Cleveland Place Bookshop

 

 

 

What's better than a bookstore?  A bookstore selling used books.  Yes.  But what's even better?  A bookstore selling used books with a proprietor who will take my list of wants and track them down, then order them for me.

I'm talking about Cleveland Place Books, a unique bookshop on Main Street in Alma, NB; a bookshop owned by Jane and Steve Chrysostom.  www.cleveland-place.com

My want list of nearly thirty books is prohibitive, if I buy new books.  Steve found many of these books used and in like new or good condition.

On Sunday, we drove to Alma to pick up nine books; the first bunch that arrived at the bookshop.  I cradled them on my lap all the way home, leafing through, reading bits of poetry.  It was like my birthday, like Christmas, like the two together.

I know Steve will email soon when another group of books arrives.

The odd thing about my list...despite my removal of nine new-to-me books from my want list, I've added seventeen more; books recommended to me by people kind enough to suggest poetry that will help me learn about writing and improve my own poetry.

So, for Steve and for Cleveland Place Books and for me, it looks like we'll share a long term commitment to the book hunt.

Thank you, Steve and Jane.

A Gift of Flowers

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A gift of flowers from my friend

 

 

God of Poetry: A Writers' Retreat

 

 

God of Poetry: A Writers’ Retreat

We break bread, share wine,

a get-acquainted preamble.

Evening relaxes

sun-sweet, after hard rain;

we gather outdoors for your poetry reading.

 

From damp adirondacks, we listen;

a semi-circle of homage

and blackflies.  We lean in,

ignore spasms of itch. 

The lawn, resurrected

as bog, washes our feet.

 

We murmur entreaties:

“May there be

enough grass plastered

on toes to protect them

from feast.”

 

You stand.

A father’s gentle voice

reading stories to children.

You choose four poems;

do not want to overwhelm.

Our fingers reach

to touch the hem of your words.

You finish.  No sound.

Our heads bowed. 

 

Then you swat a blackfly

on the back of your neck

and say,

“We have to suffer for art.”

Laughter, applause;

we run back to the inn.

 

Alone in our rooms,

we each pray before sleep:

“May our stings and spilled blood

become

the stigmata

of poets.”

 

I attended an excellent retreat for writers and wrote this tongue-in-cheek poem about our first evening together, after hearing some participants respectfully and affectionately referring to our instructor as the “God of Poetry.”  He may or may not be a god, but he was helpful to me, taught me much about how to write and gave gentle, direct feedback.  Perhaps, they are correct.  Being god-like encompasses kindness, teaching by example and helping people where they are.  Oh yes, and having a sense of humor.

 

Words and photo are copyright © 2011-2013 Carol Steel.

A Good Question

 

A Good Question

Enduring an encounter with serious illness and the possibility of death tested all my significant relationships.

Who was there for me through the months of illness?  Who suffered with me?  Who was really affected by the possibility that I might not return to health?

To whom did I really matter?

Answers were not easy to find, for people had different ways of showing they cared.

I acknowledged how difficult it was for friends and family.  I appreciated that they did what they could.  There were many who backed off and I was hurt and disappointed.  Some relationships I valued didn’t turn out to be the way I thought they were.  It wasn’t that people did not care; it was more likely they just didn’t know what to do or say. 

People helped and supported the best they could; sometimes they didn’t know how to do this.  Perhaps they thought ignoring what happened and trying to move on was best for everyone.

My own expectations were sources of disappointment.  When I felt tired, vulnerable and scared, the withdrawal of others from me did not help me.  It was as though I had contracted a shameful, contagious disease.  It hurt and yet I understood.

Thankfully, there were many who stayed in contact through cards, notes, emails and phone calls, dropped off meals, sent small gifts or flowers, made short but loving visits, listened and found ways to show that I mattered to them.

For them I was grateful.

Significant relationships were not all constant.  Many changed.

To whom did I really matter?

A good question.  A greater lesson. 

