and now for something completely different....

Aww...you are the plant of love! You are the
mistletoe! You are a loving, romantic person
who likes to do what is best for the one or
ones you care about mostly. You are very
affectionate and enjoy being close to people.
You believe that love brings you together,
which is a wonderful thing. You are most likely
going to have a very nice and marvelous season.
Your inventive mind could come up with anything
interesting to do. Merry Christmas =)


What Christmas Figure Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla * o

and now for something completely different....

Contentment

True bliss is coming home from a mad dash to the city, fighting crowds in the mall, endless line-ups, aching back and generally exhausted, to find that your two fine sons have not only done all the chores on their list, including the laundry, but that your awesome teenage son has baked squares and prepared a delicious supper that is just waiting for you to come home to! Could it be Christmas in the air??

Sigh...I am so proud of my boys. * o

Contentment

Sleep Interrupted

Night four of "Charlie's Cold". Two hours after he fell asleep, he is awakened, his body racked by coughing spasms. I crawl out of bed, and wordlessly we head downstairs. We huddle on the couch, while the kettle boils. A few minutes later he is hunched over a bowl of boiling water, with towel wrapped around him. Coughing subsided, we head back up to bed. I crawl between the sheets, fingers and toes crossed and praying that we won't have to repeat this routine again tonight. In a few short hours it will be dawn.

We've become so good at this nightly routine, so mechanical, that we are like zombies. I'm not even sure we are awake. We occupy the same spot on the couch, night after night. We've got the motions down pat, and can be back into bed in about 20 minutes.

The whole thing is vaguely reminiscent of a similar, zombie like routine some twelve years ago. Only then, instead of boiling a kettle to steam, I was heating a bottle and changing a diaper.

Meanwhile, it is morning and snow is falling. Upstairs, one son plunks out "Silent Night" and "Jingle Bells" on his keyboard, interspersed with the melodic "Malengua" he has been practicing. The other son has his ear glued to CBC Radio, waiting for a "bus cancelled" announcement that doesn't come.

Time marches on. * o

Sleep Interrupted

Of Writing Classes, Journals, and Faith

I just completed a Journaling for Writers course at the Long Story Short School of Writing website. Erica Miner is a great instructor, encouraging but challenging, not letting me get away with mediocre, but pulling so much more out of me.

I ended up going through my old journals in order to complete some of the assignments. I poured through early entries, amused, amazed and sometimes bored with my younger, whinier self. I'd forgotten how tired I always was when the boys were younger. I'd forgotten some of the cute things they had done, or the fascinating things they would say.

The walk down memory lane did a couple of things for me besides help me to complete my assignments.

First, I often think this writing thing I do is something I recently got into. The journals remind me that writing is something I have done throughout my life. I have always poured myself out on paper, sometimes through poetry, sometimes in a journal. Sure, there were long, dry periods of no writing but I have yet to give it up forever. My journals remind me of my progress and my growth.

The second discovery involves my spiritual growth. My faith journey is sprinkled throughout my sporadic, journal entries. The periods of doubt, the search for a deeper faith, the quests down different paths, all the journeys that led back to one place, one God. One who was there all the time - in the beginning and the end.

The journey is far from over yet, and I'm sure more will be examined through the pages of my journal. Still it is comforting to realize that God is my constant companion in these pages. It is a friendship explored in ink, revealed in bound pages and sealed in the heart. * o

Of Writing Classes, Journals, and Faith

A Walk in November

It was such an unusually warm November day today, that I had to go for a walk. The only way I could tell it was November, and not April or May was that the sun hung lower in the sky and the water was a gray, slate color. Not as much blue in the sky to reflect on the surface.

I went down past the cemetary again - one of my favorite jaunts. My son once asked why I walked that way and I replied that it was peaceful there. To which he sardonically quipped "of course, everyone's dead". Smart cookie, that boy.

Maybe it's melancholy to roam graveyards with opera music playing in your headphones, but in addition to peace, this walk offers a flat road and an impressive view of Nipigon Bay.

