HAPPINESS WHEN ON A JOURNEY

Happiness when on a journey depends on taking the right books to read. I have just  returned back with my family from a trip to Greece to see my  son who is living there and the journey was a success.We traveled there via Dublin which is the shortest air flight to Greece from Vancouver.  The first thing I do when purchasing my ticket is to plan my reading material which is essential for my peace of mind on a trip .On our flight to Dublin, Ireland, I read the September Vogue magazine. As all fashionistas know, the September Vogue is a huge tome of fantasy,outrageous fashion and unadulterated consumerism. As I had not flown in a long while, was nervous and not a confident airline passenger, being a white knuckled flyer, this was the only reading material I could concentrate on.  This material lasted me for the whole eight hour flight and I was content.

Once settled in Dublin I switched to a favourite of mine -a second hand yellowing penguin detective story by Nicholas Freeling I have owned for years.  This features the eccentric  Dutch detective  Van Der Val. His stories are rich delightful, funny and dark. He is married to a French bourgeois woman  who amuses me with her caustic sense of humour. She is a delightful woman who is also a good cook.  This story revolves around corruption in Northern Holland and Germany.  It has a European flavour with wonderful descriptions of the depressing northern cold countryside,wonderful descriptions of great and unusually named Dutch and German dishes,wonderful meals with wonderful bottles of wine, exciting and interesting conversation. This novel was just right for me to get into the mood for European culture and helped me to embrace it's accelerating environment.

I brought another book  for the next lap of the  journey to Greece. 'My Brilliant Friend' is a current best seller by the brilliant Italian author, Elena Ferrante. This book was set in Naples, Italy, during the deprived era of the immediate post war years 1950 and 1960.  The book revolves around two little girls growing up in one of the poorer areas of  Naples  It is a rich and intense novel and I recommend it wholeheartedly -but it was not for Greece.
It had seemed perfect for Greece because it also is in crises and poverty. However when we finally  reached our final destination,Naphpactos, a provincial town in rural Greece, I found it did not suit and laid it aside. It had too much of an Italian flavour.

. Naphpactos is a port rich in history with a walled castle surrounded by wild mountains teeming -in my imagination- with  unbelievable magical mythical creatures. My mood in this exciting atmosphere demanded a good read and I was bookless. We were visiting my son and his family who live there and he asked me if I needed reading material,checked in his storage place  and handed me a novel -redolent with a musty smell -"The Dark Labyrinth" by Lawrence Durrell an English author who had lived in Greece years ago. I accepted eagerly even though I had read it years ago. It was perfect.
The theme of the book was a fantasy,dark, very Greek,very mythical,very satisfying as only Lawrence could write. I settled myself on the balcony surrounded by Mediterranean flowers, Mediterranean sunshine, Mediterranean blue sea, Mediterranean light, musical Greek voices and raucous traffic noises and immersed myself in a modern mythical tale. It was about tourists who agree to tour a newly discovered ancient site situated in a remote cave in the mountains of Crete. The cave, a labyrinth, was famous-as all the locals knew-because it harbours a monster. The typical prosaic tourists innocently embark on this dark journey. This is a glorious spin on ordinary people in extraordinary happenings with all vast Greek layers ranging from sparkling light to deepest dark. I hugged this book and journeyed with Lawrence through this  great Greek experience during the whole three weeks I was in Greece and it was satisfying.
For the trip home,my grandson who was traveling with us gave me "The grapes of Wrath" by John Steinbeck. The book had not satisfied him in Greece. However it was perfect for the trip home for me.  It reminded me that I was moving back again towards the troubled times I had left behind  in North America-both the United States and Canada.
John Steinbeck is a glorious writer -with beautiful prose-echoing the fine prose of my favourite author -Jane Austin. He wrote finely crafted sentences with great sensitivity even though the subject was painful. I was very impressed and wondered why I had never read this monumental work before.His vivid reporting of the treatment of the  displaced migrants moving to California during the dust bowl era of the thirties reminded me of the status today of the displaced  refugees all over the world. and I found myself saying "We haven't come a very long way after all, baby."

