where children fear to tread....

i come from a people that believe the dead do not always rest easy. the ghosts and shadows that have passed on continue to inhabit our daily lives. i prefer to entertain all of this as not backward thinking but rather traditional folklore. i grew up in flurry of signs, superstitions and forerunners. i am sure you are familiar with some of the more common ones - itchy hands foretells money coming, a dropped teatowel indicates a visitor. and burning ears meant you were the subject of someones conversation. a few of the more obscure ones included whistling after dark which made the wind blow. or whistling women at any time caused the wind to change direction. crows had to be counted and a fate determined. a bad omen could be softened by spitting on the ground. no money aboard the boat, especially any thing involving the number 2. never turn a bucket upside down and for christ's sake don't sit on it; for if you do you can kiss the fish goodbye. never look back at a hearse. birds in the house - certain death or birds tapping on the window - certain illness. really, i could go on forever.......

we played in the cemetery a lot especially when certain berries were present. we ate tea berries in the spring. i have no idea of the real name or even if they are edible. but we ate them because there was nothing else yet. no blueberries, raspberries, cranberries, fern roots which we called bananas, sea snails we called periwinkles or apples. a lot of our play involved finding things to eat. that said, we played among the graves, eating our tea berries and making up stories of the people who lay below the mounds. we speculated endlessly on the tiny unmarked baby graves in the back corner. we picked flowers and cleaned gull shit off the stones. we tried to find clues about inhabitants by tracing our fingers around the granite engravings and we would pick out spots to be buried. around dark we would dare each other to lay face down on the grave of someone who had had an untimely or violent death. soon we would start to hear things and the creepers would come over us. we would run for dear life out of the graveyard making sure to close the iron gate so none of the spirits could escape........

we regularly tied to call forth the dead. we held seances and secret meetings to try and raise somebody, anybody. we chanted, tried to talk in tongues, danced around fires on the beach. god knows what we would have done if they had responded - pissed our pants most likely. we wore out more than one ouija board. in the evenings we watched as our parents played uptable. where they tried to make a card table rise without touching it.. overall we were a people determined to keep a channel open between this world and the next.........

the telling of ghost stories permeated every layer of our existence. we eavesdropped when the adults told them to each other and listened entranced when they were told to us and we in turn told them to the younger children to scare them and keep them loyal. pirates, hidden treasure, ship wrecks, pacing widows with the spyglass, the phantom light that followed boats into the harbor, the restless spirits that walked the village looking for something. overall, the quiet men told the best tales - low and earnest they recalled sighting a ghost ship in the fog. the sails in shreds, the hull creaking and the cries of drowning men. these somber stories would leave us - hearts pounding and afraid to fall asleep......... 

we often combed the beaches that surrounded us looking for coloured seaglass, food, seal jawbones, and treasure. Sometimes we would come upon a rubber boot or a glove. we would encircle it and stand arguing over who should pick it up. would there be a skeletal foot or hand inside. we would scare the bejesus out ourselves thinking of what we would find. would the hand grab us in deathly grip or would the drowned soul appear and drag us into the sea to join him. it was serious stuff and we spent a lot of time poking at the object with sticks trying to get a sense of what was to come. usually one of us would grab it, eyes closed and fling it further down the beach. if nothing emerged we would eventually muster the courage to pick it up, disappointed when it revealed no bones or ghosts. we always left it where it lay......... 

i wonder sometimes why our lives were aligned so closely to the after world. was it because we lived from the sea and kept ourselves close to portents that helped protect us from such a demanding mistress. just like ancient tribes that prepared their hunters with spirit dances and rituals, we practiced our rites and tried to appease the gods. when i grew up i moved away from the sea and came to live on the prairie; there i found the air empty and oddly light. "where are your dead?" i wondered. "do they pass over without a fight?". i started to realize that people are rarely lost here on the land - they just die. where i'm from no one says all hands died, they instead say all hands were lost. and the lost can never rest.

bev

pull up a stool......

sweet mother of jesus i have to write a blog post. i must stop this madness. i have been sick but really i think i've lost my nerve, i'm intimidated by all the great writers and posts i've been reading lately. i read things i don't understand and wonder why i thought i could ever do this. i am no writer, i'm just a girl asking the world to listen to a story. self doubt is filling the room so right now i must bury my face into the pillow and do it for my resume. (yes, i know that's about sex but ...)

