Never too old for a walk on the beach

I've loved the beach since the time I was small.  Beaches have always been a part of my life, and to this day remain my favourite place to be.  Not the hot and crowded beaches that require an airplane trip to a fancy resort, nor even the popular beaches in cities in this southwestern corner of BC.  I like the empty beaches, the interesting beaches, the rocky and squishy and barnacled beaches with tidal pools and sudden stretches of sand and washed up logs and sea life.

Beaches were as much a part of my childhood as digital technology is for kids today.  First there were the beach holidays with my grandparents, parents and siblings in England when I was a wee one:

Mom and me, many years ago

Me, about age four

Then, the move to Canada to a small seaside town brought beaches into my daily life - the beach became my adventure playground.  Riding bikes to the beach, walking through woods to the beach, stopping to spend allowance on a rainbow popsicle at the corner store, or splurging on a portion of fresh fish and chips, eaten to the accompaniment of a throng of seagulls while sitting on a log or a sand-covered towel on the beach. Picnics on the beach with my mom, siblings, and sometimes my dad, or sharing secrets and laughter with friends, first kisses, silly games.  Beaches were, and remain, my favourite place to be.

For a few years of my adulthood I lived in Alberta and then the Northwest Territories, but always the ocean called me home. 

Beaches are to me what comfort food is to many - they bring back the best of memories, of family and friends, of love and peace and tranquility.  If I have one wish for my senior years, it is that I never grow too old for a walk on the beach, preferably with a dog by my side and a camera in my hand.

Maggie and me, Crofton Beach

One month today, I move from this small beachside village to a somewhat bigger beachside city.  But before I get serious about packing, Maggie and I (and Pat and the poms) are taking a little vacation - to a beach, of course - the one Maggie fell in love with last spring.  See you in a few days!

Beach time! 

Remembering Peter

Today would have been his birthday.  Fifty-four years ago, I became an auntie for the first time when my nephew Peter was born.  And last month, on May 28th, Peter suddenly passed away.

I saw quite a bit of Peter when he was a little boy, and took great delight in the antics of he and his brother - playing with them, learning to skate with them, reading them stories.

Playing with my nephews many years ago

I seldom saw him during his teen and young adult years, due partly to geographic distance, but my sister filled me in on his activities and whereabouts, and every now and then we touched base at family events.

A teenage Peter with his dog

Peter and I dancing at a family event, 2005

In recent years, however, and especially since the death of my sister in 2011, we both made far greater effort to keep in touch and to strengthen the ties that bind our dwindling family.  It was Peter and his family who took me boating in the Salish Sea near my home summer before last, who shared meals with me on their boat and a day exploring my home turf last summer.

Peter on his boat, visiting his favourite (okay, his only) aunt on Vancouver Island.

I last saw Peter just over a month ago at another family event, where we had a lovely conversation about his daughter's accomplishments, and his and his wife's hopes and plans for the future.  He was a content and dedicated family man, married to his amazing wife for almost 24 years, and a most exceptional dad to a fifteen year old daughter, my great niece Kaia.

Peter was Kaia's primary caregiver, a 'stay-at-home dad' for lack of a better term.  He was the one whose job it was to supervise her, to chauffeur her, to listen to her, to mentor her, to plan and cook her meals (and what a great cook he was!), to do her laundry, to be her guide and to support and celebrate her passions.

Peter dancing with his daughter, 2005

Kaia is accomplished in the performing arts, and spends many hours a day in dance and vocal training at the Caulfield School Of Dance, while doing most of her academic schooling online.  This weekend is the School's year end performances "Connected" at the Terry Fox Theatre in Port Coquitlam BC.  And the final performance, this evening, is being dedicated by the dance school to Peter,  with a special performance by past and current members in his honor, and a solo by Kaia dedicated to the dad she will miss so very much.

And so, yesterday morning when I captured this photo of a heron taking flight,  I could think of no more fitting image for this tribute to Peter, for the heron seemed to be dancing, feet pointed downward, wingtips fluttering gracefully, like his beautiful daughter and her dance company as they send him soaring to the heavens tonight. As you look at it once again, please think of  the fifteen year old young woman giving what may well be the most difficult performance of her life, and the dad for whom she grieves.

