afloat on the sea......

when i think of it now, i should have been a fisherman. but when i was young, such things were not heard of. i'm sure somewhere in the world there were lady sea captains but new ideas were not common in a place where you heard only 63 other voices. in my village it was unlucky for women to even be aboard the boat. women apparently made the winds and sea confused. but as a child i was forever on a boat of some kind. my father died when i was very young and so my uncles and the other fishermen became stand-ins. i sure talking to a fatherless girl is hard for crusty seafarers but taking her fishing, well that was one way to be together without the worry of words or emotions. and so i went to sea. i fished with my uncles on their boats. they pulled their herring and mackerel nets and i found my first place in the world.

as i got older i went out on the bigger boats. we would be fishing on grounds over two days from land. i felt so at home. i never worried about the weather or the boat going down. i was too in love with the swells and the way the sun hit the waves. at night, down in the cuddy, i would lay in my bunk and  i would press my face against cold wood of the hull so that i could feel the sea next to my skin. i felt safe there, beneath the water line. i felt calm and at peace being rocked to sleep by the movement of the boat and the muted sounds of the my ocean heaven.

i have seen all manner of creatures from the sea - the porpoise, the whale, the shark and the curious and common fish.  whales are somewhat of a conundrum for me. when i see a whale two things simultaneously go through my mind - "what a beautiful site" and "god, that thing would feed a lot of people." when i was young and with my uncles, the whales were a nuisance. they swam around and under the boat. they could get tangled in the nets or eat the catch. we shot them with a  22 rifle. you can't kill a whale with such a small gun but i'm sure it must have stung. some whales we could identify by the bullet scars on their backs and heads. and yet they continued to come. i realize this is terrible, idealists will say the whales came to the boats because they wanted to communicate or make friends. maybe that's true. or maybe it felt good to be shot with a small calibre gun. human beings pierce and tattoo every part of their bodies and despite the discomfort,  many of them keep going back. whales may be the same. i will never know. all i know is that those whales were a pain in the ass. they did however, make out better than the seals who were shot on site. the 22 rifle could kill a seal. seals are like the rabbits of the sea. they eat and they eat and they breed and they breed.

i loved everything about being on the boat. i would catch the fish, gut them and fling their entrails to the screaming gulls. when i was young i would plead to be given a shark if one were caught. the sharks were worth no money and they were seen, like the seals, as a menace. but i, on the other hand could cut their teeth out and sell them to the americans. americans loved shark teeth. but first i would have to kill it. the raging shark would flop about the deck. he would hurl his open mouth at my sneakered feet. i would scream and jump. but, oh i was happy. my uncles would shake their heads as i dodged danger and moved to finish it off. i would stun it with an oar and then slit its throat with the bait knife. it sounds so primitive, so savage - like clubbing baby seals. but my life was not one of sidewalks and shopping malls. it was not a life removed from the messy bits. death, and stark reality were very close to me. there was no shelter built over my childhood. i stood exposed to the elements.

one winter the harbour froze completely over. a government ice breaker was dispatched to free our little outpost from the crush of the ice. the whole community stood on the wharf to watch the event. many of the men walked out on the ice to meet the ice breaker. i think everyone on the land held their collective breath. to see the our men, so small, walking atop the water without their boats was in short breathtaking. the great chunks of ice heaved and they cracked like rifles shots and yet the men walked on. the huge ship sat poised at the opening of the harbour ready to save us and deliver us back to the water. how i wish i could have walked on that ice. sometimes i think i can feel what it must have been like,  the floe groaning and moving beneath my feet. our beloved sea trying to breath and sing it's song.

 the sea was always there. coming towards me with the tide and carrying me on it's back across the miles. to lay on a boat, towards the bow, and see an impossibly high pillar of water heading for you. to look forward to that pillar and the next, to feel alive and oh so safe in the arms of the sea - the refuge of each wave washing away the fears and worries of the shore.

bev

the brief career of a clerical scholar.....

i have been known my entire life as a "prayer challenge". my aunt kept my name permanently inked in on her prayer list. the list was scotch-taped to the cupboard above the kitchen sink. as she stood and washed her dishes she would pray for the souls of the people on the list. i was the only child to make the list and i was the only one never removed from the rotation. i remember sitting on her kitchen counter, eating molasses cookies and asking her why i was on the list. "because," she would say "you're full of the devil". she always smiled when she said it and in her defense this was probably during my satan art - crayon series. life was a puzzle then, as it is now. but i did my best to find answers, wherever i could.........

