The Golden Flask

Good News! And A New Home!

2007-09-05T17:16:00.001+01:00

The Golden Flask has a new look, a new name, and a brand-new home!!!
Indeed!... CdnReader has moved!!

I do hope you'll all stop in at the housewarming party which is already in progress. I'm waiting for YOU to come by and see the new place! My new address is http://betweenplace.wordpress.com/ .... or for instant access, just....

CLICK HERE!

P.S. Don't forget to make the appropriate adjustments to your bookmarks, your blogrolls, and your blogreaders. Thanks!

Here Is a Door (iv)

2007-09-05T08:40:00.000+01:00

Here is a door
that leads to an otherworld.
Turn the handle and step through.

In this otherworld,
rabbits climb trees with purple leaves.
Long-bearded storytellers in short green coats
sit on every street corner, playing dominoes,
and gabbling to passersby of whales and wintertales and roquefort cheese.
Eighty-year-old children skip through fields of polka-dot roses.
Skyscrapers are only three and a half inches tall,
right is always the one that's left,
and all downs go up.

Come in and be amazed...
just like Alice.

DLD/05SEP07

Here Is a Door (iii)

2007-09-05T08:37:00.000+01:00

Here is a door to my world.

Don't mind the broken glass --
the window fell out last week
and I haven't yet repaired it.

Yes, I know some of the stick-on letters
have lost some of their stick-on-iveness
and the sign on the door now says, "C nR ade ."

Don't mind the peeling paint --
I want a new colour
and haven't decided yet which one.

Yes, I know the handle is broken....
the door still works fine
if you just give it a little push.

But please do come in.
I've saved you a seat on the patio
where we can watch the sunset
and catch fireflies.

DLD/04SEP07

Here Is a Door (ii)

2007-09-05T08:33:00.000+01:00

Here is a door
to my heart...
The key's a bit rusty
and the lock squeals some,
but you will find that it still works.
Please oil the latch, shake the dust
from the welcome mat,
and close the door behind you
when you leave.

DLD/04SEP07

Here Is a Door

2007-09-05T08:31:00.001+01:00

Here is a door
to the rest of your life
Where do you want it to lead?

Will you turn the handle
and walk through sedately?
Or will you rev up the bike
and smash the door to bits,
as you wave hasta la vista
to your past?
Or will you tiptoe silently
across the threshold,
hoping that no one sees you leave
...or arrive?

Will you stop and look
before proceeding?
Or will you run roughshod
over the cobbled path,
leaving muddy footprints
and scattered laughter
in your wake?

Does the door lead to a place
you've dreamed of going?
Or maybe you're one
who hasn't given one bit of thought to
where you're headed...

Is it a path you dread to take?
Does the darkness frighten you?
Or does your doorway open onto
sunshine and waterfalls?

Here is a door
to the rest of your life.

DLD/01FEB07

Listening to: Hung Up (Madonna).
Frustrated about: Maintenance workers' strike. Nine of twelve London Underground lines suspended. No library for me today. :(

Growing Up in Alabama

2007-09-04T13:59:00.000+01:00

#45 - To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee
Finished 9/4/07
Rating: 5/5
Total Pages: 281
Reason for Reading: b-a-w ATF list
REVIEW: I can’t believe I’ve never read this book before. Sometimes some of the best ones slip by, I guess. I knew it was about racism, and law, and justice, and community. What I didn’t know is that it’s mostly about childhood and learning. Certainly the trial of Tom Robinson is a pivotal point in the novel, but To Kill a Mockingbird is about so much more. It’s about growing up in Alabama in the 1920s, it’s about the games that children play, and it’s about social conventions and expectations. I love that Lee told the story through the eyes of a child, the precocious and observant nine-year-old Scout. In my opinion, the brilliance of this book is in describing how an adult world impacts on children, what they take in from the world they are traveling through, and how they learn about and react to the experiences of the grown-ups around them. Brilliantly well-told story.

Suffering for Territory

2007-09-04T10:49:00.000+01:00

#44 - Suffering for Territory: Race, Place, and Power in Zimbabwe, by Donald S. Moore
Finished 9/3/07
Rating: 3/5
Total Pages: 322
Reason for Reading: Ethnography
FROM BACK COVER: Since 2000, black squatters have forcibly occupied white farms across Zimbabwe, reigniting questions of racialized dispossession, land rights, and legacies of liberation. Donald S. Moore probes these contentious politics by analyzing fierce disputes over territory, sovereignty, and subjection in the country’s eastern highlands. He focuses on poor farmers in Kaerezi who endured colonial evictions from their ancestral land and lived as refugees in Mozambique during Zimbabwe’s guerrilla war. After independence in 1980, Kaerezians returned home to a changed landscape. Postcolonial bureaucrats had converted their land from a white ranch into a state resettlement scheme. Those who defied this new spatial order were threatened with eviction. Moore shows how Kaerezians’ predicaments of place pivot on memories of “suffering for territory,” at once an idiom of identity and entitlement. Combining fine-grained ethnography with innovative theoretical insights, this book illuminates the complex interconnections between local practices of power and the wider forces of colonial rule, nationalist politics, and global discourses of development.

REVIEW: I found this a somewhat difficult read, but the overall message was clear. The Zimbabwean government has gone through numerous phases of how to distribute land, and very few of their strategies have taken into account the cultural and social views of the people who make their living from the land. An old story that continues to repeat itself in many areas of the world. In most regions across the globe, owning land is a source of power and security, and those who maintain control of how land is distributed need to be well-informed about how people use that land.

* * * * *

This is the first of many books piled up in teetering stacks at my elbow.... all background or suggested readings for the major papers I will be writing over the next two to three years -- final-year BSc dissertation this year, hopefully followed by a Masters degree thesis in 2009 or 2010. Why am I reading so far ahead? Because I'm in the midst of writing proposals for my Masters research....proposals that will accompany grad school applications and scholarship submissions....and I have to make it sound like I know what I'm talking about. :P

Listening to: Sparkling (E.O.S.S.), on iTunes Space Station Soma.
Watching: First season of Firefly.

Back in Business, But Warily....

2007-09-04T10:43:00.000+01:00

I'm still uncertain about what exactly has happened, and I'm very annoyed about my address being spammed. This whole business about viruses, and trojan horses, and malware, and fake postings, and trackers and hackers -- it all makes me very nervous from time to time. Perhaps, I'm overreacting, but I think it pays to be vigilant. Make sure that your virus protection software is always up-to-date, everyone, and educate yourself about the myriad of ways these crazies are trying to trick people into surreptitious downloads.

Now..... where was I? ..... :)

Blogging On Hold

2007-09-02T23:14:00.000+01:00

Please take the time to read the following article, published 31 Aug 07, on the BBC News website -- Bloggers Battered by Viral Storm. Click here to read the article.

I am concerned enough to suspend my blogging activities here until I have further investigated this issue, particularly since I began receiving spam emails about three weeks ago that perfectly match the criteria stated in this article. How is it that this group has picked up my email address from this blog? I have taken great care to not publicly display my email address here. As a matter of fact, to my knowledge, there is nowhere on my blog that you can click to connect to my email address. This suggests to me that the personal information recorded with Blogger that connects me with my account may have been compromised.

Read the article. Evaluate your own vulnerabilities.

Poe Short Story #1: The Domain of Arnheim

2007-09-02T11:17:00.000+01:00

Actually more in the nature of an essay than a story, I thought. Beautifully written. Puts forth the premise that what we create artistically -- whether paintings, or poetry, or music, or even gardens -- is in fact more beautiful and more perfect than nature itself. The latter third or so of the story is a description of a fantasy landscape created by the main character, who inherited 450 million pounds and this is how he decides to spend it. Certainly not a Poe story of darkness and murder and things-that-go-bump-in-the-night, as we might expect, but I quite enjoyed it regardless.

A passage worth thinking about: "He admitted but four elementary principles, or more strictly, conditions of bliss. That which he considered chief was (strange to say!) the simple and purely physical one of free exercise in the open air. "The health," he said, "attainable by other means is scarcely worth the name." He instanced the ecstasies of the fox-hunter, and pointed to the tillers of the earth, the only people who, as a class, can be fairly considered happier than others. His second condition was the love of woman. His third, and most difficult of realization, was the contempt of ambition. His fourth was an object of unceasing pursuit; and he held that, other things being equal, the extent of attainable happiness was in proportion to the spirituality of this object."

Read on-line at The Literature Network.

Searching

2007-09-02T11:14:00.000+01:00

With nothing to guide me
but the star at my back....
I set my course for away.

Whispering prayers of longing and release,
I grasp the cool air, breathe it deep....
view it transformed into the essence
of what I can become.

The sword at my side glints wickedly
mirroring the smile of he who awaits....
and the jewelled hilt brings back a memory
of blue eyes, both deep and serene.

Driving for the forest....refusing to ponder
what dangers may lay ahead....
leaves blown from my path
as though a zephyr passes through
and one foot follows the other
in an intricate dance of mystery and invitation.

The star behind is now hidden...
vanished behind the blackness of tall trunks.
Wandering blind
I search still.

DLD/31AUG07

Listening to: End of the Road (Kim Waters), on iTunes SKY.FM Absolutely Smooth Jazz.
Celebrating: Five more weeks of summer break. Classes begin on Oct 8th. :)

A Magical Journey through the History of Modern India

2007-08-31T10:07:00.001+01:00

#43 - Midnight’s Children, by Salman Rushdie
Finished 8/31/07
Rating: 4/5
Total Pages: 463
Reason for Reading: Literature Network
REVIEW: I very much enjoyed Midnight’s Children, my first Rushdie novel. This book has often been compared to Marquez’ One Hundred Years of Solitude, for its qualities of magical realism. I agree, but I found Midnight’s Children to have much more of a sense of reality than One Hundred Years of Solitude. Midnight’s Children is the story of Saleem Sinai, who was born in Bombay at the stroke of midnight on August 15th, 1947 – the same day that modern India was “born.” The book makes a running commentary on religious and political matters in the nation, using parallel occurrences in the life of Saleem as a counterpoint. Rushdie’s writing is intensely detailed and involving. Even the most mundane of daily activities, such as making chutney, are brought to life with delightful colours, scents, and sounds. I’m left feeling that it needs to be re-read strictly for the purpose of fully enjoying all the intricacies of Rushdie’s masterful use of language. Highly recommended.

the spilling

2007-08-30T13:57:00.000+01:00

within me
a building intensity,
a threatened smothering
that demands release...
a submersion into emotion
uncontrolled

my body feels ill-conceived
to contain within its boundaries
this thing
this sea swell
that fills up and spills out

flowing from me
in a voiceless cascade

DLD/30AUG07

Listening to: Better Now (Collective Soul)
Watching: Comfort & Joy

Maelstrom

2007-08-28T14:44:00.000+01:00

There have been times
when disaster seemed to court my every step.
My heart, desire, my very being
captured in a whirlpool.....
ever spinning, ever drowning....
the waters pulling me down
.....down
..........down
until even breath
threatens to cease.

That whirlpool pulls our limbs
every which-way, all at the same time....
so misdirected as to be misinformed,
unable to focus, unable to imagine escape,
unable to see beyond the blackness
of the swirling maelstrom.

So easy to
give up.

Yet even whirlpools and maelstroms have endpoints,
and yes, we are spit out the other side...
.....eventually
...........and with strength and determination
a firm set to the chin
a glint in the eye
and a sense of humour
about what just happened (!)
we can rise above those tattered sails
and battered hulls....
and find a new island...
a place and a time
to begin again.

Would I choose to brave that maelstrom again?
Not sure it's my choice. :)

But yes.