We'll miss you, Peter.

The best gift a dog mom could receive....

The best gift that a mom could receive is the knowledge that their youngun' - be it human or furry - is happy and confident and feels safe.  My human child, an adult for some years now, has grown into an amazing woman and while I won't say I never worry about her, I no longer feel responsible for her wellbeing, her happiness, or her safety.  The critters, however, are another matter.

As a 'mom' to a seventeen year old cat in kidney failure, and a rather anxious and fearful dog around 8-10 years old with severe allergies,  I worry about them constantly.  But I also marvel at their resiliency, their intelligence, their ability to communicate their needs, and their sensitivity to my moods.  And each time I find myself smiling at something they have done, or sighing with exasperation when they become demanding little tyrants, or drifting off to sleep with one or the other snuggled up against me, I am grateful for the bond that we have.

This past week my anxious, fearful, barky Maggie gave me an incredible early Mother's Day gift.  We spent the week at Saratoga Beach, up island, sharing a cabin right on the beach with my friend Pat and the poms. I had been worried it would be too much for Mags - sharing space, living with other dogs, being somewhere new.  Instead, Maggie was in heaven - relaxed, happy, quick to learn, moving from on leash to long line to off leash with the delight of a four year old working her way through a candy store.

I have hundreds of photos from the week, of course, but those will take a while to prepare.  And so I shall share just a few - some images of my happy, happy girl who gave me the best Mother's Day gift ever: a brief glimpse at the dog she will become over time - happy, confident and feeling safe. We're back home now and she is her somewhat edgy self again, but now I know there is a happy inner pup who only needs the right environment and the right approach to let that puppy out to play.

Happy Mother's Day to all you dog moms- may your critters share their joy with you.

C'mom. mom - Let's go!

Mom, I've been dragging this long line for awhile now, and it's getting
kinda heavy with the sand and water!

See, I can stay really well without you holding the leash!

Okay Mags, we'll try you off leash - 'Away' ...'Stay'.......

Can I 'come' now?

COME!

Here I come!

Wheeeeee!

I'm runnin' so fast, I left two of mah legs behind!

Hi. Mama!  I'm here! 

I loves this beach!
Can we lives here forever?

Pearl

Last night, just days before her 94th birthday, Pearl passed away.  Mother to my sister-in-law Bev, and mother-in-law to my late sister Carole, Pearl holds a special place in my heart.

I first met Pearl about forty years ago, when she welcomed me - a young single mom - into her home for Christmas.  And she continued to welcome me, to make me feel loved and cared about and special every time I saw her after that.

She made the best ginger cookies and the most delicious canned peaches.  She sewed wonderful gifts, and I still have a beautiful lap quilt she made for my mother, a stuffed mouse she made for me, and some amazing outfits she made for  the teddy bears who were always a big part of our family's story.

Peark having a chat with Henry W.,
one of several bears who often accompanied us on picnics. 

Pearl loved animals - her own and mine - and always asked after my dogs and cat by name.  She had the best laugh, a full-bodied, whole-hearted laugh that expressed her genuine delight in what had been said or what she had seen.

One of my favourite photos of  Pearl,
enjoying a good laugh.

But mostly, I loved her for how she loved my sister - unconditionally, enthusiastically, loving her like a daughter. I wrote the following poem for Pearl's 88th birthday, two months after my sister's death, to express how grateful I was for the relationship Carole had with Pearl.

                                                              For Pearl, on her 88th birthday

With loving thoughts, from Jean.

If my sister was here, she would say

“Thank you for being my second mom.”

If my sister was here, she would say

“You have given me laughter and love”

If my sister was here, she would say

“Thank you for accepting me for who I am,

For supporting me when I needed support

And for loving me like a daughter.”

If my sister was here, she would say

“You make the best canned peaches and ginger cookies.”