 i just wish i were brave.

like
when i was a little girl my aunt bertha had a metal plaque on her kitchen wall that read "if you can't dazzle them with your brilliance, baffle them with your bullshit." this is one of the first things i remember being able to read and thus it took on near biblical meaning. it  became in a way, my golden rule.  so with that in mind  i will try to tell you a story.......

recently
after being in bed for over a week with the flu,  my husband dragged me to outpatients at the hospital. i was so, so sick but not so sick that i couldn't listen to what was going on in the next cubicle. you see, even when i'm in the depths of despair i can not mind my own business. i was placed in the room nearest the nurse's station and thus quickly found myself in the know. as it turned out, the gentleman next to me was constipated or "compacted" as we refer to it in the medical trade. his condition was discussed with great earnestness by the nurses and doctor. so with his, not 1 but 2 rectal exams completed my new friend was ready for the remedy phase of the program. first he was placed on his side, then a fleet enema was performed. we all waited patiently but  - no response.  some 30 minutes later the the high fleet enema was launched. i would like to add that the junior nurse carrying out this procedure was given the how-to instructions by the older nurse only moments before performing this magic trick. i strongly believe, given a visual on the apparatus i could have managed it - that's how detailed the tutorial was. but again, despite these seemingly heroic actions- no response other than a return of clear fluid .

 i began thinking, where is this clear fluid collecting. what have we done next door to prepare for success. What, if anything is on hand to receive the goods. the very word compaction suggests this business could inflate when it hits the fresh air. i don't think a sauce pan is going to do it. and why oh why are they keeping this man on his side. i'm just saying, it's not everybody who can shit lying down - never mind on their side. i know "on my side" is not my optimum position when having to do my business.  this gentleman, whoever he is has to be in distress.  he has not made a sound since i got there and considering his condition and the number of times he's been interfered with you would expect something - some tiny "ow" or "oh my"  trust me, i strained to hear what was or could be happening.

sadly, i had to leave without learning the outcome of my new friend.  it seems you can't just stay on to see how something is going to turn out. as the dr. wrote out my prescription i wanted to offer him some advice. i wanted to  say "doctor,  how about a cup of coffee and some squats for our friend next door or at the very least we should flip him on his back and assist him in doing some mock air biking" the grateful doctor would then say, "thanks patient #18, i never thought of that.  here's some medical marijuana to go along with your antibiotics"



ta da
don't judge too harshly, i'm creatively compacted.
bev

when you find your self in the face of bonnie (redux)......

 


sorry to do a repost - terri's post about "girl crushes" made me think about this.....


i have always been someone who has wondered who i'm supposed to be. i watch others in awe as they effortlessly waltz to a song that i have never heard. for the most part, people really have everything figured out. they don't have to think about creating an identity - apparently they came with one. i feel compelled to try on other people's personalities like sweaters, attempting to feel what its like to know who you are and where you're going. i just have never quite accomplished this without people wondering what the hell was wrong with me.

my first attempt to build a better me came shortly after my 5th birthday. on my first day of school i encountered bonnie and the die was cast. she was everything i was not. i was, at this point in my life described as awkward. my hands and feet were too big for me and i was forever covered in iodine and bandaids from stumbling over myself. mum would say "god, can't you see where you're going"?
(side note - in the 3rd grade my eyes were tested and i was found to be quite near-sighted. so apparently mum, i couldn't see where i was going.)