so
when i was around 8, i told a story in sunday school that to my complete surprise, didn't go over well. I don't remember where i came across the marvelous information i was about to unveil but i remember being pretty excited to share it. before we go on, let's make it clear i thought i had come across yet to be released biblical insight. i was so sure my story was true but apparently fact checking was a yet to be acquired skill. i cannot remember the morning of my big announcement but i probably ran the half mile up the road to the church. my patent leather shoes slapping the pavement and my dress flying up  i am certain i was there early, sitting in the pew with my "oh my god, i've got a story" look on my face.. i remember i was fairly bursting to get back to the lesson rooms. i loved the warm up songs with all the funky hand movements but this week i was breaking news. once we were in the back and in our classroom, i was off. i cut off whatever lesson the teacher was about to begin - my story certainly had precedence over any loaves and fishes. "EXCUSE ME, did you know?" i started. "on the ark noah removed all the boy animals wankers because he didn't want any fooling around on the voyage." i can tell you,  the word wankers and the suggestion of sex on the ark had turned the crowd my way,,,,, but surprisingly this was not my "big news". i'm sure i had a dramatic pause just about then. hell, i probably stood up. "well", i continued , "when the ark landed noah gave everyone back their parts. except he mixed up the donkey and camel's wankers and that's why camels have such small ones and donkey's have such biggies.

waiting for my applause......

whatever i thought was going to happen at this point did not happen. i just remember being so frantic to get this new information out there. the sunday school teacher was not impressed. i was immediately escorted from the room and after a very long, damnation filled talk i was placed on church probation. i apparently posed a risk to the other children's salvation. i was devastated, not for being in trouble, not for getting my ass chewed out but because my story was not going to be written down by a scribe and included in future lessons. they thought i was being a blasphemous smart ass, telling dirty jokes in sunday school. i thought i was a  religious correspondent

this theme has repeated over and over again in my life. i am an incredibly slow learner. i love the "tell" - the big reveal. when i got older, i remember thinking, before letting loose, this probably isn't going to end well. but the urge to tell the tale is always too great. and besides personal satisfaction trumps consternation any day.

a historical footnote: my church probation stayed intact till around 11 when i discovered and shared some fascinating info on mary magdalene. i was turfed from sunday school and received a life-time ban from the "young christians" group.

cheers,
bev

mom - live action shorts......

having a telephone conversation with my mother can be, on occasion, like gladiator tryouts. pitted against my mother,  i am at best, a mediocre warrior but knowing you're going to get your ass kicked is a piss, poor reason for not competing. the beginning of the bout is always fraught with posturing and posing.  each of us wanting to get a sense of where the other is in terms of readiness for the match. and really, if you haven't any sarcasm in your prelude, you haven't got game.........

mom: i told those fellows up at the hall that winter was over for us
me: really, why is winter over?
mom: because the skins on the onions are so thin
me: gotcha
mom: it called folklore
me: really, folklore, i've never heard of it
mom: well, i wouldn't expect you to know any folklore
me: thanks
mom: i never said you couldn't learn
me: gotcha

one of the best things about my mother is that her disdain is nearly universal.  sure, i have disappointed her but so, apparently, have lots of other people. so, while i feel for my fellow comrades i am also perfectly willing to sacrifice them. hell, i will safety-pin them to the altar........

which led to......
mom received some christmas presents she was not quite happy with - presents from friends and family alike. if i'm being completely forthcoming, my mother is unhappy with every present on some level. if it's a gift card, well there's the inconvenience of getting to the place, if it's something edible well it's stale or it interferes with her bowel movements. this particular disappointing present was a book.  not, as it turns out the book she was expecting to receive. so, during the conversation, when i found myself on the ropes  i referred back to this book because i needed a rest from getting my ass chewed off.

me: did you ever get the book you wanted
mom: no, did i tell you? mary gave me the wrong book!
me: yes mom, you told me already
mom: i let mary know that i was some disappointed
me: mother, that's not very nice
mom: well, she should know
me: of course
mom: she gave me some thomas kinkade book. the guy who paints
me: i'm sure its a nice book
mom: i don't know anything about that man and i'm sure its not going to entertain me, its probably christian
me: jesus mom, what's wrong with the christans
mom: i'm just saying, its probably not going to be funny.

later in the conversation - a brief moment of victory......
in mom's chrismas stocking was a little set of upcycled scrabble tiles with magnets on the back that spelled "grandma."

mom: could you tell me what those letters are supposed to be.
me: you put them on your fridge and they spell a word.
mom: well, i'll tell you one thing, they don't spell my name. i can't make them spell my name
me: that's because they don't spell your name
mom: your uncle couldn't figure it out, he thought it might be a game but there's not very many pieces.
me: the letters spell grandma
mom: grandma! are you sure?
me: yes, i'm sure
mom: hang on,
(i hear hush puppies tap, tap tapping across the floor. a long pause ensues)
mom: they do spell grandma
me: i told you
mom: well you know you're not always right
me: gotcha

but alas it did not end well for me
bev

an eye for the peculiar.........

