Nothing and Everything

 Can one write about nothing at all?

I can write about a poem I wrote this morning, still moved by what my eldest brother said to me on the weekly Sibling Zoom yesterday. Empathy, understanding, comfort.

I can write about a planned coffee-meet up with a friend today after a million years of alert levels.

I can write about end of life discussions, wills, wishes. The complexity of some. The sadness of countries that forbids Death with Dignity. How's yours faring in that regard?

I can write about a graph paper study I did for a knitting pattern which lies there, staring at me, ready to get my act and needles and bodkins together. Bodkins, now there's a word.

I can write about my weekly Monday night call to Lana. She showed a deterioration (paranoia) last week but still knows my voice instantly. I am kinda, sorta dreading tonight's call.

I can write about the ennui (there's another word) that I'm feeling for well over a week now. Caution Exhaustion I'm thinking. Too much time alone. Too much yawning time left to my own devices, and they are wearing a bit thin.

And yes, there's this: my Leo finally succumbed to his vicious cancer early yesterday. Before dawn.

A Hard Call

Leo at work, way back.

There were several messages from his family. 

Leo is in hospital, he'd going into palliative care today, please call him, he's talking about you and loves you and wants to hear your voice.

Leo worked for me for many, many years when I had the house around the bay.

I wrote about him a few times.

You can read the pieces here

So I braced myself and after many attempts reached him.

And he sounded frightened and sad and mixed up. But knew me right away. He knew I would call, he told his siblings. 

He doesn't know he's dying. The lad (as we call the Big C in Ireland) is everywhere. His whole body. He knows he'll be in hospital until after Christmas. He says I've never been sick a day in my life. I never take an aspirin even. But you said the smoking would get me. Has it got me?

Remember Leo, I say, how you did such a fine job on my wood? How you took care of my wood stove? How you made me turkey soup? Remember how you took care of Ansa when I was away? Remember how we played cards? 

We were very good to each other, Leo. You were a very good friend and worker.

When I get out of here we'll see each other, won't we?

Of course, I say.

For there is nothing left to say.

I wrote this many years ago.

For Leo and all the Leos of the World

Sometimes my heart breaks, just a little bit.
And I don’t know why that is or where that comes from.
I see him mowing and chopping and planting
And stacking and reaping, picking up sticks from my lawn
Gathering the golden brown leaves of the tired summer trees
Making straight lines along the wondrous green of the grass
Like himself, for he walks so straight, like a military man.
He makes me giggle sometimes over silly stuff.
He gathers up things from the shore that I might like.
Old keys, glass bottles, multi-coloured feathers, odd bits of driftwood,
And presents them to me like the priceless gifts that they are.
He’s very clear and direct. He knows his likes and dislikes.
And announces them without apology or humility.
He knows he had a bad accident when just a lad.
That affected his brain forever and ever.
A wondrous twelve year old in the body of a fifty-eight year old.
He tells me he likes me very much
And that he loves working for me
As I treat him fair and don’t torment him like others do.
He treats my welfare like his own, fixing things,
Working things out patiently as I watch, learning his patience.
I treat his welfare like my own, feeling his hurts,
Watching out for others’ thoughtless cruelties.

I can't stop crying.

Prequel

Yeah, my last post. In the way of enlightenment for you, my faithful readers, a lot went down prior to writing it and in that way of mine, I take inordinately long to process things, to say "whoa, this is too much right now!"

It's life, I know that, and life sucks the bag sometimes.

OK so the list prior to my black discing was, and I should mention, not in any order of priority:

(1)With all the interest in my house, once the Cathedral next door hoves into view, even though they've seen pictures and they've raved about my house, inside and outside, they can't bear how the Cathedral cuts off the western light and towers, threateningly, over my driveway. There is no way of knowing the noise and/or traffic to yet be endured once it's complete.

(2)Meanwhile, the nail pounding on its interminable and unpredictable construction goes on and on. A lovely chorus when you're already feeling low.

