Life in canada – Page 2

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EVERYDAY GLORY – Part 2

November 17, 2014November 20, 2014 Cynthia Reyes

*PHOTOS BY HAMLIN GRANGE*

Before the car accident, I was busy leading the big projects, travelling here and there. Running around trying to change the world can make a person miss the beauty of “ordinary” things.

Injuries and pain are indescribably worse. You finally have time to see, but barely have the energy to look.

But – oh – it’s worth the effort!

To see one’s surroundings with new and grateful eyes.

To take joy in the small moments.

To be open to small patches of everyday glory.

"Snow Cones" on Spruce Branch - Photo by Hamlin Grange — “Snow Cones” on Spruce Branch

Snow on evergreens. The first snow makes the garden beautiful, day and night.

The late sun. Late afternoon sunlight shining on wood floors is magical. And when the late sun hits the wavy glass sidelights in the front door of our old farmhouse, it’s wondrous.

My husband’s truant socks. He has tons of single socks and we spend time searching for their matches.I used to get irritated by this. Or by newspapers strewn across the breakfast table. (Or his overlooking my small attempts to ‘cheer up’ our house.)

Now, I call them “signs of life”. And I give thanks for having someone kind, funny and loving to share my everyday life with. (And I try to assemble the newspapers without muttering.)

Freshly washed sheets. There’s luxury in the smell and feel of freshly washed cotton sheets although they’ve been used and washed many times.

The old wool blanket. “Canadiana”, for sure, it would be worth something, unstained. Do I care about the stain? No. I love this blanket for its brilliant stripes – and for having survived decades of use.

Blooming Amaryllis. Bought for 6 bucks, it re-blooms (big red blooms) on long stalks each winter. ‘Nuff said.

Our family’s big mixing bowl. Many apple pies have been mixed up in that beautiful old bowl.

My daughter’s dogs. Sometimes, just the sight of them gladdens my heart. One brownish-black, one white, they’re both tiny dogs with personalities of their own. As I write, they’re stretched out beside me, fast asleep.

Julius and Dawson Fast Asleep — The Pooches

Slowing down by choice is great. Being forced to do so is awful.

But in the spirit of lighting a candle and finding my way out of darkness, I’ve been focusing on positives.

And keeping both eyes open for the everyday kind of glory.

This post is dedicated to the caring staff at the pain management centre of Toronto Rehabilitation Hospital. One of the techniques they teach their patients is mindfulness.

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NO WORDS

October 4, 2014October 5, 2014 Cynthia Reyes

There are no words.

One speaks to God in frightened silence

Broken only by jagged breath.

One reaches for faith

And reaches again.

Before faith, the lurch in the belly.

The gasp from the chest.

The hurt in the heart.

And sighs too deep for words.

Shock. Denial. Floundering.

The waves of fear, threatening to drown.

We must not drown.

We search for a fixed point.

The heart glimpses the rock

Rising up from the water.

The rock shines with promise.

Strong, fixed and charcoal-dark.

The deep water swirls and obscures

So confident in its massive power.

It carries threats of death and echoes of loss.

And loud whispers of nevermore.

Quick now: shut it out.

Do not give it the power it craves.

Focus instead on the fixed point.

Look again and find the rock.

There are no words.

I speak to God in silence and jagged breath.

My arms thrash, thrash and thrash

And touch solid stone.

I hold on, hold on

Fight to hold on to its solid-ness

The waves of fear, and drowning waters

Are all around.

One thrashes and fights

And struggles with all one’s might.

And speaks to God, in silence and jagged breath:

Let my beloved live.

Let him live.

Let us get to the hospital in time.

Let the doctors and nurses know what to do.

Please let my beloved live.

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Ever Heard Of An Emony?

September 16, 2014September 16, 2014 Cynthia Reyes

I hadn’t seen one, just heard the name.

Then I saw the written word somewhere: Anemone.

Kinda like the first time I saw the word “Cotoneaster” and called it a “Cotton Easter” shrub — to the amusement of experienced gardeners nearby. One of them explained: “It’s an aster. Cotone aster.”

Yeah, sure. But in my mind, it’s still “Cotton Easter”.

What can I say? People like me hail from a strange planet.

Which may explain why we can’t cook or bake or knit.

Or make nice floral arrangements.

But I digress.

The anemone flower, a member of the buttercup family, has magical origins.

If you believe the old legends, anyway.

And you should…. if you’re a gardener.

Because I understand that gardeners are really magicians and witches, and that if you see them in the moonlight — at exactly one minute after midnight — you’ll notice that their fingers are an iridiscent green and tendrils grow from their hands and feet…..

But I digress. Again.

Anemone is said to have sprung from the earth when the goddess Venus shed tears of grief over the loss of Adonis and flowers grew where her tears fell.