right before school started, my mum made the decision to have my hair taken back. she had had enough of my long curly hair.  mom had this idea that my curls would not come back if my hair was cut close to my scalp and against the curl.  her friend joyce carried out her big plan. i must tell you that against the curl  and close to the scalp was not my best look. my near military cut was accented with cow licks. not quite enough to form a pattern, just a enough to make people think i was unkempt.  but enough about me - bonnie on the other hand was petite and perfect. her limbs matched the rest of her body. she had long pale yellow hair that was rod straight . she had sweater sets and cotton skirts and was shod in penny loafers. i dressed almost exclusively in a blue, slightly too small, snoopy sweatshirt and a tartan kilt held together with a giant safety pin - my massive feet crammed in sneakers. bonnie was quiet and sweet and she never spoke out of turn.  but without question her most enviable quality was her delicate nature. she seemed to be constantly in peril and she quickly became the focal point of my little world. it wasn't just me, everybody  fretted over bonnie. does bonnie have her mittens? don't show bonnie your cut because she'll faint. the dear little thing also needed a rest after lunch. we all hushed as bonnie lay quietly on the cot at the back of the classroom. how i loved that cot - it was metal and had a grey blanket with red stripes. i longed to stretch out upon it. i tried inventing and carrying out various scenarios that would end with me reposing there and being the object of everyones' pity and concern. sadly, a strong constitution and a lack of acting ability stood in my way. mrs teacher would step over my twitching body as i feigned a nervous spell. she'd be heading to her desk to get the strap. i guess she figured a few quick smacks would bring me around a lot quicker than any old cot.

i tried to be bonnie countless times, i could not be deterred by a strap or the frank bewilderment of my classmates. dammit, i would will myself delicate. my performances reached a fever pitch when bonnie returned to school after having her tonsils out. she practically lived on that cot - with teacher running back and forth with sips of cold water and cool cloths. we all sat on pins and needles wondering if she would live. at recess we would gather to express our concerns and stand crying at the thought of losing our bonnie. i was as worked up as anybody else but at the same time i thought - what an opportunity. imagine all that love and attention. i begged my mother to have my tonsils removed. i tried to fake cough them out. i would repeat, loudly, over and over all day how bad my throat hurt. i would collapse, often and unexpectedly into a careful heap of woe. i made a fool of myself on a daily basis for over a month. bonnie did it so effortlessly and gracefully, during cot visiting hours she could lift up her tiny hand for you to hold and she would tear up when you discussed her impending death.

eventually, the school year ended and bonnie was forgotten but.... as luck would have it on the very first day of school the following year i met janice, a foul mouth, tomboy whose father was in the airforce. new grade, new me.

 apparently, these were just the beginning of my near infinite number of lessons on how to find yourself. i can't tell you how many times over the years i have made a fool of myself, suffered public humiliation and made my people wonder "what the hell". bonnie began my quest to evolve through mimicry. i really owe her a lot - although i never achieved my initial objective i did end up with the spotlight shinning brightly on me.... and really, that's all that mattered.

bev

ps i have left bonnie name uncapitalized to preserve her anonymity

keeping you abreast.........

 

 

 



our family just returned from another little trip to the canadian rockies. yes, i know it seems excessive, two trips in one summer is more than we are used to. we are not the high rollers my perfect grammer and sentence construction may have led you to believe we were. we are only slightly north of quite poor but we always pick entertainment over land taxes. plus, my sister and her husband had visitors from nova scotia and offered our little family the extra bedroom at the rented chalet.

we are not bogner dressed, high-end mountain park visitors. we do not quietly stare in awe at the majesty and beauty of the towering peaks.  instead we say things like "that's some high up there" "that's some god damn water pounding down that mountain'" for christ sakes, it's not a big bear, get out of the car." yes, we are those kind of tourists. in our defense we do not drink or litter or ski out of bounds (well if we did ski, it would be in bounds). i think the highlight of the drive through banff and jasper national parks are the fantastic, random animal pull-overs. you're roaring along, when suddenly you come upon cars lining each side of the road. you screech to a halt, grab your camera and jump out of the car. this past weekend  it was mountain sheep. poor, dear, mangy sheep, being photographed by tourist paparazzi. i have seen probably 500 mountain sheep in my lifetime but, well you know. ..... the sheep stand there, disinterested, hot and panting, licking salt and mineral from the white mountain stone. i take a picture, thinking you poor little bastards, i start to baa. baaaaaaa, baaaaa. not just some amateur story-time" baa" but  quality animal impersonation's sound. i scared the shit out of some poor german fellow standing next to me but i keep going. what i was actually saying to the sheep was "i have bottled water and salted soda crackers in the car, coooommmme, coooommmeee here." the sheep looked up and i didn't have the heart to take their picture. people did not start to baa along with me. i thought they might, but apparently i'm not that cool.

