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 it every year. And what did I have to show for them? ...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...

Before submitting my work, I conduct thorough research on

Petal's Monster (children's story) by Leanne Dyck

As a child, I had anxiety due to PTSD. As a child, I would have benefited from reading this story—that's why I wrote it.

photo by ldyck

Petal's Monster

Petal crept into her Mom's bedroom, silently she crawled onto her Mom's bed and--.

Click. Lamplight cut through the dark.

"Not again." Mom signed. "We've been over and over this. You're a big girl. You need to sleep in your own bed."

"No, I can't. It's under my bed," Petal said.

"There's nothing there. Come with me. I'll show you." Mom picked up a flashlight and led Petal back to her room.

Mom shone the flashlight under the bed. The beam of light hit something. It moved.

Petal tugged on her Mom's arm. "The monster! We need to get out of here. Now!"

Mom bent over and scooped something up in her hand. She showed it to Petal. "See. It's just a ball of dust."

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

"I can hear it moving." Petal wrapped her arms around her mom's leg.

Mom shone the flashlight at the window. "It's a tree branch." Mom frowned. "It's late. We both need to get to sleep. Don't wake me again."

Petal crawled into her bed.

"Remember, it's nothing. Just your imagination playing tricks on you." Mom left the door open a crack. 

Petal heard Mom go down the hall and into her bedroom. She heard Mom close her door. Petal was all alone. Bravely, she pulled the covers up to her chin and squeezed her eyes closed. "It's nothing," she said, over and over again.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

Petal's eyes popped open. "Mom says you're just a tree branch, but you sound so close. Like you're under my bed."

"I'm going to get you," the monster said.

"But Mom said--."

A fluffy arm reached out from under the bed. It caught hold of Petal's pajama pant leg. It grabbed Petal's ankle. It kept pulling and pulling. "You're coming with me," the monster said, and pulled her off the b--.

Petal coiled her fingers into fists. "No, I'm not."

"You're not?"

"No, I'm not. Stop pulling me."

The monster stopped pulling.

"Let go of me."

The monster let go.

"You're not a monster."

"I'm not?"

"No, you're not. You're nothing. You're not even here."

Fizzle, snap, poof. Nothing was under her bed. The monster was gone.

All Petal saw was her fluffy teddy bear, Sunny. She picked him up and climbed back into bed.

"It's time to go to sleep," Petal told Sunny, "but don't be afraid, I'm right here."

Petal closed her eyes and fell asleep.

with Perky

I Read Canadian Day November 6th

Sharing my Author Journey...

Bible Passages (short story: horror) by Leanne Dyck

A scary story for adults--not suitable for children.

This story is sweet and innocent until bam. Watch out for the bam.

photo by ldyck

 Bible Passages

The young minister places his Bible on the pulpit and reads, “From the Song of Solomon, chapter 4, verses 10 and 11. How beautiful your love, dear, dear friend—far more pleasing than a fine, rare wine, your fragrance more exotic than select spices. The kisses of your lips are honey, my love, every syllable you speak a delicacy to savour.” His voice fills the church, filling the ears of each member of his congregation.

All she hears is him. She lingers on each word—especially ‘dear’, especially ‘kisses’. She returns, over and over again, to ‘love’.

That Sunday she makes sure she’s the last person standing in line to shake his hand. Dressed in peach, she feels pretty, and the way he looks at her, she knows she is.

He cups her hand in both of his. You look beautiful, he tells her with his eyes. He pulls her close. “Visit me. Bring your Bible,” he purrs. The corners of his mouth shape a grin. He releases her and walks away.

She waits until supper to tell her parents, “I’m going to Bible study.”

They are pleased. Bible means something to them; something else to her.

The road is long but every step of the way she thinks of him—how he looked at the front of the church; how he spoke with such authority; how his lips shaped each word. Each word. Each word full of passion...longing...devotion…

She turns the corner and there’s the manse. Finally, they will be alone together. Her heart races. What will he say, do? And if he...or...and…? What should she do? Obey? Retreat?

What if he pleads? What if he purrs in her ear?

His voice… Oh, how she longs to hear his voice. His eyes… His l…

She feels her face burn. She doesn’t take another step. All she does is breathe. In. Out. She looks up at the endless sky. She studies the outline of a cloud—watches it transform. She wills herself forward. One foot. Another. A foot on his sidewalk. Another on his stairs. Her knuckles against his door.

Alone. Together. Finally.

“Come in.” That doesn’t sound like him. That’s...a...woman’s voice.

