The View From Here

The View From Here

Thursday, November 6, 2014

Restless Bed



Alone in my restless bed
the night wind sings through the stars
Arguing truth with shadow whispered lies

In the distance a train whistle cries
into the chill dark.

Gusty west winds
rattle window panes,
curtains dance

And I shiver...

Wrap empty arms around your pillow,
breathe deep, seeking the last vestiges of your scent
Aching for your touch, your arms around me again,
your voice, your kiss
reassuring and promising
tender and sweet and passionate

The storm abates
the night breeze singing with the stars
brings remembrance of warm summer nights
of brilliant days, quiet dawns and still evenings
Of laughter and tears and promises and plans.

In the distance a train whistle cries

into the waning night

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

A Day To Myself

In yesterday's post I stated I wanted to shake things up a little, rather than trying to focus on one particular line of content.  A dyed in the wool introvert I thought Wednesdays now could become "A Day to Myself". In all honesty, living alone, except for my ten year old (who is an extrovert - now there's a challenge!) most days are "a day to myself".  I have always enjoyed my own company, and for years felt somewhat defensive about that fact.  I am no misanthrope, but have only truly begin to embrace who I really am.  Yes, I still envy people who are social butterflies, comfortable in groups and crowds.  Parties and potlucks and school functions are torture for me.  I grit my teeth and hope beyond hope to find another tormented introvert to hide in the shadows with....somewhere near the door to make a hasty escape!  I envy happy couples too, despite being in a wonderful and loving relationship myself.  It is a long distance relationship which has it's own challenges, probably most easily met because we are both introverts, and the distance makes our time together especially sweet.  But I digress.  Again.

Last night was my turn to drive the short people to Awana, leaving my friend Nancy to enjoy a bi-weekly date night with her husband.  Some Tuesdays I head to Walmart to get groceries, but the pantry is well stocked this week.  I dropped the kids off at the church and headed out again.  Just over 90 minutes of time to fill.  I hesitated in the driveway.  The lure of the endless stacks of books to peruse at Chapters was powerful, but so was the siren call of buffalo wings & my current literary escape.  I turned left, and pulled into a quiet restaurant/lounge just behind the church.  I slipped in, ordered a glass of wine (a nice ale is my usual choice with wings, but I had been chilled all day - wine felt warmer) and a plate of wings.  Tucked away in my booth I laid my book on the table and lost myself in ancient Rome with Messala & Judah Ben Hur.  The movie has been a favourite of mine since my teens but I have to confess I have never read the book.  I was surprised to discover it was first published in 1880, which explains the dense descriptive text.  Again I digress.  Books have been my favoured companions for as long as I can remember.  My mother tells me I was clambering into the laps of our hired farm help book in hand as a toddler, much to the chagrin of these poor young men in dirty work clothes, some of whom could barely read themselves.  I don't remember learning to read, but I do remember getting my first library card and the thrill of filling it & needing to renew it.  And I well remember being frustrated that part of the elementary school library was off limits to scholars not yet in the lofty fifth and sixth grades.  I remember the guilty pleasure of reading the books that raised eyebrows (East of Eden, after Dad said the movie was inappropriate for me when he recalled what it was about & turned off the tv, Peyton Place, for similar reasons, and The Agony & The Ecstasy, because my high school classmates thought it scandalous based on the title alone, and its overwhelming size)
I've had plenty of time to myself lately.  I little too much, to be completely honest.  But I have been enjoying the quiet.  I'm writing more, catching up on my reading, and have tackled a few big STA (spare time activity) projects (you know, those little chores we all put off for when we have time-cleaning out closets, organizing the garage, we all have a list, don't we?) I still have more to tackle, am officially in procrastination mode again.  A little free time is good, too much opens itself up to "I have time for that tomorrow."
We spent the weekend in a travel trailer in Brooks.  A slice of heavenly escape for me.  Not the town particularly, just the "getting away".  No housework, no laundry, no tv, computer, no phone to speak of (yes, you can still reach my cell) none of the pulls of hearth and home.  My boyfriend and I slept late and sat silently side by side, lost in our books all afternoon.  My daughter, who does like to read but not like we do (not yet) watched a movie & begged me to play crib with her.  We did, we enjoyed the movie too, family time is important.  I tried to explain to her that she needs to learn to enjoy her own company, because sometimes that's all there is.  A lesson lost on her.  One day she'll understand. I know she will always crave company and activity, it's how she's wired, but silence and stillness is not something to be feared but embraced.  In a busy, noisy, plugged in world is it any surprise people are seeking out new forms of meditation and prayer?  Why exercise like yoga, that calls for one to be still, is on the rise in popularity?  It is in the quiet places we hear that "still, small voice", where inspiration grows, where peace dwells?
I'm curious....if you had a day, an evening all to yourself-no kids, no spouse, no friends- to spend by yourself, on yourself, what would you do?  Personally I have a list, and what I chose does depend on the mood I'm in.  