i come from a place where people's crazy is just below the surface, not buried deep but visible to even the most untrained eye. this is neither here nor there in terms of correctness but you must learn early, how to tread water. you must never come right out and point out the obvious.  instead you must watch and wait. the man with the wheelbarrow, the hermit with over 100 cats, the woman with the shrine to rex humbard. they were everywhere,  you couldn't swing a dead codfish and not have one pop out of hiding. i wasn't one to shy away. bring on your crazy. i'll take a look. my mother recognized early on that i could be counted on when the situation called for an audience. "let beverly go", she'd say, "she doesn't mind that sort of thing". and strangely, i didn't. i could pet imaginary cats and listen to ranting all the live long day - well the promise of a bit of lunch was always appreciated. you learned that crazy was dangerously close to the path, one misstep and you be living an entirely different life. this kind of early training has served me well. normal has became an wide expanse. sanity as odd as the alternate but in the mean time you must maneuver your way through both worlds and you must learn to live with the envy. because believe me there is a crazy so inviting, so liberating that even as a child you watched it in awe.

i had an great aunt that inhabited that kind of wonderland. i was too young to appreciate the tragedy that sent her there. i could only revel in the place she had came to rest. there was tea and mustard sandwiches. the table was always set to include Queen Elizabeth, my aunt's sister, and a long dead prime minister who had become her priest. the absent people were represented with framed photos and my aunt spoke to them. i never heard the photos speak, i never saw elizabeth drink the tea or the priest make the blessing but my aunt did. and this was enough for me.  the sheer contentment i felt would sometimes take my breath away. after the refreshments we all went to the parlor and elizabeth and the priest would watch while aunt and i did the highland jig. the same scenes were played out for nearly every visit. it was for me how happy felt.

another wondrous woman i visited was the wife of let's say, my eye doctor. this was a case of my mother volunteering me for a bit of psychiatric nurse training. my being under the age of 10 didn't seem to bother anyone.  "just sit with her for a while," they said,  "give the caretaker a break." i loved it. i was at times a wee bit scared because this gal was wildly unpredictable. she wore flowered caftans and her hair was piled high on her head in curls we called bubbles. she smoked and things sometimes caught fire. as soon as we were alone she always asked if i wanted a boiled egg and i always i did. she would put an egg in a pot, sans water and turn up the heat. smoke and or fire usually was the finale of all our visits. i would always catch hell from the returnees about not stopping her. stopping her never occurred to me. the fear i felt was tempered greatly by the anticipation of what would happen next. what would i possibly miss if i ran screaming from the room. so i happily sat next to a smouldering pillow or listened to conspiracy theories because personal danger cannot compete with entertainment. the highlight of most visits involved a tray of rings. the kind of ring you get for a successful doctor's visit. well mrs had her own large tray. we would sit like two young debutantes and try on rings. picking our favorites from each row. we discussed what situation would be best for each style. when we had exhausted our imaginations the rings were returned to the tray and she would light a cigarette and i wondered how a person could get their hands on such a large tray of rings. i always left with the idea that this was the type of life i wanted to lead.

i have always suspected i might be crazy and in my life i have attracted some pretty freaky peoplev- to be honest i've been known to campaign for them. but, i have also been very fortunate to also have attracted some really sensible people. the sort of folks who hold the balloon strings that keep me from floating off to god knows where. because sometimes i like to inhabit that place where reason is often pushed aside for something more entertaining.

and as an added value - here is my favorite poem.

first fig

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
It gives a lovely light!

i feel this way approximately ALL the time. it runs through my head at least once a day. a mantra if you will

so light her up
bev

dancing to the edge, of the land........

and so it begins - a new year - a new set of impossible expectations. i for one love it - i've been disappointing people in one way or another since my birth. i thrive in no-win environments. but let's not give away the ending before the show has begun.

the RESOLUTION. there it stands, an irresistible temptation.. it beckons and you can't help but be seduced. whether it be secret resolve or public declaration, you announce your intentions 

and so i come to you with list in hand and eager to proceed. my many pledges include...
- let my teats feel the breeze once in awhile
- gain weight
- discover i am talented embroiderer
- swear more
- be less cautious with perscription medication

i should tell you...

 i hoard normal like other people hoard money. i see a bits of it laying on the ground.- i snatch it up and carefully tuck it away. i tell myself, "someday i'll need that normal. someday i'll need to have my wits about me."  for now i'm content to keep it in my pocket, i'm not ready to raid my stash.