She has a choice to make. Leave or… She pushes the door open and—.

The kitchen is full of women—young, old, slender, overweight. They sit in a circle around the kitchen table with Bibles open in front of them. They stand in front of the fridge taking food out, putting food in. They raise one head, look at her with one set of steel eyes, share one thought, one judgment, one complaint. They aim it at her like a slap to her face. Another woman. Another one. The slap stings and leaves a red bruise.

Looking more closely, she notices that some women are missing body parts—an earlobe, the tip of a finger, a hand, a leg. Of course, they’ve come to him for healing.

“Ah, Ruth, you came,” he says, walking into the kitchen.

What is that red stuff dripping down his chin?

The women move as one—close the fridge, close their Bibles. They gather around him in a tight circle. “You look tired,” they tell him. “You need to eat,” they say.

“I made...” an endless list of baking—cookies and cakes and pies and—. “You need something more, something better.”

“My ear would be delicious.”

“My leg.”

One of the women grabs his hand, pulls him close. “My heart. Cut out my heart.”

He searches a drawer and finds a knife and hand-in-hand he leads her down the hall. Somewhere at the end of the hall, a door closes. Still, a little while later, a voice breaks through the door and pours into the kitchen. “Chew, chew, chew.”

The women pick up the chant. “Chew, chew, chew.”

Ruth must leave now while she’s still strong enough to resist him. At the door, she turns around and faces them. “You don’t have to let him do this to you. Come with m—.”

The women answer with one voice. “Let him? It’s an honour.”

Powerless to save anyone but herself, Ruth leaves the house, walks into the setting sun and lets the increasing darkness consume her.

Her heart finds a new prayer. She speaks to Him who will never fail her, "Please, God... Please guide me home. Amen."

On this blog in November...

Sunday, November 3

Petal's Monster

A children's story about Petal confronting her monster.

Sunday, November 10

An Age

A short memoir for adults about the birthday I celebrated too many candles on my cake.

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...

Whispering Stories (children's story) by Leanne Dyck

 Whispering Stories is a short memoir about my experiences as an elementary school pupil with dyslexia.

Reading with a friend

Whispering Stories

Once upon a time, I liked splashing in mud puddles and sleeping in soft grass, running fast and climbing high, rainbow ice cream and peanut butter cookies, and, and… but I loved stories. My mom read me stories every day. My dad read me stories every night. And still, I wanted more. When there was no one there to read, stories whispered to me. Stories whispered when I slept. Stories whispered when I played. Stories whispered when I ate. I told these stories to my puppy, my mom, my dad, and to all my friends.

But when I tried to tell these stories at school the teacher said, “Leanne, it’s not time to talk. It’s time to read.”

My friend Faith read loudly. My friend Ben read quietly. I couldn’t read at all. Letters danced across my page. They twisted, turned and jumped.

“We’re waiting,” the teacher said.

I narrowed my eyes and glared at the letters, but I still couldn’t read. “Once upon a time, a bunny—.”

“Read the words in the book.” The teacher frowned.

The buzzer buzzed. I ran outside to tell my stories, but my friends said, “You can’t read. We don’t want your baby stories.”

The stories kept whispering.

“I can’t read,” I told my teacher, my mom, my dad. “I can’t read,” I told everyone.

“Yes, you can,” a special teacher said, “I’ll teach you.”

We worked hard day after day after day. She showed me how to make the letters stop moving. She showed me how to catch them.

“Tell me a story.” My special teacher had a warm voice and a friendly face.

“I’m trying,” I said.

“No, not the one in the book. I want to hear one of your stories.”

I told her the one about the little boy who climbed the big mountain.

“I really like that story. You should write it down on a piece of paper so you don’t forget it.” She showed me how.

It wasn’t easy but I began to read book after book after book. The more I read. The more I wrote.

Stories whispered and I wrote. I wrote in the morning and in the afternoon. I flicked on the light and wrote late, late at night. I wrote and wrote and wrote until I wrote this story for you.

The End

...of this story, but there are always more.

The Little Boy Who Climbed the Big Mountain

Once upon a time, a little boy lived beside a big mountain. “I’m going to climb that mountain,” he told everyone.

“Are you sure? That mountain is so big and you’re so little,” they said.

“I’m going to climb that mountain all the way to the top,” he said.

Sometimes, he stumbled, sometimes he fell back, sometimes he got really tired, but he just kept climbing. “I’m not going to stop until I get to the top,” he repeated, over and over again.

