The realignment of my blog universe

There has been a slight wobble in my planetary axis this past week; we shall call it the flu. First bout with flu in years and it really knocked me, shall we say… out of orbit.

Not H1N1 thankfully. Although I will never know for sure because I didn’t get sick enough to have the luxury of having a swab stuck up my nose to name this bug. A fever of 102 kept me pretty much on my back and yes, on my arse in front of the computer too.

I ended up spending more time on Twitter because there I didn’t really have to think. I had no real energy to read or write and so this post has been simmering while my blog has been at rest.

Funnily enough, this wobble of my axis has come at the same time as a planetary realignment in my own life. I’ve been resisting this for a while, feeling too comfortable basking in the warm glow of blogging. Didn’t want to let go of my self-perceived sense of STARdom.

The big blog bang

The big blog bang — say THAT 10 times! :-)

Blogging had become the centre of my universe and everything else forgotten or given less attention to — in the dark — eclipsed (had to sneak that one in there). Juggling blogging with running two businesses became my life. In hindsight, this gradually squeezed the life out of me.

My circle grew in the sense that I had more connections, but yet my life grew smaller. The blogging cycle became a merry go round that was spinning at a dizzying speed.

In my personal experience, it became harder to be creative and come up with new ideas to write about — because I didn’t have a life outside of blogging.

I think that’s why so many bloggers find other bloggers are writing about the same things. The fun and creativity is lost or smothered by self-imposed pressures of obligation. The inner critic has a wonderful time with this, distracting you, knocking around your ASSteroid Belt.

And so, I have decided to shift my focus and spend less time blogging and re-prioritize my life. The Starship Davina is returning to Earth.

I’m going to go back to a yoga class, dust the cobwebs off my cookbooks and join a hiking group. And maybe… I’ll even read a book.

I won’t be posting to a regular schedule but I will still be posting when I feel inspired, and I’ll still be orbiting around to read my favourite blogs. And if you’re on Twitter, I’ll see you there too.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to make some tomato and wild rice soup. Lots of fibre, lycopene, and vitamin B and C for this healing body of mine. You can add shrimp to make a real meal out of it — delicious!

Photo Credit: Hellobird

Can you say Big Blog Bang 10 times fast? ;-)

The Fall season shuffles in

“To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.”
George Santayana

It’s autumn in Vancouver. In September I found myself taking notice of the lush green foliage, realizing the trees would soon be bare. I was not looking forward to saying good-bye to summer.

I love the heat, the long sunny days and green grass; especially the smell of freshly cut grass. I prefer going barefoot. Listening to the rustle of the wind in the trees is heavenly. Did I mention the heat?

The lush green foliage I’d been admiring began to change into familiar brown, yellow, red and orange seasonal colours. Mornings were cool. Low afternoon sunlight cast a pale yellow, whitish light and shadows stretched long and narrow. The sun noticeably set earlier. Noticeably.

Taking change in stride

One particular afternoon I took a walk, feeling a little melancholy about letting go of summer. I became caught up in the sound of my feet shuffling through the leaves that blanketed the sidewalk and covered parked cars. People were raking them. Squirrels scurried through them. I could see bird’s nests in the branches that otherwise would have been hidden by leaves.

A father and his young son stood in the middle of their lawn, surrounded by leaves. They were holding hands and the little boy was motionless, staring down in wonder at the ocean of colour that surrounded him. I got caught up in his appreciation. He was noticing.

I stopped trying to hold onto summer and began enjoying myself, noticing more of what I liked. I took my camera out of my pocket a number of times to capture the beautiful colours and scenery.

Strength in letting go

This beautiful, young tree caught my attention. Two weeks later I passed by and it was naked. I was surprised that it looked stronger than it had with its leaves. Beautifully barren.

I started to look forward to cooking beef stews and spicy soups. Hot coffee in the morning tasted even better — imagine that! Snuggling on the couch under a blanket was cozier. Candles would brighten the longer evenings.

The sound of rain was louder on the fallen leaves. One evening I stood on my balcony in the dark just listening to the rain, sipping a glass of red wine. It made me shiver, in a good way.

I liked feeling cozy. Rather abruptly, those cozy thoughts gave way to thoughts of the next season to come — winter. I shivered; not in a good way. Some things never change.

What has caught your eye this season?
What do you have to let go of to enjoy this new season?

Chapter Ten: Imagine that

“It seemed like such an earthy, male thing — a man doing up his belt buckle; it was sexy and suggestive and made her mouth a little dry…. Heaven be praised if he didn’t bend down to search through [his toolbox]. His jeans pulled tight over his thighs in a way that made her give thanks to Levi Strauss…. The work gloves stuck out of one back pocket and looked like fingers waving at her. It was almost as if they were calling to her, ‘Look here…’”

I giggled loudly and then embarrassed, turned around to make sure nobody was standing behind me. I was sitting on a log at the beach, reading a romance novel called That Summer Place. Hadn’t read one in years and though I knew I wouldn’t have time to finish this one, I was enjoying reading the “good parts.”

My last day at Island Thyme Bed & Breakfast had been a quiet one and after the previous day’s hiking adventure on Mount Gardner I was happy to rest tired muscles.

Every step down the stairs to the beach that evening was painful. I had picked my way carefully over the wet gravelly beach, looking for a log that was dry enough to sit on to watch the sunset. I felt like Goldilocks looking for a bed that was just right.

Waves lapped against the shore and the cool breeze was light on my face. The air was fresh. Mountains posed in the ebbing sunlight, showing off an array of shadowy crevices.

I watched a blue heron land on a rock beside the boat directly across from me. He eventually climbed aboard and I couldn’t see him anymore; never saw him fly off either.

The day was fading quickly and I put the book down to watch the sun sink lower, staring as it perched just above the horizon. It was poised before making the final descent and I imagined that if I stared at it long enough it would stay up longer.

In a matter of minutes the sun had disappeared completely, leaving the sky awash with orange and yellow streaks. I couldn’t deny time was passing and didn’t stay long at the beach — too long would have only made leaving harder.

Savour that

Dinner was decadent. I found some lemon pepper seasoning that added delicious flavour to the lamb and roast potatoes. Red pepper and garlic was roasted in the same pan with the lamb and the garlic caramelized. It was so good! I sipped the rest of the red wine and savoured each bite of food, drawing out dinner as long as I could. Still, time passed on.

I refused to waste time packing that night. I knew my resistance to leaving would only draw it out longer than necessary. Better to wait to the last minute and get it over with faster in the morning.

I took a cup of coffee out to the deck to star gaze, wearing a comfy terry cloth robe I’d found hanging in the closet. I felt sensual wearing the robe — comfortable with feeling sensual.

It was a calm, warm night and I lingered in the dark staring up at the glittering sky, listening to the crickets singing. A neighbour was playing the piano. The notes echoed through the night, adding to the pleasantry of the evening.

I hoped I’d see a shooting star. That sudden streak of light cutting a path across the indigo sky had always excited me. But after a while my neck got sore from watching and waiting.