As the sun warms my face, I'm all too aware that tomorrow it is supposed to get cold again and snow. Winter lurks around the corner, hemming me in. Already the daylight hours are far too short. For now, I bask in sunlight, watch the ducks glide across the lagoon, and breathe in deep as if I could inhale this moment and preserve it through the long, dark winter nights.

Today is a gift. Tomorrow it can snow.

"Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadows" - Helen Keller * o

A Walk in November

God Beats

wood smoke rises
drum beats
ancient rhythms
power to soothe
the soul
or excite
into frenzy
he chants to ThunderBird
to appease the rain
shading my eyes
I glance skyward
and squint into clear
blue sky
wood smoke rises
heart beats
ancient rhythms
lost in time
and prayer

@2005 Eveline Maedel
Photo taken this summer at Old Fort William * o

God Beats

Hope Through Transitions

"Happy are those who are helped by the God of Jacob. Their hope is in the Lord their God." Psalm 146:5

Fall is awash in glorious color as the days get shorter, the nights cooler and the air definitely crisper. I always find fall to be a sort of melancholy season for me. Winter is not my favourite of the four seasons, and fall is an ever present reminder that winter is around the corner. Fall is the transition season. In this neck of the woods it often transitions all too quickly. One day, warm and bright and colourful and the next morning a cold, wet snowy bleakness perches on the doorstep. No matter how many years I’ve been around, winter always catches me by surprise.

I find this fall to be a particularly bittersweet transition time for our church and our community. We started the season with great joy over the much anticipated start of construction of our new church home. As we neared the end of September, we faced shock and upset at the announcement of shutdowns and layoffs at Norampac. Many of our friends and loved ones are trying to navigate through some major decisions and questions right now.

Life is an ever constant transition, from the time we are born until the time we die. One look at our physical bodies is enough to remind us of these changes as we age. Christians know that our souls are constantly changing too, as the Holy Spirit works on our hearts and makes us “new creations in Christ”. ("Though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day." 2 Corinthians 4:16) Every transition is both a small “birth” and a small “death” as something old makes way for something new.

While we cannot live completely static lives and escape these transitions all together, and God does not promise a perfectly smooth life, it is important to remember a couple of things God does promise or provide for us.

1) God promises us comfort. He has given us the Holy Spirit as our comforter. In John 14:16 we read "I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper (or Comforter, or Counselor) to be with you forever." God knows what we are going through and He will comfort us. Psalm 34:18 says "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted, and he saves those whose spirits have been crushed."

2) God has a plan for us. Jeremiah 29:11, "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Note that this verse says “I know the plans I have for you” (emphasis on I). Not “you know” nor does it promise to “I will tell you exactly what those plans are”. Simply “I know”. God knows, God is in control. We are asked to trust in God’s plan. It’s a scary kind of trust, a leap of faith, a belief that “Father really does know best”.

We have to remember as well that everyone responds to transitions differently. Some people embrace change, running headlong into it with arms wide open and leaps of joy. Others stick their feet firmly on the ground, cross their arms, and begin to chant “We shall not be moved”. Most of us fall somewhere in the middle of these two. Let us continue to pray for each other, uplift each other and comfort each other, reminding ourselves that seasons come and go and but God is our ever present hope, comfort and strength.

"I pray that Christ will live in your hearts by faith and that your life will be strong in love and be built on love. And I pray that you all God's holy people will have the power to understand the greatness of Christ's love - how wide and how long and how high and how deep that love is. Christ's love is greater than anyone can ever know, but I pray that you will be able to know that love. Then you can be filled with the fullness of God. With God's power working in us, God can do much, much more than anything we can ask or imagine. To him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus for all time, forever and ever. Amen" Ephesians 3:14-21 * o

Hope Through Transitions

Cured not Cursed

I'm typing this with one hand. On my right hand I'm wearing a big bulky mitt that makes my hand sweat, is uncomfortable, and makes it extremely hard to use my dominant hand. For twelve hours today, I have "leprosy". The mitt is supposed to help me experience what a person with leprosy goes through. It's part of a Canada-wide fundraiser for The Leprosy Mission, called "Cured Not Cursed".