I thought hard about this on the long flight home and about the ability  we humans have to make the same mistakes over and over.
I arrived home just in time and in a fervent mood to practice my right to vote.
 As you can see,dear readers,it is essential to select the right book as also the right clothes-another topic-for each country you go to.

BLOGG # THE WALL - OR -THE LOST CROCUS

It is the end of the first month of 2019; it is the heart of deepest winter,we are all prepared for the challenge of surviving it and yet we are nonplussed by the temperature of January -not knowing what to wear-discarding our heavy outerwear. It appears that spring has arrived early in Victoria.  Instead of snow, rain, or sleet we are experiencing  warm weather and hot sun. We are not the only ones confused-so is nature and the early spring flowers are raising their heads to the hot sun.
This means -for me- time to scout my favourite sites for  the early  snowdrops and crocuses.

As you may remember , my favourite site had been the rambling wall by the kindergarten adjacent to the local church. This wall had been destroyed and the kindergarten torn down for development. Last year my spring blogg was about the survival of the crocus in-spite of all the upheaval. In fact they had multiplied and I marveled at the endurance of nature as the crocuses  pushed their way around  the heavy construction site.

I haven't visited this site for the past year as I found it too distressing to watch this massive destruction of a lovely place, but last week I decided to walk down the lane and check it out. The homely little lane had been covered in brick layout beautifully designed, very tasteful and spotlessly clean. There was no way a random weed would dare present itself- anyway there wasn't a crack allowed  to mar this perfect surface.
I walked down this pristine lane and unto the street and was faced with  three new big ultra modern homes with "for sale" signs.  The homes were perfect examples of modern architecture with perfect handkerchief sized gardens, a minuscule lawn and each with two miniature trees in pots with perfectly trimmed round  foliage. The small area that was not covered in perfect  tarmac was covered in ground coverage that had waxlike leaves and subfusc colouring.  Nothing could have been chosen that was more artificial than that ground covering and nature definitely did not create either the trees or the turf-like grass. There was no room for a crocus anywhere.
As I looked at this new development I found myself asking three questions.
These houses were on a quiet street close to shopping areas, schools and parks. The whole development area was huge and could have been perfect to build low cost housing units for low income families. It is well known there is a lack of low cost housing in Victoria.
The next question is why did the church not take this opportunity to use this excess property to  help the impoverished? Or did they use the famous biblical quote " the poor are always with us" as excuse? Or did the lure of expensive real estate cloud their judgement?  Or another question-there are more than three questions after all- are churches still exempt from property taxes?
The next question was-What happened to the kindergarten and where are the children?  At this point I heard childish laughter and saw the wall.  Peeking through the a gap in the wall I saw several children playing in a small sandpit, several on a small swing and several playing on the ground -there was no grass.  The playground was narrow with the garage of one house serving as  a protective wall and the church wall as the other-a rather forbidding place. There was a fine plaque on the wall stating this tiny piece of land was dedicated to the children by the company building this development.
My last burning question was-:where are the crocuses?  there were none.

WHAT HAPPENNED WHILE RIDING THE BUS ON NEW YEAR EVE 2018

The day before New Year Eve I decided to celebrate by going to the cinema to see "Mary Poppins Returns"  I had promised myself this treat and I always honour my promises -especially the 'treat ones". I decided to go by bus rather than by car to avoid holiday traffic which is quite challenging  as the bus takes almost an hour to get there. However, the bus is heated, Victoria is a beautiful city, it was festive and so were most of the passengers. I got a great seat near the front so I could watch everything and everyone and  settled down comfortably to enjoy it all.

One of the first passengers to get on were a couple-they were young -perhaps in their twenties. They were unremarkable, neither beautiful nor unattractive, neither fashionably dressed nor shabby-an ordinary couple. They did not sit down but instead stood hanging unto the pole near the driver and in perfect view for me to watch. At first I watched idly as I did others but suddenly my attention sharpened.   She was dressed in the usual uniform of a young women ; black tights, flat shoes, no socks , a loose casual black jacket. Her hair was in the current top knot with a few strands escaping. Her features were regular and pleasant, rather plain and she wore little make-up and she was obviously on her way home after a busy day carrying a grocery bag for dinner.
The young man was also in the uniform of the current young man;very understated, wearing a close fitting jacket and jeans. He was slight in build with a narrow bearded face.  He was not handsome but  as he leaned casually against the window you could see he had a nice trim body- In short they were two ordinary nice  young people.