(Okay, maybe that is what I would say…..but I’m sure Carole liked them too!)

If my sister was here, she would thank you

For being such a big part of her life.

If my sister was here, she would give you a hug,

And a bag of silly little gifts that she’d bought throughout the year and stashed away in boxes and drawers and closets, but each bought because she’d been thinking of

YOU.

But my sister’s not here.  So trust me…..

She still thanks you for all that you are,

For all you have done for her,

For all the fun times you had together,

For your laughter and smiles and hugs and love.

And on this special day of yours,

 Please feel her arms around you

As her spirit hugs you tight and whispers in your ear:

“Happy Birthday, Pearl.”

Yesterday morning, when we knew the end was very close, Bev and I talked about how we could feel, could see, Carole reaching out to Pearl, ready to meet her and guide her on her journey.   And last night, she did just that.  I know there will be tears and hugs all round - both here and on the other side.

Rest easy, Pearl.  You are forever part of my heart, my memories, and my family. 

Goodbye 2016, Hello 2017

As I puttered around the house yesterday, putting away Christmas decorations and saying goodbye to yet another year, I listened to the radio as commentator after commentator remarked how glad they are to see the end of 2016, listing all the sadness that the year had brought -  deaths of stars, deaths from fentanyl, deaths from war and terrorism.  I find myself asking "Was this year really any worse than others, or was it just made to seem worse through the advances of social media?" I am so tired of depressing news.

Sigh.  I turned off the radio and put on some CDs - gentle music to soothe, lyrical music I can sing with, rousing music to lift the spirits.

For me, 2016 was a good year.  Oh sure, my body feels ten years older with ten times the aches and pains, especially since tearing my meniscus this summer.  And I worry about money as costs keep rising. And I could have done without both the washer AND the printer needing repairs right at Christmastime.   And I often miss the family and friends of Christmases past.

But all-in-all, it was a good year.  On December 31, 2015, I wrote that I hoped my 2016 would include "more time with animals, more hikes, more photography, more time with family and friends."

And it did.

I spent lots of time with animals.  Lots and lots of time with lots and lots of animals - here's just a few of them:

Farm animals at RASTA and Hearts on Noses

The Little Dog Walking Group
(and Chrissy!)

And still more dogs
of friends and family

And more animals - wild and domestic

And more and more and more

I hiked so many places I hadn't hiked before!  Cabot Bay Trail and Dodd Narrows, Buttertubs Marsh, Morrell Nature Preserve, East Sooke Park, Hemer Park and several other ones in the Cedar-Yellowpoint area, Stoney Hill Regional Park, Heart Lake and Stocking Lake, and so many others:

And I took photographs galore.

My daughter and son-in-law came for a visit, my oldest nephew and family came for a visit, my sister-in-law and I went for a vacation at Saratoga Beach, and I visited friends and family on the mainland.  For someone with as small a family as I have, that's really pretty awesome!

It was a good year.  For me.

And now, as we usher in 2017, I do what I always do at this time of year.  I get an urge to declutter and organize.  Although I declutter all year round (I keep a box in the bedroom into which I put stuff I don't need, and when it is full - off to the thrift store it goes), there is always more to be done - old files to be cleaned out, knick knacks to be reconsidered, closets to be divested of the clothes that are too uncomfortable, too stained, or two small to make it to centre stage. Many items get held, put in the box, pulled out, held again, as my resolve to minimize fluctuates back and forth on the wings of nostalgia.

But if these are the most difficult decisions I have to make, then I am fortunate - for so many have to make decisions about whether to flee their war-torn country or stay, whether to spend their last few quarters on some real food or check out the dumpster once again, whether to go for that risky or unpleasant medical procedure or take a chance that they will survive.

If dealing with a sore back or bum knee or wonky hip is the most discomfort I have to deal with, then I am fortunate - for so many are dealing with far worse ailments, far more pain, far greater disability.

If missing my daughter who now lives far away is the greatest sorrow I feel, then I am fortunate.  For so many are watching their children struggle with illnesses that may one day take their lives - children with cancer, children with rare diseases, children with terrible injuries from accidents.  What those parents would give to have a healthy child again.