Being inside the chaos
is the only way to appreciate
the serenity that follows.

DLD/28AUG07

Listening to: Roll with the Changes (REO Speedwagon)
Ran out of: Amazon DVD credits till September 14th. Ack! What will I do??? :P

Very Little Happens....

2007-08-27T20:27:00.003+01:00

...in one day's work, as you can see by comparing these two photos. :)

But I do like it when they open their eyes. Hehehe.....

Caught

2007-08-27T19:14:00.001+01:00

Caught
within a swirling maelstrom
feet lifted from sea bottom
while my spirit yet sinks....
I struggle to regain my footing
but am swept away over and over again.
Recovery seems torn
from my grasp.

Shall I surrender to the waves....?
give in to the urge to
breathe deeply....
fill my lungs with salty remembrances
of past disappointments....
Shall I sink into memories....?
resist the pull of the future....
or refuse the tides that call me home.

DLD/27AUG07

Stardust

2007-08-27T09:18:00.001+01:00

To be born within stardust
Afar from the shackles that bind us here....
Can we be born again, on the far side of the universe?
And still continue our earthbound journey?
At once?

If this is possible,
I shall send my wings skyward
.....now.....
I shall pry thy fingers from my ankles
.....now.....
I shall lift thee from thy knees and take thee with me
.....now....
and we will travel there
as one,
floating high over this
troubled world....

I will wipe the worries from thy brow.
I will capture thy spirit within mine own.
I will hold thy heart in the palm of my hand
and whisper words of grace.

If this is possible,
then I wish it for all.

DLD/26AUG07

Listening to: Everybody Hurts (REM)
Planning: A day of utter laziness. The paperwork can wait.

One-Stitch, Two-Stitch

2007-08-26T20:49:00.001+01:00

It's a long weekend in England, so I've taken a day away from books and writing and forms and decisions. Now that my glasses are updated, and now that my eyes have had enough rest, and now that I've moved the furniture in my room to give better light, I found for the first time in a year that I could sit and enjoy my cross-stitching again.

I'm sure this will be a short-lived burst of energy. It takes hundreds of hours to complete a project like this. I won't have that kind of time on my hands until all this schooling is done. But today -- for now -- I loved reconnecting with thread and needle, painting colours on my canvas. This piece is called Bundle of Bears, and will eventually become a Christmas stocking for my granddaughter. The design is by Donna Vermillion Giampa, and I'm stitching it on 28-count white Cashel linen. (Click on the photo to enlarge.)

i fall

2007-08-26T15:17:00.001+01:00

i fall
into you

into your soft words
that create a melody
within the
quiet

into your soft embrace
that surrounds
my world with
gentle

into your soft eyes
that see my faults
and view me
beautiful

into you
i fall

DLD/26AUG07

softly

2007-08-26T14:39:00.000+01:00

softly
come to life
stirring gently in the morning warmth
consciousness arising....slowly, quietly,
climbing up from the depths of sleep

gradually
the dream-mist slips away
leaving pools of reflection....
memories of before-that-happened
imaginings of what-is-still-desired
watch silently as the visions
swirl and drift...
join to one

the past and the future
become now
softly

DLD/26AUG07

Love (Like Life)

2007-08-26T09:34:00.000+01:00

Love, like life,
is experienced
in the
in-between spaces.
The places we think
are too small....
The places we think
nothing can exist....
The places we sometimes
ignore
or
forget.

DLD/26AUG07

Listening to: True (George Strait), on iTunes 1.FM County.
Watching: The Last King of Scotland.

if only

2007-08-24T10:19:00.000+01:00

if only life were so simple
that all of our needs could be filled
without expectancy
without impatience
without injustice
without anger

if only life were so simple
that all of our dreams could be realized
without exception
without impunity
without greed
without help

if only life were so simple
that we would all give
just give

if only

DLD/24AUG07

Listening to: Sensual Sensual (B-Tribe), on iTunes SKY.FM New Age.
Watching: The Pursuit of Happyness.

Innocence

2007-08-23T09:58:00.000+01:00

No need for you to be a man...
Your grown-up world will never stand
The test of time, so set it aside
And let the little boy out from inside.

He'll teach you so much about
Love and kindness and lack of doubt.
The world reflects clearly in his eyes...
Perhaps only the innocent can be so wise.

DLD/23AUG07

Listening to: Bring Me to Life (Evanescence)
On my plate today: Continuing the foundation work for my final-year BSc dissertation (to be written next spring), and for my Masters research proposal (for a thesis that won't be written till the summer of 2009!!! -- BLAWK!). Off to London to pick up yet another stack of books from the LSE Library.

Come In.... and Be Afraid....Be Very Very Afraid....

2007-08-22T09:15:00.001+01:00

Yes, indeed.... It's that time of year, boys and girls.... The countdown to Halloween and all things eerie and weird. :) And as the heat and laziness of summer begin to filter down into the cool coziness of autumn, it's time to join Carl V. and his band of dozens of vampires, monsters, and graverobbers as we drift down together into the depths of creepy horror stories that will make your skin crawl and keep you awake at night. Please do join us in the 2007 R.I.P. (Readers Imbibing Peril) Autumn Reading Challenge. You can read all the "rules" and join us in our insanity by clicking here.

I have set my sights on Peril The Third: The Scary Sandwich Peril -- Read two "monster"-sized books and read a smaller qualifying tale in between. Plus, as a side dish (the French fries, if you will), I'm adding on The Sunday Short Story Peril.

My "peril pool" is composed of the following scary, scary tomes:

#1 - Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, by Susanna Clarke
At 1024 pages (GASP!!!!), if this isn't a "monster" of a book, I don't know what is. Here's what Amazon has to say about JS&MN: "Any book touted as the ‘adult Harry Potter’ runs the risk of attracting critical parries from swords of the double-edged variety. If this wasn’t enough, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell -- the debut novel from Susanna Clarke -- also invites comparisons with Jane Austen. Set in the early nineteenth-century, the action moves from genteel drawing rooms — albeit where a mischievous Faerie king sips tea with the wife of a very human government minister, to the bloody battleground of Waterloo, where giant hands of earth drag men to their doom. The juxtaposition of perfectly realised magical worlds and the everyday one with which JK Rowling and Philip Pullman so successfully captured our imaginations and the social comedy of Austen and Thackeray can easily be recognised. But less easy to pastiche is the ability of these writers to induce sheer narrative pleasure, and it is Clarke’s great achievement that she succeeds with this hugely enjoyable read. Gilbert Norrell is determined to single-handedly rehabilitate his sanitised and patriotic version of English magic, which has suffered a post-Enlightenment neglect after a richly dark history. He ruthlessly secures his place as England’s only magician in two marvellously drawn feats. First, he brings the statues of York Cathedral to life and then, to facilitate his entry into London society, he brings a young bride-to-be back from the dead -- a feat with terrible consequences. However, another more naturally gifted magician — Jonathan Strange — emerges to become his pupil and later his rival. Strange becomes increasingly obsessed with the Raven King — the medieval lord-magician of the North of England and pursues his desire to recruit a fairy servant to the edge of madness. Whilst the differing characters of Norrell and Strange give the book a central human conflict, it is the tension between the dual natures of civilised and wilder magic that lends it a metaphysical texture that shades the narrative with wonderful and troubling descriptions of ships made of rain, paths between mirrors and faerie roads leading out of England to a bleak yet dazzling realm. Fortunately, the precision of her storytelling never reigns in Clarke’s prodigious imagination. Clarke’s broad canvas of characters — including Wellington, Napoleon and Bryon, locations and tones are masterfully realised....Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell is the perfect novel to take up residence in as the nights get longer." This one is on its way to my mailbox as we speak. Hehehehe.....

#2 - The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters, by G.W. Dalhquist
At 768 pages, this one might almost qualify as a "short story" next to JS&MN.... but yes, it's still heavy enough to make my arms ache just thinking about it (in hardback no less!). Amazon says: "A gripping gothic adventure".... "Think of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes....Apply the production values of Buffy the Vampire Slayer....Literally a ripping yarn." Yum! Can't wait!!

#3 - Shattered, by Dean Koontz
This one represents the "filling" of my Scary Sandwich, the short guy stuck in the middle. "A chilling novel from bestseller Dean Koontz. It starts as a kid's game to while away the long drive across country. It ends in a grotesque nightmare of death and destruction. They're travelling three thousand miles to a golden city and a golden girl. She's Colin's adored sister, Alex's ravishing new wife. But she could cost them their lives. Someone's out to get them. To destroy their dreams. To plunge them into a paranoid world where every sound could be the last thing they ever hear!" Moooowhawhawhaaaaa.........

#4 - The Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices, by Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins
I'm including LToTIA as an alternate, or perhaps an extra. (We'll see how I manage with those two big suckers. LOL! ) I've chosen this for its gothic factor, and also because it's a creepy travelogue of sorts of 19th-century Great Britain, and -- bonus! -- it fits into my Classics category as well! Besides, these classic tales are free downloads from Project Gutenberg, and they fit ever-so-nicely on my PalmPilot. A collection of short stories -- perfect for reading on my daily commutes into London! A synopsis from a Wilkie Collins website: "Humorous narrative of Collins' and Dickens' walking tour of Cumberland during September 1857. Written in collaboration, it was originally published in Household Words, 3-31 October 1857; and Harper's Weekly, 31 October-28 November 1857. Collected in book form in 1890. Collins assumed the identity of Thomas Idle (a born-and-bred idler) and Dickens that of Francis Goodchild (laboriously idle). Collins wrote three main parts. In the first, he describes his sprained ankle after a reluctant ascent of Carrock Fell in the mist. The second, the story of Dr Lorn, was later republished as 'The Dead Hand'. The remaining section, in which Thomas Idle, stretched out injured on a sofa in Allonby, reflects that all the great disasters of his life have been caused by being deluded into activity, consists of reminiscences, and is loosely based on Collins' own life. At school, after foolishly winning a prize, he was rejected by the other idle boys as a traitor and by the industrious boys as a a dangerous interloper. The only time he played cricket he caught a fever from the unaccustomed perspiration. Mistakenly studying for the Bar, where he was expected to know nothing whatever about the law, he became the target of a persistent legal bore." Also contains a Charles Dickens' ghost story...."The Ghost in the Bridal Chamber"....just to assure everyone that it does indeed qualify for the R.I.P. Challenge. :)

#5 - A scaaaarrrryyy selection of Edgar Allan Poe short stories
For the Sunday Short Story Peril. Also from Project Gutenberg.... I've downloaded a selection to fill in any other bits of reading time that I haven't already used up! Hahaha! (I may have bitten off more than I can chew with this two-month challenge...but what a wonderful way to go!) The Poe stories I've selected include:

* The Purloined Letter
* The Fall of the House of Usher
* Silence: A Fable
* The Masque of the Red Death
* The Cask of Amontillado
* The Imp of the Perverse
* The Pit and the Pendulum
* The Premature Burial
* The Domain of Arnheim

So.... there you go.... A two-month selection of scary stories. I can't wait to begin! And I hope you'll come along for the ride. Head over to Carl's site, and sign up TODAY! (P.S. There's prizes!!)

Mwaaaahhaaaahaaaaaa......!!!!!!!!!!

Interlude

2007-08-21T12:22:00.001+01:00

Quietly I slip
past the consciousness of thought,
letting the sounds pull
me past the threshold of the
real world of worries and fear.

Tired eyes closed, I drift...
following the music's smile.
I float on the notes...
dance, sway, dream, explore a path
that leads me away from here.

A delicate touch
plays such simple melodies,
yet the depth of the
arrangement resonates in
smooth waves of tranquility.

