Capture Your 365

For thirty days, I have been capturing one photo to post on Instagram with the #CY365 hashtag. Why? To cultivate the routine of taking at least one photo each day, document my year, increase my observatory skill, and/or retain the memory of something beautiful or important (and those two are not mutually exclusive). It's an entertaining hobby and far from routine. It keeps the synapses firing in my aging brain. I hope you enjoy some of what I share, but that is not my measure of success.

The only measure for me is this: did I take a photo today?

There are several apps and websites which help promote the photo-a-day concept. I use this one for photo prompts. Some people can do it on their own, I personally like to have a prompt, though I am not locked into that. If the prompt doesn't resonate, or if I find something more interesting, I simply hashtag it as #offprompt. I chose Instagram as my depository, but others have posted on Twitter, Facebook or elsewhere.

You'll find me on Instagram as @north59lite. I tell you in case you're interested, since you are here, voluntarily reading this blog. I have no marketing agenda, I'm selling nothing, I've no desire to build a larger platform of followers. I can't keep track of the ones I have. The odd nicknames mean I usually have to click a person's profile to figure out who they are in real life. And then there are those of you whom I've never met...

*  *  *

Henry once asked me why I share things on social media. I didn't have an answer then, so I ordered two books I thought might help me answer the question for myself. "Why We Write" and "Why We Write About Ourselves" gave me some interesting reading by other authors, but also offered as many different reasons to write as there were chapters in each book.

Steve Bell, writing in "Pilgrim Year: Ephiphany," finally hit on something close to my own motive. He said:

"We all have interior landscapes that deeply long to be expressed." 

Steve tells how he was once moved to tears reading about the late-life longing expressed by Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoyevsky. "As he neared his own death," Steve says, "the great writer was desperately trying to complete The Brothers Karamazov." Dostoyevsky reportedly said that if he could just finish the work, "he would die a happy man, having expressed himself completely."

That quote exploded like fireworks in my heart. It was my own sort of Epiphany. The longing to express oneself completely drives some artists mad. If we tie it to approval of what we have expressed, we get driven there a bit sooner. I determined long ago that I would offer my expressions to the world, be it poetry, prose, photographs, or music. I have been sharing via this blog since 2005, having published over 1,200 posts. That's an average of eight expressions each month for 13 years. Not prolific, but regular.

As someone else has said, "Just because it happened doesn't mean it's interesting," so I try to be interesting, not just self-indulgent. The key to being boring is telling everything to everyone. So, one photo a day for 365 days might is a somewhat interesting record to me of this year. We shall see if I can consistently persist in this. I'm quite aware that I like to try things and abandon them if I get bored. So far, so good. Thirty days in, I'm game to keep going.

Come along if you like!

Fresh and New

It's a winter wonderland out there, people! The birds have already been at the suet, knocking snow off the rail but leaving the snow cap untouched.

Imagine pulling on boots, snow pants, parka and toque, to walk in the beauty. Feet crunch through the light crust on the blanket of unblemished white, crystalline sparkles dust your hair as you brush past the spruce tree.

The forest is quiet.

Birds hunker down in the moderate cold, deep in the branches away from the flat grey light, as if waiting for the sun to clear the high cloud cover. The air is crisp but not brittle, you can walk or ski or snowshoe to your heart's delight, and you feel like the only person alive who has been gifted with this peaceful morning.

What will you do next?

Unbiased

It's gnarled

but birds make 
the most beautiful sound

in its branches.

September Musings

Perhaps it's the call of autumn, the crisp cool air, the brilliant colors...that set my mind to reflective mode. Here are some meditative excerpts from my journals for this September day in years past. These are meant to stir reflection, not well suited to soundbites, bumper stickers, or speed reading:

2016

After reading Gerard Manley Hopkins: “As Kingfishers Catch Fire, Dragonflies Draw Flame”

Are you being who you are? Can you see Christ playing? That is not a misspelling. Can you imagine Christ as One who *plays* - not just the holy icon that prays, but, rather, the Person who plays, like you, like the human He is.

2015

A word to the wise is...unnecessary.

A visit to Blue Rock Wildlands, southwest of Calgary

Popular religion focuses so hard on spiritual success that most of us do not know the first thing about the spiritual fruits of failure. When we fall ill, lose our jobs, wreck our marriages, or alienate our children, most of us are left alone to pick up the pieces. Even those of us who are ministered to by brave friends can find it hard to shake the shame of getting lost in our lives. And yet if someone asked us to pinpoint the times in our lives that changed us for the better, a lot of those times would be wilderness times. ~ Barbara Brown Taylor

 2013

Grateful to be in Buhler, Kansas, my father's childhood hometown, celebrating with family the life of my lovely Aunt Jane Nickel, 97 years faithful, now heaven's treasure.

"That odd feeling when you realize that countless moments of your life, significant and small, are woven into the fabric of a place and its surroundings." ~Michele Phoenix

2011

“I was hiding behind what was smart and it kept me from doing what was right." 

~Sasha Dichter: The Generosity Experiment (on TED.com)

Sometimes I feel like I speak a different language. I don't play online games, I don't watch much TV, I rarely go to movies, I don't listen to the radio, I don't read fiction. I work hard, I love to hike, camp, swim, take photographs, write poetry, sing. I like to find positive quotes, learn best practices, follow leadership blogs, tech gadgets, but most of all, I like listening to and connecting with people.

If you can find a path without obstacles, it probably doesn't lead anywhere.

