Sandra-Kay Austin

Ever taken a cruise to Alaska?  We just returned from one and I thought that you might enjoy a tiny glimpse.

Right Before My Eyes

Glacier Bay!  I’m actually in Glacier Bay! The ice-blue, ridged-back serpent of a glacier rested between the green snow-capped mountains at the nearest end of the bay as if it had grown weary after crawling part way into the sea.  Suddenly it groaned and shed a small part of itself, calving right before my eyes.  Wow! How many people get to see this! My gaze followed the new baby bobbing in the aqua waters as it fled from its mother. Adjusting my stance at the ship’s rail, I noticed that it was heading straight for some odd-shaped icebergs.  Hey, that one looks like a polar bear. Amusement surfaced in a grin.  Don’t be silly.  You’re still way too far south for them.  Oh, is that a seal on that berg? Nope.  Just a rock. Too bad. I glanced at the row of searching faces lining the rail beside me and then scanned the smooth water again.  Come on now Sandy, you’re used to spotting wildlife. Find a seal.  Point out a whale or some porpoises. This is a once in a lifetime chance for some of these people. A frosty gust of wind blew my hair into my eyes and I pulled it out again. This is ridiculous! I see more at home.  Oh we don’t have mountain goats.  There might be some over there. Focusing my binoculars on some ivory blotches on a rocky ledge on the steep mountainside, I waited for them to move.  More rocks.  Well maybe I can spot a bear. I regarded the slim strip of clear grey land off to the right that was beside the water.  Not even a black bear.  And I was hoping for a grizzly! My eyes rose to the partly cloudy sky.  Well, at least there should be eagles here. Two moving specks stopped my binoculars in mid-arc. Gulls.  It figures they’d be the only thing I’d see. Right then my husband let out a sharp, “uh!” and my face snapped to the left.

“The wind just blew my hat right off,” he said, putting words to the surprise that was written across his face.
My eyebrows rose.  I watched as he pulled his nylon hood up to cover his bald head.
“I tried to catch it but it just grabbed it and carried it away.”
Looking into his sad blue puppy-dog eyes, I asked, “Didn’t you have your hood on?”
“I did.  And the Velcro was fastened.  But the strings weren’t tied and a big gust whipped it off.”  He groaned.  ”Now I don’t have a hat.”
Aware that his shiny dome would easily burn or freeze, I quickly soothed, “You can buy a new one in Ketchikan.”

“Maybe I should buy one of these,” Allan suggested uncertainly a few hours later.
I regarded the tan baseball caps stacked on the narrow poolside table.  When he picked one up, my eyes zeroed in on the red patch above the brim. White ship in the middle with the cruise line’s name in blue above it. He tried it on and I thought, not too bad. How much is it? The bold black numbers on the white sign silently responded, “2 for 19.95″. Ten dollars?  That’s a bargain. My gaze skimmed across the assortment of shirts, mugs, and knickknacks displayed on the teeming tables in both directions.  Wonder if there’s anything I want? Then a fashionably-dressed salesman appeared by Allan’s elbow and I sauntered away, my husband’s question about the price soon lost in the hum of voices.

The view of Ketchikan caused me to pause on the steep gangplank the following day. Nestled by the water beneath the mountains its pastel-coloured buildings sprawled sleepily along both sides of a paved street in what appeared to be the area’s only flat space. Charming.  And lots of shops to explore later. My finger jabbed in the direction of the horse-drawn-cart parked on the huge wooden dock a short distance below us. “It’s over there,” I said, glancing back up at Allan.  “Looks like fun.  I’m glad we got tickets.”
“Me too.  We should be able to get a real good overview of the city.”
Nodding to the Filipino crew member providing security at the bottom of the ramp, I stepped past and waited for Allan. “We’re doing Creek Street afterwards, right?  Remember we want to find a souvenir for the mantle.”
“Yeah.  We’ll have lots of time now that I don’t have to search for a hat.”

My face fell later that afternoon as I assessed the items offered for sale in the Creek Street.  Can’t anybody carry anything but the usual touristy stuff and really expensive jewellery? I picked my way through the crowded room, walked out a door at the other end, and spied a table loaded with folded T-shirts hugging the near by wall.  The ones I bought at the other store were cheaper. And they look like better shirts. As if agreeing that I’d made a wise choice, the red bag holding my purchases made a sharp crinkling sound when I stuck it under an arm. I chuckled before reading the sign on the small A-frame ahead. Australian opals, Alaskan gold, handcrafted exclusive jewellery, handicrafts, and wood carving.  Now, that sounds promising.

“It’s a dolphin.”
My gaze left the smooth carved wood creature in my hands and rose to the oriental male face. “Oh, I didn’t think there were dolphins way up here?  Have you seen them?”  I watched the sleek dark-haired-head dip toward his chest.  After that his black eyes met mine and confirmed it.  For a second, I was puzzled.  But dolphins are tropical animals…oh wait. Isn’t there some kind of whale that looks like a dolphin?…Yes, I think they’re in my book. I turned the animal over, checking the grain and looking for flaws. “Okay.  I think we’ll take it.”

Bedtime already!  I can’t believe that our seven day cruise is almost over. The stateroom phone jingled and surprised by a late-night call, I stopped packing to answer it.  “Hello?”
“Hello Madam. I’m calling about the overcharge you complained about.”
The male voice sounded agitated and I blinked. “Oh yes.  We were billed ten dollars too much.”
“What item did you purchase?  I’m trying to figure out what charge could be ten dollars?”
The derision in his voice stiffened my spine.  Hey, maybe ten dollars isn’t much money to you but it’s a lot to me. I took a deep breath. “It was a baseball cap that my husband bought at the poolside sale.”
“I see.  Did he buy anything else?”
“No.  Just a hat.  His had blown off and he needed one.”
“Yes.  I remember him.  I asked him if he wanted to buy another item and he insisted that he only wanted the hat.  The hats were two for 19.98, madam.  He had the opportunity to take another item.  The bill is correct.  Enjoy the rest of your cruise.  Good night.”
Stunned by the ice-cold tirade, I heard the line go dead and Allan’s voice inquire, “What did he say?” I set the receiver back in its cradle, repeated the conversation, and watched his cheeks flame.
“He lied to you.  I asked him if it would be ten dollars if I only bought one hat and he said yes.”
“But you didn’t check your receipt.  I looked and it says 19.98.”
“He told me that they’d change it to the sale price when it went through the front office.”
“Well, they didn’t.  And there’s nothing on the receipt to say that.” I shrugged.  “We don’t have a leg to stand on.”
“I know.  But there are sure going to be a lot of unhappy people tonight because he was telling everyone that.”
Maybe.  But a lot of people won’t even bother to fight it.  And anyway, he’s slick.  There’s nothing you can do the way he wrote the receipt.”  I tried to smile.  “Well, you ended up with a nice hat anyway.”
Allan’s expression made it clear that he didn’t think that much consolation. “Yeah.  But I have lots of hats at home and I wouldn’t have paid twenty dollars for it.  I’d have bought one on shore.”
The bitter taste of dishonesty making my stomach churn, I murmured “Just forget it,” and tossed my shoes into the suitcase.

