Christmas cheer

My dear daughter smiles
Three pigeons on snowy roof
Christmas fades away.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Turning the tables

In the 70s, the Royal St. Lawrence Yacht Club lived on pretense. The management and the members believed they were a cut above the riffraff. They also had a good restaurant that served lunches during the week. The other more humble, more laisse faire yacht clubs only served food out of vending machines.
 
My father, then president of a telecommunication company, was invited to a lunch at the Royal St. Lawrence Yacht Club. He was invited by a manager of a competing company. She was one of the only female mangers in the field at that time. She had an old fashion name, Mildred. Yet, she was bigger than life… the puffed-up hair, the dangling clanging jewelry, and always wearing a power suit of glorious colours and large shoulder pads.
 
My father in contrast enjoyed wearing comfortable pants, a Jack shirt, and sandals. Even in winter.
 
He was admittedly not looking forward eating at the Royal St. Lawrence Yacht Club, but he was, after all, Mildred’s guest.
 
As they arrived, my father noticed the nose of the maître de ruffling. “We do not allow our gentlemen guests to dine here without a jacket”, he said condescendingly. My father looked at him in disbelief. The maître de then used his two fingers to take out a jacket of sorts from a back cupboard to highlight his point. It was obvious at first glance the jacket was far too small for my father’s build.
 
My father turns to Mildred, a colleague he does not know so well, and asks, “Would you be so kind and lend me your jacket?” Mildred’s eyes sparkle. “Do you want me to remove the butterfly broach?” No no, he insists, that’s fine.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)   

For Claudia (RIP)

Our first White Christmas
With family and dear friends
Lost friend though not here.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Photo by Filip Bunkens on Unsplash

Winter solstice

Grey skies with dark clouds
Sigh, daylight never comes
Warm quilt on my knees.

Photo by Damian McCoig on Unsplash

Vimeo Staff Picks

Looking for inspiration? Do you want to tip your toes briefly in a pool of culturally interesting films. There is the wonder of Vimeo. Try skipping through their Staff Picks.

 
I tripped over “Shots in the Dark” with David Godlis. An excellent multimedia film focusing on one bar at one point in time. It was the moment in his young adulthood and my youth. 

Food for thought

Love this video, Day In The Life Of A Michelin Star Chef. Watch how Chef Jane of Jeju Noodle Bar in New York spends her days. She radiates such calm, intensity, and grace. A real treat.

To the dancer in you

Here are three K-pop songs that have given me much much joy. Whenever I need a pick-me-up, they indubitably raise my spirits. I find it fascinating how K-pop artists can sing and dance beautifully and how much they are involved in their art. The more popular artists often write or produce their music. 

The first treat is Move from Taemin (my all-time favorite of K-pop artist). The music video is a piece of art. A masterpiece. They published three music videos simultaneously, each focusing on another aspect of the song. The third one features the Japanese choreographer of the song, Koharu Sugawara, dancing along with Taemin. Brilliant. 

For a second treat, please watch the song Naughty, performed by Irene and Seulgi. Throughout the song, they magnificently use the “tutting” dance style. If you want to concentrate only on the dancing, here you can see them dancing the choreography in a dance studio. 

Finally, one of my favourite music videos last year was 'ON' Kinetic Manifesto by BTS. Not only are the staging and performance exceptional but the choreography is done by Sienna Lalau, a 19-year-old Hawaiian Samoan woman. You can spot her in this dance performance at the beginning. She is the one with purple hair in the center of the drummers/dancers.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

x

The best idea I ever had

The best idea I ever had popped up in my head many many years ago. It was on a Saturday afternoon when I was 10 years old and playing with my best friend, Arlene. My father had brought the two of us to see our new house in Baie d'Urfe in Montreal. 

We ran around the empty rooms. which echoed our giggling excitement. To our amazement, we discovered the house had a laundry shoot. A modern wonder! From the top floor down into the basement there was a metal shaft to throw dirty laundry down.

While my father was off somewhere taking measurements of the rooms, Arlene and I were left to play on our own. We were fascinated with the laundry shoot. We'd throw our winter jackets down from the top floor, run downstairs, pick them up in the basement, run upstairs and start all over again.

Eventually, I wondered whether it wouldn't be more fun to go down the shoot ourselves. Like the tv series "the flying nun". After some planning, I decided to leave our jackets at the bottom of the shoot to cushion our fall. I thought it would be best to go head first so we could see where we were going. 

As I was holding Arlene by her dangling knees, and asking her if she was ready, my father entered the room. I heard a deep intake of breath in the stillness. He spoke ever so quietly and said to me, "Do Not Move." 