(3)I came back to the news that my friend/worker/general factotum for lugging of wood and heavy objects around, had been banging on my door for days not understanding that I was away in Daughter's car. He had something quite awful happen to him and wanted to talk to me about it. Long story short, he wound up in an ambulance having attempted suicide. Nobody went with him and the hospital believed his bending of the truth that he didn't know pills and alcohol are a deadly mix.

(4)I was surprised when my friend D called to tell me my friend L had asked for my telephone number as L and I talk frequently. L and I connected and I didn't address this, I was too scared, I guess. My fear was borne out in the shape our conversation took. There were huge gaps in her memory, serious gaps, of our last conversations when she was reviewing some legal matters with me and a policy had been put in place for going forward. She had no recollection of this and was startled when I went over everything in point form with her. She then referred to a friend's daughter by my daughter's name. Terror hit me full on. Her mother, a darling woman, had Alzheimer's at my dear friend's age. I cried after the call. I feel so helpless as she's in another province and truly, there is no one looking out for her.

(5)It's Ansa's one year anniversary. More than that, it's the way the year has gone and galloped underneath me and I think: I've cried every day for her, how foolish is that?

(6)My legs were bad in St. Pierre, the shooting pains, the lack of ongoing mobility. I had to take far too many breaks. Daughter is a saint, so patient and kind. I am lucky. But worried about the deterioration which is magnified by the rest of the stress.

(7) Absolutely no B&B bookings for September, zero. So no income.

So there you have it.

My sorry little tale.

I reflect on how little we can do to change things. I think I'll abandon all the horrific news from around the world. It's not just Irma and Harvey, it's Tibet and Mexico and Montana and B.C., et al.

End of Days indeed. Am I exaggerating?

You?

Key

Possible concept for a minimalist desk.

I hope it's not a foreboding of bad luck but when I laid claim to my new dwelling, all suited up with preliminary baggage: the important stuff like the small French press, mug, dark roast coffee, cream, some basic pantry stock, a small table, chair, layouts, suggestions, wouldn't you know it the key wouldn't work.

Because it didn't I met two of my neighbours, Elizabeth and Carol, who endeavoured mightily to help me. No luck. Not even a twitch out of the lock. I called the administrator (not a super, no, he's an administrator) no answer, left a message. Schlepped (with difficulty) my stuff back down again to the car (the ladies offered to host my bits in their apartments but I declined) and waited. I don't know about you but as I age I find the Type A personality has not being paying attention to meditation and OM practices whatsoever. So frustration and a small pity party ensued. He called me within 10 minutes. He'd been at the hospital and left his phone in his car. Upside was he found another key in the office and told me there were trolleys and roll-y carts to assist residents in hauling stuff around. He took my baggage up and we did the transfer of keys.

So I made myself a cup of La Java Française and sat down at the wee table and pondered my new space. And pondered. And thought: cripes what have I done. And thought: this is all good. And once again, I forgot to take pics for Grandgirl. She is the space expert. Seriously. At twelve she was organizing my car. At fourteen organizing my storage space in Toronto. At 20 she travelled Europe for the summer with a small backpack. At 21 she taught in India for months with a ditto. A genius with space and minimum necessities.

As a boost I watched The Minimalist. Recommend. Seriously. I love the 333 concept too. Though I've been adhering to minimum clothes for a while. And shoes. I was comforted by both. Yes, I'm doing the right thing.

I set up an area in the garage today with a table and loads of boxes of all sorts of stuff for me to go through. I set it up out there as my tourist season starts soon. Leo is an amazing help for the lugging as I am no longer able. I've recycled so much paper, cards and letters already but there's still more. Frighteningly more. But not as intimidating as I feared. The movies and books are the next go-through, though I've donated a lot already.

So yeah, I'll get there.

Day Zero

I watch the seabirds flying close to the stormy bay, eyes alert for fish. I throw out some seed for the littler birds. It's cold and windy and bitter out here.

I've lost water in my house. Yesterday I lost the woodstove too. Leo sorted out the chimney for me so I have heat again. But the water? No idea what's going on. I turned off the pump. I do have a container to make coffee or soup.