The soft jazzy tones
play in concert with my heart,
skillfully building
to a gentle peacefulness...
an exquisite elegance.

For of what purpose
is life if not to welcome
simple moments of
beauty, pleasure - nay, rapture...
Let time come to a full stop.

Only then can I
feel the wingtips of the dove
brush against my skin,
hear the songs of truthfulness....
breathe the symphony of life.

DLD/21AUG07

Keys

2007-08-21T08:25:00.003+01:00

We connect with many
Whose keys are different.
Together we open doors to new and wondrous places.
We learn together, we strive together....
We celebrate together.
And we grieve.

We connect with the one.
Our keys are the same.
Mine fits you, yours fits me.
My mind opens to embrace the beauty of you.
Your spirit welcomes my presence.
Our souls recognize, and rejoice,
Uniting in a bond that transcends the ages...
We were never apart.

DLD/21AUG07

Listening to: Can You Feel It (Nick Colionne) on iTunes SKY.FM Absolutely Smooth Jazz.
Still working on: Canada Graduate Scholarship application....pretending I know what I'm talking about. :P

Holding You

2007-08-21T08:00:00.000+01:00

You opened the door and walked inside
and asked a memory of me.
It was so good and my mind quickly encircled you,
embraced you, held you.
Your words, your questions, your thoughts,
I hold you here in my mind.

You opened a window and your fresh air
blew inside my heart.
You climbed inside and it skipped a beat,
then raced so fast I couldn't breathe.
Your touch, your taste, your love,
I hold you here within my heart.

You opened a whole new world for me
and showed me pleasures I'd never known.
You draped your ribbons around me
and decorated my life.
Your eyes, your smile, your care,
I hold you here in my soul.

-- By a friend and fellow poet who goes by the name of Ampoule

I

2007-08-20T11:02:00.000+01:00

I am Scarlett O'Hara, without the Scarlett
I am constructed of iron that I created in my own blast furnace
I am as flimsy as a house of cards
I am Strider, dark-clothed, hidden, stalwart
I am Merry and Pippin, a little silly but still mostly brave
I am the most un-mechanical person you have ever met
I am as wild as a tornado, and as crumpled as yesterday's news
I am the spray of the surf and the one unique snowflake amid a storm full of unique snowflakes
I am the comet's tail and Saturn's rings
I am the piano in a piece of music that was meant for saxophone
I am a very tiny facet, reflecting, within a very large creation
I am my father's daughter
I am a product of my past and my future
I am a student of the universe
I am in love with life

DLD/07AUG07

Overcoming Fear

2007-08-18T11:49:00.000+01:00

#42 - Call It Courage, by Armstrong Sperry
Finished 8/17/07
Rating: 5/5
Total Pages: 116
Reason for Reading: Newbery Challenge
REVIEW: A delightful adventure, and a most deserving winner of the Newbery Award. Ten-year-old Mafatu, a boy from a Polynesian Island tribe, doesn’t seem to measure up to the standards set for being a “man” in his tribe. Most troublesome at all is his fear of the water. How can he grow up to be a powerful, confident, courageous chief if he is afraid to paddle out to sea and go fishing with the other boys? A wonderful tale of overcoming challenges and reaching through barriers to achieve your goals. Every child could benefit from this inspiring read.

The Only Path Ahead

2007-08-18T09:55:00.000+01:00

The only path ahead
is through admission of our weaknesses,
confronting our inner selves,
recognizing the redundancy of
our separate solitudes.

We are all fragile,
yet our spirits are unyielding.

Give up to me your sadness,
your fears, your tears,
your loneliness, your despair...
as I give you mine.

Reach into my eyes
with your drenched spirit gaze.
Do you not see the truth therein?
Neither shadows nor blindness can penetrate here.

Let time sweep us into tomorrow,
where love is created anew,
where strength builds through togetherness.

DLD/18AUG07

Listening to: Against All Odds (Phil Collins)
Brain full of: My cursed inability to decide on a topic for Masters research. I have two more days to make up my mind.

A Mild Form of Insanity

2007-08-16T19:44:00.000+01:00

Pushing paper, filling out forms
Transcripts required -- orders placed
Photos needed -- "flash"
New printer -- "install"
Colour cartridge? Print photos?
I can do this :)

187 webpages open at once
(oh yes.... where was I again?)
Nine-page-long applications with 27 pages of
accompanying instructions
*aaarrggghhh*

Reading fine print till my eyes water
Processing information till my brain
suffers a state of cataleptic entropy,
and begins to collapse inward upon itself
*groan*

Selling myself to the world
in bits and pieces
Two-page statements designed to
emit tentacles, grasp the unwary professor
who unknowingly opens the next application,
not realizing that she's about to inhale a healthy dose of
"you-really-want-me-at-your-institution" fairy dust
which I've sprinkled all over the documents,
cackling psychotically as I stuff them all into an oversized envelope....
(same dust, slightly different variety --
"you-really-want-to-write-me-a-big-cheque"
-- sprinkled on scholarship applications)

But today
sitting cross-eyed behind this computer screen,
sometimes I think I've lost my mind....
Right, yes....I've probably absentmindedly slipped it
somewhere between the pages
of my life.

Oh yes, there it is.
Reinstall. Shall we continue?

DLD/16AUG07

A Journey Back to the '60s

2007-08-14T12:27:00.000+01:00

#41 - Norwegian Wood, by Haruki Murakami
Finished 8/14/07
Rating: 5/5
Total Pages: 386
Reason for Reading: Recommended by a friend
REVIEW: I cannot clearly describe why I loved this book SO much, but I certainly did. The writing is simple and beautiful, the story is well-crafted and intriguing, the pages flew by, and the last half of the very last page blew me away, and made me want to turn back to page 1 and start all over again. It's about love and loyalty, about sex and death and insanity and reality, and about the world of college students in 1960s Tokyo. Poignant and lovely from beginning to end. I was transfixed.

FAVOURITE QUOTE: "It seemed as if the colours of the real world around me had begun to drain away from my having done nothing more than read a few lines she had written." [p. 110]

Listening to: All Right Now (Free) on iTunes Angel Fire Radio's Classic Rock&Roll.FM.
Quietly celebrating: Receipt of some VERY ENCOURAGING emails from various and sundry grad schools. Watch this space. More later. *grin*

Truth

2007-08-14T10:28:00.000+01:00

I

The one...
The only....
The answer.

If such beings as us
could possess such knowledge
then wherein would be the joy of the journey?

The truth you see
and the truth I see
are as nothing
compared
to the one and only
truth.

And while we strive for the one...
While we imagine, while we dream,
While we ache for the fullness of the destination...
Scribe what you will....
For it cannot be written.

We are the infinity.
We are the one.

II

May this single truth be known...
For those who hurry to the goal,
Those whose footsteps pound
Resound
Hands in pockets
Body closed
Eyes ahead
Resolute
Forging a straight line
from here to there....

Know that joy resides in getting lost...
inexplicably finding oneself far from the path
of least resistance.
Joy resides in
mud puddles
cornfield mazes
strawberry patches
and stopped clocks.

Without these things,
Completion is irrelevant.

III

The canvas draws me in.
One step, and I leave my worldly existence
and enter the forest of emerald and jade.
Intricately crafted flakes of white drift down,
coaxed free by nothing more than a wisp
so that my path may be illuminated.

Diamonds of sunshine penetrate the darkness,
scattering the shadows of my being.
I catch them in the palms of my hands.
I let them slip through my fingers.
They float gently to my feet.
A witness to the weightlessness
of all that has gone before.
I do not know the words,
but I believe that
truth is here.

I shall seek you out
in the valleys, the meadows, the mountains, the seas.
I shall look for you in the moonlight
that sparkles on the ebony desert sands.
I shall find you
in the place
that is not
the end.

DLD/14AUG07

The Joy of Being Young

2007-08-13T09:29:00.001+01:00

Listening to: Lady Luck (Rod Stewart).
Very much enjoying: Murakami's Norwegian Wood.

Along the Thames

2007-08-12T13:00:00.000+01:00

Flanked on either side by a muddled confusion of historical architecture and modern-day glamour, the Thames is still very much a working river. I can't help thinking about all the billions of people who have walked these banks over the centuries, and how the skyline has changed (and will continue to change...interminably).

Lines written near Richmond, upon the Thames at Evening
Glide gently, thus forever glide,
O Thames! that other bards may see,
As lovely visions by thy side
As now, fair river! come to me.
Oh glide, fair stream! for ever so;
Thy quiet soul on all bestowing,
'Till all our minds forever flow,
As thy deep waters now are flowing.

--William Wordsworth, 1790

Lost

2007-08-11T14:54:00.000+01:00

Superimposed on this life's visions
lie the grey dreams of others past....
misty recollections of
unconquered enemies,
unfulfilled desires,
unfinished plans,
misplaced trust,
love's grace
lost.

DLD/19JUL07

What You See Isn't Always the Truth

2007-08-10T13:38:00.000+01:00

#40 - Arthur & George, by Julian Barnes
Finished 8/10/07
Rating: 5/5
Total Pages: 357
Reason for Reading: Recommended by a friend
REVIEW: Wow! Hard to believe this is by the same guy who wrote Flaubert’s Parrot, which I read last month. Arthur & George is an intricately crafted, beautifully spun, most engrossing story of …. well, yeah, you guessed…two guys named Arthur & George. George gets himself into a wee spot of trouble, arrested for a crime he didn’t commit (or did he?), and Arthur steps in to help. A fascinating page-turner that cleverly and convincingly weaves the theme of hidden truths through several converging storylines at once. Highly recommended.

Sometimes

2007-08-10T09:51:00.000+01:00

Sometimes an emptiness persists.
A creeping melancholy
An unfelt pain
An unwanted vacancy
And the question remains....

Comfort in familiarity,
in routine activity
that fills the days,
and that works....
sometimes.

For awhile, the vacuum disappears....
into a blankness that feels unfinished,
accompanied by an underlying quietness,
a searching....

And there is still a place
of nothing, no one....
that nudges me
and reminds me that I am
alone.

DLD/09AUG07

Listening to: Fireflies (Faith Hill)
Almost finished: Arthur & George. Yowzas!! Whodunnit?

Ever Had a Blue Day?

2007-08-09T10:15:00.001+01:00

Lining the south bank of the Thames between the London Eye and the Royal Festival Hall is a lovely stretch of treed walkways and a dozen or so street performers in colourful costumes. Each performer maintains absolute stillness (sometimes to the point that you sometimes wonder if they're real live persons or not) until they hear the telling clink of coins hitting the bottom of the cash tin, which begins a short performance, no more than 10 to 20 seconds at most. The children are especially entranced and tug at their parents' sleeves, requesting coins, edging up quietly and a little fearfully, dropping in their money, and quickly dashing back to safety before the frozen performer begins to move. Kinda like real live wind-up toys. :)

I could never do this kind of work....I can't sit still for much more'n three seconds.

Listening to: Take It Easy on Me (Little River Band), on iTunes radioioSeventiespop.
Plans for the day: Collect scholarship and grad school paperwork in preparation for sending off reference requests to tutors and teachers.

we were children

2007-08-07T20:43:00.000+01:00

peanut butter and jelly on sticky fingers
silent giggles behind mom's back
tickle fights, rolling around the livingroom floor
irrepressible

we loved Lassie and Mighty Mouse
we kicked stones to the curb
and we made blood pacts with friends
whose names we can no longer remember

we built treehouses in the summer
ice forts in the winter
we chewed gum and passed notes in class
and we couldn't wait for the bell

we rode our bikes everywhere we could
we put hockey cards in the spokes
because we loved the "click-click-click"
we traded comic books for
five-cent bottles of root beer
and fragrant ropes of red licorice

the wind blew us
wherever it would
and we let it take us

we were free

DLD/07AUG07

Listening to: Can't Stop Falling (Great Big Sea)

The London Eye

2007-08-07T12:45:00.000+01:00

The London Eye is a marvel of design and engineering. You have to stand right below to get the full "wow" effect. I haven't been on (yet)....There is ALWAYS a line-up, because it averages 10,000 visitors A DAY! But I'm also pretty happy to sit on the south bank and just be awed by the magnificence of it.

