Growing Versions

As we came around the turn, he roared "Frost!" "I cannot wait for Christmas." "I am going to slide down that hill and that one too." "This hill gets very slidey in the winter." "I practised skating with my friends until someone got hurt." "I slid on black frozen part." "You have to be careful because if the ice is not frozen you can fall through like on that t.v show." "I love this time of year!"

This week the weather turned cold.  Until Monday, I was usually comfortable in skirts without anything on my legs and bare arms were not crazy.  And then, we woke up and could practically see our breath inside  the house.  We have had a good run. A long time coming summer, surrendered gracefully to autumn and the warm days have lingered until now. All week, even when it was not dark yet, I felt the urge to burn a candle.  To have that flickering presence gave me comfort and I could not make supper without one. I could not quite put my finger on why I suddenly thought about lighting one. And then I thought about the tendency to light candles when someone dies or is missing, or lighting candles in church and at romantic interludes. Lighting candles sears a path between us and someone or something else.  It illuminates a way to connect with someone we can't see and the softer, heat generating light helps us get intimately acquainted with some...

I went to my first NHL hockey game the other night.  I was handed tickets for the game at an intersection and I was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.  I am not a hockey fan. In fact, just before I was handed the free tickets, the giver asked if I was a fan of hockey and I said no.  I was partially throwing up my defences against the potential for unsolicited preaching, but I was also telling the truth.  Despite my initial protestations, I could not turn down four otherwise very expensive tickets.  I took the tickets and we head out the next night. Before that night, nothing about hockey even vaguely interested me. Except for a brief, thrilling experience watching the Canadian women's team win the Olympic gold on t.v. once, I usually let the daily reports about who won what and where roll right over me. As we entered the arena, all those bored feelings vaporized. The atmosphere was charged. The cheerleaders shone and the music pumped through...

Make room for it. Whatever it is.  There is still space up high and way down below. Remember?

Downside up, wrong side round, begins the way it should end and ends where this will begin. By chance, I looked at them in the mirror and now I cannot reverse it. I'm stuck knowing some words inverted.

I had a long list. The list was compiled in an effort to take a stab at eliminating various and sundry sources of stress. Then I heard the author of this  article  on the radio. He's in favour of us all revising how think about "being busy". I had already aborted three attempts to take the bus and go do something productive, but something kept holding me back. After hearing this guy talk about the value of idleness, I decided to not do much of anything. There are big things to be chipped away at, just not today.

If you are like me, I've become completely addicted to bolded text . Opening my email, I scan the inbox for a sign that someone wants me to know something.  Over the past 5 years, I've also come to hold my breath each time I open my Facebook account, hoping for a red 1 or 2 or 3 in my message box. I obviously never used to be this nerved up over bolded text .  It is not the same when you read  do not forget to bring indoor shoes   when you are reading something on paper. So quickly, my whole body, my nervous system, has been trained to take in and hold a shallow breath in my discovery of some of this elusive bolded text .  What am I looking for exactly?  Connection Great news Something mind blowing What have I been encouraged to expect? I just came across this classic movie, The Red Balloon  at the library. At only 34 minutes, this charming movie follows a boy through a now non-existent part of Paris, and his playful r...

When you paint or write or draw, there is always a question hovering. Should I add a word or delete one?  Should I paint right to the edge or let the paint give way to white paper? Should I say something here or let the silence do its thing?