Poetry Thursday - Bird

This is my contribution for this weeks Poetry Thursday. I chose not to do the optional prompt task, which was "River". I had so many thoughts, ideas and memories about The river that flowed through my area, and rivers in general, that I found I could not properly harness my thoughts, but I did garner a number of ideas for regular blog posts instead, which I will get around to writing one of these days, and you never know, having gotten those stories out of my system, I might even come up with a river poem at some stage. Rather than contribute nothing, I thought I would share this poem, which I wrote a few months back after a quiet, reflective walk along the dikes near my home.

Bird

Eternal, rejuvenating flower.

Waiting.

Tight as a bud.

She blooms.

Wings outstretched;

Feathered petals,

Fanned and reaching.

Taken.

A dance with natures breath,

Gliding, darting, diving;

Carried upon the wind,

Like spores of a thistle.

She swoops down,

Landing with grace.

Enwrapped.

Tight as a bud,

Once again.

© Strauss

19th January 2007

I walked all day...

I went for a walk today, with a friend and the kids. It was the PERFECT winter day in Canada, and I don't mean snow - I mean it had snowed in the mountains, but not where I was standing, and the sun was gleaming off the mountains exposing a panoramic sugar dusted picture-scape against blue sky - STUNNING.

The sun was out and the breeze must have been tucked up under a log somewhere I think, because on clear winter days like these, the wind-chill factor is normally enough to send anyone diving back under the bed clothes exclaiming - "let me know when it is spring".

We walked along the dike at Steveston in Richmond; old river houses, many of which had seen better days, creaked on water logged stilts, looking cramped, cold and uninviting. And yet, though in a largely dilapidated and abandoned looking state, surrounded by old logs, black and heavy, bobbing in the wake of a passing river barge, these old river houses had a beauty about them. I don't really know what it was, perhaps an energy that encapsulated and radiated a long and colourful history.

There were definitely a few stories in those dank walls and darkened windows, dull like dead eyes. In the windless air your could almost hear whisperings of the souls of departed tenants....houses seem to do that to me.

There was also something about the entire area'; the bare trees stretching for the seldom seen winter sun; a large letter box stuck high in a towering tree, acting as a makeshift bird house (I suspect); an abandoned train track leading to a modern day industrial building that had never in its life had a used for the old line; the lulling of the water lapping at the river bank. It was all so peaceful. I could have walked all day.

After that walk, we all went to a cafe, had coffee, and then went our separate ways.

The day was too lovely to spend indoors, so we took the dogs and walked around the block. My son rode his bike.

And to top it all off, the friend who I had walked with earlier, rang and urged me to go to my Nordic Walking group. I hadn't been since the flu and my slack old self was coming back to haunt. It is too easy for me to stay home. I feel so much better when I do venture out; so I was held accountable, and I am grateful for that.

The walking group was fantastic. I was dressed appropriately, unlike last time. I got so into it that I went into a zone. I could have run even (bit drastic).

I must have been a lot sicker last time than I thought, because I had none of the pinball kidney pain, like I experienced the last time and I could have walked longer. I am pumped for next week, and also for a repeat of today's weather.

Leave a light on for me

The other night at the Nordic Walking group, a woman said to me, "Lovely evening for a walk. Don't you think?"

It had snowed the week prior. The snow was still evident on the ground, although it had been well trodden - packed and icy. The air, though crisp, swirled with the scent of burning wood, which conjured up all sorts of warming imagery; like couples cuddling beside open fires, sipping mulled wine, or families playing board games, a raging fire in the background and hot chocolate carried in on a tray with a plate of cookies.

The night was clear enough to reveal a net of stars overhead, while night noises seemed to be more pronounced. Indeed, it seemed a perfect evening for a winter walk, so I agreed with much enthusiasm.

"I love looking into the houses", the woman announced, motioning to the house we were passing. The curtains were open wide; a soft yellow glow beckoning into a navy night.

At the time, I thought her comment a little off - voyeuristic and nosey...and why the hell don't these people close the drapes! So I kind of looked over at house to acknowledge the woman's statement and muttered "yeah", before attempting to change the subject. I noticed a chandelier. It was a well to-do neighbourhood, consisting of reasonably new houses that lined the streets like veneered teeth; perfect, proud, clean and well tended.

During the past week, I decided to go for an evening walk in my own neighbourhood. I was feeling a bit down, and just needed to get out of the house. There was no snow on the ground that night. In fact, it was quite pleasant to be out, and I only required a light jacket to ensure my comfort.

As I walked, I noticed many lights on in the houses I passed, and remembered what the woman had said.