No Sparks

2007-08-04T12:13:00.000+01:00

#39 - The Immaculate Conception, by Gaetan Soucy
Finished 8/4/07
Rating: 3/5
Total Pages: 320
Reason for Reading: CanLitReaders
REVIEW: I do not deny that Soucy is a masterful writer and that he knows how to weave a twisted tale of horrifying events and even more horrifying consequences. I remember reading his The Little Girl Who Was Too Fond of Matches two or three years ago, and feeling assaulted by the language and the subject matter. The Immaculate Conception continues with the theme of matches and fire, but the sparks didn’t work for me this time. The main focus of the story, Remouald and his father Seraphon, are fascinating and detailed characters that drew me in for the first half of the book. But somewhere midway the novel fractured into multiple storylines that seemed only loosely connected to the main plot. The result, for me, was nothing more than a myriad of distractions from what I really wanted to know – the story of Remouald and Seraphon. I ended the book feeling frustrated and annoyed. I had spent too much time trying to understand how the divergent storylines connected, and not enough time paying attention to the only one that I liked.

Listening to: Hyaline (Human Mesh Dance), on iTunes Space Station Soma.
Annoyed at: Others' loud music competing for my listening space.

White

2007-08-03T22:32:00.001+01:00

A moment's sigh...
a softness of sound
that brings life into focus.

Breathe.
Inhale the essence.

From within the darkness of your mind,
watch the white light enter,
permeating pores, flowing into corners.
Watch the light expand.
Brilliance fills the spirit
with an enlightenment
that can never fade.
Search out the source.

Speak softly without words.
Hear the waves that make no noise.
Learn from the source that knows no boundaries.

A moment's gasp.
Wisdom inside.

DLD/03AUG07

Wishes

2007-08-03T14:20:00.001+01:00

I wish
I could open your heart
and find soft white feathers inside.

I wish
I could walk with you along a river of innocence
and lift your spirit across the water.

I wish
I could stride across the rainbow
and lose your pain amongst the shining colours.

DLD/03AUG07

Listen

2007-08-03T10:49:00.001+01:00

Listen.
The wind soughs through the highest branches.
The leaves and boughs murmur a greeting
and a farewell....
The earth breathes.

Listen.
The waves swoosh up onto the beach
and then retreat....
A never-ending motion.
The earth breathes.

Listen.
Do you hear the heartbeat?
Over six billion souls in unison.
It is the pulse of humanity.
The earth breathes.

Our aloneness is only eclipsed
By the recognition of our
Togetherness.

DLD/19MAR07

Listening to: I Won't Leave You Lonely (Shania Twain)
Adjusting to: My spectacular new spectacles. :)

Burnt

2007-08-01T20:20:00.000+01:00

The echoes drive me
from wall to wall....
escape this accursed place before I fall.
Voices scream, cry, curse....
How long till I realize that the voice is my own?
Eyes empty....pain overwhelming.
How long till I understand that my raving falls on deaf ears...?
that insanity is just a state of mind,
and that approach is imminent?

There is no rescue,
there is no survival....
but for that which I wrench up
from the inner core of my being deep....
Fingers gripped around the single source,
the light of the spirit,
from which I can arise again...

I stand in the fire.
I burn in the flames until only ash remains.
And the only sound
that permeates the stillness
is a single heartbeat.

DLD/01AUG07

Trust

2007-07-28T20:17:00.000+01:00

The fall into love begins as
A hypnotizing drift, born in a smile....
Quickens into breathless exhilaration...
Touch forces a heart-stopping pulse-racing tailspin...
Rapidly accelerating earthward
at supersonic heart-speed.

Catch me?

DLD/28JUL07

saving space

2007-07-27T11:35:00.000+01:00

saving space
in coloured jars...
neatly lined up on a shelf...
their beautiful emptiness
shining ruby, jade, gold, indigo, emerald...
glittering in the sunlight...
enough for all

DLD/27JUL07

Yeeehaaawww!!!!

2007-07-27T10:57:00.000+01:00

The votes are in, ladies and gentlemen, and it seems that the LSE would like to lock me up within their hallowed halls for one more year! (....and I'm gonna love every minute of it....) *grin*

After six weeks of waiting, exam grades were finally released on the 11th....and they were good, but still inconclusive, sitting SMACK on the borderline between A's and B's, between a First Class standing and an Upper Second.... I had to wait another week for the letter grades to be converted into percentages, which helped to clarify somewhat, but still very much borderline.

Finally, this past Monday, I met with my "handlers" who are very very pleased with my progress this past year. They are confident that this coming year (the third and final of my BSc degree), I will be able to improve my B+ average to an A. Admittedly, I'm not as certain as they are, and even though they are predicting "good potential to graduate with a First"....I still see it as a very steep slope to navigate. In any case, I am very satisfied with a strong Upper Second standing and an official offer to finish my degree at the LSE. :)

It has been a very long, stressful, exciting, magnificent, overwhelming year of very hard work and high anxiety. Now that I see that I can "anthropologize" with some of the best (*grin*), I am very very glad that I made the decision to do this and thankful for all of the good friends that have supported my efforts along the way.

Next up? Paperwork! Oodles of paperwork! There are Canadian forms that need to be filled out, to confirm that I will be remaining in the UK for at least one more year. There are British forms to be filled out, including the renewal of my student visa. And there are mountains of documents to gather and applications to complete, in the hopes of finding a school that would like to offer me a position as a grad student in September 2008. Wish me luck!!

Onward and upward!!!

Listening to: A lovely Carlos Santana instrumental piece.
Wondering if my new reading lenses might be ready today. Would you believe my eyesight has IMPROVED? Sigh. Donna's life is really weird sometimes.

Yawn!

2007-07-27T10:45:00.000+01:00

#38 - Little Dorrit, by Charles Dickens
Finished 7/26/07
Rating: 2/5
Total Pages: 3558 (Palm Pilot)
Reason for Reading: 18th/19th Century Novel
REVIEW: Certainly my least favourite Dickens novel. I had great difficulty forcing myself to continue with this, but it's DICKENS. Aren't we supposed to love Dickens? I did finish it, just because I was determined to find out how it turned out in the end, but most of the book put me to sleep. I'm glad to be able to move on to something new.

Awakening

2007-07-26T20:39:00.000+01:00

I've been working on this piece for some time now... you may have already seen bits and pieces of it here as I played with different sections. It is now complete, with a new title, and I post it here now in its entirety.

* * * * *

Awakening

I

She packed her heartache
into a battered leather valise with
scuffed-up edges and a broken lock,
and left.

Her past trailed out behind her
in long ribbons of barely acknowledged resentment
and unexpressed sorrow.

She surged into the unknown
with hardly a backward glance,
pushing her hair into place and adjusting her collar,
on the outside chance
that someone might notice
and give her a break.

II

She stood in line at the airport,
a pair of sunglasses with scratched lenses
dangling from her mouth,
while she absentmindedly checked her pockets,
wondering which one contained her passport.

The clerk glanced contemptuously at her small battered valise.
It wasn't sturdy enough to imprison the demons of her past,
and appeared far too humble to hold
the seeds of a new start.

She hefted the worn suitcase onto the conveyor belt,
then gathered up the incessant unending threads of guilt and unfulfilled obligations.
She impatiently stuffed the lot of them into her purse in a tangled mess.
"Snakes' honeymoon," she whispered,
not quite only to herself,
with a lopsided almost smile.

She narrowly dodged the barbed claws,
soaked overnight in sanctimonious retribution,
and said, "Anywhere. It doesn't matter."

The signature on the back of her credit card
was faded almost beyond recognition.

III

And she flew away on borrowed wings.

Every time she checked
(trying to be as unobtrusive as possible),
the ribbons of self-reproach had again become entangled,
tripping up her feet and twisting amongst her heartstrings.

Each time, she quickly snatched up the errant threads,
tore them from their new moorings,
and buried them under future details.

From her satchel, she retrieved a book
with an unadorned cover of soft brown leather
and a delicate ribbon of red silk to mark her page.
She reached into her pocket for the weighted fountain pen
that perfectly fit her grasp.

She opened to the first page
and began to write.

For a day and a night and yet another day
the words poured from her pen,
like drops of blood from her fingertips.

IV

She walked through the mysterious city,
carrying her preoccupations in a patchwork-quilted bag
tossed carelessly over her left shoulder.
She marvelled at the magnificence all around her,
but she no longer knew who she was.

Sometimes she crumbled
under the weight of the shattered voices
that continually cast out more lengths of entangling ribbons...
to ensnare her, to bind her, to drag her back
to a place that no longer existed.

And as she wandered the strange streets of her new life,
drifting aimlessly amongst the steel and glass towers of the daring,
she paused to pick up pieces of her lost self.
Some were familiar and recognizable,
others exotic and extraordinary.

At the end of the day,
tucked into her tiny room,
surrounded by the seeds of her newness,
she puzzled over how it all went together.
And even when the light grew dim
and none of the pieces seemed to fit,
she continued to collect and save them,
sorting them carefully into boxes labelled,
"Strength"...."Confidence"...."Courage"

And she used the trailing ribbons
to tie the boxes shut.

V

She wrote about the boy who loved hard work....
who travelled far, long before he was grown,
and how he found his future
in a distant place.

She wrote about the man who loved her so....
about how he slipped away into the darkness one day,
leaving a swirl of sparkling stardust
that surrounds and protects her
still and always.

She wrote about the boy who lost himself
in a dense fog of fear and confusion,
about how his world became small,
about how his walls collapsed inward
with a mighty reverberating crash.

She wrote about the lessons learned....
lessons of grief and fragility and recovery,
lessons of compassion and understanding and justice,
lessons of humility and determination and resilience.

She wrote about the two who walked by her side.
And she wrote about the little girl
who shone a brightness
upon them all.

Her pen danced an intricate path....
singing out the stories of how she came to be here....now....
and when the voice of her pen fell silent,
she quietly marked her place with the red ribbon,
gathered up all the tangled threads
(....thousands of miles of them....)
and wrapped them tightly around the book.

VI

Once upon a time
she loved again.

He came to her in the night
with music and dreams....tenderness and devotion....
He dripped starshine into the palm of her hand.
He placed sparkling moonbeams in her hair.
He smiled at the colour of her laughter.
And as the darkly brilliant sky unfolded into morning,
he brought her overflowing armfuls of violets and daisies
that filled her with the scent of enchantment.

He guided her gently through the maze
and helped her to untangle the twisted ribbons.
She gave him words of love
and that was enough.

"Come," she whispered.

And one sultry and sensuous night,
on a quietly deserted stretch of sand,
they listened to the surf and swayed in the moonlight.
The barriers dissolved and melted
into the salt sea between
and the words came easy.

In the end,
the alternating crests and troughs of their passion
became too much to bear.
The ocean flowed again
into the emptiness between
and the waves overtook them.

Glittering streams of starshine connect them yet....
a quietly shimmering affection, freely offered,
that stretches across the darkly wide seas
between.

VII

From her satchel, she retrieves a book.
She sets aside her sunglasses,
and brushes the palm of her hand
across the unadorned cover of soft brown leather,
pausing briefly at the bottom right-hand corner
to note the unassuming number "2"
etched there in gold foil.