Why am I describing these very ordinary people so completely? Why was I even focusing on this very ordinary couple? I asked myself this too- then I started to recognize why.  This couple was actually extraordinary. They were communicating -I could see that. They were not flirting,they were not on cellphones but they were smiling and also  conversing. They were not shutting out everything around them, self involved, but were conversing . And it occurred to me one rarely sees this- people conversing and being absorbed in each other and still aware of their surroundings and I could see they were obviously in love. I will try to describe why. She-much shorter - would be looking up at him and saying something. He would be looking down at her, his eyes following her mouth as she talked, smiling slightly, nodding. Then he would  reply still smiling as she looked up watching his eyes and closely following his words, then they would be silent a few minutes; he would readjust his grip on the pole she would look out the window for a few minutes then  they  would continue talking - either one or the other saying one thing and the other listening with a slight smile nodding in agreement and  pleasure, very attentive,sometimes serious but not tense. It was a pleasure to watch them.
 They did not act like lovers but I knew they were just by noticing how they leaned into each other and  were really seeing each other with caressing eyes as they talked.  It was a loving dialogue between two people.
While I watched I imagined what they were talking about.  Was she describing something that happened at work?  Were they discussing some issues of a good friend who was in difficulty? Maybe how their plans for decorating the kitchen was working out? On the whole the conversations were gentle so it wouldn't be about decorating as they were always in nodding  agreement. No, not decorating. I decided they were discussing some mutual friends and what they were going to buy for their dinner.
 So why was I so interested in this couple? Was it so unusual to see two people having extended conversations ? Yes it is. I often watch couples interacting-on buses, in coffee shops- Quite often there is silence  boredom and even hostility but no obvious understanding. Quite often one person is monopolizing the conversation -I am guilty of that myself but rarely is there loving conversation or even flirting.  I do not include the current popular public interacting method -the cell phone of course as means of communicating.

I watched this couple somewhat idly for the next half hour as they gently and confidently interacted and realized  I was lucky.  What a nice New Year gift! -to witness and celebrate the gift of understanding loving communication on New Year Eve= If we have to make a resolution let's take this loving ordinary couple as an example and resolve to practice loving understanding communication in 2019.   Lord knows we need that!
The couple left the bus after another half hour cheerfully thanking the bus driver and walked down the street to their destination not knowing that in their quiet way they had moved another human being to resolve to do better in the new year and of course more importantly, helped me celebrate because I got off the bus half hour later with a happy light  heart.  Happy New Year !

  it is. I often watch couples interacting. Quite often there is only silence-which is fine or not or  there is  non-understanding of sorts and sometimes hostility. Usually one person is monopolizing the conversation-i have been guilty of that myself..  

BLOGG # TWO DAYS IN NOVEMBER

November is the darkest month of the year and it has been made darker for me because my cataract surgery was scheduled the end of this month and it was getting difficult to see. Because of this  I felt unsure of driving and decided to spend this month with my family in the country.  My blogg is about two  days I experienced this November.

   November 15   The Cathedral
 Today is a cold drizzling November day. Everything has  such a sullen feel to it even the brightest electric lights inside the house cannot dispel it and my melancholy increased as the day progressed. Eventually in desperation I put on my rain jacket and went outside.  It is always less depressing out in the open air even though cold and wet, especially at four o'clock in the afternoon, the lowest gloomiest part of the day.
I decided against my usual walk down the country road and chose to walk up the path  through the old abandoned orchard hoping to overcome the weight of this depressing November afternoon. Unfortunately the gloom did not lighten so I decided to wander into the forest grove at the end of the property.
  The terrain of the little forest was uneven with toadstools springing up at random and slippery moss treacherously covering fallen branches and the burrows of small creatures living there. This made it very difficult for me to walk. My eyesight was challenged by the cataracts and I did not have a cane, even so, I wanted to continue and walked deeper into the darkening forest. The silence was overwhelming, I felt uneasy, unsure of my footing, unsure of my eyesight and felt alone in this eerie silence.  I also feared the possibility of falling in this isolated place and became even more aware of the deep loneliness.

