Joy can't hide here

It is Wednesday night, early, early Thursday morning. I should be asleep, but when do I ever do what I should be doing? Tell me, friends, when?

This evening after I finished work I went for a long walk along the boardwalk that runs along part of the bay skirts Charlottetown, the capitol city of Prince Edward Island. It was a beautiful evening. The kind of evening that pulls you like some gravitational force out of your house to immerse yourself fully in the wash of its golden rays. I walked along the boardwalk slowly, feeling the breeze blow through the combs of my splayed fingers; listening to it play through the thick canopy of maples at the end of the boardwalk and watching it press the ocean into millions of tiny ripples of light and shadow lapping up against the boulders that are piled up as a breakwater along the boardwalk. The sky was clear blue. The ocean deep, inky blue, and the grass that sharp ripe green of mid-summer. Out in the bay at least twenty white mesmerizing sails swirled in the wind.

When I reached the opposite end of the boardwalk I turned around and started back, this time slipping off my sandals and rolling up my pant legs so that I could leap along from boulder to boulder, the sound of the ocean licking stone to my right. When I was a child I has a special place called "my rocks." It may be that everything is "my ______" when you are an only child, but these rocks were special. They were sculpted and carved out by volcanic activity and the relentless surge and fall of the Mediterranean, leaving an interesting landscape that to most people was just a rocky shoreline, but to me was "my house." My house had a bedroom and bathroom, kitchen (complete with salt water basin) and even a staircase leading up to my private quarters from the living room. I would enter my house and go straight upstairs to "my special room," a section of the rocky shoreline that was sculpted out hollow leaving a basin of stone into which I could curl like a fetus. From my bowl room I could peer out over the lip of stone and down to the waves below which would, on windy days, crash with a fury and recklessness that I loved, sending spray up into the air that would drift over me, leaving a salty mist on my lips and in my hair, and even leaving rings of dried salt crystals in the indentations around me that I would scratch at with my fingernails and dissolve on my tongue. I loved this little rock bowl, and would visit it often, sitting for long periods of time just listening to the ocean and often whispering Baha'i prayers into the wind. When I return home now I always visit "my rocks" at least once. I still crouch down into my stone bowl, but it is a lot smaller that it once was -- my body having grown to fill its curved walls. Still....I sit and listen to the ocean, and people pass by and probably wonder why a grown woman is crouching in a rock cavity staring out to sea . Of course it is the little girl with her head full of dreams, hopes, fears and the calming rhythmic lull of waves that is curled into that stone--the child that lives on  in each one of us at some level). There is always a story, and a trigger that brings it back. Like the leaping from boulder to boulder today. The texture of sandstone beneath my feet. The sound of waves breaking. And the smell of salt that is synonymous with home.

I walked the rest of the way home barefoot with my jeans rolled up and an awareness of how odd it must seem to those passing me on the boardwalk to see a woman with a strand of pearls around her neck and and dressed for work wandering along a boardwalk barefoot. The world seems to have certain expectations of us as adults -- the expectation that we will have grown out of certain ways of being, doing, and maybe even thinking. That a grown woman will not suddenly break out with a cartwheel or backflip in the middle of a beach or strip of inviting grass, for example. Or leap from boulder to boulder barefoot in her good clothes and pearls. It makes me smile because when I am out there on those boulders I am the boulders. I am the wind. There is no woman. I vanish and all that I am aware of is the elements of place. There are no pearls or makeup or hairdos. Just the air and salt water and that saturated, blinding golden sunshine.

I love that there is no line between me and the natural world. That I feel its wildness in my bones. That when I was out there yesterday boulder hopping I was thinking not of work or bills or to do lists or life goals, but about how it might feel to be one of those graceful white sails being filled with and harnessing the power of wind or a seagull soaring on wind currents high above my head. And as I think these things I wonder when and where (and why) we get such hemmed in expectations of what it means to be adults when in reality releasing the wild that lives inside --the wild that reflects that freedom of expression that is the natural world--is such an ageless expression of beauty and joy.