My thoughts turned to memories of difficult times — days that had at the time, seemed never-ending — like being caught in a web. But at this moment, all the heartbreak, fear, self-doubt, and personal loss didn’t matter. It had no hold on me. I was overcome with the most intense appreciation for being alive; felt a sense of connection with “something” that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

Sometimes I think things are better left as a mystery; left to unfold of their own accord; like the last five days had. I was overwhelmed with emotion and I felt like I “needed” to cry. But I couldn’t cry. There was nothing to release and nothing to hold on to.

Tomorrow I would say goodbye to Rachael the spider. She’d sat pretty much motionless in her web these last few days, but her presence had commanded my attention. I’d been compelled to just stand and watch her, mystified by just how much notice I’d taken of her.

What did she represent? What did I choose to believe? That symbolically, we can weave a web that will serve us or enslave us. It’s neither good or bad; there is learning and growth with the passing of time.

“Spider encourages us to discard the heaviness in our lives. Take only what is yours, and leave behind the old forms and baggage. Take with you only the sweetest relationships, possessions, ideas, the rest belongs to the heavy world of yesterday. Cut free from your life the carcasses of the dead, the forms of your past heavy world, and leave room for the new world of love and light.”

An excerpt from an article by Ashley Costanzo and Janice VrMeer

Comments are open. Talk about it. Whatever IT is! :-)

Chapter Nine: To move a mountain

My heart was racing from exertion and fear. And I was angry. The thought of having to go back the way I’d come frustrated the hell out of me. This seemed to be a common occurrence with me, hiking and maps. Always getting lost.

Before I could even go back the way I’d come I had to find the path, and it had clearly disappeared. I tried to retrace my steps but after 10 minutes still didn’t recognize anything. I couldn’t understand how this could have happened so quickly. I felt panicky and when I looked around at the surrounding forest everything seemed to be a blur, like it was spinning around me.

I allowed the charge I was feeling from the anger to push past the fear. It is true what they say about how anger can move a mountain. I went crashing through the forest less worried than before about destroying spider’s webs; less worried about spiders, or bears for that matter.

The perseverance was finally rewarded when I recognized the bottom of the trail. I rejoiced, and then groaned at the thought of having to climb back up that hill I’d just come down. I was already exhausted.

I reached the top about 15 minutes later, gasping for breath. My heart was pounding in my ears like a drum — I could feel it and hear it, which is a good thing I guess. Then I noticed another path, slightly hidden by tall grasses to my left. Temptation.

I stood there trying to decide if I should go back the way I’d come or follow this new path. It was an easy decision. I went on. The triumph of reconnecting with the path after the drama below was more than enough to encourage me to continue the adventure.

I was feeling quite perky with renewed hope of finding the Killarney Lake trail. The trail was well groomed and easy to follow now. I had relaxed more and was enjoying myself. Fears of meeting up with a bear had for the most part, subsided.

I came to a sharp turn in the path a while later and heard something rather large moving quickly through the bushes around the corner. My heart leapt and I stopped in my tracks, all senses alert. It was coming closer. I froze.

Then, a mountain biker sped around the corner and skidded to a stop, smiled at me, turned around and sped off. The heartbeat was drumming in my ears again but I was relieved to see another human being and not a bear.

It had been about two hours since I’d met that woman and her dog and I was about to meet another friend on the trail. This time it was I who scared her. She was walking with her three-month-old baby, staring down at him sleeping in her arms, lost in her own world.

I showed her my map and asked if she had any idea where I was. After a quick glance she informed me that I was nowhere near the Killarney Lake trail. Why wasn’t I surprised? I had come clear down the mountain, parallel to the trail I’d followed at the beginning.

It was after 3 pm, I was tired and accepted that Killarney Lake was not going to happen. It was about an hour to Killarney Lake, another two hours to hike around it, and another hour home from there. And so, I continued along this trail, heading northwest towards Windjammer Road, back to Island Thyme. I would have come full circle.

The trail was decorated with fallen trees from which many varieties of fungus were growing. I took a lot of pictures. Eventually, I came to a clearing that opened to a paved road. I was disappointed. I didn’t want to walk on a paved road, I wanted to walk on a forestry trail. But, there was no way I was going back the way I’d come at this point. There were no signs on this road, and I had no idea where I was… again.

I passed by a driveway under the watchful eye of a guard dog who didn’t as much as growl or bark. He just stared at me as I walked past, and I at him. I walked and walked, and I walked, stopping once to pick a berry that was too sour for my taste.

My legs were sore, my back ached and the scrape on my wrist was burning. Consoling thoughts carried me back to the cozy hideaway where I would soon be sipping red wine and cooking dinner. Oh, I could hardly wait. But there was still a 40-minute walk ahead. I couldn’t believe that after all this time, and with all the water I’d drank, I didn’t have to pee. At least I’d been spared that!

When I arrived back at Island Thyme I greeted Spider who was still sitting in the corner of the window. A comforting sight. I let the silence wrap itself around me and I felt satisfied by the adventure I’d had; even though things didn’t go the way I’d planned. As I stood there watching Spider I remembered wanting to give her a name. It came to me then, as clear as a bell — Rachael. Can’t believe I named a spider, but I did.

Would you have continued on the path, or returned home?

Have you ever peed in the woods? :-)

I hit the trail at noon, climbing uphill for the first 20 minutes. It was deafeningly quiet and I found it a bit disconcerting. The night before I’d asked Wynn if there were any bears on the island. She told me that the odd bear or cougar would swim across and hang out for a short while, before returning to the Mainland.

That wasn’t too comforting for my active imagination. I couldn’t help but think that the one bear or cougar that might happen to be on the island that week, would meet up with me on the mountain.

When I saw a woman and her dog approaching in the distance I was somewhat relieved. Her dog barked when he saw me and I heard her shoosh him. I wanted him to bark though, to scare any bears away.

I was annoyed at myself because my nerves were on edge, preventing me from relaxing and enjoying the hike. I couldn’t seem to get past this fear of mine.

A couple of years ago I went hiking by myself while my boyfriend and I were camping near Sasquatch Park in BC. He was not able to hike because of a bad back and I just HAD to go.

I ended up getting lost and the park manager later told me I had gone way out of bounds. I had been real unsettled when I saw fresh bear droppings beside the trail on my first way through, and didn’t take kindly to having to go back the way I’d come. Not one bit.

I had been hiking around Deer Lake and missed the turnoff to come back around the other side of the lake. The side I might add, as I learned that evening, where there had been the most bear and cougar sightings. Guess it was best I did miss the turnoff.

The dog didn’t want to leave my side. He planted himself beside me and stared at his owner as if to say, “You go on home now. I’m gonna go walking with this new girl.” I would have loved that.

He reminded me of the time my mother bought a dog for my sisters and I. This dog took a liking to me and would follow me everywhere. She didn’t want a thing to do with my sisters. Mom eventually bought two more dogs, one for each sister. Now I was embarrassed as this woman’s dog wouldn’t leave my side and I had to coax him to leave with her.

