The Conch Shell

My mother possessed this large conch shell for as long as I can remember. This shell would be a door stop much of the time for their bedroom door, through all of the many homes she set up house in. Earlier this year I visited my mother and asked her about this conch shell as I did not remember anything else about it other than it presence in our house, and don't recall questioning its origin. I remember holding it up to my ear often to hear the ocean roar, particularly when we lived in towns far from the ocean. That’s what we believed anyway as children. The story of the conch shell was a family one that I had not yet heard, and I do not believe my mother had told often.


When my mother was a young girl in New Haven, Nova Scotia (Cape Breton), she used to clean house for her paternal great Aunt Em. This would be back in the early 1950s or so and my mother was paid five cents for her work back then. Great Aunt Em wore long black dresses with lace collars and long boots that laced up with hooks instead of eyelets. The black dresses came right to the floor. Aunt Em was believed to have been born in Newfoundland well before confederation, as in before Newfoundland joined Canada in 1949. My maternal grandfather, John was born in Petites, Newfoundland. Great Aunt Em was completely blind and would feel the edge of the coins she handed to my mother to determine which coin it was.


While my mother was cleaning Aunt Em’s house, she would often pick up the large white conch shell and put it to her ear to hear the ocean, as children often do. Aunt Em came to realize with her unseeing eyes, just how much my mother liked the conch shell. During one visit to Great Aunt Em's house, she gifted the large white conch shell to my mother. I still remember this shell clearly. I often picked up that conch shell and listened to the ocean. It was the same ocean my mother heard.


My mother said when she brought the shell home with her, my grandmother took it from her. Then she clarified that she had taken it into their “playhouse” which was piled lumber my grandfather had cut. My Aunt Judy and my mother played out there. My grandmother did not think it safe out there so brought it into the house where it stayed until one year my mother was there with her siblings, sorting through my grandmother’s things, trying to pare down the stuff that accumulates when you spend your entire married life in the same house. The dessert dishes could be divided between the three sisters, but the conch shell was coming home with my mother.

A few weeks ago, my own mother’s health is failing, and she needed to move most of her things on, I asked for the conch shell and the story that went with it. When it arrived two days ago, having been brought to me by my daughter who attended her funeral on Saturday. I held it to my ear and listened to the ocean my mother heard more than sixty years ago.

Musings from the city

As a pedestrian and bus rider in a small city, I have been people watching everywhere I go. I have many observations, and my first university degree is in sociology, a known society of people watchers. In my role as a social work investigator, I spent years of watching and assessing people and their behaviour. I much prefer the non-involved observer from a distance role. No judgement required, as well as no involvement. So, people watching it is. These are some recent observations as I have been out and about in the city in totally random order. 

•         I was on the bus headed downtown and sitting near the rear of the bus. We came to a stop and it was clear there was some shuffling required in order to make room for a woman with a stroller. On this mostly full bus, the first two people to jump up and make room were the two eldest gentlemen on the bus. The one fellow helped his friend with a can over to another seat and then flipped the seats up so the woman with the stroller could wheel right on into a cleared space. They did not hesitate to move and seemed quite comfortable in doing so. Meanwhile, the younger generations were plugged into their devices, heads down, looking at screens, earplugs in, tuning out the world around them. It saddens me just how common this scene is. Thank-you to these two gentlemen who spoke in their own language to each other to ensure they did the right thing.

•           A few days later, my turn came to help. Again, busy bus headed somewhere when an elderly Asian woman was making her way onto the bus with a very full cart of refundable cans and bottles. The recycling depot is on the bus line, so she is not the only one who does it. The issue was, she is a very small woman and her cart is nearly as tall as her as it is overpacked with bags of empties. She tried and tried to lift her cart onto the bus and couldn’t, so I leapt up once I recognized what the issue was and helped her pull the cart onto the bus. She then proceeded to get out her bus pass to show the driver and I returned to my seat. She bustled into a seat shortly afterwards and gave me several thank-you gestures as we rode downtown. When I looked around. The same thing – no one had even noticed there was an issue as they were fixed on their screens. Who is running things now? The computers on your smartphone? Has common sense and common decency been forsaken altogether in favour of screen time, often with mindless games, falling down the YouTube rabbit hole, or creeping someone’s Facebook or Instagram page. I worry.