Suddenly I heard a bird chirp  and  looked up through the deepening dusk to try and see it. To my amazement what I saw was the roof of a cathedral with high columns closing in a perfect arch. I was of course standing in the center of a circle of very tall firs with their  the tips leaning into each other, remarkably resembling  the dome of a cathedral.  I was awed and felt reverence and wonder growing inside me as I stood there among these sacred trees. They reached to the heavens for all the world like a Gothic medieval cathedral such as the ones I loved to look at in my youth in Europe.

  In this bemused state I looked for the stained glass windows in the gaps between branches and saw an imaginary glimpse of muted reverent  beauty there.  Then all at once the wind started up stirring the branches and the phantom stained glass windows disappeared. The rain started to fall harder , the wind increased and moving menacing shadows appeared as the huge branches slowly moved back and forth in the rain distorting the figures in the stained glass windows. Suddenly the magic disappeared along with my overly active imagination.  Eerie reality set in. My uneasiness returned and I headed out of the forest as quickly as I could, glad to be back in the real dreary world again. 
 
 November 30th- Winter light
Today I  was examined by my eye doctor one week after my cataract surgery and was given the green light to all activities. I decided on my usual four pm walk in the forest. It was sunny and had that cold smell of winter. I walked briskly, joyfully and freely until I reached the top of a hill where I paused to look at my favourite view, the cold wind caressing my cheeks.  The sun was a perfect winter gold, the sky was a typically clear winter pale blue, there were a few scattered clouds, the mountains were a deep shade of indigo and the ocean was a sheet of pale blue grey crystal. The whole world was the  crisp clear crystal that I had almost forgotten.


 As I looked this view faded  to early dusk and I vividly remembered a scene from my childhood. As a brisk wind brushed my cheeks with a tingle, I was suddenly  transported back to the farm just after coming home from school at four o'clock, the Alberta wind on my cheeks, bursting with joy and well being. As I watched the sun fade over the ocean as I did  over the prairies,as a child, watching the soft brilliant light before it fades to a moody blue, the palest blue  turned to a golden pale glow, the Payne's grey of the looming clouds and mountains turned deep indigo and the shimmering sheet of ocean turned white.   I saw again the  ocean- like  prairie fields of my childhood home -the true Prairie ocean -covered in white snow, just  like the Pacific ocean I was looking at now and saw the cold clear Alberta winter sky again and I was glad.

 What a gift! To be transported for an instant to childhood and look with the fresh eyesight of a child again at this glorious world we live in. How clear and and crisp everything looked.  How humbly I thanked my skilled surgeon. How humbly I thanked the epoch I am living in which allows me to have the eyesight of a child again. 
There is nothing more precious than to feel the joy and wonder a child feels and I was lucky enough to do so today. So dear readers, remember to go back to the sensations of childhood whenever you can, they are a gift. And never give up the joyful child in you. And in closing remember your inner child and see the new " Mary Poppins Returns" this Christmas season--I am.

BLOGG # THE FELLED GIANTS

It is autumn again  and time for my Autumn blog.
Autumn is always a time for reflection: time to ponder on the passing of seasons, the quick passing of summer and the time for death and  renewal.  This is the time I decide on new adventures for the coming year.This usually means taking interesting courses. However this is not the subject I have chosen to talk about.  Today I will talk of something else. All this  summer I have been musing on the life cycle of the lowly sunflower and wish to share these thoughts with you.
My daughter planted several sunflowers seeds in spring and I have been watching their amazing growth. The sunflower's purpose in life is to reach up to the sky and turn it's face to the sun to enable the seeds to grow and mature so they can fall to the ground and replenish the earth with more sunflowers-really the purpose of all living creatures including us. This they did admirably and because it was a hot long summer they grew and stretched and tilted their faces to the sun until they were ten feet tall giants with huge heads at least a foot across. As the summer lengthened the sunflower heads turned away from the sun, slowly drooped and faced the earth. In my ignorance I thought their thick stems were too weak to hold them up and suggested propping with sticks, but my daughter said no--they did this purposely to prevent the birds eating the seeds  and to facilitate the dropping of the seeds to the ground.