But, the mitt only really gives me the physical experience of a leprosy victim. It doesn't really give me the emotional experience of what someone with leprosy suffers. I still have my family and my home. No one shunned me in church this morning. Instead they were curious about why we were wearing the mitts. My family didn't kick me out of my house, or force me to live in the streets and beg for food. No one was afraid to touch me today.

In a few short hours I will joyfully shed this cumbersome mitt and go about my normal, nice, happy life again. Someone who really has leprosy is not so fortunate.

Around 1500 people each day will be told they have leprosy. Leprosy can be cured and its devastation halted by taking three pills a day for six months. The cost of treatment is about $275 Cdn per person. Such a pitiful small sum to make such a huge difference in someone's life. There is no reason that any child today should have to suffer with leprosy.

Please visit The Leprosy Mission website (www.tlmcanada.org) and consider making a donation. Leprosy can be cured. * o

Cured not Cursed

October Storms

Thunderstorms in October are an unusual occurence around here. Just before supper, the dark black clouds rolled in. Booming thunder roared around. Thunder that seemed louder and closer than a summer storm. Even the clouds seemed to hang lower, barely clearing tree tops and roofs. The dog whimpered, as lightening flashed and popped and then the rain came. It poured and then it hailed. Tiny chunks of ice gathered on the patio table and flung themselves at the birdfeeder. The windowpane rattled with each rising crescendo of thunder. A fast moving storm, it was soon over. Dark clouds gave way to red sunset, promising "sailors delight" for the morn. * o

October Storms

Tigers

In early morning light
I dreamt of the cat
Nibbling at my face
And pacing around my body
Lithe body ready to pounce
I put my arms up
In defense
And curled into fetal position
My legs kicked out
And launched said cat
From peaceful slumber
As I awoke
So much for reading about tigers
Before going to sleep.


@2005 Eveline Maedel All rights reserved * o

Tigers

Crisp

Today is the first day I've had to warm up the car before running off to work. The temperatures dropped last night, and the rain turned icy. Walking out on the deck this morning was a bit of an adventure! Fall has arrived. * o

Crisp

Hot Soup Days

The past couple of days have been perfect hot soup days. It's been cool, and raining steady. Yesterday morning I put some frozen homemade chicken soup in the crock pot so that by lunch time we could come home to "hot soup". I also put my sheep's wool mattress cover back on the bed, after it had made a visit to the dry cleaners. It had fluffed up perfectly, like brand new. Last night, I slipped into bed, snuggled down into the cloud-like comfort of the sheep's wool, wrapped the blankets around me and listened to the rain pelting on the window. I'm grateful for a belly full of hot soup, and warm blankets.

May I be mindful of the blessings in my life, particularly on hot soup days.

@2005 Eveline Maedel All Rights Reserved * o

Hot Soup Days

A Child's Love

Love to a child
is the unwavering belief
that a mother's kiss
can heal all wounds

Small arms wrapped
around the neck
damp hair scented with
watermelon shampoo
whispers soft
"I love you, Mommy"


@2005 Eveline Maedel - all rights reserved * o

A Child's Love

So, What's for Supper?

It's been one of those days. It started with an email that put me in a mood that lingered far longer than it should have.

Later in the afternoon, my youngest son called from home. His first full day back at school and he injured his thumb in gym class. He said it was swollen. Twenty minutes later when his brother got home from high school, I had a confirmation that it was indeed swollen. "Mom", he said, "you better come home and look at this."

And so we made a visit to the emergency room where I sometimes think they should hand out Air Miles. The thumb in a splint, a requisition for an x-ray in the morning and a prediction that it'll be quite black and blue by then, we headed for home.

Fortunately, or so I thought, supper was all planned. Thanks to the MenuMailers at Saving Dinner I had sweet potatoes already cooking in the oven and chicken marinating in the fridge. All I needed to do was fire up the grill.