I'd like someone to come and take care of me. The downside of living alone is when things go wrong. As they will. Or two or three things go wrong. And there's no one to worry-share.

It begs the question: How many of us are brave and stoic on the outside and crying in fear on the inside? How come the chin-up and chest-out manifesto is our fall back scenario?

Is life just a performance for most of us? Be brave, we're told since childhood, don't cry, this won't hurt a bit - the first Big Lie apart from Santa Claus.

In an odd way I found out how really brave and uncrying I have been.

"You've had this disease for at least 10 years," says my vascular surgeon, "And you've completed how many distant road races?"

"Seven, eight, nine?" I say.

"You must have been in terrible pain at the end of them all?"

"Yes, I was," I admit,"I felt like fainting."

"The vascular system in your legs from the knees down has deteriorated by 60%. The thing is I could surgically intervene, and the odds are not good, or you could work on creating an alternative vascular system in your legs. It' going to hurt like hell and there will be many tears but it can be done."

I'm too old for this shyte, I think. I'm tired. I'm not brave anymore.

And then so many are worse off than I. And I feel small and selfish.

"I'll see you in six months" he says, "But if you sustain an injury or notice blackness or bruising in your legs, you are to call me right away."

"Remember," he adds, "Forty-five minutes a day of brisk walking through the pain and tears. It can be done!"

They're not your effing legs and pain, I think meanly, as I smile at him, his father born in Mayo, his pin-striped 3 piece suit right out of Central Casting: Mr. Surgeon.

Can I do more pain?

And continue writing this shyte on a blog, when so many like me are giving up blogging?

Blog Jam

(1) I don't know about you but I get invigorated when I go out with a placard and protest. Which I did today. And we had massive media coverage. There was a great big pile of us protesting the appalling conditions of our roads. Unfit. Unsafe. Hazardous to people and vehicles. Don't get me started on what I've already spent on tires and rims shredded by the potholes craters. We'll see if we're heard. Maybe we need to throw ourselves across the road the next time if nothing is done. I thought those days were behind me. But I'm delighted to report: No, they never will be. We amused ourselves by planting trees, fairly large ones, in the potholes. Great for TV camera optics.

(2) Conversation with Leo, my sorta handyman, wood bearer and scavenger.

L: Do you know anything about Chuck Connors?
M: Rifleman!
L(delighted with me):Ya you!
M: Why did you ask?
L: I'd like to know more about him. So I can have a conversation with people. He was born in Newfoundland.
M: I can google him on my device, look!
L: No, it can't tell you everything, like who his parents were and stuff.
M: Yes, it does, look. Parents were Marcella Lundrigan and Allan Connors both from this area of Newfoundland. And get this: Chuck's real name was Kevin! He was born in Brooklyn, New York.
L: Can you repeat all that so I can remember it forever.
And I do.
L: I must get one of those googly machines.
M: Anytime Leo, I can do the asking for you.
L: It's magic.

(3)Daughter won a small cash prize and she's treating me to a replica of a Titanic Meal this Saturday night. Here, take a gander at the menu, click to enbiggen:

We're going to scramble around in our closets and find some old fashioned clobber to wear to match the event. I don't even own a dress anymore. Seriously. I'm a jeans woman. And black dress pants. So I may have to buy a long skirt and some pearls.

(4) My grief counsellor asked me to write about a traumatic event that took place in January 2015. I haven't been able to write about it, I would go into a state similar to of PTSD, shaking, crying, wanting to hurt myself physically. And then it all flowed out of me yesterday afternoon. And I finally realized what had happened to me. I was a victim of gaslighting. More later on that. But a mighty load was lifted. Mighty.

An Aside

I have a factotum that I've written about before by the name of Leo. Well, Leo has fallen captive to the charms of a woman. The less said about this woman the better.

As a result of this, however, Leo has been neglecting his duties here. His firewood retrieval from the barn is sporadic at best so I've been getting my lumber myself. A challenging task with a large fish pan and a rope followed by some hefty towing down the meadow to the house. But I am grateful I have the physical energy to do it.

