The Cable Company.
I popped down to the local cable company for a chat. After standing for a customer service person for five minutes, aggravating my seized up right knee, I was called. “I’d like to talk about my PVR,” I said, hoping that didn’t sound too personal. The lady sat bolt upright in her computer chair. She was very neat – clothes, hair, desk. She wore blue framed glasses behind which were matching bright blue cold eyes that said – don’t mess with me lady. Her thin cupid bow mouth was painted a dull red. I said very politely. “I’ve paid $15 monthly...
Read MoreThe Glass Blower
I do not know where my mother’s ashes are entombed. I could not lead you there. I like to think she isn’t there either, that she could not be trapped like that in unforgiving marble and polished glass and gold. That was not the way of my mother in life. I doubt somehow that death could hold her down. All through my own long years, I melted sand to make glass that sang like crystalline roses, on a journey custom-made for me, and I never questioned why. Now, as old age bends my bones, as fire and smoke take the sight from my eyes, sand rushes through my fingers, miniature boulders turning...
Read MoreMEDITATION
The following piece comes from a 20 minute writing exercise in our Thursday writing group. Sometimes I have to tear myself away from the hustle and bustle of my busy life to attend the group. Often my effort is rewarded by some self discovery that I may have missed had I not overcome my resistance to leave the hectic pace behind. This exercise was one of those times for which I am grateful to have made the effort to be present. Meditation does not come easily to me. This busy life tends to bring on the monkey brain that chatters away incessantly, either planning something or reviewing and...
Read MoreCongratulations Chris Beryl !!!
Your poem was selected to represent the Chemainus library for Vancouver Island Regional Library’s poetry anthology 150 X 39. The goal of our anthology is to celebrate Canada 150 by capturing the character and flavour of the communities we serve through poems like yours. The anthology will be printed and released at our launch party at the Harboufront Library on Saturday December 2 from 11am. You will receive a copy of the anthology (either at the launch or mailed to your home branch if you are unable to attend in person) and your poem will be displayed in your local branch. Can you...
Read MoreThe countdown to Christmas is here!
Some of us count down in days, others in weeks, and those with big shopping lists – in pay periods! One of the most fun ways to countdown to Christmas is with an advent calendar. I decided to add a new twist to an old tradition. In this article, I will show you how to make beautiful ‘advent’ boxes. These boxes also make perfect gift boxes for those ‘great things that come in small packages’ or, fill with chocolates for a wonderful hostess gift. In our home, we number these boxes and hang them on a garland, but feel free to hang them right in your tree or anywhere else that needs a...
Read MoreShe opened the lid, peered inside.
“Where did you find this, Lydia?” I asked. “It was in the garden. I was digging a hole for the new lilac bush, over by the kitchen fence, when I hit something hard with the shovel. I thought it was a rock and tried to pry it out but then when I cleared some more dirt off it, I saw it was a box.” “Well, it’s been there an awful long time then, because we’ve lived here for twelve years now.” Lydia cleaned the box some more and saw there was tiny padlock still in place. “I don’t want to damage anything, how can I get that...
Read MoreStriking It Rich….
Clara agreed to visit his claim, the one he’d been digging for years. Fancy meeting after all this time. She hadn’t changed much, wore her hair shorter, but had that same gorgeous smile. If he wasn’t careful he’d fall in love all over again. And she might too, if he struck it rich. If he kept at the digging. Jack lifted another shovelful and threw the rocks, crashing into the wagon. One more and he’d be ready to ‘wash it’. “Why don’t you just give it up, Jack? This place is done for. I found all the gold.” Old Henry, his neighbour, had struck gold a long time ago and...
Read MoreThe Man Who Couldn’t Smile
He looked like a mischievous little gnome standing at my office door with his twinkling eyes. His short physique accentuated his balding head. He had the most incredibly small and crooked hands I had ever seen. The other outstanding feature about him was the lack of expression on his face. You see, Don couldn’t smile. I found him to be a dynamic seventy-two-year-old man. His philosophy was that “age had nothing to do with happiness”. He just wanted to make the most out of the rest of his life. He hoped I could find him someone to love. Don didn’t believe he had a disability, but...