2010

"…let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart 

with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, 

which in God’s sight is very precious." -1 Peter 3:4 ESV

2009

"My times are in thy hand" Feeling stressed and harried trying to meet the priorities of others? Read how David felt in Psalm 31, it just might resonate.

Abundance: A walk in achingly beautiful creation, the trailing remnants of summer warm against autumn's brilliant glow, physical pain remedied by skillful massage therapy, conversation with good friends, capped off by an evening study of sonnets. What beauty will you see today?

What beauty will you see today?

Photo credit: personal collection

The Amazing, Awful, Ordinary, Beautiful Life

A Facebook photo and commentary on the "Perfect Life" by gifted adventure photographer, John Price, woke me up this morning. His candor is refreshing and echoes what many have felt but could not articulate about social media.

The disturbing reality of photography (and social media) is that it can lie or tell the truth (and everything in between). In art, as in life, we strive for excellence, to find and showcase our best selves, our best work, in the best light. But as much as we try to hide our flaws behind appearances, carefully crafted eloquence or post-processing, some of the post powerful lessons and imagery comes from the shadows.

While we want to live in the infinite spectrum of colour, there is nothing more powerful than facing the stark contrast of black and white. While we pursue the adrenalin rush of hanging from a cliff face, we also desperately require the silent stillness of black night to sleep and restore our bodies. All darkness and desire with no light produces Gollum. All sun and no rain produces drought. The true artist must acknowledge that it all matters, that we cannot deny any part of ourselves, but we also cannot dwell only in one arena. Cover it, discover it, uncover it all and bravo for finding a way to share your real self. It gives us permission to do the same.

It is in naming our fear that we take away its power. One underlying human fear is that we will never be enough, have enough, do enough, attain enough. Or perhaps our fear is that we will succeed, and lose ourselves in the process.

I spent more than half my life with a dear man who both feared he was not enough yet succeeded in every goal he set. The effort it took to maintain appearances was completely exhausting. He was an endearing, humorous and entertaining man, yet was unwilling or unable to be open and vulnerable about his fears and shadows. This meant he struggled alone, emotionally disconnected from others, not realizing that many have walked the same path and that there is hope and help in community.

As David Whyte says in his essay, Friendship, we need someone to walk with us, believe in us, and sometimes just to accompany us "for however brief a span, on a journey impossible to accomplish alone." He continues:

We encourage the best in them, not through critique but through addressing the better part of them, the leading creative edge of their incarnation, thus subtly discouraging what makes them smaller, less generous, less of themselves. Through the eyes of a real friendship an individual is larger than their everyday actions, and through the eyes of another we receive a greater sense of a self we can aspire to, the one in whom they have most faith. Friendship is a moving frontier of understanding, not only of self and other but of a possible and as yet unlived future.

Yet as much as we can have those who are a mirror for us, a testament to forgiveness, we still must receive the gift of being ourselves with all that it entails. Dr. David G. Benner writes about this as the spirituality of desire:

Our deepest desires call us to both soar on the winds of spirit and be grounded in the realities of body and soul. They point us toward the self-transcendent but encourage us to remain anchored in the mundane and immanent. They invite us to honor both longing and belonging. Soulful Spirituality

So, as John Price writes, most of us are guilty of falling for the myth of "Perfect Lives".  In our search for longing and belonging, we scroll through social media platforms while judging our own lives, moments, achievements and work against others.

Bottom line? It’s not a perfect life. For me, for you, for anyone else. I continue each day to work at telling myself the truth, to be a friend who is present, forgiving. To stop the deadly sin of comparing myself to others. To search out ways to fulfill my longing to be healthier in mind and body while accepting myself as I am in this moment. To be willing to stand in front of the camera instead of hiding behind it.  To name my fear in a safe place so that it loses just a little bit of its power every time I call it out. To share my wounds with merciful friends so I can heal just a little bit more every time I talk about it. To accept others as they are, flaws along with glory. To encourage the better part of themselves to rise. To always be aware that life is amazing, and then it’s awful, and in between it’s just daily and mundane and I can live and breathe and love through it, because I am loved. I belong here, in this life, doing what I’m meant to do.

Come with me?

Retro Prospective

This morning my son and I shared the last pot of Kona coffee from a package I saved since our Hawaii trip last Christmas. One year ago, on the day I bought this luscious coffee, I never would have imagined how differently life would unfold in 2014.

It was a year of saying goodbye to…

• my 16 year old dog
• my roommate of eight months
• my son calling this his permanent residence
• singleness
• serving the unrealistic agendas of others
• my tightly held grasp on specific outcomes
• denial

It was a year of saying hello to...

• a full night’s sleep, almost every night
• what I truly wanted in a relationship
• a completely empty nest
• joy and peace and contentment and gratitude
• listening
• satisfaction
• marriage
• who I really want to be
• forgiveness
• acceptance
• laughter

I realize, in looking at this list, that most of these things said hello to me before I received them as gifts. And most have come within the context of relationship: with my new husband, with friends, with family, with the Lord.

None of these hellos or goodbyes were actually easy. I pondered long and hard about many, wrestled furiously (and repeatedly) with a few, some were forced on me, but most I had to choose. With intention, determination and/or surrender.

Few of these are a once-for-all, one-time event. Some take repetition, reminders, remembering that I’ve made the agreement to say yes or no. A few must be affirmed each morning, each evening.

