conglomeration of thoughts

Just some thoughts running through my head.
In many ways, I can mark the day that childhood innocence left me. Some people have their innoncence taken from them. Some have moments were they unknowingly release it like a firefly once cupped in their hands. Some run into that moment with expectation and some meet it when they least expect it. I met it on October 27th 1990.
That day represents more to me than the day that my father died. It has a two-edged meaning for me.
I'm trying to write this without sounding dramatic or without evoking pitying responses, but it's hard to know how to put it into words that will help a reader understand what I'm trying to say. So, I'm just going to say it and let the words break and fall where they may.
My father was blue when I found him. Was he still alive? Could he hear me? Did he worry that his little girl found him and he was unable to help, unable to protect as he had so many times before? These are all questions that I've asked, looked at, polished and then placed in God's hand. Sometimes I pick them up and look at them, but for the most part I've given them to Him because I know "He is able to keep them until that day."
Childhood, for me, ended like a blast of cold water being thrown on my face. There was no option for a different course. The wonder of childhood; the soft roundness of amazement and imagination; the doughy, warm smells of contentment all vanished the moment I crept up to my father's body and peered at his bluish, gray face. There was no going back. Childhood had ended.
Surprisingly, at that exact same moment, I found myself in a greater adventure. An adventure that superseded the panic that surfaced and the fear that wrapped itself around me in that moment.
At that exact minute, I became aware of God's presence. The all-consuming, comforting and gentle Presence of the Lord. Peace invaded my panic, love burnt up my fear and the unmistakable knowledge that I was not abandoned became seeded in my heart.
Knowing you, Jesus
Knowing you
There is no greater thing
You're my Lord, you're the best
You're my joy, my righteousness
And I love you
It was a few years later when I heard Corrie Ten boom's words about living in the concentration camp and losing all her family; these words finally put all of my heart's understanding about God's love for me into one simple phrase: "There is no pit too deep, that He is not deeper still."
October 27th 1990 is the day that my childhood ended and it was the day I was swallowed up by the vastless, warm ocean of God's love.
Today feels like a good day to go surfing.

So wanting some of Jamie Oliver's chocolate pots with Mars bars sauce!

It's the last day of my cleanse. For the past ten days I have drank only water and a concoction made out of maple syrup, cayenne pepper and lemon. Oh, and let's not forget the morning drink of water and sea salt to flush the toxins out.
Well, now that I am so close to done, all I can think about is food. I'm dreaming of:
quesadillas
cheese smothered pasta (any kind)
crostini's caked with cream cheese and pesto
Ritva crackers with avocado and cheese
my grandmother's blueberry pie
my mother's food-all of it
Lucy H's cabbage rolls
my spring rolls
My bro in law's meatballs
My grandfather's oatmeal
Well-done Pancakes from the Hoito
My sister's cheesecake
My sister in law, Angela's, chili
My oatmeal bake
sushi
lemon loaf
saucy chicken with parmesan reggiano
Heather's cookies
Lois' anything--the woman can cook
Someone feed me!!!!!
The sad truth is that my stomach has shrunk and now I have to slowly and painstakingly re-itnroduce food to my body.
In four days from now I will be living! I will be thriving! Because I will be eating!

(pics from Jamie Oliver's website)

Sharks have the ability to smell 40x more than me...

...although, after today I beg to differ.
I am on a cleanse. It's a ten day cleanse where you clean out your body of toxins.My friend warned me before I started. "Hols, the only downfall about the whole thing is how powerful your sense of smell becomes." No kidding.
My nostrils are hoover vacuums taking in the wonderful, mouthwatering aromas of food. Every smell is now keen and clear, fragrant and delicious. It's like falling in love all over again--suddenly the world is a brand new place.
Well, back to my lemon-maple syrup-cayenne pepper concoction.
Cheers!

I can't believe I found this clip!

This is a great depiction of comedy. Take notes!

Thank you for Freedom!

My family is looking to adopt a soldier in Afghanistan to write to and encourage and THANK.
The website www.canadianangels.org is getting people in touch with the injured soldiers. Please visit the site.
Watch the song. Hauntingly beautiful.