Read MoreThe Briefcase
There was nothing else in the briefcase. I set the gun down on the floor and checked more thoroughly. I ripped the lining out, ruining the briefcase in the process. Why? I wondered. Why had they left me a gun but no instructions? What was I supposed to do with it? I picked the gun up again and checked. It was loaded. I wrapped it in the torn lining and put it back in the briefcase. Before I left the hotel room, I searched the closets and drawers, even the bathroom. Nothing, unless you counted the Gideon Bible in the bedside table. Damn. This wasn’t meant to be a guessing game, was it?...
Read MoreSaudade*
Early spring. The place we called the cottage is still there. Familiar and strange as eye blinks in a desert. Rose of Sharons cut down, confederate with uprooted lilac and pear tree. The building’s paint is freshened – trendy provincial blue with lemon pie trim. No faded white siding or forest green sills for the latest occupants. Won’t do. Bright tile-red shingles christen the roof. Young hands and feet banned from climbing its slick surface. The maple is steadfast where two sandy roads carve out the property line. The catalpa tree will soon spread spade-shaped leaves....
Read MoreThe Pink Hat
I know all those faces wild flashing eyes angry chanting voices centuries of walking the great global umbilical road of this long long march yesterday today tomorrow can anyone answer why we have to ask for our rights? why they are not a given? who it is that refuses us? and it’s not over yet we are still marching on those harsh ancient stony roads but we take each of you with us woven into each stitch of this pink hat knit one purl one knit one purl...
Read MoreThe Reason Why.
Gabriola Art Council and why I live here.Gabriola’s Art Council is the breath of live, of energy on this “Isle of the Arts” community. I’m proud to be a sponsor and member, and an artisan of sorts. I love to write. The late night seems to be my most creative vibe. Turn on a Brazilian rap, lilt the ivories and sink into my keyboard. The words flow. A little of Hemmingway, a little of Wolfe, a little of Martin, a lot of Gabriola. Why do I live here? This ramble has more to do with the isle d ’Gabriola than me. Back a ways, in July I recall of 2002 maybe it was, I...
Read Moreabide
In the moments between when we cannot feel the warmth of your hand in mine, the brush of skin on skin and we are open to the world alone unsafe exposed I know that somewhere you are thinking of me knowing that I am treasuring the memory of you, and we abide in our love as in a warm home in winter. by Sandra Leigh. ******************** The Years Have Stolen Everything. There was a time, wasn’t there? when your halting tender breath searching found and touched my diffident skin caught and held me silent held me silent astonished trembling with desire like sudden pain. Do...
Read MoreWhere The Wild Pines Grow
Written in 20 minutes by Márta O’Reilly during a writing exercise we had in our writing group. The title topic was “The Place Where Wild Pines Grow”. I feel as if I’d been here before. I recognize the lay of the land, the shape of that hill on the horizon. I know as I walk this path what I will see when I turn that corner. This is not an ordinary déjà vu; this familiarity with every tree, every outcropping of rock down to every blade of grass. Yet my plane landed here only yesterday. I am an old man. I have travelled far and long on the many trails of my world. But my history...
Read MoreThe Thursday Writers
Written in twenty minutes by Chris Beryl from this writing prompt: “He Turned the Key in the Lock and Opened the Door” He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To his horror, he saw a huge dog and three puppies. “What…where did these come from ? We’re not keeping them you know. Oh no…” “Daddy daddy, we found them in a field. Someone forgot them. They left them in a box. They were crying Daddy.” ” Left them in field my …. Dumped them more likely” he said under his breath. He looked at his children. They were delirious with joy. Jack and Patricia sat on the...
Read MoreHow-To Books.
How to successfully self-publish a How-to book. If you are an expert in your profession or hobby then writing a How-to book might be right for you. How-to books are extremely popular because many people, including myself can appreciate a step-by-step guide of how to do something we have never done before. We might be intimidated to jump right into something without research or basically we are lazy and don’t want to do all the research. Why reinvent the wheel when someone else has already done it? The wildly popular “Dummies for ______” are everywhere and easy to find. Here are some...
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