Christmas Tree Decorations

Yesterday afternoon, I spent a deliciously quiet time with a dear friend sharing tea and conversation, while sitting in front of her fireplace and Christmas tree.  After talking a while, we got closer to the tree to visit with memories and her decorations.  We shared laughter and friendship, and decades of memories linked to various ornaments on her tree. When I came home again, I spent time really looking at ornaments on our tree, just allowing memories to flood my busy mind and settle me. 

This little blue felt dress was a gift from my younger daughter.  Handmade from recycled materials and complete with a tiny metal hangar, which you will see, if you look closely.  She made one of these for each of my sisters and me; when I see them on many trees, I am reminded of her artistic ability.

This handmade snow person is a gift from my older daughter.  It reminds me of all the snowmen and snow women we built over the years, with various scarves, hats, mitts and carrot noses.  A remembrance of playing in the snow together.

This is one of many crocheted snowflakes on our tree; all shapes and sizes, each with a shared memory of the person who gave it.  Some were made by my first mother-in-law, beautiful delicate designs.  Some are gifts from children or sisters or friends.  I love them all.

This is a whimsical Krinkle decoration I bought for myself one Christmas years ago.  There isn't any place here which sells them anymore, so I will have to search online if I want more. I like the over the top silliness of this ornament.  It is a Christmas stocking but it has feathery hair and feelers and a tiny face peeking from under the feathers.  It's holding a gift in its thin arms.  A just for fun decoration!

This is another Krinkle decoration, one in the series of Santa's reindeer.  This one reminds me of my youngest sister who collects Krinkles and who first introduced me to these imaginatively detailed delights.   Her tree is full of them and is a treat to explore with her.

This chubby Santa came from my grandson.  Santa is hand knitted and looks as though he has had too much eggnog while sitting by the fire. 

Every year when trimming the tree, I remember the friends and family who have gifted our tree with such love and memories.  Every year, I appreciate anew the wonder of the relationships in my life and am grateful for all of them, especially at this season.

All photos are mine.  If you click on words in red, you will go to another website with additional information.

Please note:  I have checked out the current prices of Krinkles decorations online and they are ridiculous.  They are 4 and 5 times higher than what I paid.  It has been many years since I purchased the ones I have and I won't be getting anymore.  The handmade decorations are best!

Christmas Ornaments

Over the years of celebrating Christmas, the tree decorations change.  Some special ones remain the same; much loved and each attached to a significant memory or story.  I have an affinity for sparkly decorations.  This long shiny one was given to me

by a dear friend years ago.

This handmade hobby horse was a creation from one of my sisters.

This gold sparkled blown-glass heart

is the sole survivor of a set,

 I bought for myself the first Christmas I was alone. 

I cherish the memories that accompany this delicate heart.

This glass snowman with an evergreen tree hat reminds me

of the one who gave it

and of the love we share.

This whimsical glass ball overflowing with red feathers

 was created by one of my daughters while she waited in airports,

on her journey home one Christmas.

My Christmas tree is trimmed with memories of significant times

in my life and the significant people in my life,

who light my way.

Autumn Outdoors

Each day I notice more signs of autumn.

The temperature changes are dramatic.  Being outdoors means constant movement; to stay warm requires staying in the sunlight.  I continuously move the position of my chair.  If I'm outside writing or gardening, I follow the sun.

Fall changes are stunning. The deep wine shade of the fruit cones on the staghorn sumac indicates that they are nearly ripe.

As their leaves turn yellow, the hard green grapes have become powdery purple on the grapevines.

Soon enough, a grey squirrel or starling or pheasant will feast on nature's bounty.

Fuzzy flowerbuds are forming on the Saucer Magnolia, in preparation for next spring's blooms.

Because it is a tender tree in the Maritimes, we will wrap it to protect the stems and buds from the worst of winter.

It is the time of year to transplant ferns and lilies and hostas.  Lots of digging and hands in the soil.

Once that is finished, perhaps my fingernails will grow longer and lose their stains.  My fingertips are rough and ragged.  My skin is scratched and ripped from working with roses and barberry bushes.  Gardening is so hard on my hands.



Can you see the squirrel
on the fence?



