Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Day Twenty-Eight: Impossible Things
My dad is eating fresh bread toast and drinking coffee at the kitchen table; Mom is still asleep in Arwen's room. Michael had jumped out of bed, just after he'd lain down. "I forgot to make bread," he'd said. Wish I hadn't ended the evening grumpy with him. Wish I hadn't warred with Victoria within the first five minutes of her red-headed entrance. But everything in between -- 22 seated together in the dining room; holding hands for prayer; sweet potato stuffing; golden brown, ninety-nine cent a pound turkey; Moira playing piano; cousins jumping on the trampoline; Brian playing guitar; stories in a circle by the fireplace; Baby Neve squealing; Janet knitting; points against dad in crocinole; pie, pie, and more pie -- was perfect.
Thanksgiving weekend at my back, I step into the misty morning. I walk down the lane and go right instead of left, wondering if there might be a picture as the sun rises. I snap soft mist minus sunshine and reverse direction.
I'm wearing two jackets, and I'm too warm once I pick up the pace. I've taken a cup of coffee in a mug that Victoria left in the envoy. Must be Andrea's or one of the roommates. I still have a half full cup as I leave the trees. Where will I pose my mug today? I don't plan to bring this one again, so it needs to be somewhere perfect. I pass the first tree clump and examine the view of the mist to the east or the treaty grounds to the west. Not here, I think, plus I want to finish the coffee.
I walk and remember the two books I started reading last night. Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner and Three Day Road by Joseph Boyden. The first was sent to me through bookcrossing.com and the second I promised to read with a grade twelve student. Crossing to Safety is set in lake country in the 70's and the speaker is an aging literary phenomenon out for an early morning stroll which reminds me of my walks. Three Day Road begins with an aging woman who is picking up a nephew -- by canoe -- after his service in world war one. She has paddled six days upstream through the bush from her home in Oji-Cree territory, and I've already melted into her perspective of the bush being the known and the town being foreign. I hadn't know which one to start, but then I'd thought, people watch more than one tv show at a time, why can't I read one and then turn the chanel. I'm wondering how they'll inform me in unison.
I see the lonely trees on the treaty grounds, past the arbour. A perfect place for my mug shot. I walk into the ditch and cross-country. The sun is on my shoulder, a bright ball of happiness. In the tree I hang the white ceramic; being sure to frame most of the quotation, I focus and snap.
There is no use trying, said Alice; one can't believe impossible things. "I dare say you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." -- Lewis Carroll
Six Impossible Things: in Three Day Road Niska sees a giant beast with a metal nose sniffing along the metal tracks; a protagonist, successful and aging, may wonder if his life had any meaning; a man who knows how to run a bread maker may have a grumpy wife; a confident daughter may think she is never good enough for her critical mother; newcomers are helped by first people and the mythology of Thanksgiving is born; treaty walks.
Thanksgiving weekend at my back, I step into the misty morning. I walk down the lane and go right instead of left, wondering if there might be a picture as the sun rises. I snap soft mist minus sunshine and reverse direction.
I'm wearing two jackets, and I'm too warm once I pick up the pace. I've taken a cup of coffee in a mug that Victoria left in the envoy. Must be Andrea's or one of the roommates. I still have a half full cup as I leave the trees. Where will I pose my mug today? I don't plan to bring this one again, so it needs to be somewhere perfect. I pass the first tree clump and examine the view of the mist to the east or the treaty grounds to the west. Not here, I think, plus I want to finish the coffee.
I walk and remember the two books I started reading last night. Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner and Three Day Road by Joseph Boyden. The first was sent to me through bookcrossing.com and the second I promised to read with a grade twelve student. Crossing to Safety is set in lake country in the 70's and the speaker is an aging literary phenomenon out for an early morning stroll which reminds me of my walks. Three Day Road begins with an aging woman who is picking up a nephew -- by canoe -- after his service in world war one. She has paddled six days upstream through the bush from her home in Oji-Cree territory, and I've already melted into her perspective of the bush being the known and the town being foreign. I hadn't know which one to start, but then I'd thought, people watch more than one tv show at a time, why can't I read one and then turn the chanel. I'm wondering how they'll inform me in unison.