•           I go for a walk most every day, sometimes two or three trips a day somewhere. I often have to cross a very busy street. Thankfully I have several crosswalks to choose from that are red light, marked, and one would hope, the safest way to cross the busy streets. One would be wrong. I am nearly hit at least twice a week, if not more. I am not alone most of the time and the vehicles that are rushing through a red light nearly hit several people each time. Once there were three vehicles that ran the red light, two in one direction and one in the other, and about 7 of us trying to get across the street. It was just ridiculous. Three drivers who cannot understand what a red light means to them. The worst intersections are Doncaster at Hillside and Shakespeare at Hillside. I have often yelled and given people either a hands up in the air what the fuck or a middle finger symphony. I am so tired of it. Come on people. Calm the fuck down.

•           The city traffic really triggers me sometimes, and so I take the next street over to walk most of the distance to the mall. Hillside Ave is filled with dump trucks, delivery trucks buses and buses, motorbikes that roar, and so on. Noise. Some days I can manage. Some days I need to get away from it. It amazes me just how much less noise there is one block away. It helps.

•           I was sitting on the back seat of the bus in the very middle which was mostly full. The two benches on my left and right were not quite full. The one on the left had one guy and two empty seats, one with his bag on it. He had a creepy moustache that made him look like a seventies porn star and/or pervert. The bench across from him on my right had two big guys sitting with an empty seat between them. Porn star/pervert moustache grabbed his bag and begrudgingly slammed it onto the floor in front of him as a nice-looking young woman then comes towards the rear looking for a seat. She eyeballed the porn star moustache and dismissed immediately and chose to sit between the two big guys on my right. His body language was immediately changed to how dare she not sit beside me after I moved my bag for her! And why did she squeeze between the two other guys and not in the seat where there was room to have an empty seat between her and the next guy. Creep factors were hot. That’s what. This guy, creep or not for real, he had the creep factor.

•           The energy on the bus during the day is very different than the energy on the bus at night, after dark. During the day, people are often headed to work or to shop or run errands or head to class. It’s usually quiet on the bus unless there are kids chattering or occasionally, older folks. At night, it is vibrant, and people are chattering and engaging with each other and less times is spent looking at screens. The buses that are headed downtown are usually quite noisy, but good noisy – fun, exuberance, excitement about the plans for the night, the people they will see, the adventures to be had. 
•       I spent four nights on the curb while my friends mother in law visited - she out ranks me, ha ha. All of a sudden I am very visible to anyone walking by as I exit the RV right into the sidewalk, sometimes in my pyjamas. I did meet several people though who all loved my RV and the quotes on it. Always a good thing. 

You just never know who you’ll meet when you’re walking down the street…

Hey man, I met Tommy Chong

Okay, so I met Tommy Chong. I was downtown in Victoria with my friend Lilli and her kids, Dahlia and Karma. We were at the Royal BC Museum to see the Mayan Exhibit. We had seen this couple earlier in the museum, and I didn't look too closely but I remember thinking that the woman was quite high fashion styled, not like the rest of us shuffling around in our sweaters/ponchos/raincoats, and Blundstones. This gal was very glamorous, high fashion boots, gorgeous dress and fur trimmed coat (I think it was synthetic fur) and so on. She looked younger than she actually was.

We were then taking a break in the cafe at the museum when they couple came in and sat down at the next table. My friend said to me "I think that's Tommy Chung" and so I looked directly at him and he started grinning and so did I. He saw me and I asked if I could come over and he said yeah, sure. So off I went to shake Tommy Chung's hand. It was a genuine handshake too. He asked my name and I told him so he called me a hippy, ha ha. Tommy Chong called me a hippy. How friggin cool is that? Then I introduced my friend Lilli and her two kids and called them hippies too, which we all giggled about because we are hippies. I am part gypsy, part hippy. I told him I read his book and rather enjoyed it. He seemed happy that someone read his book. We chatted for a moment then I asked if I could get a photo and he said yes but a bit later. So I went back to my table. His missus came back with their coffees and they went outside. 

We wrapped up our lunch snacks and headed outside as well and since we were done with our tour of the museum, we were ready to go but I really wanted my photo with Tommy! So I saw him sitting on a bench down from the museum, so I reckon they may have been vaping one thing or the other...so we went down that way to see the totem pole that was currently under repair. Within a minute or two Tommy called us over so off I ran! We chatted some more and he asked me where I lived and I told him in my RV, and a little about the Gypsy Wagon. We took a bunch of photos with Tommy, and I was so star struck I didn't get enough, and I didn't say anything cool or have a joint to smoke with him, ha ha. 

