Heidi Greco's Blog, page 16

A very BIG birthday

If Amelia Earhart were still alive (please know that I am not one who holds a belief that she might still be hanging around), today she'd be turning 125. Even the futurists with their predictions of life spans of 150 years aren't there yet -- not much more than 100 is about tops for anyone. 

The house in the photo above is the building where she was born. Once the home of her grandparents, it's now the Amelia Earhart Birthplace Museum. 

The people milling about in front have been partaking in this year's Amelia Earhart Festival, a long-standing annual celebration in the town of Atchison, Kansas -- a celebration that was only resurrected this year, after two years when it was cancelled (on account of that pesky virus whose name I don't even want to use). And yes, I was lucky enough to be there again this year, along with my book based on Amelia, Flightpaths. 

One of the reasons I love Amelia is that she wrote poetry. Sadly, much of it was lost when Amelia and her husband George lost many of their belongings due to a house fire in the home they shared in Rye, New York. 

Her accomplishments went well beyond poetry and even flying. Feminist, promoter of peace, mentor to many, heroine. 

Bear with me...

It's been too long since I've posted anything here. And really, I have no excuse. Stuff just sometimes happens, I guess. 

But I suppose I was reminded that I'd said something to the effect that I'd write about the bears we saw when we went up the coast last month. 

And now bears seem to be everywhere in the news! There was one in Alberta that must have freaked out a couple of tourists from Thailand. Another report cites how many black bears are being killed here in BC. But the crummiest of these has to be the killing of a bear that wandered onto a golf course in a park in the city of Burnaby. I really don't understand why it wasn't tranquilized and relocated. 

When I raised this question with my husband, he figured it had everything to do with costs. And yes, I reckon it's a lot cheaper to shoot and kill a bear than to hire the transport to take it someplace safe. 

If every decision in our contemporary world is based on money, well, I give up and we're all screwed. 

But to take your mind off such negative thoughts, here's a video I took when we were on our northern tour. Yep, those are mighty big claws, but all they're doing is digging for clams or other tasty bits along the shore. As for the shakiness, that wasn't fear. It's simply the fact that I was standing on a boat and small waves were rocking us a bit. 

Dark days indeed

I remember a book cover that looked a lot like this photo. It may well have been an old edition of Darkness at Noon , a grim tale by Arthur Koestler, one that may be worth looking at again, with Putin now in place of the Stalinesque character, Number One, in that book. 

Besides the horrors going on in Ukraine, North America has had its own share of dark days, with mass shootings spanning the US from Buffalo to California and Texas. 

Today comes yet another body-blow, though no guns were used. 

This time the weapon at hand was the mind-blowing decision by the US Supreme Court to overturn the longstanding Roe v. Wade, which granted women the right to make decisions about our bodies. 

I can only share the concerns of many others when I ask, What's next? The cancellation of same-sex marriage (would all those couples find their marriages have been annulled?)? 

It will be interesting to see what happens in this autumn's coming elections, whether people will stand up for these important human rights. Although who knows, the next move might be to again take the right to vote away from women. 

Looking for light...

They're baaack!

And so are we. After a lovely, not-too-adventurous adventure of sorts -- a trip that took me farther north in British Columbia than I'd been before -- we're back home again. 

Main part of the trip saw us combining ferry rides and driving our car so we could get to Prince Rupert. Our province is huge, so even though the main ferry ride was almost 18 hours in duration, our destination was only about halfway up the coast. 

As far as pandemic restrictions went, most people seemed to have become good at distancing, though we were encouraged to wear masks when indoors. I liked the placement of the caution sign, between photos of the beautiful traditional masks.

We were lucky enough to have booked a cabin, so we spent much of our time there, looking out the window, napping, or watching a movie on the tv in our room. I'd certainly encourage anyone taking this trip to spend this little bit extra for the comfort and privacy (two beds, even a private bathroom, complete with shower and fluffy towels). 

One thing that surprised me on our "Northern Expedition" was the number of berries already out -- everything from the salmonberries (above) to thimbleberries (still in bloom, forming berries) and even wild strawberries. Even though these strawberries are barely the size of my pinkie nail -- nothing like the gigantic GMO ones often for sale in the supermarket -- they pack a powerfully sweet punch of flavour, and we did a bit of sampling. Mm-mmm. 

Besides seeing water, water, water, there must have been a couple of million trees on view. We also saw quite a few species of birds, from eagles to the odd turkey vulture, and even managed a glimpse of a humpback whale, showing off, flicking his tail in our direction. 

One of the major highlights of the trip was seeing grizzly bears in their undisturbed habitat. Next post will be some of those images. For now, I'm still putting away the last of the items we took along, and dreaming about where we might go next. 

Tide's out!

A beach is always interesting, and always in its own way. 
This is a beach south of Vancouver, those long tides always a sign of coming-soon Solstice. Two weeks today. 
First quarter of the June moon this morning. When it's full on the 14th, it's supposed to mean the first strawberries will be sweet. 
Sun shining again today, but still, that gusty breeze has something almost autumny about it. Towels didn't seem to mind though, flapping on the line, and oh, I so love the scent they bring into the house! 
With written records indicating celebratory observances from as long ago as the 13th century, a lot of people seem to think the world looks a little brighter as they mull the thought sumer is icumen in.

Hard at work

What a job! But hey, someone's gotta do it. 

And really, it would be hard to find a prettier place to work than in the heart of a full-blown rhododendron blossom. 

Luckily, some of the bee's pals have been poking their way into blossoms on our fruit trees, as there are now a few eensy plums and peaches, as well as heaps of quince -- the promise of autumn bounty. 

