks to technology, I read the poem to her, apparently she was smiling the whole time! Makes my heart glad.

Today you are you! Do what you do!

Nightmare on Reading Street

“Books are no more threatened by Kindle than stairs by elevators.”     Stephen Fry

It is easier to open a fridge than a book in this technology era.                                      Once upon a time, the library card gave access to a whole building of books. Now it opens a universe of libraries. A year ago I purchased an iPad, with hopes to download books, to avoid the extra weight caused by my book choice indecision while traveling. I often carry four books. I also like to underline favourite passages, I like to turn pages, and leave a dozen bookmarks, so I can go back to those pages. How was this digital book transition going to work for someone like me, with an ongoing love/hate relationship with technology.images

A friend helped me download Overdrive, a gateway to the public library. We downloaded the app, but were stumped with my out of date card. Next day, I renewed my physical card, and with bravado let the librarian know I planned to download books, and read them on my device. She handed me four instruction sheets to assist. I also booked an iPad session held at the Apple Cathedral, in Marketplace Mall.

At home, after ninety minutes of followed instructions, repeated log ins and passwords, two ebooks loaded. I was elated. With a sense of accomplishment I proceed to the next phase of my plan.

At the Apple Main station, Matt the minister announces that this is a Basic iPad workshop. (He was not interested in ebooks.) To cover all the bases, I book a genius bar appointment as well, to clarify issues sure to surface in the one hour service. All my technology products are the Apple denomination. Are androids the Baptists I wonder?

Matt explains, that with bluetooth, I could get a meat thermometer app, that will signal my phone when the steak on the BBQ is done. (Could I not look at the steak/cut it?)  I could also ask Siri to book an appointment, or cancel one. I want to ask if Syri will cook dinner for me, I’m hungry. My phone dings, and I hope Siri reads minds, and ordered pizza for me, but no, the genius bar tells me that they will be ready for me soon. Craig-Mod-quote-540x540I respond with a text message. While Matt is praising Siri, my phone dings again to say I should make my way to the front, the genius is ready for me. I respond again, that I am still in workshop. Shortly after they tell me, they are passing up on me and I will need to rebook. I excuse myself from the workshop, and walk ten paces to the young usher I first spoke with on arrival. “Something is wrong with the system,” I say, I had let him know that I was at this workshop, and had responded to the messages … “How can this communication be so one-way?” He apologized, put my name back on the list, but I don’t want to wait another hour … He inquires as to my issue. I want to know if I can move pictures from my iPhone to my iPad. He tells me it does not need a genius to figure that out … The answer is No, I cannot do it. Thank you.

I return to a frustrated Matt, his connection was severed. I suggest, that this is precisely what us mere mortals, of the greying crowd deal with regularly and rather than sell me a meat thermometer app, I want to know how to reconnect without messing my settings.

How did I ever grow up without computers? When I got home, with my iPad updated, I discovered that one of my books had disappeared. (It has since reappeared and I am happily reading.)

Technology, it’s everywhere … helpful and daunting at the same time, almost like God.

“If you drop a book into the toilet, you can fish it out, dry it off and read that book. But if you drop your Kindle in the toilet, you’re pretty well done.” ― Stephen King

Jocelyn is the author of Who is Talking Out of My Head, Grief as an Out of Body Experience

Are You What You Think?

Insider Insights … It is said that even the rocks cry out, in this case it was the walls … The bathroom walls.

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What began as a chance encounter at a local pub, had us on a bistro search 144 kilometres away. We met Lance Dettwiler in Prince Rupert, BC and he convinced us that we should stop at his cafe, The Elephant’s Ear, on our drive through Terrace BC. This was similar to that random comment we should get together for coffee, sometime.  And it rarely happens. But this time my brother, his wife and I took the turn into town to hunt for The Elephant’s Ear, and with the help of Susie Q, the GPS we found it.

Lance almost seemed surprised to see us, and when I went to use the facilities, I was surprised with the washroom, full of artistic graffiti wisdom. The usual set of stalls with slider locks it was not. Instead the fairly large space, by bathroom standards had white walls and ceiling completely covered with artistic sayings. It looked as though customers continued to add their personal mottos. I hoped no one was in desperate need, as I took my time to photograph the philosophical words of the wall. Some of my favourite being posted here.


