Right Here, Right Now

One Sure Thing

2012-01-06T15:30:00.000-08:00

At the local grocery store, I run into Mary, an elderly woman whom I haven’t seen in over a year. She was always thin, no visible fat on her small frame, but now she's gaunt. Although dressed in layers, including a warm coat, she says she’s “freezing” in the produce section as she and her sister look over the bins of onions and potatoes.

I sense there is something terribly wrong with her health but dare not ask.

I tell her it’s slippery outside and to watch out for the icy patches beneath the snow. Her reply: “Oh, yes. I fell already. On the front steps.”

I am about to offer my sympathy when her sister speaks up. “It wasn’t the front steps and she didn’t fall this year.” She shrugs, “Her memory….”

I walk away after exchanging New Year’s wishes, knowing that she will take good care of her sister. They have lived in the same house for decades and go everywhere together. Still, it’s a shock to see someone you’ve known for years and realize she’s no longer the same.

I realized long ago that “security” is an illusion. All the wealth in the world cannot protect you from getting struck by a car, having a heart attack or getting sick.

The only constant in life, they say, is CHANGE. Nothing stays the same – not our bodies, and usually not the relationships or situations that we deal with. We’re here to grow and learn and often the way we do this is through difficulty. An illness, for example, can force us to slow down and appreciate the things which we may take for granted – like the kindness of others or even the way the sunlight glints through the window pane on a frosty January morning.

This year, 2012, is certain to be punctuated by the unexpected, considering the level of chaos in the world as well as the instability in many of our lives. It’s important to stay calm and centered, no matter what goes on around you. Find something to appreciate and to feel thankful for and send as much love and peace as you can to the planet (and to yourself). We are all more resilient than we imagine.

Of one thing we can be absolutely sure. No matter what changes we experience, the human spirit will live on!

Growing in the Dark

2011-09-07T07:43:00.000-07:00

Now that my days of formal schooling are over, I find I continue to learn from the natural world. Even houseplants.

Take my cala lily, for instance. This dark, leafy plant arrived at my mother's funeral from an absent relative three years ago. The plant would have been tossed out, so I brought it home. With its delicate white blossoms, it seemed to symbolize the sacredness of spirit passing into the light.

This summer only one flower sprouts, straight and tall, from its center. I prune the plant, trimming and discarding all the dead foliage. To my surprise I see three tiny blossoms nestled beneath, gathering their strength before they emerge.

They remind me of our hidden talents and abilities - the potential that many of us never get to realize. Like plants require soil and sunlight before they can flower, our gifts need to be nurtured. Our society does not encourage us to develop talents with no guarantee of monetary gain; we are told not to waste our time.

Yet by not doing what we love - whether it is singing opera, acting in a play or stringing words together - part of our spirit shrivels and dies. Like the new blossoms on the cala lily, our talents want to grow.

Storytelling has always fascinated me and brought me joy. I devour romantic films and novels. To date I sold 35 of my short stories to magazines and I am still mastering the novel in all its complexity. When I give myself over to the writing, I feel I am living two lives - my own and that of my story world which is often far more exciting.

I cannot control what happens to my creations in the marketplace; I can only do my best and hope they emerge fully into the world. I don't want to die regretting what I did not dare.

I hope you will honour whatever is calling you and nurture it for its own sake. It's the gift you give yourself now and maybe one day will be your gift to humanity.

Running in the Rain

2011-07-09T11:32:00.000-07:00

It’s late as I walk with my friend through the downtown streets of Montreal after enjoying outdoor events in the Old Port. We come upon a plaza in the center of Place Ville Marie. I recall coming here for years when it was only concrete. Now I see trees, large expanses of grass and flowering hedges. A fountain splashes around the graceful sculpture of a woman. We settle ourselves at the edge to enjoy the sound of rushing water.

As it’s a warm night, we both kick off our sandals and dangle our feet in the slightly chlorinated pool at the base. The coolness refreshes me.

From our vantage spot, we look up McGill College Avenue to see all the restaurants and street lamps, then beyond to Mount Royal (mountain in the center of the city) and the lighted cross at the top. Sitting here feels magical.

I mention how I miss swimming and wish I could immerse my whole body in water right now. As though the heavens heard me, the skies open and a few drops of rain quickly turn into a torrent.

We need to head for the subway but it continues to pour, bouncing water off the pavement. So we walk and run along Ste Catherine Street, getting thoroughly drenched. I see the water drip through my friend’s hair and down his face and feel it sliding over mine. Everything I have on is wet but it no longer seems to matter.

I remember running barefoot in the rain as a child, holding my hands up to the sky. Now, as then, I feel exhilarated.

A Celebration of Canada

2011-07-09T11:17:00.000-07:00

On Canada Day, July 1st, I join the throngs at the Old Port of Montreal to celebrate our heritage.

A huge white cruise ship is docked alongside yachts and power boats at the harbour and people spill over the concrete walkways and fill the park to overflowing. A stage has been erected for the free performances. I find the most lively and engaging is the Freddie James Project, delivering popular hits including “I Got a Feeling.” The crowds sway and clap, drawn into the pulsating energy of the music and the joy of this celebration.

Surrounding me is a sea of faces – from the very old to the very young – that represents the cultural mix that is Canada. Chinese, Portuguese, Italian, Lebanese, Russian: most of us come from different countries or have parents or grandparents who did…but tonight we unite to show how glad we are to be here.

This is a country where personal freedom is respected, where financial institutions with their more stringent regulations help to keep our resources safe, and healthcare as well as social programs are offered to the masses. We are also considered a tolerant society but will never condone violence and aggression.

Tonight I feel the spirit of the people as hundreds of thousands of miniature maple leaf flags wave in the breeze. Although free concerts take place on Canada Day all over Montreal, this is the biggest party by far. We must be close to a million people.

Interestingly, there is no mention of these events by the media the next day. Happy crowds and a growing national pride do not make news.

What happened on July 1st, though, will forever live on in our memories. And I, like so many others, will continue to celebrate this day.

Starting Over

2011-05-14T10:27:00.001-07:00

Spring has arrived a month late in Montreal. A soft greening extends as far as the eye can see as leaves unfurl on trees and bushes and stretch towards the sun. During this time I find myself in the midst of home renovations which solidify as well as beautify the place where I live.

It’s been weeks since I immersed myself in storylines, letting characters speak through me of their wants and tribulations. I miss the magic of creating worlds.

My only consolation is knowing that this, too, shall pass and I will once again be free to focus on my work.

The publishing industry is going through changes of its own as bookstores stock fewer and fewer books or shut down altogether while hand-held devices and electronic books become more and more popular. I don’t know how this will affect author earnings and rights. All I can do is write what I care about and offer an entertaining read.

As a cycle of growth and renewal takes over the land, I hear the calling of birds and the rustling of my own novelist wings, eager to start again.

When Tragedy Strikes

2011-03-15T05:40:00.000-07:00

Japan just suffered a 9.0 magnitude earthquake, followed by a giant tsunami, which together unexpectedly took over 10,000 lives and displaced many more. As if that isn’t horrific enough, damaged nuclear reactors are exploding and releasing radiation.