Barracks

"Come back to me."
He ran his fingers across the words stamped into the page. It was only an email, but the words felt alive to his touch.
He sighed, laying back on his bunk and staring at the matress rings above him.
He wanted to go back. Every moment he felt the tug of her love calling to him, pulling him. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought about her face rather than the violence he had seen that day. He wanted to remember the smell of summer in her hair rather than the gritty roar of the convoy trucks, the shrieks of the Afghani people running to hide from the spray of bullets, the tidal wave of fear he had to push aside as he worked with the other medics to save the victims.
He could see her face, smiling at him. Her green eyes looking steady at his. He let his memories of her wash over him like a wave reconciling with the shore. This was his solace.
But even his solace pulled at him...calling him home. He wanted to go, and he wanted to stay. He needed to stay. It was the right place for him to be. If he left now, if they all left now, what about these people? What about their hope for peace, their hope for something different?
Questions he didn't have answers to. Promises he couldn't make. A hard spot for a Canadian soldier to be in.
He picked up the letter and stared at the words, "Come back to me."

life in photos

Peter with his creation, "The distraught Grandmother." Granny has a pipe in her mouth, although it's hard to see.


Our table gourds.  Now a new tradition at my house. We decorate our gourds and then sit them in front of our plates. Mine is the second from the right "Opera Diva gourd" complete with gold earrings. Missie Moo's is the first one from the right. SuperGirl 's is the first one from the left. Izzy's are the two in the middle. A punk rocker and a nice girl. Hmmm...both descriptions could be said of our girl, Inez! Distraught grandmother was too distraught to come to this photo.


Seriously, this is my hair just before I went to a friend's for Turkey on Thanksgiving Sunday. Anyone who knows me well, knows that this is only another chapter in the saga known as "The Hair of My Life".Crazy, windy day.

I love hiking. So much to see.

Woke up early on Thanksgiving Sunday to watch the sunrise. Thank you God for morning!

Yes, that is snow on the ground. This weekend we hung out in Waterton with our cousin Darla. First day was kiaboshed since it snowed and no one had decent footwear except Darla. those girls from Montana...always thinking!Isn't it gorgeous here. This photo alone should convince you all to come visit me.

SuperGirl and her new buddy, Baby Pinkie Pie

A picture of Missie-Moo by our house.

Smooches

All day Brie has been hurting herself. Typical toddler woes. A table in the way, a block that gets stepped on, a bonk on the head from the low lying counter.
Each time she gets an "owie" she runs to me saying , "Mommy, 'mooches." Which means "Mommy, kiss me better."
I was in the bathroom reaching for something when I hit my knee.
"Ow!" I screamed.
Brie came running from the other room. " 'Mooches, Mommy. 'Mooches." And then she lifted my hands off my knee and gave me a kiss.
And you know what? It did the trick.
I was all better.

The Blue Car

Burnt, charred embers
leave marks on my hands
Easily washed off
with the grit of the sand
that stood under your feet
as you stood on my soul
Helpless and lame
Completely unwhole

Rhonderdons blooming
Stars shining the same
Blues music was booming,
To a tune that was slain...
eking a place in my head
For the swallows to sit
For the swallows, a bed

Drip-drops of the coffee
that I never drink
Sing songs of the melodies
that I never think

Questioned the running of time
through the land
of wheat that blows grandly
while slips through my hand

Wondered at silence
Why nothing was said
Sealed up like drum
That beat in my head

Rhythms stopped rhyming
And moods stopped their sway
Time hands stopped ticking
The moon slipped away

Frayed ribbons
Black hats
Scuffed shoes and dark shades
Under the blue car
that drove far away

Like a house on fire

In the past week and a half I have had two family members greatly affected by fire.
My older sister's home burned down. No one was in the home, but she lost everything. My father's Bible, her pictures of her family (including the baby picturres), and anything that we use on any given day. Anything that could have been salvaged had smoke damage and somewhat singed.
On the other side of my family, four days later, my father-in-law's roof caught fire. It will take three months to fix the damage. Fortunately, their insurance is putting them up in an apartment during that time but again they lost many things to smoke damage.
It throws things into perspective. Sometimes I can't stand the junk we collect and I dearly love the word "Purge". but it's one thing when it's your choice to get rid of things and another when things are just stripped away.
Hey, I know that they are just things. That when we die we can't take them with us. But these things still have this ability to carry with them an emotional attachment. As my sister described it, "I had people helping me go through everything. I stood watching as people picked up scorched toys and tossed them because they were melted or throwing books away because they were deemed no longer good. But all I saw them doing was throwing my memories away and treating them as though it was all garbage."
In both cases, all my family members were safe, and at the end of the day that is all that matters. Truly, it is.
I wish I didn't live so far away from them because I would be giving everyone great big hugs. And I'm grateful that the memory of a hug can never be thrown away into a garbage bag with the words,"that's no longer worth keeping."