What if the other salesman lied too?  After all he wants to sell his work too. The words, like an annoying song, kept returning to my brain the whole way home.  Enough.  It’s time to find out, I decided, padding over to the thick book about North American wildlife that was on my desk. Oh please let there be a whale in Alaska that looks like a dolphin.  Only a fool would buy a tropical fish to remember Alaska by! I thumbed partway through the large coloured pictures of marine life before my hand froze. Baird’s Beaked Whale. Why it does look like a dolphin! Leaning closer, I took in the text.  Yep it lives there. A grin leapt into my eyes.  He was honest! They look so much alike that he just thought he was looking at a dolphin when he was looking at a whale. I proudly placed my prize on the mantle, my day sweetened by his honesty.

With all the wonderful food and experiences tasted during our cruise, I find it odd that the moral character of two salesmen would leave such an aftertaste.  Makes me wonder if my own values and principles leave an aftertaste in the lives of others.  And if they do, is it as sweet as honey or as bitter as lemons?

Think that there are no flies in the ointment of life on Vancouver Island?  Well here’s a recent event that might change your mind.

Isn’t this Fun?

They snuck in by air, arriving silently above me like a fleet of World War I zeppelins.   Aware that they were searching for a target, I urged my hand-weeding tool to work faster. Maybe the breeze will come up again and carry them away. After the air stayed still for the next thirty seconds, I watched them head directly for me.  Great. I eyed the dots beginning to gather around my head and tossed a large clump of grass into the partly full bucket of weeds that were wilting as fast as my afternoon goals.  Quickly jabbing the base of a broad-leafed weed, I drew in a deep breath of resignation. Yuck! I snorted, pulled out a tissue, and blew my nose until it felt as if my brain would be expelled. Now you asked for it! Wielding the white tissue like a sword, I cut through the cloud of tiny bodies.  A slim line of clear air appeared in the wake of my tissue and disappeared just as fast. Well that was pointless. I rose to my feet and the moving air currents drove them back a few inches. Yeah. Go somewhere else. Right after that a crawling sensation near my temple warned that one of the invaders had bravely managed to sneak in under my straw hat brim.  I stopped it in its tracks by crushing it. Triumphantly wiping my wet fingers on my dirty jeans, my gaze took in his buddies who were advancing toward me as if they intended to get even.  I tossed a weary glance over at the specks swirling above the semi-circle of clipped grass behind me. Okay. You guys win for now. I’m going inside.

Spring’s song of trilling birds and gently rustling greenery seeped through the closed windows early the next afternoon, tickling my eardrums and tugging at my heart in spite of the housework I was busy doing.  Finally, the urge to venture out into the beauty on the other side of the kitchen sliders became too hard to resist. My hand settled on the door handle. Then the multitude of sunlit brown spots gliding around grabbed my attention. Wow! More than yesterday. No way I’m up to that battle today. Disappointment surged through me and I turned away.  Guess you’re stuck inside for another day. Maybe they’ll be gone by tomorrow.

Two weeks is long enough for you guys to be here, my mind reminded the fly before I fanned the area near my face to send it on its way.  Just after that I noticed that a few tiny black flies were attempting to hide among the hoards of slightly larger brown ones that were circling nearby.  I threw my neighbour-friend a ‘isn’t this fun?’ look. “I’ll sure be glad when…yuck!  I hate it when they fly in my mouth! I don’t need the extra protein! Like I was saying.  I’ll sure be glad when fly season ends!”
Her blue eyes smiled.  “You’re lucky you have long hair.  They crawl in my ears.”
“Well they still find the part.  But what I hate most is when they try to get into my eyes.”  Realizing that one of the black ones was sitting on her cheek, I gently flicked it off.  ”I think it’s the black ones that bite.  The brown ones mostly just drive you nuts, but I’m not sure.”
Thanks.  I was just into Courtenay and there aren’t any there.”
“Yeah.  They’re just here.  Must be all the bush around us.” My neck started to tickle so I lifted a shoulder and squeezed.  ”I guess we should be glad that they don’t bite very often or pester us for too long though.  And that we really don’t have many mosquitoes or biting bugs once fly season ends.” I watched as she brushed flies away her dog-companion’s brown and white face.
“Well,” she said a bit reluctantly, standing straight again and peering up the paved street. “They descend on us every time we stop so we better get going.”
“I know.  A person doesn’t dare stay still.”  Stepping back onto the gravel driveway, I glanced at my front rock garden.  “Hope they leave soon.  I don’t have to be outside much since I don’t have a dog to walk anymore and I’ve been mostly opting for inside exercise these days. Not gardening much or getting my walk in.” Waving my two friends on their way, I turned and crunched toward the gate.

A week or so after our conversation, my grin widened and I tilted my head back. Sunrays bathed my already flushed face, simultaneously adding to its heat and quenching some thirst deeply hidden within me.  My leg muscles screamed for me to stop, while the sound of my panting breaths combined with nature’s symphony urged me onward.  I picked up the pace, my solitary footsteps slapping the pavement and joyously beating out the message, fly season’s over! A sudden desire to gleefully throw my arms in the air brought on a laugh. Get real Sandy!  It didn’t last that long.  And there are worse things. You just don’t want any flies to bug you at all. I nodded. Right. Too bad I’m not in control of things. They’d stay in the bush and leave people alone.

Yes. It is too bad that we can’t control everything that comes our way in life.  And it’s too bad that the flies of tough times and adversity have a way of descending on everyone sooner or later.  Maybe we should all remember that.  And when we see others struggling through a personal fly season, shoo the critters away if we can.