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

Cooking With Emily

I've been thinking quite a lot lately about taking this blog in a new direction.  While I am not one to change horses midstream posting poetry is not something I am finding I can do daily, or even several times a week.  A friend suggested I take up multiple threads, and so I am going to give her advice a nod and give that a try.  I have yet to work out all the details, please bear with me through this work in progress.  I welcome your thoughts and suggestions, to my mind this should be something of a conversation between me & you, my reader.

Back in September, at the start of the school year, I decided that one day a week my ten year old daughter would make supper.  She has an interest in learning to cook so this seemed a good opportunity to nurture that.  I confess we have not managed every week, some weeks we are just busy, sometimes I forget....and to be honest preparing a meal myself is faster and easier.
This endeavour has had multiple benefits already though.  I am learning patience, to let go of control, as well as revisiting old favourites in my kitchen.  I have also had to back track and explain my short cuts and alterations.  My daughter has become far more adventurous in her eating habits. She has earned bragging rights and is learning to plan ahead, read directions and to measure accurately.  I still help with some of the chopping and peeling, for efficiency and safety, but she is responsible for the rest.

In that vein then Tuesday posts will be "Cooking with Emily", posts that allow me to share a kid-friendly, easy to do recipe along with my musings.

One of Emily's favourite soups is Corn Chowder. There are tons of recipes out there, and I have modified my favourite recipe along the way to make use of odds and ends.  She declared on the weekend that this was what she wanted to make.  I confess I had to scramble to find the actual recipe, as it is one I can make from memory.  I did find it, in my ancient metal recipe box.  It is faded & stained, written in my own juvenile hand.  I don't know where the recipe is from any more, it was one of the earliest additions to my repertoire.  Sunday evening I had Emily check the pantry for canned corn, for onions and potatoes, I knew for sure the other ingredients were on hand, but I thought we might be out of onions and potatoes.  All we had were red onions, so a trip to the grocery on Monday was in order.
She eagerly set to peeling 4 fist sized potatoes.  I could have done it faster, but I held my peace and left her to it.  This is something of an accomplishment for me.  I am pretty territorial in my kitchen, and impatient to boot.  But the only way to learn some things, and to gain speed and efficiency in those tasks is to do them.  I did peel the onion, when she set to attack it with the vegetable peeler.  She fretted about the onion making her cry, asking me to wash it.  It's not washing it so much as knowing that running an onion briefly under cold water neutralizes the fumes that make your eyes water when you chop them.  I don't know why it works, but it does.  Really.  Sometimes the random things we read on the internet is useful.
Vegetables chopped, into the soup pot.  The recipe calls for 2 cups of water, but I find that's not enough to cover the potatoes and onion, so we added enough water to do that & set it on the stove to boil.  While the potatoes cooked Emily went to start her homework.  I returned to my Words With Friends games, checking their progress toward tenderness occasionally.
Once the potatoes were tender Emily made a paste of 2 tablespoons of flour and 4 tablespoons of water, to thicken the soup.  I explained to her that if she poured that mixture into the pot she'd have a doughy lump in the soup, and helped her spoon some hot water into the flour mixture first.  While the flour cooked she opened and drained 2 cans of niblet corn, which were added next to the potatoes and onion with 2 cups of milk and 2 tablespoons of butter.  While it heated through she returned to her homework.  She is learning the fine art of multitasking too.
The soup was delicious.  It is in fact an almost fool proof recipe, a good starter soup for a beginner chef.

Later, while I was doing dishes and she was finishing her spelling she heard me singing "That's Amore".  I think the line "when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie" amused her, so we had to play the song, and find the lyrics.  She was singing it at the top of her lungs in the shower within the hour.  All of my children have be given the gift of  wildly eclectic tastes in books and music and movies.  I can't help but grin to think of her asking the music teacher to add that song to the playlist....I doubt she will, but a mother can dream, of children singing with crooners, and a day when I don't need to face the kitchen once a week, at least.


