come spend Friday afternoon in my garden
Friday, March 2, 2012
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Bats+kids+tornadoes+gramma's cabin
Elaine's journey continued....
A tornado is a violent, dangerous, rotating column of air that is in contact with both the surface of the earth and a cumulonimbus cloud or, in rare cases, the base of a cumulus cloud.
(National Geographic picture of tornado)
Bats are mammals of the order Chiroptera ( /kaɪˈrɒptərə/; from the Greek χείρ - cheir, "hand"[2] and πτερόν - pteron, "wing"[3]) whose forelimbs form webbed wings, making them the only mammals naturally capable of true and sustained flight.
(bat catching an insect..notice it is NOT sucking blood from innocent children)
Biologically, a child (plural: children) is generally a human between the stages of birth and puberty.
(my sister Mallory, my cousin Sharon and me)
In a perfect scenario, such as the one we experienced on Rainy Lake, all of these forces came together to create one memorable night.
In Northern Ontario, some tornadoes go undetected by ground spotters because of the sparse population and remote landscape; they are often discovered after the fact by aircraft pilots, where aerial observations of damaged forest confirm occurrences...this however was not the case for this particular tornado..rather, a handful of small children and two sisters were in the eye of the storm..clustered together for safety, and definitely aware that a tornado raged around them. In tents, somewhere else on our island, my older cousins and their friends were camping.
One sister was our mother, Elaine, the other was our Auntie Vi. Auntie Vi was older than my mom, but my mom was clearly the leader of the two. After all our mother's nickname was "Nails" whereas Vivian's was simply Vi. Our two families often spent summers together at the island we shared on Rainy Lake in NW Ontario. My father and Uncle Fred built several cabins, none of which was large enough to hold both our families simultaneously. Babies slept in the first cabin with their parents, and older kids were housed in a string of cabins which meandered down the rocky path to the lake. The older you were, the further you were from parental control.
(cabins at our island on Rainy Lake)
Something in the way the storm collected itself over Rainy Lake that afternoon told my mom that we were in for one heck of a storm. Dad and Uncle Fred had gone to town for supplies, and had not yet returned. In his entire life, I don't think my Dad ever owned a boat with anything more than an unreliable 9 horse motor, so a "quick trip to town" for groceries was never possible.
As the wind gathered itself more forcefully, Elaine and Vivian decided it would be safer if we collectively moved to Gramma Mallory's cabin on the point. There was no time to search for the older kids camped on the other side of the island.
Why Gramma Mallory ever even owned a cabin on the lake remains a mystery to me..she didn't swim, she thought sitting in the sun was foolishly barbaric, she detested fishing and she was scared stiff of bears. Consequently, her cabin was not used very often, and bats had made themselves quite at home in the eaves of her cabin.
My mom might have been able to "read the weather", but her knowledge of bats was severely lacking. In her mind, all bats were blood sucking, rabid and filthy. As Elaine lit the gas lamps in the cabin, the bats emerged from their roosts in the cabin rafters..and much to the horror of both sisters began flying around inside the cabin.
Being in charge, mom immediately began to bark orders at Vivian like a seasoned drill sergeant..get those kids under the covers..grab a broom..don't let the bats bite them, they will get rabies..put this scarf on your head so the bats won't get caught in your hair.. and with that she took up a broom and began swinging wildly at the flying bats.
(available from GoldenDaysAntiques.etsy.com)
The bats with their echo location and masterful flying abilities seemed to taunt her...she leapt from bed to bed while Auntie Vi ran around the room screaming for us to stay under the covers and repeating the part about all bats having rabies. Of course all of us peeked from under the covers to observe the two sisters racing around the cabin in some manical version of "bat baseball".
Eventually, the storm blew itself out-but not before it took down giant pines that had grown on the island for years. My cousins emerged from their tents, unaware that a tornado had almost engulfed us and followed the smell of bacon back to Gramma Mallory's cabin. We could hear the noise from the 9 horse motor coming across the bay. High up in the rafters, tired bats drifted off to sleep.
Comment from my sister Mallory:
I also remember they tied scarves around their heads so the bats wouldn't get tangled in their hair lol. We counted 7 trees down the next morning and several came within feet of the cabin. But what surprised me the most is that you didn't scream your head off that they were hurting the bats.
