Loretto - New and Old

I've been going to the same Writer's Retreat for seven years now - that's fifteen retreats since we go twice a year (we, being a group of six women writers). The setting was Niagara Falls at the Loretto centre, run by the Loretto Sisters. The centre was recently put up for sale, and our treks to the Falls were suddenly over. There are so many things I miss about Loretto - but I'm only going to mention a few, and ask my fellow retreaters that visit this blog to do the same (and others, too, who would like to comment!). I miss pulling the car off Stanley Ave and following the long road to that circular driveway, climbing up those steps leading to the big front door, and ringing the bell for the door to be opened to us - for us to say "we're here again!". And someone from inside to say with a smile of homecoming - "ah, the writers have arrived!" Such a sweet ritual, and when we stepped through the door, we entered into another life. The writer's life - contemplative, a gentle communion with my fellow writers and friends, but also a feverish time - the writing that got done and shared!

The second part of this blog posting is to comment upon our new retreat home - Maryholme - MaryHOME. Several times I heard during our first retreat there just a week ago, "It's not Loretto," and I felt myself saying the same. It's true, there will never be another "Loretto," but in some ways it WAS very much Loretto. The sisters' influence was felt in the simplicity of the furnishings and the vibe (this new site is also owned by the Loretto order). So, my friends, here's one thing that I loved about our new home in Keswick - being right on Lake Simcoe - lakeside property! Looking out the windows of that huge wraparound porch and seeing all those fishing huts and people out there on the frozen lake. Walking upon the lake myself!Writers need new experiences to stoke the creative fires. We need new adventures. My writer's fires have been stoked by MaryHolme...
-Marianne

Ducks Unlimited

Ha, those words just popped in my mind, walking by the creek. It seems to me that there are more ducks than ever. They congegrate by and in open water. Late at night I still hear them talking to each other in the dark. Sleep seems far from their minds. This morning on my way to Food Basics, I watched a large community of ducks, swimming, chattering, playing, splashing, in the creek behind Highland road, near the overpass of Westmount. They look absolutely healthy and gorgeous. Their featherpacks smooth, colourful and shiny. They must think it is spring. Here at the house, doors and windows open, I listen to birds being very busy. They fly off and on, and I hear clear bird calls. And no, Maryholme friends, it is not my cassette playing, it is the real thing. Canada Geese fly over a lot. Are they still here, or coming back allready? And musk rats. They are very active in the creeks, swimming, swimming, crossing from bank to bank. Musk rats are supposed to build homes like beavers, theirs floating in the water. I never see those. I can only conclude that the ones around here make burrows in the soft creek sides, under water. Simon is very interested in them. (For those who don't know about Simon, he's my golden retriever. ) I used to have a dog named Timber. He killed musk rats, even though
they bite back. Bleeding cheeks and paws did not deter her. Simon doesn't attack or kill. I am thinking of nominating him for the Nobel Peace Price. Well, there are
many signs of spring. But I haven't heard or seen the real messengers yet, the red
winged black birds. I don't put any trust in a caged groundhog. Unless the male
redwinged blackbirds come and prepare the nesting ground for their females, winter ain't over yet.

netty

FDR - Warm Springs

Franklin D. Roosevelt is one of my heroes. I believe he had greatest impact in the history of the 20th Century.


Disease was paramount in shaping his leadership. There is some doubt now whether he had polio. Researchers in a 2003 article in a medical journal suggested there was evidence that Guillain-Barre syndrome -- not polio - may have been the cause of Roosevelt's (FDR's) paralysis. No one will ever know for sure.

The important aspect is how this disease shaped the man. He spent time in a place called Warm Springs that offered warm buoyant mineralized waters. His time in Warm Springs brought him into contact with everyday people with difficult problems.

If interested in learning more pick up the Warm Springs DVD. It tells a story in history that few people know about.

Bob

Voices in my Head

by BB

There are legion and personally I wouldn’t want it any other way. There are many advantages. One is that I am never lonely. I’m suspicious of those who claim to have only one voice in their head. It suggests to me that they are only interested in themselves. They are never wrong and always blame others for what ever goes wrong. Many of the one voice type tend to be right wing and fundamental. Canada has many voices and they all deserve consideration.

A disadvantage I see in the many voice type of people is sometimes indecision. They get caught in a loop of questioning whether a decision is right.

I don’t suffer that loop. I make a decision – I have listened to the internal debate then I decide quickly but not in a knee jerk impulse.