Whatever! I met Tommy Chong! And he knows my name. He was in town to do a show with Cheech Marin at one of the small theatres in the city. He couldn't remember which one. I should have asked for tickets, but I was a bit star struck and totally blanked on it. His missus who looked so much younger was actually his wife who is in her early 70s. Tommy is 80. Holy Smokes!

Thank-you Tommy for taking time for me. I love you, man. Now I want to listen to Dave's Not Here!

https://youtu.be/rtDAK7Umk7A

Dave's Not Here

Farm Life

Squirrel on the farm road

I spent Thanksgiving weekend on Salt Spring Island looking after the animals while my daughter and her partner went for a much-needed weekend away from the farm. Grandma was on duty. There were 70+ chickens, 4 goats, 2 cats and one dog, plus my own cat. No running water or electricity other than what was in my own RV. 

Thankfully the weather was quite good, and I had a great time with animals. I walked the goats, collected eggs, taking them to the farm stand while walking the dog. I hung out with everyone at least 4-5 times per day. 

There are 52 Ritas - those are the chickens that live in the school bus. There are 50 hens and 2 roosters, Pongo and Big Red. The hens are simply all called Rita since they are all the same or similar breed and they are not naming 50 chickens. 

Then there is the heritage flock that lives in the purple coop aka The Purple Palace. Soleil is the top rooster there, and he has Kingu at his side. They each have a flock of hens that keep close to their side and who they look after when there are any dangers nearby. The hens groom their roosters often as a sign of affection, and weirdly enough, the roosters were grooming each other which is quite odd.

It is always interesting sitting and watching the chickens as their behaviours are often obvious and predictable. There is a pecking order that is quite apparent after watching the flock. I have also been doing some reading - How to Speak Chicken by Melissa Caughey. Hilariously informative. They all enjoy dust bathing and with the free-range flock, they have carved out several places among the tree roots of the forest. Some of them were also going through quite a hard-core molt and Rowan was nearly naked. I picked her out of the next one night to put her on the roost and it was the weirdest feeling to pick up a live featherless chicken with pinfeathers or nothing at all on her body. Shiver....

I also had fun with the goats. I had 3 of the 4 out of the goat pen on a lead and we went for a walk around the farm, stopping for some munching of the many greens found on the farm and that they have cleared the goat pen of. At least now it rains often, and the greens grow back in their pen quite quickly. The goats all love treats and shove one another out of the way to get them. I usually bring them cheerios, raisins, banana chips and whatever else I can find. They love maple leaves the best and eat the fallen crispy ones like chips. They are quite affectionate and love to get in your space. Their little faces are so darn cute!

A day in the life - I got up when the sun came up, about 6:30-7am and usually started on the farm chores by 7:15-7:30am. First was to open the trailer door and see if anyone needs to go in or out – dog or cats. Then I grab the wagon from next the goat pen and head down to the tent to get hay for the goats. The big outfitters tent has become storehouse/barn/tool shed/clothes closet. The hay is along one side. I peel off two flakes for the four goats and start up the hill, stopping at the purple coop, aka The Purple Palace. I must pull up the little chicken door and hook it open for the day and often the first one out is Soleil, thankfully as otherwise he stays in the little coop yelling his head off. I then must take the feeders out of the coop and put them back out in the pen for them. As I am doing this, each of the chickens make their way out through the little door and into the open pen. They are free ranging these days, which may sound great for the chickens, but they have taken to laying mostly in the woods, away from human eyes and reach, so as pretty as their multicolored eggs are, we never see them anymore until they are too old to use for anything as they move the nest as soon as you find the pile of 20 or more eggs. I think they should be held in the pen until they lay their eggs for the day, however they are not my chickens and my daughter wants them to free range…so eggs in the forest it is for now. Occasionally there is an egg in the coop nest boxes. Once the feeders are out and topped up, I check the waterers, and look around the coop for any eggs or other issues. Sometimes one will fall out of the nest (or get pushed out) or someone will lay on the floor. Must keep those cleaned up swiftly to keep down on rats and such.