I came home and climbed the stairs feeling a deep contentment in my heart and body. A few years ago a dear friend sang at an academic conference that I attended here in Charlottetown. She stood up and sang in the middle of an academic conference. It blew my mind to watch her reclaim and express the joy she finds in poetry and song in the middle of this conference that although not openly stated, was so full of expectations about the right ways to communicate with the audience. She only sang one line -- "Joy can't hide here -- and why would it want to?" which she repeated over and over, pausing in between to let it sink in. Indeed, I thought. Why would joy want to hide?

Over the past few years I have been seeking out that joy in my life. Finding ways of giving it permission to reclaim its rightful place in my life. Yesterday evening returning home into my sun lit apartment I was deeply aware not only of the tremendous abundance that I have in my life -- abundance of friendship, abundance of the lush, wild beauty of the natural world, of fresh food, of love.....but also of the ever-constant presence of joy in my life these days. The conscious awareness of it not hiding but standing contentedly in the patch of sunlight in the middle of my living room floor.

And you, friends? Is your joy hiding? Or have you found ways of giving it permission to emerge and inhabit its natural home front and centre in the heart of living?

A new home

I still do not have my curtains up, but it is beginning, slowly, to feel like home. Since moving into my new apartment life has been non-stop, full-on--it has been as life should be--full of the experience of living. I have had little time for writing lately. When I come home I manage to get a few more things organized, sometimes a bath, and then promptly pass out in my makeshift bed which is composed of a sleeping bag and two thin pieces of foam on the floor. Still....with a good deal of effort, lots of contributions from friends and the arrival of a suitcase of my belongings from California my space is starting to turn into something resembling a space that I can inhabit instead of a dumping ground. While my dear friend Ahava was on the island this past week she helped me gather some essentials and put together a small set of shelves to get my clothes off the floor (WHAT a brilliant idea!). She also gave me a beautiful painting which I will write about another time because it warrants its own blog entry.

I live in the heart of downtown Charlottetown. With all my windows propped open as they are now I hear the throb of the city in summer: live music, stragglers heading either to or from one of the city's many bars, the sound of motorcycles speeding by, wind in the trees, cars, and this evening some rather live recorded music coming from God only knows where. It is loud downtown--something I have not yet gotten accustomed to. The noise keeps me awake at night. And yet I love the convenience of being so close to everything. Being able to sit, as I did this evening, on Victoria Row -- a pedestrian only street -- and have a cool drink while I listen to live music and read my novel, and then stroll leisurely the one block home in five minutes. Yup. There are definitely advantages to being downtown.

I have been in so many spaces since arriving back on the island that it is hard to settle down and allow myself to nest. Part of me keeps expecting this space to be gone soon too. But this evening as I sit here watching the last of the light fade I am trying to let myself dream into this new space and life. To absorb all the change and consider my surroundings. Dogs bark. More cars. The recorded music that, if it does not get turned off soon is going to keep me awake yet again. The fading lilac and rose from the sunset. The deep blue sea of the sky. It is time to wander down to the basement that has a sign on it "enter at your own risk" and unload my last load of laundry before I collapse into bed.

Hoping you are all well! Greetings from the heart of summer on Prince Edward Island.

Apricots taste like sunshine

This evening is a list kind of evening, if you know what I mean. But it is also a gratitude Monday, so here's what I am feeling grateful for today. Add your list below if you feel like sharing!

1. The fact that I am currently lying on my bed barefoot with a lovely breeze blowing over me after a lovely, relaxing bath.

2. My parents. I am feeling very grateful for their love, support, and continued presence in my life.

3. The fact that my parents are sweet enough that they will forgive the fact that they are number two, after my bath ;-)

4. Prince Edward Island. The sunshine. The rain. The snow. The gorgeous flowering bushes that are all over Charlottetown. The beautiful snaking salt/fresh water rivers that meander inland along the green banks and red beaches. The people who are endlessly kind and generous. The rich culture, amazing visual artists and musicians. The stunning sunsets. The dunes. The red soil that is so rich. The farmland that I hope to farm again some day. The farmer's markets. The windmills. The lighthouses scattered along headlands. The blue herons. The eagles. The foxes. The frogs in ditches that sing on summer evenings. And so much more.