And if I am wrong? So what!

If I were afraid of being wrong I would be paralysed. There is seldom any harm in being wrong. The only harm is not reworking the decision to make it right.

Course there is another side of the many voices… A dangerous side.

A man with a homeless appearance is ravaged within. He has a caved in look and his mouth working out loud reveals those who now inhabit him and who now stare out upon the world. I don’t make eye contact, aware of my own path, I know he is lost in the shadow world and therefore I will give him no sign.

That may seem cruel to you my fellow bloggers but to engage such a person in the wrong place at the wrong time is dangerous. Of course if that same man is lying in the street give aid. But to engage someone who has the appearance of a mad preacher is pure folly.

Despite my own advice I sometimes engage. It is my own damn curiosity about life and the world that draws these lost souls to me. I can’t hide it. They see it in me. On one such occasion as a person was telling me that I was cursed and was going to die a horrible painful death I began to sing a lullaby “Rock a by Baby”. Every situation is different what might work in one might not work in another. In this situation the man joined me in the chorus of the lullaby. Then we went our separate ways.

Poor fearful lost souls…

It’s not the voices that are the problem. They have an illness. I have neither the skill nor the ability to deal with their illness.

We had one such gentleman at the CAA conference that I had to engage. I took him by the arm and led him out to the street. I locked arms with him. He accused me of trying push him down the steps. I was firm but gentle with him.

The Blogger Tree

There once grew a tree, a blogger tree. It was small. It grew from a seed, in furtile ground. The roots went deep into the earth. Branches reached up to the sky. From the branches grew twigs. A network of twigs. And in spring the twigs grew leaves. Tender green leaves. In summer the leaves matured to a darker green. Many, many leaves that in autumn turned to golden, auburn, ocre, scarlet... a celebration of colours. Leaves started to loosen from the twigs, dancing in the wind, drooping in the rain, making thick tapestries to tread on for poets and writers to nourish the tree. Among the leaves, also many seeds had come down. Winter came with blankets of snow. The seeds slept comfortably and warm in the ground under the snow. Came spring again, many of them grew into new trees. New trees, new blogger trees, fed and nourished by writers and poets. They are telling their tales to the trees. There grew a forest called Dove Tale forest. The trees grow and grow with roots reaching deeper into the furtile ground, and branches and twigs expanding, bearing stories, sending them up into cyber sky.

Come all you poets and writers, join the feeders of the forest and help the Dove Tale Forest grow and link to other forests.

So, you think you CanWrite!

That's the title of the Canadian Authors Association's 2006 conference short story contest. It's pretty catchy, huh? But, of course we think we can write, right?

I'm still recovering from co-chairing the 2005 version of the conference, so it will be pleasant to go the next conference solely as a registrant. No responsibilities! The location is Peterborough, in July, and you can get more info at the Canadian Authors Association website. (I should tell you that M@ is responsible for the conference's moniker "CanWrite!" That guy's pretty witty, huh? What a way with words!).

The deadline for the contest (winners get free registration, cash, and the top ten stories are published in an anthology) is February 28. You can find out more at www.canauthors.org.

Anyway, the conference wasn't my original reason for writing this posting. I was thinking about proofreading.... At the last writer's circle, I ran a story by the group for the contest - it was quite polished in the sense it's been through the group for feedback a few times before - and sure enough, the DT clan found a couple of typos, and made a few suggestions that improved the story immensely and were really simple to make. The story went off into the mail this morning...

I'm writing this blog post because proofreading and contests are on my mind for another reason. I recently placed second in a poetry contest run by Craigleigh Press, and the award ceremony was this past weekend. I read the poem and received a chapbook with the poem in it. It was a delightful afternoon spent with fellow poets. Anyway, the judge came to chat with me. The poem she had chosen for second had been part of a numbered series of three poems. She really liked the series, but her preferred poem wasn't the one that had placed second - it was another one she had to "throw out" of the judging because of a typo! Write/right in the first line!!! Lol! So you think you can write, huh, Marianne? My eye never picked that up, although I had been very careful with that submission. The submission was sent away in the summer - when our group doesn't meet....

Dear editing circle, those Thursday night sessions are invaluable - no matter how polished a story is. So thank you! (Oh, btw, the judge also preferred another poem in the series of three, but it was a bit too "provocative" for the publication. Now I've got your attention, huh?).
~Marianne