A tornado is a violent, dangerous, rotating column of air that is in contact with both the surface of the earth and a cumulonimbus cloud or, in rare cases, the base of a cumulus cloud.
(National Geographic picture of tornado)
Bats are mammals of the order Chiroptera ( /kaɪˈrɒptərə/; from the Greek χείρ - cheir, "hand"[2] and πτερόν - pteron, "wing"[3]) whose forelimbs form webbed wings, making them the only mammals naturally capable of true and sustained flight.
Biologically, a child (plural: children) is generally a human between the stages of birth and puberty.
(my sister Mallory, my cousin Sharon and me)
In a perfect scenario, such as the one we experienced on Rainy Lake, all of these forces came together to create one memorable night.
In Northern Ontario, some tornadoes go undetected by ground spotters because of the sparse population and remote landscape; they are often discovered after the fact by aircraft pilots, where aerial observations of damaged forest confirm occurrences...this however was not the case for this particular tornado..rather, a handful of small children and two sisters were in the eye of the storm..clustered together for safety, and definitely aware that a tornado raged around them. In tents, somewhere else on our island, my older cousins and their friends were camping.
One sister was our mother, Elaine, the other was our Auntie Vi. Auntie Vi was older than my mom, but my mom was clearly the leader of the two. After all our mother's nickname was "Nails" whereas Vivian's was simply Vi. Our two families often spent summers together at the island we shared on Rainy Lake in NW Ontario. My father and Uncle Fred built several cabins, none of which was large enough to hold both our families simultaneously. Babies slept in the first cabin with their parents, and older kids were housed in a string of cabins which meandered down the rocky path to the lake. The older you were, the further you were from parental control.
Something in the way the storm collected itself over Rainy Lake that afternoon told my mom that we were in for one heck of a storm. Dad and Uncle Fred had gone to town for supplies, and had not yet returned. In his entire life, I don't think my Dad ever owned a boat with anything more than an unreliable 9 horse motor, so a "quick trip to town" for groceries was never possible.
As the wind gathered itself more forcefully, Elaine and Vivian decided it would be safer if we collectively moved to Gramma Mallory's cabin on the point. There was no time to search for the older kids camped on the other side of the island.
Why Gramma Mallory ever even owned a cabin on the lake remains a mystery to me..she didn't swim, she thought sitting in the sun was foolishly barbaric, she detested fishing and she was scared stiff of bears. Consequently, her cabin was not used very often, and bats had made themselves quite at home in the eaves of her cabin.
My mom might have been able to "read the weather", but her knowledge of bats was severely lacking. In her mind, all bats were blood sucking, rabid and filthy. As Elaine lit the gas lamps in the cabin, the bats emerged from their roosts in the cabin rafters..and much to the horror of both sisters began flying around inside the cabin.
Being in charge, mom immediately began to bark orders at Vivian like a seasoned drill sergeant..get those kids under the covers..grab a broom..don't let the bats bite them, they will get rabies..put this scarf on your head so the bats won't get caught in your hair.. and with that she took up a broom and began swinging wildly at the flying bats.
(available from GoldenDaysAntiques.etsy.com)
The bats with their echo location and masterful flying abilities seemed to taunt her...she leapt from bed to bed while Auntie Vi ran around the room screaming for us to stay under the covers and repeating the part about all bats having rabies. Of course all of us peeked from under the covers to observe the two sisters racing around the cabin in some manical version of "bat baseball".
Eventually, the storm blew itself out-but not before it took down giant pines that had grown on the island for years. My cousins emerged from their tents, unaware that a tornado had almost engulfed us and followed the smell of bacon back to Gramma Mallory's cabin. We could hear the noise from the 9 horse motor coming across the bay. High up in the rafters, tired bats drifted off to sleep.
Comment from my sister Mallory:
I also remember they tied scarves around their heads so the bats wouldn't get tangled in their hair lol. We counted 7 trees down the next morning and several came within feet of the cabin. But what surprised me the most is that you didn't scream your head off that they were hurting the bats.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Turtles
Elaine's journey continued:
Some indigenous people refer to Mother Earth as a giant turtle..we as humans ride on Turtle's back..Turtle teaches us to harmonize the energies in our lives bringing us balance. Turtle is one of the oldest symbols for our planet, and holds very sacred energy.
http://www.etsy.com/listing/25853450/beaded-turtle-umbilical-cord-bag-amulet
For my mom, however, turtles=danger...
