The Unlikely Pilgrimage

I just finished reading, "The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry" by Rachel Joyce.  What is it about first novels?  My favourite book sellers explanation is that it's been taking shape in a writers brain for so long before it's written, it's fully formed.  I like that explanation and I think that it is so true.  It was a wonderful book, about a journey that a seemingly ordinary man makes for reasons that become clearer to him and the reader the farther you get in the book.  The ending is perfect, like it was there all along, hidden between the lines.  I cried and laughed through out this book.  It's a book I've been looking for, needing to read for awhile, but I didn't realize it until I read the first chapter.  It reminded me of so many journeys I've made physically and figuratively.

What is the Reason?

I spent some time with friends today, it's Guy Fawkes night, which means a lot to my Newfoundland friends, and I was happy to share a bit of it with them.  It made me think about traditions.  My friends and I seem to be grasping on to our old traditions, resisting the urge to conform to the standards of today's materialistic societal values.   It's hard because I feel the need to conform, but am resisting so much almost too far in the other direction, skipping holidays I would have enjoyed as a younger person.  I've become jaded, by what I see around me.  It makes you question your own values, and what traditions you've kept from childhood, does it mean anything now? Is it worth it?  The expectations are sometimes overwhelming, especially if you're a women, whose duty it is to make your family happy.  Keeping things simple, makes you look like a failure these days in our commodity driven culture.  Where will it end?  But, I will try again this season to give Christmas some meaning. Wish me luck.

Love Anthony

I just finished a great book about Autism. " Love Anthony", by Lisa Genova.  It's about a child with Autism and how two women's lives become intertwined, unforgettably.  Autism has been something I've been interested in ever since I had a job caring for an autistic boy one summer.  It was before I finished my nursing degree.  I met him and his mother when I was doing a project on Autism and they were my case study.  He was an interesting little boy.  I learned a lot from him that summer.  He was somewhat of a mystery but also pretty straight forward, I knew when he was happy and I knew when he was sad.  There didn't seem to be a lot in between.  I think he liked hanging out with me, I certainly enjoyed hanging with him.  We went to the park, and swimming almost everyday that summer.  We often traded lunches, he would eat my brown bag lunch,  I would eat his ceaser salad, his mom thought it was his favorite, but my lunch always looked better to him.  He loved routine and so did I.  It was pretty peaceful with him, he didn't talk, I'm rather quiet by nature so we got a long fine. His world seemed so much simpler than mine, I thought.  Even though I've cared for 100's of people over the past 13 years he was special in my heart, taking care of him grounded me and I think about him all the time.

Red Tide

Here's one for my writing group, miss you guys, see you soon.

Poisoned air, She manipulated into silence.
Silence, that takes no prisoners.
It permeates the walls,
It hangs like cobwebs in the corners of the room, nagging us, while we sit and wait for the air to clear,
The fog to lift,
The time to pass,
Enough for it to let go of the hold it has on us.

War Story

I'm sitting having a tea at my coffee shop and reviewing some of the comments from my  "Facebook Rant".  Thanks everyone I love getting comments.

An older gentleman sitting next to me is having coffee with friends.  He is a story teller by nature and everyone around is a welcome audience.  He is reciting a story of the Second World War,  his story.  He must have been just old enough to join up at the time.  A story that has been told before.  His world view at 18 probably is different now, it changed in a moments time, on a battlefield somewhere far away from home.  Now his stories are funny, bring a smile to people who listen.  I can see him as a young man, a little less sure of himself than he is now.  These first hand accounts of that time are few now.  I feel fortunate to hear him speak.  Unfortunately, there are too many war stories, that will never die because people live them now, everyday in other places.  We can see them on the news, every time we turn on the TV, or follow a newsfeed online.  One of the reasons I've given up on the visual news media,  it's too vivid, too real.  I feel too helpless.  We have so much freedom in our part of the world,  we should take a moment and think about that.

Friends

I have to say something about Facebook and how it's degrading what the word "friend" truly is.  It is another opportunity for stalkers to stalk, gossipers  to gossip , and malingers to malinger.  We are being sold something on that site and we are't even aware of it. It's a total time waster, and time we can't get back.  People are living online instead of real life. They are playing another virtual game, living a lie.  What got me started on this rant is I was researching a story that I'm writing and so I've been reading suicide notes, including some on Facebook and You tube.  It was sad that the only connection those poor people had to the world was Facebook and what makes us so different from them,  we all are trying to find human contact, in my opinion we are looking in the wrong spot for fulfillment.  It wasn't enough for those poor souls who decided that this life wasn't worth living. Why is it enough for us? We deserve better than that,  we need more than that, we are human after all.   I don't feel  most people are connecting through Facebook I think it only allows for an excuse to not connect, like with a click of the mouse, we can ward off loneliness,  keeping love and friendship at arms length, to disconnect from the guilt we feel when we don't have time to see people or get to have a conversation with those we haven't talked to in awhile.  As for the good it has done, I'm happy lost people are found and important information gets to where it needs to go. But it's sad when all we have to offer our "Friends" is a status update that says,   " I'm sooo bored" or "the cat peed on the floor again" , both of these quotes are from the website  www.cracked.com , they have compiled" The Top Ten worst Facebook Status Updates",  who needs to know that your cat peed, you are at the gym, or sleeping...  Really?  Human beings require meaningful connections,  to be happy.   

I'm just saying... time will tell the cracks will begin to show.

The End

Fallen Leaves

I wish I could collect fallen leaves,
Like I did when I was five,
They were beautiful to me,
I collected one of every shape and Colour,
Just to be fair.
I wanted to save them, give them a home that was warm, and dry.
I thought they would stay alive forever,
If I cared enough.
But like everything,
Their beauty faded,
Dried up, cracked, turned to dust.
I didn't understand like I do now.
Trying to keep something alive that is dead is futile.
Now their beauty reminds me of the fragility of life.

Dawn