The map was useless to her. North and south totally meaningless. The binoculars dangled from her right hand, arrested there on the way to around her neck. This was his idea, and she had told him that it was a bad one – she had no interest in camping out and was only happy outdoors if the outing had a maximum three-hour time limit. When she finally caught up to him, he smiled at her and jauntily inquired, “Where are we?” She gave him her I-don’t-know-little-girl-lost look, and then thrust the map at him more enthusiastically than she had intended. His look of surprise solicited a muttered “Sorry,” but secretly she was disappointed that he had been standing on the flatter part of the upward, winding trail.

Anywhere is a good place for love to manifest itself. This past weekend I went back to sorting through the remainder of my mother’s recipes. I was again overwhelmed by memories. “Date Loaf” instantly brought to mind the time my little sister was sick on a weekend, and she wanted meat loaf. But my mother didn’t have the ingredients and had to wait for Monday in order to go shopping (the good old days when stores were closed Sunday). Once the meat loaf had been made, it turned out that what my sister meant was date loaf.

The recipes in her handwriting and the memories they evoke, make me feel alone, estranged from family, and like I’m wading through molasses. And yet, suddenly these same memories float up from the Sea of Love, bestowing buoyancy, possibility and strength.

Anywhere is a good place for the love story – my dining room table; down the back lane between Davie and Burnaby Streets where the autumn leaves are shouting in shades of rust, red and yellow; exchanging smiles with a stranger. I need to remember love is all around. Love is the connective tissue between me and sanity; me and reason; me and accomplishment.

In the past two and a half weeks, I’ve been on more job interviews than in the past two months. But now the possibilities have all disappeared; back to the silence of square one again. Right now, my life does not seem like the ideal place for a love story – more like a prison or a whirlpool or a patch of quicksand.

I try to remember this when I get impatient or upset or lose hope – love is stronger than defeat; the past; and darkness of any kind, mental or physical. Anywhere is a good place to be kind to myself.

not know
what my touches conveyed;
what the staccato notes
of my breath
against you chest meant;

where were you when I
reached
for you?

Listen.

Rain falls upon this city
like a woman weeping,
but snow can keep
its secrets–
silence lies worse
that words.

I know.

Listen.
If you trace
the blue rivers of my veins,
you will discover

words I have not yet written.

How could you not know?

that an entire symphony
flows through my heart,

written only for you.

Lougheed Mall Grainery Cafe

                     Sourced from Lougheed Town Centre website

In the past week and a half, I’ve been on more interviews than I have in the previous two months. Which is a good thing, but in the process of selecting an outfit for an upcoming job interview on Tuesday, it occurred to me that I need some new blouses – the current ones are becoming a tad shabby.

I went to Lougheed Shopping Mall because I like the ratio of box store to boutique options; the theory being what I can’t find in one, I might find in the other. But today was a box store bust; I didn’t find anything that I liked in the smaller, independent clothing shops, either.

So I took myself off to the food court for a bite to eat before going home. Usually I immediately head for the “good stuff” – high calorie treats like fried chicken, french fries or burritos with extra (extra) sour cream. However, The Grainery Cafe sign caught my eye. Off the main food court area, it had its own seating, real cutlery, real dishes and generally looked inviting to someone (like me) who was peopled out and empty-handed blouse wise. The final selling point was the menu – sandwiches, soups, pasta favourites like lasagna and mac and cheese, everything homemade. I ended up with an egg salad sandwich/soup combo and was a very happy camper. The desserts looked like something my mother just pulled out of the oven and left on the counter to cool. I wanted a piece of the lemon meringue pie, but figured I had enough of a treat for one day.

Besides, I need an excuse to go back. Definitely made the trek to the shopping mall not entirely a waste of time.

I am afraid
to look into your eyes;
afraid that I will
discover exactly what
you stole
from me.

I did not want
this separation;
this searing,

and angry,
molten lava runs
riot through my veins
each time

I hear
your tomb stone
silence.
(After all this empty space,
and still no
confession.)

You shake your head;
you do not know
where the years have gone
either.

And if I look up,
just for a second,
into the grey north sea
of your eyes,

I will find
that you never knew
the crystal damage
done to a clock

removed
from its casing.

It was a secret never to be told; one her mind protected her from through an abstruse sieve separating evil from good.  She didn’t know that she would need to know her way back again. Reacquainted with her bad habits, she had given all to the golden cow. The old paranoia returned no matter what she did.

Moon from Balcony

Even though I’ve had my little camera for a couple of years, we’re still getting used to one another. Taken in mid-May of this year from my balcony, I tried to capture the full moon. I think I missed getting the setting right for a night sky picture, but I liked how it captured the peacock chair unraveling a little against the backdrop of the moon.

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