She told me it was 20 minutes past the bridge to the first lookout and then warned me about the bridge. Apparently it was difficult to cross, but if I held on to the cedars on the right side I’d be fine.

“Oh crap,” I thought to myself, imagining the worst. I had little trouble crossing though. I first attempted to go around but the rocks in the riverbed were too slippery so I ended up crossing just as she’d recommended; by holding on to the cedar logs on the right side.

Twenty minutes later and drenched in sweat, I rested at the first level ground since I’d begun the hike. I sipped some water and looked back at where I’d come from, feeling pretty satisfied with myself. But my nerves were still on edge and all senses were listening…

Disappointment was waiting for me at the first lookout as the view was blocked by an overgrowth of trees. Dense underbrush prevented me from moving past them, and at the second lookout it was the same situation. I was peeved. Not only was I missing out on the view, but I had wanted to take pictures for my blogging buddies.

The path levelled off after a while and I guessed I had reached the topmost part of the mountain. Every so often I’d stop to look at the map (futile, I know), to make sure I was headed the right way. I was determined to connect with the Killarney Lake trail.

After more than an hour into the hike I approached the top of a steep hill that looked like an old dried up river bed. I’m guessing it was about 50 yards down at a 40-degree angle. There were plenty of rocks jutting out that would give me something to grab onto.

The rocks were slippery from yesterday’s rain and I fell three times. The first time my camera banged against a rock and I stopped to put it in my backpack. I scraped my wrist on a rock another time.

I had to crouch real low to the ground to prevent myself from falling again. Perhaps climbing up wasn’t all that bad after all – going down was sure difficult. I finally reached the bottom and stood up, glad to be on level ground again. I looked around. There was no path. I was surrounded by thick ferns.

About 25 yards to my right it looked like the path started up again, so I began crashing through the forest and climbing over fallen logs, all the while watching for spiders in their webs, but having great fun too. I was in my glory as I pushed forward.

After five minutes there was still no path to be found. I turned to look back the way I’d come and couldn’t see the path I’d just left.

The forest appeared to grow larger at that very moment and everything seemed father away than I remembered. I felt like I was being watched. Trees towered above me mockingly, making me feel very small and incredibly vulnerable. I stood still, listened and prayed I wouldn’t hear any rustling in the bushes.

Stay tuned for the rest of the story to come on Sunday.

Have you ever been lost or found yourself in a similar situation? How prepared would you be? What would be in your backpack? :-)

Chapter Seven:
A bump on a log

“Don’t spoil your dinner.” I’d heard those words many times when mom would catch me sneaking a snack.

That had been over 35 years ago and there was no one to stop me now. I poured a cup of Red Rose tea – the perfect accompaniment to the chocolates I’d been enjoying every evening after dinner. Tonight, they were the appetizer.

I was again reclining on the ottoman and catching up on some journalling after having returned from a late afternoon walk. When the rain finally stopped I’d headed down to the beach.

The forest smelled earthy and felt even more alive, awash with the freshness of the rain. The wind rested, sparing me from any overhead runoff from the trees. Beside me on the left, a small creek rushed feverishly down the slope, replenished and flowing purposefully and rhythmically towards the ocean.

My shoes crunched across the gravelly sand. I glanced in every direction quickly taking in the surroundings. I was alone. The distant sky was feathered with intense, dark grey clouds and the mountains loomed up from the horizon across the water, purplish-coloured silhouettes below lower hanging soft, white, whispy clouds.

The tide was out and I tested my so-called waterproof hiking shoes at a spot where the waves were lightly kissing the rocky shore. The shoes, for the most part are waterproof as claimed. However, I didn’t take into account that the waves cleared my ankles, giving me a soaker. I didn’t care.

I could go no further at this point, coming to a stop at a rocky point near the water’s edge. My footsteps ceased just as a Blue Heron took flight from a spot 20 metres to my left. I hadn’t noticed him before and it was too late to aim the camera. Instead, I watched him fly off, skimming close to the surface of the water, mesmerized by his grace and speed.

With the Heron out of sight, I put my camera to work taking pictures of tree roots and rocks. I was fascinated by Mother Nature’s works of art – everywhere I looked – in every direction, above and below.

Though I knew there would be no sunset this evening, I perched myself on a log to relax and watch the seagulls.

A tug boat slowly towed its load past near the distant shore before disappearing from sight on its way north towards the Sunshine Coast. I listened to the motor purring until it was out of sight.

I sat there enjoying the freshness of the ocean air after having been inside all day. I noticed a dog and his owner sitting on their dock about 50 metres away, partially hidden by the trees. The dog was watching me intently. It wasn’t long before he ventured off the deck and crossed through the water, which was about two or three feet deep.

“Awh,” I thought. “He’s coming to say hi.” My heart swelled with pride. I felt special.

I watched him splash through the water, nose in the air, before stepping onto the rocky shore and shaking the water off. Then he pranced in my direction and I readied myself for a friendly meeting.

He slowed when he approached and I noticed he only had one eye when he looked up. I smiled and leaned towards him, “Hello there.” He gave me a disdainful look and pranced off, while I choked on my disappointment. “Snooty pooch,” I thought wryly. Guess I was intruding on HIS turf.

The log was damp from the rain and after a short time I stood and walked back up the stairs, up the earthy path beside the river and up the road, arriving again, breathless at the front gate of Island Thyme.

Day three was slowly winding to a close and I was grateful that time seemed to have stood still. Sunshine was forecast for Thursday… so was Mount Gardner.

Mount Gardner, finally…

I stayed in bed longer than planned the next morning. It was just too darn comfortable. While laying there I heard the phone ringing upstairs. Wynn’s footsteps hurried across the floor to answer it, knocking over a broom in the process. I heard the smack as its handle struck the floor. My cue to get up.

To nourish up for the impeding hike, I cooked up one of my favourite hearty breakfasts: fried mashed potatoes with onions, and what I call a lazy omelette.

I fried mushrooms, green pepper and garlic in butter and at just the right time, poured in two eggs that had been lightly beaten with a little cream. This mixture rested over a low heat.

There was no cheese grater, so I sliced the cheddar as best as I could with a knife. I figured the worst that could happen was that I’d have a huge chunk of melted cheese on the top. I could live with that.

On my way to the table I passed by Spider who was still sitting in her corner of the window. Last night she had surprised me by dropping down from her window corner about six inches. I’d watched her for a minute, amazed at how such a huge, gross-looking spider could become so graceful and beautiful. I decided she needed a name and left that thought to marinate.

It was noon by the time I turned off Mutiny Road and hit the trail. I was eager to make it to the top of Mount Gardner and connect with the Killarney Lake trail.

At 650 metres, the Mount Gardner hike was supposed to take six hours. Since I was planning on connecting with Killarney Lake I wouldn’t be hiking the entire trail network on the mountain. And though I was carrying a map, I knew I’d be improvising.

