Winter -- from my window . . .

 Winter’s beauty is enchanting. A northern fairy tale landscape; a monochrome canvas, some days limned with blue or a rose-hued sunset, that makes you hold your breath in delight.

This undeniable beauty though is something I prefer to enjoy through the window.

I’ve done some snow-shoeing, cross country skiing, but I was never anxious to rush outside to fling myself down and create a snow angel, to pull on boots and crunch though the fresh powder. 

Spending the first 20-plus years of my life in a country where we did not experience the amount of snow I’ve tried to adjust to since living in Canada, did not prepare me for months of cleaning off the car and clearing the driveway several times a day, for making decisions about holding or cancelling classes, for putting off an exploration of a new gallery or cafe.

But my artist’s eye and writer’s pen still find pleasure and visual delight in the pristine, breath-catching views. Watching new shapes appear; as planters become overnight giant rounded orbs, as icicles fringe the roofline, bird houses add a thatch of snow and our white  outdoors wreath is encircled.

Our wrought iron Kokopelli disappears, still playing his flute, into his un-Hopi igloo. In legend he melts the winter snows to create rain so the seeds he scatters each spring will flourish.

That is the promise I hold close during these months, that beneath the downy blanket the tulip bulbs are regenerating, hostas deepening their roots, peonies feeling the surge of new life. Every spring I marvel as plants and shrubs that were buried under heavy plough-swept snow, once again emerge green and strong, vibrant with perfume and colour. Another visual and sensual delight; one I will fling open windows and doors and rush to embrace.

Friendships 1

Pauline & Sugar Plums

Some friends you meet accidentally. Sometimes these friends are among the best you make.

These are Pauline’s sugar plums (well, what’s left of them) that she makes each Christmas to send to her friends, of which I am lucky to be one. They only arrived last week, because as she said in her eagerly-awaited annual letter “I’m a tad behind”.

No apologies needed. Pauline. It’s lovely to have a New Year treat as good as these – she flavours them with spices and citrus and each is not only a melting mouthful, it is a reminder of how we met, shared a couple of fabulous weeks and have continued a long-distance friendship through e-mails and long letters.

Long distance is definitely a motif. We met in India and Pauline lives in Iqaluit, Nunavut, where she works, and travels a lot, as a manager in Visitor Experience for Parks Canada.

Here are a few of her watercolours she includes in her Christmas letter each year, celebrating the North.

In 2006 I went to India for yoga and Ayurveda studies. Pauline was halfway through her year of travel, something she promised herself since she was 18. A talented amateur artist she wanted to visit art galleries, museums, interpretative centres and experience food everywhere. Before her more than 25 years with Parks Canada, she had been a commercial cook. You can see where the sugar plums, plus jam, breads and dinner parties come from.

In Kerala, Southern India she met up with two friends, also from Iqaluit, who were part of our yoga group. So began our getting to know each other. Later on that trip we met up again in Goa. We shared an interest in the old Portuguese-inspired architecture of the area, almost got caught up in a demonstration and loved every minute of the colours, textures and sounds that abound there.

I don’t have a photograph of Pauline to share, but she is vivid in my minds’ eye. Sitting in the restaurant in Goa, red hair loosely caught up, enjoying the fabulous fruits and juices with evident gusto.

Pauline’s heart is large. Each year there are additional gifts with my sugar plums. This year she sent a copy of Salman Rushdie’s ‘Midnight’s Children’, which I haven’t got round to reading, and a lovely Zen Calendar. Last year the calendar featured Inuit art. These are two of my favourite months from that I’m planning to frame.



Feathered Friends



Curious Bear



So India and yoga come together again, entwined in our friendship.

Thank you, Pauline.

Loving Language. Watching the Words.

“There is no need to go outside.

Be melting snow,

Wash yourself of yourself.

A white flower grows in the quietness,

Let your tongue become that flower”

                                                Rumi

A topic I have been passionate about for many years.

Currently such a debate about language, about the words we choose, and how we use them, that has not been heard for ages. Sorrowful it comes in such circumstances, but wonderful that is it happening.

Poets, authors, playwrights, from Homer, who wrote of “winged words”, and wisely reminded us that “Men flourish only for a moment”, to contemporary writers, must surely be listening with eagerness.

For words are what we have to communicate with. Language in all its shades and colours is a beautiful tool. We live in a world of words; they are mainly how we communicate – with other people, with ourselves. Hugs, smiles, a handshake, a clasp of hands, a touch, all these are wonderful but frequently they are accompanied by some words, of encouragement, of hope, of understanding, of love. So we connect.

