My first Ocean and Mountain

My parents kind of had this philosophy when we were kids, that they didn't slow down; we had to keep up. This meant that our vantage point for the first few years, was often from my dad's back pack.

We were walking along the shore at either North Beach or Pres'quille Park. I do remember that as kids, on warmer days we'd cart down some styrofoam surfboards from the stationwagon. We'd call this the "Ocean Side".

...And here I am with my moma having just climbed the "Mountain" behind our House, in Trenton, Ontario. It was technically one of the rolling hills of the Canadian Sheild and not really a mountain at all...but it didn't stop me from feeling as proud as Sir Edmund Hillary himself.

my mom and i

my fun collection of children's hats

The latest cielo designs model has been recruited!

Check out what's happening these days on
"the clothes
line!"

a rolling stone gathers no moss...but maybe moss is underrated.

1. Catherine Street , Trenton, Ontario

2. Cliff Avenue

3. Menzies Street

4. Graham Island, Haida Gwaii

5. Barclay + Broughton

6. Langara Island, Haida Gwaii

7. Bute + Comox

8. Motor Yacht Double Haven, Singapore

9. Above the Atelier Gallery on Granville

10. 7th + Arbutus

11. Dundarave

12. Bellevue

13. Motor Yacht Caprice, St. Maarten

14. Sailing Yacht Flying Magic, Antigua

15. Lake Ponchatrain, New Orleans

16.Nova Spirit, through the Panama

17. Marda Loop, Calgary

18. Wells Gray Park

19. Menzies

20. 53rd and Granville

21. 7th + Dunbar

22. Lakewood + Venables

23. Chester Street

24. Menzies

i was having lunch the other day with one of my oldest and bestest friends, miss nikki b; co- resident of address # five on the list. we were dining at the lotus, and over our omlettes trying to determine who rivalled who for the most addresses, in the shortest amount of time. the crazy thing is that we decided she might have me beat!

my wanderlust has served me well in some ways. my life is full of long time friendships, and untradable memories. i've gotten to spend substantial time on three continents, and have had the opportunity to experience some pretty diverse lifestyles and living conditions; from a few blocks off east hastings to the 14th most expensive mega yacht on the planet.

in other ways, my transient tendancies have kind of taken their toll. when a friend recently came home from Europe a little while ago, it brought to mind, some unique memories of days that have come me in the course of living abroad and the various backpacking trips in between. what seemed like a month's worth of living in a day... watching schindler's list in prague amongst oldies with first hand experience of the story being told; waking up in my bunk and noticing my port hole being very much under water and us seriously listing to port, somewhere off the coast of cuba; driving along a freeway in Spain and having the car burst into flames, the seats slowly melting, and then the whole thing eventually exploding, as my new friend and i waited for the fire department to arrive, him running back to get my passport and journal from the glove compartment. similar episodes indelibly scribed within that i've yet to say outloud to anyone.

i take comfort in knowing that the fall will, God willing, bring some good blocks of time, for the first time ever... to explore some ways to express what's going on below. to distill some of the questions that nag at me, that i've yet to find the right phrases for. i'm curious to know what might come. and at the same time can't wait to be done with much of it...to kind of address it, and be done with it, in hopes that it will create new space within. ever had the feeling that you have about ten years you need desperately to debrief?

A fun day in the country...

Last Saturday, we piled in the car and went to pay a visit to the newest little foal.

Here Jude feeds the new mama Raven, some berry-apple treats. My Mom and Dad stay close.

Here the brave little jockey goes for a ride in the ring, on Beauty.
Holly (the new foal) at only 2 weeks old, is as tall as an almost 5 year old boy!

i miss these two, already.

us kids + grampa, with "grama at the farm" - bloomfield, ontario - circa 1979 or 80

jeffy, grampa russ, me, gram, matty + pam

the smell of strawberries, rosemilk hand lotion or the mere mention of "catfish" brings rushes of memories.

mom + dad (true love forever)

My dad and mom celebrated their 39th Anniversary on Saturday!

A pretty sweet couple they remain.

This cute little swishy face

belongs to my Godson Jude.