From the purple coop I move on to the goat pen next as the goats know the sound of the wagon and hear me talking to the chickens and have begun to clatter against the walls and door of their shed. I head into the pen, towing the hay filled wagon behind me, and a pocket full of alfalfa pellets for the older girls. There are four goats, two girls born last year, Lily and Agnes and two girls born this year (Scarlet and Temple) from the same mothers. This fall, the last year girls will be meeting with a ram for a few days, with hopes of kids in the spring, and repeat in the fall with all four girls. Newborn goats are absolutely the cutest thing. I have visited another goat farm in the past and held kids that were just a few hours old. So, I hope I can time my visit with when they are born next spring. The goats are all over me when I finally get the door open. They clatter out and start feeding right out of the wagon. I move them out of the way and lift a flake at a time out of the wagon and drop it into their wall feeder. One on top of the other’s edge. They all crowd back in to start eating the fresh hay from the feeder. Their bedding is fallen hay mostly as they refuse to eat hay that has fallen onto the ground, so it just piles up until the shed gets its regular clear out. The goats are growing so fast and can be quite a handful to move one way or the other now that they are so big with fat bellies. I check their water bucket and baking soda trough and then pull the wagon back out and rest it by the pen. Next is the Rita flock that is quite loud by this point, knowing it is time to get up and everyone is awake now. I uncurl the fencing to gain access to the back door of the bus. Looking up, I see them pressed up against the glass of the door – hilarious. I turn the handle and give it a heaving swing as it is a heavy door and quite wide. They come tumbling down the ramp, one after the other, some flutter above the rest to get down quicker. I check their waterers and then get back out of the pen and head to the front of the bus to get in. The chicken ramp down the back is not for humans, so I must go through the side door of the bus to access it. I check the nests for eggs. There are usually only a few early in the morning as the girls have not ramped up production just yet. Then I fill the feeder for them and they motor back on up the ramp to start eating, making quite a racket in the meantime. Picture MINE MINE MINE from the movie Finding Nemo when the seagulls are claiming their food.

I close back the doors again and head to the Serama coop. This is attached to their trailer as it is a storage box that now has a built-in chicken coop for the smallest chickens in the world. The Serama is a miniature chicken. She has one rooster and three hens that are nearly full grown. They are pretty good with being handled and no longer scream and protest if plucked out of the coop for a snuggle. The rooster is Caramel, Mel for short, and the girls are Butterscotch, Oreo and I can’t remember the fourth hen’s name. I have to clean out their water as they always kick shavings into it and make a fine mess. The same goes for their feeder. We do not fill either up anymore as it wastes both since we have to clean them out several times a day.

Then I close the door to the trailer after making sure whomever needed in or out was finished. Back to my own RV to begin my morning with Nash.

Mid-morning I head up to check on everyone. I collect all the eggs from the Ritas, and everyone gets treats from Grandma. Goats get cheerios this time, and the chickens all get scratch, which they just love. They know where it is stored too and so as I head to the can to get it, I hear the pitter patter of dozens of chicken feet and 4 goats following my every move, up and down the pen. So funny and creepy at the same time having the attention of all of them at once. Sometimes I will let out a cluckity cluck of some sort and they all fall immediately silent for a moment, then start right back up again with their own cluckfest. Then I take the eggs back to my RV and start cleaning and weighing them for the farm stand. Once that is done, I pack them into the cooler and get Kane on his leash and walk to the farm stand with the fresh eggs, collect any egg cartons left for my daughter, collect the cash out of the money box and then head back through the woods with Kane and take him home. Then it was grandma time which I spent painting rocks most of the time.

Mid-afternoon I am making the rounds again, check on cats, dog, goats, and chickens. Everyone gets treats and affection again. One last check for eggs to collect them for tomorrow’s farm stand sales. I take the goats out on leads and take them around the property. I pick up the Seramas and cuddle each one and put some fresh treats in there for them. They love scratch too, but it must be finely ground as they are so tiny.