A Sad-iversary

I can't quite bring myself to call it an anniversary, as that conjures happy celebrations in my mind. This one, observed yesterday, is not a day for celebrating. Yet it's certainly important enough to mark and remember. 

It was a year ago that the announcement came, telling us that 215 graves had been found on the site of a former residential school here in BC. 

This morning, poking through a stack of books in the living room, I once again opened a book that tells a story of life in such a school. Called The Ledgerbook of Thomas Blue-Eagle, it's a contemporary re-creation of just the kind of books children were given to keep their lessons in -- leftover ledger books donated by the local bank. No matter that the paper was lined for keeping accounts; children kept their own accounts, in this case, with details of a boy's young life. 

Text accompanying the image above reads in part:

At night we had to wear long red suits that scratched our skin. We slept on iron beds. It was very different from sleeping in my warm tipi under buffalo robes with Two Painted Horse nearby. Each boy was allowed only one keepsake to remind him of home...

This book and its story comes from the US, where things were somewhat different than here in Canada. For one thing, I don't believe children in our residential schools were allowed to keep anything, not even their long hair. 

Because I've been away (and offline), this blog has been empty for a few weeks. But with an observance as important as this one -- with even our Governor General in attendance -- it seemed like the right time to come back to the big limb. 

Indie Bookstore Day on the Sunshine Coast

It was a great day to be able to visit BC's Sunshine Coast.

First on the agenda was a reading at Gibsons Public Library. It was one of the first times I'd been able to read to a live audience -- but not only a live group, but some Zoom participants as well. 

Afterward I zipped up the 101 to Sechelt and Talewind Books, a store about which I'd heard many a tale (all good). My reason for any urgency? Saturday was Independent Bookstore Day. 

With some guidance from the very helpful employee, I bought a few books, including the most remarkable treasure, The Lost Words. Its subtitle: a book of spells, suggests its purpose is to conjure back words that were removed from a widely-used dictionary whose editors had decided the words were no longer all that relevant to childre. Dandelion, Raven, Fern. Really?

All in all, a wonderful find -- and truly, all because I encountered a human being/worker in an independent bookstore who led me to a book I am sure I will value always. 

Angels on my shoulder

Yesterday was one of the first times (in waaaay too long) that I've gone into Vancouver. Best of all, the occasion was for a workshop I was leading, in one of my favourite venues, the Carnegie Centre.

Name of the workshop was 'Voicing Resistance' and its point (beyond getting together with a terrific group of people, the FireWriters) was to get all of us thinking about ways to write meaningful work about troublesome issues. It was all about getting ready to join in on a public event on Saturday, May 7th -- one of the many parts in the upcoming DTES Writers Festival .

Before I left the house yesterday, I stopped by my little basket of 'angel cards' to see which special angels might help guide me through the session. When I looked these up to share what I mean by angel cards, I discovered an entire world of them, many of which were compared to Tarot or other cards for divination. Who knew? Not me. I hadn't known that there were books that could show you how to use them beyond the simple way I have always done: simply pulling three and keeping those three concepts in mind as small fortification for the day. 

No book of interpretations to guide me, but I was certainly pleased by the three angels I selected to 'accompany' me for the day. Happily, they all seemed to play a role in a delightful afternoon. 

N.B. For anyone living in or near Vancouver, the afternoon of May 7th (1 - 5 pm) has been called an 'Activism Afternoon' with workshops, slogan writing and an Open Mic reading (sign-up at the event) -- all taking place at Oppenheimer Park. 

Three stars will shine

I'm not pretending to know what happens to a person after they die, but it's hard not to think of the most recent of our losses as writers who deserve to each become a star in the heavens. 

The first of these, Brian Fawcett, died at the end of February. Considered by many as a Toronto writer, it always seemed his heart remained here in BC, specifically in Prince George where he was born and grew up. 

He said his goodbyes on Facebook, commenting in that wry way of his, that he knew the end was coming and that the words he'd posted would be his last on social media. I suppose it would have made him happy to know that he was right. 

Midway through March, it would be who would 'leave this mortal coil.' Our paths first crossed in the early 1990s when we were co-judges for a poetry contest for the League of Canadian Poets. Soon after that, we found ourselves working as co-editors for another project for the League, and it wasn't long after that when we finally met up. Our friendship endured over the years; I ended up writing a blurb for one of her books of poetry. When one or the other of us travelled east or west, we'd invariably find the other and at least have a good long gab. 

She took the time to phone me ten days before she died. She wanted me to hear it from her that she was going into hospice. I knew she'd been doing cancer treatments for months and months, and that it had been a recent decision to stop taking them, as they were no longer offering effective treatment. So although I was sad, it wasn't a big surprise when only ten days later, she was gone. Her son was kind enough to phone me when her time came. 

But then yesterday, yet another death, and this one came with the blunt force of shock. I knew Steven some, and had once interviewed him for a literary magazine. But I knew him best by way of his writing. He was prolific, as the pile of books on his website will attest, and many of them earned him awards.

Because this is National Poetry Month, last week at our local Open Mic, participants all had to read a poem. It didn't have to be a poem they had written, they just had to give credit to whoever had done so. I read a poem, but not one of my own. Without knowing he was ill, I read a poem by Steven. It's piece that was included in the book of his that I'd read most recently, the one in the photo above, Reaching Mithymna. Oddly, it's the only poem included in the book, which is actually a memoir of his experience in 2015 when he was a volunteer in a refugee camp. If you scroll to the bottom of this obituary on CBC, you'll find the poem I read, "Christmas Work Detail, Samos." I'd chosen to read it because it seemed like the strongest poem I knew to deal with the daily crises facing refugees, so many of whom keep streaming out of Ukraine. It's a poem that's bound to stay with you, just as my memories of these three wonderful writers are bound to stay with me.