We look at decluttering our homes. We understand getting rid of old habits. We think less often about decluttering our thinking and behavior or welcoming new scenarios and accepting joy without foreboding. It all shapes our lives into the most beautiful of realities: 

Living present in this moment, today.

Don’t make a future list of what needs to go away or come to your life. Promise yourself only one thing this year: be present. Speak it only to yourself. Promises spoken out loud trick the brain into thinking we've already accomplished what we've spoken and it releases the reward endorphin so we get the sense of accomplishment before the promise is actually fulfilled. Thus, we neglect to do the work necessary to actually keep our promise. Just whisper it to yourself: "Be present". In every moment, in every situation, in every joy, with every difficult person: be present, focused, attentive, fully engaged. Make this agreement with yourself. Honour yourself enough to keep your own solemn vow.

Release what you must.

Receive all that comes.

It’s the present.

The Dark Side of the Lens: Olympics, Surfing and Doing Something Worth Remembering

This is a day worth remembering, celebrating events worth remembering by athletes worth celebrating. The closing ceremonies of the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics.

After an early morning rise to cheer Canadian men to Olympic Gold in the hockey final, while the glow of the golden moment shone warm and I dig, in futile effort, through my ten bins of Christmas decor for the gold maple leaf ornament, hoping to photograph it in its perfect symbolism of this transcendent, if transitory, moment.

Giving up, I turn back to search the sites of my favorite pro photographers for new images; inspiration for my own feeble attempts at capturing and sharing beauty in all her forms. And I see John Marriott who leads me to Brandon Brown who leads me to a video of surf photographer, Mickey Smith.

As a poet, I was compelled to transcribe Mickey's last few words on why he does what he does. Enjoy the video, then read the words after in more depth. This is a clarion call to a deeper soul search:

am I doing something worth remembering?

 

The dark side of the lens
An art form unto itself
and us, the silent workhorses
of the surfing world
There’s no sugary cliché.
Most folk don’t even know who we are,
what we do or how we do it,
let alone want to pay us for it.

I never want to take this for granted,
so I try to keep motivation simple,
real and positive.
If I only scrape a living,
at least it’s living worth scraping.
If there’s no future in it,
at least it’s a present worth remembering.

The fires of happiness
and waves of gratitude
For everything that brought us
to that point, enough,
at that moment in time
to do something worth remembering
with a photograph
or a scar

I feel genuinely lucky
to hand on heart saying
I love doing what I do
I may never be a rich man
If I live long enough
I’ll certainly have a tale or two
for the nephews
and I dig the thought of that

-Michael Lee (Mickey) Smith

The Black and White of Death and Life

This is the transcript of a devotional talk I gave tonight to the First Alliance Church Photography Group monthly meeting. I post it here by request for those who wish to read it again.

“There is a way that seems right to a man but the end thereof are the ways of death.” Prov. 14:12 KJV (There is a way that seems right to a woman also…)

What are “the ways of death”?  Things that cause death? Is this only spiritual? Let’s list a few:

• The thousands of choices that don't bring life
• Words that tear down
• Critical spirit
• Waste
• Sin
• Ingratitude
• Looks can kill
• Withdrawal
• Weapons
• Self-protection
• Covetousness
• Loneliness
• Depression
• Anxiety
• Comparison
• and more...

A college classmate of mine in a large town was recently found dead. He had passed away almost two weeks before, they think. His lack of close relationships, solitude and loneliness led to his death. Scientists say you can literally die of a broken heart. Emotional diseases can kill your “life” before your body ever takes its last breath.

I’m going to focus for just a moment on how “comparison” brings death. I personally believe comparison is the eighth deadly sin.

When I compare myself to others, two possible things happen. If I think myself "better", it can lead to a superiority attitude and condescension. If I view myself as "worse", it leads to humiliation, shame or covetousness.

Feeling like I’m better or like I’m worse are two sides of the same coin of pride. Heads or tails it's all the same: Heads I win, tails you lose. Heads you win, tails I lose.

We may have emotional or mental storehouses, hordes of “pride coins” - different denominations by which we compare ourselves to others.

The pennies of possessions.
The silver dollars of wealth.
The gold bullion of appearance.
The platinum of position.

Each, with purely symbolic face value, minted by the Kingdom of Self, hoarded in the Bank of My Own Mind. Tokens with no guarantee that debase another's currency. Or that minimize our value before God and others. Or that give us a sense that somehow we deserve to stand before a holy God.

Listen to this life-giving perspective from Romans 12:3 MSG:
"I’m speaking to you out of deep gratitude for all that God has given me, and especially as I have responsibilities in relation to you. Living then, as every one of you does, in pure grace, it’s important that you not misinterpret yourselves as people who are bringing this goodness to God. No, God brings it all to you. The only accurate way to understand ourselves is by what God is and by what God does for us, not by what we are and what we do for God."

I'm sort of on the flip side of the coin that what I bring isn't good enough (still another comparative term).  So many of us struggle with this basic lie in our lives: “Nothing I can do is ever good enough” or I am not pretty enough, thin enough, young enough, tall enough, rich enough, nice enough...  The end of it is simply, "I am not enough."

I struggle with this in photography. I know there are those of you who produce a much higher quality photograph, so I have to intentionally choose to offer what I can, from where I'm at, knowing that if I come to these monthly meetings and participate in the bi-weekly challenges in our Facebook group, I will learn something or possibly even help someone else. It is life-giving to participate in a community like this. Each of us has something to contribute. Each of us can learn from one another.