I had wondered for a while about the secret life of my dog, Ansa. I love when animals have secrets, a whole other life we are not privy to.

Ansa would take off up the meadow and go missing for a while and then come down to the back door grinning. She's a dog that portrays joy beautifully. See above. I wondered what was causing her such mirth and delight.

When I went into the barn today I noticed a flurry of activity around the corner where the cow was kept in the old days.

And there was Ansa playing with a momma cat and her kittens. Ansa had adopted pets behind my back.

It made me very aware of the hidden joy that can be found in what I had perceived as dismal drudgery in getting my wood from the barn to the house.

I only have to look more deeply to find a glint of gold.

A Maple Leaf Christmas

Leo's easy to buy for. And I buy for him rather than make for him as his mental age is 12. He keeps my house running beautifully. The stuff I would be reluctant to learn. At my age we know our skill sets. And I have many. But the sawing of wood and the drawing of water are not amongst my talents.

He has an undying passion for the Toronto Maple Leaf Hockey Team. A totally losing team. And before a game starts on TV, he dons it all before he sits down to watch: the hat, the jersey, the pants. All logoed.

I've managed, over the 10 years I've employed him, to endow him with Maple Leaf gear: the watch, a bed blanket, coffee mugs, a rack, etc. I am running out of items to get him. Each gift is met with a joy beyond bounds. This year Daughter tracked down a wreath, a wreath with two Maple Leaf snowmen in the middle - see above. It came in a big box. When I gave it to him, I was reminded of my own childhood Christmases. The longed for teddy. The books. The fresh supply of building bricks. My brother's first train set. Magic.

Leo takes care of all my wood. He harvests it up on my back woodlot, he brings it down to the meadow in his ATV trailer. He chainsaws it, he makes the splits, he stacks it in the barn. He makes sure my indoor woodbox is always full. He cleans out the chimney every 3 months, top to bottom. He mows my lawn, he takes care of the sheds.

He is indispensable. And he teaches me all the time.

For instance, the other day my fire just wouldn't light. I am too rushed at times. He showed me what his father had shown him and what his father had shown him......you get two splits. You place them in the sign of the cross over the struggling fire. And bingo! the fire starts up in a beautiful blaze.

Winter's Arrival

Behind me

The cold fingers of winter stir around me. I bank the fire high. And look out the window at the racing blue water, white-capped, while some lingering foolish lupines on the banks of the road bob in the now brisker more serious gusts, reluctant to shed the last vestiges of their summer azure.

Leo hauls down more wood from the lot way over the top of the back hill. The barn is full. We have more than enough, I think securely. Not enough yet, says Leo, you forget we need enough for eight months of stove. Eight months of stove, I think. How comforting the rhythm of those words. How comforting indeed that Leo has the wood management skills that I lack.

For it is here. Every year, and particularly in this past glorious Indian Summer, I think: winter will creep in unnoticed. Before we know it.

Oh, we know it alright.

It has arrived in a sunlit fanfare of multi-coloured leaves flying off the trees and the chilling white foam of the waves pounding noisily on the beach stones.

In front of me

Same Old Conversation

 

 

I'm driving back from the shop with Leo where we had to get gas for the chainsaw and the ATV.  Leo picked up a 40 ouncer of rum and a few bottles of coke.

Me (M) I know it's your birthday tomorrow, but you're going to be so sick after drinking that 40 pounder of rum.

Leo (L) *giggle* yeah, I know.

M: So that means you won't be able to work for a couple of days.

L: Yeah. *Laugh*. I'll have a grand old time.

M: You'll have about 10 minutes of a good time, then about 48 hours of a really bad time.

L: Ah, who cares?

M: Well I do, because there's still wood to be sawed and put in the barn and you won't be around for a couple of days to fill the bin in the house.

L: I wish you drank with me.

M: No. You really wouldn't want to see that wish fulfilled, buddy. That bottle would end up in a right old battle between the two of us. I'd have to buy another two or three, or four hundred.

L: *excited* We could party for a week!!

M: Well, party wouldn't be the word I'd use. Alcoholic poisoning and wet brain comes in there somewhere!