Is there anyone on the planet who does not feel the impact of the devastation?

Like so many others, I watch the news in shock and feel that my contribution to foreign aid or prayers for victims and their families cannot begin to make a difference. Yet I know that our collective concern for the plight of the Japanese is what can turn things around. We cannot un-do the damage but we can unite in spirit and give our support.

Because the truth is, none of us is immune to tragedy, whether on a personal or global level. And knowing that others care can help us to make the effort to pull through.

Let the Silence Speak

2011-01-12T18:32:00.000-08:00

Early January can be dreary – it starts to get dark almost as soon as we’re up, the wind howls past our windows and snow piles up outside, making travel hazardous.

Not that I can complain this winter. Once more, Montreal is being spared. Another storm raging in NY State (south of here) shifts eastwards to the Maritimes and leaves us alone.

Still, the holidays are behind us and spring nowhere in sight. It’s a quiet time, a period when creatures hibernate and even party goers lose their steam.

Needing a diversion, I head downtown. For months, a mammoth Christmas tree filled the center of an indoor mall at Place Montreal Trust. All the decorations have now been stripped away. I hoped that the giant fountain beneath the artificial tree would again be visible and it is.

Bone dry.

I can almost hear the rush of water as it gushes twenty feet into the air only to cascade down like the musical notes on a harp. Is that the echo of children's laughter as they splash coins into the fountain? Soon the water will flow once more and these ghostly sounds will be real.

Right now, a pool of silence fills my inner landscape. It’s the perfect time for me as a writer to let new characters populate my mind and fill it with their voices. In the stillness I can become inspired.

The world of imagination never sleeps; all I have to do is tune in.

Seeing Patterns in the Rain

2010-11-01T09:30:00.000-07:00

Yellow leaves slide underfoot as my body falls into a natural rhythm. I forgot how good this feels – walking in the rain as moisture trickles down my face.

I drink in the brilliance of foliage still clinging to trees and the tranquility of empty streets as night settles into the neighborhood. Villeray is an older section of the city where narrow staircases wind outside brick buildings, leading to flats on upper floors, and corner stores offer beer, cigarettes and a chance at this week’s lottery.

I just visited an 89-year-old aunt who survived two strokes and is almost blind. As we sat in her kitchen, a canary dozed in a cage. He has surpassed his normal life span and is also blind. When my aunt recovered from her strokes, the bird grew back all his feathers after a complete molt. Interesting, isn’t it, how the world can reflect our experiences?

I notice these connections more often these days.

After an argument with a friend, I hear a song on the air about the pain of breaking up. Or I leave the mall in frustration because of not finding what I need and a car suddenly careens around the bend and races down the street, tires screeching. It seems to echo my feelings.

I believe our outer reality often mirrors not only our experiences but our state of mind. It’s worth paying attention, even on a rainy night like this.

Drumming for a Better World

2010-09-18T19:00:00.000-07:00

Twenty of us sit in a circle with Indian drums at the foot of Mount Royal. Middle-aged or young, black or white – none of that matters. We are here to participate in a world event. Our facilitator, Sabrina, is a vision in white, her long, blond hair flying around her. She leads us through a meditation and a few powerful Earth songs, including:

“We are the ancestors of the ones yet to be
And we are the paper of the previous tree
May everything we think and do
Make it all come out right, for we…” (repeat)

We are at a crucial moment in our history, she says and must choose what we want to see in the world – more fear and upheaval or a future based on love. We will put out our intentions as we drum.

I focus on peace and harmony. Others choose respect and equality for all, enough food for the planet’s inhabitants, kindness to animals… or alternative energy sources instead of fossil fuel.

At 2:00 p.m. EST, we join drum circles around the globe. For 8 full minutes, we replicate the “heart beat” of Mother Earth, which is also our own. Under Sabrina’s guidance we visualize a green ribbon linking all our hearts and also connect to the earth and to the heavens. As we drum, our vision for a new planet is channeled through our hands.

I shut my eyes and get into the rhythm. Ba-boom, Ba-boom. The beat is strong, constant. I feel the Oneness, the peace and harmony which I call upon. When I finally make my way home, the beat still echoes in my mind.

A Writer's Retreat in the Woods

2010-08-23T08:23:00.000-07:00

We trade stories around the fireplace as darkness swiftly gathers – a group of six women writers in a log cabin far from home.

There is NO electricity in the cabin and NO roads around this starkly beautiful lake atop Mont Tremblant, a well known mountainous resort area in Quebec. We arrived here by boat, meandering our way around the twists and turns of the 32-mile lake.

Yesterday I went swimming in the lake, mindful of the rocks below the surface. They remind me of the obstacles we all face as writers. The rocks were never a problem, I realize, it’s finding the will and ways to get around them.

As logs crackle and shoot up flames, we talk about works in progress, books we read and loved (or hated), even movies. And trade whatever we feel like passing along – tips on storytelling, inside information on agents, publishers and the marketplace or conferences we enjoyed.

Some of us are farther on the novelist’s path – multi-published or recently agented. Others still struggle with their stories and are taking different courses to address their weaknesses in writing. Our different experiences don't seem to matter; there is a spirit of camaraderie and sharing here, a feeling of wanting each other's success.

“Congratulations on finishing!” one woman says, referring to the novel I finally sent off to an interested publisher after months of revisions. “It’s a great accomplishment.”

Yes, I suppose it is. In the writer’s organization to which we all belong (Romance Writers of America), only 15% of members actually complete their novels and send them off to reputable agents or publishers. When they do this, they achieve “professional” status in the organization’s ranks and can network with others with similar skills and knowledge. It's great to now be part of such a dedicated group.

Writing can be a solitary occupation but here in this cabin, as we share our triumphs and challenges, I no longer feel alone. And as I look around the room, the glow on the other women’s faces tells me they feel the same way.

Living on the Edge

2010-07-25T13:51:00.000-07:00

A seagull ruffles its feathers and nestles on the grass, preparing to nap in the July sunshine. What strikes me is where the bird has chosen to hunker down – right next to a busy bike path. It’s a popular route that follows the twists and turns of the St. Lawrence River. On such a fine Sunday, it will be crowded with skaters and cyclists; there are always a few who veer off the pavement on occasion. That gull has put himself in a potentially dangerous situation.

I think of all the people who live on the edge. They may face financial crises, marital woes or even trouble with the law. No one likes to be in difficulty for too long – it’s stressful – but there’s no denying the aliveness we feel as we try to regain control over our lives. It has to do with using all our resources to survive. Do these situations happen to us or do we, like the seagull, put ourselves at risk by our choices?

Maybe we get involved with unstable partners or friends or must deal with the consequences of our own reckless acts. It’s exciting on the edge but it’s not sustainable. Eventually we want peace and calm in our lives.

The seagull can always move. We, too, can decide to seek safer ground.

