Winter go away.

Winter go away.

We are tired of the pristine crystals falling down from the sky; the soggy snowflakes that land on the tip of my nose, the windshield of my car, the hardly still green blades of grass...

Take with you that peaceful, serene whiteness of the nightly blankets on the rooftops, the lawns and the park.

The chilly, misty breeze that comes with you is not welcome, take it to the top of the mountains along with the icy droplets, the gentle flurries that stick around and look like powder sugar, cool and placid, very much at home all the way up there.

You want to cover something? All right, stay on the trees. The branches like holding you, I see icicles gleam … The pathways near the ocean, the creeks and the ponds that get glacial and bounce the moonshine with glee.

But leave us please. We’ve seen too much of you, capricious blizzards, piles of slippery slush and even if the sun comes out, it frowns upon your scandalous visit this year.

Commute

The word evokes countless hours sitting in a car, behind the wheel, making sure to not get too close to the car ahead of me or hearing the zooming noise of cars speeding by me. Streets, highways, roads, traffic lights, pedestrians, cops… the only pleasant commute I had before was with my car pool buddies. I still miss them and miss our profound conversations, racist jokes, quiet rides, even naps and of course, our breakfast sandwiches study and the never ending bets about roadworks and the construction of the bridge. We used to laugh so much.

Then for a while, a dull, unpleasant commute that got worse and worse every time. Once I was stuck in a 5 block distance for one hour and a half. Being late to work and then being called on it, made it even worse. Why was I even trying? Ultimately I guess it boiled down to hating where I was going, place of poison, disrespect and little to no personal reward. I even described it as a jail sentence sometime, as a hellhole when things went even more wrong.

But things change and with the arrival of Spring and a much better destination in so many ways, my commute is pleasant, filled with views of snow-capped mountains, blue ocean shores, interminable fields, eagles flying or perched on majestic treetops, seagulls diving for the morning catch, crows gathering along the fence, patches of fog floating around and giving an ethereal look to a mundane highway with the backdrop of the perfect sunrise or a most colourful sunset.

I do happen to live in one of the most beautiful corners of the world, after all. And I guess that I am also fortunate to finally, seemingly, have found a balance in my life because I love to commute to work and I also love to commute back home to the family that makes my life whole.

Hope Recovered

On February 21 this year, it will be 6 years that I wrote the first draft of this which proves to myself that life is my inspiration most of the time...

I remember

When I thought

That I had lost Hope

Forever

I was convinced

That I would never recover it

That it was gone

Down that lane

A path

Of no return

I spent many rainy nights

Watching drops sliding down

The window

Trickling down the glass

Dancing with the wind

Shaking with the thunder

I had no reason

To believe 

That Hope would be back

But precisely one night

Of a dark winter storm

Winds sweeping across

Toppling countless trees

Rising waves high

          Flooding the land

You appeared in my life

Unexpectedly there

Powerful and gentle

Spontaneous and warm

Responding to my touch

Then the morning came

And I looked outside the window

                No more rain

                Clear blue skies

                Not a single cloud

                The sun shining

And staring at my face

Hope was there again.

Sudden inspiration from the Sea

Sudden inspiration from the sea

And the blue skies

Cool breeze leading

To the turning of the leaves

Into the fall colours

The gold, the orange, the crimson reds

The green foliage vanishing

So fast

The fog moves in

Wrapping it all in a haze

Gentle and cold

And time flies

There is no doubt

That the seasons

As uncertain as they have been

Ran through

The pages of the calendar

But the dreams and the hopes

Stuck around no matter what

Were not defeated and prevailed

Even when confronted

By dark clouds

Revisiting an essay...

Truffle Fiasco

Ok. Let’s put it out there. I am a disgrace to the female gender. I know, I’m a disgrace to Mom’s side of the family. After all, Mom and Grandma and Great Grandma and the Aunts and Great Aunts do it so well. I just don’t. I don’t like it. I’m not good at it. If I have to do it, more often than not, I'll ruin it. Oh yes. I’m talking about the “C” word: Cooking.

Seriously, I am not exaggerating. If I boil water, I’ll burn it. Making rice? Comes out fried or in a soggy mess. Chicken? Undercooked or overcooked. Beef roast? Let’s be merciful for a moment and just call it “extra crispy”... and dry.

Ok, I can make a salad. But what really goes into “making” a salad? I buy pre-washed, pre-mixed, pre-packaged greens, add pre-roasted nuts, a handful of pre-crumbled “feta” cheese and throw in some (yes, of course) bottled dressing. Voila! That’s “my” creation.

Desserts? It’s almost tragic because I love eating them. Except if I make them. For Christmas, I decided to “make” (oh the quotations marks on this piece!) chocolate truffles with Mom. Well, she owns the recipe book and my biggest contribution was buying the ingredients. She was really trying to show me how to make them –oh Moms never lose faith in their offspring apparently!

Lucky me, she prepared the mixture and said “leave it in the fridge so it hardens”. All I had to do a few hours later was use a melon scooper to make little balls of chocolate and roll them on coconut flakes. Simple. Yes? ... No! 

Hours later, Glen is watching the hockey game and I make this whole production of getting the chocolate truffle mix out of the fridge, complete with expressions of “Hmm”, “Yumm” and such. I’m even wearing an apron! There’s the melon scooper, the coconut, the fancy container where I’ll put the truffles in and I proceed...

Well. How could I know that the darn chocolate mix was going to get SO HARD?

There is no melon scooper bringing out any little truffle balls! Little chunks of chocolate come off, jumping at me like spitting at me and making fun of my pretentious aspiration to make chocolate truffles!

I think Mom might –after all-lose her faith in my “culinary” abilities... (Argh! Stop the quotations already!)

Let the rain wash away the pain from yesterday

So the title was a writing prompt that my fellow writer Kazia and I sort of challenged each other to use to create a piece (from the song "Coming Home"). She did a beautiful job, but it took me a while longer to find the sentiment. However, as life happens, it came to me. I guess I needed to feel pain...

It’s sunny out

No clouds in the sky

A bright blue blanket

Above us all

Yet my soul is wounded

Like dry land cracked open

With nothing growing

Somehow

Somewhere

In a dark corner

Of my soul

It’s overcast

Dark gray rainclouds

Threaten to pour

Thunder and lightning

A chill in the air

A storm is approaching

No time to find cover

As the rain starts

Moisture trickles,

reaches deep

The gloomy, farthest spots

And with their magical touch

Cold drops cleanse my soul

I let rain wash away

The pain from yesterday

A timid weed sprouts

Peeks out from the depths

A dandelion blossoms

Even in a barren soul

The obstinate rain creates

A bright yellow bloom

Hope is reborn.

Blue Sky

Encompassing the mountains, 

Forests of pine trees,

Snow-covered peaks, 

Sunrises like sunsets all

A home to all your sorrows,

Built with many pains

Carved with utmost joy  

A claim to this land

Filled with fallen leaves on the ground,

Healthy crops and plenty of fresh air

Welcomes all the people

Of many cultures of the world

Waiting for a storm, corralled by the mountains,

Brought alive by the wind, nourished by the sea

Meets the gaze of dancing waves,

And revels, never ceases to amaze

Rising with the sun high above the summit

And being so transparent, so supreme

The Blue Sky so ever-present,

So wholesome, so vital, so unseen

Simply and very quietly

Cradles the sleepy boats,

Passes under bridges,

Hikes across the woods

Holds the sun in place

And gently embraces the clouds

to give the wind a rest.

Originally written October 2005

Edited March 2011