L: Ah, it's a shame you had to stop!

M: No, buddy.  Everyone around me needed me to stop. And believe you me you wouldn't want to see me start!

Appearances do not Match Opinions

"Oh," sez I to my guests, "You'll have to excuse the weeds all over the lawn, Leo did a really patchy job on mowing."

"Gee," sez I on the morning of the following day, "Leo is going from bad to worse here, I've never seen such a shabby job as on this lawn".

"Good gawd," sez I apologetically that afternoon coming back from a trip, surveying all the wood stacked by the barn,"You'd think Leo would get cracking on all those weeds rather than cutting wood we won't need in the summer."

Today, Leo walks in. My guests are all gone now. I had come home last night to a ready-to-be-lit fire. (It's freezing here.) Thought at the time: Oh here he goes sucking up to me for the sloppy lawn job.

"I didn't like to come in when you had all those people in and out," sez Leo. "You need gas and mix for the mower and the whipper snipper, but I managed to borrow a mower to get some of it done. And by the way I got that old concrete basket ball base out of the dirt on the driveway which you kept hitting with your tires. Took me most of the day while you were away in town but it's gone now. I borrowed a special crowbar for that and kept hammering away. Can we go and get gas and mix tomorrow?"

*Skulk* *Blush*

After Midnight

A shaky Leo sat down by the fire yesterday afternoon and told me about something that happened while I was away. As instructed, he took Ansa for a walk three times a day, the last walk being around midnight.

Last Friday at midnight, he walks her down the shore to the Delaney House, an old house that's been there for well over a couple hundred years. Small, tight, and freshly enhanced with a family of three, including a baby, in the last couple of years. Ansa was doing her business by the rocks when she suddenly barked. Leo, who had been watching her, looked up just in time to see Billy Delaney running along the shore just about to crash into the two of them.

“Wearing his waders," said Leo, his eyes round and frightened in the memory of it, his mouth trembling, “and that awful old cap of his, a dirty old tweedy thing, should have been lumped out years ago.”

“Ansa started to howl, just a bit, and then Billy...” he tried to go on.

“What, Billy did what?” I said.

“Well Billy ran through me. And it hurt.”

“Billy ran through you? What?”

“I could hear the crunch of old waders on the stones and he ran through me and I fell down because my chest hurt so much and my legs went all rubber on me and wouldn't hold me up and Ansa was making an awful crying sound.”

“And what about Billy?”

“Oh he was gone, right gone, right quick. But I could still smell him, he never gave himself a good washing.”

“So Ansa licked my face, and I managed to stand up, but I couldn't walk properly at all. So I managed to make it over to Annie's by the crossroads and told her what had happened. It was going on for nearly one o'clock in the morning then, and I was drinking the cup of tea she made me with lots of sugar for the shock and then she goes ahead and calls Father Korea. I tried to stop her but she wouldn't listen. So next thing Father Korea comes on down with his prayerbook and his holy water saying he thought I'd have to be dying for him to be taken out of his warm bed on a freezing night like this.”

“You can't be serious,” I say, laughing in spite of myself, petting my brave Ansa.

“Oh, but I am,” and Leo has never looked more serious and is slightly offended at my laughing, “and he says all these mumbly-jumbly prayers over my head and sprinkles holy water all over me, and tells whatever is inside me to leave forever.”

“Did it work?” I ask.

“On I'm still fair haunted with it all. I don't know about it working.”

“You're sure it was Billy?” I say.

“Oh no doubt at all, not a doubt it was Billy, drunk as always, gallivanting like a mad man around the place.”

Billy has been dead for eight years.

An Seomra Beag*

* The little room

I don't exaggerate. This is the smallest of the bedrooms in my house. I started out with 5. Yeah 5! But they are teensy tiny dooshy little rooms. This seomra is 6' x 6'. And an odd thing. It sits at the end of its own little hall separated by a door leading to another hall and the other bedrooms. A Coventry situation for any guest, bad or good.