If tightening the belt and adjusting the budget is the most difficult financial challenge I have to face, then I am fortunate - for so many have no income, no home, no budget to manage.

As we travel into the new year, may your decisions be easy ones, your joys be many, your hardships be few, your loved ones be well.

What adventures will 2017 bring?
HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE!

Memories of Dad

My Dad

(For those of you who have been my blog readers since the very beginning, you may have a sense of deja-vu.  Much of this post is an edited version of one I posted back in 2007)

I'm remembering my dad this Father's Day - he passed away when I was in my twenties, but has always been one of the most influential, and most loved, people in my life. He was a quiet, steady man who had, in many ways, been a kindred spirit.

My dad and I shared a love of music and singing and mystery books and fishing. I was his sidekick who held the tools and wielded the brush when anything needed fixing or building or painting around the house. He allowed me to be the tomboy that I was – teaching me to use the tools, giving me the task of mowing the grass, helping me to bait a hook or cast a fly.

My dad would not let me have a cat or dog when I was growing up, despite my pleas. Finally dad broke down and got me a turtle – one of those little tiny ones that were so popular in the early sixties. Of course, in a very short time, I had killed it with too much handling and too much food.

When Sammy (the turtle) died, I saw a glimmer of the compassion that I was to inherit. It was a dark, miserable night with torrential rain. I was frantic at the thought that Sammy’s body might be disposed of in the garbage and devastated that this little turtle had lasted less than a couple of months in my care.

My dad gently took the turtle from me, wrapped it in soft cotton batting, placed it in a little box……and with me watching from the doorway he pulled on gumboots and slicker and in the pouring rain he dug a little hole in the back corner of the yard and buried my little Sammy. And then he lashed together two twigs in the form of a cross, and placed it at Sammy’s grave.

There are some memories that remain with us for life - for me, those are memories of sitting on the bank of a river fishing with my dad, building a wall unit and painting my bedroom with my dad, and learning about the life and death of a turtle - and the love of father for child - with my dad.

Thanks, dad. Love you forever.

A Day Well Spent

My plan today was to re-work a short story I wrote a couple of years ago, a story about an adventure my sister Carole and I had while exploring one summer.  It was still in the draft stage and needed a lot of editing, but I thought it an appropriate blog post for today, the fourth anniversary of my sister's death.

An  over-zealous hike on Friday left me with sore hips and back, which sitting at the computer for even a short while aggravated.  So, in my attempt to pace myself  (and because I just couldn't get the story to come together the way I wanted), I took frequent breaks to do little tasks like filling the bird feeders.

I returned to my writing, but I'm easily distracted and soon abandoned it again to make some bird treats of coconut oil, peanut butter and bird seed poured into pine cones, chilled, and then hung on the trees and stuck into the planters on the patio.  The weather has turned cold and the birds would need the extra calories to keep warm. As soon as the first ones were chilled, I put them outside and immediately the birds checked them out.

And, well, that was the end of my plans to write.  I parked myself on the floor with my camera, lens aimed at the window.  Allie was curious about all the action outside the window, so now and then I swung the lens in her direction.

When the birds finally finished feasting two hours later, I had hundreds of photos (which of course required more computer time to edit), a numb bum, a dog needing a walk, and no great desire to get back to writing.

A few minutes with the computer told me I'd captured at least some of what I was aiming for  - and not just the images, but the joy that comes with taking a day to just watch nature, to neglect all else and enjoy the moment.  And that is just what my sister would have done - sat on the floor, camera in hand, lens poised, back aching, lost in the moment.

It was a day well spent - remembering Carole, using her camera, enjoying being able to capture images to share with others - just as she shared her images with me.  A day well spent indeed.

The Old Red Sweater

As I puttered around the house this morning, I picked up my old red sweater which I had carelessly tossed on the armchair the night before.  It is a ratty old sweater, but like many ratty old clothes, it is to my body what comfort food is to my mouth.  Familiar.  Pleasurable.  Comforting. 