fast forward to this morning....i'm back home  i get up and start checking my favorite blogs. june - new,  rhonda - new, chris - new, katie - new and  terri - new. and the best bit, my sweet terri is talking about her floating boobies. well, i thought, i have a boob story. a current event boob story, a live from alberta piece of reporting.  terri has made it possible for me to talk about my boozies.

so rewind 2 days........

after a day of sight seeing, a lovely supper and laughter filled evening we all settled down for the night in our little mountain home  now i'm not the type of person who can worry about something for more than five minutes without sharing it with those around me.  so at about 11pm i went into my sister's room and said "what the hell do you thing this is". she peered at me, unfocused and startled. what was i doing with my pj top pulled up, inserting my ample chest into her face.

"i'm sleeping," she hisses
"your light was on," i retort
sister: what do you want?
me: i want you to look at my boobs
sister: yes, of course that's what you want
me: ha ha, now, smarten up and take a look
sister: they're massive
me: jesus christ, underneath, look underneath, at the rash.
sister: oh, that's a yeast infection.
me: a yeast infection, my breasts don't actually come in contact with my lady bits you know
sister: that doesn't matter, it's because your boobs are so heavy . you know all that sweat, heat and darkness.
me: those are the conditions for growing mushrooms, jesus, isn't yeast a fungus?  shoot me now. i've turned 50 and suddenly i'm the living garden.
sister: go away
me: are you sure of your diagnosis?
sister: yeah, someone at work had it
me: did you see it.
sister: no,. but she described it and we googled it.
me: that's comforting. what do i do?
sister: you have to get some monistat or fungus cream
me: how is sticking monistat up my front passage going to bring relief to my bosom
sister: you put the cream under your boobs, idiot.
me: i knew that

enter my sister's friend.

friend:  i can't sleep. the management has told the people in the next cabin to turn their music down and get out of the pool. why are there so many kids staying her?
me: it's the name. you can't very well name your resort after a native american disney character and expect the senior crowd.
friend:  i suppose, what kind of name attracts the old people?
me: " whispering winds", "the dew drop inn", that sort of thing
sister:  will you two shut the hell up, i would like to go to sleep.
friend:  yes, why are you still awake? are we talking about someone?
sister: yes, we are talking about beverly's boobs
friend: they are massive
me:  i have a rash
friend:  let me see.
me:  jesus, why not
friend: what do you think it is, pat
sister: yeast
friend:  i concur.
me:  have you seen it before?
friend:  no, but your sister should know
me:  maybe i should go outside and get the opinions of the revelers.
friend:  you should put some cornstarch and gauze on it.
me:  two items not readily available here in a national park at midnight
sister: i told her to use monistat.
friend: yes, half an applicator a boob, that should do the trick
me: well, i'm glad we go that sorted.

so on the way home i stopped at a drug store to find my sister's prescribed cream . my daughter said "please don't show the pharmacist your boobs."
me: you could always wait in the car
her: mommy please, we have all looked at your rash, that's enough.
me: what does it matter. we will never see the people in that drug store again
her: you maybe not, you're old but i might have to come her one day.
me: are you coming in me me?
her: are you showing?
me: i'll decide when i get in there. if there's a bunch of people, yes.
her: i'm coming
me: see, baby you like a big show

bev

in lieu of angels.......

 

 

 



today is my birthday..

"all my life i have wanted to be older and now i am"  i thought this was a  margaret atwood quote but i have searched and searched and can find no credit for it. it is possible that i dreamed she said it. margaret and i sometimes inhabit the same dreams. maybe i said it to her. so i guess for now i'll own it. my little mantra for this big birthday. the year that dips the bow of my boat into the waves and i begin to take on water.

so, here's a tale about my yearn to normal

 i have a friend who loves to host parties. as a result we have get togethers for nearly every occasion.  when i say get togethers i mean lady get togethers. these are not swanky urban parties but instead low key and very rural.  we have egg decorating parties, christmas parties, halloween luncheons and of course home shopping parties, where we can purchase anything from scented candles to ladies' power tools. and when i say ladies' power tools i mean actual power tools not vibrators or giant rubber wankers that suction cup to the wall.