Fast Track to Nowhere

2010-04-14T15:17:00.001-07:00

April in Montreal this year is unusually warm. I take advantage of the mild weather by jogging around a high school track, counting laps. Other people join me, some running, some walking. The more adventurous are bare-legged and short-sleeved. We all go in circles as we tally minutes or kilometers.

My completed laps remind me of some of the milestones in my life - getting married and then divorced, buying my first house, selling stories and articles to magazines, learning to speak in public and giving motivational talks. Years rushed by as I squeezed more activities into less time.

Now my pace has slowed, enough for me to notice the crows watching from the top of lamp posts and see the rays of sunshine shrink behind a row of trees.

Going around this track, there's no destination, no purpose except to appreciate my feelings of well-being and breathe in the cool evening air.

The journey is all that matters.

When Opportunity Knocks

2009-11-13T15:45:00.000-08:00

Back from a writer's conference, I sit in my home office surrounded by piles of paper. I just completed the second draft of my novel and have a stack of changes to make. I have three months to get it into shape and send it off to New York.

Why?

When I attended the New Jersey Romance Writers Conference, a two-day event with 350 participants, I didn't intend to pitch my novel to anyone. I knew it wasn't finished. Several writers booked appointments with literary agents and editors. At the eleventh hour, there were cancellations; a slot came free to pitch to an editor at NAL, a major New York publisher that takes paranormal. I took it.

At the very most, I expected to find out if there was any interest in the general lines of my story. I pitched, the editor asked pertinent questions and then she asked for the complete manuscript by email. Just like that.

NAL doesn't normally consider unagented material so this IS a rare opportunity.

Before the request, I had a self-imposed deadline and worked on and off on the writing. Now I am knee-deep in manuscript pages (400 in total), in the midst of cutting, revising and polishing. It's what fiction writers do. The editor's request gave me a welcome push.

When we believe in our dreams and actively pursue them, a momentum is created - an energy that taps into the field of possibilities. Then we are more likely to have opportunity knock.

Be prepared - it could happen to you!

A Sip of Serenity

2009-10-07T06:37:00.000-07:00

At the YMCA music blasts from the upper floor, where a roomful of women flap their arms, climb on and off steppers and swing their bodies around. In the Fall everything shifts into high gear. People get into shape, start classes and plunge into their working lives with new vigor.

It’s a go-get-‘em world where everyone rushes just to keep up. Family, job, bills to pay, kids to raise… there’s hardly enough time to breathe.

Listening to the pounding on the floor above me, I sit in a small lounge at the Y and sip my orange/mango juice. After 31 years of a busy office career, I now have different priorities. Earlier today I visited an elderly aunt with bronchitis. In a few minutes I’ll catch a movie with a friend and later on I will tackle the next chapter of my novel.

Things that used to seem important now seem less so. Sharing a smile or an honest conversation has become more meaningful than making a pile of money. There’s nothing to prove and no one to impress. Tranquility and a slower pace are the new norm.

As I leave the building, a red maple leaf flutters from the sky – a graceful reminder of the changing season. Half a dozen people hurry past as it falls unnoticed to the ground.

Return of the Frogs

2009-07-31T14:37:00.000-07:00

Something amazing is happening to our natural habitats. This is what I discovered in a suburb of Montreal, a city of three million in eastern Canada.

I live a short distance from parkland along the St. Lawrence River. This area borders the rapids and includes small waterfalls. There’s a lagoon with lots of bushes and trees – known as a wild bird sanctuary where kingfishers, mallards and great blue herons regularly appear. Like elsewhere in North America, contaminants in the river have poisoned the fish; air and soil pollution decimated the population of animals that lived here long ago.

After sunset, I stroll over to this park. It’s a beautiful evening, with cooling breezes and clouds trailing the sky in odd shapes. As dusk falls I hear a chorus of crickets and the “ri-bitt!” of frogs.

Frogs! I’ve lived here over twenty years and rarely heard them before. Has something brought them back? The sound of their croaking is melodious to my ears.

In the semi-darkness, I see a beaver swim across the lagoon to a stretch of lush water grasses.

What I am noticing lately is the presence of all kinds of creatures I’ve never seen here before – red foxes, weasels, vibrant-looking grass snakes, and large snails with decorative shells which I used to see in the countryside farther north.

As I turn to head home, I look down. A small green frog sits on the path. He lets me admire him but makes a huge leap when I try to pick him up. Everything about him looks healthy – and this is the sense I now have about this riverside park.

I heard the vibrational frequency of the planet is rising to new levels. Could it be that the Earth herself is also being cleansed?

Spring Rain

2009-05-30T16:20:00.000-07:00

For seven straight days, the streets of Montreal have teemed with rain. This morning is no exception as I watch raindrops bounce off the pavement and create widening circles in puddles at the curbs. Everywhere I go, I smell the pungency of wet earth and the delicate scent of lilacs and other flowers in bloom.

There’s something very cleansing about the rain; it washes away the grit of winter and helps us to prepare for a new season.

I think of the healing that takes place when we cry – what a release it can bring. Sadness and grief, when we allow them to flow through us, can lead to peace and acceptance. Men, especially, are socialized to hold their softer emotions in check. Why should crying be less acceptable than laughter? We all need to express both.

A year ago, in the month of May, my dear mother passed on. Fresh grass now grows on her burial plot and mauve tulips stand tall next to her tombstone. Only one or two tears slide down my cheeks as I pay my respects at the cemetery. Her spirit is free now, no longer bound by time or place or affected by the elements.

I can almost hear her shout, “Let it rain – let it rain!”

Climbing Stairs

2009-03-12T10:33:00.000-07:00

Our largest library in Montreal, the Bibliotheque Nationale, can be accessed from within the subway system, a great convenience in frigid weather. This morning as I wait for the library to open, I look down at two flights of steps populated with people coming from and going to the trains.

Talk about character in motion! It’s amazing what you can tell about a person from the simple act of climbing or descending stairs. Some of these travelers are terribly out of shape. They use the handrails to haul themselves up, step by step. By the time they reach the landing, they pause to catch their breath. Others skip lightly, rushing to the top. I see someone reading the paper as he takes the stairs. Now that’s multitasking.

Going in the opposite direction, a young man counts bills in his wallet as he goes down. A thin woman in heels clatters all the way to the bottom of the stairs, hanging on to the railing for dear life. Her frame is pitched forward at an unnatural angle, telling me the shoes are more of a hindrance than a help.

At this time of day, I assume most of these people are heading for work or school. I can sense their moods by the way they carry themselves. Some of them walk jauntily, with confidence. Others trudge along, as if the effort is almost too much for them. A few shuffle their feet.

From my vantage point over the stairwell, I commiserate. It would have been so comforting to be able to stay in bed another hour on such a bitterly cold morning.

Bigger than My Fear

2008-12-30T16:08:00.000-08:00

At 2:02 a.m., I suddenly awaken, my body as taut as a stretched elastic band. There is rustling in my room. I hear it again. The fear I feel is primeval, gripping. I can scarcely breathe.

