#artists I have known: Grandma Buckley

Grandma Buckley belonged to a generation of women who mastered handicrafts at an extraordinary level. Knitting, crocheting, rug-making—these were just the beginning. In her childhood, nothing was store-bought if it could be made by industrious hands. Girls were taught from a young age to avoid the shame of "idle hands, idle thoughts." Beyond practicality, there were specific handicrafts every young lady learned to prepare a proper dowry.

Grandma’s talents went far beyond the expected. She painted delicate porcelain, crafted intricate bobbin lace, embroidered detailed flowers and landscapes, quilted, and hemstitched napkins and tablecloths. Her home was a gallery of her handiwork, her cupboards brimming with treasures. Despite only completing a grade-six education, she carried herself with the grace and refinement of a true gentlewoman.

She was also a woman of profound faith. Grandma attended mass daily, sometimes more often on special holidays. Her faith was intertwined with her creativity—she was always crafting mittens, Christmas wreaths, quilts, jams, jellies, and baked goods to sell at church bazaars. At her funeral, an old friend shared a remarkable story: Grandma’s handmade goods were so admired at these events that they outshone all others. Initially, each woman had her own table or designated spot, but buyers flocked to Grandma’s wares, clearing her table within the first thirty minutes. To avoid embarrassment for the other contributors, the organizers eventually began spreading Grandma’s creations among the other displays, ensuring fairness in the sales.

What has always puzzled me is why Grandma’s artistry was never truly acknowledged, even within our family. She never sought praise and rarely received it. Was it because she was a woman, living in a time when only men were considered artists? Or was it because traditional handicrafts were dismissed as mere domestic labor rather than actual art?

Later in life, Peter became a remarkable writer and even rediscovered his love for playing Bach on the piano. Grandma’s creative spirit skipped over Pat and John but found it in Karen, Kim, D., and me. Without fanfare or formal lessons, she inspired us simply by living her art. Her gentle persistence as a role model shaped our lives in ways she likely never imagined.

Grandma Buckley may not have been celebrated as an artist in her time, but her legacy of creativity lives on in all of us who were touched by her life and work. 

Class reunion

Such smiling faces.
Introductions are stories
Bridging 50 years.

TR update: I am really excited

After much consideration and numerous delays, I am moving forward with selling my Talkshow Rivals (TR) script. I'm giving myself a year.

Here's what has happened in the last months:

• I finished reworking the script (now version 5)
• Research on the gaming industry as a whole
• Wrote an executive summary
• Approach first game developers (fein games in Berlin)
  
  

I also have a great team of people from various corners of the world helping me:

• Charlotte (Heidelberg) has kindly offered to help me with the pitch and all communication
• Nicola (Samui, Thailand) is helping me with strategy
• Iliana (Copenhagen) is reading the script and giving feedback
• Sarah (Lübeck) is helping me understand the gaming industry better and what players like and do not like about current games on the market

#artists I have known: Uncle Peter

When we think of artists, we often picture painters, musicians, actors, or dancers. Rarely do we consider journalists. But Peter was an artist in every sense of the word—a wordsmith and a storyteller of truth.

He belonged to the Old School of Journalism, a generation of writers/journalists who believed what they did was for the betterment of society. In speech, as on paper, his deep intellect and insatiable curiosity found expression in their barest form. He made each word and each sentence count. He avoided unnecessary flourishes, letting the power of simplicity do the heavy lifting.

I was too young to read his articles when they were first published, but his legacy spoke for itself. Younger journalists who had worked with him at the Canadian Press spoke of him with reverence. They credited Peter with setting the gold standard for journalism—a benchmark that influenced not only his peers but also the generations that followed.

On a personal level, Peter was one of the few adults who encouraged my budding love for writing. At first, I was hesitant to tell him about my passion, especially for poetry. I assumed he might scoff at my efforts as the indulgences of a teenager. How wrong I was. Not only did he take my interest seriously, but he also welcomed me into his world of creative thought. Our conversations about writing were inspiring, and I was flattered that someone of his stature would take my ideas seriously.