I obtained the sweater in 1984, when my young daughter won a $100 Hudson's Bay gift certificate for me in a Mother’s Day colouring contest.  We lived in a very small town in the Northwest Territories, a town with a little general store, a tiny Bay, one hamburger take-out joint, one eat-in restaurant, one motel, some government offices,  the college where I taught, and about 750 people not counting the students temporarily in residence.  As any serious shopping required a flight out to Edmonton or an excruciatingly long drive on rutted gravel roads to Yellowknife,  and we had been in the North for nearly a year, I used it to replenish my rapidly depleting and somewhat boring closet.  I don’t remember what else I bought, but I do remember falling in love with the bright red sweater.

As I walked down the hall, sweater in hand, towards the bedroom this morning, I noticed a seam under the arm that needs mending and a button that is loose.  A seamstress I am not, and mending usually means the rag bag or perhaps a donation to the thrift store,  but the thirty year old sweater will be mended.  Too sloppy to wear for going out, it is my go-to sweater when I am chilly in the house.  It is warm, it is comfy, and it is full of memories.  And, as I hung it up, I noticed it is a medium – a size I haven’t worn for a very long time – which really makes me smile as it isn’t the least bit too small for me.  

I love my old red sweater.   I love its cheery colour.  I love that it still fits me without the least discomfort.  I love that it has lasted over thirty years.  And, most of all,  I love that it was a gift from my child who coloured so carefully in the hopes of winning something for her mama. 

The old things in life are often the best :  old friends, old dogs, old recipes, old sweaters. 

NaBloPoMo and a trip to the mainland

Well, who would have thought it?  November is National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) - and here I thought it was just National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).  Google it - if you are a blogger,  it appears November is the month to celebrate our art and show our commitment by posting a blog every day. There's even badges and prizes and support sites for those that like that kind of stuff.  Strictly speaking,  the 'rules' talk about 'writing' a post every day.   While my blog is more photography than actual writing these days, I'm proud to have made it to day four.  My entries for this month aren't reflecting the chronology of my last month of not posting but more a reflection of how much time I had to edit a file of photos, and what particular  file appealed to me.

Two weeks ago I made a quick trip to the mainland.  I try to go over every October to see friends and family in case winter weather deters me from visiting for a while - I don't drive on snowy or icy roads. While there, I visited some friends I hadn't seen for a while and admired the flowers still blooming in their garden:

October flowers and a pepper

I also loved this wagon full of pumpkins and squash sitting by their door:

The next day I was meeting some family and friends for lunch and arrived at the restaurant with lots of time to spare,  so I visited nearby Deas Island Park.  It is one of my favourite parks - an oasis of pleasure in the midst of  Metropolitan Mayhem.  Wedged between the Fraser River and a lagoon, with trails through forest and meadow, it affords views that shift from nature to industry to cityscape to mountains.

Despite its proximity to urban areas, the park is always quiet - the few people I saw were, like me, quietly enjoying a moment's reprieve from the noise of the city.  This man, in his french beret, pulled out his camera to capture many of the same images as I.

And this woman with her aging mother reminded me of the several times I had brought my own mother here in the last years of her life. We'd walk the paths, she with her walker or, later, in a wheelchair, and rest at a picnic table where we'd share a thermos of tea and a snack.

Nearby, a maple called to me to photograph its fancy dress - the beautiful fall colours that are pure joy to behold even if they do tell us that winter is not far away. Gazing at the tree, I tell myself to live in the moment and not think about the dark drab days to come.

Today, for the first time this fall, I had to turn on the heat in my house.   And darn it, darkness came shortly after 5:00 tonight!  So winter is weighing heavily on my mind - it is not my favourite season. Yet when I look around me, there are still many flowers, and the trees are full of colour, and my grass is still growing and badly in need of a cut.  So I  remind myself it is still fall, and here on the island it will soon be spring - in just a couple of months we'll be seeing the first of the spring flowers popping up through the dirt. Winter, I shall ignore thee!