The street over from my own is very nice and is considered affluent (why the disparity from one street to another around here, I will never know). The houses are all large with manicured gardens, that now loom in the evening shadows. Many of the houses appeared empty and seldom frequented (if you know what I mean), just as they do in the daytime; the windows closest the street were all dark, like soulless eyes.

One house I passed, had every light on throughout its lower level. I noticed a winding wooden staircase reaching into the obscurity of an unlit second floor. The walls of a freakishly large sitting room were painted eucalyptus green - not my favourite colour - too much in such a large space, and it looked a bit drab. A middle-aged man was working on his computer. His back was turned to the road, as was his computer monitor. He seemed to be the only one home.

A little further down the road I came to a gorgeous little house; one in which I had actually the fortune of entering. The owner once told me it had been a heritage home that was relocated into town a number of years ago. The owner and his wife had bought it, and renovated it themselves.
The house is painted in a lovely periwinkle blue with white trim. Shining polished wooden floors greet visitors, along with stain-glass windows and antique lace curtains. The space inside is intimate, warm and tastefully decorated. From the road it appears a tiny home, especailly when compared with its neighbouring gaints, but it is a deceiver. For once inside, you'll find that it actually contains three levels. A black steel staircase spirals from the corner of the dining room, opening up to a darling attic that harbours two of the sweetest little girls rooms one is ever likely to see. I just LOVE that house.

On the evening I went walking, the lace curtains were drawn, but through the curtains the family could be seen sharing a meal under soft golden hues. I imagined the happy banter of the family, sharing news about their day. It seemed such an idyllic scene.

Further down the road, I spotted a woman standing in a sitting room. The TV was on, but her back was facing it. She folded a white blanket in half, then lent down out of view. I imagined a child that had fallen asleep on the sofa, the mother leaning down to wrap her child in the blanket before carrying her slumbering bundle up to bed.

The scene drew me back to my own children. I had been desperate for a break, but it was supper time, and I would be absent from our table that evening. If I did not return soon, I would also miss tucking them in and receiving the last bear hug for the day. Bedtime is probably my favourite time of day with them. a time when they tell me all their thoughts and secrets, in an attempt to avoid the inevitable separation, and falling asleep. I knew it was time for me to head home.

Warning: possibly offensive

A neighbour came over recently and announced she was having a party, adding that it would be great if I could come. I don't know this neighbour very well, in fact, the only time she has spoken to me, was to sneer and hiss at our dogs...so for her to suddenly extend of the hand of friendship was rather unexpected.

"ALL the neighbours are coming", she gloated.

Of course, it was going to be one of THOSE parties.The picture on the invitation showed three women in party hats, wine in hand, streamers falling about them and party blowers - these "parties" are never like that.

Over the years, I have attended my fair share of sales gatherings (I refuse to call them PARTIES). I have been invited to events promoting the sale of books, cosmetics, tupperware, toys, linen, tealight candles, lingerie, crafts, and much much more. Many of these sales gatherings have been put on by very close friends or family, who I have been happy to support - we all have to make a buck somehow now, don't we?

I do have one friend however, who I only ever heard from when she was having a "sales gathering". She tended to ring me at the last minute, usually the night before, to inform me she was having an event, not many people were coming, so could I please come "to make up the numbers". I guess I am probably a bit oversensitive, but I can't help but be offended by that. "What... your real friends couldn't come?"

I must say - I would actually prefer it if I weren't invited to such events. I certainly don't want to sit around for two hours talking about plastic containers that cost the earth....sure, they have a lifetime guarantee (sigh...whatever, Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz). I always feel obliged to buy something - even if I don't want anything, and I don't really have the money to fritter away needlessly.

On the rare occasion that I have the strength to NOT buy anything, I wind up feel guilty that I enjoyed the hosts hospitality, nibbled on the chips and dip and generally wasted the sales reps time...I guess that is the effect that these organisations are kind of aiming for really.

I am also constantly amazed when I attend a sales gathering, and I witness other invitees getting so into it. They scan their glossy brochures with glassy eyed enthusiasm, pencils poise, ready for swift circling action when a desired item appears, not unlike a hunter preparing to snare a prized beast. And they discuss the items with such concentrated interest and expertise as if they are about to purchase a valuable rare antique.

"So....the three tiered pineapple piece dispenser...does it really guarantee to keep your pineapple fresh for up to 8 weeks while draining it of unnecessary liquids...I am impressed! I MUST have one of those." Oh please!

Or when the sales person starts the pitch, "just look at the quality ladies.... you won't find quality like this in any store. This egg flipper will turn a perfect fried egg every time or your money back". To which the hypnotised nod in unison, mesmerised by a bit of old plastic while frantically circling the item in the glossy brochure.

