More Reading

Michael Solender recently ran a contest over at The NOT. If you haven't already you really should drop by and check out the results. There are some great stories [shameless plug] and you can read my tale Time and Tide there as well [/shameless plug]. The highlight is Grand Prize winner Angel Zapata and his interview with MacDuff. Much too good to miss.

Also, my Something You should Read this time around is Tony Noland's Ode to a Semicolon. Check it out at the pen on the right.

Guest Write - The Price of Fish

On my last trip home I came across this poem written by my dad in the early 1960's. It was originally written as a recitation for a local concert, and he put it away with all the other songs and poems he's written over the years. Dad has gained some local fame for his quick pen.

I like this one for several reasons: It explains with some humour the plight of the fishermen in the area at the time, and its theme is universal. With a few word changes it could well be about a farmer in Saskatchewan.




The Price of Fish

I started out as a fisherman, that was many years ago
I could make a living fishing then, which I can’t do any more
So I’ll sell me lines and jiggers and I’m going to move to town
‘cause everything is going up when the price of fish goes down

Now the first year I was fishing here the price was pretty good
And besides that in the winter I could sell a bit of wood
I thought I could be happy here it all looked safe and sound
But the cost of living kept going up and the price of fish went down

The next year came and soon passed by ‘twasn’t good as the year before
But still I managed (I don’t know how) to keep the wolf away from the door
I had moonshine in the cellar and potatoes in the ground
But the prices they went higher still, while the price of fish went down

Now the time passed quickly onward and things were booking bad
And holes got in me oil pants, They’re the only ones I had
I’ll get one for a quintal I thought but very soon I found
Like everything else they’d gone way up, while the price of fish went down

The summers they were poor ones the winters they were cold
It wasn’t very easy living on the dole
The insurance wasn’t quite so bad if you had enough of stamps
But to get enough this past two years you didn’t have a chance

This past year was a bad one I don’t have to tell you that
My oil clothes they have gone to rags there’s even a hole in me hat
I can’t take it any longer so I’m moving into town
Where I hope that I’ll be happy till they lay me in the ground

And when I get to heaven, that’s if I ever do
I’ll look up old St. Peter, and tell him a thing or two
He was a fisherman as you know, but I think he let us down
‘cause everything kept going up, but the price of fish went down.

~ L. Hearn

Happy and I Know It

Helen Ginger at Straight from Hel has gifted me this Happy 101 award. The rules of the award have instructed me to list ten things that make me happy, then pass the award along to five others.

A sunny Sunday morning is a very good time to list happy things.

1) My kids. They are pure happiness. A bunch of singing, laughing, chattering entertainers.

2) My Husband. Especially when he makes the coffee in the morning.

3) My family and friends. Parents, brothers, and other assorted hangers on. It's nice to know there is someone in your corner.

4) Traveling. I have to take off every few months, whether it's around the bay or across the continent. Seeing new places is one of my great joys.

5) Kayaking. Out on the water with the gulls circling above and the whales below, no noise, no phones, no interruptions. Ahhhh.

6) Learning. Life is about new experiences, new knowledge. It's thrilling to learn something you didn't know before. Yes, I'm a nerd.

7) Coffee. Do I really need to say more?

8) Alone time. As happy as my family makes me, sometimes getting away from everyone is good for the soul, and the imagination.

9) Music. I love music of all sorts, and I am a huge fan of musical theatre and opera. Nerd? Yes, I believe I mentioned that earlier.

10) Words. Reading them, writing them, learning them. It's all good.

I'm going to cheat and add an eleventh thing. Fellow bloggers make me happy. Being part of a community of people who love to share their experiences and creations is something special indeed. And now I'm interested in what makes these bloggers happy:

Umbrellalady
Cathy Olliffe
Estrella Azul
Anne Taylor Lord
Paula Ray

Sticky Memories

The kid was sitting on a bench, tearing bite sized pieces from a red fruit roll-up. The sticky sweet scent wafted toward me on the breeze. In an instant, the memory came rushing back.