It’s a grey, furry field mouse coming out of hiding in the corner. His family has been proliferating in this building – and as mice often do, he has climbed to the 2nd floor, where it’s warmer in Montreal’s harsh winter climate.

Since the duplex became infested, I have barricaded myself in my bedroom at night, not wanting to run into the little critters. I realize that I’ve locked myself IN with the very creature I want to avoid. Shit! I open the door so he can scamper out. Later I find a dead mouse in one of my traps, hopefully him. Everything being scrupulously clean in my apartment, the dab of peanut butter in the trap must have been enticing.

Here I am dealing with something that strikes terror in my heart. I ask myself what I could be learning – faith? courage? strength? I pray. I take action (fresh mouse traps, carefully baited) as I wait for the exterminator. He praises the efficiency of his poison bait and tells me this isn’t the worst case he’s seen.

I think of others around the globe dealing with scorpions, deadly snakes, giant spiders or destructive forces of nature. How do they do it?

It’s important not to give into our fear, but to see it as a friend that alerts us to danger. To use it as a spur to action. And then to hand our problem over to a Higher Power, with thanks in advance. I believe we are never ever truly alone!

Those Bleak November Skies

2008-11-29T07:32:00.000-08:00

November gives me the blahs – continuously overcast skies, the bareness of trees and a foreboding chill that makes me zip up my jacket in anticipation of winter.

Today I treat myself to a few hours in a downtown Montreal greenhouse. Surrounded by a sea of flowers, from furry mums to daisies (bunches of white, purple or violet), I gratefully breathe in the humid air. I listen to the gurgle of water as it flows into two small ponds and watch the carp wind their way beneath the lilies floating on the surface.

It has been a year of losses for me – first my mother’s passing, then the departure of a close friend and I need this visual feast to remind me what I truly love in this world. The colours, the textures and the scents in this tropical place fill my senses.

A woman comes in with her two little girls, who scamper around the room examining all the plants. I envy their excitement and spontaneity.

Will I ever feel joyful again? Like the seasons I expect my melancholy will pass. Experiencing loss is part of the human condition and it is normal to feel sad when important relationships end. I give myself permission to sit with my feelings. For a few moments happy memories flood my mind.

I dreamt of my mother and this friend last night (strange, to have them both in the same dream!). My friend was pulling me back from the edge of a deep man-made lake that suddenly appeared in the center of the city. Perhaps that was my subconscious warning me not to let emotion overwhelm me, especially at this time of year.

I again gaze at the graceful palms and flowers that grow here in such profusion. Life for them, and for me, must go on.

As Leaves Turn Gold

2008-10-27T11:45:00.000-07:00

Too soon the brilliant reds of autumn fade away. The landscape along the river is now dominated by the muted oranges and browns of maples and the yellows of poplar trees. In the sunshine everything turns to burnished gold.

How perfectly the seasons parallel our life cycles! Whether or not we cling to youth, it falls behind us as we ramble into middle age. Maybe we don’t run as fast, or turn heads the way we used to, but there is a richness that only comes with age. I find comfort in knowing who I am and what I truly value. I am at peace in solitude and appreciate company when it’s there.

Many people find change unsettling, seeing only the losses pile up as they grow older. Yet this is a natural unfolding. There’s an advantage to cutting back and slowing down. We can more easily pause in our routines to absorb the moment – stopping to watch the pink sky at sunset or to hear children’s laughter as they play.

On my walk there’s a blur of black and white as a kingfisher swoops over the water and then disappears into the trees. These days I am more fully aware of the transience of life. I enjoy who and what is around me, knowing they will not last. I appreciate the opportunity to make a difference and use my gifts while I can.

One day I will be like these dry leaves underfoot – feeding the soil that nourished me for so long.

Where the Grass is Greener

2008-09-29T10:19:00.000-07:00

It’s a sunny afternoon in early Fall – with just the right touch of crispness in the air. As I cycle along the river, I skirt around a furry caterpillar making its way to the grass on the other side of the path. A couple of feet later, I come across another rust-coloured caterpillar humping along in the same direction as the first one. The next caterpillar I see isn’t so lucky. It was fatally clipped by a skater or cyclist, halfway to its destination.

Why this obsession about getting to the other side?? The area they are leaving behind has the same green grass and even more trees than the place they are struggling to reach.

Human beings are not so different. When I was unhappily married, many times I longed to be single. Eventually I made the switch – only to realize there are challenges in every lifestyle. Perfection does not exist because there is always something to experience and to learn.

The way to be happy, I have since discovered, is “to want what you have” rather than “have what you want.” This does not mean staying in a bad relationship. Rather it has to do with appreciating the good things in your life. I have my health and mobility, time and freedom to write (my greatest passion) or to travel. I also have meaningful interactions with a number of people. I feel useful and engaged. There is a lot to be thankful for.

As I head home on my bike, I come across another caterpillar – this one going BACK to the river. It’s tasted the grass on the other side and realizes it was better off where it started from. I gently nudge the furry creature off the path and out of danger.

Soon it will nest in a silky cocoon, safe from winter’s chill. In the end the place it chooses for this cocoon does not matter as much as the act of weaving it.

Laying Down Track

2008-08-31T13:41:00.000-07:00

Three blocks from where I live, there’s a high school running track. This summer they tore up the grass in the center and put down a layer of gravel as a foundation for artificial turf. I understand this is for an eagerly-awaited soccer field.

The outside track where I used to do laps with a good neighbour and friend was also ripped apart. In its place I saw tractors and scattered pieces of concrete in heaps everywhere.

The upheaval happened at the same time as the changes in our relationship. For several years we traded recipes (he made the best curry) and meals as well as stories and bits of wisdom. Just before July, he moved back to his home in South America. Suddenly there were thousands of miles and nothing but faulty communications between us – and his absence left a huge gap.

Today I walk past the soccer field and see a brand new track. It’s wider and made of asphalt. The old cinder track is only a memory now, along with our heart-to-heart conversations and shared laughter. My life is filling again with new activities and people.

Recently my former neighbour called to say he’s busy building a house in the tropics. Like me, he’s laying new track. I suspect, though, that we will both pause from time to time and glance back at the path we traveled so well together.

Fields of Clover

2008-07-29T07:12:00.000-07:00

Voles like to eat. They're also skittish and scamper away from people, so quickly that we rarely see them. Lately I have been seeing a lot more of these small furry creatures (look like mice but with a shorter tail) in a park along the St. Lawrence River.

Today I see the granddaddy of all voles - he's HUGE. Probably because of his size, he does not fear humans. He sits on the strip of lawn next to the walking path, munching on the vegetation. Three people stop and take pictures. He keeps eating. Then the young boy flaps his arms in a threatening gesture and shouts, to see if he can make the creature budge. The disgruntled vole finally heads for the bushes, doubtlessly to return later for his meal.

Montreal, like other cities in North America, has adopted a "green" policy and banned the use of pesticides in its lawns and parks. To curb the spread of weeds, the city now seeds with clover. This plant has overtaken the parks, filling the air with its sweet scent and giving us fields of white and mauve.