At the end of the night, invitees tally the cost of their selected items, have a minor heart attack, review the list and conclude that they simply can't go on living without a single one, especially the pancake flipper that comes with a pair of novelty oven mits, even though it looks suspiciously like the egg flipper, which is ESSENTIAL after all. They then extend a quivering hand, holding a cheque made out for a small fortune, and leave with an impending feeling of being ripped off, while the host salivates over the limited number of uninspiring host gifts and "free" sales target prizes.

I have NEVER held such a sales gathering. To me, there is something unsavory about inviting friends and acquaintances to spend their hard earned cash on items they could possibly find in a store, if they REALLY needed it..if not, SURELY they could call the appropriate sales gathering rep and place an order without having to endure the blessed "party".

Since living in this street, I have been invited to a Tupperware party, which I couldn't attend because had something else on (oh damn); two tealight candle parties, both times I had NO spare cash to fritter away on something I could never imagine ever using. I already have a couple of tealight candle holders, and honestly, two is enough....so I didn't go to either of those events.

I have noticed however, that the tealight candle neighbour refuses to acknowledge my existence, so I think my declining to attend was an offence - oops.

So.... in the spirit of being neighbourly and a good sport, I decided to attend the grouchy neighbours bloomin' sales gathering. I have no idea what product is on offer "Spirals Gourmetware - wire home decor" the invitation reads (...help me).

Where the Bloody Hell are we?

Where the bloody hell are you? If you think these words are offensive, you are not alone.

Would you believe this is the slogan chosen by the Australian Tourism Commission to entice international travellers to make the costly and timely journey across the ocean to our fair land? Well it is.

The ad made its debut quite a number of months ago, but at the time, it set the proverbial cat amongst the pigeons...if you know what I mean.

The ad was banned in the UK for its "bloody" reference; a phrase that is as commonly used within the Australian take on English, as "umm", "err" and "barbie".

We might not be an overly sophisticated bunch, but we do like a good laugh. So, of course the hoo-ha over this very Aussie ad was spoofed many times, just to highlight how much worse it could have been. I will refrain from providing a link to such spoofs, erring more on the side of good taste, although I have to admit...I was just a little bit tempted.....ok, more than a bit.

Anyway I am completely off track , if you'll pardon the pun, for I was going to talk about navigation, driving and gender pride concerning both.

Women stereotypically get a bad wrap concerning both touring tasks. According to blokes, there is scientific proof that women are bad drivers. Men might even go so far as to claim that good driving requires a gene, which women lack. Either way, the joke that "women are bad drivers", sees men across the generations, jumping into the driver's seat of the family vehicle, practically without question; without comment or even notice - unless of course, alcohol is being served at the other end, then suddenly all confidence is placed into the sturdy sober hands of women.

Under normal circumstances, when alcohol is not in the picture, the idea that women are bad drivers, leaves women to handle the map and guidance duties, which we are also, supposedly, notoriously bad for.

Basically, women can't win whatever task we volunteer ourselves for, or are relegated to do. We are destined for criticism, failure and disappointment.

My Mum ONCE navigated my Dad into a cul-de-sac - do you think she has EVER lived that down?

I don't know about you, but I resent this boys club mentality concerning driving.

I was initially taught to drive by my Dad in his beloved Holden "ute". It was a manual column shift arrangement (groan).

My Dad taunted, sighed in frustration and yelled at every possible opportunity and with evey bunny hopping jolt I nervously made, to the point where I could take his antics no longer; stopped, exited the vehicle and walked away with his tormenting blaring into the back of my skull. After a few moments of this, I responded, using rather terse words, with the suggestion that he might like to stick his ute where the sun don't shine. Soon after that it was decided that I have a professional teach me to drive - much to everyone's relief.

I still can't drive a manual vehicle. I have tried since.... but I became panicky when I didn't change gears as smoothly as I would have liked. I did the time warp, returning to that wounded 16 year old being scolded and berated by my Father. Next came a rather comical display, of me, flying into a shameful, insane rage on the side of some street; repeatedly sinking the boot into the tyre of that poor unsuspecting vehicle. It is not a moment I am proud of....

I am a good driver, albeit in an automatic only. After that I have flatly refused to EVER get behind the wheel of a manual vehicle.

A hiking friend of mine (another manual driver) asked whether she could teach me to drive her car. I declined the offer. To entice me, she attempted the guilt trip, asking what would happen if she should injure herself on one of our hikes, preventing her from driving. I told her that she would be stuffed! Not very compassionate I know, but my nerves are shot as far as the manual vehicles go, and I didn't want to frustrate her nor embarrass myself with a repeated episode of wobbly chucking, as I did the last time.