Every summer, my children and I made our annual pilgrimage to visit my parents on the Seine River in NW Ontario. Long summer days were filled with fishing, exploring, rowing, berry picking, and culinary experiments, along with numerous Art, Biology and Geology lessons.
(Dove Tail Lake off Sunshine Road)
My dad was the primary fish cleaner and he often rewarded the otters and turtles, with whom they shared Seine River, by leaving the fish entrails for them to eat. The stomach portion of a walleye is white in colour and this fact will later become critical to the story.
(river otter tracks)
As the sun worked higher in the sky, we generally retreated to the water to cool off. My mother, Elaine, came out of the cabins, down to the shoreline to save us all from the "turtle terror" which awaited in the murky waters off the end of the dock. She claimed to have seen a giant size snapping turtle in the bay earlier that morning.
As a Biologist I assured her..Mom, the kids are fine, the last time I checked turtles are not known for attacking small children.
She quickly remembered an important turtle factoid, and told me..Well once on Rainy Lake, there was a huge snapping turtle sunning itself on the end of the dock and I stuck a broom handle out there...the turtle held on and wouldn't let go until it snapped the broom handle in half..then she went on to say that a turtle didn't care if it snapped a broom handle or a bone..like she had some special insight into the workings of the reptilian brain.
My counter..Well Mom, I'm just thinking, but if you stuck a broom handle in MY face, I'd probably do the same thing as the turtle.
She insisted that the evil turtle would bite one of the children and that swimming was no longer a safe activity.
I challenged her by asking..Mom, do you honestly know even ONE person who has suffered a turtle attack? If you do, I will get the kids out of the water now.
She stomped off to the cabins..
The afternoon was uneventful..no turtle terror ensued...
(Fishing with Dad on Seine River)
Imagine my surprise when a month later, I received a letter from my parents along with a photograph. The photo showed a person's leg, dripping with blood and an obvious triangular shape bite mark on the calf..AND it was my mother's leg.
In the letter she went on to describe how she had gone wading off the shore and how the turtle had grabbed her leg..and it said NOW I know a person who has been attacked by a turtle..ME
At the end of the letter was Dad's printed PS which read: The turtle bit your mom's leg because she is so pale, and the poor turtle thought she was fish guts.
The lesson of this story..we create our own realities..if you believe that a turtle will bite your leg, and you imagine such a scenario..it will happen..you send that energy out into the Universe and it responds appropriately. Fearful energy holds us back from enjoying our lives..
I love you mom, but to this day you REMAIN the only person I know who has been bitten by a turtle..
(Dad, Mom and Jamal..family traditions)
Some indigenous people refer to Mother Earth as a giant turtle..we as humans ride on Turtle's back..Turtle teaches us to harmonize the energies in our lives bringing us balance. Turtle is one of the oldest symbols for our planet, and holds very sacred energy.
http://www.etsy.com/listing/25853450/beaded-turtle-umbilical-cord-bag-amulet
For my mom, however, turtles=danger...
Every summer, my children and I made our annual pilgrimage to visit my parents on the Seine River in NW Ontario. Long summer days were filled with fishing, exploring, rowing, berry picking, and culinary experiments, along with numerous Art, Biology and Geology lessons.
(Dove Tail Lake off Sunshine Road)
My dad was the primary fish cleaner and he often rewarded the otters and turtles, with whom they shared Seine River, by leaving the fish entrails for them to eat. The stomach portion of a walleye is white in colour and this fact will later become critical to the story.
As the sun worked higher in the sky, we generally retreated to the water to cool off. My mother, Elaine, came out of the cabins, down to the shoreline to save us all from the "turtle terror" which awaited in the murky waters off the end of the dock. She claimed to have seen a giant size snapping turtle in the bay earlier that morning.
As a Biologist I assured her..Mom, the kids are fine, the last time I checked turtles are not known for attacking small children.
She quickly remembered an important turtle factoid, and told me..Well once on Rainy Lake, there was a huge snapping turtle sunning itself on the end of the dock and I stuck a broom handle out there...the turtle held on and wouldn't let go until it snapped the broom handle in half..then she went on to say that a turtle didn't care if it snapped a broom handle or a bone..like she had some special insight into the workings of the reptilian brain.
My counter..Well Mom, I'm just thinking, but if you stuck a broom handle in MY face, I'd probably do the same thing as the turtle.