so on one of these occasions a fortune teller was hired.  and during the party we were to go off one by one and have our future looked over. i was eating deviled eggs and listening to those who had already gone tell their tales. one lady was weepy because she had received a message from her deceased mother, another was warned of a problem with her kidney but the most frequent talk was of angels. everyone had a varying number of guardian angels watching over them. benevolent celestial companions providing a supernatural buffer between you and god knows what.

when my name was called i jumped right up. my only thought being "i hope i have decent amount of angels." because you see, besides being needy i'm also competitive. so up the stairs i went to the hostess' back bedroom, now a mystic lady den.  the psychic was nice and normal looking - in a sweater set and a-line skirt sort of way.

the first thing she's says is "oh my, you have a very strong presence". i said something like "yes, that's me, what i lack in beauty i make up for in strength. so i sit down and she takes my hand and closes her eyes and i stare at her preparing to hear my final angel count.

she says:  you have many, many spirits around you.
i say: "excellent"

she says: you have one man that seems to be the leader and he's leaning over your right shoulder.
(i think: "oh that must be my dear father")
i say nothing.

she says: i think his name begins with an e. eddie maybe.
(i think: for christ's sakes whose eddie.)
i say: it may be my father, he's passed on.

she says: no, he is a stranger to you
i say: a stranger named eddie is looking over my shoulder. what is he doing

she says: he's watching you
i say: right. like an angel

she says: no, he's not an angel he's just a spirit. there are a whole group of spirits behind him
(i think: jesus, here we go)
i say: are any in that group angels

she says:  no, just restless spirits. there are men and women and one lady has sheep with her."
(i think: well, for god's sakes, i'm jesus).
i say: what are they all doing behind me

she says: they're just watching you and talking. i can't hear what they are saying, there's so many of them talking at once. eddie seems to be telling them what you are doing.
(i think: well i'm certainly getting my money's worth out of this.)
i say:  do you see anyone who could possibly be an angel?

she says: no, you just have this group of restless souls observing you
(i think: my god, my life is a side show even for the departed. could this be anymore like beetlejuice).
i say. excellent.

then she opened her eyes and peered at me through the dim. i was extraordinarily uncomfortable at this point as i was being watched from both sides.. so to speak  she says "i really would like to try and understand this more.  would you be willing to meet with me again. i wouldn't charge you." in my head i'm thinking" i'll talk it over with the group and let you know." out loud i said "i don't know." she handed me her card and i got up and went down stairs. 

like a spoiled child i kept thinking - i wanted an angel but no, i have to have eddie and some sheep. for one god damn time i just wanted to be special like everyone else.  after rejoining my friends one of them asked me how my reading went. "completely normal  i said," i had 5 angels."

bev

shambolic mind wrestling...........





i worried about using the actual name of the restaurant "swiss chalet" in this post. well, i actually worried about it for a very short time. i don't have the capacity for long thought. i imagined instead, i would say "belgium bungalow" or "austrian a-frame", but in the end - what the hell. i'll risk a law suit. they can cross-examine mom in court. i'll willing to go broke to see that.

with that out of the way.....

people in my family do not openly fight with one another. we do not shout, scream or slam doors..  we find it distasteful to show emotion.  we instead pick away at each other, a lot like a vulture fight club. we posture and challenge and are awarded points on presentation

so

one hot and dusty, alberta afternoon when mom was visiting she and i were driving to town to pick up tractor parts. my mother had taken to sitting in the car when we went anywhere . she blamed sitting in the car on the airline and their one suitcase restriction. everywhere we went she would say. "i'm not going in, there's nothing in there that i need. even if i saw something i liked i can't buy it because i'm only allowed one suitcase and my suitcase is already full." if i could give you a kitten for everything i heard that....... well, you'd have a shit load of kittens.

and so it began. "the how to show displeasure with a loved one without letting on you're displeased thing"  we like to do.....

