Some days I feel like this: snapped off with jagged edges exposed.
Some days I feel like this: uprooted and toppled.
But most days I feel like this: strong, straight, and reaching for the sky. I have a broken branch or two, but that’s okay. The morning sun shines on me and the skies are blue.
What kind of tree are you today?
Here is the first joy from my week. Her name is Farley, and she is my daughter’s new puppy. Look at that face!
My second joy is this colourful arrangement of heart cookies I made for Valentine’s Day. Yum!
The third joy was a sunset cross-country ski outing – with horses!
And now the book, which is also a joy. The Poetry Circle of the Canadian Authors Association branch in the National Capital Region published an anthology. Five of my poems are included in the book. You could buy it if you wish. (It would bring you joy.)
Where are you finding joy this week?
The most common response to roller coaster, my word(s) for 2023, is . . . horror. Eyes widen and lips fall open. A person might event take a step away from me.
I read the thoughts: Why would she choose something so . . . erratic? Why would she invite that kind of energy into her life?
So far this year I have spent a lot of time going up and down, up and down, up and down. We skied for a week in fabulous Revelstoke, British Columbia, where the gondolas and ski lifts pulled me up, up, up, and gravitational potential energy converted to kinetic energy carried my down, down, down.
It was FUN!
One of the things I appreciate about the ups and downs of it all is that up is both a grand thing entirely and a tough old slog or a concern.
Things are looking up. She's so upbeat. It's an uphill climb out of debt. The grocery store prices are up. Something's up over there.
And down is both a breezy joyride and a depressing turn of events or a concern.
The hard parts over, so it's all downhill from here! I'm down with that. The best is over, it's all downhill from here. She's looking down in the mouth. Something's going down over there.
I enjoyed the up rides on the ski gondolas and chairs. I put forth no effort. I chatted with strangers. I warmed up and rested a little. A grand thing entirely.
At the mountain peak, I looked down at the spectacular view and the ski trails. “It’s all downhill from here!” Whoosh! whee! A breeze.
But if I were standing beside a bicycle at the bottom of a mountain looking up at an arduous climb, I would see it as a tough old slog. ( My daughter’s boyfriend LOVES to climb hills on bicycle. See? We all can’t seem to agree.)
Or if I missed my bus on the way to work, arrived late to an important meeting and spilled coffee on my boss, the rest of my day might go downhill from there.
Up, down, up, down, up, down.
On my 2023 roller coaster I might be riding, climbing or slogging up, or I might be whooshing, slumping or tumbling down, but the one thing I will not be doing is standing still. It’ll be fun!
What’s up with you? I hope you have everything down pat in your life.
Ah Scotland, the land with language as lyrical and rolling as the Highlands themselves.
My son is studying in Edinburgh, you see, so we paid him and the country a visit. Whilst there, I enjoyed the many beautiful turns of phrase. Whilst tops the list. So much more beautiful than our hard North American while. You must say whilst softly, gently, like a calming suggestion.
Wee makes an appearance in spoken and written language more in Scotland than any other country, I’d wager. People of all ages, sizes and demographics use the word. A massive man working on a construction site might inform his co-worker that he plans to take a wee break, for example.
And in the UK, everyone strives for the state of sortedness. Hotel reservations? “Well, that’s that sorted then,” the desk clerk might say. Whilst travelling on a train or subway, one hears security announcements about unattended luggage or packages. The speaker encourages passengers who notice something amiss to “See it, say it, sort it.”
We travelled to the UK in September—a marvellous, terrible time to travel. We enjoyed prime autumn weather in the Scottish Highlands with fewer tourists than during the peak season. But then we returned to whooomp —the late-September and early-October start-up of projects and activities. So many things to do! This wee lass required some time to get herself sorted.
One by one I have checked items off the to-do list, announcing to myself, “Well, that’s that sorted then.” I’m here, somewhat more sorted, missing my son and Scotland, a place I wish to “return back with speed,” as they would say.
A doozy of a storm blew through Ontario, Canada on Saturday, May 21. In Ottawa, the storm caused more damage than either our legendary ice storm of 1998 or our more recent tornado. The tornado destroyed 80 hydro poles; this storm toppled 300.
We lost power for 7 days.
At that, we were lucky. Most houses in our neighbourhood are still without. As I write this, I hear generators in the distance. And chainsaws. And sirens.
Living without power for that long is disorienting for people of the 21st Century. We couldn’t focus. Routines fell apart. Sleep patterns were disrupted. We ate differently, and our digestive tracts protested. We moved from one room to another with a flashlight in one hand while flicking a (useless) light switch with the other.
Unable to work, or do pretty much anything, people moved around neighbourhoods like zombies. We mourned the loss of beloved trees. So many trees toppled or torn in two.
The event reminded us of the cruel indifference of nature. Sometimes a perfectly healthy tree had snapped while older, sicker ones nearby stayed standing.
The storm was not “fair” or “unfair.” It was its wild self.
Through it all, when we met neighbours on our walks, we counted our blessings:
I found another blessing while burning up data on my phone powered by a generator, I read a post on one of my favourite Facebook pages: The View From Connaught Pond, Grant Dobson | Facebook. I learned that the prickly pear cactus can thrive in Canada. I never would have thought it! That simple knowledge gave me joy in our time of frustration.
Another spot of joy came when I dug around in my garden and came upon some puffballs. I hadn’t seen them since I was a kid tromping around our farm woodlot. It was a simple, silly thing, but it brought light to my day when electricity couldn’t.
Watch the puffball, and tell me, what brought you gratitude and joy today?
This sign stood propped outside the doors of the Lake Louise ski resort.
I contemplated the raven and asked myself, “Is that where the word ravenous comes from?” As in, so hungry you’ll tear something to bits in search of food.
Apparently not. According to etymonline.com, the word comes from an old French verb raviner meaning “to prey, to plunder, devour greedily.” The word is not etymologically related at all to raven.
In light of that sign, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed.
A few days ago, my husband said that he was feeling peckish. The word is not commonly used, but it was a favourite one of his parents. He adopted its use for when he has that, “I could eat” feeling. I asked myself, “Is that word related to birds, as in how they peck at their food?”
I prepared myself for disappointment, after the ravenous let-down. But this time my good friend etymonline.com brought me joy. The word originates from Middle Low German pekken “to peck with the beak.”
At the moment, I am not ravenous, but I expect shortly I will feel peckish. When the time comes, I will eat like a bird.
Somerton Smith 