Some of you have inquired how the meet-and-greet-our-future-daughter-in-law-from-Thailand-trip I mentioned in an earlier entry turned out.  So, buckle up your seat belts and I’ll take you with me to the West Coast of Vancouver Island on that September weekend.

Sa wat dee ka

On the way at last! Our Matrix entered a series of hairpin corners and a rich blur of golds, maroons, and greens slid by my husband’s window when I glanced at that way.  My eyes swung to the right to take in the deserted lake a few feet from the road.  The calm reflecting waters nestled in the sunlit valley zigzagging through the steep emerald mountain slopes could not touch my excitement. Feeling as if bugs were jiving in my stomach, I turned back to the narrow road of frost heaves and cracks that was about to veer sharply around a sheer rock face. What will she be like, this future daughter-in-law from halfway around the world?

Sa wat dee ka, I rehearsed mutely, when the car finally arrived at the modern little cabin that my son had rented in Ucluelet.  ‘Hello’ seemed too formal a way to greet someone I could hardly wait to meet and I sighed, wishing that I’d had time to learn more Thai.  Good thing she speaks English. How could I know that he’d fall in love during his month of holidays with missionary friends in May or foresee that he’d return in late summer to propose marriage?

The rat-a-tat-tat of Allan’s knuckles on the wooden door caused my heart to race.  Sa wat dee ka, ran through my mind again and I nervously hoped that I wouldn’t murder her language.  Then, the tiny woman opening the door grabbed my attention. Young, slender, sleek snipped hair, round face, fawn-coloured skin. Her timid brown eyes met mine and her lips parted to reveal perfect teeth.  ‘Sa wat dee ka’ fled from my mind.  “Hi!  Can I give you a hug?” I asked, and her smile broadened as she reached out.

Shortly afterwards, Kevin appeared behind his fiancee.
“So, you met Dang,” he beamed, using her nickname after she had squeezed through the doorway to go inside.
His simple words conveyed such pride and tenderness that the grin in my eyes grew.
He bent slightly to gather me into a  “glad to see you again” hug. “She’s tired so I thought we’d cool it here tonight,” he explained, as my lips brushed his cheek. “Just make supper, hang out, and watch a movie.”
I stepped back, nodded happily, and followed him into the cabin.

The heavenly smell of freshly ground coffee met me at the top of the hardwood stairs early the next morning. “‘Morning Son,” I said, starting down.  “How is she?”
His blue eyes brightened. “She’s better.”  He turned around to flip open a white cupboard door and reveal a sparse set of dishes.  “She’ll be down in a few minutes.  She was cold last night when I checked so I gave her my blanket.”
Stretching to unhook a mug, I asked, “Weren’t you cold then?  Did you come down for the extra fleece one I brought?”
He reached past me, placed the mug beside the coffee pot, and answered softly, “No, I didn’t want to wake her up.  I was okay.”
I studied his weary face.   “Did you get any sleep?”
“Not much.”

Crawling out of the car’s back seat in the gravel parking lot in Pacific Rim National Park a few hours later, I blinked in the unseasonably bright sun. My gaze darted away from the two glinting cars that were already there and landed on Kevin and Dang when I heard a teasing male voice and soft female chuckle. Seeing that he was zipping up her pink winter jacket, a corner of my mouth turned up.  At least she shouldn’t be cold, with that on over her long johns, clothes, and light jacket.  Good thing she’s feeling better. It’d be a shame to miss seeing Schooner Cove.

Late that afternoon, the shimmering crescent-shaped beach and dazzling waters I’d just returned from clung to my mind like the sand in my upside-down shoes. I shook each black leather shoe again before banging it against the front porch railing. Satisfied that most of the golden grains had trickled onto the painted boards, I placed the pair neatly beside Allan’s brown runners just inside the door. A chuckle rose to my throat when I noticed the snarled heap of large runners and small shoes nearby. After that, the conversation in the far end of the living room caught my attention.  Dang isn’t eating supper?  She went to bed? But she seemed to be enjoying seeing the beaches and taking pictures! Wonder what’s wrong. Maybe the change in water and diet, along with flipping her sleep patterns and jet lag.  I hope she didn’t pick up a bug on the eighteen-hour flight here.

Sock-footing-it down the stairway the next morning, I spotted Kevin perched at the wooden table.  “Morning Kev.”
He looked up from the pamphlets spread out on the shiny tabletop. “‘Morning Mom.  Dang’s still upstairs but she wants to see the whales today.  So, I think we’ll see the lighthouse with you and then go into Tofino so we can go on a tour this afternoon.”
Relief nudged my heart.  “Great, she must be feeling better. We want to explore more beaches today anyway.  We’ll meet you here for supper.”

Is that a fishing boat or pleasure craft? I mused later, squinting at the small dark blob some distance out on the gleaming sea. The musical tones on Allan’s cell phone interrupted the swish of waves on sand and my eyes moved sideways.  Realizing that Kevin was calling, I tried to figure out what was happening by reading Allan’s face and listening to his one-word answers.
“Dang wasn’t well enough to go out.  They postponed the tour until tomorrow,” he said with a frown, closing the phone.
“Oh no. But won’t it be really late by the time they catch the ferry back to Vancouver and get home?” I watched his head bob. My brow creased.  “Well, I just hope that she can go tomorrow.” How horrible to come so far to see everyone and everything and end up sick!

“Should I put this back?” Dang asked, pointing to the square of clear plastic that the green fleece blanket had arrived in.
I shook my head.  “No.  I think I’ll wash it first, in case you have a bug.”
A puzzled expression appeared on her face. “A bug?” Suddenly, she laughed. “Then you can say ‘sa wat dee ka’ to it.”

Sa wat dee ka.  Hello.  We’d said ‘hello’ this weekend and my heart was the better for it. A picture of Dang cocooned in the extra blanket, drinking coffee and chatting with me out on the back deck popped into my head.  It was quickly replaced by one of her dark head and Kevin’s fair one touching as they poured over instructions to a new game across the table from me.  This feels right, my heart sang. A sense of contentment took hold of me.  They truly love each other. With the kind of love that goes beyond such things as adoring puppy-dog looks, affectionate hugs, and teasing.  They have the kind that reveals itself in a willingness to suffer discomfort or set aside one’s own desires and agendas for the other’s welfare and benefit.  A love that’s based on what one can give to the other, not on what one can get.  Now, that’s genuine love!  Maybe we should all ask ourselves, “When I love, is it with this kind of love?”