I am sure this is why I'm seeing all these fat voles! What I also noticed the other day were two rock snakes with vivid black markings, curled up on the grass next to the river. Wild snakes? I've lived here more than twenty years and this is the first time I see them. I feel like cheering.

Residents are also seeding their lawns with clover and the yellow heads of dandelions have all but disappeared. Others have removed their grass and planted bunches of wildflowers instead. A real visual feast.

I pay more attention these days to chemicals and additives in the products I use or eat. Whatever we put in our environment - or in us - will affect us in ways we cannot fathom. It's time to get back to nature. Let's start with clover.

Remember the Love

2008-06-26T11:18:00.000-07:00

On my way to the grocery store, I stop to admire a row of flowering bushes planted around the parking lot. They produce a profusion of pink blossoms with a distinctive scent. These are the same bushes I grew up with – we had a fair-sized hedge of them in the front yard.

It is now one month since my mother passed on and there are regular reminders of her presence in my life. A few weeks ago, all the lilac trees were in bloom and everywhere the breeze carried her favourite fragrance.

My mother was a determined woman with a fierce love for her children and a strong will. What I recall now are not any arguments or misunderstandings in the past but my experience of the last nine years – when she leaned on me more and more as her body and cognitive functioning succumbed to Alzheimer’s Disease.

To her credit she never once complained about not being able to walk, dress herself or do any of the countless things which autonomous people take for granted. She was always glad to see me and recognized me until her last dying breath. Even a disease as thoroughly debilitating as Alzheimer’s could not rob her of this. She would not allow it.

Towards the end, most of her words came out garbled or not at all. But five days before she died she turned to me as I was leaving the nursing home and clearly said, “Thank you very much.”

Maybe one day I will forget the many challenges I encountered as I tried to keep her safe and healthy. What I will always remember is the love.

Just before Mother's Day

2008-05-11T19:00:00.000-07:00

The day before Mother’s Day, I sit in a hospital emergency ward with a very sick woman. Her lungs are filled with water, she’s all bones at 90 pounds, and she’s coughing helplessly. A saline solution pumps into her veins to keep her hydrated and oxygen is being fed through her nose. The woman’s my mother – 88 years old and now fighting for her life.

She stops eating and the doctor tells me she's dying.

Yet later when I mention my sister coming, she opens her mouth and takes careful bites of extremely tasteless food. Chews and swallows. Like I said, she’s a fighter. She’s struggled with Alzheimer’s disease for years and now she’s battling the odds as her bodily processes break down.

I tell her there’s nothing to fear – her spirit will live on. And the next world is surely a better one. If she remains here she will only suffer more. It’s time to let go.

This isn’t what she wants to hear. Once most of the water is removed from her lungs, and the oxygen mask taken off her face, she breathes a sigh of relief. Then she eats some more, shoring up her strength. She simply isn’t ready to go.

In my heart I am glad she decided to stay, even if it’s for a few more days or even weeks. The world isn’t the same place without her.

Silence can be Golden

2008-04-05T15:40:00.000-07:00

Although I do most of my writing in my home office, I like to start off chapters at the library. There’s something very motivating in hearing the tapping of keys all around me. At the Bibliothèque nationale in Montreal, there are 200 work stations for those who want to surf the Net or use a computer. Today a middle-aged man sits down with a young female friend across from me. They are having a conversation.

In this section of the library, every sound is magnified. Users require absolute silence. Many are students working on papers, while others have projects like mine.

The Chinese woman next to me holds a finger to her mouth and says, “Sh-h. No talking!” He nods but then continues the conversation. Now a woman two rows away walks over, glares at him and reminds him that this is a silent area. He nods to her as well but keeps conversing with his friend, who answers in monosyllables.

I, too, am now having trouble focusing on my writing. I watch as a young man goes over to the troublemaker and tells him that he is disturbing everyone here. Perhaps he would like to leave? The offender is muttering now. The young man strides over to the attendant and points him out.

One more word and the man will be kicked out. Mercifully he shuts up. This is the kind of person who will play music so loudly that even the deaf can hear. It’s all about ego.

I am not too fond of rules and regulations but I see how they serve a practical purpose. Some people just won’t behave without them.

Breath of Fresh Air

2008-03-23T16:49:00.000-07:00

Our first day of spring is filled with sunshine – the perfect time to get out for a stroll. I see a man wheeling an infant down the street in a baby carriage. Great! Maybe he’s a househusband, or giving his wife a break. So what’s wrong with this picture??

He’s taking puffs from a huge cigar and holding it a few inches from the child as he continues his walk. His baby boy is actually doing more inhaling than he is. The man looks self-satisfied. I am sure he will tell the baby’s mother how refreshing it was to be out on such a warm day and how they both enjoyed it.

As I get older, I become increasingly aware of how interrelated we all are. Almost anything we do affects someone else or maybe even a number of people. It’s important to think before we act and consider the consequences. We’re not as separate as we may feel. Even thoughts have ripples and words have the power to heal or to strike down. Our actions have repercussions that we can’t even see.

The very air we breathe is a product of what we put into it… need I say more?

Four Months of Four Walls

2008-03-07T16:29:00.001-08:00

Residents of the nursing home where my mother lives look glum these days. In this season of never-ending snowfalls, most of them are imprisoned here. With their wheelchairs and walkers it’s just too risky to venture out on slippery sidewalks and clogged streets.

As she overhears a conversation about the mountains of snow, Mother says, “I want summer.” Incapacitated as she is, even she needs a change of scene. I wheel her to the other side of the floor to hear the caged budgies sing. Like the people in this place, the birds’ greatest comfort is often each other.

Montrealers are all talking about the weather. We’ve broken snowfall records from 30 to 50 years ago and with more on the way in the coming days, will reach an all-time high. I tell myself, “This too will pass.” By the end of March it will be too warm for anything but rain.

To break the monotony of the indoor world, I head downtown to browse the stores. Tomorrow it will again be impossible to travel – they’re announcing two more feet of snow.

Chocolates, Anyone?

2008-02-24T16:45:00.000-08:00

On my way home, I see a Forest Gump quote scrawled in blue marker on the bus seat in front of me: “Life is like a box of chocolates.” The unwritten part is, “You never know what you’re gonna get.”

Isn’t that true? To experience anything we need to open the box, choose something in a wrapper and take a bite. It can be soft and chewy… or we can chip a tooth on a hard piece of caramel.

Often the chocolates with all the swirls that look so tempting can disappoint us. Maybe the career we chose did not pan out or the relationship that started out with such high hopes did not last. That doesn’t mean they weren’t worth pursuing – only that we may have to try a few things before we know what we really want.

It’s all about choices. Every decision we make leads us closer to something that works for us.

As I get older, I take more care with the things and people I choose. There’s less time ahead of me, and I want it to count. One day that box of chocolates will be empty (yes, the second layer, too!) and I will finally toss it aside.