I do, however, feel I am pretty good at navigating. I know how to read a map, WITHOUT turning the map upside down when we turn a corner (another fabled claim about women navigating), and I can't remember a time when I have lead my husband, or anyone else, down the wrong path. In fact, I am very confident in my navigational skills.

My husband is also a good driver, he is more assertive than me , and so when we drive together I don't mind letting him take the wheel. His navigation skills, on the other hand, are not as good as mine.

On a UK trip from Grimsby in Lincoln shire to Birmingham in the West midlands, he somehow managed to direct us to Norwich. With each suggestion that perhaps we were going the wrong way, he assured me that we weren't. Until we got to a sign that suggested the seaside was approaching and I was forced to stop and check the map for myself.

It took us a good hour to right that little wrong, and I let him drive after that. So with that memory firmly in tact ,I asked my husband - for experimental purposes, which touring duty he felt superior in: driving or navigating? In hindsight, I think he sensed a trap. For he hesitated for a moment and replied in a rather uncharacteristically defiant and gritted-teeth tone, "BOTH!"

"Really?"

Why is it so hard for men to give ANY credit to a woman's driving skill or to admit slight weaknesses in their own, albeit the driving or the navigating? Test it out. Ask your beloved if you can take the wheel for your weekend drive together. How does he react to your request? And if you get that far, how does he behave while you are behind the wheel? Is he relaxed and chatty or sulky, overly critical, super cautious or snitchy and on edge? How is he with the map? Does HE turn it around when you turn a corner? Is every street a cul-de-sac?

I have a theory....blokes take the wheel, because they aren't so good with the map, or....perhaps they don't like it that they are not in control when the woman is behind the wheel. Oooohh, did I say that out loud?

more snow

Once again it has snowed in the town that "NEVER sees snow". It has snowed all day- large clumpy snow, then small soft globs, almost like hail. This will have been our third significant snow for the season.

The snow really is beautiful as it falls.

I like the large clumpy flakes best, it is as though the Gods are having a pillow fight and the pillow contents are fluttering down to earth.

I have decided that snow is a living thing.

When it is born it is so fresh and light, and brings much joy to so many, especially the young and young at heart. Many can not help but stare at it in wonderment, oohing and arrhing and wondering about its future...will it still be there in the morning? How long will it stick around? Will it cause much destruction? How high will the snow pile grow?

Once it stops, we are left with the reality of it - a messy mass, that won't clean up after itself, quick enough.

Then later on, as it dies, the once crisp white fluffy snow; so pliable, enchanting, delightful in our hands, turns grey, and kind of decays into a slushy, muddy, repulsive slop. It is not fun anymore and we wish it would soak into the ground so our lives can return to normal.

As I look out at the pretty snow falling in such fascinating and erractic swirls, I kind of think it unfortunte that many, myself included, will be cursing natures little gift - the life of snow.
.

Anticipation

Do you ever get the feeling that you are on the cusp of something?

Most of the time we fail to analyse this "feeling" too much. But we feel...something, and with great anticipation, the nervous energy surging through our veins... builds.

Have you ever observed a dog who has to sit still while his owner retrieves the leash prior to a walk? The dog seems to know what is to come. He knows that it has to be better than the narrow confines and boring predictability of his daily drudge, but he can not make his owner retrieve the leash any quicker, and he would probably be scolded for voicing his impatience, thus diminishing the sweetness in attaining his wish to be set free...however fleeting the moment. So he sits...kind of...practically quaking with excitement and wanting with the thought of being let out, into what and to do what? Who cares... it is just a different scene, an opportunity, and he has faith in the protection of his master.

I'm feeling a little bit of that today...it may pass without a whimper, it may not.

My kitchen window

Our house is situated next to a public car park.

Such a location is fortunate or unfortunate, depending upon your perspective.

It is unfortunate, I guess, because it becomes rather noisy in the summer when the softball season is in full swing. Cars are often lined up down the street catching the overflow of the car park and there is additional traffic to contend with.

Some are annoyed by the rhythmic lulling of tennis ball upon court and racket and the till-10pm cussing of players after a bounty of missed shots.

There are more annoying occurrences to suffer, such as the clutter of drunken teens fooling around between the buildings, talking tripe into the decibels and dashing their beer bottles against the pavement once they are done.

Or perhaps the more sinister noise of junkies with their thump thump music turned up too loud, circling the neighbourhood in their clapped out bombs while they wait for their dealers to drop off an "order".

For me though, it is all fodder. Many a strange thing do we see when casually gazing out the kitchen window and into the car park next door. For example.....