The best example of this is how the Body of Christ operates when it is healthy and all are exercising their God-given gifts. See the Apostle Paul’s take on this in 1 Corinthians 12 MSG:

“God’s various gifts are handed out everywhere; but they all originate in God’s Spirit. God’s various ministries are carried out everywhere; but they all originate in God’s Spirit. God’s various expressions of power are in action everywhere; but God himself is behind it all. Each person is given something to do that shows who God is: Everyone gets in on it, everyone benefits. All kinds of things are handed out by the Spirit, and to all kinds of people! The variety is wonderful:

• wise counsel
• clear understanding
• simple trust
• healing the sick
• miraculous acts
• proclamation…”

Here we see the list of the ways of life, rather than "the ways of death". Paul goes on:

“All these gifts have a common origin, but are handed out one by one by the one Spirit of God. God decides who gets what, and when.

“Think about how all this makes you more significant, not less. A body isn’t just a single part blown up into something huge. It’s all the different-but-similar parts arranged and functioning together… As it is, we see that God has carefully placed each part of the body right where he wanted it.”

I learn more of God by seeing how these gifts are used in each of you. So, no comparisons, okay? Respect the gifts, respect the Giver. Use your gifts, whatever they may be. You are right where God wants you. And God will be glorified.

Christmas Vacation

I spent Christmas week in Kileau-Kona, HI with my son. It was lovely and there were many highlights and pictures. Feel free to view my public Facebook posts for more details. This is one I put first on Facebook but thought it belongs in the blog also. 

I sit here, right now, nearly 11 a.m. in my pjs with my hair all messy, having gone to sleep with it wet after a late night rendezvous with the manta rays that apparently had somewhere else to be. I have no complaints that they didn't show up, they are wild creatures, after all, even though they show up 97% of the time, says the tour guide, and the tour company offered another free go at it on another day.

I am trying to be grateful for the experience although there were lots of reasons it could have been distasteful. Like jostling with 18 others for a hand-hold on a floating frame designed for ten with half those people being children who could barely swim and wouldn't follow the rules on a venture really suited only for adults and the big stranger beside me repeatedly sticking his elbow in my head and a woman my age pukes in the water and I'm in pain the last 40 minutes, unable to relieve myself. I know it was the ocean but we were all sausage-stuffed into these wet suits that made us look, for all the world, like shark bait (seals or sea lions, in my case) and the closest toilet was a 20 minute bouncy pontoon ride away and then the restroom door was double locked and the tour guide only had a single key so I had to find a private space where there was no forest in which to hide. And then stopping at Wal-Mart and finding their restroom closed for cleaning, I was beginning to think my life was an outtake from "Planes, Trains and Automobiles."

So due to all the craziness and the encroaching hunger, the steak I thawed for supper was put back in the fridge for tomorrow when we have more time and we opt for a quicker version (pizza for him, salad for me) and then I was so exhausted I fell into bed with wet hair and knew nothing until 8 a.m.

But no. I don't regret going to meet the elusive manta rays. And I don't regret the messy hair. And I'm ever so grateful for all the fish I saw while bobbing beside that floating frame and just being in the ocean. And the exhilarating ride on the Zodiac and being beside my son, snorkel masked and flippered, bonding over this one ill-fated excursion and seeing how completely relaxed and laid back he was about the whole thing and how we can spend this week together in this warm and wonderful place. And the gratitude continues for the glorious aquamarine of the ocean so close I can feel the spray and the surfers who entertain all day long and the rocks that cause the surf to sound the glory of God and the vastness of it all.

I sit here evaluating every post I make on FB because while it brings mutual rejoicing in most, it breeds envy in some. Yes, I have been accused of bragging - which says more about the accuser than it does about me. I call this place paradise but that's a subjective term. I only post the best moments (until today's frank commentary) because I don't think anyone needs to be brought down by complaints. I am here because I set aside a little life insurance money for this purpose a year ago. I would rather have my husband than this vacation. My posts are all done in the attitude of "rejoice with me" for those who can. I have learned through hard experience, one primary rule of life:

"Paradise" is subjective. As is happiness, success, fulfillment and contentment. It has everything to do with GRATITUDE and nothing to do geography. 

May you see today all the ways God loves you, all the gifts, large and small that are right. in. front. of. you. now.

More pictures here.

How the Light Gets In

Days like today, when the sun is shining bright and low through my family room window and full beam into my face, I long to make this space my office, where I can soak in the winter's dim rays and work at the dark tasks that usually drag me down to where the sun doesn't shine.

It's been a hard year. A good year. A sad one. Full of heartbreak for more reasons than I can count and full of blessings beyond measure. There is joy. There were lost friendships (how can this be?!) and there were new friendships gained (such a grace)!

I look forward with expectation. These ups and downs? They are life. LIFE, I tell you! The pain and joy alike help me know I am ALIVE. Given breath and life and health for another day. Another day to love and be loved. To share and bless and give generously. Another day to spend lavishly out of the mercies I receive new every morning.

I choose. Yes. I CHOOSE not to get stuck on those who judge me wrongly. Or for those who refuse to forgive my wrongs. I pray for them to find love that casts out fear and moves them away from the idol of self-protection.

God knows, none of us want to hurt like this ever again, but does withholding forgiveness heal you? On the contrary, it twists our insides. Trust me. I know. I've sat in that judgement seat. It's not a comfortable place and it's certainly not my place. Forgive as you have been forgiven. Forgive or you won't be forgiven, says God. Dangerous thing to withhold. To withdraw. To condemn.