* * *

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, that day we first met. You were sitting on the swings at the park, your purple Keds dangling just above the ground. I watched you from behind the ladder of the slide as you unfurled the cellophane wrapped confection, fingers slowly working it apart.

At first you tore off small pieces and let them dissolve on your tongue, bright blue on pink. Then you pulled away a long strip and put the end in your mouth, inching it in bit by bit with your lips. When there was just a tiny bit left, you rolled it into a ball and popped it quickly into your mouth.

I emerged from my shady seclusion and approached as you produced another roll-up from your back pocket and repeated the unwrapping process. You smiled at me then, lips and teeth stained candy blue to match your eyes. You sparkled with sand box sand that had been captured by the sugar on your chin. I watched as you took the teeniest nibble from the corner of the new red sheet of sweetness.

I smiled back.

Then I knocked you off the swing and took your fruit roll-up. I twisted it into a strawberry flavoured stick and took a huge bite. Nothing ever tasted so good.

* * *

The kid on the bench finished her treat, licked her fingers and ran off. The scent of candied strawberry leather lingered like the memory.

It’s been a long time since I had a fruit roll-up. You won’t have them in the house.

Found Treasure

There are lots of old stories around these parts about treasure buried here and there along the shore. Right now I am in the middle of writing just such a story. But this past week we found a treasure of our own, something we didn't even know existed. In fact, it was dropped right into our laps.

A client of my brother's mentioned that he had some old pictures of our grandfather and would bring them in for him to see. True to his word he returned the very next day with this photo.



It is priceless for many reasons. The photo was taken in the front yard of my Dad's family home. Behind the old "longer" fence you can see the main road. Now a paved highway, it was then little more than a cow path. Just beyond the road are the flakes, that wooden platform off the beach. This is where they would haul up the boat and spread the fish out to dry.

The man on the right was a relative from St. John's who had come with his family to visit for the day. The trip today takes about an hour, but back then it would have been a full day excursion. We figure it was probably a Sunday, a day with lots of time for a visit to chat, and have a drop out in the sun. Even the old dog is relaxing, chewing away on a bone (Dad says the dog's name was Carlo).

The man on the left is my grandfather.

We have very few pictures of my father's father. Most are grainy and creased and hard to see. In all of them he is a white haired man in his seventies. By my math, this was taken in the mid-1930's, which would put Pop at about 35 years old.

My brother put the original into a frame and gave it to Dad for his birthday. The delight and emotion were plain on his face as he looked at the photo, taken years before he was born, of his father as a young man.

So while stories of treasure may be exciting and romantic, and I will go on writing about the hunt for gold and jewels, today my treasure is a photo of a tall man with a shy grin and a head of dark hair.

The Rambles of Spring - Part 3

Sunday. The day of rest. This week, however, brought something different. The afternoon promised to be a good one with music, stories, good food and gossip. But first things first.



In this predominantly Catholic area it's off to church at nine, where Father Sutton will help save your soul in less than an hour. Church is as much a cultural and social gathering as it is a spiritual one, and you will find the community members lingering outside on the grounds to chat about the weather and the events of the week before heading home to Sunday dinner.

At two o'clock all hands headed to the community centre where the festivities were just getting underway. We managed to grab a table near the front, although the sound system ensured that no one in the hall would have trouble hearing. Pop, who's as deaf as a cuff, could hear every word and sang along.



Local singers, songwriters and storytellers, ranging in age from fifteen to seventy, performed throughout the day. Recitations about escaping the devil, and attempting to steal potatoes from the neighbour's garden filled in the spaces between musical acts. The music was mainly traditional, Irish songs like The Ferryman and Whisky in the Jar were mixed in with a few traditional Newfoundland and fiddle tunes. There wasn't even a need to go home to eat with fish and brewis served throughout the afternoon.




By the end of the day everyone was in fine form, and it was easy to keep spirits up and carry it along to the kitchen. Newfoundland is famous for kitchen parties - put a pot of stew on the stove, bake a loaf of soda bread, throw together a few friends and you have a "time". Now if those friends happen to play an instrument, all the better. Any instrument will do, but it's good to have a few guitars, a mandolin, a bodhran and maybe an ugly stick in the mix.