And he didn’t stop and he kept climbing and he made it all the way to the tip-top of the great, big mountain.

There are many ways to tell a story.

You can act a story like an actor.

You can draw or paint a story like a painter.

You can write a story like a writer.

How can you tell your story?

On this blog next Sunday...

Bible Passages (horror)

A scary story for adults to celebrate Halloween.

Thank you, Pam, for this entertaining, informative, and multifaceted book launch —readings and video—and for signing my copy of your new book. I wish you much success with Cave-In, published by Yellow Dog.

Happening on Mayne Island in November...

Dyslexia and Me--an Evolution (short memoir) by Leanne Dyck

When I was a child I thought something was wrong with my brain. I'm dyslexic. Now I think... Well, now I think differently. Here's why...

photo by ldyck

 Then

It was the 1970s. It was my parents' responsibility to navigate three teenage boys through a changing world--drugs, sex, rock and roll. Fearful that they were losing some of the boys, my parents stopped at nothing to find them. The something they found--Mr. Sanders--came all the way from the city. He had long hair, and sideburns and wore round John Lennon glasses with his striped, tight-fitting jeans, yellow turtle neck and a silver chain.

It didn't take him long to pronounce the teenagers cool and then he turned his attention to me. "How old are you, little Miss?"

In a voice a little louder than a whisper, I told him, "Nine."

"How do you like grade three?"

I spoke to the floor, "I'm still in grade two."

I could see his mind whirling. I knew he was judging me. "You're...still...in--."

"Leanne," Mom told me, "go find your kitten."

My kitten was curled in a tight ball on my bed. She woke when the door closed behind me and we played with a piece of yarn. I could hear mumbling in the kitchen. I knew the adults were talking.

Mr. Sander's voice pounded on my bedroom door and demanded to be heard. "Dyslexia? You'll have to take care of her for the rest of your life."

Those words shoved everything else out of my brain and froze me in time. Mr. Sanders was smart. My parents had turned to him for advice. What he said must be true. Other children would live their lives, have adventures, make their parents proud. But because of my bad brain, I would be a prisoner--a disappointment, forever.

Now

April 16, 2023

As a child, I was educated to believe that the challenges I faced were due to my dyslexia—my disability. This assumption had the effect of silencing and diminishing me. And it made it hard for me to identify my talents and find a venue to share them.

I carry a lot of baggage (language—such as overcoming dyslexia) with me from that time.

But it is a brave new world. Thanks to Succeed with Dyslexia and Made by Dyslexia, I’m beginning to understand who I am as an adult with dyslexia. I’m beginning to understand that dyslexia is part of me. It makes me me. Dyslexia isn’t the problem. It’s the way my brain works. The problem lies in the space that was made for me, the support given to me, and the expectations demanded of me by the normative world.

I’ve come to believe that when we are allowed and encouraged to be our true selves, the world grows richer.

The world's attitude towards dyslexia is changing from a disability to an ability. As Kate Griggs, founder and CEO at Made by Dyslexia, wrote on March 31, 2022...

"Today is a Huge moment for dyslexics everywhere, and I couldn't be prouder to share the news [...]

From today, "Dyslexic Thinking" will be recognized as a vital skill by LinkedIn [...]

In another incredible step forward, Dyslexic Thinking will enter the dictionary as a valuable and vital skill set--as dictionary.com confirms it will add it as an official term [...]

Dyslexic Thinking matches with skills needed for the future as defined by the World Economic Forum." 

Kate Griggs, "Dyslexic Thinking is now officially recognized as a valuable skill", LinkedIn, March 31, 2022

Dictionary.com defines Dyslexic Thinking as...

"an approach to problem solving, assessing information, and learning, often used by people with dyslexia, that involves pattern recognition, spatial reasoning, lateral thinking, and interpersonal communication."

 

 October is Dyslexia Awareness Month

Why do we still need a Dyslexia Awareness Month -Scanning Pens 

 Dyslexia Canada

 Check out the "Wall of love for Dyslexia"

Go Red for Dyslexia

Succeed with Dyslexia

Dyslexic Thinking University

 

 Oh, yeah, and Mr. Sanders if you're out there..

 I graduated with honours from high school

I volunteered in three Canadian provinces for the government-run youth group Katimavik

I attended university and completed an 18-month certificate program in Early Childhood Education

I cared for children in daycare centres as an Early Childhood Educator for 14 years

I trained myself to be a knitwear designer and sold patterns to a global community of knitters

I am building an author career

So, I gues you were...ah...WRONG!