Corn Chowder

4 medium potatoes, peeled & chopped into bite size pieces
1 large onion, peeled & chopped
2 cups water (enough to cover vegetables)
4 tablespoons flour + 2 tablespoons water
2 cans corn (niblets) drained
2 cups milk
2 tablespoons butter
salt & pepper to taste

Place the potatoes & onion in a large pot, cover with water.  Bring to a boil & simmer until potatoes are tender.  Blend together flour with second amount of water until smooth.  Spoon a little hot water from the pot into the mixture, then pour into the potato/onion water, stir and allow to thicken slightly.  Stir in corn, milk, butter, salt & pepper.  Heat through.

* I have used chicken stock to cook the potatoes and then added leftover chopped chicken to the soup with the corn & milk to make Chicken Corn Chowder.


Tuesday, October 21, 2014

The Gate Called Beautiful

Long, gray, empty days
head lowered, watching every shuffling step
careless, care-filled
                      Invisible
silent, lonely
hands curled 
      empty
aching to be touched

I saw nothing-
dirt and dust, hurrying feet

Felt smaller
less valuable with every passing hour.
Began to wonder if I ever had worth, value
Was I ever loved? Could I be? Would I be?

Ceased looking up with hope
should someone pause
eyes ever downcast lest they see the truth of my pain
Smiled a watery, dismal smile
extended a barren empty vessel
Begging the smallest crumb of notice


Until that day
Felt you take my hand
The warmth of your touch
the strength of your grasp
You pulled my to my feet
Looked me in the eye

Smiled
Saw me-
           truly saw me
The warmth of your embrace flooded frozen limbs

Knees trembling my toes began to move
the rhythm of some deep cosmic song...
I could not contain it

I leapt

I sang

I danced

Your laughter kissed away doubt
Your smile filled me
Your touch brought healing to places
I never knew were broken
I did not even know were broken

Beggar's robes cast off
You re-clothed me,

led me into Beautiful

Friday, October 17, 2014

My Name

Before there was time
          you spoke.

Whispered my name;
          even as you called stars and trees and mountains to be.

In Mother's arms
           you spoke

Murmured my name into her heart,
sang it to me, my lullaby



Storms raged around me-
fear and loss and doubt


But,
  called soft under the wind
my name, your voice,
 my knees weak,  my heart dares again to hope

Tender on Lover's lips
        carried on the evening breeze
            you spoke.


My Name

And I knew who I Am


(John 20:16)

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Quiet Places

In the deepest stillness the Aria of Truth overwhelms the noise of lies...

Rare Treasures
                   these
  Quiet Places....
         
           Savour
the scent of sunlight on autumn grass;
 the taste of amethyst Merlot-
      rich and heady;
the Song of Memory-
            little boys laughing

Dust motes dancing.

                   these

    Silent Spaces...

        Imbibe
the taste of ink and yellowed pages turning
 the scent of amber coffee
        rich and heady
the Melody of Dream-
          heartbeat conversations
                     eyes and hands and lips

Dust motes dancing.

   Quiet Places
                    these
 Rare Treasures.


******






Wednesday, October 8, 2014

Fear

Fear

A gnat humming in my ear,
fluttering just inside the line of my vision
Irritating, annoying but insignificant.
A brief wave of my hand, a flick of my finger
I brush it away.

A yapping dog, nipping at my ankles,
twining between my legs, making me stumble.
Persistent, insistent, aggravating
I speak sharply, shooing 
kicking it aside 

And now,
Now
Fire breathing, winged dragon
Eyes blazing green, angry tail whipping at me
I fall, grappling for my sword
It looms over me, wings flapping lazily
daring me, challenging me, threatening me.

I swallow the heavy lump in my throat,
flex my fingers, re-grasping my gleaming weapon,
square my shoulders and step toward it.

Lunging-
parry, thrust,
press forward, fall back,
the eternal dance.

My back is to the abyss, forcing the creature upward,
rounding spiraled stair
Behind it I glimpse the gilded gates of home
Behind me icy wind whispers around my neck
My strength is failing, my steps falter,
weary tears blind me

The beast roars
And in sudden fury I roar in reply

The gates swing open
I force the beast back once more with the last of my will
It staggers on the mirrored courtyard
Whimpers and shrivels,


A gnat I can crush with my heel