I do love this season of changes.  There is nothing to compare with sitting on the porch on a cloudless autumn afternoon, sharing a glass of wine and conversation with a dear friend

and simply enjoying the yard.

All photos are mine.

Best Part of This Day

One afternoon this week, I attended a wedding shower for the daughter of a dear friend.  Most of the women are much older than the bride-to-be.  We were all close friends of her mother; her mother, who when she knew she was dying, years ago, asked all of us to continue to stay connected with her children.

Now her daughter, a young woman, talented, beautiful, wise and warm as was her mother, is getting married this Saturday. We gathered to share laughter, love, stories, dreams, tea and sandwiches, to give her gifts and our blessings as she enters this new covenant in her life.

Some of the blessings came in the form of advice.  One woman in our group told a gentle story about how, at a particularly trying time in her marriage, her husband asked her to tell him about the best part of her day.  She told him.  They shared with each other the best parts of their day.  It helped them then. She says that they have been holding that ritual every day since.  It still helps.

My curiosity piqued; so I tried it.

Each evening since the shower, I’ve shared what has been the “best part of the day” with my husband and he, with me.  It is amazing what focusing on a positive moment in the day can bring.

Talking about the best parts of our days eases tension, gives perspective, feels good and tempers frustrations.

It blesses the day that has gone and renews hope for the one to come, all the while offering a few moments of tranquility and appreciation to our lives.

Of all the advice and blessings we offered at the wedding shower, I believe that this simple story was the best.

Try it!

What has been the best part of this day for you?

Listening

 

Listening

Our listening creates a sanctuary for

the homeless parts within another person.

~ Rachel Naomi Remen

Wise words!

Sometimes the aching “homeless parts” of us crave only a quiet listening ear.

How many times have you been upset and just needed someone to hear you--not to fix, not to solve, not to rescue-- needed someone to simply hear your words and to echo them back with hushed attention, so that you could find some peace within yourself.  “Someone cares about me enough to be still and to hear me.”

Listening is a tremendous gift to give to another.  Being attentive without offering opinion, guidance, solution, advice, without launching a criticism or a differing point of view is a priceless gift.

Why is it that we so seldom find this sanctuary for ourselves or offer it to another?

Perhaps, asking another to “simply listen” is all we need to do, or all we need to offer.  This refuge, this oasis of listening nourishes and refreshes us, and often when gently given, amazingly enables us to solve our own problems, because we have been heard.

Sadly, sensitive listening is rare; we live in a world of fast communication, quick solutions, and instant access to every satisfaction.  We are accustomed to hurrying through life, getting to the next item on our list and the next and the next…

And listening takes time.  Real listening means not thinking about what you want to say next or how you can speed this process onward, it means quietly concentrating as another person shares their deep concerns.

 

The next time a friend needs a sensitive ear; don’t rush to find a solution.  Believe that the solutions lie within the capabilities of the person experiencing the problem.  Give them time and the gift of simply listening, with an encouraging remark or an insightful question.

You will be “offering sanctuary to the homeless parts within another person.”

The next time you yourself need sanctuary, ask for it directly from a trusted friend, who knows how to listen in stillness.

Try it!

Note:  If you want to learn more about the wise and talented Rachel Naomi Remen, click here.

Lunch With a Friend

Unhurried lunch with a friend, what a luxury!

Sitting with my friend today, I reminded myself that he has accompanied me on my life’s journey, consistently offering friendship and support, a listening ear and wise counsel for nearly thirty-nine years. 

We have shared our lives, our families, watched the children grow and grandchildren come along.  He has been a true friend to me through my children’s growing years, my marriage breakup, divorce, troubles and joys with children, career changes, relationship challenges and a second marriage.

We have been friends throughout all of the metamorphoses of my life and of his. 

Today we had a rare and valued time together for an unhurried lunch.  We spent the time talking, laughing, sipping coffee, catching up on each other’s lives.  It was a blessing, a time out, a respite from the busyness of the daily routines.

I encourage you to do the same; have lunch with a dear friend. Whether it’s at home or at a café, leave enough time to linger, to savour the moments, to reminisce and to celebrate friendship.

It is time well and happily spent.