Until then, I will try all the pieces that appeal. I will savour each one before going on to the next. I will enjoy every flavour – light or dark, sweet or bitter – and keep in mind that nothing lasts, no matter how much I want it to.

A Wicked Wind

2008-02-11T16:43:00.000-08:00

I am standing at a downtown street corner, waiting for the light to change. The wind chill reads -28 ° Celsius – giving the kind of bite that bores into your bones. Still, I’m glad to be here after so many days/weeks/months writing the novel. A new hotel has gone up opposite the building where I used to work.

I remember glancing out my office window as I sorted through paperwork and answered phones. And how I envied people who were free to stroll in the sunshine or sit on the terrace, chatting the afternoon away with friends.

Now I am one of those people, living according to my own schedule. It’s great being able to sleep in on winter mornings such as this, but I really do best when I’m focused and have a purpose. These days the writing has that effect on me – bringing new insights and character twists almost daily. I’ve never written fantasy before and the story is spinning in directions I didn’t anticipate.

The wind hurts my face at this temperature. I pull up my hood, snuggle a little deeper into my coat, and walk on. It’s easier to tolerate the cold knowing that spring is one day closer.

Sunshine in Winter

2008-01-16T15:11:00.000-08:00

In Montreal, we’ve been walloped by three major snowstorms in a four-week period. All told, at least five feet of the white fluffy stuff came to clog our streets and exercise our shovels. Then along came a January thaw and rain. Half the snow drifts disappeared and I could not only see pavement again, I could see grass! Now the bitter cold is back and we’re facing a few more months of what seems like an endless winter.

Life is like that sometimes. You are in a period where every day feels like an effort. You wonder when you will finally emerge from your current financial/ relationship/ career/ health woes.

What helps is keeping a gratitude journal. Whenever I have a few moments, I jot down three things for which I am thankful. These are specifics. For example, today’s entries:

● I am grateful for the glorious sunshine – nourishing all my indoor plants.

● I appreciate the opportunity to work on my novel.

● I am thankful that I am able to get around town without owning a vehicle.

I also consider “3 beautiful things” I saw during the day. This allows me to appreciate the splendour of the world around me. I often include flowers, wild life or other aspects of nature such as a rosy sunset. I also see beauty in someone’s smile or in the posture of a poodle as it prances down the street.

If you are in a slog, I suggest you start your own gratitude journal. Just thinking about what’s working in your life will lift your spirits. An added bonus: looking back and seeing all the good stuff you’ve experienced.

Just Do It!

2008-01-04T16:09:00.000-08:00

We all have behaviour we would like to change or adopt – which is how New Year’s resolutions came into being. How many of us start the year with earnest plans to lose weight, get more fit, stop smoking or something similar? Yet resolutions often fail. That’s because our old habits are deeply ingrained and it takes at least 15 days to establish new behaviour.

I’ve been meaning to meditate for a long time now. It seems I’m always too busy or too tired to take twenty minutes to sit and clear my head. This evening I finally did just that – and feel great.

I know all about the benefits of meditation. I need the self-discipline that a focused state of mind can bring; I also need the peace and calmness. Yet for months I put it off.

What helps is saying “I choose” this. I like to meditate. I choose to make it a daily practice. I know if I stick with it long enough, it will become a habit. My resistance will eventually fade.

What about you? Is there something you hold off doing that’s important to you? Make a decision and then start small. Don’t feel bad about needing a little push. The critical thing is to take the first step. You’ll immediately feel better about yourself … and that alone makes it worthwhile.

Slipping Away at Christmas

2007-12-24T12:09:00.001-08:00

City streets are piled with snow and sidewalks slick with ice as I make my way to the nursing home. I learn that another resident has passed away just before Christmas. I did not know him very well but certainly saw him around. This seems to happen every year, people checking out of this life before the holidays. Maybe celebrations on the Other Side are more fun… and maybe there are others there who beckon.

My mother manages to eat her lunch today, chewing slowly. She opens her eyes for a split second and recognizes me. The rest of my visit, she remains with eyes closed, unable to process the images around her. All the same, she makes the effort to answer my questions with a "Yeah" or a "No." She tells me she is okay.

Part of her has slipped away – I can see it on her face. Peaceful now. As long as she is not in pain, I am glad to be with her. Seeing her lose all her functioning has been the most difficult thing in my life. Yet she is 88 years old, has lived with Alzheimer’s Disease for the last 9 and it is almost time to go.

I have never found goodbyes easy but there is a finality to physical death that makes it twice as hard. I believe she will continue to exist in another dimension and will probably try to let me know that she is okay. That’s all the reassurance I need.

Right now every moment is precious because I never know which breath will be her last. And Christmas songs, with all the nostalgia they bring, have never sounded so bittersweet.

Footprints in the Sand

2007-12-12T17:14:00.000-08:00

The sun has barely risen over rooftops on the beach – yet several footprints are already scattered across the sand. Some run in the same direction as mine as I walk south.

The crashing of the surf and the cries of gulls fill my senses. A small white tern dives into the waves for breakfast as a rosy glow steals across the sky.

I’m glad for every day on the Gulf, where it’s warm and sunny. St. Pete Beach in winter is one of my favourite spots. The evening news brings more stories of snow and ice storms lashing across Canada and the USA. Apart from a tropical escape, what brings me here this time around is setting research for my novel. Today I catalogue names and descriptions of hotels and other landmarks along the beach. A grueling task but I’m up to the challenge!

By noon the footprints have multiplied, crisscrossing the sand at random. The tide rushes in now and obliterates many of them.

It strikes me that our lives are just as fleeting. How many have gone before us? How many will follow? The only lasting impression we can make, it seems, is in the hearts and minds of those we leave behind.

(written Dec. 7, 2007)

Brick by Brick

2007-11-27T14:37:00.000-08:00

A few months ago I awakened to the sound of bulldozers and tractors. A condo building, three storeys high, is going up across the street from me. This morning I listen to the tap-tapping of hammers as brick layers work on an entire side of the building. The process involves precision tools, bricks, mortar, heaters and plastic sheeting to keep out the cold. A wall the colour of faded autumn leaves is starting to emerge. In future I will see this wall when I look out my living room window, along with the faces of my new neighbours.

I have been dreading the construction, expecting to be inconvenienced by the noise and the mess. Yet every day I feel a tinge of excitement as I witness the progress. It is growing into a pretty structure with gables, white French doors and windows, and balconies which will be a tight squeeze for even two.

My novel, too, is progressing now beyond the first draft. A whole new dimension is pushing the story outwards, giving my main characters challenges which I have not foreseen. I look forward to writing out the scenes in my next draft and letting the story deepen. Not unlike the brick layers with their careful measurements, I am testing plot lines for balance and fit before laying down words.

I find it interesting how outside events often parallel what is going on in our lives. All we need to do is pay attention!

Bursting Walls Between Us

2007-11-20T08:00:00.000-08:00

On my way home from an author reading, I follow a patch-work path of dry autumn leaves. The leaves crumble beneath my feet. Soon they will scatter to the four winds. They remind me how fragile we really are.