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)  

The days are short and dark

Advent's candles lit
The wreath with its berries shines
Come darkness what may.

Photo by Laura Nyhuis on Unsplash

Announcement from Management

Subject line: as of today, all employees who are not vaccinated are to work from home

“How are you doing?”, Lisa asks her colleague, Jane, over Zoom. Jane puts on a brave face, which instantly unfolds into sadness. Unexpected tears brim over and run down her face and drip off her chin. Quiet. Breathe. “You are the first person who asked”, Jane says, still obviously upset. “Really”, Lisa puzzles, “I’m sorry. I can’t image how you’re feeling.” “As if I am walking around with a “Unvaccinated” stamp on my forehead.”

They look at each other across the screen. Lisa wishes she could give her colleague a hug. Jane continues, “I feel so ostracized. Even in our team. If only someone would ask why… I would at least have a chance to explain. It’s the silence from colleagues and friends that is hard to bear. It’s so heavy. I can’t breathe. I wish they would ask why…” 

Lisa listens and after a longer pause she suggests, “Let’s meet up and go for a walk later this week.” “That would be lovely. We could wear masks.”

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Ode to Professor Wang

Professor Wang walks down the corridor from his office to the lecture hall eyes straight ahead. He never looks at or acknowledges anyone he passes. He walks with stooped shoulders and with a slight limp.

It is rumoured that he suffered corporal punishment during his childhood in the Chinese Cultural Revolution. It is also rumoured that he was one of the discovers of modern technology. 

Outwardly, his is not an imposing figure. The moment though, when he steps into the lecture hall, all that changes. He stops at the front of the room and waits for silence. Once given, he repeats the sentence he spoke in his previous lecture. 

Then he continues talking, explaining, describing, and extrapolating without pause, without any visual aids or prompts... 90 precious minutes long, which fly by in seconds. He talks about quantum physics, laser theory, the future of medicine... who would ever have thought such science could be understandable, let alone interesting.

The lecture is over. He turns and stares straight ahead at the door, his escape, his exit,. He pauses momentarily, clears his throat, and nods his head. It is almost a bow... to what... to his students, to science, or the emptiness he leaves behind?

Photo by Linus Mimietz on Unsplash

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

A short grey winter day

Sunday afternoon
Fingers quietly strumming
The sun sets early.

Photo by Caio Silva on Unsplash 

One of Pat's gifts

A friend recommended that we read the stunningly beautiful book, Braiding Sweetgrass together. When I opened up the first pages, I thought of my mother and how very much she would have enjoyed "discovering" this book.

Pat had a gift of finding and gifting books that changed my life. She introduced me to War and Peace when I was a brooding 15-year-old. If I go to my bookshelf and draw out randomly a handful of books from the middle of one shelf, here are the books she sent. Books that I still treasure so many years later:

• The Book of Ebenezer Le Page, by B. B. Edwards
• Playing with Water, James Hamilton-Paterson
• Migrations to Solitude, by Sue Halpern
• A Country Year, by Sue Hubbell
• Twelve Years (An American Boyhood in East Germany), by Joel Agee

What a gift my mother had to connect books to people. Over and over, even though we lived in distant countries from each other, she passed on her discoveries.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Photo by Brian Yurasits on Unsplash

My outside world

 

My heart seeks beauty
November day of greyness
Coldness seeps inside.

Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash

Yearly mammio

The lightness I feel
After the doctor says all's well
Oh... now I can breathe.

Photo by Valeriia Bugaiova on Unsplash

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Many years later

 

For Dave

Image a sea sprite racing
In front of the ocean waves
As they break upon the reef below.
Sitting cross-legged on the cliff edge
My brother slowly tips the urn
With our father's ashes. I sit silently
In prayer, "Thank you. Be free.
I love you. I forgive you."
The ashes mix with the sea foam
And get carried downwards
Gone. Gone. Far away.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Stretch

 

Early this morning

My yoga teacher texts me

"Bring along a belt".

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Rude awakening

Lying down in the grass

I look up beneath the

Dome of magnolia blossoms

Squinting slightly, I see

The fairies painting 

Tinges of mauve over pinks

Over the whits of the petals.

The sunlight dances between

The branches and

Makes me sneeze.

Photo by Andy Feliciotti on Unsplash

Ambiguity

She’s your granddaughter?
The curse of late motherhood
(Chest out, chin up)… no.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Nature

Age is nothing else

But connecting the fine lines

Past flows into now.

Photo by Peter Aschoff on Unsplash

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)