A friend and I were chatting via text. She was cleaning her chandelier and when all the pieces had been put back together, she discovered one was missing. A large one, she said. "Now it is going to bug me," she said, "which is silly, because I'm assuming it was missing all along and I wasn't bugged until I now know it is gone!"

We can still see the beauty of the crystal chandelier, even when a piece is missing. Do we throw it all out because of one missing piece that we didn't realize was gone? Or could it be a reminder, that beauty still exists, even when there is a hole in the heart of it? Could it be a reminder that we can focus on what's missing, or we can focus on what remains? Can I find the beauty?

I am grateful:
- for parents-in-love who still call me daughter
- for birth family who still call
- for a son who has grown into a man who thinks and plans and cares and loves
- for laughter
- for music
- for a housemate
- for friends near and far who pray and encourage
- for heartbreak so I know who the unsafe people are
- for healing because there are more safe people in the world who love without reservations
- for neighbors who call when I leave the garage open by accident
- for my "coffee pod" with three other significant women - we "do life together"

As I slow down and look for beauty, I discover it is always there. Here with me, just waiting to be found. Gifts in the ordinary. A rainbow spectrum of colours that appears from the sun shining through a misty veil of cloud.

I stop typing. Run to find my DSLR. Try a hundred different combinations to capture this unusual phenomenon. Share the beauty. Not everyone can slow and still and see.

Not everyone yet knows how to slow and still and see.

Just like the recording of the crickets Jim Wilson slowed down - it sounds like voices in chorus. Musician Tom Waits said it was the most interesting recording he owns.

It's a mysteriously beautiful recording ... of crickets. That's right, crickets. The first time I heard it ... I swore I was listening to the Vienna Boys Choir, or the Mormon Tabernacle choir. It has a four-part harmony. It is a swaying choral panorama. Then a voice comes in on the tape and says, "What you are listening to is the sound of crickets. The only thing that has been manipulated is that they slowed down the tape." No effects have been added of any kind, except that they changed the speed of the tape. The sound is so haunting. 

How is it, a sound that can be so irritating when you are trying to sleep be so beautiful when the speed is adjusted? A change in perspective turns irritation into beauty. A grain of sand in the oyster produces a pearl. Rocks tumbling together over time smooths and polishes the stones.

Just like the slowing of the sounds of crickets our perspective on the world and the "noise" and the glare of the bright light or the hole of a missing crystal or an absent relationship, all these can either be viewed only as negative from our finite perspective or they can be viewed through the lens that is looking for beauty. And, gasping, we find what we are looking for.

Beauty.

Wait with expectation. Persevere through the wounds, the tumbling, the irritations. The holes of life may well be filled with an infinite spectrum of colour. If we will just slow, and still, and see.

Ring the bells that still can ring. 

Forget your perfect offering. 

There is a crack in everything. 

That's how the light gets in.

- Leonard Cohen, "Anthem"

.

A Walk Down Memory Lane

Tomorrow, the first Sunday of Advent, will be one year from the last time my husband and I were out with friends. Arnie was the last person from our social circle that Brent had a serious conversation with and laughed with. Five days later Brent was gone.

Tomorrow, I will be with these dear friends again - Arnie and Cheryl, Cindy, Ruth and Larry and their extended family, enjoying a lovely Christmas brunch at Heritage Park, just like one year ago. We all spent time this morning celebrating Arnie's birthday and then I took a drive to remember Brent.

Brent loved the Calgary Zoo. For Christmas one year, I purchased an annual pass for the family and he said it was the best gift he ever received. He went so often, even our son declined to go with him after a while. The zoo has just fully reopened after $50 million damage and devastation by Calgary's historic June flood. It was too late for me to go into the grounds, so I walked along the river south of St. George's Island as the sun was entering its golden hour, shining against the skylights on Destination Africa where the intelligent Western Lowland Gorillas live. Before they moved to this beautiful enclosure, Brent had a close encounter with the troop in their previous digs. He loved to stare down the patriarch of the pack, even thumping on the glass to get his attention (a behaviour that is now banned by the keepers). Brent got his attention, all right. The large male stood up and took a run at the glass, hitting it with his shoulder like a football linebacker with a loud crash that reverberated through the building. I could just picture him breaking through the glass and ... well, I try not to think about that.

I look left and see the sun glinting off the glass enclosed Conservatory that houses the botanical and butterfly gardens, a place we spent many happy moments watching the beautiful creatures flitter and thrill. No risk of attack here, although I did see one quiet man sitting so still, there were 3-4 butterflies who comfortably settled on his hat. He just beamed. Brent said he could never sit still long enough for that.

As I watched the sun slide down and the shadows rise up, I turned my eyes to the river and the broken ice floating like sheets of styrofoam in the eddies along the shore. The river runs fast here, making rapids due to submerged rocks. Ducks and Canada Geese dot the water and sky. The snow is slushy and I skip a few rocks across the calm section. Brent could make them skip 7-8 times.

He would have been so moved by the June flood, exploring the river and how its course has changed, commenting on the devastation and the altered channels and how many people were displaced, reading every news story and absorbing the documentaries of repairs and rebuild to Stampede, the Saddledome, downtown and the many residences. He may have even been on call with the emergency team for his company.

