A Mini-tour of St. John's, Newfoundland Yesterday

We get quite a few cruise ships in our wonderful harbour here in St. John's. Yesterday it was the Insignia. So I toddled down to the harbour front to have a gawp.

There was a lot of traffic down there so I couldn't get far enough away to get a good shot of the whole ship so I decided to go to the south side of the harbour, which is always devoid of tourists and vehicles and crammed with boats of all kinds, fishing, service and coast guard.

So I took another shot of the ship across the harbour.

It's always lovely over there, I saw this gull sitting on a pole surveying the scene. You might have to embiggen to spot him but he caught my fancy.

I love the houses climbing the cliffs surrounding the entrance to the harbour.

I then took myself off up Signal Hill, which was crowded with busloads off the cruise ship and I overheard some conversations. Apparently this cruise line speccializes in off the beaten track cruises and their enraptured comments about St. John's were pleasing,

I stopped to talk to a woman who had six dogs and I fell in love with all of them.

I am old so no one gives a tosser when I am listening to conversations, I have the advantage of being invisible. So I was sitting on a wall behind two thirty-ish men who were holding hands, standing extremely close to each other, pretending to be catching the spectacular view but their undercurrent was electrifying. Summary: they were on the cruise, had met the night before on the deck at midnight, were married (to unsuspecting women?) and were planning another midnight sojourn once more when the ship sailed later on, meanwhile they had to get back to their wives who were left browsing in the tourist shop. As they were whispering intensely I took this photo of a fishing boat heading out to the open ocean. I am always struck by the forty shades of blue we have out here.

And I pondered on the secret lives of others.
 

Gratitude - Day 2

(1)As I look out my window right now I see a fishing boat heading out to sea. I think: incredible I get to live here, looking out at the bay, watching boats, hearing birds, being in this moment.

(2) A long time friend from Ontario called in distress last night. I believe that the only one who understands another's pain is someone who has lived through similar. Hers involved familial abuse and I've certainly lived through that in many of its forms particularly the shunning and back stabbing coming out of left field. So I could commiserate and share what I had done to rid myself of the ka-kas. Not that the scars leave but they heal over and we move on and then only go to where we are valued and respected. We had over 3 hours of chat and I am grateful she reached out and even more grateful I could revisit my own times of (looking back)painful turmoil and surviving it. It does pass, although never forgotten, but the hurts we endure can help someone else when malice strikes out of nowhere.

(3)Daughter left a message saying she had booked brunch next Sunday. She has been working so hard and I am so happy she plans time with her mother on her precious days off.

(4) My fire. I took joy in the faces around it yesterday when we had that meeting concerning my young friend and her intolerable living conditions. A fire adds to comfort and ease, brings us back to the basics of hewing wood and carrying water. A great meeting. My friend said, through tears: I never imagined I could have a caring family like this. Tears all around. And action plan initiated.

(5) Staying where my hands are. Not getting riled up on the political scene. Anywhere. Backing off.

All is well.

Theatre at my Door

{click to enbiggen for enhancement of this shot}

And not my door only. Everyone has a theatre at their doorways, whether city or country or in between. I only have to open my eyes to see it, to feel, or to hear it.

Back in the day, one of my running partners would always encourage this joint meditation:

Tell me what you see.
Tell me what you hear.
Tell me what you smell.
Tell me how you feel.

We would often run five or more miles, "telling" each other, and be so shocked we had covered such a distance.

Today is mauzy, now brightening as I write, the sun burning off the wannabe misty fog.

I see the boat chugging in and take out the zoom lens. I love playing with my camera. And I catch the shot, the mauze, the boat, the trees framing, the mauzy houses opposite.

I wonder if the captain caught enough crab or was (s)he laying mussel nets. I think about a living on the sea. How more meaningful it is to be a harvester, no matter what the catch, eggs, potatoes, fish.

I am a harvester of words. Of pictures. Of dreams.

Mars and Venus Redux.

~~~Click to get the full effect~~~

He: Gee that picture you posted on line could have used a bit of flash.
Me: I took that picture without flash, deliberately.
He: For gawd's sake, why?
Me: I wanted to leave some of the details in darkness and have the lights on board highlight the floats.
He: But anyone would get frustrated looking at it.
Me: Why?
He: Because. You. Can't. See. Stuff.
Me: What stuff?
He: That's the point.
Me: What point?
He: You need flash. So you can see everything.
Me: What about mystery? The unseen. A ghost ship. Hidden memories of oceans sailed and other cargoes.
He: Next time use flash, OK? Then I might be able to enjoy it.
Me: Unprintable.

The Brigus Boats of August

Boats fold down
One upon the other
Over and over
Embraced by the earth
From whence they sprung.