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I always have a conversation with cliches, but who wouldn’t agree with eternal joy?  Each blending of truth alongside pat statements always causes an argument in me. Oh, if only life could be summed up by neat little catch phrases. And the upper comment about knowing for sure: I envy the author’s certainty. But do we become what we think? That line about whether you think you can or you think you cannot–either way, you are right. In Canada we just had an election, and Justin Trudeau won with the platform of sunny ways; of hope over fear, of hard work over cynicism. A country was won over by positivity. While cynicism seems the modern norm, especially in politics, optimism is refreshing, even if some of the lines are cliche.

I could not argue with the excellent food and ambiance of the bistro, it was worth the off-road detour, and jaunt through Terrace BC. Truly the destination and the journey are what make the trip worthwhile.

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The reality is that my catch phrases change on a regular basis. What is written on the walls of my heart today has been written over what I believed yesterday. And yet there are words and assurances that have longevity. What’s written on the walls of your heart?

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Travel from room to room

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The work to forget, can be as difficult as the trying to remember.

Frederick Buechner

“The time is ripe for looking back over the day, the week, the year, and trying to figure out where we have come from and where we are going to, for sifting through the things we have done and the things we have left undone for a clue to who we are and who, for better or worse, we are becoming. But again and again we avoid the long thoughts….We cling to the present out of wariness of the past. And why not, after all? We get confused. We need such escape as we can find. But there is a deeper need yet, I think, and that is the need—not all the time, surely, but from time to time—to enter that still room within us all where the past lives on as a part of the present, where the dead are alive again, where we are most alive ourselves to turnings and to where our journeys have brought us. The name of the room is Remember—the room where with patience, with charity, with quietness of heart, we remember consciously to remember the lives we have lived.”
Frederick Buechner, A Room Called Remember: Uncollected Pieces
Four years ago on the first of September, I landed in an unknown hometown. A wary excitement filled me for this new beginning, a fourth new beginning of what had been a series of unrequested life events. I remember the excitement of seeing the mountains from my dining room window, this prairie girl with prairie bicycle legs. A town in the shadows of the Rocky Mountains was a scenery change of significant elevation.
Landscapes of the physical variety are easier to modify than the minefields of the mind. For many people, it seems easier to plod on in a difficult known, than to move into the unknown.
And yet radical life changes require radical responses. Radical choices.
My mother of ninety-one lives in the room to remember. She may not remember what she had for lunch, but, start her up on a memory lane conversation and she can tell you how the fly ball felt as it smacked into her bare hands to clinch the game. She was the hero of her country school! Of the days of her drinking husband, she says: “Those were hard times, but we got through them.”
She has a selective memory. Memory can be revisited.
I would like to remember my life as worthwhile and wonderful.
The past is a foundation for the day, the future gives hope. The past and future collide into this IMG_6694moment of today, this present, which is exactly that – a present moment, a gift to be opened and deeply appreciated. I want to live my life in such a way, that when I am my mother’s age, my room to remember will be positively full. For today I am here, in this moment celebrating the lives I have lived!
Here’s to the anniversaries you celebrate today. A reason to be grateful. Thanks to my sister-in-law for introducing me to this musical artist, Josh Garrels, and this song about understanding further along:  Check out this song!
Jocelyn is the Author of Who is Talking out Of My Head, Grief as an out of Body experience. 

 

Summertime Blues (the cure)

We unlearn desire. Quietly, over time, we succumb to the dependable script of the expected life and become masters of the middle way … after a while we no longer even notice the pathways off to the side … John O’Donohue (Beauty)

The summer is almost over,” my 91 year old mother declares with authority on our weekly Sunday IMG_4182phone call. I already know her next line: “Before you know it, it’s going to snow. It will be Christmas.”

A writing course had occupied my spring and when I hit “Submit” for my final paper on June 30, I also hit “Break Free” for the summer … and here she states the truth: Summer is Short.