As it begins to cool down, I think about one Christmas break when we toured the zoo with our dear friends, Vern and Janet and their family, bundled up against the cold, being swarmed by ducks as we buy seed to scatter for them. Knowing how curious Brent would have been to see the damage and repairs inside the zoo, I'll have to go visit soon, in his honour, and I think it will be easy to imagine him walking ahead of me as he often did - anxious to get to the next enclosure - always a faster walker than I ("Can't you walk a little faster?"), talking constantly about this change and that, and which animal is next and why aren't more of them in their enclosures where we can see them? His excitement extended to every city we visited in our travels. If there was a zoo, it was on our agenda to see it while we were there.

I return to the car and take St. George's drive around the zoo island and, of course, must drive the short distance north to Peter's Drive In. How many times did we go for burgers and milkshakes at this famous joint? Even when I didn't care for the food, the drive and his delight at the taste of the popular drive through food was enough to make the trip worth taking. It was an event in itself some days and we frequently combined the zoo and Peter's when we entertained out of town visitors.

I ordered a plain burger and a double marshmallow shake. Brent would order grape! I head east on Highway 1 to the new ring road, Stoney Trail, knowing if Brent were here, he would insist we have to drive the newly opened section and I would gladly go along for the ride. We did love our road trips, exploring the city and the mountains. In fact, he would have taken this drive the first day it opened. He was so looking forward to having this road completed and would again have been delighted. It reminds me of when we lived in Riverbend and the city finally built an overpass at the intersection of 18th Street and Glenmore Trail. For the entire time it was being built and for almost a year afterward, he would exclaim frequently, "This is just the best thing they could have ever done, building this overpass. Have I told you how much I love that they built this?!" Of course he had (how many times?!) and it became a regular joke between us.

He loved any improvements to the city roadways that removed barriers and stop lights. He hated stopping at stop signs and red lights. He was always about getting where he was going as fast as he possibly could. I asked him once, as he expressed disgust at having to stop at a red light, "Do you expect you should be able to go through life without ever having a red light?" He paused, and then with a twinkle in his eye and a laugh, said, "Yes!'

He would have been delighted to know the lights were all green for me as I finished my maiden voyage around the SE leg of the ring road and exited for home. A sweet road trip, remembering what delighted him.

But lest you think it was always happy, I must say that some of his delight and joking was tempered by my response. If you're married, or hope to be, can I share one thing I've learned that might help you avoid making the same mistake I did? It's really easy, after 31 years with the same person, to lose interest in the things that delight your spouse because they aren't really your "cup of tea". I have been witness to wives who actually mock their husbands for some of their hobbies simply because they don't share the same interests. And vice versa.

As I have been reflecting today, I realize the times that Brent was happiest were the times he was out and about, seeing the animals in the zoo, exploring new roads and places in our city. He had an adventurer's heart, and though his interests and mine were often very different, it took so little for me to encourage him by going along. This is a gift we can give our spouses: our willing presence and participation with them in what feeds their soul and delights them. I didn't always go with Brent but I readily encouraged him to take visitors. Nothing delighted him more than to do that except when I would join him - he always thanked me for coming and would say, "Now wasn't that worth it?" It always was.

Oh, how I wish now I had gone every time he asked!

On the July long weekend in 2012, we went camping. This is my favourite thing to do. Brent? Not so much. He preferred the comforts of home and would have owned a full sized motor home if he'd had his druthers. But I was fine with the little 17' trailer we had, small and cosy. We met up with friends, although we were in different campgrounds. The weather was drizzly and overcast.

Brent loved looking for grizzly bears in their known hangout spots, but the rain really put a damper on things, including our hiking, "bear hunting" and beloved campfire time. At the end of the weekend, he said, "I really wasn't enjoying myself and the weather made things miserable. I just wanted to pack up and go home. But when I see how being in the mountains feeds your soul, I decided to stay, because I wanted you to have that experience." I was deeply touched. That is loving sacrifice, setting aside his own preferences so that I could enjoy my happy place.

Another happy place for Brent was at the Flames game. He taught me to love hockey. He loved having season tickets and his bucket list included "Seeing an NHL game in every arena in the league." He visited 17 out of 30. Four of them were on our last vacation. I even gave up going to see a Broadway show so we could all go to game 7 of round 2 of the playoffs for the New York Rangers in Madison Square Gardens. This is a big deal and it was the experience of a lifetime. I'm glad I didn't insist on my own way that day. It was the last hockey game we saw together.

How did stress and depression crowd out all that fun? These are the dark memories where I dare not dwell.

Encourage the things that make your spouse smile. It costs you nothing to be generous. Set aside your agenda for just a short time to engage with theirs. Not that you have to spend every waking moment together, or always do the same things. Their hobbies don't have to be yours, but the one-flesh union is strengthened by supporting each other's interests. Of course, there is a balance to strike, and each of us must attune ourselves to how much time we indulge ourselves vs. how much time with share with others. It is a loving thing we do when we take an interest in what fascinates them and in the process, our lives are expanded. You expect your spouse to take an interest in what interests you, don't you? The paint colour or the current day's challenge of your career, or what cute/frustrating thing the children did or the success you've had in your workout or diet or the latest, greatest shopping bargain you found or artistic/craft item you've completed?

Or in my case, it was sharing with Brent the memorable experience of seeing grizzly bear #64 with her twins one year and her triplets the next. Or the eight moose, the two grizzlies and the black bear we saw with my nephew Tommy and Amy. Or wolf in our yard in Rainbow Lake. Or the anniversary night at Mt. Engadine Lodge where the moose came to graze in the meadow at twilight. Or the walk through the zoo when we laughed over the heads of the three young Gowing girls we were babysitting for the weekend as they asked curious questions about the elephants mating. So many memories, so many stories to tell and re-tell and so many laughs we shared.