5. Chilled apricots on warm summer evenings that taste like sunshine.

6. My flatmate Minnie who is an incredible cook and baker, tells the best stories, loans me her baking sheets and ignores every bit of advice I ever give her, and rightly so since she is in her 80s and I have no business giving an 80 year old any advice whatsoever anyway.

7. My prayer book, and the waking up early yesterday to drive out to the country, climb a hill and say morning prayers with my dear friend Honeylyn for our parents.

8. The breakfast that Honeylyn and I had together looking out at the river in New Glasgow after our morning prayers yesterday.

9. All the amazing people that have stepped forward to donate random bits and pieces for my new tiny apartment downtown that I move into this coming weekend.

10. Sunshine. Pure and simple.

11. Ann and Stephen--because they are family, they have been there for me through thick and through thin, and are still standing to tell the tale, and no matter what I write in this blog at least one of them always takes the time to read it, which really is quite miraculous.

12. My friend Louise. Because she doesn't actually have to communicate using words to convey either her love or her absolute disproval. And because she not only reads my blog -- she also expects me to read hers, and rightly so.

13. The computer that I am typing this blog entry on-- with functional buttons and screen and all.

14. The fact that I am going to bed before midnight tonight no matter what.

15. Alanna and Sonjel. For recognizing that the best birthday gift would be a rental car so I could get out to the countryside that I love so for a day. And just for being so much fun.

16. The fact that I am learning when to stop, as I am going to do right now.

Sweet dreams friends!

Rubber ducky & the perfume of lilacs

This evening I came home from work, took a lovely hot bath, lathered up with body lotion, slipped into a sun dress and headed out with purpose for a poetry reading that I thought was happening at the university this evening. I was running kind of late, having taken my time in the bath and then relaxing in the rays that fell across my bedroom floor with the novel that I was determined to finish this evening (The Secret Daughter), so I practically sprinted from the apartment that I live in to the university, arriving short of breath and all sweaty. I rushed up to the faculty lounge and peered in through the door to make sure I would disturb people by coming in late. What I saw through the doors was a room full of chairs. No people. No poets....I got my phone out and checked the Facebook invite again, and indeed the reading is tomorrow evening, not tonight. I stood still for a few moments, trying to figure out how to let the friend who was going to meet me at the end of the event after her statistics class know why I was not there. I scrolled her a note on a piece of scrap paper and headed back out into the evening sunshine, feeling rather silly for not having read more carefully. I have been tired a lot lately. Not just tired -- way over tired, which probably accounts of misreading the date. I was walking across campus beating myself up for all this walking when I was already tired and could have used an evening of taking it easy when I suddenly heard this croaking sound emanating from my purse. Quack, quack, quack. Quack, quack, quack. I stared down at my purse, completely taken off guard, before realizing that I had forgotten to give my friends who I was house-sitting for last week back their keys that they had put on a bright rubber ducky keychain that actually quacks. Standing there in the early evening sunshine with my sore feet and tired eyes and with the walk back home ahead of me I started giggling, then laughing out loud. It felt like the universe was inviting me to laugh at the day. To let go of my frustration and to completely embrace and enjoy what was left of my day.

On my walk back home I took my time. I did not rush. I was not in a hurry. I took in the blue blue sky. The gorgeous flowering bushes. The bright green lawns. The little house with the glassed in front porch common in Atlantic Canada that is on my route that has been for sale for a few months now and had a SOLD sign out front today. I listened to the birds singing their evening songs. And I just relaxed. It felt divine after all the racing around that I do on a daily basis to just take it easy for a little while.