When he and his folks moved to Chicago a couple of summers ago, he was a little guy. One of his favorite people is Biss. He enjoys playing soccer and kind of follows his own groove. He is an extremely bright light and a very creative soul. His mom and dad enjoy him so much. Their family is a beautiful experience to behold.

One of my nicest memories is a fun walk we took one time to Spanish Banks. His mama and I strolled ahead down to the point and when we came back we found he and his dad dancing and drumming amongst the tiki torches. They were having such a fun time. We stayed and enjoyed the warm night till it got too chilly and then headed back to my place for some hot cocoa. Jude fell asleep while we played guitar and told stories.

The Happiest News of 2006 is that Jude's family will be moving back to Canada in just a few weeks! I looking forward to some lazy summer walks to come, and the joy of meeting his baby sister Esme.

FAMILIA FRANCISCO, EST. 1967

Easter; 22 years ago

Churchyard, Chilliwack, BC ; circa 1984

My papa just sent this picture. It hung above our piano for most of my growing up years. In it, Mom, Jeff, Pam and Matt look like they're sharing a chuckle while my Dad & I look like we either missed the punchline "Huh?...". or a more likely explanation could be that we're just coming down from the Cad-bury EasterCreme-Eggs!/Jellybean-Hunt- Induced SUGAR HIGH, that Matthew would annually shake us out of our peaceful slumbers for, generally a few hours before the crack of dawn! :)

In either case, we had just moved from Ontario, land of toboggans and snowforts to a mysterious new land where Cougar Boots were no longer required. I think at this point I was still getting comfortable in my new footwear; the standard jr. high dresscode: stirrup pants and pastel jellybean sparkle sandals, not quite yet, (shall we say) "me".

Anyway, A Blessed Easter/Pascha! to all, whether you've just come through your celebrations, or you're in the homestretch this week. I'll be with the Motet's in Victoria for Easter this coming weekend and will look forward to add a few Romanian customs to my season!

Let us throw ourselves into the ocean of God's mercy,

where every failing will be cancelled and anxiety turned into Love.

- St. Paul of the Cross

Good old fashioned Quiet.

be still and know


a characteristic of my parent's home will always be for me, beautiful quiet. we didn't have tvs or even radios until i was about ten, i think. as a four year old, i'd wake up from my naps to watch my mom in the midst of her weeding the garden. sometimes she'd spend whole afternoons 'getting into the word', as she'd put it. if she made a phone call, she'd announce 'the purpose of her call, make the plan or the request, and close with a: "right then, goodbye". she's not one for idle words.

one lent, before i was baptized into the orthodox tradition, i gave up talking. it lasted about 11 days. it was extremely powerful. creepy crud seem to float to the surface throughout, but my sleeps were sounder and deeper than ever. my senses were enlivened. it was as though i were coming back to life.

in my many seasons of coming and going from canada in my early 20s, what would restore me most, would be to paw through a box of postcards and letters, stashed away, in what we call my parents loft. i'd spend hours up there.

i just read on 'come receive the light' that "one of the early church fathers declared that the language of heaven is silence. there seems to be a power to silence that allows all the noise of this world to die away and to help us focus on the “still, small voice” that reveals the true nature of things. our lives are filled with sound. everywhere there is “noise” for our eyes and mind as well. we are people who are suffering from sensory overload. it shows in the fractured lives we lead and how we have had to so compartmentalize our lives to survive this onslaught of “noise.” i remember driving back into vancouver one night, after a presanctified liturgy with my friend seraphim a few years ago. i was struck by the billboards along grandview highway in a new way. The preceeding hour and a half had so taken me out of my usual realm, and put me in such a different headspace that it was as though i was looking at the world through new eyes.

Jesus saw the need to regularly get alone with His Father to strengthen His soul, like my mom would. There is a story told by Metropolitan Anthony Bloom (of blessed memory) in his book, Living Prayer, about an old Orthodox man who would sit in church for hours in front of the icon of Jesus without saying a word. When asked about this, the old man replied, “I look at Him, and He looks at me, and we are happy together.”

the past couple of weeks have been incredibly busy, many days on end not sitting down in the quiet until after midnight.. i don't know why i've been choosing this way. it's terrible. it robs me of seeing the goodness in others and tends to make me impatient, ugly and eventually sick. i become nasty and ungrateful, the worst version of me.

so i need to get back on track. and in between the usual good lenten responsibilities, if it warms up i might sneak down to spanish banks to just stare out for a while.

love is all around us...