I was prepared to spend the night on the mountain if I had to, though I didn’t relish that thought.

I was in bed before 10 pm and after writing one page I stopped, feeling less than enthused. I distracted myself by flipping through Wynn’s library and became interested in a book entitled Bowen Island – Reflections.

From the moment I set foot on Bowen Island I had felt something familiar — an unexplained connection. I’m not normally interested in reading about history, but I was intrigued by the opportunity to read about Bowen Island’s early days in the Edwardian era. First published in 2004, this book was filled with pictures dating back to the late 1800s.

I have since contacted the Bowen Island Historians but was unable to obtain permission to use the photos I wanted to show you. So, I’ve found some on Flickr that are very similar. They will escort you and I down memory lane quite nicely.

And so, surrounded by luscious pillows in my cozy bed and with chocolates by my side, I turned each and every delicious page of that book, an “extensive photographic archive collected by the Historians over the past 37 years…”

The photographs revealed a simpler way of life. Though, I imagine they didn’t see it that way. Quaint cottages like the one pictured below spoke to me of good wholesome family life — an idealistic notion that I’ve carried with me since I can remember.

Bowen Island (with a current population of near 4,000), once served as a fishing ground and resting place for the First Nations people of Squamish on their voyages up and down the coast. In 1860 it was named after James Bowen, a British Rear Admiral, and in 1874 the island welcomed its first white settlers.

Hunting was prevalent – lots of deer and grouse, as well as trout fishing, salmon and herring. “…a government report from 1902 states that fish were so plentiful, they could be ‘raked out of the water…’”

Three major shapers of this island were early commercial logging, steamship ferry service and pleasure craft of cottagers and day trippers. Hundreds of mainlanders visited the island in the summer months to attend formal picnics and beach parties, dressed in their Sunday best. I just love how stately these people look — proud.

I was fascinated reading how bricks were manufactured from blue clay found north and south of then Terminal Creek and were used in the construction of what later became Vancouver’s City Hall.

Amazing how much we don’t realize or appreciate when we’re caught up in the business of our everyday lives. How aware are we of the footprints we are leaving behind us?

I turned the pages slowly, admiring the black and white photographs. It felt as if I was looking through my own family photo album, though I recognized no one, surmising that everyone had since passed on.

Real thyme

Time passed and carried me to sleep. I awoke in the early hours of Wednesday morning to the sound of heavy rain. It was still dark outside and I guessed the time was around 3 am. Soft, comforting shadows blanketed the room and I dared not stir them by turning on a light to check the time.

Nestled in bed with senses as smooth as silk, I sighed with contentment, pulled the blankets closer and drifted back to sleep. I awoke at 7 am hugging my pillow.

Rain continued to pour down and I lay there listening for a while longer until reluctantly, I folded back the blankets and stepped into the cool, dimly lit room. In minutes I was running a hot bath where I lavished in lavender scented bath salts. Was this all real I kept wondering, or was I still dreaming? Did it matter?

The rain poured down all morning and for most of the early afternoon. It was obvious that once again, hiking was not on the agenda. Mount Gardner wasn’t going anywhere, but I would be in three more days. I hoped the weather would co-operate.

I spent hours reclining in the ottoman, toasty warm under two throws, journalling, resting and sometimes just staring out the window at the rain. I hadn’t felt this content to not have to be anywhere or do anything for as long as I could remember. I was acting just like Spider.

Spider was still sitting in her corner of the window, barely having moved for the last two days. I’m not fond of spiders, though I have a great deal of respect for them – I won’t kill one. Mom used to tell us that if we stepped on a spider it would rain, but that wasn’t why. I just couldn’t kill a spider.

I had thought this spider to be pretty hideous at first, but became accustomed to seeing it and would glance in its direction frequently to see if it was still there. I was comfortable enough now to sneak a close peak in the hopes of catching it actually doing something. I’d miss it if it left.

The rain was incredibly loud that afternoon, coming down in torrents, pouring from the eavestroughs. The sound gave me shivers of comfort. It reminded me of my childhood and the storms we’d experience on the farm on Granite Hill Road in northern Ontario. Again, a simpler time by comparison to life as I knew today.

That old stone house had an aluminum roof and sometimes during a storm, I’d climb up the wooden ladder to the attic and sit there listening. The sound was both deafening and delightful… and exciting. I felt safe in that attic, despite the raging storm outside. There were shivers of comfort then too, if I recall.

Today I felt fulfilled, blanketed by two cozy throw blankets; completely content to allow Island Thyme to continue weaving me into its story. After the rain stopped I decided to visit the beach.

More to come in Chapter Seven.
Are there particular times or places you are drawn to for no apparent reason? What is your story?

Photo Credits from Flickr.com:
1. Smabs Sputzer
2. Lovedaylemon
3. Lovedaylemon

“Do what intrigues you, explore what interests you; think mystery, not mastery.”
Julia Cameron

There was time before dinner to do some sketching. I’d enjoyed art class in high school and even before I picked up the pencil I was visualizing the work of art I was about to create. Yeah right. Keep visualizing Davina. This froggy I drew in high school is 30 years old and I hadn’t picked up a brush or pencil since then.

My package of pencils contained an HB, 2B, 4B and an 8B they called THE water-soluble option. I couldn’t remember what pencil gave what effect, so I scribbled in the corner of the page and rubbed my fingers over each smudge; didn’t notice a whole lot of difference. Don’t think I really cared to tell you the truth. I just wanted to draw — to command the artist to come forth — to master the artist within.

I picked up the HB pencil, took a breath and began sketching a tall tree in the foreground, slightly to the left of the clearing. Started at the top and slowly scratched and scribbled down the page, holding my breath while I etched out what I hoped would accurately render the view.

Quickly tired of the tree and moved to the mountains. They soon looked like mountainous blobs of gray smudges on the page. Defeat was shaking its nasty finger at me, “Na Na Na Na Naa Na.” So, I switched pencils.

The pencil followed my lead to sketch two small islands that as you’ll see below, became two mounds of grass in a swamp, rather than two islands in an ocean. It was time to quit before the page ended up a crumpled mass at the bottom of the garden and the pencils became splinters scattered in the bushes.

Though I aspire to be quite zen-like… I have a temper just like my mother had. Thankfully, THAT is one thing I have been learning to master, unlike mother. She was an amazing artist though; painted in oils and water colours, did animal portraits in pastels and charcoal, and even painted commercial signs.

She once helped me make a paper mâché mask of King Tutankhamun and it won first prize in a school contest. It was mostly all her work though and I felt a little guilty about winning. She was one talented lady.

So there I sat, disappointed to say the least. Pencils scattered on the deck and a very inadequate rendering of the magnificent view before me. I told myself that I was expecting too much after so many years and moved to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

A seasoned cook

I know my way around the kitchen and it’s my dream to one day live in a home with the brightest, most spacious and well-equipped kitchen I could ever imagine. I love to cook and pride myself in being able to do three or four things at once while I’m working in the kitchen.