Nothing happened. Apparently grills need propane to run. And apparently there was none in this one. Yes, I know women can fill propane tanks nowadays, but I've never learned how to do that, or hook them up. Frankly, propane makes me nervous and I'm not even happy lighting the grill.

I threw the chicken in the oven, which already was on for the sweet potatoes. This story should have a happy ending but it doesn't end there. The chicken took way longer than it should have to cook, and when we finally sat down to eat I opened up the sweet potatoes and they were rotten on the inside. Thank God for canned corn.

I'm by now thinking I should have gone with my usual plan for supper when hubby is away - eat out!

At this point, a hot bath and curling up with the latest Mindy Starns Clark novel (The Trouble with Tulip) sounds good but I'm afraid there'll be no hot water and pages missing from the end of the book!

P.S. on the list of good things that happened today, Pink Jasper - Gems from the Journey is now available to order from Heliographica. Click here to order. * o

So, What's for Supper?

Train of Thought

If the the only railway crossing in town has crossing arms, is it necessary for the train engineer to lay on the horn as if all matter of life depended on it?

The horn's blast sliced through my bedroom and shattered my sleep. I braced myself for impact, certain that there must be something in the train's way as the urgent, long wail roared past my ears. Had the engineer become unconscious and collapsed on the control panel?

Nothing. The train rattled past and carried on. My heart began its descent from where it clung to the ceiling and drifted back into my chest. It's 1:00 AM. Might as well go to the bathroom. * o

Train of Thought

Thoughts from a Writers Conference

Last weekend I attended the Sleeping Giant Writers Festival. Besides meeting some really great people, I learned a lot and had a very creative day. I took in a workshop on journaling and one on memoir writing. I'm already looking forward to next year's festival. Here are some highlights from my notes:

Great Quote:

"If a piece of writing is going to be any good, it has to brush up against the mysteries or undefinables of who we are"
Charles Wilkins

I Remember (A Journaling Exercise)

I remember partridge hunting down bush roads with my Dad. It is late September or early October. Warm enough for a heavy sweater, yet the air is crisp and full of promise. I love the bush smell - wet, fallen leaves and pine. We walk the gravelly road together surrounded by a symphony of bird son and somewhere up ahead the rhythmic drumming of partridge wings. I don't remember how many partridge we got that day. I don't remember what we talked about or even how many times we went out hunting together. I don't remember the age when I became too old to want to go with him or when exactly I crossed that threshold from tom-boy to teenage girl and he started going hunting with only the dog as companion. Yet I can close my eyes and still feel the texture of plaid flannel hunting jackets. What I really want to say is I'm afraid of losing those memories before I even lose my father. * o

Thoughts from a Writers Conference

Update on the Common Book

Yesterday, I completed the last page of the little notebook I had started recording "common" stuff in back in June.

Why is this a big deal? It represents the most consistent amount of journaling I have done in my life. I wrote almost daily - sometimes every second day.

Some days the entries are pretty short, obviously jotted down in a hurry. Others are more detailed. Some are downright boring and some have little glimmers of insight.

I'm pleased that even on days when I accomplished no other writing tasks at all, there is something jotted down in my common book. So I can pat myself on the back and say "at least you wrote a bit today".

This morning I cracked the cover of a fresh new notebook - full of possibilities of common entries of my everyday life.

Obviously, the common book system works for me as a journaling tool. * o

Update on the Common Book

Pink Jasper - Gems from the Journey

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Heliographica Press announced today the pending release of a remarkable book written by six women writers. "Pink Jasper:Gems From The Journey" is a collection of poetry, essays, and short stories chronicaling their personal life journeys of Jacqueline Brooks, Carolyn Horton, Pamela June Kimmell, Eveline Maedel, Georgia Richardson, and Dana Smith-Mansell. The work projects a wide variety of emotion from intense grief to boundless joy as these women share their stories and feelings as they walk their separate paths. There is spiritual awareness, divine celebration and challenge, all celebrated in the pages of this extraordinary book. Each piece is superbly written and as the reader moves from one piece to the next it becomes clear that we all share common stories and experiences. This book's messages will remain with the reader long after the reading is done.