PS  It seems that Dang’s illness was mostly caused by jet lag and fatigue. In mid-April she completed her last day of work as a nurse-anesthesiologist in the Operating Room of the Internationally renowned western-style hospital in Thailand.  May 1^st her family and friends celebrated with a marriage ceremony in Thailand. And in mid-May she immigrates to Canada.  On May 29^th she’ll be surrounded by new family and friends as we celebrate with a Canadian wedding. Whoopee!  I can hardly wait for the end of the month! May two weddings usher in a future blessed with double the love.

Ready for a taste of West Coast Spring?  Enjoy!

Spring’s Wonderful Song

“I don’t believe it!” popped out of my mouth.  “What a crazy place to build a nest.” I grabbed my binoculars.  “What in the world?…It’s gone!”  Realizing that the sparrow’s nearly completed nest had likely fallen to the ground, I strode outside to search through the salal at the base of the bare grey fir trunk. The sight of shattered chunks of mud and twigs made me shake my head.  “What was it thinking?  How foolish to build on a flimsy knob of branch in a completely exposed spot.”

Two Juncos zoomed by, one chasing the other, and a smile came to my lips.  Spring. It surrounded me.  Its subtle scent of the wet season’s mould and decaying matter not yet dissipated by the sun, mixing with the faint fragrance of the earliest flowers dotting the resurrected swath of green spikes and ovals in my garden. I licked my dry lips and tasted the tart flavour of wood smoke from my neighbour’s morning fire that stubbornly insisted on hanging in the air.  Brilliantly coloured Purple Finches filled the evergreens above me, the males singing for all they were worth in hopes of attracting a mate or perhaps boasting that they’d already acquired one. A squirrel scampered energetically up one of the nearby trunks, chattering happily in the new warmth that was attempting to chase the coolness from my bare face and hands.  Spring. Nature shedding the past and clothing itself in the promise of wonders to come.

Hesitating with my fingers on the light switch after supper, I glanced around our cozy living room.  Shadows teased the corners of the room but the hardwood floor in the centre still sported a soft golden glow and I dropped my hand. Pushing aside the afghan sprawled across my easy chair, the comforting thought came that soon I wouldn’t need it to fend off the evening’s chill. Shafts of sunlight slashing the air between the mature firs across the street pulled my gaze out the window as I sat down. My eyes followed a beam across the paved road until it kissed the climbing rose that was draped across the chicken wire fence and vanished.  Suddenly, I shot to my feet.  “Why are you coming now?”  You rob the feeders at night. Forget that! I dashed out the nearby door. The fat raccoon waddling across the pavement completely ignored me as I flew down the steps and driveway like a whirlwind. Then, right as it reached the fence, its beady black eyes swung to me.  I stopped, watching it jump up in the air and turn around in one motion. Satisfaction swept over me when it waddled back to the culvert at the end of the driveway as fast as its short legs could carry it and dove inside. Well.  Don’t be so stupid.

Look! There’s a hummingbird!” my husband exclaimed the next evening.
My face snapped toward the window.  Shifting slightly in my easy chair, I honed in on the dazzling green jewel hovering near the right corner. It moved slowly sideway along the glass looking inside at us and I chuckled. “Okay little scout.  I see you’re back. I’ll get your food made and fill the feeders tomorrow.”  Anticipation stirred at the tiny minute acrobat’s unspoken promise of our five resident families return from their southern vacation.

“It sure feels like spring,” I remarked to my husband, stepping out of the car at the grocery store the following morning. The shimmering sunlight seemed foreign to my eyes after the rainy season and I blinked.  Its warming rays began to seep through my black fleecy as Allan clasped my hand and it was almost too warm by the time I was approaching the entrance. The newly displayed flats of small green plants there caught my eye for a second, and then, the heavy automatic glass doors slid open.  Bouquets of Daffodils and Tulips.  Potted Lillies and Hyacinths.  Chocolate bunnies, stuffed chicks, and candy eggs.  Hot Cross Buns.   My heart sung!  Signs of Spring.  Signs that point to Jesus!  Sweet-spicy buns with crosses, reminding that He died so that we might live in intimate relationship with God.  Bulbs once dead and now in flower, reminding that He rose from the grave and desires that we experience the wonders of an eternity spent with Him. Bunnies, chicks, and eggs, reminding of the new life we can have in Him every day. I smiled, listening to nature’s spring song echo loudly through the store. Chocolate bunnies, stuffed chicks, and candy eggs, repeated the racoon’s warning against apathy and waddling thoughtlessly into the future. Bulbs repeated the sparrow’s warning that all that could be won’t come about if we trust in the wrong thing. Crosses repeated the hummingbird’s tribute to provision.  Spring’s wonderful song, vibrant with Jesus’  promise:
*”…I am the Resurrection and the Life, Whoever believes in (adheres to, trusts in, and relies on) Me , although he may die, yet he shall live.”

* John 11:25 Amplified Bible

Recently crime caught up to our little community.

Missing

“What’s that at the end of the driveway?” I heard my husband ask as I was entering the living room.  My gaze moved to the brightening scene outside the front window and settled on the solitary dark blob on the paved road. Wrong shape for a raccoon. And too still. “I don’t know.” I walked over to the large rectangular window across the room from where he nestled in his easy chair.  “Looks like a backpack.  Maybe it fell off a neighbour’s stroller last night while they were out walking.” They must have gone by in the dark when the drapes were closed. Strange though. It’s so dark outside with no streetlights that we usually see the flashlight. Aware that only a few cars were likely to pass by that day, I decided, “I’ll go get it after my coffee.”

I tugged my fluffy pink bathrobe tighter to fend off the cool air and stepped out onto the front porch a few minutes later. Chirping birds instantly announced my arrival and a small animal in the nearby grove of salal and fir scurried away with a scratching noise.  While I was making my way along the concrete to the gate, quiet returned to the yard and the washed out blue sky draw my eye.  Another beautiful day on the way. When the soft bang of the gate closing behind me sounded like a sudden gunshot, wild twittering rose from the treetops.  Stop it you guys.  Somebody will catch me dressed like this. My gaze darted to the few houses on either side of ours on our short street. Good. Nobody outside. As soon as my shoes crunched on the driveway, a single woof over on the next street declared otherwise. I smiled, pictured the local dogs, recalled their names and homes, and wondered who was on guard duty.  Then I reached the khaki-coloured canvas rectangle. Some sort of designer bag. Somebody’s sure going to want it back.  But why’s it open?  I’ll look for ID when I get back inside.