As a  child an often heard cliché was “Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words can never hurt you”.  So very very inaccurate. Bones and cuts can heal. The wounds from words of rejection, harsh judgement, ridicule can cut deeper, linger for a lifetime. As those who are bullied well know. There must be few of us who have not suffered from hurtful words.

Now there is hope we may ‘think before we speak’, choosing words that will embrace not exclude. Becoming fully aware of the power and beauty of language

Words have been important to me since I was very young. An only child, books were my companions, playmates, bothers and sisters. I clearly remember my first library book, about a black cat. A dictionary is often one of my favourite books. One word leads to another, a constant river of exploration and discovery.

Daily I am saddened seeing slang, poor grammar, poorly constructed sentences in national newspapers. Perhaps if we all read more, in whatever format, enriching our vocabulary, learning the shades and values of words, we will communicate more gently.

Poetry with its exact selection of words conveys so much in few lines.

So often we mis-use language. We hear people saying “I hated that book.”  “I hate Brussels sprouts.”  Hate is much too strong a word to use about an inanimate, innocuous, but healthy, vegetable. An over-used word that thereby as lost any real meaning.  Hate is a word I try not to use. Disgust, despair, are words I use in relation to the world’s most horrific events. They are my personal, reflected reaction.

For many years my dual vocations of freelance writer and yoga teacher have opened me to the importance of the choice of words. Writing about the arts I sought words to evoke to someone who had not been in the theatre or concert hall, the sounds of an orchestra or violin; the gestures of a dancer; the colours or texture of a painting, a piece of fibre art; an actor’s voice.

I delight in teaching yoga as much as I delight in using words. In ancient yogic teaching language was revered. Speech in the Sanskrit language has great power; closely bound to the life breath or prana.

In class I use imagery, metaphor and simile a lot. Words and images can sometimes replace fully demonstrating a posture; their thoughtful selection slows us down. From my writing I understand and honour the power of words.  As I teach I avoid using words such as ‘grab, ‘pull’, ‘push’ (harsh, abrupt, words), preferring ‘extend’, ‘reach’, ‘encourage’.  The more I teach I find myself using images to evoke feelings of the movement in the body. As we curl up from a forward fold we are falcons flying towards the sun; in Cobra our shoulder blades slide down our backs like melting snowflakes (or ice cream depending on the season).

Great leaders, who are usually skilful orators, have long known how important it is to select words. Winston Churchill and his advisors spent hours going over his famous wartime speeches, honing phrases, finding the right emphasis, the meaningful pauses. Re-reading the words that gave my country hope and courage, determination and guts I still shiver. That’s loving language.

When the lights go out . . .

I’m always a little sad this time of year, after Epiphany when people’s Christmas decorations are packed away, wreaths wrapped up and lights inside and outdoors switched off.

While I’m not really a big ‘Christmassy’ person, I do place candles (battery and electric ones) in our windows and decorate our rooms with a few sparkly things, some antique some from abroad. Year round a basket of white lights sits in our living room.

It’s driving down streets, past houses that just a week ago were lit with brightly coloured lights or strings of sparking white ones that  makes me wish they all stayed on. During the darker days of winter I think we need all the light we can get.

On one road I drive along every week there are two houses that have lights in the windows all the time. I always feel a lightness of heart as I go by.

Of course we can never fully turn off the light. The sun, source of life and energy is still strong in the sky, we just see less of him. The moon still offers her soft silvery stillness. Every day in our yoga classes we salute the sun, as we flow through ‘Surya Namaskar’ honouring its presence. There are also Moon flows to honour our feminine aspect.

This year I made a new intention – I didn’t turn off some lights. I re-cycled our Christmas tree.  Actually it’s a carved painted wooden folk art tree we bought while living in the Niagara area. It began life as a green tree topped with a yellow star, and pierced with holes for miniature lights. My belief there are few things not resurrected through a coat of white paint was once again reinforced.

It’s now a winter snow tree, just like the ones in the garden, sheltering three white birds, - and it’s staying on all year!

Getting started

Christmas card 2010

Starting off a new year, a new decade, with something I've been thinking about doing for a while. As you'll see from my bio I'm a communicator; with words, visually, physically, so my intention for 2011 is to widen this communication to anyone out there who is interested in sharing my thoughts.
Nowadays I spend most of my days and evenings  teaching yoga. Although thoughts assemble themselves in my head, there is not always time enough to put them on paper or screen. When I'm talking to students during class, driving to meet friends or falling alseep ideas, comments, opinions flow, so perhaps now is the year to set them down.

With this first entry in my 'diary' you might want to read my bio and the (partial) list of things in life I enjoy. This might be amended, added to as the months go by, but the inner me is always there.