I see the lonely trees on the treaty grounds, past the arbour. A perfect place for my mug shot. I walk into the ditch and cross-country. The sun is on my shoulder, a bright ball of happiness. In the tree I hang the white ceramic; being sure to frame most of the quotation, I focus and snap.
There is no use trying, said Alice; one can't believe impossible things. "I dare say you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." -- Lewis Carroll
Six Impossible Things: in Three Day Road Niska sees a giant beast with a metal nose sniffing along the metal tracks; a protagonist, successful and aging, may wonder if his life had any meaning; a man who knows how to run a bread maker may have a grumpy wife; a confident daughter may think she is never good enough for her critical mother; newcomers are helped by first people and the mythology of Thanksgiving is born; treaty walks.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Day Twenty-Seven: Forgotten Flag
I wake in the dark and I can hear the rain pouring like waterfall. Maybe it will quit by morning, I think, and roll over to fall back to sleep. The alarm rings and it's still raining. It's five am, and I crawl out of bed.
Before I leave the house I tap Moira awake. "It's raining, and I'm taking the umbrella. Just put something over your head when you walk down the lane. Sorry." I repeat the instructions to Arwen, then I take our only umbrella and leave through the front door. The air is bright, the light is clean, the surface of every leaf, bark, rock, grass shines in the rain. I balance a cup of coffee in my non-umbrella hand. Hang it in a tree mid-lane.
I have to walk the long way, past the coop card-lock, along the road that curves right, and cross highway ten at the train tracks. No short cuts today.
At lunch in our staff room I run into Sandy Pinay Schindler, Prairie Valley School Division's First Nations and Metis Coordinator. Sandy and I worked on a Treaty Arts Smart Movie Project last year with my grade tens. "Did you hear they're going to fly the Treaty Four flag in Regina?" she says.
"No," I say, "Really? They're going to fly it all the time?"
"Yes. There'll be a flag raising."
"We should take some students," I say.
"That would be great," she says, but then I'm called away and we don't talk any further.
I leave the school out the backdoor. The sun is shining. It's Friday. I've forgotten it had rained and I take the short cut across the tracks. The field is dry. I forget to take a picture of the Treaty Four Flag at the All Nations Healing Hospital. I need to pack and organize supper before we leave for Regina; we're attending a church conference at Western Christian College. I forget to drive by Regina's city hall to see if the flag is flying.
Before I leave the house I tap Moira awake. "It's raining, and I'm taking the umbrella. Just put something over your head when you walk down the lane. Sorry." I repeat the instructions to Arwen, then I take our only umbrella and leave through the front door. The air is bright, the light is clean, the surface of every leaf, bark, rock, grass shines in the rain. I balance a cup of coffee in my non-umbrella hand. Hang it in a tree mid-lane.
I have to walk the long way, past the coop card-lock, along the road that curves right, and cross highway ten at the train tracks. No short cuts today.
At lunch in our staff room I run into Sandy Pinay Schindler, Prairie Valley School Division's First Nations and Metis Coordinator. Sandy and I worked on a Treaty Arts Smart Movie Project last year with my grade tens. "Did you hear they're going to fly the Treaty Four flag in Regina?" she says.
"No," I say, "Really? They're going to fly it all the time?"
"Yes. There'll be a flag raising."
"We should take some students," I say.
"That would be great," she says, but then I'm called away and we don't talk any further.
I leave the school out the backdoor. The sun is shining. It's Friday. I've forgotten it had rained and I take the short cut across the tracks. The field is dry. I forget to take a picture of the Treaty Four Flag at the All Nations Healing Hospital. I need to pack and organize supper before we leave for Regina; we're attending a church conference at Western Christian College. I forget to drive by Regina's city hall to see if the flag is flying.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Day Twenty-Six: Good Morning
Mid way down my lane, I notice a couple poplar leaves are quivering. I stop. Is it the wind? No. The other leaves would be shaking, too. Maybe those leaves are about to fall, I think. A leaf twists to the ground in front of me. I'd love to catch the moment a leaf detaches from the branch. The little leaf is shaking again.
Before I leave the trees I hear geese without really hearing them, like I've been hearing geese from my bedroom open window and hearing them on the lake. They honk into my awareness and I look up. Oh, oh. There's so many. Get the camera. They're so high. The camera won't open. They're getting away. Now the trees are blocking their V formations. Farther and farther. I snap a shot.