I put a single bed in there, a tiny handpainted round table and a little chair. I hung a cute toiletry holder on the back of the door and put some gorgeous bedlinens and quilts on the bed. In bright yellow. And hung flouncy sheers on the windows.

And no one has ever opted to sleep there. Or if they did, they crawled back into the exclusive owner apartments beyond The Door within a few hours. Some insist it is haunted. I've never slept there, even to test drive the mattress.

So I was left with this brand new bed. And an unused room.

Oh and this room. Ocean view. Grey ceilings, grey walls and grey floor. Imagine the thought that went into that. The previous owner must have been in a depressive state, d'ya think?

Leo wanted the brand new bed. Coveted it. His own is falling apart, he says. He takes it apart today and carts it outside and comes back in. It's no good to him: no headboard, you see. I try and convince him to use another headboard. Can't. Once Leo has his mind made up you can engage in a lifetime argument or just shrug, or just agree. I've learned to agree, it takes the least amount of energy.

I'm thinking yellow for the whole of this room, including the floor, which will become my sewing/knitting room. A place, finally for the sewing machine, in front of the window, overlooking the bay. Floor to ceiling shelves for the supplies. A place for some treasured crafty books - like this: "How to Make Paris Frocks at Home" published in 1948.

It's about time I got at those frocks, right?