The book will be available shortly from Heliographica Press at http://www.heliographica.com, and other online stores including such as Amazon, and will be available to bookstores and libraries through Ingram and Baker & Taylor. ISBN 1933037059.
* * * * * * * * * *

So there it is - the official announcement! This book has been a "labor of love" project for myself and my "Pink Jasper Sisters" - Jackie, Carolyn, Pam, Georgia and Dana. We met online, we formed an immediate bond and for the past couple of years we have been working on "Pink Jasper". The book will be available for purchase on the Heliographica website soon and I can't wait to get my copies of it either and finally see it in actual book form. I still have to pinch myself periodically to believe it's true!!! * o

Pink Jasper - Gems from the Journey

The Visitors

I was interrupted from my Saturday afternoon chores by the sound of the dog barking outside. Looking out the window, I saw two young couples standing at the end of my driveway staring at our garage.

My first thought was that the moose rack my husband hung on the garage last evening must be a real traffic stopper. Turns out, the two women in the group had just wanted to stop by and show their partners the house their father had been born in.

Enchanted at the chance to find out more of the history of my house, I eagerly went outside to greet them and chat a bit. They talked about their father, and the summers and Christmases that they had spent visiting here. Their grandfather built the house and the garage, that he used to store boats for other people.

"There's a name in the cement of the corner of the garage", I said, "come, take a look".

"That's our father's name!" We all stared at the perfectly formed letters in awe. The date underneath is worn and fading, but as close as we could tell was 1960. The girls figured that was about the year their father left for university. For unknown reasons, he marked the occasion forever in cement.

After some reminiscing, they bid me farewell, thanking me profusely for letting them look around.

My house is about 80 years old, and has only housed two families in its time - theirs and mine. Except for some painting and minor repairs it has remained relatively unchanged. It may be old, and a little plain, but its solid walls have sheltered love, laughter, sorrow, youth and old age.

It is a family house. A home. * o

The Visitors

Dusty Bookshelves......and more Phantom

A recent trip into the city resulted in the acquisition of the soundtrack CD for The Phantom of The Opera and ignited my "phantom fever" and musings all over again. I took a quick peak at the ultimate Phantom "phans" website, www.phantomoftheopera.com. Besides discovering that there are people out there way more obsessed by the Phantom than I am, I also discovered there is an increasing interest in Susan Kay's novel, Phantom.

Seems Kay's novel is now out of print, and hard to find. According to the FAQ's on the Phantom website, "The novel Phantom, by Susan Kay, is very popular amongst fans, but is out of print. Demand for copies has grown so much since the movie of the musical came out that prices on Amazon and eBay have shot up to as much as $70 - $100 just for a paperback."

Makes me kind of glad I have a hardcover copy gathering dust on my bookshelf (and no, at this moment I'm not selling). I loved the novel and it earned a treasured spot on my bookshelf along with other books I just can't part with.

More than haunted by the Phantom, I now find myself haunted by Susan Kay, the writer. All I could find out about her from searching the internet was that she was born in 1952 and wrote two novels, Legacy in 1985 and Phantom in 1990. Legacy was the winner of Britain's Georgette Heyer Historical Novel Prize and the Betty Trask Prize for a first novel. A good start it would seem. I can't uncover if she wrote anything else after Phantom or what happened to her, or even if she is still alive.

This leaves me wondering why she quit after Phantom? Did the muse leave her? Where is she now (hiding out in some opera house?) What is she doing? Is she aware of all the "phantom fever" surrounding her out of print novel? Somebody please tell me whatever happened to Susan Kay?

Incidentally, the rights to her novel are owned by Amblin - Stephen Spielberg's company. There's rumors that a movie might be in the works. Maybe all the hype over an out of print novel is just good pre-movie publicity. * o

Dusty Bookshelves......and more Phantom