-Portable dunnies ablaze (don't ask)
-Dancing drunks
-Kids on a massive Easter egg hunt
-A strange well dressed woman who stops in to use the public toilet at least twice a day 7 days a week then takes a swig of juice and has a piece of chewy without fail before driving away (weird)
-Shoes and sweaters mysteriously found high up in our tree
-School sports day
-The pre-school teacher skidding into the car park and scurrying in doing the pile of paper and coffee balancing act not two minutes before the kids arrive each morning
-Dog fights
-Grown men racing remote controlled cars
-Old men falling off bikes and hobbling home (dear me!!)
-A maniac driver plowing into the fence across the road...then speeding away
-And other things that are too intriguing and wonderful to describe in detail.

If only I were an artist... I could paint you a picture of the two people I saw crossing paths in the midnight rain while walking their dogs.

They were talking, seemingly oblivious that they were soaking to the skin. The scene was lit only by the glow of a single orange street light, reflected numerous times by surrounding puddles.

Slower and slower they moved together until they were in each others embrace, and although they arrived at that spot from different directions, they left the scene together.

I witnessed this while rocking a cranky baby to sleep one night. I was looking down from above. It was strange.... almost like a scene from a movie. I guess you had to be there.

the drawing potential of snow

I love snow in Vancouver. We don't get a whole lot in the city. Generally, one needs to venture into the mountains to have a decent experience. There have been some notable exceptions though....

One needn't travel two hours to Whistler to enjoy a spot of skiing, although Whistler is regarded as THE place to go.

Vancouverites can enjoy a spot of winter sport and fun in one of three mountians, all within 30 minutes of the city: Mount Seymour; Grouse Mountain, which requires one to journey to the summit via gondola (excellent, but quite pricey); and Cypress mountain.

What I enjoy about snow in Vancouver, is its apparent ability to recapture ones youth and draw out the inner child, even when no snow was ever present in our pasts. I find that quite an incredible phenomenon.

Yesterday was a nice clear day; the best weather day forecast for the entire long weekend. Consequently, we decided to bundle up the kids and head for Mount Seymour.

On the way we stopped into Canadian Tire to scoop up a couple of the few remaining "toboggans" of the season. Yep, winter has just begun, but we have learnt that winter accessories really need to be purchased in early November. Nevertheless, the toboggan, though basic, worked as well as anything else, so who cares!

No one in our family has ever tobogganed before - remember we are Aussies and come from Adelaide, a place where the locals shudder and shiver if the thermostat hovers in the low teens CELSIUS.

We began our day by experimenting on a piddly patch of snow with an inclination of about 10 degrees. It helped us all gain confidence. It was fun. Much laughter was interwoven with screams of exhileration and glee. And as I looked around at other participants on the mountain yesterday, I noticed a majority of happy, shining, smiling faces and hundreds of families enjoying time together.

This vision of adults and children laughing and playing, made me realise the gift that snow is.

Many family experts and discussion boards speak of the importance of quality family time and play, and snow appears to offer the perfect opportunity to get out there, spend time together and let loose.

I saw a mother and her 13 year old son tandem tobogganing. They were travelling rapidly down the more thrilling slope, we eventually graduated ourselves to. At the bottom, they crashed hard into a snow wall barrier and fell into a heap of tangled arms and legs. After a brief moment, they gathered themselves together, looked into each others eyes with a surprised expression and then collapsed into a roared of laughter. "That was the BEST ride of the day, WOOOO!" said the mother. Her son agreed, and they began their ascent toward the top for another slide down...another joyful experience.

We also had a lot of fun. Our 4-year old, is normally quite a timid fellow, but by the end, he was very willing to slide down by himself, running back to us each time, enthusing,"did you see me, did you see that!" Of course we did.

I took our 2-year old down. Once, my hat fell over my eyes obstructing my vision. I felt us travel up the curved snow wall barrier at the end. I was holding her....we stopped motionless.....then we tipped and rolled. I landed on my side, and lifted my hat up so I could see. Our 2-year old was face down in the snow. When I picked her up, she appeared to be covered in little frozen diamonds. Her face was red from the cold, but her eyes twinkled and she wore an expression of sheer delight, which prompted a big hug from me. "Was that fun? I asked, knowing the answer. Big nods of the head followed before she ran off to repeat the experience.

I know you don't need snow to enjoy time with family, but there is something magical about the snow, and it could be my lack of experience talking, because we are rarely inconvenienced by it, unlike other communities.

Even still, whatever fate shall bring me, and however long my life, I reckon these snowy family experiences will shine out in memory like lanterns on a bleak night.