Two weeks ago, after the rains came, I drove out to visit and saw to my horror three giant decapitated sunflower heads plopped haphazardly in a wagon looking very sad indeed. The rains had overwhelmed them-they could no longer ripen in the sun. The heavy  rain had dragged the heads into the muddy ground so they were cut off. I found this shocking- three great giants cut down in the prime of life before finishing their task.
Why did these giants fail?  Why were they felled? They failed of course because they had been planted in the rain forest-that is why.  They should have been planted in southern France where a Van Gogh could paint them in all their glory and where they could complete their task. I mourned their passing and their loss of purpose but my daughter pointed out that many of the seeds were still capable of ripening when the heads are put into the sun again-so not all is lost.
I took heart and remembered we humans sometimes too are felled or fall or falter before completing what we set out to do.  We also have a choice and can change and adapt when life becomes  difficult as these giants did and can still have a purposeful life for we too are the giants of our very own world.
So  take heart dear readers -remember you are the giant of your own world no matter what comes this season and take charge.
.

Blogg # THE LOWLY CALIFORNIA POPPY

 As a little child I spent every Sunday morning, wearing my Sunday best, going to Sunday school for lessons. My favourite one was from St. Mathew's - "Consider the lilies of the field how they

grow:they toil not neither do they spin. Yet I say unto you,that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one"
This lesson appealed to me because of my inclination to idleness-my favourite pastime was hiding on top of a haystack counting clouds and of course it also appealed to me because of my passion for fashion-I designed and made gowns for my paper dolls-Lucille Ball and Loretta Young. However I did not really like lilies. They seemed aloof,cold, smug and they smelled too sweet.They were also waxy to touch-children are sensitive to such things. I did not consider them Solomon's rival.
This past weekend I fled from Victoria to my daughter in the countryside to escape and recuperate from my whirlwind social life in inner Victoria and trendy Oak Bay Village-Ha! -note massive irony-and there  I at last saw Solomon's rival.
My daughter had  solved ground coverage not by putting in  green lawn but  by scattering packets of wild flower seeds. The pleasing result is waving tall grasses that the cat can stalk through hunting critters; masses of tiny timid flowers of all colours and of course the lowly California poppy.
I spent the weekend reclining on a chaise lounge reading detective novels and contemplating nature. Hours were spent gazing at the ocean; admiring Mt. Baker; watching vultures and eagles circling the vast blue sky; listening to the rustle of leaves ;the sighing of wind through the pines and fir and of course listening to the song of birds and the  call of our local raven. But most of all I gazed at the lowly poppies which dominated the whole area in all their glory.
As I sipped  my first  cup of morning coffee I watched  these amazing flowers slowly open their petals to the sun and as the morning progressed watched as they voluptuously widened, embracing the sun- their vibrant colours challenging it's blaze.  I too embraced the sun and marveled at the intense gold of this generous humble flower. Truly Solomon never had such a golden garment -nor for that neither did the Queen of Sheba-my other favourite biblical character. Even the Emperor of China whose yellow robes  -that  intense yellow symbolizing absolute  power- did not match the vibrancy of this lowly flower.
Hours spent idling can expand to eternity if you are smart enough to let it -and I am.  The  minutes became hours and hours felt like days-and indeed that was how my day went while watching this amazing flower. As the day progressed and the sun moved through it's path, the poppy moved with it-turning it's face with worship to the sun.  As the wind rose in the afternoon,  the poppy shimmered in golden  ecstasy-as though touched by king Midas.
When finally the sun started to sink in the horizon, the poppy also started to change. Slowly it's petals curled inwards, fluting tightly until she became virginally closed, holding her beauty in secret. The day was over and the night was needed to replenish her strength for tomorrow when again she would generously give up her beauty to the sun and of course to us.
I too prepared for sleep and contemplated the lessons of the day. Yes -I had learned much from the lowly California poppy.  Its true- one does not need to spend lots of money to have a beautiful flower.  I spent seven dollars on a rose plant and she is lovely but I could have spent only pennies on a poppy seed to have a riot of golden colour.  Also one  does not have to spend thousands of dollars on clothes to be beautiful-one needs only to let one's own inner beauty shine through-it costs nothing-here my faith in myself stumbled a bit-but never mind -if the poppy can do it so can I. The other lesson of course-my favourite is -stop toiling and spinning ! -it is not necessary to do that for the beauty to shine through [fingers crossed]. However the best lesson is- there is always tomorrow. Then I  can practice the lessons learned from the California poppy.
 So dear readers -stop toiling and spinning,become idle and let your beauty shine through and remember there is always another day tomorrow. Have a wonderful summer.