She reaches into her pocket
for the weighted fountain pen that fits her grasp perfectly.

As she opens the book to the first page,
a flurry of butterflies escapes the confines of her gentle memories.
She smiles quietly and watches as they flutter away
in an iridescent joyfulness of multicoloured wings.

And, using the same delicate ribbon of red silk to mark her page,
she continues to write.

DLD/26JUL07

Listening to: When You Say You Love Me (Josh Groban).

Cathedral at Greenwich University

2007-07-25T09:42:00.000+01:00

Cathedral
by Gillian Clarke

Before the Saints, Dyfrig, Teilo, Eiddogwy;
before the bishops, the builders and stonemasons;
before artists and sculptors, Rossetti, Epstein;
before music, organists and choirs;
before the architects, Wood, Seddon, Prichard, Pace;
before the poetry of psalm and hymn and common prayer;

before there were words
for ‘cathedral’, ‘architecture’, ‘art’,
when our first house was the great original forest,
when our ancestors walked in the aisles of trees
and gazed up at such loftiness confused,
perhaps, by inexplicable longing;

before there was a word for wonder,
or names for stars, or footprints on the moon;
before St Teilo raised his little church just here;
before a man looked at a tree and made a cross,
and felt the hammering rain and thought of nails
there must have been a first creative act.

First mark, first word, first hymn to awe,
first poem with something to say of the human heart,
first vision of a building taller than a forest,
aisled, vaulted, clerestoried with sunlight,
because we were forest-dwellers once
and learned our metaphors from trees.

A favourite...

2007-07-25T08:56:00.000+01:00

To a Butterfly
by William Wordsworth

I've watched you now a full half-hour;
Self-poised upon that yellow flower
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless!--not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!

This plot of orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We'll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.

* * * * *

Stay near me -- do not take thy flight!
A little longer stay in sight!
Much converse do I find in thee,
Historian of my infancy!
Float near me; do not yet depart!
Dead times revive in thee:
Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art!
A solemn image to my heart,
My father's family!

Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,
The time, when, in our childish plays,
My sister Emmeline and I
Together chased the butterfly!
A very hunter did I rush
Upon the prey:--with leaps and springs
I followed on from brake to bush;
But she, God love her, feared to brush
The dust from off its wings.

---

My thanks to Bluestalking Reader for bringing this poem to my attention.... The photo is from a woods-wandering expedition I enjoyed last Wednesday in the Great Bois Wood here in Chesham.

Be

2007-07-25T00:09:00.000+01:00

This between-space...
This breath between steps...
shall offer thee a window on what has gone before.

Look back.
Sweep thine eyes over the greenness of the valley,
the deep forest darkness that has sheltered thee,
the watery expanse that has carried thee here.
Cast your glance across the breadth of experience
that is you.

This between-space...
This warm and quiet embrace...
shall offer thee a vision of the future.

Look beyond and remember
what has not yet come to be.
Take me in your arms.
Spin me around the back of the moon.
Feel the tingling of stardust pass thee by
as we dance on a comet's trail,
skirting along the edge of quantum depths,
dipping and gliding through the shadows
of planets not yet born.
Take my hand...come with me beyond the universe...
back to where we have yet to begin.

But for now....
all that you need is here
in this between-space.

DLD/24JUL07

What's Your Japanese Name?

2007-07-22T21:42:00.001+01:00

My Japanese name is

猿渡 Saruwatari (monkey on a crossing bridge)

愛恵 Itoe (bless with love)

Click here to get yours!
(I kinda like mine... whaddya think???)

Seasons

2007-07-19T19:28:00.000+01:00

The seasons of my childhood
are remembered as distinct points in time.

Fall began early,
with new school clothes
(the only time of the year that we were allowed such a luxury),
and the bags of school supplies.
I was a school nerd.
I loved the smell of books and paper and pencils.
(Nothing has changed.)
Morning walks punctuated
with the crisp snap of thin ice
as we made our way gingerly over partially frozen puddles.
Water below, a skin of ice above.
What child could resist?

Winter was about snow....
that Northern Ontario snow
that packs perfectly for snowmen and snowcaves....
Caverns of ice between towering snowbanks,
a huddled refuge....
Blizzards that covered the naked world
in white lace petticoats...
playing indoor games --
Monopoly, Clue, Scrabble --
as icy gales whistled around the eaves.

Spring came with a scent.
Can you smell spring coming?
Crisp, clear, clean, new....
the snow retreats, melts, vanishes,
and the world comes to life.
Dust off the bikes and the roller skates,
put away the parkas till next year,
drag Dad to the park with a kite,
feel the wind on your face.

Summer brought camping and swimming,
picnics and berry-picking,
a hotness that dripped from your skin,
afternoons in the country.
Days of building tree forts,
chasing away intruders (boys!),
lying on our bellies in the field,
giggling when the grass tickled our arms,
reading Archie comics and slurping popsicles.

The rhythm of the seasons....
Somehow it was so much more clearly defined
as a child.

DLD/19JUL07

A Poem Is...

2007-07-19T17:34:00.001+01:00

A poem is like the ocean tides...
rushing into my mind
with the force of a 50-foot wave
that crashes through all other thoughts
with impunity.

A poem is like a calm pool...
ideas and emotions
raised from the depths of intimacy,
floating free to the surface.

A poem is like waves on a sandy beach....
interconnected words that swirl and twirl,
rise and fall with the seasons of the moon,
and collect in shallow depressions of the soul.

DLD/19JUL07

The Stream

2007-07-19T13:33:00.000+01:00

I walk by the stream of my future.

Too many choices, it seems,
tangled within filaments of intention...
I am led astray....
lost in possibilities.

Adrift, afloat...
vanished into a watery place,
the motion, the warmth,
soothes and comforts...

Submission.
Calmness prevails.
The struggle ends.
Consciousness is lost.

Shall I perish for want of finding
the one path....
the many paths...
that may lead me to the one that I can become.

Suddenly...
a voice....a hand....
gasping....grasping....

I emerge
whole.

* * * * *

Returning from the abyss
I follow the voice....unsure....
Dost thou await me here?

There are too many pieces
from which to build....to create....to become....
I collect them as I follow the voice beyond,
gathering them within the folds of my cloak,
but the puzzle is scattered to the winds...
and I can hear the laughter of the stars,
a sound as of dangling crystals
gently jostled in a summer's breeze.

For they alone see that we are already
selves fully born,
fully become as we are.
No further embellishment
is needed.

Is not thy courage strong?
Is not thy vision clear?
Is not thy heart pure?

Such are the lessons
that have brought us
here.

DLD/18JUL07

Art thee God?

2007-07-18T21:23:00.000+01:00

Art thee God?
I bring thee my clouded eyes.
They are no longer capable of
discerning the beauty
in a world so awash
with horror.

Art thee God?
I bring thee my broken mind.
I know not how to comprehend the tragedies
that have befallen Man,
as you have created him.

Art thee God?
I bring thee my shattered heart,
bloody and still beating, but torn in two,
damaged forever by the grief and anger
that have weighed down my spirit
and left me
desolate.

Art thee God?
Heal me.

DLD/18JUL07

A Glimpse of Evil?

2007-07-15T11:40:00.000+01:00

#37 - Brighton Rock, by Graham Greene
Finished 7/15/07
Rating: 5/5
Total Pages: 247
Reason for Reading: Recommended by a friend
REVIEW: I’ve been too distracted lately to properly take in the contents of such a deeply moving novel, but the further I read the more I was sucked into the world of gang warfare in 1930’s Brighton and the lives of Pinkie and his cohorts. The ending was surprising and horrific, and I’m left with a numbing sense of children playing at dangerous games. Pinkie, at age 17, lives in an agony of evil, murder, and the fear of discovery, which he covers up behind a façade of arrogance and aggression. I really must re-read this to pick up all the atmosphere and nuance that I missed in the beginning.

* * * * *

W A R N I N G - - - S P O I L E R S

Wow! The ending of this book was more powerful than any other I've read in a very long time. The last twenty pages were utterly gripping.

Right from the midpoint of the story, where Pinkie decides to marry Rose to prevent her from being able to testify against him, the romantic in me REALLY wanted him to truly fall in love and reform his evil ways. But of course, that was not to be. Pinkie wasn't able to love. He was so filled with a vile, horrific determination that nothing could cause him to stray from his self-destructive path.

Throughout the novel is an underlying subtext about Christianity and the fight between God and Satan. As the plot reaches a feverish apex, Pinkie convinces Rose that they will commit suicide together. He hands her a revolver. "Put it in your ear -- that'll hold it steady," he tells her. And he walks away, waiting for her to keep her part of the bargain.

Rose is torn between her love for Pinkie and her Christian morals and ethics. She struggles over what to do:

“If it was a guardian angel speaking to her now, he spoke like a devil – he tempted her to virtue like a sin.” [p. 241]

Rose, however, lives, and Pinkie is the one who dies:

“ ‘Stop him,’ Dallow cried: it wasn’t any good: he was at the edge, he was over: they couldn’t even hear a splash. It was as if he’d been withdrawn suddenly by a hand out of any existence – past or present, whipped away into zero – nothing.” [p. 243]

And neither of these events are as awful as the reader's realization of what Rose will discover not long after you have finished the last page and put the book away. A highly recommended read.

[An aside -- An interesting choice of names, don't you think? Pinkie and Rose? Why has Greene chose these shades of red? Blood? Hmmm.....]

Listening to: Something much much lighter.... Rock-Cha-Rhumba (Ray Anthony & His Orchestra), on iTunes Ill Street Lounge.... and trying to break free of the horror that I know awaits Rose.

The Quest

2007-07-14T14:09:00.000+01:00

The forest engulfs.
Darkness obscures my path,
both behind and ahead.

Steel is sheathed at my side,
yet it glints still in the rays of the rising sun.
I have ridden far from thee this day,
yet my quest drags me onward
relentlessly...
and I dare not withdraw.

I crouch at the stream
(softly softly)
and give thanks
before assuaging my thirst,
then begin the task of
washing away the wounds.
Blood still stains my palms,
soaked through my leather gloves.
Too much of this blood is mine own, I fear.

As sleep overtakes me
I allow my mind to wander,
remembering...
the touch of your hand
the warmth of your smile
the beauty of our joining.

For only one brief moment,
I allow the ache for you
to emerge into consciousness,
the point no wider than a dagger's thrust,
but as deep as the blackness of beyond.

It will be long ere I see thee again.

Release.
I rest now.
There will be need again of my sword
ere night falls.

DLD/14JUL07

miscellaneous snippets

2007-07-14T11:35:00.000+01:00

Shall we be reborn
in an instant's reckoning?
Living beyond boundaries
both physical and temporal....

I dreamt once
of a young woman
who drew water from a wooden sluice.
Her burdens were many and her pleasures few.
As she aged,
her hands twisted and knotted
with unexpressed grief and anger,
and she laid on her deathbed,
with her family gathered 'round.

I dreamt once
of a young man
who overlooked the labours of many.
He strove to see the good in all,
yet witnessed a murder
that confronted him
with the reality of evil.
His life ended in fear and despair
as the wicked exacted their revenge.

These are only two
of those who comprise
the whole of me.

And all those who surrounded the woman and the man
in their separate lives and times
surround me still.

* * * * *

Broken, whole
Ebb and flow
Evil, good
Darkness to light
Happiness and grief...

All these define the edges
of our reality....
and we dance within the confines,
creating a lyrical web of complex threads
leading backwards and forwards,
and connecting us to...
all.

Is it an endless journey without reprieve?
I know not the answers nor the purpose,
yet I trust that all will come clear
in time.