When I have guests over I go to great pains to plan the meal well ahead of time. I want to treat my guests like kings and queens and take pride in creating just the right mood to entertain them in. Cooking is an art and little did I know that I was in for yet another creative pursuit.

Whatever possessed me to buy squash at the Ruddy Potato, I’ll never know. I couldn’t peel it properly because the peeler wasn’t sharp enough. In fact, I could barely saw through the darn squash with a knife.

I persevered, carving the skin off in chunks and when I was finished, the kitchen was a mess. There were squash clippings everywhere. I soothed my frustration by sipping red wine. It worked.

This reminded me of my mother again, in the kitchen one Christmas. While she was taking the turkey out of the oven it fell on the floor. She wasn’t drinking red wine at the time. She should have been though.

That wasn’t a very Christmassy moment. If you’ll recall, I mentioned my mother’s temper earlier… We were able to laugh about this later on and it became a story that was retold every holiday season: “Remember that time mom dropped the turkey on the floor?”

After I finished massacring the squash, dinner came together quite nicely. Massacring the squash eh? What was it I’d said in Chapter One about putting a little tender loving care into my meals? Still haven’t decided if I mastered the squash or it mastered me — think it was a co-active moment.

I wouldn’t have won any prizes for presentation, but dinner tasted good; scallops and mushrooms fried in garlic and lots of butter, with rice, asparagus and of course, pulverized squash.

Chapter Six coming in a few days.

So, tell me a story about your creative pursuits in the kitchen or otherwise. How’s that workin out for ya?

PRELUDE

We are here — coming to the close of Day Two. You know what? I find myself wondering what possessed me to write a series of 11 posts about MY vacation. What makes MY vacation SO important that I NEED to tell the story? Who cares right?

I mean, what’s really happened so far? I missed a ferry, got locked out, took a bumpy bus ride, met a happy Italian and a big spider. Definitely not movie material.

What I do know is that I’d forgotten how much I enjoy just telling a story for the sake of telling it. It makes me happy. And it fascinates me to see the story becoming more than I remembered it to be.

Even though these posts are based on the journals I kept while staying at Island Thyme, thoughts and feelings continue to evolve as I reflect on the experience.

The story keeps unfolding and though I was there for those five days and you weren’t, through this writing even I don’t know exactly what is going to come next. It just goes to show how time changes everything.

So, lets march on shall we…

The path forward

Up the hill I marched. And up, and up and up. It was a continuous climb along a quiet road surrounded by, you guessed it, trees. They towered towards the sky and interestingly I didn’t feel small in comparison. On the contrary; I felt tall.

I couldn’t believe how quiet it was. After having longed for this for weeks I was rightfully appreciative. Aside from songbirds and the wind (and me gasping for breath), the only sound I could hear was my footsteps on the pavement. Occasionally I’d pass by a residence and a dog would bark from behind a fence or screen door. I’d see their silhouettes and would “woof” back to them. That made them bark louder… and me smile.

I was quite breathless by the time I reached Mutiny Road 10 minutes later. Turning left led me to yet another uphill climb, this time over a rocky path. The rocks provided good leverage though and I persevered to the “You Are Here” sign, brushing past it with a brief sideways glance. Maps and I don’t get on real well; they never take me where they say they will.

There’s something alluring about a path in the woods. Even as a little girl I couldn’t resist following the paths I found in the forested areas around the farmland pastures. I’d leave my sisters behind and they’d end up going home, leaving me to wander alone to my heart’s content.

With my senses more alert, I floated down this path seemingly swallowed up by the forest. I soaked in the stillness, embraced the solitude. My footsteps sunk into the soft ground like I was walking on a thick carpet. The air smelled foresty with scents of cedar and earth. I felt like I was intruding.

After a short time, I found myself feeling tired from the run into town, a late lunch and the uphill climb. The afternoon was getting on past 4 pm and I decided not to go any further. I was content to not force any agenda. And you thought this was the big Mount Gardner hike! We’re just warming up kids.

The return trip was much more pleasant given that it was all downhill. My canine friends greeted me as I passed by the second time. I spent the next half hour exploring the garden back at Island Thyme.

A seasoned love

“The greatest gift of the garden is the restoration of the five senses.”
-Hanna Ri

Wynn’s own words describe her garden beautifully:

“Meandering paths and stone steps lead you down slopes to a quiet green oasis of moss among the trees….

Outdoor ambient lighting showcases the garden at night highlighting the giant cedars, gnarly bonsai pine and stone feature walls.”

I adored the raw beauty here and rested on the stone steps. Appreciation seasoned my thoughts.

While resting in the garden my grandmother was foremost in my mind. The one person I’d loved more than any other – even more than my mother. That was just the way it had worked out. We were close on many levels and shared an unspoken understanding.

She’d been gone for almost 18 years. When I think about her I am surprised at how much I love her even now, after she’s gone. I’d visit her often in North Bay after I’d moved to Toronto. Her wet, cold kisses on my cheek would sadden me when our visit was ending.

After her death, I’d find myself feeling regret at not realizing how much I’d loved her when she was alive, wishing I had told her more often. But I soon realized that I had loved her as much as I could then.

I have grown to love her more, years later. Love continues to grow over time and through the seasons, beyond the human form. It was only too fitting that my thoughts would turn to Margaret’s memory, sitting in this beautiful garden at Island Thyme.

Stay tuned for Chapter Five when Davina tangles with a sketch pad and a series of HB pencils. Yes the artist’s way is about to be revealed.

Some people just get to you

My phone rang the other day and I was delighted to hear the voice of an old friend. Marg and her husband John, and myself and my x-boyfriend met while camping two years ago. We became friends quickly, meeting almost every day to play cards at their trailer, or they at our campsite (when they weren’t fishing, that is).

We’d connect two and sometimes three times every summer. Having friends to share our time with made the experience very special. There were other people we enjoyed reconnecting with too. The park manager and his wife’s trailer was parked in the same spot from April until October and we’d visit them often. They made camping feel like coming home.

Ranger Mark

And then there were the rangers who worked shifts. We got to know them well as they circled the park every evening, signing in new campers, delivering firewood and helping out in any way they could.

One of those rangers in particular, we looked forward to seeing every time we camped there. His name is Mark and he created the comic that you see pictured above.

Mark is dying. As I’m typing this he is resting comfortably in a hospice and I’m told that with the exception of losing weight, he is still the same fun-loving guy that we came to love. He always had a joke to tell and would delight in catching newcomers with an old favourite of his.

I still remember him laying it on us the first time we met him. He parked the truck and we walked up to him, unsuspectingly. His arm was hanging out of the window and there was a big grin on his face. “Would you like some ‘snew’?” he asked.

I looked puzzled and asked, “What’s ‘snew’”? Only to have him reply, “Not much, what’s new with you?” and then he laughed heartily. After that, we’d hear him time and time again, pulling the same joke on unsuspecting newcomers.