out of nowhere

mom: you know you don't dare leave your coffee on the table when you go the bathroom at swiss chalet.
me: why not
mom: because these men come along and put something into it.
me: really, like what
mom: they stir drugs in it and when you come back and drink it, it knocks you out
me: honestly! people are drugging coffee at the swiss chalet? where is this happening?
mom: in the cities. all over the place. these guys drug you and then throw you over their shoulder and cart you off
me: i fairly certain someone would notice if a fairly stout elderly women like yourself  were being carted away. what's the whole purpose of this carting off?
mom: well they interfere with you, of course.
me: old ladies in the city are being carted off from the swiss chalet and being interfered with?
mom: that's what i heard
me: i find that quite hard to believe. and by the way, where are your dinner companions in this scenario.
mom: in the bathroom

uncomfortable silence.....

and again out of nowhere......

mom: i'm not going in with you.
me: mom it's 100 degrees out, come inside. it may take awhile.
mom: there's nothing in there that i need and take the keys out
me: why?
mom: someone could take the car.
me: you're in it
mom: that's what i'm saying, people come along and take these cars with people in them.
me: who in the hell are you hanging out with or what are you reading. again, where is this crime den?
mom: in the city, in parking lots outside of restaurants and stores
me: well, i hope it's not swiss chalet, they can't take any more bad press
mom: you don't read the newspaper, it happens a lot
me: this town has less than 4000 people plus we are at a  tractor dealership. that does not scream car-jacking..
mom: that's the thing. you don't know where it will happen.
me: mother you are not going to be abducted in front of john deere.
mom: i'm not going in. i don't need anything in there
me: fine, but i'm leaving the keys in
mom: how long are you going to be, it's hot in this car.

this talking about nothing but talking about everything is how we get on. it is not, i've discovered how normal families do things. they say things like "you look lovely in that colour" or "you're an asshole" but they are usually said at separate times. mom and i like to combine the arts of entertaining and arguing. we like a big show.

bev

the devil in the deep blue sea.........



to begin i must tell you how much i love and appreciate the comments that you lovely, lovely people take the time to write. they are like those little love heart candies to me.  i read the message and then ingest it. remember, you don't have to say nice things about me, you could tell me about your day, your problems, items you have for sale. well, maybe not that. you can even say bad things about me because at least you're talking to me and i'm sure we can work it out. that said, i was mildly alarmed by the commenters on my last post that thought i might be sad. jesus, i don't want anyone worried i'm sitting around about to stick a fork in my eye. this is the thing, after mom went home it was like when the circus leaves town. you have entertained the likes of tigers and elephants and now the in-house talent is just not cutting the mustard. but real life is starting to reclaim its territory because after all the show must go on. so with that said. here's a tiny tale....

last fall, when i was visiting my ancestral home by the sea, my little family was spending a quiet afternoon going through bureau drawers. mom was sorting through 40 years of saved greeting cards  while i was assessing  her extensive plastic, swizzle stick collection. then my daughter pulled out a bunch of things i had made when i was young. valentines, colouring - that sort of thing.  i saw a drawing and suddenly i remembered.

me: it's a devil picture
mom: god yes, you drew those all the time.
me: i wonder why
mom:  who knows why you did anything.

the drawing was a typical one for about a five or six year old. a house, my family, a giant sun. green grass, flowers and then under the ground a devil. the devil looked like a typical devil. red clothes, horns, tail. i remember i always put him on the left side of a picture, near the bottom. he usually sat in a round hole with a path that led up to the grass or under the house. the devil was always happy, his smile as big as my those plastered on my stick family. i remember drawing him. i remember being so careful. i remember putting him in every picture. i don't remember why.

our family was religious in the most vague sort of way. i don't think i encountered satan on sunday in church. ours was not that kind of get together. but i know that he showed up in all my artwork for about 3 years. my lucifer worship period. i drew no angels, no white gods on fluffy clouds. just that little red pecker and his pitchfork.

me: didn't you think it was weird that i drew the devil all the time
mom: no, why would i worry about that.
me: i don't know why i put him in every picture
mom: well i guess you liked him

do you suppose that's true?  what comfort did devil bring me. the pictures were all happy. i even placed him under the ocean when is drew boats. i can't decide what is odder? the fact he's there in the first place or the fact i drew careful paths for him to reach ground level. i think he disappeared from my drawing sometime around third grade. i remember vividly drawing myself , my cat and him in miss perry's second grade classroom. i can't imagine what would happen now if a child repeatedly placed a happy devil under the ground in all her artwork.. did anyone ask me why he was there? did i have an answer?

bev