On this blog in October...

Sunday, October 20 

Whispering Stories (children's story)

Whispering Stories is a short memoir about my experiences as an elementary school pupil with dyslexia. 

Sunday, October 27

Bible Passages (short story, horror)

A scary story for adults.

Sharing my Author Journey...

Reviewing Year 14

Lean on a Gulf Islander (play) by Leanne Dyck Act VII

 Question: Does Aster adjust to island life?

The actors involved in the first staging of this play wanted a happy ending. And so, with their help, I added one. Thank you, Georgia, Deb, Mike, and especially to Mary.

photo by ldyck

Act VII

Stage direction: Two chairs on stage. Aster sitting in one of the chairs. Another woman with a suitcase standing beside her.

ASTER: Place your suitcase in the trunk of my car. I'll escort you to your destination. Please use caution to avoid nicking my vehicle.

(The woman puts the suitcase behind the chairs. Then sits down beside Aster)

ASTER: Do you often holiday on our fine island?

WOMAN (nods): And now I'm moving h--.

ASTER: Oh, that's such lovely news. You'll thrive in our supportive community. 

My name is Aster Walburn, but everyone calls me Ash. Ash. It's the perfect name. Do you know the legend of the Phoenix? Out of the ashes he flew. There's been a lot of ashes in my life--especially recently, but now it's my time to fly. Mayne Island has a way of changing people. You'll see.

Do you partake of the heavenly beverage espresso?

WOMAN (nods) I--.

ASTER: You are cordially invited to join me at our next social gathering of coffee connoisseurs. We meet every...

Thank you for reading

Lean on a Gulf Islander

Next Sunday...

Dyslexia and Me--an Evolution (short story)

This short story examines how attitudes towards dyslexic thinking have evolved over my lifetime.

October is Dyslexia Awareness Month.

Sharing my Author Journey...

Lean on a Gulf Islander (play) by Leanne Dyck Act VI

 Question: Where is KJ? Why wasn't he at the terminal to pick his wife up from the ferry? 

Mystery solved...

photo by ldyck

Act VI

Stage directions: Kate centre stage.

KATE (negligee in back pocket) (walks to stage left) (calls): Kjartan... Darlene... (knocks on door)

KJ (enters the stage wearing a woman's robe) (KJ is over-the-moon happy): Hey, babe. And how are you on this wonderfully, fantastic, glorious morning?

KATE: Definitely not as good as you.

KJ: Yes, there's no way you could. Unless you've just had--.

KATE (pulls negligee out of her pocket): I found this at your house.

KJ: In...my...house?

KATE: I found it before Aster did.

KJ: Aster? She's... (gulps)

KATE: Yes, she's on Mayne Island. I drove her home.

Look, Kjartan, you're going to have to tell her.

KJ: Darlene knows.

KATE: And Aster?

KJ (to Kate): No, I haven't told her. I know I should; I know she has a right to know. And I will tell her.

(Stage right and stage left are dark) (As KJ leaves stage right, he removes the robe) (Spotlight on KJ on centre stage)

(to audience): I'll say something like--Aster, I've met someone. I didn't want to; I didn't intend to, we were just friends but now...

(Spotlight on Aster on stage right and spotlight on KJ on centre stage)

(to audience): I loved Aster once. And I still care about her. I can't crush her. I can't...

(Walks to stage right) (Spotlight on Aster in KJ's arms): You'll grow to love it here. I promise.

(Spotlight on Kate on stage left)

KATE: She'll adjust to island life. He'll tell her about Darlene. Whatever happens between the two of them, they'll be okay. Mayne Island is a supportive, caring community. They'll be just fine.

Next Sunday...

Lean on a Gulf Islander

Act VII

Question: Does Aster adjust to island life?

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Lean on a Gulf Islander

Sharing my Author Journey...

Lean on a Gulf Islander by Leanne Dyck (play) Act V

 Question: What will Aster think of her new home?

Act V

Stage direction: Kate centre stage. Aster off stage.

KATE: Welcome to your new home. (Throws arms out as if embracing the cabin)

You know, your husband is a genius. He bought most of his building supplies from the thrift shop and what he didn't find there he scavenged from local contractors. This cabin stands as a fine example of island life--simple, uncomplicated. Or, I should say, how island life used to be--in the good old days. Back then people were resourceful, industrious, inventive, but now. Now, everyone wants the newest, the biggest, the best. And the more expensive things are, the more trouble you have. Things break down and then you just have to replace them.