Fun loving

He always had something to joke about and even when he just drove by he’d wave, and that big grin on his face was enough. It was contagious. When he was having a slow night, he’d pop by and sit with us at our campsite to chat. We looked forward to his visits because he just had a certain way about him. Some people just get to you and he is one of them. All he had to do was look at you and you felt hugged.

He went above and beyond the call of duty, once finding a stray dog and taking care of it until its owner was found. Another time he found a child wandering down the road and stopped, picked him up and drove around the campgrounds until he found the parents. That is the kind of guy he is. Humble. Sensitive. Care-free. Loving.

It is with mixed emotion that we will be visiting him on Sunday. Camping was not on the agenda this year so we did not connect over the summer or learn of his situation until recently. Despite the uncomfortable circumstances, I very much look forward to seeing that grin again. I feel privileged to see him one last time and am thankful to have received Marg’s call in time. He is a special person that I’m glad to know.

Although there have been tears, I will remember Mark with a smile — he has touched my heart. I send my deepest condolences to his family and friends during this challenging time. And as for Mark, this is not good-bye my friend… it is until we meet again.

I wrestled with whether or not to close comments on this post. It did not feel right to close them. So, I welcome your thoughts, feelings or even shared memories of similar people you’ve known in your lifetime and how they have touched your heart.

Update: I wasn’t prepared for what I’d see when I visited Mark this afternoon. As a result, I’ve been knocked just a wee bit off balance. There are emotions here that I don’t even know how to express — can’t cry or get angry — and THAT is a first for me.

I do plan on continuing to share my vacation storytelling series but for now, I need to take a short time-out break to figure things out. Thanks everyone for your continued support.

Chapter Three: Another happy landing

“The things that happen to us do not matter; what we become through them does.” Sri Gyanamata

Davina wakes up, showers, eats breakfast, takes the bus to town, buys food, comes home, eats and goes back to bed. Sounds like a smooth ride right? Like everything went according to plan.

As I had been observing from my vacation so far  (and as the next few days emerged), things don’t always go according to plan. On the first day I’d missed a ferry and then locked myself out. But, I was in vacation spirit and going with the flow was becoming pleasurable.

Sometimes it’s those bumpy rides in life that take us to better places, even though it might not seem like it at the time; they keep us well seasoned and awake. With practice, we learn to go with the flow and realize that time emerges of it’s own accord, whether we are on board or not.

As Betsy Wuebker from Passing Thru says, “Sometimes our biggest breakthroughs or rewards come when we stop trying so hard, and surrender to a force, which, I believe, has greater gifts in mind for us than we could ever imagine.”

Stepping into rhythm

The light in the room was dim at 7 am and I lifted my head to peer through the shadows. That precious curtain of trees was standing by in the early dawn hours, holding the space between the earth and sky. Rooted. Consistent. I rolled over and slept until nine. Ah, pure luxury.

Later, I rushed to make coffee after noticing rays of sunlight streaming into the solarium – yoga would wait – the sun wouldn’t. I’d be “saluting the sun” in my own way this morning.

While the coffee was brewing I admired the artwork on the walls. Then, busied myself with raising the curtains I’d closed the night before. Six windows and long strings I had to patiently wind around tiny hooks, pausing to untangle the knots that seemed to come from nowhere.

Breakfast in the solarium was surreal as the sun pelted down, filtered through the glass ceiling. The garden outside was alive with rich earthy green foliage that turned a welcoming face towards the sunlight. I was captured by the stillness yet again.

I sipped coffee, basking in the entire experience until thoughts of the two-hour Killarney Lake hike I’d planned turned my attention to other things. I remembered I still had to take the bus into town to buy groceries and after having finished a half bottle of wine last night, I’d need more of that too. So Killarney Lake would have to wait.

My wait for the bus was an impatient one because I was anxious to get the trip over with and return quickly. After 15 minutes I was pacing back and forth, aware of the time passing away and me not going anywhere. “Killarney Lake. Killarney Lake.” With each passing moment the day was unfolding and my plans were seeming to unravel.

I sat at the back of the bus and enjoyed quite a wild and bumpy ride, feeling slightly nauseous after 10 minutes. I was determined to stay put in spite of the nausea because I liked sitting at the back of the bus.

My sisters and I rode at the back of the school bus when we were in public school. In the early fall I’d watch coloured leaves chase after the bus as it whizzed along the country roads. In the spring we’d bounce around as the bus skipped over potholes.

There was a really good bump at the top of one hill. When the bus hit it you’d fly out of your seat a few inches. One time I flew so high that I crashed down hard and cried out in surprise. The bus driver gave me a stern look in the rear view mirror. The next day I was back in the same seat anticipating another run at that bump.

Today, I had one hour to shop in Snug Cove and the Ruddy Potato was my first stop. My vision of finding a halibut or salmon fillet was not to be, so I settled for scallops, chicken and more lamb.

With time to pass before the next shuttle, the cashier sent me on a wild goose chase to find an Internet café. I’d left my laptop at home in Kitsilano and thought it would be fun to visit Twitter while I waited for the shuttle; to tweet live and in colour from Snug Cove.

Alas, I was disappointed to learn the Friendly Italian coffee shop no longer had an Internet café. Instead I chatted with the lovely man behind the counter. He had gorgeous curly hair and one of those faces that smiled even when he wasn’t smiling. He was practically glowing — a well-seasoned Island Man.

That’s the ticket

There were two passengers on the bus. I sat in the seat behind the driver, who I assumed had again gone for a cup of tea. When I turned around to say hello they nodded and smiled. “Do you have a special ticket?” The man asked.

I waved my yellow ticket and replied, “I have the usual TransLink ticket. You can use it here, as well as on the Mainland.”

He showed me his ticket, telling me it had expired.

“Oh, but you can still use it.” I shared the secret I’d learned a day earlier, and then added smartly, “This is Bowen.” That’s what the locals say.

He looked doubtful and I assured him, “She let me use mine yesterday and it had expired hours before. They give passengers a lot of leeway because this bus runs so infrequently.” Then I put my hand up to my mouth and whispered slyly, “But don’t tell her I said so.”

Sure enough, when she returned he showed her their tickets and I pretended not to eavesdrop. It was one brief awkward moment; what if she’d made a liar out of me? He turned and gave me a knowing glance as he returned to his seat.

The ride home seemed shorter than I remembered, despite making extra stops to pick up and unload more passengers. The bus stopped midway to let a couple off and there in someone’s backyard were three deer.

They were beautiful. One of them turned to look back at us and then nonchalantly continued grazing and pawing in the grass. I was fascinated. Of course I’d seen deer before, but usually in a fleeting glance as they disappeared into the forest with nothing more than a flash of their white tail.

The bus driver announced, “If you can catch ’em, you can take ’em home, for free.” They barely noticed the bus and continued grazing even after the passengers unloaded and the bus pulled away. “They might just as well have been horses,” I thought to myself.

By the time I got home with my groceries and had lunch it was almost 3 pm. A Killarney Lake hike was fast fading from the plans, considering I’d have to catch the bus back towards Snug Cove. I was not too upset: “Mount Gardner. Mount Gardner,” I thought instead.