In Canada it is very short, and also the reason it is full of outdoor activity. Canadians know its brevity. As if to verify my mother’s words the picture of last September’s snow came to mind. For the sake of the course, I had put off my summer and now my days were numbered.

Three days ago I picked up a friend from the airport, who is returning to be in the presence of an aunt in the final stages of cancer. The struggle was closing in. Last summer, another dear friend lost the battle with a heart issue, her family motherless before the end of August.

Oh the summertime blues. The life time blues … it comes and it goes. Life, breath, beauty, flowers, illness and departure; like the river current moving toward a final destiny.

My own grandchildren come to visit in a week. I have been anticipating this time for what seems ages, and before I write my next blog that moment-in-the-sun will have passed.

The elusive speedy nature has me either lamenting or rejoicing.

So what will I do now that the summer is almost over? … I plan to enjoy every remaining moment as much as I can. It begins with cleaning off of my small patio, setting up the deck water fountain, planting the flowers I got on the end of the season sale.

I want to build good memories that will warm those cold winter days. I want to connect with nature as much as I can. Listen to the music. Enjoy the richness with those that cross my path. There is only one summer of 2015. I want to smell the flowers.

Above all else, I want to practice gratitude.

IMG_4084That gratitude that started July first, where in a moment of unprecedented Canadian patriotism, I joined a small town crowd for the raising of the flag, the singing of Oh Canada, the picture taking with two handsome red-suited mounties. To quote my mother: “I am so thankful for the country that we live in.” She is thankful; she has health care, she feels looked after. She feels safe. My only on-the-planet daughter lives in a region where recent terrorism has taken a deadly toll.

Below a black squirrel hops across the traffic filled street, only mindful that he needs to live in this summer moment, oblivious to the cars that will soon sweep his path … he pauses in the middle of the street, I think he winks at me and scurries to his destination. My pot of recently planted petunias smile at me in shades of blue-lavender. A dahlia from a friend adds the exclamation mark.

Life like summer is brief.  Gratitude precedes the joy … The thunder heads will roll in, we had hail on Saturday, but for this moment, this brief spell, I want to Be in The Beauty, the beauty of a summer morning ripe with anticipation.

Some Assembly Required

All GARDENING is LANDSCAPE PAINTING.   William Kent

SOME ASSEMBLY REQUIRED

IMG_0620I was on my annual pilgrimage to The Garden. My brother-in-law says I would get the reward for gardening from the greatest distance. Some people have garden plots on the city’s edge, as opposed to the 14 ½ hours I drive to garden for one week each June. This is not just any garden; it began with two large holes of the heart represented by the two components of the lake, at which point a bridge crosses over to the garden … This is the memorial project dedicated to my son, my daughter, two wonderful young people no longer on the planet … two young people who had spent many summers at the camp this project is now a part of.

This year I had ordered three concrete park benches and a picnic table to replace weather worn wooden/wrought iron benches.  This is what I ordered

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I had invited friends to be there for the delivery at 1:30 Tues afternoon.

It had been overcast and intermittent rain for the first two days of the week. I postponed the bench delivery, as it was pouring rain, and I wanted pictures for when they would arrive … besides who was going to sit on the park bench on a rainy day? The next day was set up for better weather. The man I had communicated with, was not in when I called to change the delivery date … but another customer service rep took the message; he said he would first tell the delivery people, and then he would inform Daniel about the change as well. You’re sure? I ask, Yes I will be sure to pass on the information.

So while it was rained, my sister and I went to purchase plants that were to be admired from the new benches. We arrived back at the garden, with the newly purchased plants and with feet that had been in cold, wet runners and socks for the past three hours. My toes were wrinkled, and the hot chicken noodle soup had worn off.

“Look at those tracks, someone has been here” my sister said and pointed to wide mudded ruts ….

And then – “Do you think they dropped them off?”

This is what I got.

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IMG_3434At the same time a text message arrives from the maintenance guy: Parkside Lumber made the delivery … looks like some assembly is required 🙂

This was not what I expected, this was not what I had ordered.

I had not ordered pieces of a picnic table, no where had I read that I was to put this together. It never even entered my head.

