Growing Versions

I woke up remembering a dream of a place I knew well. A place that I thought I knew.  I inspected the empty parts of it that I hadn't noticed before. Those empty parts became what I knew of those places. I woke up on garbage day, ready to empty out the rooms I thought I knew. I was urged to molt, I guess.

Making lunches in the summer is my therapy to help me recover from making school lunches. May I carry the spirit of food trucks, watermelon wedges, charred hot dogs crystalized by roasted marshmallow, and peas right from the pod into school lunch making mode.

As the waves lick the back of our necks, we let ourselves, just for a moment, be suspended in a big briny cradle.  You and I are pulled down and popped back up by the sea and I marvel at your tricks, at my buoyancy. "Look Mama, that wave pushed me right over." "I saw that." "Watch out, here's a big one." "ohhhhh." "Oh no, that wasn't a big one, here comes another one." As the waves lap around our heads, I silently plead with you, "I am here.  I am right here.  I am paying attention. Please forgive me for all the future times I'll be distracted. I am right here."

The lifeguard is still at the beach one more day, the bathing suits are on the line waiting for another round. The Christmas wishbook is waiting to be picked up. It's a book full of suggestions of wishes. I want to issue a new wish book for finding out your wishes...those wishes that are deep inside you, waiting for you to realize them.

I have been going to the same beach since I was a baby. Since I could hold my own in the water and had the ability to dive under the surface, I have made it a habit, each and every time that I swim there, to orient my body towards the same point of land off in the distance and dive down, down and back up again. I emerge again blinking back the salt water and use that point as a compass needle. For just a moment, it is just me and the ocean and those rocks. I have never actually physically stood on that point of land. It can only be seen from land or from the water.  But each year since I was a child, I have dived into the water towards that point.  Like blowing out candles on a cake, I renew my promises to myself and direct my whole self towards this jut of trees and rocks.  Each dive under the water, connects me back to the 12, 16, 22 year old and the me I am now.  I am , among other things, a delicate balance between salt and water, I plunge down  into th...

"I think the brain is afraid of being in a state of constant wonder […] I think we should reinstate wonder, banish expectations." - Rectify I have been watching the show Rectify on Netflix this summer. It is about a man named Daniel who was put into prison (on death row) at the age of 18 for the death and rape of his girlfriend. It's not really a who-done-it, although there are elements of that. Instead, the show is more focused on the inner and outer lives (and where the lines gets blurry in between) of people going through something unimaginable. Twenty years later, DNA brings doubt to his guilt (despite a guilty plea, which may or may not have been coerced). He is released into the world of his loving and supportive family, which seems great, except after years of being warped by solitary confinement, it is not as straight forward as it sounds. The show depicts the first couple of weeks of freedom . A word which I have italicised because the meaning o...

Right now, in this season, everything we eat is either turgid with water or slipping down under the leaves and rotting into the ground. The moisture fills in every vein of kale and rounds out each blood-fillled beet with water logged vitamins, . We must put what comes off  the stems right into our mouths or can it or freeze it, or share it  if we hope to capitalize on all this pent up moisture and energy because water evaporates baby and every other creature is living more fully right now positioning themselves to take advantage of our waste. Eat those peas and carrots now while they crunch. Crunchiness comes at a greater cost later on.

For years I lived within sight of Tancook Island.  Many people had moved off of it and nearby islands to live on land in the same community I lived in. It did not seem that far away.  Isolated, for sure, but close. A couple of weeks ago, we finally went to Tancook island for the day. By ferry, even though it is clearly visible from land, it still takes nearly 50  minutes to get there. Tancook island has a population of 100 in the winter time. Double that in the summer. It has has one of the last one room school houses in Canada. The thing that struck me the most as a mainlander is the fact that the only things that get on that island are by boat.  If you buy groceries or get library books or a new mop or chair, you have to get it to the ferry. They put it in a special locked boxed and then you retrieve it as you walk off the boat. Living on an island without a car ferry (the ferry only carries one car at a time) would really cut down on all the stuff ...