So, I climbed the hill towards Mutiny Road and access to the Mount Gardner trails. My virgin hiking shoes were about to get dirty.

Chapter Four coming soon.

In Chapter One, you’ll recall that less than two hours after arriving at the bed and breakfast, I was locked out.

Though I wasn’t terribly worried my annoyance about the situation had distracted me from writing, and from the view pictured here. I peered through the glass longingly at the ottoman and the keys on the counter, and tried the door again, just in case. It was still locked.

I wasn’t even sitting on the hammock chair. There was a spider on it and another one in a web close behind it. No, I was sitting on the deck with my legs crossed, willing Wynn to return home with a spare set of keys.

I stood up, took the broom from the stairs and swept the spiders away, barely flinching for some strange reason. Then I sat back down on the floor of the deck. Don’t ask me why.

Eventually, I phoned a friend and after we shared a chuckle he looked up Wynn’s cell number on the website. I rambled through an embarrassing message on her voice mail and the call was returned immediately. She had left a spare set of keys hiding in an undisclosed location somewhere in the garden; a note she had already sent me with the email registration instructions. Go ahead, laugh. I know you wanna.

My bruised ego slunk inside and fixed some cheese and crackers, poured a glass of red wine and plunked down on the ottoman… finally! The silence was so great I could hear ringing in my ears. I put my feet up, covered myself with a fluffy orange throw and rested my chin on the back of the ottoman to stare out the window.

Funny, when I was locked out I was staring inside; now I’m inside, staring out. Go figure. My gaze moved from the trees, across the ocean, to the mountains and back again. It was SO quiet!

A spontaneous deep breath escaped my lips and I relaxed even more. Was it possible to sink even further into this cushion? It felt like I had. Though the B&B was elevated about three storeys above ground level the trees still towered above, standing at attention. My attention at that moment was on the deepest feeling of appreciation I’d felt in a long time.

I drank in the view, enveloped by the stillness and the comfort of the warm throw that was draped over me. My appreciation overflowed and big fat tears filled my eyes – I couldn’t help it. I sat there leaning into the view for a long time thinking about nothing at all; just breathing.

Little did I know that I was in for a rather abrupt meeting with a new friend. I stood up to stretch and moved my face close to the window to look down into the garden. What I saw made me gasp and jump back, horrified.

There in the corner of the window was the most god-awful looking spider I’d seen in a while. Very slowly I crept closer to look again; the sight of her gave me shivers. Her body was about the size of four very plump raisins. I was relieved to see that she was on the outside.

The hibachi was gathering dust in the pantry and I chose to leave that dust undisturbed; the grilled veggies I’d planned for dinner became sautéed veggies instead.

I dined on lamb, mashed potatoes and sautéed red and green peppers, zucchini, onion and garlic – lots of garlic and butter. And, more wine. My limit of one glass with dinner had been tossed.

After a half bottle of wine I was glowing and it was time for a movie. I pulled “A Fish Called Wanda” from the shelf and reveled in the goofy sexual encounters between the characters of Jamie Lee Curtis and John Cleese.

Peppermint tea, a couple of pieces of chocolate biscotti and a few Guylian chocolates were the perfect accompaniment. I’d seen this movie before and after they’d gotten all hot and heavy I lost interest, dozing off in the chair to dream of my own romantic encounters.

Visions of a rugged outdoorsy type with broad shoulders and devilish eyes that dance above a playful grin. A strong, intelligent and kind-hearted soul who appreciates and respects nature; a creative, free spirit with a deep, throaty voice that shakes your very soul.

Stay tuned for Chapter Three where among other things, I talk about a Happy Italian and the ride of a lifetime in the back of a bus :-) .

I arrived at Island Thyme Bed and Breakfast on Labour Day Monday, five hours after leaving my Kitsilano apartment, taking two buses, one ferry and one shuttle – double the time it should have taken.

I missed the 11:10 am ferry at Horseshoe Bay by 10 minutes, and after standing beside the ticket booth listening to a grumpy traveller complain about the shitty transportation system, I shrugged and wheeled my bags away to Troll’s restaurant. There, I enjoyed a healthy snack of coffee and French fries while waiting for the next ferry.

Soon the ferry had left Horseshoe Bay behind and I was at the Snug Cove grocer hurriedly maneuvering my cart from aisle to aisle trying not to run over the laid-back locals and confused tourists who’d block my path.

The B&B was a half-hour shuttle ride from Bowen Island’s Snug Cove and Wynn, the hostess, had recommended I pick up my groceries on the way in.

I turned my nose up at the meat selection; chicken that felt barely refrigerated and previously frozen salmon that had an odd colouring to it. For dinner, I’d have to make do with the leftover lamb I’d brought. At least I had something to dress up the vegetables with.

I made it down the hill with plenty of time to wait for the shuttle, parked my bags in the shade behind the bench and laid down to wait. The bench was all mine, the sun was warm on my face and I felt content. My eyes were closed when I heard someone ask, “Are you waiting for the bus?”

I wondered coyly if I looked like a homeless person perched on that bench, but sat up and nodded with a smile. She confirmed that the bus would be along in 15 minutes and then handed me a map.

After she left, I suddenly found myself feeling vulnerable. There were people around, but I felt alone. I was alone; parked on a bench with near more bags than I could carry, and I was all sweaty from carrying them. It was embarrassing to be carrying THAT many bags.

“This is Bowen”

I was glad when the bus finally came, though the driver wasn’t very responsive to my friendly greeting. She went to get a cup of tea and I lugged my belongings up the steps to find myself waiting, yet again. My transit ticket had expired but the driver let me use it. “This is Bowen,” she’d replied casually.

The bus rumbled along rough roads, meandering around tight curves and navigating up and down steep hills. I peered through the window hoping to see a deer and trying to keep myself from falling off the seat. My cream might be churned into butter by the time we arrived.

I was the only passenger for the entire 30-minute ride and the driver was busy concentrating on the road so there was little conversation between us, though I tried.

Wynn met me at the front gate of Island Thyme on her way out to run errands. We exchanged pleasantries and she gestured me towards the house with an invitation to make myself at home. I couldn’t wait to ditch the bags.

“This was it,” I thought as I climbed down the stairs by the side of the house. I was anxious to see where I’d be spending the next five days and hoped it would live up to my expectations from what I’d seen on the website.

I wasn’t disappointed. The suite was lovely; rustic and cozy, well furnished and decorated in natural earth tones. Windows surrounded the main room on all but one wall, the view offering tall cedar trees for as far as I could see. Two beautiful throw rugs were placed over the hardwood floor.

The king-sized bed was covered with a plush white comforter, half-dozen beautifully hand-crafted pillows, and there were curtains that could be drawn round one side, like a canopy bed.

At the foot of the bed three votive candles were suspended in glass holders; I was going to light those candles, you could bet on that.