Derek

I just came across this photo. I totally remember that shirt. A group in Victoria was sending a truckload of gear to El Salvadore to help out a few years ago, and Derek was there. Like he would be.

(Wherever he was going, he would invite us to come along; stop what we were in the midst of and just come, help, be.) I imagine the truck all packed, ready to go and him jokingly being invited along to deliver the goods. If so he might have said unblinkingly, "okay, if there's room for Heather, too" And by the time they hit the Panama border he'd have a few grant applications typed and emailed off.. And he'd have caught the driver up on the goodness of God pouring His grace into the lives of various loved ones of recent days. He always told us what God was doing in his life and the lives of his friends.

I'm fluctuating between waves of such sadness for him going before Heather and their little one, and the abundance of memories; joy for having simply known him.

He was like a vigilante of goodness, expecting several miracles all at the same time.

He believed and he worked hard to accomplish good.. He was an active believer.

white christmases past

crisp cold mornings of cross country skiing

in the late '70s; hot chocolate,

crackling fire & walnuts at the schilkes

argyle cross country ski socks are the best

christmas stockings i've known.

(hoping to get out for a local ski with my mom

this year over the holidays-maybe up to manning.)

where I'm spending 'these days'

My marina, from the seawall. With a team of 8 guys, we look after 350 boats or so. Keep our eyes out for thuggy thugs and try to notice when boats are listing a little, or taking on water. We keep the place afloat, literally (the place is 100 years old)...repairing floats and sheds as needed. We also look after the members somewhat...lending an arm, and a ear for their many lively life stories.
This is my present office, from where I monitor the VHF Radio and direct boats when they call to request staying a night with us. Also I look after the "Lifter Bookings". All boats need routine annual maintenance (scrubbing all the barnacles and mussel growth off the hulls, and changing the zincs. Electrical currents in the water erode whatever metal is the softest, and so replacing zincs ensures that the electricity "attacks" the zinc (about the size of a license plate) rather that the metal keeping the ocean "out" and the sailors "in" and dry. I'm also learning about the various makes and years of hulls, so that when the boats are lifted, they are supported properly.

For example, if a member has a C&C 36' it's important for me to know if it has a "swept back fin keel" (like a pectoral fin on a shark) or a "straight keel."

This is a shot of the Rowing Club, (our neighbours to the west) who we are often confused with. The marinas flow together and so the boats on the far right are ours. The Stanley Park Seawall and Coal Harbour connect us.
This is a shot of the seawall at the end of a glorious day. If I have a little energy left in me, I sometimes meet a friend to walk or bike the perimeter. It's one of the best parts of Vancouver. I've been at the marina for nearly three years now. Intially, it was a break from hotel concierge and yacht crewing assignments. The time has passed so quickly and I enjoy the environment so much, and of course the people I work with. There may be some changes coming, so I'm enjoying it all the more while it lasts.

today

(my dock office for the next couple of months)

my boss and i are going on a

ROADTRIP TO LANGLEY today

to choose one.

i am so enjoying my current assignment.

(we're stopping off at ikea for some random bits

i'm picking up a bundle of sticks and some glogg)

i brought my knitting for the way...

working on a couple of pressies.

(i hope i'm the co-pilot)

a little Sarah Harmer on a cold day...

I love "trouble in the fields".

it sounds like a good marriage to me.

Baby, I know that we got trouble in the fields
And the bankers swarm like locusts out there, turning away our yields
And the trains roll by our silo, silver in the rain
Leave our pockets full of nothing but these dreams of the golden grain
I can see the folks lined up downtown at the station
They're all buying their tickets out and they're talking a Great Depression
Our parents had their hard times fifty years ago
When they stood out in these empty fields, in dust as deep as snow
And all this trouble in our fields
If this rain can fall these wounds can heal
They'll never take our native soil
And if we sell that new John Deere then we'll work these crops with sweat and tears
You'll be the mule, I'll be the plow
Come harvest time, we'll work it out
There's still a lot of love here in these troubled fields
There's a book up on the shelf about the dust bowl days
There's a little bit of you and a little bit of me in the photos on every page
Our children live in the city and they rest upon our shoulders
They don't want the rain to fall or the weather to get colder
And all this trouble in our fields
If this rain can fall these wounds can heal...

many years to the happy tappers!