Later in the afternoon, more visits and checking on food and water etc. Bedtime comes about 7pm or earlier, now that the nights are longer. I make my way down to the tent for more hay and take off just one flake for bedtime, and then stop at the purple coop to secure things. Move the feeders back inside, and then go in to count the chickens and move them out of the next boxes to the roosts. Some are still young and learning while others are stubborn and like to sleep in the nests, but they poop them up all night which can ruin the eggs. So, I lift them out of the nesting boxes, or from above them where they are perched, and put them all on the roosting bars. It is quite surreal to be in the coop when they are perched on the roost. They cannot see in the dark and just stay quite still and I can pet them if I wanted or even pick them up. I like to touch each one as I count them. The roosters are SO BIG when they are on the roost next to the hens, and it is like touching sleeping giants. In daylight, most of these chickens and roosters would not let you near them at all. At night in the coop – I can pick up the biggest rooster and hold him, no protest. This is when my daughter treats any medical conditions, they have like scaly feet that needs mineral oil on it nightly. There is no way in the world you could get his feet rubbed with oil during the day. He would shred you if you could even catch him.

Off to the goat pen then with the nighttime snacking hay. They all follow the hay into the goat shed and I shut the door, placing a big stump in front of the door as the girls like to bang around in there and we don’t want the door open at night.

From there to the Seramas to turn off their light and check food and water. They settle easily and I head to the Ritas to see if they are all in yet. They are the lollygaggers who like to wait around until completely dark before going to bed. Once they are all in, I sneak in through the wire fencing and shut the door, then head into the bus through the side door to move everyone around and do the count. I shuffle some hens out of nesting boxes here as well, and some are perched on top of the nesting boxes. I lift each of them and place them on the roost. There are two long perches and they are full when everyone has made it up. Then I do the count, first one row, then the next until I hit 52. Again, the roosters look huge up this close, but I can touch them, pet them, lift them up, whatever as long as it is dark out. I have my headlamp on red light which doesn’t disturb any of the animals.

Then a last check on the cats and dog before calling it a night and heading back to my own RV and settling in to paint rocks with Nash as my only company. I loved every minute of it! 

Rtas coming down the ramp

Egg balancing

the bottom nest is popular

Agnes

Bringing home a few egg cartons

heavy dew and frost 

many of the flock and herd

Agnes vs McGee

Purple Palace flock

more of the flock

clothes munching goat

out on the lead

Munching maple leaves

McGee!

Caramel aka Mel

Moonlight on the farm

Free ranging freeloaders

My shadow

Ritas feeding

Nash settled right in

Rocking it out

Made this giant one for my daughter and her partner

 Apologies for such a long spell with no posts. I have not felt like writing for months. I would have ideas from time to time for a post but I wouldn’t be at a home at when I finally got home, I usually did not feel like writing. I have had a bit of a writer’s block, with all kinds of writing - journaling, paperwork, blog posts, documenting my life, anything at all that involved the written word. Other than Facebook and texting, I’ve hardly written a single word. I’ve been writing all my life, and certainly miss it, but struggled to get anything written. Today felt different and something happened to me that was worth writing down. It involves rocks. Let me provide the context as it is key to the story.

beach rooster

A friend of mine started talking about painting rocks some months ago, and introduced me to a rock group - Sooke to Sidney Rock Hunt. The basics are this - you can be an artist who paints rocks to hide for other’s to find, or you can be a rock hunter, and go hunting for these rocks and re-hide them wherever you like, or you can paint, hide, and hunt, which is what I do. I don’t hunt often, usually only when I am hiding my own creations, but once I went looking specifically for a rock and found it! You are permitted to keep one from each hunt, and most people keep to that, and others hoard, or are like me, waiting for that perfect rock and only keeping ones I really am attached to. The idea in mind is painting rocks that are pretty or have positive messaging on them, or just plain fun looking rocks. People who find them get quite excited about finding painted rocks and it is hoped that most people will post a photo of the rocks when they find them. It happens often but many rocks I have never seen or heard from again. I expect that many rocks are found by people who don’t know about the rock hunt and just take home pretty rocks. There are 8000 members and counting. The rocks have traveled across the country and around the world. There are rock painting/hiding groups all over the world who operate similarly. My particular group has been around since 2016. I am also a part of another rock group, Vancouver Island Painted Rocks, which has about 800 members and is for anything rock painted related - hunt or not, commission work, talk about supplies and ideas, online tutorials and the like. 