I search for clarity, wisdom, peace....
I tread lightly through the forest.
I feel the wind at my back, pushing me ever forwards,
to a future both unknown and unknowable.

I rejoice in the beauty of all
and I dream beyond.

DLD/13JUL07

One Word

2007-07-14T09:45:00.000+01:00

A meme that I lifted from both Bookfool and Tanabata, who apparently stole it from Bellezza, who got it from Paula, who copied it from Babelbabe, who.... Ya never know where the blogging world is gonna take you next.... :)

1. Where is your mobile phone? Hmmm.....
2. Relationship? Desired.
3. Your hair? Long.
4. Work? School.
5. Your sister(s)? Canada.
6. Your favourite thing? Music.
7. Your dream last night? Odd.
8. Your favourite drink? Coffee.
9. Your dream car? Limo.
10. The room you're in? Rented.
11. Your shoes? Flip-flops.
12. Your fears? Looming.
13. What do you want to be in 10 years? Peaceful.
14. Who will you hang out with this weekend? Poets.
15. What are you not good at? Deciding.
16. Muffin? Chocolate.
17. Wish list item? 71.
18. Where you grew up? Ontario.
19. The last thing you did? News.
20. What are you wearing? PJs.
21. What are you not wearing? Rings.
22. Your pet(s)? None.
23. Your computer? MacBook.
24. Your life? Crazy.
25. Your mood? Apprehensive.
26. Missing? Friends.
27. What are you thinking about? Grades.
28. Your car? Sold.
29. Your kitchen? Sold.
30. Your summer? Lazy.
31. Your favourite colour? Rainbow.
32. Last time you laughed? Yesterday.
33. Last time you cried? June.
34. School? LSE.
35. Love? Missing.

Listening to: You're My Thrill (Robert Palmer), from my Recommendation List at last.fm.
Thinking about: Downloading more forms....ugh.....

Between

2007-07-13T23:42:00.000+01:00

I live life in
an in-between space...
not quite here,
yet no longer there....
everywhere
yet nowhere.

Between place
Between space

I look back
but the mists cloud my gaze.
My path has deviated
from centre...
Their vision tells them
that my future
has been left in the past...
but I know different.

Between time
Between lives

DLD/13JUL07

Alive

2007-07-12T19:30:00.000+01:00

Alive
within this imperfect body
within this restless heart
within this unquiet mind
lies a ferocious spirit.

Brook no resistance
against the demons of the past.
For they are weak and powerless.

They will gather and circle.
They will nip at your heels,
and fill your head with
noise and nonsense.

They will whine and whimper.
They will tell you stories
of their heartache and their sorrow.
They will show how you alone
have inflicted all of their wounds,
how you alone have caused
all of their grief and misery.

But the demons cannot penetrate
a determined countenance
and a resolute constancy....

Let them growl and grumble.
Watch them coalesce
and divide.

They cannot breach your ferocious spirit.
They have no power
but what you give them.

DLD/12JUL07

Listening to: Desert Rose (Sting).
Waiting for: Round two of grade conversion. Sigh.

sunbeam

2007-07-09T11:43:00.000+01:00

once in awhile
nothing matters
but to breathe
and know the sun

welcome warmth
slides across skin
leaving shimmering trails
that lead nowhere

DLD/09JUL07

What if...?

2007-07-08T10:11:00.001+01:00

What if love
could be bought
at the corner store...

It would be nestled
in a bed of white satin,
tucked into a striped box,
tied with a red ribbon,
and would cost
99 cents.

I would buy two.

DLD/08JUL07

peace

2007-07-07T08:54:00.001+01:00

occasionally i find it difficult
to leave the reverie
that sustains me

the inner world
the alone place
that pleases me so well

sometimes
everywhere else
is chaos

DLD/07JUL07

regret

2007-07-06T11:45:00.000+01:00

remnants of past achievements
commemorated with engraved offerings...
drab photos in dusty frames...
faces that no one remembers

a heart heavy with regret...
dredged-up sorrows
that he can't forget

and he worries over
choices not made
paths not taken

patterns disconnected
memories uncollected

DLD/06JUL07

miscellaneous snippets

2007-07-06T00:04:00.000+01:00

Occasionally, of an evening, I exchange poetry with a friend halfway around the world, in the nature of a poetic conversation. Here's my half of tonight's offerings... The asterisks indicate where his responses intervene. You're only getting half the conversation...for this I apologize, but all the words reprinted below are mine.

* * * * *

Within
lie all the seeds of the future
mixed amongst the remnants of the past....

Yet if time is subjective and irrelevant,
then how does it all fit?

Perhaps there is no progression
no forward movement
no growth....

but only
being.

* * * * *

Being
is the essence
of all.

We are one and the same,
joined yet separate.
We are here always
and never.

Knowledge is as close as our fingertips,
and as distant as the stars....
as vast as all the galaxies that have ever existed
(never existed)
yet abides forever and entirely complete...
in the petal of a rose,
the wisp of a breeze,
a child's giggle,
a grain of sand.

It is all there for you.
Reach out and ask.
It shall be yours.

Time
in all its manifestations
cannot erase
the experience of
being.

Being is all.

* * * * *

Examining too closely
makes us blind to the larger truths
and immune to the beauty of the whole.

Shall we ever remember
the magic that has brought us
in reverence and humility
to this sacred place where we sit
amongst the confusion,
watching the world go by,
and wondering why.

It is a calmness within the storm
of man's inhumanity....
to his fellow man
to the planet
to the universe
....to himself....

It is an oasis.
Invite others to drink.
Share this space in spirit and in soul,
and you shall be renewed as well.

It is a place
to experience
hope.

* * * * *

Open to all is the goal....
Open to learning,
Open to acceptance,
Open to knowledge,
Open to humanity,
Open to love
and life.

Yet in remaining open
we expose our soft underbelly
to those who would wish us harm.
For evil walks the earth in frightful disguise.

Brothers killing brothers.
The innocent perish,
and the evil care not.
All of humanity should weep
for such atrocities.

Hatred and despair are the rivers
that threaten to consume,
yet we must not allow these waters
to overtake us.

Neglect of soul and spirit.
The scourge of the modern world.
How shall we overcome?

Perseverance.

We are few in number,
but strong in desire,
and our message is powerful
beyond the imaginings
of all time.

Yet I wonder...
Will it be enough?

* * * * *

Sacrifice

I give myself up
to the power of
She who understands.

I find comfort and strength
where mine enemies seek it not....
amongst trees and meadows and
gently flowing streams....
amongst starshine and moonglow
and the wisdom of the universe....
and within the knowledge that old souls
(whoever they are and wherever they may be)
surround and protect me
with brotherhood and solidarity.

I sense the disappearance of our innocence
amongst the bombs and the destruction and the explosions and the hatred.
Yet we are safe within the oasis
that reminds me of lost loves
that are not lost at all.

How can they be lost,
when in truth they have been found?

They are ever-present....
in the flight of a thousand butterflies,
in the scent of the salt spray,
in the touch of a gentle breeze upon my skin,
in the forest shadows that I treasure,
in the paths that lead me forward.

This is from whence
my true self arises.
None can follow here
but truth.

* * * * *

DLD/05JUL07

Redemption (i)

2007-07-05T19:16:00.001+01:00

She ambled through the mysterious city
carrying all of her necessaries
in a patchwork-quilted bag
tossed carelessly over her left shoulder.
She marvelled at the magnificence all around her,
but she no longer knew who she was.

Sometimes she collapsed
under the weight of the shattered voices
that cast out the ribbons to ensnare her,
to bind her, to drag her back
to a place that no longer existed.

And as she wandered the strange streets of her new life,
lost amongst the steel and glass towers of the daring,
she paused to pick up pieces of her lost self.
Some were familiar and recognizable,
others were exotic and extraordinary.

At the end of the day,
ensconced in her tiny room,
surrounded by the seeds of newness,
she puzzled over how it all went together.
And even when the light grew dim
and none of the pieces fit,
she continued to collect and save them,
sorting them carefully into boxes labelled,
"Strength"...."Confidence"...."Determination"

And she used the trailing ribbons
to tie the boxes shut.

DLD/05JUL07

Escape (iii)

2007-07-03T23:01:00.000+01:00

And she flew away on borrowed wings.

Every time she checked
(trying to be as unobtrusive as possible),
the ribbons of self-reproach had again become entangled,
tripping up her feet and twisting amongst her heartstrings.

Each time, she quickly snatched up the errant threads,
tore them from their new moorings,
and buried them under future details.

From her satchel, she retrieved a book
with an unadorned cover of soft brown leather
and a delicate ribbon of red silk to mark her page.
She reached into her pocket for the weighted fountain pen
that perfectly fit her grasp.

She opened to the first page
and began to write.

For a day and a night and yet another day
the words poured from her pen,
like drops of blood from her fingertips.

DLD/03JUL07

Escape (ii)

2007-07-03T12:00:00.000+01:00

She stood in line at the airport,
a pair of sunglasses with scratched lenses
dangling from her mouth,
while she absentmindedly checked her pockets,
wondering which one contained her passport.

The clerk glanced contemptuously at her small battered valise.
It wasn't sturdy enough to imprison the demons of her past,
and appeared far too humble to hold
the seeds of a new start.

She hefted the worn suitcase onto the conveyor belt,
then gathered up the incessant unending threads of guilt and unfulfilled obligations.
She impatiently stuffed the lot of them into her purse in a tangled mess.
"Snakes' honeymoon," she whispered,
not quite only to herself,
with a lopsided almost smile.

She narrowly dodged the barbed claws,
soaked overnight in sanctimonious retribution,
and said, "Anywhere. It doesn't matter."

The signature on the back of her credit card
was faded almost beyond recognition.

DLD/02JUL07

What the heck was that???

2007-07-03T11:49:00.000+01:00

#36 - Flaubert’s Parrot, by Julian Barnes
Finished 7/3/07
Rating: 3/5
Total Pages: 190
Reason for Reading: Recommended by a friend / Booker Prize shortlist 1984
REVIEW: A postmodernist novel that mostly pretends to be a biography of Gustave Flaubert and the documentation of the search for an identity-challenged stuffed parrot (yes, you read that right...*smirk*), but it occasionally slips into seemingly unwitting descriptions of the narrator’s own confused psychology and search for personal meaning in the midst of apparent chaos. Which is the true story? What is the real purpose of the book? I can’t answer that. I found the book odd and intriguing, but ultimately unexplainable.

Listening to: The Cradlesong (Sacred Spirit), on iTunes SKY.FM - New Age.
Thrilled with: Amazon.co.uk and my mailman, whose combined efforts made me smile. Tossed through my mailslot today....three films (Crash, Little Children, Rabbit-Proof Fence) and one book (The Lathe of Heaven, by Ursula K. LeGuin). YAY!

More Giggles

2007-07-02T11:18:00.000+01:00

Bookfool had me in stitches this morning with her post "What Happens When a Bookfool Can't Sleep...."

You may have seen this making the rounds (I have too), but -- having too much time on my hands this morning (also see my previous post) -- today is the day to find out what Google thinks I need. Here's the drill: Type your name into a Google search window, followed by the word "needs", and see what comes up. :)

First off, let me tell you I'm very unique indeed, because my "CdnReader" persona pulled up absolutely nothing, zilch, nada. So, like Bookfool, I tried out my own real name. Here's The Top Eight Things that Donna Needs.... [drum roll please]...