Shortly afterwards, nostalgia gripped me as I held up a tiny white terry jumpsuit. About three to six months I think.  But who knows, it’s so long since my children were this size. I refolded it carefully and tucked it back inside the stuffed bag of clean baby clothes and diapers.  Better check all these small interior and exterior compartments. A slight frown creased my forehead. Funny they’re open…no ID, just baby odds and ends.  But it has to belong to the young mother around the corner. She must have been rummaging through it before it was lost. I better phone her right away or she’ll be packing the two babies around looking for it. Discovering soon that it wasn’t hers, my eyebrows shot up. Her voice teased that she thought I’d called to solve their little mystery. “What mystery?”  Hearing that her husband’s sunglasses were missing from his truck this morning, I thought, that’s strange too. Then she said that he never locks it and I shrugged. Oh, that means anyone could have taken them anytime. We listed the few families with babies in the neighbourhood, ended the conversation on a cheerful note, and I set out to phone them.  When I finished talking to the last one, a puzzled frown spread across my face. “I guess…I guess I’ll put up notices.  It must belong to some walker from the area or a visitor.”

Later that afternoon, the phone rang and I ignored it.  My head jerked up when my husband appeared in the office doorway and said, “It was hers.  She’s coming for it in a while.” My brain managed to fight its way completely out of the novel that I’d been writing.  I watched his eyes narrow as he explained, “She didn’t realize that her car had been broken into too. They found out that his drill and bits and some other stuff’s missing too.” I blinked.  Someone was stealing things?

Nothing like this had happened in our close community for years and a sense of uneasiness gripped me. When reports of more vehicle doors and gates left open and missing things began to circulate, outrage took hold of me. My eyes blazed at the thought of predators roaming our quiet subdivision in the wee hours of the morning: brazenly approaching vehicles right near our doors and sneaking around outbuildings in our back yards.  How dare some lowlife take my neighbour’s hard-earned possessions, keep anything they can get a quick penny for, and toss the rest out of their vehicle window like it was garbage! This is our community!  We care about each other here!

Even though our home had been spared, my heart went out to neighbours as they told of losses and complained about having to lock houses now. I felt a twinge of sadness as we made plans to check more closely on strangers and note anything out of the ordinary. Bad things happen to good people, I sighed, and something deep within me replied, but good can come out of bad. Surprised by the idea, I wondered, what good could possibly come from this? It occurred to me then that neighbours were talking more, caring more, and taking each other less for granted. Good neighbours have become better neighbours. That’s good, isn’t it? I guess when it comes down to it, we may not have the power to stop bad things from happening to others but we all have the power to make good things happen.  Maybe we should start with becoming a better neighbour.

Sun filtering through trees across the street from our house.

Had any wild visitors to your yard lately?  I did.

Why do it?

“No way!  It’s the middle of the afternoon!”  Muffled by the sliding glass doors in the kitchen, my voice drew an unconcerned glance from the bandit’s glossy black eyes.  Swaying plants pulled my gaze to the strip of thigh-high winter garden behind the waddling 20-pound raccoon, where a small coal-coloured nose on a short triangle of eggshell white fur was pushing aside dried stalks. I saw two alert eyes in a black mask appear, and then a band of white, followed by the rest of the broad little grey head with its cup-shaped ears.  A baby raccoon! It shuffled out into the clearing and my lips formed a crescent.  They rounded to an ‘oh’ when I spotted two siblings following.  Three babies! Shifting to a more comfortable stance, I watched as they followed their mother across the grass like rail cars attached to an engine. All of a sudden, it dawned on me that she was leading her bandits-in-training to the bird feeder.  Bolting out the door, I grabbed the corn broom and raced to cut her off.

I knew that the large raccoon was dismissing the threat when she barely glanced at the waving broom before ambling on. She arrived at the bottom of the cement pedestal and my brow creased.  I swept the air a few feet closer to her and she responded by swishing a hand-like front paw through the inch of discarded shells and spilled seed on the ground. My broom froze when the first baby ambled up to her. How cute are you?  I better get a good look at you before I chase you. While I was studying it, the mother chuckled. My eyes widened when she rose to her hind legs, inserted a paw through the chicken wire around the feeder on the pedestal, and scooped seed into her mouth.  You brazen hussy!  I’m standing right here. When the baby scratched its way up the cement base and stretched up to copy her, I gasped, “Don’t teach it that!” Then the other two waddled up to her hind end and I realized what was about to happen. Rushing toward them with the broom, “Shoo!” shot from my mouth.  Their mother dropped to the ground and turned to face me.  Her eyes met mine. I bit my lip when she calmly dropped her head and shovelled more food into her mouth.  My broom nudged her well-padded bottom.  “Go on. Go eat in the bush.” I urged, but she simply shuffled around to the opposite side of the base and called her babies over there to eat. Why do it when you know you’re going to get whacked? Well okay. Here it comes! With a shout, I charged around the base and swooped down with the broom to give her ample bottom a good smack. She jumped, her wild eyes touched me, and then she galloped away with her charges.

The encounter with my wild visitor returned to mind as I was entering the kitchen at bedtime. Glass of water in hand, I peered out through the glass doors. My breath caught because the moonlight-bathed half-circle of back yard grass and its perimeter of thick evergreen trees looked like a magical silvery setting prepared for a dancing fairies. If those are dancing fairies, they’re awfully fat and awkward. “The coons are back,” I yelled to my husband.

“Be careful you don’t hit them in the eye,” instinctively rolled off my tongue.  The oft-repeated words elicited a lopsided grin and another promise from Allan that he’d only sting them on the bottom.  He quietly closed the door behind him and I pressed my nose to the glass.  I watched as he aimed the airgun. The pop sent my eyes flying to the family near the feeder but they didn’t react. Missed. Another pop sounded and I saw the mother start.  When she turned her backside slightly away and continued eating, I heard two quick pops break the silence. I watched her right hind leg jerk.  That stung. She moved off a foot or so but my relief only flickered because she waddled right back to eat at the same spot.  What are you thinking?  You’ve got lots of good food in the bush.  You know you’re going to get hurt eating here. The popping sounds picked up speed and I heard myself chuckle while she was stuffing her mouth between jumps and sideways body-shifts.  Then Allan stepped off the deck, fired as he approached, and I sighed, “At last.” My mouth opened in a yawn as the round grey family was disappearing into the night. Time for bed.

