Not Forgotten (short story) by Leanne Dyck

 How many angels have you met in your life? Angels: people who come into your life--for a short time--to teach you something.

A tribute to one of my favourite island neighbours.

photo by ldyck

Not Forgotten

I'd see him out for a long walk on our small island. His long white hair swinging; his bare feet slapping the pavement. He always offered me a warm, "Glorious day!" and a broad smile. I quickly accepted the greeting and exchanged it for one of my own. His love of life was infectious. I looked forward to seeing him—a bright spot even on the darkest days. Because of his appearance, some may have called him a hippie, but I knew him as Gary Curlew—because he lived on Curlew Island, a tiny island that neighbours Mayne Island.

One day, I was surprised to see him in the hall, camera in hand, taking pictures of us—amateur actors engaged in a dress rehearsal. The way he moved and held his camera, he was experienced and skilled. He took a picture of each of the actors. No one was forgotten—not even me. Would I see that picture again? Where?

I did see it again, framed, contained in a plastic shopping bag, and hanging on my fence. It's one of the nicest pictures of me. I look so sweet, so innocent.

photo by Gary

Did I thank him? Did I offer him money or at least a smile? I like to think I did. But, in truth, I can't recall.

(I shared this story with my husband. He assured me that I did thank Gary.)

Next Sunday...

Sunday, November 24

Carrots

A children's story about Mariam Horse and her bountiful garden.

I love this...

An Age (short memoir) by Leanne Dyck

How do you feel about growing older? Are there too many candles on your birthday cake? I wrote this for you...

"Twilight" by ldyck

An Age

25, 40, 50, 70. Everybody has their number. The hill that is too difficult to climb. The cake with too many candles.

Mine was 50, and I felt every year. And what did I have to show for the years? ...not much.

I felt like crawling under my bed and disappearing, but...

I could have felt sorry for myself, but what would that have accomplished? 50 was more than just a number. It demanded to be acknowledged. Could I... Could I celebrate it?

I needed help. I made a list of friends who handled their age well and told them I was turning 50. I told them I was becoming a 'wise woman' and invited them to join me at the community labyrinth. "Birthday presents aren't necessary. Please bring a word I can carry with me through the next part of my life."

The day was sun-filled. At the entrance to the labyrinth, I handed them a copy of my poem...

Mother, May I

Mother Mary

Mother Goddess

Mother Gaia

Mother, may you

Create me, hold me, transform me

From child to mother to elder

Blessed Mother

Mother Creator

Mother Nurturer

Mother, may I

Create, hold, transform

From child to mother to elder

The divine love

The power of three

We chanted as we walked.

When we reached the middle of the labyrinth, I thanked them for coming and invited them to share their words. They gave me wisdom and magic and believe and truth and...

And a simple celebration with trusted friends helped me conquer my number—helped me see that I am blessed.

Photo by Crystal Favel

On Reaching Forty

Maya Angelou

Other acquainted years

sidle

with modest

decorum

across the scrim of toughened

tears and to a stage

planked with laughter boards

and waxed with rueful loss

But forty

with the authorized

brazenness of a uniformed

cop stomps

non-knocking

into the script

bumps a funky grind on the 

shabby curtain of youth

and delays the action

Unless you have the inborn

wisdom

and grace

and are clever enough 

to die at

thirty-nine.

Every year...

on the 11th month

on the 11th day

on the 11th hour

I will remember them.

As I meditated on Remembrance Day this year, I solemnly pledged to seek peace within myself and the world.

On this blog in November...

Sunday, November 17

Not Forgotten

A tribute for adults about a Mayne Island friend.

Sunday, November 24

Carrots

A children's story about Mariam Horse and her bountiful garden.

Sharing my author journey...

Be cautious...

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