Castles are always fun

So how this has impacted my life - well, I have been off work since the end of January 2018 and struggling to fill my time. I could not sew as well as i wanted to anymore due to my hands and concentration issues. I could not knit because of my carpal tunnel syndrome in my left hand that needs surgery. I couldn’t read or do much writing because I could not concentrate enough to follow anything. I can’t just sit around for months watching television and I wasn’t always up for being social so spending a lot of time in the RV, feeling like I was wasting my life away, day after day with nothing to do. So I thought sure, I have some paint supplies, and rocks sounded fun to paint. Well, I was hooked after the first photo was posted of a little kid who found my rocks on the bumper. That smiling happy excited face holding something that I painted was enough. I had to get into this, like REALLY get into this. I bought more supplies, found some rocks and got down to business. My first few dozen were definitely rough and looked like the work of a toddler at times, but with upgrades on paint brushes and dotting tools, and a whole lot of practice, I have come a long way. There are still some designs that I struggle with but I have been totally enraptured by rock painting. Today I painted my 500th rock.

Rock 500

I take photos of all of them and counted them up today. 

It takes me out of my head, where I tend to ruminate and spend far too much time. Instead I put on the music, lay out my plethora of supplies, and spend the day painting up several rocks. Then I set out to hide them in the neighborhood for others to find. It gets me out the door and walking in my neighborhood which has helped my health, both physical and mental. I have met a lot of people who are either artists or rock hunters. I have recruited many members to the group once they hear about the rock hunt and what people are getting out of it. It is not just a game, at least not for many. The posts. I have read and the people who I have met that tell me about their rocks have been so captivating and touching at times. Some of our members hide the rocks near or in hospitals for people who might need a lift to find. The stories that come back are just touching. A new mom who nearly lost her baby found one and placed it next to the bassinet in the hospital so her daughter could see something pretty. Another mom who lost her baby and needed something positive and found a beautiful rock that has now become a memory item of her little one lost. Kids who were once sedentary are now out combing their neighborhoods for rocks, or asking to go to the park to look for rocks. People who paint up groups of rocks for fundraising special causes, or bringing awareness to a social issue. I met a young woman last week at the local sunset market down the street who is an artist and had a booth, selling her artwork which included rocks. Now she has joined the rock group and can’t wait to start hiding some rocks. She has limited mobility so I told her about places where our group puts rocks that she could access easily from her chair. I met her mom as well and we talked for a bit about rock painting and supplies, and techniques and so on. I found a few rocks at the market as well and so gave one to the young artist who was thrilled and another to two young girls who had been hunting at the market and finding nothing. They too where thrilled. I was thrilled to have brought anyone joy with such a small gesture. 

In addition to hiding rocks around the neighborhood, I have also been leaving one or two on my purple bumper of the RV. It hangs right at the sidewalk, so people have to walk right by them and it is low enough that little kiddies can see. I live just down the street from a big school and community centre so have lots of folks walking past me that find the rocks. Today I met someone who has been finding my rocks around the neighborhood and giving them away to others who might like them. She plucked the rock I left on the bumper earlier today and came to my door and asked to speak with me. My first thoughts was uh-oh, someone doesn’t like me parking so close to the sidewalk. I was pleasantly surprised to meet a woman who was very happy with my rocks and so thankful that I am hiding them in her neighborhood. She has found many of them and had two in her hand - one that was mine and one form another artist. She did not even know about the hunt - she just liked finding the rocks. So I told her what it was and she then asked if she could bring me some paint supplies. I was rather touched. She talked about how positive the whole thing seems to be and how much her friends have loved the rocks she has given them. She is going to bring me paint and more rocks to paint. I have tons of paint and the means to buy more but she wanted to help out so i let her. I know many artists that are just starting and would likely love any donations of paint. It sure made my day. 

Some days I will sit at my little studio table where I have my supplies all set up and paint the day away. I have also set up my studio when I am camping and sit outside by the river in the shady woods and paint the afternoon away. Sometimes I am listening to music and other times I am watching a show on my laptop or iPad. Before I know it, 7 hours have passed and I haven’t thought about anything distressing or anxiety provoking the whole entire time. I am able to get out of that part of my head and leap over to my creative brain. My technique is not perfect, far from it. My hands sometimes tremble or jerk so I often paint stuff over to try it again. Some of my rocks are just simple designs that kids seem to really like while others I put a lot more time into and am often quite surprised that I was able to create what I have. I have never thought of myself as an artist before and have several artist friends who I buy my artwork from as well as buying art from vendors at festivals and downtown areas all over the world. But here I am, creating. I have become an artist. 