But I'm no better than anyone else. Something catches my eye and I have to have it. (Kate finds a negligee on the floor and quickly squirrels it away in her back pocket. Negligee safely hidden, Kate looks back at Aster who is still off stage).

Come in. Come in, before the mice do.

ASTER (runs, jumps onto stage) Mice?

(Aster's pantyhose are torn, her hair is messy and she's carrying her shoes)

KATE: This is your kitchen, living room, dining room and--.

ASTER: You must be mistaken, Kathleen. This is merely a shed! A broken down, old ruin of one, at best.

KATE: Everything you'll ever need is right here.

Do you know how to cook on a wood stove?

Don't worry, Dar--. (pause) Darling, KJ will teach you. You don't mind if I call you darling, do you? I call all my friends darling.

I feel like a real estate agent. Please, step this way.

(Aster follows Kate)

KATE: This is your kitchen sink.

ASTER: Where's the bathroom.

KATE: Well, this is also your bathroom sink.

ASTER: I thought you told me it was the kitchen sink.

KATE: It is. It's both. And it's also your bathtub.

ASTER: How? I can't fit in there.

KATE: You use a facecloth.

ASTER: Where's the...the...the toilet? (winces)

KATE: We passed it on the way to the houses.

ASTER: On. The. Way. To. The. House?

KATE: Yes, it's outside.

ASTER: Behind a tree?

KATE: Don't worry. It's in a proper outhouse.

ASTER (to audience): Worry? Why would I worry?

Let me think, possibly because I'm stuck in this...this...whatever this is.

KATE: Well, I hope you enjoyed your tour.

ASTER (to the audience): Enjoyed? But it can't be over. That can't be it. There's no espresso machine, TV, microwave, walk-in closet. No...no...bedroom. There's no bed. Where am I supposed to sleep? Do I curl up in a corner like a mouse? It wouldn't surprise me. But there's no corner big enough. Do I hang from the ceiling like a bat? (looks up) There's no hook.

(to Kate): Where's the bed?

KATE: Oh, yeah. The bed. Huh?

ASTER (to audience): If she doesn't know where the bed is, then she doesn't know everything about this place. There could be more. There could be a secret passageway leading to--to--an espresso machine, a microwave, a walk-in closet--. An--an--underground palace.

KATE (steps back a few feet to stand in front of the stage curtain): I don't know what's behind this curtain. 

ASTER (to audience): The passageway.

(rushes to the curtain and pulls it open)

(to audience) And it leads to... (looks)

(to audience) A tiny room filled with a bed, surrounded by books.

(collapses into a chair, head in hands)

Next Sunday...

Lean on a Gulf Islander

Act VI

Question: Where is KJ?

    

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Lean on a Gulf Islander

Mayne Island library

photo by ldyck

Author Reading...

Rob Butler

reads from his newly (March 2024) released book

Letters from Gerald

at the

Mayne Island Library

1:30 pm

Sunday, September 29

Sharing my Author Journey...

Lean on a Gulf Islander (play) by Leanne Dyck Act IV

 Question: How did Kate meet KJ?

(Note: Act III was rather long. So I cut it in half to share it on my blog.)

"Abby in happier days--she gets her stitches out this Tuesday"

photo by ldyck

Act IV

KATE: Aster. That's a unique name.

ASTER: My father is a botanist. He was enchanted by the late-blooming blue, purple and white flowers. Hence my name--Aster. I detest it. But your name is your name and you should wear it with pride no matter how repulsed you are.

KATE (trying to mask her anxiety by sounding casual but doing a poor job of it) Oh, we met through a...a...mutual friend.

ASTER: A mutual friend?

KATE: yes, that's right. That's how we met him.

ASTER: Whom?

KATE: Your husband.

ASTER: No, Kathleen. My question is who is the mutual friend through whom you made my husband's acquaintance?

KATE (miming rolling down a window): It's hot in here. Don't you feel hot? Or is it just me? I'm always telling my husband that menopause isn't for wimps. I get hot flashes at the strangest, most inconvenient times. And night sweats--don't even get me started. Then there's the grandma arms. You know, flap, flap, flap. I swear I could fly. But it's not all bad, being older, settles your mind. I'm finally figuring out who I am beyond being a wife and a mother. Do you have children?

ASTER: No. I have not given birth.

KATE: Thank goodness.

ASTER: Thank goodness? And what did you mean by that comment, Kathleen?