The hill's yellow leaves are catching the rising sun's rays. The poetry "As long as the grass grows, the sun shines and the river flows" fills my mind with light. Who wrote that? I know it's treaty teaching, but whose words are they? I envision the picture at the bridge, in a variety of seasons, with the word, "Canada," across the top, and "As long as the grass grows, the sun shines, the river flows" scrawled across the bottom. Letting beauty do the teaching.
Or what about my picture of the beaded mini-mouse, baby moccasins with the slogan, "Adaptability: As long as the grass grows, the sun shines, and the river flows."
Or the four flags in the wind, Treaty 4, Saskatchewan, British, and Canadian with the caption, "Treaty: As long as the grass grows, the sun shines, and the river flows."
Words fly around my brain like honking geese: kinship, respect, unity, obedience, ultimate protection and I try out the three part poetry with each one. I image different pictures. Imagine them hanging around Fort Qu'Appelle offices, subtly speaking their treaty talk.
I try another word on for size, but this time new images flow, and I like being surprised. I play these words around as my feet make tracks in the gravel, then take grip on the pavement by the Treaty 4 Smoke Shop.
Friendship
As long as the grass shines, the sun flows, the river grows
Education
As long as the sun grows, the grass flows, and the river shines
Humility
As long as the river knows, the grass shows, and the sun rhymes
I'm past the cement yard and now I'm visioning mugs with treaty walks pictures and captions. And now I'm drinking coffee and leaving the mugs in trees to pick up on my way home. I'm taking a picture of a mug hanging in a tree with a picture of a mug hanging in a tree.
I'm crossing the railway track and slowly my daydream fades into plans for the upcoming day. I have assessments to finish. I have essays, stories, and tests to mark. At my back the leaves are falling; the geese are flying West, not south; the grass is singing; the sun is dancing; the river is smiling. I open the back door and say good morning to a student in the hallway.
Before I leave the trees I hear geese without really hearing them, like I've been hearing geese from my bedroom open window and hearing them on the lake. They honk into my awareness and I look up. Oh, oh. There's so many. Get the camera. They're so high. The camera won't open. They're getting away. Now the trees are blocking their V formations. Farther and farther. I snap a shot.
The hill's yellow leaves are catching the rising sun's rays. The poetry "As long as the grass grows, the sun shines and the river flows" fills my mind with light. Who wrote that? I know it's treaty teaching, but whose words are they? I envision the picture at the bridge, in a variety of seasons, with the word, "Canada," across the top, and "As long as the grass grows, the sun shines, the river flows" scrawled across the bottom. Letting beauty do the teaching.
Or what about my picture of the beaded mini-mouse, baby moccasins with the slogan, "Adaptability: As long as the grass grows, the sun shines, and the river flows."
Or the four flags in the wind, Treaty 4, Saskatchewan, British, and Canadian with the caption, "Treaty: As long as the grass grows, the sun shines, and the river flows."
Words fly around my brain like honking geese: kinship, respect, unity, obedience, ultimate protection and I try out the three part poetry with each one. I image different pictures. Imagine them hanging around Fort Qu'Appelle offices, subtly speaking their treaty talk.
I try another word on for size, but this time new images flow, and I like being surprised. I play these words around as my feet make tracks in the gravel, then take grip on the pavement by the Treaty 4 Smoke Shop.
Friendship
As long as the grass shines, the sun flows, the river grows
Education
As long as the sun grows, the grass flows, and the river shines
Humility
As long as the river knows, the grass shows, and the sun rhymes
I'm past the cement yard and now I'm visioning mugs with treaty walks pictures and captions. And now I'm drinking coffee and leaving the mugs in trees to pick up on my way home. I'm taking a picture of a mug hanging in a tree with a picture of a mug hanging in a tree.
I'm crossing the railway track and slowly my daydream fades into plans for the upcoming day. I have assessments to finish. I have essays, stories, and tests to mark. At my back the leaves are falling; the geese are flying West, not south; the grass is singing; the sun is dancing; the river is smiling. I open the back door and say good morning to a student in the hallway.
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