1. Donna needs two hands to keep things steady. (I could actually use more than two.)

2. Donna needs a good crowding. (Huh? Yowzas!)

3. Donna needs to be reined in now. (Not true. I should have been reined in about 50 years ago. Now is MUCH too late.)

4. Donna needs bloggers' help. (See? Told ya!)

5. Donna needs Your Help NOW! (What's the hold-up?)

6. Donna needs votes in some election somewhere. (Hmmm....wonder what I'm running for?)

7. Donna urgently needs to be transferred to The Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee where she can walk and roam on soft ground, graze on fresh vegetation, swim and play in lakes and ponds, and live out her natural behaviours like an elephant is supposed to do. (OK, if this one didn't make you spew coffee all over your computer screen, your sense of humour needs a tune-up.)

8. Donna needs to go. (Yup! I'm outta here! Bye!)

* * * * *

P.S. I should probably just stick to my CdnReader personality, who apparently needs nothing whatsoever -- complete and perfect as is. Hah!!

You know you've been surfing too long when....

2007-07-02T11:01:00.000+01:00

I've been cooped up too long. For sure. :)

So this morning, I'm playing with my Google Reader settings. (Aside: Do you use Google Reader? If not, what is your preferred technique for cycling through the blogs you read?) Now, all of you who have been blogging for sometime already can stop reading here, because you probably already know all about this, but HEY! I'm still new, and discovering wondrously funny stuff! *grin*

So Google has this very cool button called "Next >>" that you can mount on your bookmark bar (is this only for Macintosh? ... no idea). So instead of clicking on individual blogs in the left-hand column of the Reader, I can just click "Next >>" and Firefox automatically cycles to the next unread entry. I wondered what would happen when I'd read all the new items. Here's what came up....

* * * * *

Congratulations, you've reached the End of the Internet .

* * * * *

Ohhhhh-kaaaaaaay..... Well, I certainly couldn't resist that link..... Go ahead.... click it. You know you wanna.... :P

I think there should be one more line at the end that says: "Donna really needs to get out more." Cuz I laughed my fool head off.....

Escape

2007-07-01T21:14:00.000+01:00

She packed her heartache
into a battered leather valise with
scuffed-up edges and a broken lock,
and left.

Her past trailed out behind her
in long ribbons of barely acknowledged resentment
and unexpressed sorrow.

She surged into the unknown
with hardly a backward glance,
pushing her hair into place and adjusting her collar,
on the outside chance
that someone might notice
and give her a break.

DLD/01JUL07

fire

2007-07-01T11:22:00.000+01:00

heat rises
invisible clouds
oppressive, angry yet

the forest lies
singed, burnt, smoking
ghostly trunks
brittle white

the forest now fragile
branches insubstantial
ashes drift,
settle

silence

DLD/01JUL07

Listening to....

2007-07-01T11:14:00.000+01:00

Stay
by Colin James

I see the clock wound down
I watch you look away
But I’ll never get used to it, at the end of the day
In a different world
In another life
The time would stop
And you'd stay all night
Sun down
And I’m feeling this strain
Can’t you see it, in the lines on my face?

(chorus)
It’s tearing me up
And breaking me down
Every time you go
You’re dragging my love around
Maybe this once
You better think twice
Stay with me tonight
Stay
Yeah...

I see the hours pass
And the see through heat
As we ease down our defenses
Slip into this mystery
There’s a world unknown
There’s so much at stake
As we search for a way, to make up for all this heart ache
Sometimes I feel I’m falling from grace
But every hour takes you farther and farther away

(chorus x3)

silhouettes

2007-07-01T10:16:00.000+01:00

the darkness of the universe
filters through the light

dimly lit shapes
(shadows still)
emerge
merge

become
the visual

create
the reality
that we view

nothing exists
without the light

the light exists not
without the darkness

DLD/01JUL07

washed away

2007-07-01T00:43:00.000+01:00

washed away
by waves that overpower
crashing louder
deeper, farther
beyond

sound explodes
reverberations echo

pulled past safety
water swirls around ankles and wrists
bonds of fluidity
grasp with rigidity
dragged into the
unknown

there is no respite
water surrounds

i drown

DLD/30JUN07

Rain

2007-06-30T22:11:00.000+01:00

And the rain falls.

Sullen heavy skies...
and a relentless flow
of rain.

Like teardrops
that carry no pain,
but cleanse, refresh, renew.

And the rain falls.

DLD/30JUN07

Hoofing It Around the Island

2007-06-30T12:33:00.000+01:00

#35 - The Kingdom by the Sea, by Paul Theroux
Finished 6/30/07
Rating: 4/5
Total Pages: 361
Reason for Reading: Recommended by a friend
REVIEW: I enjoyed Theroux’s journey around the coastal perimeter of Great Britain, even though the prose became very repetitive and droning at times. He is particularly adept at characterizing the myriad of interesting people that he encountered as he walked, took the train, jumped on buses, or hitchhiked his way through a dazzling array of tiny hamlets, picturesque villages, and dreary towns. He seems to have a rather bleak view of most of the places he visited. I took this with a large grain of salt (sea salt, that is *wink*), as I prefer to come to my own conclusions on such things. If nothing else, this served as a wonderful geography lesson for my summertime explorations of places far and near. I kept Google Maps up the entire time I was reading, so that I could track his steps from place to place.

FAVOURITE QUOTES: “I kept walking. It was possible for me to look through the front windows of these bungalows and see people polishing a souvenir horse brass, or buffing a cruet, or crocheting a doll with a long dress as a container for hiding the toilet roll. And I saw a woman at the window of one bungalow carefully biting the tip of her tongue and ironing an antimacassar. No one at Lydd-on-Sea was staring out of the window at the hideous nuclear power station and whispering, ‘God help us,’ but rather the general activity had to do with tidying. I thought about this as I walked along, and it seemed hugely appropriate that people were ironing antimacassars in a spot where a nuclear melt-down could be occurring. This was England, after all.” [p. 52]

The following two quotes are from the section on Northern Ireland….a depressing and frightening account indeed. (Theroux’s journey took place in the early 1980’s):

“It was all old grievances, and vengeance in the dark. That was why the ambush was popular, and the car bomb, and the exploding soap box, and the letter bomb. The idea was to deny what you stood for and then wait until dark to get even with the bugger who made you deny it.” [p. 233]

“Ulster was a collection of secret societies, to which only men were admitted. The men dressed up, made rules, beat drums, swore oaths, invented handshakes and passwords, and crept into the dark and killed people. When they were done they returned home to their women, like small children to their mothers.” [p. 238]

At Least I'm Not Missing Anything....

2007-06-30T11:18:00.000+01:00

Stuck inside. Recuperating from a cold. Waiting (see my last post). Day after day of rain and dreary weather at least validates my inactivity. With any luck, the rain will stop before school starts again in October. Sigh.

Lemon hot toddies all around. My treat. :) Now where's that book I was reading.....?

Rain
Rain surrounds you
It kisses your cheeks
And you imagine
The rain
As arms
Holding you,
Protecting you
Safe
In the rain.
--Anne Lacy

Listening to: Train in Vain (Annie Lennox), on iTunes mvyradio (from Martha's Vineyard).
Just finished: Signing up for a monthly DVD rental program through Amazon. If it's gonna rain for a month, I may as well catch up on all the films I've missed in the last year.

In a Lull

2007-06-28T10:30:00.001+01:00

Life seems to have slowed to almost a complete stop the past week or so, while we await release of our final marks. Somehow it seems like nothing else can happen until I receive notification of my grades on 11th July. So I wait....

I spent a few days with a fellow student in London last week. We reflected on all the hard work we've done to get this far, and shared our growing anxiety about "the wait."

I came home on Sunday and again....I wait.... I fill the hours with books and music, but there's an underlying tension throughout the hours while I wait. I'm considering going to Scotland for a week, but I'm reluctant to make plans until after the 11th, so I wait. I'm confident enough about my results that I've already informed my family that I won't be coming home to Canada this summer, and yet there's that teeny little bit of uncertainty that holds me back from making different plans. So I wait....

I have a stack of books on medical anthropology at my elbow that I've been browsing through. I'm becoming more and more certain that this is the direction I want to pursue for grad studies. I've been looking at the university websites -- McGill, Oxford, Toronto, Cambridge -- checking out requirements and course offerings and deadlines for application submission. I need another year at LSE to finish my BSc, but in many cases, applications for Sept 08 admission to grad school must be sent in by Dec 31/2007; and scholarship applications even sooner than that. There's lots of paperwork to do. However, none of this makes a difference till I know my grades. So I wait....

The last two days I've been fighting off a virus of some sort, and have spent much of my time sleeping. While I don't relish being ill, sleeping makes the wait somewhat more palatable.

Life is on "pause"....

timelessness

2007-06-20T20:06:00.000+01:00

A gentle quietness...
The still glowing embers
bring remembrance.
Ancient pathways beckon.

Recline in the grass...
Embrace the moonlight...
Bask in sprinkled starshine
and allow the drift to begin.

Open your mind to the heavens...
Let your spirit bathe in the mists of time...
Let the joining begin
as it has so many times before.

Welcome the dream of tomorrow.
Let it fill you with hope
and anticipation.
Grasp the silver thread.
Follow it back to the past.
Acknowledge the connection.

Return to the present...
Reflect on the truth...
Rejoice in the moment...

Know that
all time is
now.

DLD/20JUN07

"It's Simple Mathematics"

2007-06-19T23:11:00.000+01:00

#34 - Carry On, Mr. Bowditch, by Jean Lee Latham
Finished 6/19/07
Rating: 5/5
Total Pages: 251
Reason for Reading: Newbery Challenge
REVIEW: I loved this book about the life and times of Nathaniel Bowditch, a mathematical wizard as a boy who became a navigating genius. The setting is the turn of the 19th century, and the story takes place in Salem, Massachusetts, and on the high seas. I greatly enjoyed the descriptions of how to sail by the stars, how to use a sextant, and how to calculate latitude and longitude long before the advent of modern-day instruments. It gave me new appreciation for the difficulties involved in navigating sailing ships and the ins and outs of the high seas trading industry. I loved the book now, and I would have greatly loved it as a teen as well. It was books like this in my early years that fuelled my love of adventure and my belief that anything is possible, if only you want it enough and are prepared to do what it takes. I now have an unexplainable urge to watch Master and Commander. LOL! Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t read this as a teen. Who knows what line of work I might be in now if I had? *grin* Storytelling at its finest. Highly recommended.

* * * * *

Sadly, Nattie, the host for the Newbery Challenge, was unsuccessful in her battle against the cancer that took her life on June 7. It is my intention to complete this challenge in her honour. My deepest sympathies to her family, especially her son Jonathan, age 9, and her daughter Anna, age 6.

Listening to: Iapetus (Enya)

castles never last

2007-06-19T13:49:00.001+01:00

castles never last

the water nudges the wall
eroding, disintegrating
little by little

breathe....release
breathe....release
breathe....release

every breath
erodes the foundation...
castles can't last
forever

the walls become sand again
swirling in tidewater pools
and then swept back to sea

only to be rebuilt
by another child
on the other side of the world

breathe....release
breathe....release
breathe

DLD/19JUN07

Repost: Landscapes of Wales

2007-06-19T10:45:00.001+01:00

The top photo is the town of Barmouth. The middle two are from my hillside hike, and the bottom is taken from Panorama Viewpoint.

Repost: More Hiking Photos from Wales

2007-06-19T10:33:00.001+01:00

Life on Other Planets

2007-06-17T13:31:00.000+01:00

#33 - The Book of Dreams, by Jack Vance
Finished 6/17/07
Rating: 4/5
Total Pages: 268
Reason for Reading: Recommended by a friend
REVIEW: This was the fifth and final instalment in the Demon Princes series. I quite enjoyed the whole series. Vance is clearly a most imaginative and clever author, and as a sci-fi writer he stands among the best. Every chapter begins with an excerpt from some important published work of the future, something that advances the plot or elucidates some element of the story. I particularly enjoyed his careful descriptions of clothing styles, which varied dramatically from planet to planet, and the details of various strange and wondrous foods and menu items. Meticulous attention is also paid to local dialects and musical instruments, dances, and songs. Each world is brought to life with its own colours and sounds, and plenty of elaborate detail. Pure genius!