Yesterday when I got home from work it was again a gloriously sunny day. My flatmate Minnie, an elderly woman in her 80s was out on the deck enjoying a tea party with two friends. I joined them briefly, taking in the old teapot, the delicate old fashioned teacups, the home-baked cookies and tarts, the pitcher of milk and silver spoons for stirring in the milk and sugar. The sun was golden, and everything just seemed to glow with warm light. It felt like I was awake in the middle of a really, really good dream! I came into my bedroom, grabbed the pillows off my bed and settled down in a patch of sunlight that streaked across the carpet and up the wall with my novel. Heaven. It was pure heaven.

Today I am grateful for the rubber ducky keychain that quacks. The glorious golden sunshine that falls down through the full leafy canopy of trees and lilac bushes heavy with blossom and heady perfume. I am incredibly grateful for my new job at a time when so many are losing theirs. I am grateful for the fact that I live in such a beautiful spot. For my new apartment that I will be moving into next weekend. For my parents who are incredibly supportive of everything I do. For a bed upon which to rest my tired limbs every night. For the delicious salad I made for supper with locally grown greens. For being able to kick my shoes off of my mosquito bitten swollen feet and feel the cool evening breeze blow over them now as I type. For baths -- morning, afternoon or evening. For my dear friend Rafael who I just found out is getting married at the end of the summer and starting a family of her own. And for the stars that are shining brightly outside and reminding me of a new friend who is a fellow star-gazer. I am also grateful for my prayer book that is gazing steadily at me from across the room urging me in that quiet yet persistent manner that prayer books have to pick her up and say some prayers before my eyes close tonight.

And you, friends? What are you grateful for today?

It is Wednesday evening. I am sitting by the fireplace listening to trees moving in the wind outside and the gentle pattern of misty rain on lush foliage. I am house sitting for the night for two of my closest friends. They live in one of the older neighbourhoods in Charlottetown, on Prince Edward Island, called Victoria Park. I love being in their home for a number of reasons. It is peaceful. They have a fireplace and I simply love to sit by it and read/write. They have a dog named Calypso that I absolutely adore who is currently curled up on her bed beside me enjoying the warmth of the fire after a rather good supper served by yours truly. It appears I am becoming a dog person of sorts. I have been walking Chloe, a 13 year old Shih tzu, daily, for over three months now. And I dog sit Caly whenever my friends Ann and Stephen are out of town. Who would have thought that I would ever call myself a dog person? Just goes to show that people do change.

Last night I was sitting at the Baha'i Nineteen Day Feast listening to members of the community read from the holy writings. Sitting in this incredibly beautiful space that I helped create with a room full of people who I love deeply, from the bottom of my heart, I found myself feeling the deepest, most complete sensation of happiness and contentment. I love it here. I love my community. I love the land and sea. There is so much about this place that brings me joy that even the cold rainy weather in June has not got me down.

This evening my dear friend Louise and I took a walk with her dog Daphne and Calypso. We walked along the boardwalk that runs along the shoreline and looks out across the Charlottetown harbour and up the mouth of the river. This misty rain had the effect of shrouding the headland in the distance in a translucent, dreamlike blur. Blue herons waded the shoreline, their dark bodies, elegant necks and long legs graceful against the dark surface of the water and the grey blur of rain and sky. We walked and talked and walked some more. I love walking with Louise. She is an incredibly talented landscape painter and I find she always makes me see my surroundings and my inner landscape far more clearly than I might if I were walking the same path alone.

It is good to be sitting by the fire writing. It is good to be home. Inside and out. It is good to be on this island, living among friends.

Poppies, red raspberries & dreams

It is gratitude Monday, and this is what I am grateful for today.

1. My Spring view today in downtown Charlottetown while I walked the dog...

You know....instead of this

2. Friends that walk all the way across town to meet me for supper before turning around and going all the way back across town for an evening class.

3. The delicious meals I have had today, made using local beef, local potatoes, local carrots, and so much more. It is wonderful to live somewhere that has such a bountiful harvest.

4. Home made raspberry jam and almond butter on gluten free bread. Read: take raspberries, put them in a saucepan, turn the heat on, melt them down into liquid, spread thickly over almond butter while still warm. This is what it looks like when done:

Ok so I nibbled. YOU try not taking a bite of something that looks that good. I dare you. ;-)

4. My mother. It being mother's day on Sunday and my being so far away from her and all....She is a pretty awesome lady. I don't know how I would have gotten this far without her.