I called back to Daniel, the polite young man I had met the day before, I had spoken with him by phone several times from two provinces away. I asked as to why they had come when I had postponed. More importantly these were pieces this was not a picnic table. He was not quite as understanding as I thought he should have been. He asked, How did I think these pieces could be shipped etc … takes up too much space, obviously they can’t be shipped already put together. In my head I wondered how much time I needed to spend at meditation in this prayer garden?

When I order a dress from a catalogue I do not expect to have to sew it together.”

I don’t think that is a fair comparison.”

I did and the only one that came to mind at the time … No where had I read that they were unassembled. Mostly it was the disappointment. This did not meet my expectations.

I had thought it would be something else … I thought, that if I ordered a bench, it would arrive looking like the picture, the picnic table would look like a picnic table.

My brother in-law chuckled at the dress concept, and added- when you buy lumber you don’t expect it to come in the form of a house. No, but if the lumber advertised itself as a house, I might?

Some assembly required

Oh I know that applies to many areas in life, my expectations exceed the horizons.

On a happy note, I called Bob again, my go-to-guy at the camp, (he could probably tell how near the tears were) he thought he could send some help over the next day.

Park bench angels with strong backs … angels that thought this was like Lego for adults.

The picnic table instructions were hard to read, after being drenched in the rain. Did I mention that they were short 6 nuts and bolts, and the steel plates had holes that were off by half an inch?  All’s well that ends well, I guess? I had coffee on the bench. I dunno, those lumber people, and God … they seem to promise things I can misconstrue so easily. And at least one of them gets away with it all the time.

 

It’s The Climb

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It’s about The Climb

Sunday afternoon with the promise of poutine to follow, I invited two international University of Calgary students to join me for a little walk. They come from Africa and want to experience as much of Canada as possible, on their meagre student budget. I can show them sections of the nearby Rocky Mountains. This particular hike, I did almost two years ago, and thought it to be fairly easy. Early on, the 27 year old from Malawi slightly short of breath states, we need to pace ourselves, and take time to enjoy the scenery. We come to a fork in the road.IMG_3298

They suggest the easy option, but I had read the reviews: the more difficult is the more scenic route. Since I am buying the poutine, they agree to go left. They have each had an intense year of studies, are here for the long haul, unable to return home, but thankful for technology which connects them to loved ones in Malawi and Zimbabwe. Our in-depth conversations have been labelled as DRDsDeep Reality Discourses … we talk about life, the expectations of women in their countries, to be bearing children at this stage of life and the singleness issue. We talk about cultural differences, the loss of fathers for each of them, we always venture into spirituality. I love these DRDs.

And then we spot them … the wild orchids.IMG_3352

I take many photos, another hiker passes us, and I point them out to her. She and I marvel at their intricacy. My students admire them, but do not appreciate the rarity of the sighting. The hiker informs us of an owl nesting in a rocky opening at the top of the hike. She continues her way down and we continue our climb. We dip our hands in the mountain stream, drink of its water, the younger woman expresses her desire to spend a day with her journal next to the sound of a mountain waterfall. We marvel at the aqua green colour of the lake, and search for the great grey owl that appeared to have been waiting for us.IMG_4011

After the promised poutine rated as the best west of Montreal, (La Belle Patate) we return back to our normal lives,  feeling a slight connection to Miley Cyrus in knowing that there’s always gonna be another mountain and it ain’t how fast we get there, it’s The Climb. At the end of the day, students returned, I marvel at the beauty of the day, the gift of the orchids, the owls and that I could keep pace with these two young women.  I hope to return soon.

IMG_3995“I will not die an unlived life.

I will not live in fear
of falling or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my days,
to allow my living to open me,

to make me less afraid,
more accessible;
to loosen my heart
until it becomes a wing,
a torch, a promise.
I choose to risk my significance,
to live so that which came to me as seed
goes to the next as blossom,
and that which came to me as blossom,
goes on as fruit.”

–Dawna Markova
Dawna Markova, I Will Not Die an Unlived Life: Reclaiming Purpose and Passion

The Climb, sung by Miley Cyrus, written byJessi Alexander, Jon Mabe.