The Careless Club of "They".

~~~~~~~~~~~The potato inukshuk, held by Leo.~~~~~~~~

I've written about him a few times before.

I saw his heart break again this morning. 'They' promised to take him jigging this time. Jigging is catching cod for domestic consumption only as there has been a moratorium here on the commercial fishing of it so as to replenish the catastrophically depleted stocks.

There are many members in this club of 'They'. It's cheap and easy to join. All you have to do is tell Leo you will take him trouting or berry-picking or to a kitchen party or jigging. And then forget about it.

Thing is, he doesn't. And when he came in this morning having swept out my garage from a project's sawdust accumulation he mentioned his most recent disappointment. 'They'd' all left without him again.

Have I ever broken a promise to you, Leo? I asked him, in an effort to show him we - the so-called human race that is - are not all cut of the same careless cloth.

You've made a lot of promises, he said slowly, thinking, and then his face lit up, and you haven't broken any! You even gave me my very own shed for my bike! (A “bike” here is an ATV).

And what did you do last night, Leo? I asked him as he stood there beaming at me.

Oh, he said, you hardly want to know that. My next door neighbour, Dezzie? Well he's in some bad shape and no one will go near him anymore because of the smell.

What? I said. I've never seen Dezzie, Dezzie gets everything delivered and keeps his curtains drawn.

I thought he might be dead from the booze, Leo continued, so I bashed my way in and put my hanky up because of the smell, but someone had to clean it up and clean him up and his furniture too. It took me forever, just about all night. Dezzie's drinking himself to death and he never uses the bathroom now. Imagine!

I was horrified.

Shouldn't we report this,Leo?

Oh I did, he said quietly. I can't manage to take care of him anymore, it's just too much, so I called the health care number and they're coming over.

As he walked away, straight and tall, like a military man, I sat down and wept.

He is the finest man I've ever known.

'They' are just not good enough to breathe the same air as him.

A Day in the Life of a Solitary Woman

I live alone - well, apart from Ansa - but I am rarely lonely.

Like last night, I came home from the day’s events and find that Leo had filled the woodbox. Not only that - and this is so special - he had laid a fire in the grate, ready for me to put a match to it. We place a lot of value in each other, Leo and me.

Today, I entertain a gentleman caller to lunch. My famous woodstove soup, some lovely smoked salmon and soda bread, a camembert cheese and small salad. He is 89 going on 40. He teaches me a lot and is a considerable and well respected artist in wood.

We enjoy talking to each other. We are both coming from the Church of Reality and are surrounded by the Cult of Christianity where we often dare not speak openly of our beliefs. It is a blessing to talk freely and spontaneously with each other about so many events and changing times without the pall of a mystical Invisible Cosmic Housekeeper hanging over us.

Later on, I moved my laptop out of my office and in front of the fire. Not a good thing, perhaps. No reading, writing (apart from this) or knitting is being done as I play on it in front of the flames, toasty and warm.

Tomorrow I head into town for The First Annual Sparks Literary Festival which promises to be a day overflowing with authors and readings.

I sometimes ask myself, where would I squeeze in a full time relationship in all of this? He'd have to be a very busy man indeed.

Life

Life’s like that, isn’t it though?

A day can be a mix of good, not so good, and sometimes awful.

It is hard to be away from Toronto and have two good friends in not very good shape in hospital. Phonecalls and emails only fill you in on so much of it. Thoughts of them underline my day, every hour a stray thought. How are they? Is he out of the coma?

I’ve been having long overdue work done. A wooden floor has now been put in an empty shell of a new garage abandoned with abundant promises of return ‘in the fall’ in 2007 by my erstwhile handyman. I’ve also had a professional looking 16’ workbench and shelves for the tools installed in same. And hooks for hangy things. I’ve already started an empty tin collection for nails and screws. I’m a great one for the gear around the stuff. Though I must say I’m looking forward to fixing up some chairs and refinishing furniture in my very own workshed. And oh yes, Strawbella is looking forward to her new HQ.

I’d not found another handyman, you see, finding a new anything in this little outport is very difficult, due to village politics and people being related and that kind of thing. I couldn’t offend prior handyman even if he hadn’t shown up for 2 years. Joe, my new one, is a brother of Leo, my factotum. And the matter was handled very delicately indeed, my being privy to such ways on a small island off the coast of Ireland in the summers of my childhood and having a full drenching in village-speak. I should give lessons.

Electrifying said garage has been another story. Ditches were dug for the tubing, lines were strung, and hookups were connected to my impressive looking electrical panel in the house (completed 2 years ago with circuit breakers and ‘enough power to light up the village’ per installer). The panel box reacted most unfavourably to this assault and tripped breakers, shorting out my stereo speakers permanently it looks like. I’m fair lost without my music and my CBC, I am.

An SOS went out for an electrician to sort out the mess. Electricians are very thin on the ground in this neck of the woods. The fellow who replaced my antique system two years ago was only in town briefly on vacation and is now back at his millionaire job in the Yukon. Another local is adverse to any extra work as he likes to spend his day job earnings at night on on-line poker. Another is on the town council and doesn’t want his handiwork exhibited locally because of insurance (?!).

You see the disadvantages of living in a very small community?

But I have faith. I do. Really.

I only have to look at the wee farm out back (I’ve got potatoes, I’ve got onions, I’ve got collards, yeah collards!!!) and then over my shoulder at the ocean and thank Gaia for creating such a paradise and for plopping me in the middle of it.

For Leo and all the Leos of the World

(the first of the potatoes, dug today.)


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For Leo and all the Leos of the World

Sometimes my heart breaks, just a little bit.
And I don’t know why that is or where that comes from.
I see him mowing and chopping and planting
And stacking and reaping, picking up sticks from my lawn
Gathering the golden brown leaves of the tired summer trees
Making straight lines along the wondrous green of the grass
Like himself, for he walks so straight, like a military man.
He makes me giggle sometimes over silly stuff.
He gathers up things from the shore that I might like.
Old keys, glass bottles, multi-coloured feathers, odd bits of driftwood,
And presents them to me like the priceless gifts that they are.
He’s very clear and direct. He knows his likes and dislikes.
And announces them without apology or humility.
He knows he had a bad accident when just a lad.
That affected his brain forever and ever.
A wondrous twelve year old in the body of a fifty-eight year old.
He tells me he likes me very much
And that he loves working for me
As I treat him fair and don’t torment him like others do.
He treats my welfare like his own, fixing things,
Working things out patiently as I watch, learning his patience.
I treat his welfare like my own, feeling his hurts,
Watching out for others’ thoughtless cruelties.
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Leo with one of our extraordinary potatoes, raised on kelp from the shore.

And how to best cook these babies?
Like my mother did, like my grandmother did. Boiled in their jackets, in fresh sea water with loads of fresh garden mint in the pot.