I will cherish every memory of Brent at the zoo and on the road. The ones where we laughed the most are the ones where I was a willing, supportive participant in helping him find his happy place. I think I can maybe hear him chortling now, as he recalls these memories from heaven and discusses God's design choices on all those big animals at the Calgary Zoo.

When Change Comes

Impending storm, SE Calgary

It started. Without warning. Without ceremony. Hardhat workmen appeared overnight with orange vests and heavy machinery, just over the rise. Throat constricting with panic, I run to see.

I spend hours each week, wandering the shore of this pond, sharing sacred space with a chorus of Canada geese, crazy laughing loons and squawking gulls. One memorable series of days includes a migration of geese so dense the sky was dark with their waves. Wing upon wing, clouds lifting and lighting on the water. I photograph sunrise flamingo pink and purple, sunset blazing orange and fire, wildflowers on the bank framing wilderness pathway. I walk midst golden fall of aspen and birch, return to gentle waves lapping, worshipping the Creator of fowl and flora, earth and wind under bluebell sky.

Female Common Golden Eye with her brood of chicks, Carburn Park

Now standing on top of the rise, my worst fears are realized. I hear the death sentence declared with a loud roar from the backhoe as it digs a deep scar, tears into the heart of the rich black earth. The unspeakable is happening: the beautiful waterfowl refuge is being drained.

Pathway beside Bow River, Douglasdale

To be fair, it really wasn’t a protected area. Boundaried by two residential developments in a suburban area of the city, this unique parcel - adjacent to forest pathways and the Bow River - had long been zoned heavy industrial. And the body of water? Only a large settling pond for rock-washing runoff from the nearby cement plant. But the utilitarian had become utopian. A fixture befitting the small forest it bordered. A watery refuge for birds and stressed out humans.  Beauty out of ashes. Now it is being removed. Drained and filled with dirt for a new development.

Blood pumping, fire flashing in my temples, I call the community association.  Can I stop it? Protest? Rally the protesting power of Greenpeace or Ducks Unlimited?

“Not likely! Remington Developments is going ahead with the first stage of preparing the land for light industrial and residential use. It will be the largest urban development of its kind in Canada. There was an information session last week.”

Community information sessions are pretty low on my priority list. I’d missed it. Light industrial? What does that mean?

“It could mean small shops like automotive repair or something similar.”

I imagine it now. Waking up at 7 a.m. with the whine of an air gun or power torque wrench removing lug nuts from a tire, carbon monoxide from idling cars, black smoke from blown engines billowing behind my back yard.

I call the neighborhood realtor.

“I’m going to have to sell and move. How much did I just lose in my property value?”

“Well,” he says, “the value of your house is quite imaginary until you put it on the market. It’s worth what someone is willing to pay. What’s happening over the rise may seem bad right now, but really, based on the type of development being planned, you should actually see an increase in your property value once the development is finished.”

“How long will that take?” I ask. I don’t really believe him, but I’m still listening.

“Oh, maybe five or more years.”

I sigh. Swallow my pride. Decline his offer of a free home estimate. Take a Tylenol for the pounding behind my eyes. Try to rest. Dream of how it used to look.

A nearby lake in Carburn Park is still accessible 

We do move. Sell the house at double the price we paid only five years earlier. Move into a slightly older but immaculate home with a wonderful mountain view. I’m still walking distance to the river, so I couldn’t be happier.

Fast forward five years.

Today we drove through Quarry Park. Once I got over my resistance to change, we have watched with great curiosity what was rising from the dregs of my favorite pond. Elegant glass, steel and stone office buildings no more than three stories high, landscaped with fountains and flower, with thematic names like “Central Campus” and “Quarry Park West”. Upper middle class residential homes and townhomes in tudor style with rear garages, all in soothing dark neutrals and beautiful sandstone. Retail and restaurant area with our favorite grocery and eating places, a salon spa and—of course—a Starbucks™. Walking pathways, green space, resting benches alongside a lagoon and creek which intersect the center of the development. Executive apartments and a high-end condo development aptly named “Champagne” – penthouse units run nearly $1 million each.

The ugly cement plant has been dismantled. No trace remains. Land is designated for a community recreational complex. Further north, warehouse space is tucked in a discreet area well hidden from residential view. Adjacent older industrial buildings have been decommissioned and moved to a new building further from the roadway. What was a narrow, bumpy, poorly maintained city street is now being widened to four lanes, providing ease of access north and south. Not a single automotive repair shop in sight.

“This is one beautiful development,” my husband exclaims. “It has really improved the entire community.”

I have to agree. Five years earlier, my panic, anger and despair was based on wanting things to stay as they were. What I saw as disaster has, in five short years, become a blessing. I didn’t know what the developer had in mind, so I couldn’t grasp the enormous benefit was going to come from losing my favorite pond.

Perhaps I should remember this lesson for other areas of life. My loving Creator has a greater blueprint for benefits to bestow on my life. What may seem tragic could actually be the beginning of one of the biggest developments in my life. 

As we pass the lagoon, two Canada geese landed softly on the water. The sun reflects a brilliant Alberta sky, and the soft breeze seemed to whisper with a divine accent:

“Trust me.”