Eleven-thirty. Snuggling further under the blankets, I glanced at the empty side of the bed beside me and then at the door. Where is he? The house seemed strangely quiet as the red numbers on my digital clock began to work their way towards midnight. Finally curiosity drove me back into the dark kitchen. I stopped dead as soon as I spotted Allan standing motionless by the outside wall.  “Whatever are you doing?” I asked, watching as he peeked outside.  He flashed me a smug grin and replied, “Waiting for them to return.  They’ll be back.”

And they would, but I wasn’t staying up.  The great white hunter can wait and zing them again.  You’d think they’d learn.  Sunflower seeds might be tasty at the moment.  But they come with a helping of sting or whack. I padded in the direction of the bedroom.  Guess though, that raccoons aren’t the only ones that insist on returning to momentary pleasures that bring pain. People do it too. The corners of my lips curled. Maybe at this time of year we should all be asking ourselves, “Am I any smarter than a raccoon?”

Raccoon at feeder in summer

Ever had a Christmas surprise that made you want to tear your hair out?  I did, one Christmas years ago.

Too Much!

“I bought them,” she said, her blue eyes watching me as if she had just stabbed me and was waiting to see the blood.
My knees went weak.  “You should have one happy daughter this Christmas.”
With a smug look, the petite blonde turned away and I watched in disbelief as she carried the fringed shin-high white leather boots to her room.
The bedroom door slamming set my blood to boiling.  How could you do this to us?  Live here free of charge and buy your thirteen-year-old hundred dollar boots for Christmas? She has good boots! She doesn’t need the latest fad.

Cheeks flaming, I returned to crimping the edges of my cherry Christmas pies. I know we’re running a Federal Charity here and you’re not here by choice. But we’ve loved you and treated you as if you were family. The upbeat carols on the radio only seemed to emphasize my anger. I glared at it before my trembling hands jammed four pies into the oven and closed the door with a thud. This is too much! You’re supposed to be saving for your own place. If you can throw that much money into a pair of boots, you can help out with the rent. Then we might even be able to buy our own children the special things they need this Christmas. My hand harshly jerked the timer switch clockwise and it objected with a groan. Get a grip on yourself, Sandy. There are people who need you right now. Grasping the steeped tea in the pot on the stovetop, I inhaled deeply and then exhaled slowly.  Lord Jesus, please give me the words they need to hear, my heart prayed, as I carried it over to the three troubled souls who were also living with us and waiting at the kitchen table.

The difficult woman’s face appeared again in my mind while I was cleaning up the tea things.  As beautiful as any artists muse’s, its fine features were marred by the expression that it usually wore near me: the azure eyes seethed with hostility and the dainty lips twisted in resentment.  My anger stirred anew at the injustice of the whole situation.  She hates me and I’ve done nothing but love her. Fleeing to my bedroom sanctuary, I closed the door and threw my knees to the worn carpet at the foot of the bed. Lord it’s so hard to keep on forgiving her. Her snotty attitude is outrageous!  She’s continually complaining about the quality of her accommodations and food. She’s spreading damaging lies about me in the community. She’s even tried to flirt with my husband. And now! She’s as good as robbed my children to give hers an expensive gift! Silence followed my tirade and I sighed. I know. You said in The Bible to forgive. I’m just not sure I can this time. Not without Your help anyway. Suddenly, a middle-aged face with chiseled features and two coal black eyes brimming with pain and betrayal drove her face from my head. I winced, aware that my actions had put that look on that cherished face.

My mind returned to the time when our friendship had sprouted in the soil of intimate ‘tea times, ‘supper and late night gab sessions’, ‘girl escapes to the city’, and ‘fishing and canoeing girl days’.  Warmth seeped into my heart as I recalled the years of shared laughter and tears that had watered, fertilized, and nurtured it to maturity. Then, I remembered how its beautiful flower had been crushed. Oh why couldn’t you forgive me for moving away?  My husband had to find work. I wrote.  I told you how much I missed you and filled you in on everything. Oh why couldn’t you write back?  I wrote so many letters.  It hurt to have to ask mutual friends how you were. One cold formal note of apology laced with bitterness that simply said that you’d been sick but were feeling better.  And then nothing although I replied right away.  Ten months before I even heard from someone that you had died from cancer. You cheated me.  I could have been there with you. We could have made things between us right.  You left me a legacy of sadness and regret.  If only you’d forgiven.

“I bought them,’ echoed in my mind, jolting me back into the present.  That antagonistic face appeared again and something deep within me asked, what if you choose not to forgive now? My breath caught.  Would bitterness grow in my heart too? All of a sudden it dawned on me that forgiving was really all about me.  I have to forgive for my own sake.  I have to forgive so that I can have peace and move on.  I have to forgive, even though I’m the victim.  Otherwise my own feelings will hold me captive. Right then, the words ‘Jesus came to set the captives free’ popped into my head.   Lord Jesus, I whispered, set me free.  Help me to forgive.

The heaviness in my soul lifted just before the oven timer let out a loud buzz.  With a new spring in my step, I returned to the kitchen.  A smile tugged at my mouth when I realized while taking pies from the oven that I was humming the carol on the radio. I’ve forgiven and it’s Christmas! Now I’m truly celebrating the core of Christmas. Forgiveness. God sending His only son, Jesus, to offer forgiveness after mankind wronged Him by disobeying and choosing to go its own way. When a soft rap at the kitchen door interrupted my thoughts, I glanced through the window at the blowing snow. Must be someone in need.

“Merry Christmas,” the well-dressed man murmured in a friendly voice as soon as I flung the door open.  Returning his greeting, my gaze skipped to the younger man at his side.  I squelched a grin when his nose twitched and his brown eyes slid past my shoulder. His companion’s voice reminding me that he was the counsellor at my children’s school jarred my memory and I quickly invited them inside.  Answering with a shake of his head that made the snow fly off his hat, the older man withdrew an envelope from his navy overcoat.  He said in a cheery voice while he was passing it to me, “We know you’ve got a houseful to look after and thought this will help buy Christmas presents for your children.  There’s enough there to buy the basketball shoes your son needs and to get something nice for your daughter.” My jaw dropped.  I can buy my children their special gifts! There would two more happy young faces in our home this Christmas.  And one older heart at peace because it forgave.