This past weekend, my fellow Gershwin Tune Singing Friend Nikki invited me

to come to see the "Happy Tappers" (her Aussie Mom Sharon, being one of them)

Anyone that knows my mom knows that chances are slim she'd ever be sporting tap dance shoes and ensemble a pros pos of the occasion, so these events are especially delightful to me.

The program was held at the Arts Centre in Chilliwack; our good old home town.

35 minutes and 11 costume changes later we were beside ourselves with perma-grins and enthusiastic handclapping. I wish you could have all been there to witness the exuberance of these 50-70 year olds dressed in all the glitter of saphire sequins and satin tophats holding giant candy canes. Sharon's cheering section consisted of her daughters with their friends in tow, teenage grandkids hip enough to shrug off their coolness for the afternoon in honor of Gram, and of course her main sqeeze; proud husband Moe.

Afterward, over butter tarts and homemade bologna finger sandwiches, one of the other happy tappers approached, to commend our special brand of audience participation. She asked who we were with, to which Nikki proudly announced her mom. The tapper exclaimed, "oh course you are! that makes perfect sense! That Sharon, you know, she keeps us going."

The topper of the afternoon came when Nikki's mom collected our plates before we had finished the last bites of our butter tarts, cheekily proclaiming that now it was time for ALL to come over to their house and adore her!

They say that the company that you keep rubs off on you, so i'm sticking with sticky Nikki to see how close to our moms we get. We've been friends for 15?! odd years now...

...looking forward to the twilight years being peppered with some serious happy tapping.

an intentional pause

i like the hebrew word

selah.

an intentional pause between activities.

סלה

krista

i miss my sweet new sister.

it was so good to be there with her this past weekend.

beautiful music

A couple of weeks ago oleksa visited our parish.

He's a composer and was out for a weekend, visiting with the VSO.

I just now had a look at his website and his music is so lovely.

Have a look/listen. http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/oleksa

He and his wife and two daughters live in Quebec, but they may be back soon.

Keep them in your prayers.

http://www.tendershoot.com/

cool digs.

if i ever find myself living a summer in barcelona,i'm going to see about vacancies.

Matushka Olga (Olinka)

Matthew just passed along to me this account Matushka Olga.

After reading it I feel like I know her a little

because of our common interest, knitting.

I was going to edit this story for brevity...but decided not to.

Hers is a warm story that may be of interest to moms,

midwives and women who have suffered personal traumas.

Over the past few years an Orthodox woman,

native of North America, has slowly become known to more and more people,

particularly other Orthodox women.