As the evening wore on the tunes got livlier, the chatter grew louder, and food disappeared. Luckily the butler never tired of holding pints. Old stories were pulled out, tales about the odd characters from the community and mischief that was made. In the wee hours, when the food was gone and fingers were tired and sore from strumming, the crowd departed. All that was left was the clean-up, and the memories of another great time.

Something you Should Read Update

A little while ago when I started Something You Should Read, John Wiswell made the suggestion of archiving the stories featured. This way, anyone who missed a story could go back and read. I thought this was a fantastic idea, but finding the right way to do it took a while.

Now behold the new and improved Something You Should Read. Beneath the pen there is a link to the archives. This link will take you to a new page with a list of all the featured stories.

And speaking of featured stories, Late Bloomer by Maria Protopapadaki-Smith is the pen link of the moment - a beautiful tale you don't want to miss.

If anyone has suggestions for SYSR, or if you happen upon a story you think is a must read, please send it along.

Lines in the Sand

You draw dark lines in the sand and tell me they are truth. Wet grains stick to your finger and you carelessly brush them away. You whisper to me and I enjoy your words, but they are the ocean in an empty shell. Such pretty lies. I smile and listen, but I know what is to come. The tide will turn and your promises will be swept away.

The Rambles of Spring - Part 2

Saturday morning was bright but cold, perfect weather for a walk along the harbour. Our wanderings led us to the community centre to take in the arts exhibit.

In the first room the walls and tables were lined with quilts of all kinds. The array of colours was breathtaking, as was the amount of time and effort put into each work. Some of the quilts were quite old, hand sewn, and made from scraps of old clothing. Others were very intricate, more suited for show than practical use. In the corner of the room sewing machines were set up and a few local women demonstrated the process of piecing together their quilts.



Another room was set up with rug hooking displays. The rugs are created with bits of yarn and scraps of material pulled through Scottish burlap attached to a wooden frame. The rugs on display here began with hand drawn patterns. One local woman demonstrated her method on a partially completed whale rug. She drew the design by hand and cut the material to suit the pattern. She told us that she learned the craft from her mother when she was a young girl and mentioned that back then the rugs had a more practical use, covering bare floorboards in the cold upstairs rooms. These days hooked rugs are viewed as works of art rather than floor coverings.



Another large rug in progress offered visitors the opportunity to try their hand at hooking (go ahead and laugh, I did). This project aims to have as many people as possible take part in the creation. The rug will then be sent over to Ireland to be put on display. Each person participating is asked to sign a guest book and comment on the project. We all gave it a go and it was quite a bit of fun. We signed the book and left a bunch of happy hookers.



Other exhibits included paintings and a demonstration on watercolour, photography, jewelry making, greeting card creation, wood carving, pottery, and a photo display of Newfoundland Ponies. I was especially interested in the paintings which depicted many aspects of Newfoundland life - everything from downtown St. John's to an outport barber shop.



It was a pleasant way to spend the afternoon, taking in all there was to see and chatting with the all folks taking part. It was good to see the talent and skill of the artists recognized in a formal setting, and for them to have the opportunity to talk about their work.

Next - Part 3: Songs and Stories

The Rambles of Spring

Spring in Newfoundland is cold and wet. It is not green, but beige and grey. Luckily, we're a hearty lot, and the sloppy mess of spring is not enough to dampen our spirits. We're good at entertaining ourselves, and mid-March is the very time to break out and have some fun.



With St. Patrick's Day on the horizon, there is no better place to be than the Southern Shore, also commonly known as the Irish Loop. The Irish settled here in the 1700's, and due largely to the isolation of the area, the culture has remained strong. Song, dance, storytelling, and other forms of art and entertainment have changed little over the decades. The community put together a cultural exhibition on the weekend leading up to St. Patrick's Day to celebrate the Irish roots of the community and also showcase some of the local talent. The weekend would include displays and demonstrations from local artists, and culminate with a pub-style show with local performers.

Friday night was set aside for song selection and practice for Sunday's show. It was also a perfect opportunity to get together with family and friends for a bit of fun to start the weekend.