She insisted that the evil turtle would bite one of the children and that swimming was no longer a safe activity.
I challenged her by asking..Mom, do you honestly know even ONE person who has suffered a turtle attack? If you do, I will get the kids out of the water now.
She stomped off to the cabins..
The afternoon was uneventful..no turtle terror ensued...
(Fishing with Dad on Seine River)
Imagine my surprise when a month later, I received a letter from my parents along with a photograph. The photo showed a person's leg, dripping with blood and an obvious triangular shape bite mark on the calf..AND it was my mother's leg.
In the letter she went on to describe how she had gone wading off the shore and how the turtle had grabbed her leg..and it said NOW I know a person who has been attacked by a turtle..ME
At the end of the letter was Dad's printed PS which read: The turtle bit your mom's leg because she is so pale, and the poor turtle thought she was fish guts.
The lesson of this story..we create our own realities..if you believe that a turtle will bite your leg, and you imagine such a scenario..it will happen..you send that energy out into the Universe and it responds appropriately. Fearful energy holds us back from enjoying our lives..
I love you mom, but to this day you REMAIN the only person I know who has been bitten by a turtle..
(Dad, Mom and Jamal..family traditions)
Friday, February 24, 2012
I believe I can fly..Elaine's journey continued
From the time I was little, I knew I was a polar bear spirit..my dad sometimes called me Nunuq, an Inuit word for polar bear. Anyone who knows me well, can tell you that my favourite four letter word is SNOW.
Those of us with polar bear spirits are strong, sometimes a little too strong for our own good. Interestingly, we tend to know each other in a crowd. Perhaps, we recognize that unmistakeable sense of independence that separates us from the crowd. A small child, of about kindergarten age, once turned away from her mom to tell me-I love polar bears TOO..she knew who I was, as much as I knew who she was.
artwork by ginaedwardsgallery.etsy.com
The Spirit animals with which we connect guide us in our lives..like stars in the night sky, they direct us to our paths.
artwork from www.Nativevermont.etsy.com
One postive aspect of cancer is that it drives us to ask questions and have conversations with those we love before they are gone. In such a conversation, I once asked...Mom, if you could be any animal on this beautiful earth, which would you pick to be?
Her immediate response was an eagle. She went on to say, "When I was young I often dreamed that I was able to fly. It was incredible. I would soar into the clouds, escaping the confines of Earth, and it was the most freedom I ever felt."
photo by www.aamagerscole.etsy.com
Mom told me that after one particularly vivid dream, she decided to "try her wings"..she climbed onto the garage roof, spread her arms out and jumped..expecting to catch the liberating winds which would lift her into the skies. The laws of gravity were in full effect and she soon found herself on the ground. To add insult to injury, her foot landed on a board with an exposed nail. She howled all the way to her house dragging the board, along with her disappointment, into the arms of her mother.
vintage airplane from www.calloohcallay.etsy.com
Mom always wanted to take flying lessons..she never missed an opportunity to fly. Even when she had to be air-lifted to the hospital in Thunder Bay, she said she was excited about taking a ride in the helicopter. She told me the first time she flew in an airplane, she looked out the window and felt as though she could get out and walk on the clouds..luckily she never tested THAT theory.
in the final moments of our lives, we must find the courage to release ourselves from all that is familiar....once freed, the limitations placed on us by our bodies and earthly responsibilities are gone and our souls take flight..Mom, I believe that now you CAN fly...
photography by www.reflectionsoflight.etsy.com
Those of us with polar bear spirits are strong, sometimes a little too strong for our own good. Interestingly, we tend to know each other in a crowd. Perhaps, we recognize that unmistakeable sense of independence that separates us from the crowd. A small child, of about kindergarten age, once turned away from her mom to tell me-I love polar bears TOO..she knew who I was, as much as I knew who she was.
artwork by ginaedwardsgallery.etsy.com
The Spirit animals with which we connect guide us in our lives..like stars in the night sky, they direct us to our paths.
One postive aspect of cancer is that it drives us to ask questions and have conversations with those we love before they are gone. In such a conversation, I once asked...Mom, if you could be any animal on this beautiful earth, which would you pick to be?
Her immediate response was an eagle. She went on to say, "When I was young I often dreamed that I was able to fly. It was incredible. I would soar into the clouds, escaping the confines of Earth, and it was the most freedom I ever felt."