Matushka Olga (Arsamquk) or Olinka was the wife of Archpriest Nickolai O. Michael from the village of Kwethluk, on the Kuskokwim River in Alaska. As described in Fr. Michael Oleksa's book, Orthodox Alaska , she was neither a "physically impressive or imposing figure." She raised eight children to maturity, giving birth to several of them without a midwife. While her husband was away taking care of so many other parishes, she kept busy raising her family and doing many things for other people. One is reminded of the story of Tabitha in the book of Acts (9:36-ff) when hearing that "in addition to sewing +Father Nikolai's vestments in the early years and crafting beautiful parkas, boots and mittens for her children, she was constantly sewing or knitting socks or fur outerwear for them. Hardly a friend or neighbor was without something Matushka (1) had made for them. Parishes hundreds of miles away received unsolicited gifts, traditional Eskimo winter boots (mukluks) to sell or raffle for their building fund. All the clergy of the deanery wore gloves or woolen socks...[which she] had made for them." (p.203).While fulfilling many of the other tasks (like preparing the eucharist bread) that are often assumed by other priests' wives, she also knew by heart the hymns of many feast days, including Palm Sunday, Holy Week and Pascha in Yup'ik (her Eskimo language). After miraculously surviving an initial bout with cancer when it seemed that nothing could be done, she eventually succumbed to a return of the disease, preparing herself for death which took place on November 8, 1979 with great courage and faith. It appeared that the normal snow and river ice of that time of the year would prevent many people from attending her funeral. But the weather uncharacteristically changed and a southerly wind helped to melt the ice and snow, allowing parishioners from the neighboring village to make the journey to Kwethluk. "Hundreds of friends...filled the newly-consecrated church on the extraordinary spring-day of the funeral. Upon exiting the church, the procession was joined by a flock of birds, although by that time of year, all birds have long since flown south. The birds circled overhead, and accompanied the coffin to the grave site. The usually frozen snows had been easy to dig because of the unprecedented thaw. That night after the memorial meal, the wind began to blow again, the ground froze, ice covered the river, winter returned. It was as if the earth itself had opened to receive this woman. The cosmos still cooperates and participates in worship the Real People, [i.e. the name the native people give to themselves] offer to God". (p. 205). However, it has not been just her story, that has been so life changing to others, but the actual encounter with her presence that has taken place in remarkable ways. One woman, originally from Kwethluk, but now living in Arizona, had a dream in which Matushka Olga appeared, assuring her that her mother would be alright because she was coming to join Matushka Olga in a bright and joyful place. This woman did not know her mother was sick at the time, that she had been rushed to Anchorage, and that she would soon die. But the next day she received news of her mother's emergency and she rushed from Arizona to Alaska, comforting her mother with the news Matushka Olga had brought her about her eternal destiny. The woman died in peace and with her daughter, without the shock and grief that would have certainly ensued if the dream had not reassured her. Another woman, after viewing a picture of Matushka Olga, experienced a "compassionate, loving, gentle, and very real-very accessible presence."
The most detailed account comes from an Orthodox woman who, as in the previous example, had suffered for many years from the consequences of severe sexual abuse experienced as a child. This is her testimony of meeting Matushka Olga. "
I was deeply at prayer and awake. I had remembered an event that was very scary. My prayer began with my asking the Holy Theotokos for help and mercy. Gradually I became aware of standing in the woods feeling a little scared. Soon a gentle wave of tenderness began to sweep through the woods followed by a fresh garden scent. I saw the Virgin Mary, dressed as she is in an icon, but more natural looking and brighter, walking toward me. As she came closer I was aware of someone walking behind her. She stepped aside and gestered to a short, wise looking woman. I asked her, "Who are you?" and the Virgin Mary answered, "St. Olga." St. Olga gestured for me to follow her. We walked a long way until there weren't many trees. We came to a little hill that had a door cut into the side. She gestured for me to sit and she went inside. After a little while some smoke came out of the top of the hill and from the open hole on the top of the hill. Everything around me felt gentle, especially Mother Olga. The little hill house (2) smelled like wild thyme and white pine in the sun with roses and violets mixed in. Mother Olga helped me up onto a kind of platform bed, resembling a driftwood box filled with moss and grasses. It was soft and smelled like the earth and the sea. I was exhausted and lay back. St.Olga went over to the lamp(3) and warmed up something which she rubbed on my belly. I looked five months pregnant. (I was not pregnant for real at the time.) I started to labor. I was a little scared. Mother Olga climbed up beside me and gently holding my arm pretended to labor with me, showing me what to do and how to breathe. She still hadn't said anything. She helped me push out what seemed to be afterbirth, that soaked into the dried moss on the bed. I was very tired and crying a little from relief when it was over. Up until this she hadn't spoken, but her eyes spoke with great tenderness and understanding.We both got up and had some tea. As we were drinking it, holy Mother Olga gradually became the light in the room. Her face appeared to have a strong light bulb or the sun shining under her skin. But I think the whole of her glowed. It was the kind of loving gaze from a mother to an infant that connects and welcomes a baby to life. She seemed to pour tenderness into me through her eyes. This wasn't scary even though, at the time, I didn't know about people who literally shone with the love of God. (It made more sense after I read about St. Seraphim). I know now that some very deep wounds were being healed at the time. She gave me back my own life which had been stolen, a life that is now defined by the beauty and love of God for me, the restored work of His Hands." After some time I felt that I was filled with wellness and a sense of quiet entered my soul, as if my soul had been crying like a grief-stricken abandoned infant and had finally been comforted."Even now as I write... the miracle of peacefulness, and also the zest for life which wellness has brought, causes me to cry with joy and awe. Only after this did Holy Mother Olga speak. She spoke about God and people who choose to do evil things. She said that the people who hurt me thought they could make me carry their evil inside of me by rape. She was very firm when she said,"That's a lie. Only God can carry evil away. The only thing they could put inside of you was the seed of life which is a creation of God and cannot pollute anyone." I was never polluted. It just felt that way because of the evil intentions of the people near me. What I had held inside me was the pain, terror, shame and helplessness I felt. We had labored together and that was all out of me now. She burned some grass over the little flame and smoke went right up to God who is both the judge and the forgiver. I understood by the "incense" that it wasn't my job to carry the sins of the people against me either. It was God's, and what an ever-unfolding richness this taste of salvation is. At the end of this healing time we went outside together. It was not dark in the visioning prayer. There were so many stars stretching to infinity. The sky was all a shimmer with a moving veil of light. I had seen photos of the Northern Lights, but didn't know they moved.) Either Matushka Olga said, or we both heard in our hearts — I can't remember which —that the moving curtain of light was to be for us a promise that God can create great beauty from complete desolation and nothingness. For me it was proof of the healing — great beauty where there had been nothing before but despair hidden by shame and great effort."What is one to make of these accounts? If nothing else, for now, one can acknowledge the special place that Matushka Olga has had in the lives of certain native people and a growing local veneration to broader awareness that God reveals how He can be "wonderful in His Saints." Matushka Olga was herself a midwife and may have also known from personal experience the traumas of being abused earlier in her life. Perhaps it is this role as an advocate for those who have been abused, particularly sexually, that God will continue to use Matushka Olga in drawing "straight with crooked lines." His work of creating beauty from complete desolation and nothingness.