The reading was from The Glass Seed by Eileen Delehanty Pearkes. Her title alludes to the growth that can take place when the walls encasing us are suddenly burst open. She experienced such a release when relating to her mother and nurturing her through a lengthy illness. My own mother has succumbed to the same disease, Alzheimer’s, over the last nine years. As painful as it’s been to witness her loss of autonomy and basic functioning, I appreciate the bonds we forged.

I walk briskly, anxious to escape the cold. The street is quiet at this hour; most people safe behind closed doors, in for the night. High above, a bulbous moon shines its ethereal light. The author’s words echo behind me, “When we could no longer speak to each other, we communicated through the heart.”

Perhaps this is the purest form of connection – being together in silence. Because when we get right down to it, love is much bigger than words.

The Running Track

2007-11-06T17:51:00.000-08:00

Early this morning, in the cold, I see a solitary figure doing laps around the track near my home. Nothing unusual about that. Except this is an elderly man using a cane as he walks at a steady clip.

Montreal has an aging population. Many people get around with the help of canes, walkers or electric chairs. What makes this man remarkable is his refusal to be hampered by his limitations. He’s out there doing laps while others are still in bed.

Our bodies love to move; it’s what they were designed for. Working out boosts our sense of well-being, reduces stress and promotes good health. It also keeps us mentally alert. The hardest part is getting started.

For years now I make exercise a priority. I satisfy my love of nature when I walk along the St. Lawrence River or cycle outdoors several hours a week. I also practice yoga for balance, flexibility and strength. I can’t avoid growing older but I CAN do something about the shape I’m in.

What about you?

Coffee, Anyone?

2007-10-31T15:58:00.001-07:00

I sit in my favourite café in downtown Montreal, listening to the sound of bulldozers and tractors. The street is still under siege as construction workers lay new pipes and widen the sidewalks. I try to pick up the thread of music playing indoors but the singer is drowned out by the cacophony outside. Surprising that anyone else is here – but there are dozens of customers drinking lattés as they tap on keyboards or flip through papers. A few, like me, write in lined journals.

What you find here at 3:30 p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon are usually students, the self-employed or the retired. We are each in our private worlds, focusing on the material in front of us as the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans wafts by. Our heads lift periodically to watch the human traffic streaming past the window.

The voices around me are a mixture of English, French, male and female - talking, laughing, telling stories. Friends meeting friends. A middle-aged woman wanders in alone, carrying a backpack. She heads straight for the desserts – an array of breads, cookies and cakes, mostly chocolate. I skirted temptation by ordering a blueberry scone with green tea. By the time I demolish the scone, my appetite is sated. The young dark-haired man across from me sips from his cup the same moment as me.

People aren’t so different from birds. We flock together. Even if we’re not connected, we like to observe, to be where the action is. As a writer I can’t afford to be isolated. I need to witness human behaviour first-hand – and hopefully to get inspired.

A fluffy flower seed twirls through the open window and past my table, air-borne by the breeze. It too seeks fertile ground. Maybe neither of us will find it in the remaining hours before sunset, but at least we’re here.

Do You Believe in Love?

2007-10-25T18:32:00.001-07:00

As I walk along the river this afternoon, enjoying the colourful autumn leaves, I see a white-haired couple. The man’s arm is thrown around the woman’s shoulders and they speak softly together. Laugh.

After feeding a horde of hungry ducks, I start back home. I meet the same two people, who have also reversed direction. They step aside to let me pass but instead I slow to their pace. They exude contentment and perfect ease with each other and the world. They are also in their 80s and have been married 65 years.

We chat as we stroll in the sunshine. Talking about the past, they tease each other. Flirt. The details of their lives seem ordinary enough – met at the YMCA, had three children, nine grandchildren. He supported her for twenty years as she raised a family; then she entered the workforce. “Everyone loved her,” he says, meaning her co-workers. “And who wouldn’t?” His eyes sparkle as he gazes at her.

She says she had nine brothers and sisters. I ask if they are still around. She says yes, looking confused as he gently reminds her that they have passed on.

In these days of soaring divorce rates and break ups, I find myself moved. Doug and Mary have the kind of love people yearn for when they mention “soul mates.” As a romance writer, I need to believe that love can endure. Today I have living proof.

Feeding the Ducks

2007-10-16T16:17:00.000-07:00

As our days shorten and get cooler, our appetites sharpen. It’s no different for ducks. This morning I fed a few mallards in the park. They fought over the morsels – the bread was whole wheat, after all, not the cheap white imitation they normally receive. Bread in beak, they toddled over to the river bank to dunk their findings before gobbling them down. Then they scrambled over a mound of fallen leaves and came back for more. Greedy buggers. I had five thick slices but all went quickly.

I love birds – especially graceful blue herons and egrets (which unfortunately do not venture as far north as Montreal). It must be their sense of freedom. The closest I come to seeing the world from the air is in a plane and I have to first buy tickets and go to the airport. The birds just spread their wings and lift off.

Yesterday I saw a flock of ducks flying in formation, practicing for the long journey south. I admired their discipline. I have trouble getting out of bed some chilly mornings.

It feels good to feed them. By now they’ve grown accustomed to the sound of my voice and look out for me. They do not totally trust humans. It’s hunting season here and from the trees across the water comes the sound of guns.

I wish I could keep them all safe.

The Truth about Happiness

2007-10-06T17:15:00.001-07:00

It’s a rainy night – cold and wet – with autumn leaves tumbling from the sky. Fewer people walk the streets now, preferring the comfort and warmth of their homes. I too sit indoors, curled up on my couch as darkness falls.

I just spent a few hours with a dear friend, someone who can see into my soul and who offers words of wisdom which come from both insight and years of experience. In his eyes I see my best self reflected – strong and independent, yet thoughtful and considerate of others. I feel we have shared our concerns as well as communicated our high regard for each other. Our exchange satisfies me in a way that superficial conversation never can.

Some of us expect to find happiness by amassing “things” – whether the latest iPod or a new car. Yet the pleasure in acquiring things is fleeting at best. We become restless after awhile and then hunger for something else. By trying to impress others with what we have, we are really trying to impress ourselves.

To be happy I need to feel good about myself. To do this, I can take actions such as helping someone else or meeting a challenge. Both raise my self-esteem. I can also appreciate the give-and-take of a relationship. We all need to be understood and to express the love we hold inside. I find this is often what brings the greatest joy.

Dealing with What Is

2007-09-29T20:41:00.000-07:00

A man in a wheelchair – can’t be more than 42 – tells me it was a car accident. Someone hit him from behind at a red light. And now he can’t feel his legs below the knee.

I think most of us take our mobility and good health for granted. It’s hard enough to age in this youth-oriented society without losing our autonomy as well. No one wants to be that man.

Some would say our destinies are mapped out before we’re even born. We may be slated for fame or riches, a difficult childhood or a series of failed relationships so that we can have that experience. The purpose, always, is to learn and grow.