Mom told me that after one particularly vivid dream, she decided to "try her wings"..she climbed onto the garage roof, spread her arms out and jumped..expecting to catch the liberating winds which would lift her into the skies. The laws of gravity were in full effect and she soon found herself on the ground. To add insult to injury, her foot landed on a board with an exposed nail. She howled all the way to her house dragging the board, along with her disappointment, into the arms of her mother.
vintage airplane from www.calloohcallay.etsy.com
Mom always wanted to take flying lessons..she never missed an opportunity to fly. Even when she had to be air-lifted to the hospital in Thunder Bay, she said she was excited about taking a ride in the helicopter. She told me the first time she flew in an airplane, she looked out the window and felt as though she could get out and walk on the clouds..luckily she never tested THAT theory.
in the final moments of our lives, we must find the courage to release ourselves from all that is familiar....once freed, the limitations placed on us by our bodies and earthly responsibilities are gone and our souls take flight..Mom, I believe that now you CAN fly...
photography by www.reflectionsoflight.etsy.com
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Elaine's journey
A year has come and gone since my last post about Chuwy (aka Ghost). Shortly after that post, my mother Elaine Kryzanowski was diagnosed with lung cancer. Since that time, my life has been blessed with incredible moments, people and opportunities for self-discovery. In the next few blogs, I hope to share some of those amazing experiences and lessons.
(this is my mother, Elaine at her last art show..she was 80)
Cancer is one of those diagnosis that sends people reeling..
My mom never smoked a day in her life..but as a young woman, she did work in a small office where she was exposed to 8 hours of second hand smoke. She also worked in a factory, where they used solvents to clean the components they manufactured. Perhaps of greater significance, though, is the fact that my mother, Elaine, grew up in a Canadian paper mill town ..where the air was tainted with particles of commerce generated pollution. Unfortunately, the source of her cancer is and will remain a mystery.
My greatest admiration for Elaine stemmed from her creative talent. Rainy afternoons spent at our cabins morphed into art lessons.
(the cabins my dad and uncle built on Rainy Lake, NW Ontario)
Occasionally, on those rainy days, we talked our mother into drawing paper dolls for us. As the rain dampened the pine needles outside of the cabin doors, we sat cross legged on the wooden floors describing the physical attributes we wanted our paper dolls to possess. With her pencil flying over the paper, my mom transformed our words into elegant models. Once we had our paper dolls, we would spend hours designing outfits for them to wear.
I was always most enthralled with their hands..so lifelike..even down to their fingernails.
My mom was a self taught artist. She believed by studying the techniques used by masters such as Johan Vermeer that she could teach herself how to oil paint when they lived on Seine River, NW Ontario.This is her rendition of that famous painting The Milkmaid
Later when she retired, mom had the time to explore her artistic talents again and for over 30 years, she devoured every aspect of painting.
to be continued....
(this is my mother, Elaine at her last art show..she was 80)
Cancer is one of those diagnosis that sends people reeling..
My mom never smoked a day in her life..but as a young woman, she did work in a small office where she was exposed to 8 hours of second hand smoke. She also worked in a factory, where they used solvents to clean the components they manufactured. Perhaps of greater significance, though, is the fact that my mother, Elaine, grew up in a Canadian paper mill town ..where the air was tainted with particles of commerce generated pollution. Unfortunately, the source of her cancer is and will remain a mystery.
My greatest admiration for Elaine stemmed from her creative talent. Rainy afternoons spent at our cabins morphed into art lessons.
(the cabins my dad and uncle built on Rainy Lake, NW Ontario)
Occasionally, on those rainy days, we talked our mother into drawing paper dolls for us. As the rain dampened the pine needles outside of the cabin doors, we sat cross legged on the wooden floors describing the physical attributes we wanted our paper dolls to possess. With her pencil flying over the paper, my mom transformed our words into elegant models. Once we had our paper dolls, we would spend hours designing outfits for them to wear.
I was always most enthralled with their hands..so lifelike..even down to their fingernails.
My mom was a self taught artist. She believed by studying the techniques used by masters such as Johan Vermeer that she could teach herself how to oil paint when they lived on Seine River, NW Ontario.This is her rendition of that famous painting The Milkmaid
Later when she retired, mom had the time to explore her artistic talents again and for over 30 years, she devoured every aspect of painting.
to be continued....
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