Please pray to God for us, Matushka Olga.

i like ocelots.

when i was little i wanted to have an ocelot.

we had a big forest in our back yard.

we would build snowcave forts

around halloween

that would last until spring

there were other creatures back there

skunks, racoons and rabbits

i thought an ocelot would be nice

for us to have

my brother jeff would give us

snowmobile rides after school

he'd sometimes talk us little kids into

ideas including towropes and skis

as if we were on water

we were like his little eval kaneevals

we'd almost always agree

i remember one time

him telling me, during a winter stunt session

(i was about five)

"whatever you do, don't let go!"

so I didn't

no matter what

i fell down

pretty much right away

but bravely hung on tight

after a goodly amount of

pine cones

branches

and snow

passed under

over

and (what felt like) through me

he throttled down and came to a stop

i looked at him with wide eyes

hoping to meet with his approval

for "not letting go"

he looked at me compassionately

but couldn't help but laugh

(i probably had branches in my hair by that point)

we coiled up the tow rope

and he said, lets go in for supper

it was maybe a friday

because i seem to remember

welches grape juice in wine glasses

and yorkshire pudding

with onion

sprinkled on half

whew! alright so lets go somewhere already. shall we?

Lets start here, by request.
What's a blog without a bad haircut? (or four)

I think I actually remember this one being taken. Matthew probably does too, his Hypothalamus or Hippocampus enables him to remember everything EVER.

My mom was big into taking photos. Usually at the local department store, we'd book in atleast once a month. She liked the early timeslot, so in many our eyes are barely open from sleeping. But this one was on the way to church. It was a nice day, so we walked. I'm certain that I didn't choose my ensemble. My mom would generally lay out the wardrobe for the photoshoots.

We all really protested. And still do. But it's fun to haul out the big albums and remember.

Enjoy!

hotchocolate on a cold day

so i take it this is the essential measure required, so i can leave the random remark on my friends and siblings blogs. talk about peer pressure... well i'm not sure i have much to say...but perhaps the words will come, and hey i might get an extra birthday wish or two.