Sunset on Pond

Photo credits: Personal collection

A Quiet Morning Memory

It’s a peaceful morning. The grown up girl snuggles down into the soft comfort of goose down and memory foam for a few more minutes. Rises to fly through the morning prep routine. It’s a crazy morning. Horns honking, tempers flare. The guy drives his mustang as if he’s in a rally race. On the urban freeway. In rush hour. The grown up girl smiles, remembers slower days.


Smudged pink shorts, pudgy fingers and freckled nose hunch down to turn the roly-poly into a ball with a touch. It rolls easily around her cupped hand until she gently lets it down into the gravel and waits to make sure it uncoils and crawls before she moves on.

She leans over the railing across the urban ravine. Latté waves dance and foam as the creek swirls its way westward. How does the water run down that way when the road beside it runs up? Why is there a forest where the creek bows to enter the shadows?

“Could I float on my wooden boat, let go the string from the road shore, hang onto the nail mast and float safely round the corner into that place where no houses are?”

She’s pulled by the faint buzz of the drifting yellow jacket. Follows it to the corner beside the wooded lot. Four trees stand guard, tall creaking shadows cover the unexposed. Overgrown remnants of an abandoned shack lay piled at the back like dirty clothes. A deer slow grazes the thick grass. Darts away as she steps into the dappled shadow. Nothing else moves but the breeze.

The school bell buzzes. She’s late again.

Forty-five years later, the grown up girl is on time to work. She didn’t eat breakfast but she did roll the dog over for a tummy rub, water her flowers and photograph the interplay of light between the granite and the heavens. It’s a peaceful morning.

Bears and Rockies and Lakes, Oh My!

285. I saw grizzly bears today. Mom (Bear 64) and three cubs. They were grazing the dandelion meadow beside Bow Valley Parkway (Hwy. 1A) between Johnston Canyon and Banff Town (on the way back from Lake Louise).

Every visit to the unparalleled Canadian Rockies and World Heritage Site, Banff National Park, I am healed. The muscle of the mountains, the changing moods of the covering cloud, the diamond jubilee dancing on pristine water, the wary and evasive wildlife... all of it a testament to beauty and a restoration of hope. There are many gifts to number.

The drive out was shrouded with cloud and pounding rain. 286. We camped with our little dog and small trailer at Tunnel Mountain but it rained most of the weekend. 287. We visited with good friends, Joyce and Sam Hewson, who tented at Two Jack Lakeside (is there a more breathtaking camping spot? I think not) and they built great fires despite the rain so all was well.

Yet after another long night of pounding rain keeping me from sleep, I suggested we drive to Lake Louise. The rain was steady but light and lifted just as we reached the lake. Always beautiful, but shrouded in cloud, we couldn't see the heights of the mountains. Yet 288. the lake always charms and 289. the cafe makes astonishingly great lattes.

It was the drive back from Lake Louise that charmed me most. Brent wanted to read the Sunday Sun so I drove, and 290. chose the path less traveled: the Bow Valley Parkway (Highway 1A). After stopping briefly to 291. photograph two bull elk, a passing pro photographer whispered, "There are some grizzly bears just down the road, they're a lot more interesting than this." And so they were.

Brent took the wheel after the bear encounter and we returned to our campsite to pack up and head home. 292. Cascade Mountain was still hiding its head under a cover of white fur, but the blue sky and persistent sun made it joyful.

As we headed home, 293. Brent looked at me. "I was getting really tired of the rain and so impatient. I would have rather just packed up and gone home, but when I see the joy you get from the mountains, I love that. It really feeds your soul." 294. I'm so grateful he noticed. And appreciates it.

Yes, Brent it feeds my soul. Yes, yes, it does.

Sing, Speak, Write, Paint

I woke with a desperate melancholy this morning, and so I return to gaze on beauty and continue naming 1,000 gifts in 2012.

233. A gift sung
Yesterday at the memorial service for my good friend, Carole, her favorite worship leader led us in “Blessed Be the Name”. This was a song which I sang the weekend my father passed away. I remember that comfort as a gift each time I hear the song. The truth of the song is that God gives and takes away and I choose to speak the truth, that either scenario is a blessing intended for my good and his glory.

234. A gift written
My father was a songwriter. He wrote these song lyrics: “Forget not all his benefits, my soul bless thou the Lord. Review his tender mercies and the comfort of his word. Remember well the greatest of the gifts that he has given: eternal life through Christ our Lord and citizenship in heaven.” These include a reference to Psalm 103:2. I recommend the entire Psalm to you.

235. A gift painted
My friend, Michele Bailey, shared the room across the hall from me during my last semester of college 2,000 kms from here. We have remained friends. We now live within 15 minutes of each other and she has become quite the painter. She did a commissioned work for us last year based on a photograph I took of Upper Kananaskis Lake from Mt. Indefatigable (see picture above). Each time I look at the painting I think of my friendship with Michele, how God orchestrated our lives to live near each other, and the blessing that we continue to be in each other's lives.

236. A gift spoken - an incredible gift to me this morning...
This video is excellent and well worth the 43 minutes to view. John Lynch speaks about what could be the most profound decision you will make in your life: “There are two roads at an intersection, the road to pleasing God and the road to trusting God. You can only choose one.” –John Lynch, The Cure

Questions: What have you sung, read, heard or seen today that was a gift?

Sunday Rising

Shadow and light play tag on crags and crevices. 
Stubborn spring snow clings to life in rising summer. 
Life wakes up slow in Sunday's embrace, 
turns to kiss the gentle morning.