as my friend margaret atwood sort of says-

my mother and i fit together like a hook and eye - a fish hook in an open eye.

so speaking of her....

my mother and i conversed almost like a regular family on christmas day. well, almost, she spent about 25 minutes reviewing every present and when i say reviewing, i mean it in the worst possible way. "how much did that cost?" "i can tell you right now, that's not going to last." "the cookies are stale, god knows how long they sat on the shelf or did you have them from last year." 

and on and on it goes. it's like a lulaby to me. a soothing tirade that assures me everything is well with the world. she has decided now she would like me to purchase a "lay down" freezer for her. she thinks i skived her on her birthday present. she doesn't understand the $300 walmart card was for christmas and her birthday. i can't decide if she's really going off or she's just watching too many game shows and i have somehow become the host. "yes, bev i'll take the freezer for $400 and the year supply of omaha steaks. and bev, i think i'll use my free spin."

you should also know that courtesy of my sister, mother received one of those "i've fallen and i can't get up" devices for christmas. she's fantically old and i live 3500km away from her so i feel comforted knowing that she has easy access to medical assistance .....but my mother doesn't like to let any service go unused, so she's pushing that button on a whim. in lttle over a week she cried black hawk down 3 times - once to test thier response time. once to complain about the cord being wet after her shower and once in lieu of reading the instruction book. sorry medical alert people, you'll be earning your money on this one.

finally i would like to share with you my favorite tv bit from this year. i love british tv and film, so several years ago we bought a universal dvd player so i could indulge my vice. i love all the cursing, it's like all hbo, all the time. this is from an eposide "an idiot abroad".  i should warn you, there are proper nob and bollocks in this clip. so if you're uncomfortable with seeing a penis,  remember  - jeaus people, it's art, not porn. go on, have a peek best tv bit  (oh and elephant baba is featured too)

happy new year

bev

sally, the christmas horse......

magic and joy are sometimes not that hard to find. they are everywhere,  you must only be prepared to look in unexpected places. sometimes your blessings are so tightly wrapped in packages that they do not look like gifts at all. but when you open your heart and unwrap them, joy will just come pouring out.  i know i sound like boris karloff in "the grinch" but tis the season for such fancies.

sally, the horse, came to our farm one winter's eve about 2 weeks before christmas. she was by breed, a paint with red and brown patches - a stout little horse, almost a pony.  she was in fact the type of pony you may have seen many years ago, walking across the plains, pulling a travois and carrying a sioux mother and her tiny papoose.

in the farm house resides a girl. a little girl barely into her teens who is suspended somewhere between dolls and perfume. a little girl for whom christmas is starting to lose it's magic. a little girl who despite her tender years has already trained and broken two fillies. her calm, tender, no-nonsense manner is admired among the neighbours.  "she should be a vet," they say. but she has other romantic notions of someday attending university in england and marrying an irish folk singer. perhaps this will, one day come to be and the newlyweds will ride their ponies over endless green hills. but that is another story.......

this story is about sally and it started on the morning the diligent farmer came in after chores and announced the news.  now,  there is nothing in the world  that will interrupt home schooling quicker than to announce a horse has wandered onto the farm overnight. a streak of blond hair bolts from her seat at the kitchen table,  she pulls her boots on and rushes out. a while later that same blond head comes back in -  talking to me as soon as she opens the door. her cheeks red from the cold but her face expresses pure delight. "mom, mom she has one brown eye and one blue eye". "mom, she so wild and she whinnies so loud." "mom, she a pretty little thing" "what should we call her?" " i was thinking something for winter, like snow or tinsel but i think her name her name is sally." "well,  sally she is then," said the mother. "now come and finish your work. "mom do you think she's halter broke?"  "mom, who do you think she belongs to?" " mom can we keep her?"

sally settled into life on this new farm. she met her sisters tessie and abby and her brothers henry and old skipper. she met her donkey cousins biscuit, poppy and the cranky nancy.  she made friends with the big hound dog, birdie.  after a couple of days sally's owner was located and it was discovered that sally had already been sold and was heading for  market. she would end up being french cuisine or dog food or even the mystery meat in your stir fry.  the diligent farmer offered to buy sally but the owner said he was committed to the other sale. it was arranged that sally would be picked up in a few days when the owner had time to get her.

the diligent farmer tried to soften this news for the little gril by saying the horse was just a range animal. probably too wild to do anything with. everyone knew that horses like sally are sold for their meat but nobody wanted to talk about it.