KATE: Oh, I just meant that I sometimes wish that I could have taken back those years I spent raising my three, not that I didn't enjoy my kids--because I did, I do. It's just that there never seemed to be any time for the things I wanted to do. But now finally, thankfully, all that has changed. Sure I have to be on call for the ferry. We work hard there but I've always liked being part of a team.

What do you do on the Mainland?

ASTER: I shaped young minds and thus prepared them to become contributing members of society.

KATE: Oh, that's nice. My husband's a retired teacher. Although, you wouldn't know he was retried by his schedule. He's always on the go--working for this organization or that one. Volunteers run Mayne Island. You should see the long list in The MayneLiner.

ASTER: Pardon me, to what are you referring?

KATE: The MayneLiner is our monthly news magazine. It keeps us all up-to-date on what's going on on the island. Most of the volunteer organizations do monthly write-ups. Shander writes for the library. The library is over there to your left. It's got a great view of Active Pass. It's worth taking a book out simply to admire the view.

ASTER: Shander sounds like a surname, Kathleen.

KATE: Shander was his mother's maiden name. His full name is Shander James Maebily.

ASTER: James is acceptable.

KATE: Yes, and I like Shander. So, I guess he's doubly blessed.

Would you like to drop by?

ASTER: Stop where?

KATE: At our house. We could just pop in for a cup of tea and something yummy. Shander makes the most delicious cakes and you must be hungry.

ASTER: What now?

KATE: We'd be your first connection--you know with Mayne Island. It helps to know people--especially when you're going through what you'll be going through. I mean, but your luggage it looks like you're planning on staying for a while, maybe the entire summer.

ASTER: Oh, no, it's a lengthier stay than that. I've vacated my house on the Mainland and will be residing on this island permanently.

KATE: Oh. Oh, that's...um...er...a...nice. 

(Kate and Aster mime the car to a sudden stop)

ASTER: What's the matter? Why did you stop the car? Are you out of gas? Is something broken? Is there a mechanic on M--. (leans forward in her chair, peering)

KATE: No, I stopped because a--.

ASTER: What is that creature? Is it a moose? Is it going to attack the car?

KATE: That's a deer. It just wants to cross the road. And where there's one, there's often two. Oh, and babies. Aren't they adorable?

ASTER (to the audience): Adorable? Them? A nuisance. A hazard. But adorable? No. I prefer my venison well done with a glass of wine.

KATE: So, you're moving to Mayne Island. I'm sure you'll really like it here.

ASTER (to the audience): I'm glad she's certain.

KATE: I should have taken you around and shown you where everything is--post office and the gas station and the bakery and the Ag Hall and the church and the... You know everything. It's not too late. Why don't I just swing us back around?

ASTER: Let's focus on the goal at hand, shall we.

KATE: Sure. And so that's a no to the tea as well? We like having visitors.

ASTER: I'm afraid I must decline your invitation, Kathleen. I have more pressing matters at hand.

KATE: Oh, yes Kjar--. Sorry, I meant KJ.

ASTER (opens her mouth to say something)

KATE (rushing on) Marriage is tricky. A dance, really. Sometimes you dance together--sometimes separately. But... (brief pause) 

My oldest got married last year. I told him, 'Don't worry, you'll have fights, discussions, differences of opinion--whatever, it doesn't matter. You can work it out, as long as love is there--in your home, as long as you can find it in each other's eyes. Love--that's all that matters.'

I told them, both of them--why not, I'm the mother-in-law. I can say whatever I like. I said, 'Don't look for a saint. You didn't marry one. You're both mortal. Forgive and look for love.'

I don't know if they heard me but that didn't stop me I said it anyway and something more, 'Dwell on happiness. Forget misery. It's too easy. You'll find id everywhere. Happiness--that's rare.'

'And one thing, more,' I said, giving them hope that I'd soon be quiet. 'Don't worry that your relationship doesn't make sense to anyone else. It just has to make sense to you. When it comes to your love that's all that matters, just the two of you.'

Then I stopped talking--which may have shocked them both.

Well, we're here. This is your new home.

ASTER: Are you certain, Kathleen? Exactly how do you know? There's absolutely no sign of habitation anywhere to be seen.

KATE: Sure there is. Don't you see the footpath?

ASTER: All I see is chest-high grass.

KATE: Don't worry I'll lead you. (Kate leads Aster off stage)

Next Sunday...

Lean on a Gulf Islander

Act V

Question: What will Aster think of her new home?

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Lean on a Gulf Islander

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I just wish people would realize that anything's possible if you try; dreams are made possible if you try. -Terry Fox