BLOGG #--THE LURE OF AN OLD ABANDONED ORCHARD

For the past few years I have been watching  the crumbling and dying of an old orchard. The fruit trees-apple and  plum -are wizened, twisted and bent almost double and covered in lichen and moss. Each time I visit them more deterioration has occurred. The process is gentle but steady and fascinating.  I notice that every time I enter the sensations I feel are different.-sometimes sadness as I see these old weakened trees bending  over and  struggling to stay upright. I imagine them young - firm, vibrant and upright in their youth-virile and proudly bearing their fruit. At this time as I walk around I feel sorrow for their lost youth. It also, naturally, gives me the opportunity to examine mine. The melancholy that rises at this time is like a miasma covering the whole dying orchard -especially if it is raining -we all are bent over and seem to bond together in this sorrow. Trees have always been the kings of influence in creating atmosphere and we humans feel it.
Fortunately these are not the only sensations I feel.  Other times I enter and feel their strength as they battle with their illnesses- for they are ill. Then I feel their pride in their strength and their refusal to give up in spite of overwhelming age. I love that and I too am proud of my strength. For these trees are still productive. Every spring a few blossoms appear and in the height of summer,bravely,small overly- sweet plums and hard little deformed apples appear. We pick some and make apple pie or plum upside down cake or cobbler. Also the deer eat them- for the fruit is easy to reach [they are not as careful as we are but rather wasteful as they bite into each fruit once and discard it leaving a trail of spoil ed fruit. But what a joy for these old sick wizened trees. To be useful still.  I, of course, bond with them again and am proud that I still am useful and proud to be alive.
The best time is when I take my sketch book and try to put them on paper.  This is slow work as they are so contorted. It is difficult to get their essence. During this very quiet time as I struggle, there is real communication. We talk about our long lives. We talk about how we have changed. We talk about what we have learned about life what we have seen and what lessons we have painfully  learned.

Walking through an abandoned orchard is very different and can be very exciting. I remember an abandoned apple orchard on a Gulf Island. I came upon it suddenly- a lush group of trees bearing apples. What questions stimulated my overactive mind as I imagined it's history. It was romantic to walk through the silent trees and picturing it,


Another abandoned orchard I want to talk about was one my girlfriend and I stumbled on when we were young in  the Okanagan valley near Kelowna where I grew up. It was a hot lazy Sunday afternoon -believe me, there is nothing lazier than a hot Kelowna Sunday afternoon- We decided to explore the mountain at the back of their orchard. We rambled up and over until we reached the Okanagan lake. There in the shimmering light was an abandoned peach orchard.  There were no buildings, no roads, just mountain and lake. The orchard was on the top of a high cliff. The trees were laden with overripe golden and red fruit. Of course we feasted until gorged, Then we put as many as we could carry folded in our full skirts-yes in those days girls wore skirts on Sundays-and walked home, On the way we did meet a rattler but fortunately not a grizzly bear. This is one of my favourite  memories.


My favourite book as a child was "The Secret Garden" a book about an English girl born in India who was forced to move to her uncle's castle in Yorkshire England  after her parents died in India of cholera. The story revolves around her attempt to find and then restore an abandoned hidden walled garden, The idea of a hidden secret garden was magical to me-a little girl growing up in Alberta where there were no secrets, everything was out in the open in the vast prairies. I passed  many magical hours in this forbidden hidden walled garden. Everyone should have a hidden secret garden. Of course that is not possible except in our imagination. There we too can spend many happy hours nurturing and bringing to life our own abandoned hidden garden. Aren't we lucky.