Simon's cat

Wizard for Sunny Daze

Salt box houses for Grand Bruit

just a little mountain scene

one of my early mandalas with new tools

Snoopy!

I have a rock stalker and she has a group of fellow rock hunters that I have met. I was unsure about this gal at first as she wanted to know so much more about my painting and where ever rock was hidden and so on. Then I met her in person and saw that she was just an ordinary person with some cognitive deficits. I met her friends a few days later and they too had cognitive issues as well and they explained that they live in supported living and have workers that help them with things. They wanted to paint some of their own rocks now and were so excited to meet an “artist”. I gave them a list of supplies for their support worker to get and they had their first rock painting day last week. As soon as I post photos of my rocks., she wants to know where they are and heads out to search for them. She re-hides many of them and keeps a few favorites. It was so cute to see her with her friends as they were out rock hunting, carrying backpacks and wearing band aids over their rock hunting injuries - apparently one was up in a tree that they fell out of...and they enjoyed every single moment of it. 

Frequently I have people posting photos of my rocks and how excited they were or their child was when they found it and what it meant to them. I’ve had some commission rocks for people who want something as a present for someone they care about. I’ve also painted some very large rocks too as gifts, some so large I can’t quite lift them on my own. I painted a whole series of rocks for Grand Bruit to be hidden there for anyone visiting this summer. I painted a bunch of salt box houses, and a bunch of Newfoundland items like a dory, jigger, coal bucket, and so on. They were a big hit. Now my niece that I sent them to is sending me a box back of bare rocks from Grand Bruit for me to paint and hide out here. I have also been asked to paint a portion of a huge gazebo at my friends campground/farm - there are black brackets that hold the main post and they want some color up there. Color is my middle name. 

So after months of not one word, here I ramble on about rocks - It has been such a long time with so little passion for anything that rock painting has brought me new life, new hope, a new start. Life is good enough. 

End of Winter Roundup

It has been a very mild and dry winter here in Victoria, although according to the weatherman, we shall see snow this weekend for the first time. Then I expect the temperatures to return to normal and the cherry blossoms will be on their way out. I’ve already found several blooms in the neighbourhood. 

I spent a much of the fall parked in the city  parking lot

 with regular trips to Salt Spring to visit my daughter on the farm. The hens have all settled in well and the collection grows. These are the grownup girls here. 




I spent Christmas with my daughter on the farm, however it was a trying time for all as a huge storm had swept through, knocked down hundreds of trees, and took out the power, which also took the water as they have an electric pump. Next year we look forward to a lovely Christmas in their tiny house of their own, and we are all off the grid together. 

I grew tired of the parking lot, and the creeps that hung out nearby, one who started recording the pizza guy delivering....so I began looking for a new place to call home. A very good friend and her husband offered up their driveway, with water, laundry, shower, wif, hot tub and level parking. Yahoo! We worked out the details and I moved over here in early January. I had housesat for then a number of times in the past, so I knew their place and it’s right on a main bus route, just a block from the mall, and Tim Hortons. 

Nash seems to like it well enough. He gets lots of morning sun on the left side of the RV, and there are a few cats in the neighbourhood he watches through the windows. My friend’s kids come out sometimes to visit, and Nash tolerates them for so long before heading for higher ground. I built him a new permanent shelf over the inverter a couple weeks ago and sewed up a cute blanket pad with licence plates all over it. He loves it. 

We visited the Esquimalt Lagoon several times as it is one of our favourite places to park for the day. We watched the many boats out sailing this day, as I think it was the sailing club

. 

In November nt friends and I went to see Fleetwood Mac in Tacoma, Washington.  It was likely the last chance to see them live. They also fired Lindsay Buckingham and hired Mike Campbell formerly of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Mike is a brilliant guitarist and I loved seeing him. 

I spent most of the winter knitting up squares for a blanket. My left hand was displeased and so a break from it is in order. I’ll finish it another time. 

I am still off work but it looks like we are going to start planning my return in the coming weeks after an assessment. I think I am ready to be working at something. While it will definitely not be my old job, I have no idea where I will end up just yet, but I look forward to the future and what it may hold for me. My writing has been on a break these past months, but I hope to return to more regular posting and documenting my adventures. In the meantime, I am taking it one day at a time.