Peter believed deeply in the transformative power of words. He understood that language can bridge gaps, ignite passions, or offer solace in times of sorrow. He taught me that a well-chosen word could change a person’s perspective. And he didn’t draw lines between the “big” world of global events and the smaller, intimate worlds we live in. To him, both were equally deserving of attention, honesty, and care.

Looking back, I realize how profoundly Peter influenced me. He showed me that writing isn’t just an act of expression; it’s an act of connection. He believed in the power of the written word to make the world a better place.

#booksIlove: Never Cry Wolf

Title: Never Cry Wolf, by Farley Mowat
When did I first read the book: sometime in the early 1970s

If you want to read a book that is, at its core, a funny antidote about how bad society is at understanding the nature of animals, this is the book for you. This book was written 60 years ago. It is a perfect case study of one of the root causes of why we, humans, continue to perpetrate mass extension in animalkind. And that is willful ignorance.  

I am... a retiree

Officially, I've been a retiree since last year. Since then, I have received my modest monthly government pension. Since June this year, I have retired from my company. Yet. I still "work" as a project manager, coach, and agile facilitator. Sometimes, I earn money. Sometimes I do the work out of the goodness of my heart. So, if being a retiree doesn't mean retiring from work, what does it mean?

At the moment, it means I no longer contribute to the state retirement plan. It also means facing the stark reality of how little my monthly pension is and how Giui and I must reduce monthly costs. And even though my monthly income has been drastically reduced, I still have to pay taxes, which supports the popular saying that the only two certainties in life are death and taxes.

I'll stop moaning about money and look at the positive aspects:

I no longer have to apply for vacation time; instead, I can just travel whenever I want.

I am the boss of my calendar. Recently, I did some contractual work for my old team and instantly found myself back in the labyrinth of meeting conflicts. 

I can focus on my main priority, which is to live healthily. This means getting 7- 8 hours of sleep a night, walking 10,000 steps a day, eating well, not drinking alcohol or eating sweets, doing yoga twice a week, and going to the gym twice a week. I used to do more sports, such as Tai Chi and meditation, but I have not done so since the children came. So, changing my focus towards more movement and a healthy lifestyle is a significant shift. 

I've been spending time travelling. Admittedly, I have been like a child in a candy shop in the last few months. I have spent a fair portion of the time travelling alone or visiting family and friends. I've travelled down to Frankfurt slowly, with regional trains. Slow travel, how luxurious is that.

Now, for the stuff I have not been doing well. Whether this is because I have yet to make the mental shift, or because I am avoiding change, I cannot say:

• spend more time with Giui 
• spend more time with the kids
• editing and selling the Talkshow Rivals script
• meditating daily 
• taking time to do "nothing" 
• drawing and painting 
• writing more 
• taking classes online 
• writing and creating a layout for my haiku book 

The list is long, but it is better to stop here. As you can see, I have a lot to reflect on and change.

To my dearest, Karen

My older sister
Comes to life a younger self
With so much laughter. 

Unexpected

I enter the cathedral in Hildesheim

Seeking sanctuary and relief 

From the crowded pedestrian zone

At the center of the city.

Slews of shoppers. So many shops. 

So many many things

I do not need or would want to buy.

In the church, the buzz continues, 

It is an inside market for organisations

Helping senior citizens 

There are two musicians in the front

To the left of the altar, 

There's a brumming of 

Background voices intertwined 

With the klimmpering of

Notes from their keyboard... 

#booksIlove: Bachelor Brothers Bed & Breakfast

Title: Bachelor Brothers Bed & Breakfast, Bill Richardson
When I first read the book: 1995

This is a book that Pat sent me during one of those dark winter months in northern Germany. It is in journal form, and what a delight to read. 

If I remember right, it is set on the west coast of BC. The characters flowing in and out of the two brothers' lives are such quirky, lovable people.

So, with winter drawing near, read this book!  

Finally someone rang our doorbell

Giui always buys sweets to give out on Halloween, even though we do not get any visitors. We live in the middle of the city and so most parents bring their children to the suburbs to trick or treat. 

Can you imagine our surprise, when our doorbell rang last night? It was Limo and Wian. Wian with a very small bag, half-filled with candy. She delicately choose one candy from our meager selection. What a dear-heart.

What a delight!