As we celebrate Christmas this year, is there someone you need to forgive?  May the God who forgives all our wrongs if we ask Him sincerely, give you the ability to forgive those who have wronged you.

This month I’m trying out something a little different.  If you like it, maybe I’ll repeat it once in a while.

Connections

At last! It’s time to get to know her! Our Matrix entered a series of hairpin corners and a rich blur of golds, maroons, and greens slid by the window behind my husband’s face when I smiled at him.  My eyes swung to the smooth reflecting waters of the lake zigzagging through the steep sunlit mountains on my side of the car.  The peaceful scene on the way to the west coast of Vancouver Island failed to calm my excitement. Peering up the ribbon on twisting black tarmac, I wondered, what will she be like, this future daughter-in-law from far away Thailand?  Why had the missionary friends who introduced them suspected beforehand that she might be the one to capture my son’s heart?  Who was this exotic Thai flower? A thousand questions filled my mind.  I knew so little about her.  What did she enjoy?  What grabbed her thoughts?  What touched her heart? I wished I knew if we had even connected at all through our brief correspondence.

Sitting at my desk today brings similar questions and feelings about you.  For months I’ve been sharing little snippets of my life, stories, and poetry that I hope brought enjoyment, provoked thought, or touched your heart in some way.  Little gifts from me to you.  Now, it’s time for me to get to know you. What have you enjoyed reading? What has made you think?  What has touched your heart?  What do you wish I’d write more of?  What’s on your wish list for future entries? Connect with me this month.  Post a comment below the pictures on this entry.

Ever been to an estate sale?  You just might get a wake-up call.

For Sale

“Want to check out some garage sales and an estate sale?” my husband asked, and I grinned.  Searching for new-to-me-treasures in owned-by-someone-else’s-stuff. What fun!

The back of the car optimistically emptied, Allan slipped behind the wheel.  “Let’s see where the estate sale is.”  He poured over the map. “Oh, I know where that is.  I’ve been up there before.”

“Up there” I discovered was in a subdivision of huge modern homes on the eastern ridge above Courtenay.  It was new turf to me and as Allan watched addresses, the spectacular view to our right lured my eyes away from the task at hand.  Peering across meticulously-landscaped spacious areas between roofs, I took in the azure sky, the snowcapped peaks, and the sparkling Comox Glacier. Glancing into the valley as I exited the Matrix, the two shimmering rivers that framed the northeast corner of the lively City of Courteney snagged my eye. Then a cluster of bright balloons at the end of a steep paved driveway just ahead of the car pulled my gaze up to the stately peach-coloured stucco home perched on the hillside.

Plodding up smooth pavement that glowed in the sunlight like a cat’s satiny black coat, I exchanged a tiny smile with a fine-featured little girl and nodded to the slim man who was tugging her along.  That must be some driveway in winter, I thought, stepping onto a large level spot.  My eyes zoomed to the piled-high long tables spilling from the open double garage doors like crackers from a box. When a middle-aged couple with a vase walked toward me, I worried, hope the good stuff isn’t all gone. Not many here though….Let’s see what’s here..  Books and small household items.  Glasses, dishes, and linens.  Junk jewelry on the wall.  Lots of silver and bone china.  Wonder what’s in these boxes?

My hands rummaged through a box of multi-sized multi-shaped gadgets, most of which I couldn’t identify or had no use for.  Noticing a collection of large decorator plates by Allan, who was just ahead, I padded over to study the delightful detailed scenes on their gleaming surfaces. Lovely but no room to display them even if I could afford them. Suddenly, it dawned on me that Allan was moving past tables as if common rocks were on display. I watched as he strolled out into the sunlight again. Hope he doesn’t want to go already! He sauntered towards a banner marked, ‘Guy Stuff” and my lips turned up.  Inching over to a collection of bone china, I slowly ran my eyes across the exquisite pieces.  Quite a selection.  But a bit overpriced.  Oh…this is only two dollars!

My fingers carefully grasped the four Royal Windsor coasters. Sunny spring days in the garden returned to mind as I admired the dainty flower bouquet reproduced so skillfully in the center of each gold-rimmed white coaster. I must have read the price wrong.  It must say twelve. With bated breath, my gaze skipped back to the blue ink scratched on the small white sticker.  It does say two! My heart leapt! How perfect! We can even set mugs on them when we’re playing games. Clutching my prize to my chest, I stepped sideways to regard a dazzling everything-from-salt-and-pepper-shakers-to-trays silver collection that looked as if it belonged in an antique store or museum.  Wow!  Who has this much silver?  It might be worth the sticker-price but I sure wouldn’t want it. The box of small mixed kitchen utensils next to it caught my eye.  Hey, I need more of those!

Grabbing the fifty-cent set of stainless measuring spoons as if they were made of solid gold, I fought back a chuckle. It sure doesn’t take much to make me happy! Paperback books had been tossed every-which-way into the next box and I began to flip titles up. My ears perked up when a female voice behind me softly remarked, “I have better things to do than polish silver.”  Exactly, I agreed wordlessly, recalling how I always put off polishing the few pieces that I own.  “And look at all this china.  Nobody wants china any more,” the voice went on and I couldn’t resist the urge to glance back at the two thirtyish-something-looking women.  Thinking of how seldom I use my own set of Royal Dalton, I mutely added, right, it doesn’t go in the dishwasher. And who feels like washing dishes after entertaining? The women ambled toward the back wall to assess the out-of-fashion jewelry and I smiled, wondering what they’d say about it.  I wonder if anyone wants half this stuff these days, crossed my mind as I was picking up a hand-embroidered dresser scarf. The fresh scent of laundry soap filled my nostrils.  Someone spent a lot of hours on this. While I was still taking in the perfect little stitches of the elaborate floral decoration on one end, Allan’s blue shirt appeared beside it. My gaze swung to his hands.  Empty.  Looks like he’s ready to go though. I peered around for someone to pay and a pair of watchful eyes just outside the garage met mine.