Coming soon - Part 2: Arts Exhibition

A Tad Shady

Her first mistake was made before she even arrived on the island.

She wanted to have the exterior of the house painted before the cold weather hit and commissioned two local workmen, ensuring that the gossip started before the work began.

The house stood overlooking the town, little homes in shades of white, cream and light grey, nestled among the rocks. She had chosen for her house a deep sea green, trimmed with white.

Now, wary eyes and whispers met her at the market, at the post office. She could feel suspicion follow her as she wandered through their austere little village.

She had painted herself as an outsider.

Having a Blast

They say Pop Rocks and soda
Will make your insides explode
Your intestines will be no more
Your stomach will erode

But some people deny it
So I think that I will try it
What could be the harm...


KABLAM!

Good Fences

I stood shivering in my robe, watching the crowd gathered below. Fire trucks were parked haphazardly on the next street, lights flashing but sirens mercifully quiet. All the activity was centered in the yard backing mine.

The shed burst into flames in the early morning hours. My neighbour was inside.

Every evening he wandered out to his shed and spent hours in there. Perhaps he had a hobby like woodworking or model building, the neighbours said. He smoked cigars and drank Bud Light until the wee hours. He threw the butts and cans over my fence.

I built the fence myself, strong and high and aesthetically pleasing. It was high enough to provide privacy on both sides, but from my bedroom balcony I could see everything. More than I wanted to see.

The fire had been intense with flames licking toward the pre-dawn sky. Now there was nothing left but charred wood and smoke ghosts rising from the ash.

The firefighters sifted through the remains, speculating. The makeshift chimney was faulty, the woodstove too hot, a cigar got too close to the flammables – paint thinner, gasoline – it was anyone’s guess.

Morning’s thin light was visible on the hills when the crowd began to fade. There was nothing left to see. Accidents happen, and this one was overdue, they thought.

I turned to go inside, pushed my hands into the pockets of my robe. I smiled as I fingered the book of matches.

My fence was still intact.

Snowshoeing at Winter's End

Last week we made our last snowshoe trek to the cabin for this year. It was a calm, cold day, perfect for the trip. The snow was already soft, yet still deep in places. All was quiet until we filled the feeders and the jays sent out the call. Nervous of the dogs, they swooped in quickly to grab the nearest morsels.

The next time we visit, the field will be high with grass, with pine siskins in the trees and loons on the water. But despite the dampness and the chill, there is something special about that last visit in the snow.

Love of Reading: Kindled

I confess. I was one of those die-hard, stick-in-the-muds who insisted that e-books would never replace the real thing. There is just something about holding a book in your hands, the smell of the paper and ink, the sound of turning pages. Or what about the hours spent browsing through old volumes at a second hand book store. I just didn't see how the digital version could compete. I don't think a second hand e-book store would quite take off.

Then Christmas came, and I was presented with a brightly wrapped eye opener - a Kindle. My thoughtful husband even added a few of my favourite authors to the contents. I admit that my hesitation about e-book readers stemmed from ignorance - I had no experience with them and hadn't even seen one up close (in my defence, the Kindle had only just become available in Canada). I pictured e-book readers to be much smaller, something like an iPhone. Handy, yes, but reading anything of length would be frustrating.

My Kindle has since become my constant companion. Easy to use, easy to read, and light enough to take anywhere, it has accompanied me to just about every place that might allow a few moments of reading time.

The greatest benefit is that I never run out of reading material. In the BK (before Kindle) days I would end up re-reading old Max Haines collections for lack of fresh material. In desperate times I relied on shampoo bottles and cereal boxes for reading entertainment. Now I can have a new book within moments. I have read nine novels since Christmas, a personal record.

So now I'm still a stick, I'm just a little less stuck. I still think the old fashioned paper and ink books are irreplaceable. E-books just aren't made for bathtub reading.

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Speaking of reading, the latest Something You Should Read is again linked on the left of the page. I've been a fan of Michael Solender's for some time, and "Lost in the City" remains one of my favourites. Follow the link and I can guarantee it will become one of yours.