Whenever we feel trapped in our limitations, what really helps, I find, is to appreciate the parts of our lives that still work. If we picture our basic needs as sections of a pie – e.g. finance, personal relationships, health, career and family – many of us have at least one or two missing pieces. Maybe we have a great romantic partnership, a thriving family life and good health – but we are unhappy at work and in debt. Or we have successful careers, along with broken family ties and on-going problems with our children. Some people have a serious health condition which is a life-long concern.

Those of us who seem to “have it all” are in the minority. Even if we are satisfied with all aspects of our lives, things can change. It’s best not to long for a perfect life, but to acknowledge what we already have. To savour it.

I carry around with me a small gratitude journal. Every day I jot down three things that I am grateful for – whether it’s lunch with a close friend, the smell of freshly-mown grass or the pleasure of a leisurely walk. No matter what happens to me tomorrow, I am absorbing the benefits of today.

Winds of Autumn

2007-09-16T19:18:00.000-07:00

Tonight a cold wind rustles through the trees and puffs up women’s skirts on the street. I can almost hear it whistle. Now that summer’s nearly over, I feel it was far too short.

People walk faster outdoors, their minds working as hard as their legs. There’s a surplus of energy at this time of year. Even as I push forward, I find myself looking back. I work vigorously on the 2^nd draft of my novel, making notes and scribbling out new chapters. When I pause, I often switch gears. Friends and acquaintances of years long past come to mind… and I wonder who will next cross my path.

The trees are only starting to lose their leaves. It saddens me to see branches stripped of their foliage, a harbinger of what lies ahead. Human life, like the seasons, suffers loss before renewal. The only thing that seems to help, once I am buried beneath snow and ice, is to keep a little spring in my heart.

For now I plan to enjoy the kaleidoscope of colours that comes with the first frost.

Saturday Night Blues

2007-09-08T19:11:00.000-07:00

Everyone knows that Saturday night is for couples – dining out, dancing or ignoring each other on the living room couch. Like so many other singles I find myself alone. Instead of dozing in front of the TV set, I get dressed and head for “the Main.” In Montreal this is a busy boulevard (St. Laurent) that runs north to south in the center of the city. Crammed with shops, restaurants and cafés, it’s also a multicultural street. As I approach a well-lit area, I see people of all ethnicities, many of European stock such as Hungarian, Greek or Portuguese.

The outdoor terraces overflow with patrons eating or sipping wine. I smell moussaka and fried squid. From further down the street come the strains of a live band, a bluesy sound that could have been from New Orleans.

I enter my favourite café and order bottled water and a bite to eat. Then I sit, watching people and cars stream by. At this corner there are pedestrians of all ages - families, friends, lovers or singles like me. Some walk briskly, on their way somewhere; others step in tune with each other, chatting as they go. Several of them are leashed to Irish wolfhounds, poodles or Pekinese, the dogs as diverse as their owners. A middle-aged man strides by with two bouquets of flowers wrapped in cellophane. I wonder if he's booked two dates in case one doesn't work out.

I sink my teeth into the strawberry scone. It’s doughy and satisfying, not too sweet. Reminds me of the desserts my mother used to bake; recipes she has long forgotten.

The street is half-closed due to construction. Cars now edge past my café window, bumper to bumper. Everyone wants to be somewhere else.

For me it’s enough to be here, my senses absorbing what’s around me. I am at peace with the world, even on a busy Saturday night.

The Little Things

2007-09-01T12:57:00.001-07:00

These days I appreciate the little things – discovering a toothpaste (baking-soda-based) that actually whitens my teeth, crunching a crisp apple from the Fall harvest or gazing at the ghostly outline of the moon in the morning sky.

Like so many others in the working world, for much of my life I focused on making money and getting ahead. I was caught on a treadmill that seemed to roll faster with the passing years. Every now and then I paused to admire the scenery or do some serious reflecting but it frightened me how quickly the weeks and months sped by. I needed to get off the treadmill and schedule my time according to my own rhythm and priorities.

Before turning 50 I left the business world to pursue my interests in motivational speaking, article-writing and storytelling. It’s been quite an adventure and even five years later, I don’t know where this road will take me.

When I die, will I miss the money or possessions I might have accumulated? I doubt it. What I will certainly miss is the softness of the breeze upon my cheek, the stunning colours and intoxicating scent of flowers, or the grateful smile of someone I have encouraged.

All things that are perhaps NOT so little after all.

At the Café

2007-08-17T19:27:00.000-07:00

The end table is large enough for four people, plain, but my eyes are drawn to the edge that has come unglued. It makes the table unsightly. I sit there anyway and place my things on its surface. I keep staring at the unruly edge. I am almost ashamed of it - a table that no longer looks good.

Is that what happens to people? We no longer fit the “norm” – the accepted standards our society has imposed. We get older, our appearance changes, and we become undesirable.

The table is solid, it supports all my stuff. Why do I care about its appearance? My friend is coming and I know she will notice the detached metal edge. I want everything to look perfect but life is not like that. What sticks out gets our attention.

We all want to create a good impression. Yet what we admire about others usually goes much deeper than the way they look.

What the Flowers Say

2007-08-13T06:42:00.001-07:00

Before my neighbour goes on vacation, she asks me to look after her plants and garden. The weather turns hot and humid after she leaves. I dutifully find her hose and watering can.

Stepping into her gazebo is like entering an enchanted world. A profusion of flowering plants surrounds the table, dizzying in their colours and fragrances. As I water the marigolds and geraniums, I stop to remove dead blossoms. Then I approach the violets cascading down from a hanging pot. Marvelling at their unmarred beauty, I reach up to pour copious amounts of water into the container. With a sense of reverence I touch one of the mauve and white petals. Synthetic! I have just watered an artificial plant.

What is the moral of this story? When something looks too good to be true, it usually is.

Here Comes the Bus

2007-08-09T05:57:00.000-07:00

As I wait for the bus, I notice that the missing glass panel in the shelter has finally been replaced. It's clearer than the other panels and very clean. I realize that in winter it will be warmer in here without an icy wind blowing through. But right now it is stiflingly hot.

I step outside to stand beneath the shade of a maple tree. In the distance I see the bus slowly winding its way towards me. I don't mind using public transit. It gives me time to think and I don't have to stress over paying and maintaining a car.

The new glass panel gives my spirits a lift. Someone has taken the time to replace it and that gives me a feeling of being cared for. These days I appreciate the good things in my life.

Look Twice

2007-08-07T08:59:00.001-07:00

Passing through the mall, I stare at the display in a women's fashion boutique. My eyes barely register the slinky evening wear or the tight sweaters over impossibly high, tiny breasts. It's the mannequins themselves. Headless again!

Marketers must believe this allows different women to imagine themselves in those skimpy clothes regardless of their actual size. What I see are thin replicas of female bodies without brains - unable to decide anything for themselves, too mindless to even know they are being gawked at. Scores of people pass the display, unperturbed by what they see.

I find that I must walk away. If I glance at the mannequins any longer, I will start to question their missing hands and feet.