The cornflower blue eyes brightened when Allan plunged his fingers into his bulging change purse. Then the short blonde woman gave me a friendly smile.  We discussed our summer-like spring weather and the fabulous view from her home.  Then, as if we were still discussing such trivial things, she explained that her father-in-law had just passed away and that they were selling off the things that he had collected on his travels around the world.  My heart went out to her. I uttered my condolences but she just shrugged and thanked me as if I’d passed her the salt at the dinner table. I guess they weren’t close, I surmised, seeing no hint of loss in her eyes.

Sadness lurked about the corners of my heart as we headed for the next sale.  Had distance kept this daughter-in-law from growing close to her husband’s father?  Or had he, as so many do, simply chosen to pour the bulk of his time, energy, and money into collecting material treasures? There was no way of knowing but even the possibility caused me to ask, am I investing in treasures such as caring relationships that can’t be bought or sold?   Or am I only scurrying about acquiring things that can be sold off to strangers?  I guess maybe we all need to ask ourselves those questions once in a while.

Courtenay in the Comox Valley

Snowcapped mountains behind Courtenay

Comox Glacier behind Courtenay

Sometimes we all need a new way of looking at disturbing things. Here’s a peek into the surprising way I received “new eyes” to see something.

Frying Pan to Fire

It was as if I’d been injected with a drug that had instantly paralyzed my muscles and left my mind in a mute scream.  Every ounce of my attention was focused on the mock rattler sunning itself on the flat rock a few feet away.

“Sandy?” dimly registered in the perimeter of my mind but, trapped in my solitary world of terror, I couldn’t respond. “Help me!” I cried out silently to the only other human within miles.  Suddenly, my husband’s strong hand pulled me backwards and the evil spell was broken.  Every muscle trembled and sweat poured from every pore.  I gave him a shaky smile, right before the urge to glance back overwhelmed all reason.

The six-foot long rock snake hadn’t moved at all.  Sporting a rattler’s markings, its gigantic size and missing warning rattle gave it away as a harmless counterfeit. My huge eyes zoomed in on the black diamond pattern on the buff coiled back sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.  If it had been any other creature, my heart would have swelled with appreciation and I would have paused to drink in its unique beauty.  Instead, fear sent me scrambling away in the opposite direction, transported back to the dreadful day that had changed these ordinary reptiles into horrendous monsters.

Once again tall grass swished against my eleven-year-old legs as I hurried along the skinny sunlit path behind our house, laughing and following my younger sister to who knows where to do who knows what.  She stooped and I watched as she straightened with a foot-long green ribbon of snake in her hand.  Not sure that I liked its unhappy squirms, I halted.  Her mouth twisted in an evil smile and she stepped toward me with the creature extended. My heart beat faster. Then, she was flying down the path at me! I turned and ran for my life. If I can just make the house. My knees turned to jelly the second the door slammed behind me.  Safe! I stumbled across the room, waiting for my heart to slow.  Just after I realized that my mother was at the neighbour’s, a creak from the door spun me around. No!  You can’t bring it inside! My sister’s black eyes gazed directly into mine, and then, she charged right at me!

With a shriek, I bolted for the only room with a lock.  The click from the closed bathroom door lock brought a surge of relief and I clung to the door, feeling my knees go weak.  Then, movement near the floor on the other side of the door drew my eyes to the crack.  A small oval head appeared near my right foot!  Uttering an unearthly scream, I leapt backwards and up onto the toilet seat.  Calm down. It can’t get you here, an inner voice whispered, as my sister’s gleeful giggles announced the writhing arrival of its green body.  I threw a glance at the window.  You’d have to get down on the floor to reach it. My stomach turned over.  I can’t. Listening to the diminishing sound of my sister’s footsteps, I saw my tormentor slither its length away from the door. Do it.  Jump down and get away, everything within me urged.  My muscles refused to move. I could taste my terror as my captor began to slide slowly toward the base of the toilet.  Time froze and fear drew me deeper and deeper into its dark pit, where even my mother’s voice near my ear failed to register when rescue arrived.  Fear had a name.  And it was, “Snake.”

For years snakes haunted me, appearing unexpectedly to spoil the day and living on in my dreams at night.  This is silly.  I have to do something, scampered through my mind after such encounters however, with no money for professional help, my only option seemed a prayer to avoid the awful things.  Our dwindling chance meetings afterwards helped but desperation eventually drove me to pray, “God, I can’t live like this! Please do something!” Little did I know that the cure for my fear would seem worse than the phobia.

My cure began when our long search for rental housing ended that spring.  “I’m so glad the cottage has a deck!” I bubbled, peering out at the Straight of Georgia from the large wooden one stretched across the back of the simple cottage.  “And the gardens!  That part’s almost like a tropical jungle.  And the owner said there are over thirty roses.  I’m going down to look at them.”  A song of joy in my heart, I strode out onto the long rectangle of lush grass. All of a sudden, a pencil-thin green body slithered away from my feet. As soon as I could move, I bolted for the deck. You’ll be fine, I lied to myself. Just watch out for it. The constant state of nervousness that followed exploded into full-blown panic a few days later when my neighbours told me that my back yard contained a hibernaculum, a nest where snakes gather to spend the winter. They were right and my private little paradise became my private hell.  I opened the drapes on the sliding glass doors in the morning and found snakes nestled against the glass.  They slid off my front porch when I walked out the front door. They rose in the grass like periscopes when I ventured onto my front lawn.  And my dog’s excited barks in the back yard constantly pointed out the squirming prizes that his paws were holding down to show me. The grass and garden soil moved. And fear threatened to consume me. God had responded to my prayer all right!  He had yanked me out of the frying pan and thrust me into the fire!

“You don’t want to see this,” I heard my husband say, a few years later, as we were walking hand-in-hand down the country road near the home we’d bought in Central Vancouver Island. My eyes automatically went to the pavement ahead of us, where two foot-long brown garter snakes lay twisted together like strands of rope. Oh, isn’t that interesting, popped into my mind. So that’s how you guys make babies. I glanced both ways down the empty road and looked back with a frown.  But don’t stay there too long.  You’ll get hit.

Change of perspective eh? Oh, I’m not saying that I want to run out and hug a snake! But now I see snakes as God intended me to, simply as other creatures that He made and loves.  Exposing me to their exit from the hibernaculum was like immersing me in a healing fire.  It burned away the fear and allowed me to see reality. What about you? My fear was named, ‘Snake’. Does your fear have a name?  Remember, God is only a prayer away.

Front Garden At Cottage

Back Gardens At Cottage