The Neighbourhood for Tea

The highway was not so busy then
In my little world of very young
Perhaps a mile long of neighbourhood
On the northern slope running
The water's western arm
Flowing down from the big lake
In search of the Columbia River's
Private entrance to the sea.

Our little farm of sixteen acres
Soon dotted with flowers made
My mother's preference for color
Fade the market garden that was there
It did not suit her sensibilities with
Three teen age sons
And my small self
The cow and the chickens too.
There was always time to walk
Along that highway stretch
Clinging tightly to her hand
Buffeted by the wind from the big trucks
As we went to visit the inhabitants
Some elderly with no family by
Retired and always ready
To serve a cup of tea.

In a tiny cabin lived an elderly couple
Where we sat together next
To the big grandfather clock
Dominating the tiny abode with pompous gongs
The husband I did not then understand
Nursing a wife whose mind
Had wandered far away
His tenderness toward her
And us when my father was away
Working in the bush
He would visit and chat
While my mother ironed and I
Who sometimes could be rude
Would be corrected by him
Much to my chagrin.

It was he who was central
To a little drama when I was four or so
I could not resist
The candy in the Safeway store in town
Eye level and available in such
Colors and pretty wrappings
I lied when we got home
Saying our elderly friend
Had made a gift
After all, it fit my expectations
The fib was badly told
I was in trouble on several fronts
My mother for stealing
Our friend for the lying implication
My penance being to return
The stolen loot to the big store
A checkout lady who gravely received
Candy and apology in return
For my tearful humiliation and remorse.


The house to the east
The Anglican vicarage
Warmly welcomed by the
Elderly pair with an unhappy son
Whose gentle kindness
Puzzled and widened my
View of the religious world.

To the west the little family
On one acre of green
Their teen-age daughter
Fan of the fifties hit parade
Introduced music with social attitudes
Made me want to sing
If only You are My Sunshine.

Across the highway from the acre
A beautiful sandy point
Whose cabins were summer busy
Empty in winter
Then there would be time for tea
I would watch the ducks out on the lake
Savor the sweets as adult
Conversation drifted outside my thoughts
And I pondered the mystery of how
Our hostess managed to have blue hair.

At the farthest west along
The road of my little world
A family of boys, interesting
But only from a safe distance
They too in service of summer folk
The beaches busy
The waterway filled with boats
While my mother and I
Many Sunday afternoons
Would visit for tea and cakes
A lady who with her brother
Lived in a quaint little house
Filled with beautiful furniture from
A past big prairie city life
The ticking of the mantle clock
And the easy chair near the picture window
Filled with a big tree just outside
Where she sat and watched
The bluejay and squirrel dodge and weave
For the peanuts to be fought over
And the scoldings that took place each time.

In those early years in life
Only one other girl lived close by
A year older and looked up to
We would visit her grandparents farm
Just up the hillside where
The pig smell dominated
The corner that took the turn towards home
The rabbits that nibbled constantly
Gazing out from their cages with their big eyes
Which made me incapable of enjoying
Them on a dinner plate.

It was her aunt
Small and bent over
Who babysat my time
When parental absence needed help
She lived up on the hill above
In an orchard of apple trees
Tiny house, silent husband
Soon to be gone into time
When only the tall grass would
Wave in the wind colored with sunlight
Where I would go and sit in the fragrant field
Serenaded by the grasshoppers
In sudden happiness overwhelmed
By this small world that was mine.

When Thoughts Turn Around

These are the days when I feel
My life a prison sentence
With bars across the windows
Looking up unto gray walls
Cold stones blackened by wind
Beaten by the rain's harsh lashes
Within my cell confined
The loneliness of existence for
So many souls I sense near by
Burdened by the whims of fortune
Their happiness under lock and key
Despair the weapon of the prison guards
That mock at hope or delight
Pin down with constant attack
This exile life of man. 

It is only a tiny breeze
A small fire burning
Endurance unto another time
When the gray sky has passed
The burdens slipping from all
Wounded shoulders
The torture of this frail human race
No longer within reach
As I grow thin and transparent
Enough to pass between
The stones of  prison walls.

In Colors Unfaded

Oh, best Beloved
I would a white flower be
Its purity gathering
The full spectrum of light
Reflecting all.

I would be the redness
Found in a rose
The passion of Your love
Flowing blood red in
Every vein.

I would be one with the sky
Blue with endless depth
A Lady's mantle
Over this sad world
Where mankind often blots
Creation's landscape.

And green I would turn
Hope my watchword
That the stench of death
Would spring with tender new life
Always.

'Tis the yellow of the sun's
Warmth
I would cast not shadow
To dim its healing rays.

To thus the plain brown wood
Where Love lay dying
Death banished from these hills
Oh, best Beloved.

The Heart of a Child

An old photograph
Black and white
A six year old stands
Just higher than the dahlias
Lunch box in hand
Hair washed and curled
The plaid flock style
Early sixties looks back through
That camera lens.

I don't remember my brothers
Waiting with me for the bus
I do remember my loud cry
Great alarm as we drove past my school
Not versed in bus stop ways
The laughter from the older students
The annoyance of the driver
All brushed off as I gained
The freedom of the ground
Running back along the road
To my first day of school.

Was it that day I relished
Making my first ever friend
Only she and I to negotiate
Our common interest and goals
No parental playmate decided for me
Or fate of neighbourhood arrangement
How delicious this new adventure
It's freshness such a delight.

A small two room country school
Grades one to three my classroom
An older English woman
Whose warmth and humour
Would accompany my first three years
A good British citizen I became
A culture taught not inherited
The triumph of reading
A thrill still remembered
As quietly the first year passed
Blending into the second and third
With grass and woods to play in
We smelt the changing of the seasons
It dictated our games
Held us in its wonder
Embraced us with its space.

I made good friends in
Those three happy years
Looked forward to becoming
A member of the other classroom
But that was not to be
The school was closed for a new one
Long in the building which sent
The students all to town in the autumn
I parted ways with my companions as
I alone made the trek
To the big wooden Catholic school
I did not return to the modern country school
Staying on my solitary road the next four years.

Fifteen students were now forty plus
How far away home seemed
I would gaze through the eastern windows
With an aching heart and
The distance was an exile
I had to endure
Learning to cope with
The small confines of pavement
Called a playground
The flights up the long narrow staircases
Behind a black robed figure
Whose long rosary clattered
Followed by my classmates
Who resisted me as a friend
For most of that year being
The loneliness of new.

I, a quiet student
Bent over my desk
Studied my new social world
Enjoyed the wild antics and tension
Caused by twin boys
Practicing for the future Balkan war
Taxing the poor teacher beyond
Her already difficult task
This American nun who
Told us stories of a different empire
Wept at the death of JFK
Pronounced him a saint
Still ascends the narrow staircase
Like a ghostly memory above me.

Grade five under a no nonsense
Canadian Polish nun of formidable girth
Passed quietly as I slowly made friends
By grade six I was
Accepted. sort of, adapted and
Somewhat casual to learning skills
Relying on a memory that came in handy
To keep academia at bay
Concerned with social interests instead
Until one day a new teacher
Sped into our classroom
A male invader, energetic
Discerning a taste for grade seven
Unhappily swallowed
I announced to my mother
I would not be attending his class
She announced I would
As thus I met the road whose
Direction has led me deeper
Into the heart that was mine as a child.