Journal Entries
: IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT
Posted Mar 15, 2003
You should have taken the bike. It's very sunny out now.
I was walking on the shore this morning when I spied a bottle washed
in with the tide. It was a blue bottle. Rather it was indigo. Like the silk scarves of harem girls. I held it up to the light. Through the glass I saw the other side. Of what I'm not sure. It was like when you see the background when you look into a mirror. It's similar yet somehow slightly askew. No matter how fast you turn around the ordinary keeps getting in the way.
I kept seeing those people that just escape my vision when I turn to
see them. I can see them as they pass quickly by me, but when I turn to follow they disappear. Maybe I'll be able to see them using the indigo bottle.
I made up the spare bed for you at the cottage. If I'm not there
right away please make yourself at home. More then likely I'm walking on the shore looking for what the tide brings in.
If I could make a small request. Please don't bring your wife. I'm
sure she is a nice person, but the last time she was with you all she did was complain about the amount of sand that got into everything. Did she not realize where she was?
Affectionately yours,
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Latest reply: Mar 15, 2003
biomachinary
Posted Jan 23, 2003
I was born on a raft in the middle of an unnamed lake. My mother was not expecting me. She was in the process of catching some fish for the pack of wolves that visit on the second new moon. It was her turn to supply dinner. My father was away at the time. He was over due with his committments in the city. He had no idea that I existed. The pack leader named me as was his right. I came into this world loudly. The wolves joined me in my howl of new life. I was tattooed with the tracks of a future leader. I slept amoung the fur of seasoned warriors to insure my long life. The pack takes care of its own. I spent the formative years of my life running naked under cresent moons. As I was too young yet to see the full moons on my own. My foster mother nursed me when my mother was out hunting. I learned to growl so that I could eat my fill. My brothers and sisters taught me to run and love.
When my father finally returned he prompty threw me out into the snow. As was his right. I laughed. He hugged me and showed me the new things that he brought from the city. I promptly chewed them. He was upset that I was not quite what he wanted in a daughter. I blamed my brothers and sisters. He cuffed me and growled. I learned another lesson. I am responsible for me. But the pack takes care of its own.
I met my grandmother when the moon was almost full. She came in one night when the pack was away. As was her right. She looked at me. I thought that she forgot how to smile. She had with her my grandfather's wolf. It's his litter that visits us now. There are no others. The wolf was grey and limped. But he remembered how to smile. He came up to me and took my hand in his mouth. I was given another tattoo. I was marked as a future mother.
Grandmother pulled me to the fire. She told me of when the snow never left and when we found the wolves. They were small and hungry. We gave up some of our food to them. This wolf was one of the first. He was always there. When the pups became big enough they left us. They were gone for 10 seasons. We almost died one year. The ice never left. We had to kill the deer. I don't think that they ever forgave us that year. When the wolves came back we were small and hungry. They gave up some of their food to us.
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Latest reply: Jan 23, 2003
blech
Posted Jan 15, 2003
Blech. That's what I feel like. I want to just find a small house in the middle of nowhere and hole up with kate and some dogs.
Do you ever feel like just leaving and living like a hermit? What freedom those people have. I sometimes envy them. Or someplace on the coast and just spending days watching the tide come in. Go back inside and drinking something warm and watching the fire. I could do that. Just retreat into a nice cozy cottage and knit sweaters for lost dogs. Writing letters to unknown people and leaving them in bottles that I would hide along side the pathway to the beach. I wonder if anyone would actually find them?
would you read them?
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Latest reply: Jan 15, 2003
three years
Posted Dec 23, 2002
Dec 27 and we will have been here for 3 years. It doesn't seem that long. On most days. Some it seems like I've been here forever. One of these days we'll find a place where we feel like we belong. Which is what most people look for, I think. A tribe to be home with. But I have spent my life being tribeless. And cultureless. Is that a word? That is what I wish Kate had. And me. It's nice to say I'm canadian. But what is it? Hockey? Touques? I'm not even sure how to start a culture. Or if I should. Would that give us a since of roots? That is not the word I'm looking for. I'm not sure of the word that I'm looking for. Anyway I'm sure it's just the time of year that makes me get a small case of meloncholy. Or should that be melon collie.
Have a good holiday. 
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Latest reply: Dec 23, 2002
there's no way out
Posted Dec 17, 2002
i'm bored. I should go to sleep, but I've been surviving on 4 hours of sleep and it' still to early to sleep. Though by the time that you read this I'll be sleeping. Mostly. Sometimes I hear a noise and wake up. But I can never tell if it's a noise that was in my head or a real one outside of my head.
I'm currently reading a book called The Laughing One. It's a biography of Emily Carr. The author travels the same route Emily did when she was painting in BC. Very interesting. Some of the passages are in the author's words of where she is and then it'll switch to the story of Emily with excerpts from her journals. There are passages of fiction by the author about Carr. Well put together. I'm taking my time and reading only on the bus. That way I'm reading with tasting. If that makes any sense. Usually I read so fast and so often that I don't remember much about the book. Or the books get all jumbled up together in my memory.
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Latest reply: Dec 17, 2002
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