the next few days came and went.   everyday, as the little girl fed and watered sally, she crooned her secret horse talk. sally stayed a safe distance away but her ears perked forward as she listened to the words of a love song only a little girl can sing.

in the end it was sally herself and mother nature, with perhaps a little help from father christmas that decided the pony's future. the day for sally's departure broke cold and the snow swirled thickly on the  north wind. the owner arrived to retive his wayward filly. sally kicked up her hind legs and began galloping in circles that made herding her in the snow and wind nearly impossible. after about 15 minutes of chasing the dodgy girl, the owner sighed and turned to the diligent farmer. the diligent farmer smiled and asked if perhaps he had changed his mind about the little horse's future. "yes", the owner said." i'm too old and tired to chase a little horse through the snow." so it turned out that a surprising small amount of money secured the christmas wish of a little girl and a pony.

the diligent farmer got to play hero that afternoon. on the way to her piano recital he turned to his baby girl and said "i guess we should feed sally a bale when we get home." the little girl asked, "why are we giving her a bale, isn't the owner coming back tomorrow to try and load her" "well," said the farmer, "i'm asking the "owner" if we should feed her horse."

sally has brought some magic to the farm this christmas. she is someone to be fussed over. a jaunty new halter was bought with the little girl's babysitting money to adorn sally on christmas day and a special bag of sweet oats for her and her stablemates to enjoy. this is another chance for the girl suspended between a child and a women to enjoy the delight of an unexpected surprise. it does a mother's heart good to hear here the constant chatter throughout the house - snatches of conversation about horses, making cookies, her older sister coming home......  for one more year we see get to feel christmas through the heart of a child. the care this family will give sally seems tiny in comparison to love and good cheer she has already given us.

today, with only 5 days until christmas i look out the window and see a mittened hand rubbing the forehead of a wild pony. i watch the pony follow the little girl as she goes for water and i know that sally is wishing that the mittened hand will reach out again soon. i see what love can do in such a short time. i am glad sally found her way to us this holiday season.

the christmas story..........

christmas is starting to do my head in.

the lovely terri posted her thought provoking piece surrounding the whole naivety scene. she brought up things i had never thought of before. here a bit of the post...

"but I couldn’t abide another year’s witness to Mary, prodded upright and kneeling, minutes after giving birth........Eyes glazed, these resigned Marys perch up on their knees—all the way up, restrained even from resting their bottoms on their calves".

 bloody hell, mary kneeling beside the baby jesus. i have since found myself obsessed with the holy creche. i look at them everywhere i go. today shopping in every store i kept stopping to have a peek at mary's position. when i saw one where she was up too high i found myself saying, "jesus, mary sit down." i never was bothered by them one way or another before, but now i think about them far too much. quite by coincidence, i watched a travel show the other night where they visited bethlehem and saw the manager and the whole bit. people were bent over peering inside the fenced off area.  i wanted to shout at the tv, if mary's there, tell her to sit the hell down.  people at home, i implore you, if you do have a manger scene this holiday season and mary happens to be kneeling like she in the blocks ready to do the 100m dash, push her over and let her lay on her side for a bit.

also
i've been reading on facebook recently a lot of chatter about bringing "my christ" back to christmas. because i rarely think things through - i thought it must be one of those word scramble things. well obviously i found christ right away, but where was "my?" there was ma christ but that sounded gangster. man, let's hang for "ma christmas". i then found sam christmas. that was a sort of a da vinci code moment for me. had i found some hidden message. i decided not. so in the end i failed to find my christ in christmas which is probably just as well because i would expect a big present from him.

finally, i leave you with this

earlier this month i was talking to my mother on the telephone. she asked me for a $300 gift card from walmart for christmas. i know, pretty damn specific and pretty damn a lot.

she also said
"don't mail a parcel.  i don't want anything for my stocking. well, not a lot anyway. don't send a bunch of crap and don't get me heavy stuff because you're just wasting your money on postage."
i said "right, gotcha ya"
i thought to myself "my god, she's like a child, she'll be asking for a pony next

so the following week i talk to my mother again to find out if  "light, crapless parcel and the gift card" had arrived safely
and immediately
she says "i don't want a tv for my birthday"
right, gotcha ya. i say.
then she says "so you can just think of something else or send me a gift card to somewhere.
right, i say, did you not get the card i sent.
yes, she says but that is for christmas, not my birthday.
gotcha ya i say.

jesus christ i know she's 89 and i know she's forgetful but honestly, she got all the other detail about my life correct. she knows who i am.  does she think i've perhaps come into a bit of money. some big win at bingo or something.

well
happy holidays
bev
ps follow the link to read terri's funny, poignant "away with the manger"