The dining area was a small solarium, separated from the main room by two glass doors. It was furnished with a small wicker table, two chairs and a beautiful dark wooden floor screen. Through the side door I could see a private stone patio where two chairs sat side by side… waiting.

In the northwest corner of the main room was an L-shaped ottoman, perfectly placed for viewing a peak across the Pacific Ocean and the spectacular mountainous backdrop. Next to the ottoman was a small pellet stove that offered a feeling of comfort, even though it wasn’t lit.

The kitchen was small but had all the amenities: convection oven, fridge, microwave, coffee maker, toaster and cookware, and the pantry was stocked with staples such as rice, cereals, tea and coffee, spices and cooking oils. Wynn had left a plate of fresh fruit on a small counter in the corner: pears, kiwi, apples, oranges and grapefruit.

Most women wouldn’t want to spend time in the kitchen while on holidays, but I was looking forward to putting a little tender loving care into my meals. I loved to cook and because I’d been so busy working over the last year, most of my meals had been thrown together.

I left my bags sitting at the front door, unpacked, and returned to the deck where I planted myself in the hammock chair. I sighed, taking in the view. Paradise!

After unpacking, I washed some strawberries and put them in a small bowl, collected my cell phone, sketch pad and camera, and returned to the hammock chair. I had some journalling to catch up on and pictures to take.

Imagine my surprise when I went to take the camera back inside and found the door locked. The keys were sitting on the counter by the ottoman, glistening in the sunlight.

I walked around the side of the house and up the wooden stairs in my slippers to peer through Wynn’s front window. There was no response to my knock except for the cat’s curious stare from the couch.

To be continued…

This is the first installment of my five-day vacation on Bowen Island. Stay tuned for more chapters over the next few weeks. A lot can happen in the “Space of Thyme”.

Going with the flow

Today I’m setting sail on a ferry very similar to this one, for a 5-night stay on a tiny island just off the coast of West Vancouver. I’m unplugging for a few days — trading in those online activities for some quiet time.

I’ve talked myself out of bringing my laptop with me, even though this bed and breakfast does have Internet connection. I know what would happen if I did bring it. First thing in the morning it would go on and next time I’d look at the clock it would be the end of the day. Well, that’s exaggerating a bit, but it seemed like a creative thing to say, given the title of this post.

So that means, no blogging and no Twitter — yikes! Good thing the full moon has passed, cause if you were to hear any howling it probably would have been me going stir crazy without the Internet. So what will I do instead?

I’m gonna:

Breath deeply. Do yoga. Eat lots of yogurt and granola and english muffins (gluten-free of course) with peanut butter — real yummy with a good cup of coffee.

Sleep in. Take long hot baths. Take my new hiking shoes hiking and pray that I don’t get blisters. Yep, band-aids are packed — check.

The hiking will take me around Killarney Lake, a two-hour jaunt, and I will climb to a rocky plateau to take in the spectacular view over Queen Charlotte Channel. This is my favourite spot. I discovered a secret hideaway that not too many people know about. One summer afternoon I sat on the edge of the cliff for hours without seeing one person. What can I say; I love my quiet time.

If I’m feeling particular perky, I will take the six-hour Mount Gardner hike to take in more spectacular views. Maybe I’ll even run into Harrison Ford on one of the trails. I hear he has a place on the island. Now that would be tweet-worthy! Hmm, maybe I should bring the laptop after all.

Will most likely see deer as they frequently hang out in residents’ backyards. And if I’m lucky I’ll see an owl again. While hiking around Killarney Lake a couple of years ago, I just happened to look up into the trees and there was an owl, staring down at me. We had a telepathic conversation for about 10 minutes, until my neck got sore. I introduced him to anyone who passed by.

I’ve packed my camera, a new sketch pad plus some fancy artist’s pencils and “professional” erasers; cause I make professional mistakes.

I’ll be journalling the old-fashioned way with pen and paper. And there’s even a book that found itself being slipped into my backpack that I just might read.

Of course there will be red wine with dinners. And later, tea with chocolate biscotti (gluten-free again) — expensive treats for a deserving woman.

Oh, and I’ve been drooling over a box of Guylian chocolates all week. Bought them cause they were on sale — a whole $3 off — and I can’t believe I HAVEN’T opened them yet. They’re coming with.

If it is raining, I’ll have a nap in the hammock chair on my own private patio. And lastly, there is a choice of three beaches that I can walk to for a view of the sunset.

This is an actual shot of this island basking in a sunset. At the end of the day, there is nothing better than a good sunset.

I’ll see you guys in about a week. Maybe when I get back I’ll post some of the sketches. Maybe.

Photo Credit 1: Silly G Wailo

Photo Credit 2: Smith

And I don’t know why

I’m sitting here in a quandary at the keyboard tonight — a writer who feels like she “should” have a message to write on her blog. A writer who loves to write but who feels disconnected from what she has known to be writing. Something has changed.

The joy of writing has become lost to routine, boxed and buried in expectation — mine. I feel robbed. Frustrated. Angry. Empty. Uninspired. And I don’t know why. All I know is this is where I have landed. And I don’t like it! But I can’t deny it either.

Resisting this is futile. I consider writing a how-to post or a list post, or a link post, or, or, or… even a poem, yet nothing sticks. Picture a rat in a maze. Each road I take leads nowhere and I’m unable to find the way out. Even stranger? I don’t want to find the way out. And I don’t know why. And there are tears about not knowing why because I “should” know why.

There is a sinking feeling inside and I feel powerless to change it. I listen to the whirring of my computer and the sound of my fingers tapping the keyboard. I feel mechanical, myself. Tap, tap, tap… space… return. Return… return to where?

I imagine looking down at my feet, willing them to move forward. I can’t take a step. Not even one. I don’t want to leave who I thought I was any farther behind. But I don’t remember who that was anymore. I try.

Shift happens

I can’t pretend everything is as it was, because it isn’t. The toughest part about change is allowing it and accepting it. It is impossible not to change. The minutes pass. The days, the weeks and the years. The sun rises and sets. We change like the seasons and whether we notice it or not, life impacts us.

Obviously we see changes in the mirror. And we can look back over the years and see how we have changed; our interests, perspectives, choice of profession, friends, hobbies, etc.

In this case, I’m referring to the unseen changes — those mysterious passions that sweep in and carry us off to new adventures, different choices and different ways of being… without trying. In simpler terms, you wake up one day and suddenly you like the taste of spinach! And you don’t know why.

We wake up to new ways of being without trying. It just happens. This can emerge over a period of years. Sometimes it can sneak up on us rather suddenly.

What I’ve realized now (while writing this post) is that this new way of being not about losing or leaving a part of ourselves behind at all. It is about bringing more of us forward and the discomfort is from the uncertainty as to how to be with what is new, and how others will be with what is new.

The discomfort also comes from trying to be who or what we think other people want us to be, so they won’t abandon us. In all reality, stuffing yourself into that same old box year after year is abandoning yourself. That thought gives me a sinking feeling.

Photo credit: Free Wine