Listening to: Slow Roll 77 (Freakniks), on iTunes Flaresound.
Pensive about: The ups and downs of personal relationships, both new and old.

tides

2007-06-17T11:23:00.001+01:00

i sit at the shore
mesmerized by the tides
that rise and then subside

the water comes to me
filling the sand with pools
of reflected sunshine

then the world tilts
and the sea flows back to you,
leaving me empty

like the ocean,
i search for balance
within the endless motion...
the ebb and flow...
of life and love

the tides that rise
and then subside

DLD/17JUN07

A Week by the Water

2007-06-16T18:43:00.001+01:00

The train journey to Barmouth was longer than I expected....over eight hours. I didn't know you could travel eight hours by train in Great Britain without falling in the ocean! LOL! The last hour of the journey, however, was pretty close to that. The tracks hugged the hillside above the sea, and the scenery was spectacular. At right is the tiny community of Barmouth, tucked between the sea and the hillsides...very picturesque indeed.

I'm not sure from whence emerged the intense desire to go to the seaside, but when I booked this vacation some two months ago, the sensation just wouldn't go away. Somehow being near the water refreshes, soothes, and renews in a most remarkable way. I love the sound of the waves, whether they're gently lapping the shoreline or rushing in with a great crash. The beach at Barmouth is one of the most spectacularly beautiful that I have ever seen. When the tide was out, there was a huge expanse of soft, fine sand that seemed to go on forever. And what amazed me was how few people seemed to be around most of the time. As the weekend approached, more and more families and arm-in-arm young couples appeared to take up space with their blankets and coolers, but for most of the week I was there, the beaches were as uncrowded as the photos here portray. Even on the busiest days, the sun-worshippers didn't show up till well after 10 a.m., and were gone again by 5:30 p.m.

One of the my first stops was at the Tourist Information Centre to pick up maps of self-directed hiking trails. I'm a little out of shape for longer treks (since I spent all of my "spare time" in the last eight months stuck in my room reading books and writing papers, rather than keeping fit), but I was pleased to find that I could still put in three to four hours without too much difficulty.

Pathways are one of my favourite subjects for photography. I love the perspective, and the hidden message of a new destination and undiscovered mysteries right around the next corner.

Another hike, another day.....and here's yours truly....proving that I did indeed wander through these beautiful landscapes. My camera is a 5.0 megapixel Canon PowerShot A530, with 4x optical zoom. Mostly I just set it on automatic and let it do its own thing. This was the first time that I stopped long enough to learn how to use the auto timer. I carefully balanced the camera on a large rock, set it for 10 seconds and scooted over to the gate. This was taken very near the Panorama viewpoint looking over the harbour, and the photo at left is from the viewpoint itself, showing the train bridge over the mouth of the Mawddach estuary.

It took me about an hour and a half to climb to the highest point of the hills behind Barmouth, and I was rewarded with beautiful views of the Welsh countryside (and the odd sheep as well *smile*). I was intrigued by the natural stone "fences." Aren't they beautiful? Many houses in Barmouth are constructed of the same local rock, and I loved how they blended right into the hillside.

2007-06-16T17:58:00.000+01:00

I spent a lot of my time just looking at the water, mesmerized by the magical motion of the waves. I had a lovely room with an unobstructed view right over the water, and a big comfy armchair settled nicely in the window nook. And several times a day I'd head out to wander the beach. Walk, refresh, renew, breathe. Very very relaxing.

The tides fascinated me. They made me think of the world as a great huge balancing mechanism, and I visualized the water flowing gently back and forth between the continents. I wonder if it's the earth's way of always trying to find that middle ground where the water could be perfectly still and serene. :)

The photo above right is my favourite of the entire trip, taken on a peaceful, quiet evening.

Poppet at the Seaside

2007-06-15T11:43:00.000+01:00

Look up, Poppet,
look w-a-a-a-a-a-y up.....

Poppet perched on a piling, gazing out at the seascape.

Poppet wonders where the water goes when the tide goes out, and what does it feel like to dip your toes in the surf? (Poppet has no toes, you see.)

Poppet checks out the rocky shoreline....

....and climbs up to the Promenade for a wide view.

Writing Habits

2007-06-15T10:25:00.001+01:00

Andi over at Tripping Toward Lucidity blogged today about writing rituals and habits. I responded there, but enjoyed the topic so much that I'm copy-and-pasting my comment here:

The only truly unbreakable writing habit I have is procrastination. I can find all kinds of other things to do before starting the paper. Wash dishes, take a shower, go for a walk, straighten my bookshelves, braid my hair, sort out my photos, and OMG look at how those coloured pens got all out of order!!! *snort* My writing space looks kinda like the photo you posted, though. 'Cept my chair is worn out, faded fabric with a really yucky brown/beige floral print; and my "footstool" is the wooden desk chair that I pull across the room cuz I don't own a proper ottoman, don't wanna spend the money, and don't have space to keep one anyways; and the walls are grungy used-to-be-white horrid wallpaper that's peeling off in every corner and along every seam; and I don't own a dog. Okay. Now that I think about it I guess it's not much the same at all. But I do have that annoying sloped ceiling above my head that always seems to get in the way when alighting into or emerging from one's writing fervour. Just one of the perils of life in a third-floor dusty Dickensian garret.

As far as distractions, I cannot work ANYWHERE where people are moving around, such as at the library. I utterly HATE doing research or writing at the library. The whispering around me makes me nuts. But I've gotta have music, and I've gotta use my earbuds plugged into my laptop, and the volume tends to get scooched up higher and higher until it's eventually at its max. The genre doesn't matter -- it can be jazz, rock, blues, classical, whatever -- but It has to be familiar music, not NEW music. Familiar music just blends into the background; new music draws my attention away from the work. And once I do (finally) get out of procrastination mode and settled in my space with the music blaring into my ears, I tend to sit and write until the damn thing is done. Not unusual for me to go five/six hours without stirring from my spot.

And in case you think I'm kidding, the photo above is my writing spot as it looks at this exact moment. I particularly like the towels hanging over the radiator at my left elbow. Charming, don't you think? Yes, I really am living a very very (very!) simple existence just now.

How about you? What are your writing peccadilloes? I'd love to hear about your unbreakable habits too!

Listening to: Could Fly (Keith Urban)
Thinking about: Booking another vacation (Scotland)

The Beach at Fairbourne

2007-06-12T21:11:00.000+01:00

I cannot BELIEVE the sheer beauty of the Cambrian Coast beaches. And, yes, they truly are this EMPTY! Utterly amazing. Weekends are much busier, and they tell me July/August is crazy, but these are undiscovered gems -- pure and simple. Fairbourne is just south of Barmouth, on the opposite side of the Mawddach Estuary. Taken from the train, which hugs the coastline a
hundred or so feet above the ground. Yowzas!

Vacation Reading

2007-06-12T16:12:00.000+01:00

I finished all four books that I took with me on vacation. Ahhh.....the glory of long days filled with zero responsibilities and good reads.... Life is good. *smile* Here are my reviews:

#29 - The In-Between World of Vikram Lall, by M.G. Vassanji
Finished 6/7/07
Rating: 4/5
Total Pages: 436
Reason for Reading: 2003 Giller Prize Winner
REVIEW: Although I found the book long and tedious from time to time, I quite enjoyed the story of Vikram Lall and his family. The story is set in Kenya, yet told from the perspective of a narrator (Vikram) who now lives in Toronto. It tells of a third-generation Indian family, still struggling to find their true place under the remnants of colonial rule. The politics of the time are well represented, although they serve more as a counterpoint to the lives of the Lalls than as the central feature. Vassanji succeeds in developing a family story that acts as a microcosm to the national events surrounding them. Well-told with interesting and captivating characters.

#30 - The Cat Who Went to Heaven, by Elizabeth Coatsworth
Finished 6/7/07
Rating: 5/5
Total Pages: 74
Reason for Reading: Newbery Challenge
REVIEW: A delightful fable about a poor painter who is commissioned to create a masterpiece of the dying Buddha for the village temple. The artist ponders and meditates on each element of the painting. He spends time contemplating the meaning of each animal to be added, but is unable to include the cat, as legend tells that only the cat of all animals refused the teachings of Buddha. When the painter rebels against tradition, and includes a cat in the painting, he is rewarded with a miracle. A very good primer on the meaning of life, compassion, and love in the Buddhist religion. Every word masterful and meaningful. Highly recommended.

#31 - The Monk, by Matthew Lewis
Finished 6/10/07
Rating: 4/5
Total Pages: 1452 (Palm Pilot)
Reason for Reading: 18th/19th Century Novel
REVIEW: I was surprised by how much I enjoyed this book. It’s entirely different from anything else I’ve read from this era. Hard-hitting, tough, violent, judgmental, lusty. It’s all about sin and temptations. There are a variety of characters that tell their stories throughout the course of the book, and all the stories converge in surprisingly unique ways. Recommended.

#32 - Women with Men, by Richard Ford
Finished 6/12/07
Rating: 5/5
Total Pages: 255
Reason for Reading: Recommended by a friend
REVIEW: My first by Richard Ford and amazingly good. Loved the insights into the male psyche of his main characters. This is a collection of three short stories, connected by themes of marriage and infidelity, the search for love (or conversely, the seeming avoidance of it), and how human relationships work (or rather, how they don’t). The three main adult male characters are very well depicted, fully three-dimensional, and memorable, but each of them is also distinctly unlikable in their own fashion. Fascinating material.

I earmarked a number of striking passages, including these two...

“Obviously she was more complicated, maybe even smarter, than he’d thought, and quite realistic about life, though slightly disillusioned. Probably, if he wanted to press the matter of intimacy, he could take her back to his room – a thing he’d done before on business trips, and even if not so many times, enough times that to do so now wouldn’t be extraordinary or meaningful, at least not to him. To share an unexpected intimacy might intensify both their holds on life.” [p. 7]

“In that way, he felt, it was a typical academic marriage. Other people forged these same accommodations without ever knowing it. His parents, for instance. It was possible they hated each other, yet hating each other was worth more than trying to love somebody else, somebody you’d never know in a hundred years and probably wouldn’t like if you did. Better, they’d found, to focus on whatever good was left, set aside all issues they would never agree on, and call it marriage, even love.” [p. 159]

The Erstwhile Welsh Wanderer Returns....

2007-06-12T14:31:00.000+01:00

I'm having too much fun catching up on everyone else's blogs to update my own (yet), but here's one photo for now....This was taken on my Saturday hike up the mountain. Very...um....Welsh-ish, don't you think?? *smile* Lots more to come! (Promise!) Including poppet pics. Hehehe..... Oh, and book reviews. Three or four, if I remember correctly. Back soon!

Off to Snowdonia

2007-06-03T19:46:00.000+01:00

Tomorrow morning I leave Chesham at 1010, head to London Marylebone Station and then take the 1150 train to Barmouth, Wales, by way of Birmingham. I'm looking forward to a surf-dabbling, mountain-hiking, book-reading, poetry-composing, journal-writing, seaside-wandering, afternoon-napping, sandcastle-building, poppet-posing, wine-drinking, good-food-eating, and utterly-relaxing holiday. I'll be back in a week, and ready for regular blogging again. Be good to yourselves. {{{hugz}}} In the meantime....here's a video of the area I'll be visiting. Enjoy. *grin*