5. Public buses. Because I have had a pinched nerve in my leg/foot all weekend and have had a numb right foot and calf, which makes walking rather tiring. I especially love public buses here, and the way the drivers know every single one of their passengers, and wait when someone they know should be on the bus is not there.

6. Hot baths. Because after taking one everything that seemed just too much to tackle somehow seems doable again.

7. Friends who invite me to house sit as I will be doing for the second half of this week. I cannot wait to be in a home all by myself for a few days.

8. My work. Because even when it is tough and overwhelming, as it is right now,  it is never boring. I am always learning something new, and being challenged to improve my skills to better represent and promote my clients and their products/services.

9. My bed. You got it. The only thing between me and it right now is my computer. Time to sign off!

And you, friends? What are you grateful for on this Spring Monday? 

Rainy Wednesday ramblings

This morning I attended a press conference at which the winner of PEI Burger Love was announced. PEI Burger Love is an annual event that is a month long in which any local restaurant that would like to participate creates a burger using local beef. Diners get to visit all participating locations, enjoy one of the creations, and vote for their favourite burger. PEI's most loved burger for 2012 is called the Goddess--a Mediterranean inspired burger that will remain on the Papa Joe's menu now for a while -- maybe a year?

Being a social media content manager is an interesting job. My work varies from being out in fields in rubber boots taking photographs of farmers harvesting the first Rhubarb of the season to sitting in a press conference next to the Minister of Agriculture, as I was today. I love the diversity of activities when I am telling the story of place, land and people. I have yet to see how I feel about social media work that does not involve agriculture or food. Stay tuned. I am sure I will have more to say about that soon!

It was pouring today. Buckets and buckets of rain. I had to dry myself off with a paper towel before entering the press conference as unlike most of my peers, I walked to the event this morning. Nothing like being drenched for keeping up professional appearances. After the press conference I walked back downtown, updated Facebook & Twitter on my computer instead of a device that thus far drives me crazy (HOW many times do I have to hit a letter before I actually SEE that letter instead of the one next to it? I miss old school buttons on phones), and then dashed around the corner to a little Thai restaurant where one of my best friends and I shared a bowl of coconut, shrimp and mushroom soup with sticky rice while we watched the rain falling endlessly outside.

This afternoon I re-settled at Starbucks. I usually avoid chains, but whenever I feel like being anonymous, or just seeing people I would not ordinarily ever see I go to Starbucks. I find it interesting that the people who frequent Starbucks are such a different crowd from those who go to the Farmer's market, Leonhard's or Young Folk & the Kettle Black -- my favourite hangouts. I guess it would make sense that people who like chains would not be the same people who support local establishments, but I still find it amazing what a steady stream of customers flowed through Starbucks this afternoon while I was working.

This evening I took the bus home. It was still raining and I was damp and cold, and not up for more trudging through puddles with my wet shoes and socks. I am not complaining -- it is where I am at -- but it often feels these days like I am running a marathon every day just to barely keep up with those around me who are doing almost the same thing I am. I know it is just a phase--not having officially started my new job yet, and not having my own apartment or transportation yet just means a lot of my day is spent walking or seeing things that would make life easier but that I cannot really afford yet. I am learning to be patient, and to be my own cheerleader. I have started singing while I walk. And praying. Today I sang "It's gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny day!" It didn't make me any less wet, but it did keep me moving forward at lightening speed....ok so the rain contributed to my pace, but the singing definitely helped!

It is almost 8.30pm. I am signing out. Working in social media means I live on the computer. While I love what I do, I do not love being on a computer this much, and it takes a lot of effort to convince myself to blog at the end of a long day of posting and monitoring numbers for my clients. But for today I have turned up, and been present with you, readers. And now I am going to go be present with myself for a little while before sleep. Wherever you are in the world, I hope you are having a lovely day. Thank you for reading!