low tide

I have developed a special love for walking the tidal flats of Spanish Banks at low tide. There's something about how profoundly the landscape changes, and how the ebb and flow of the tide is simultaneously powerful and gentle. And I love the space that opens up, the vast expanse of smooth, gently ridged flatlands-- there for the walking. It's great thinking space, great breathing space.

Still, the weight in my soul is so great that even in the expanse of the tidal flats today I could not take a deep breath. I haven't been able to take a deep breath for weeks. It's been one of the most tortured months in recent memory. While I have had some moments when I feel like myself, mostly I feel like I'm made of chalk and styrofoam. And my chalk bones ache as I push and push against the veil of tears that threatens to smother me.

And yet.

And yet, in the walking and talking on the tidal flats today-- with the help and inspiration of friend and mentor, K-- I caught a glimpse of release from this prison. In the walking and the talking, in the midst of the mud and the running tide, I floundered and flailed my way into something that feels like a great insight. It's something I have only the slimmest hold on right now. I feel like my fingers have brushed the silver thread of a promising light but I haven't got a good enough grasp of the thread to pull myself closer to the light. Yet. I think I know what direction I have to reach in. It's about expectation. And grace.

I hope I can say more about this in the coming days. I thought it best to write down, to let it be known (if only to myself on future reference) that, at least, I caught a glimpse of liberty today. Maybe tomorrow I can breathe again. Or soon, anyway.

flip-flop-flap

I was doing my seawall workout this morning, being completely ignored by a gaggle of grazing Canadian geese. They were completely oblivious to my actions, true city birds, entirely unruffled by my presence. They were, however, very much in tune with their leader. The scattering of geese on the grass and upon the paved path seemed entirely random to me, but upon the signal of a single "Honk!" they took their positions as if a choreographer was directing each bird. They shuffled into formation and marched in one direction, gathering on the paved path, stepping left-right-left to another part of the recreation area, in a perfect line. One honk, and then the flip-flop-flap sound of sixty webbed feet shuffling along the sandy sidewalk. I closed my eyes to take in the sound of it. It was remarkable. Such gentle but sure purpose, wholly shared by a gaggle of thirty individuals, instigated by one word. Remarkable.

cake therapy

It's been a while since I've posted. It's been a while since I've felt like myself. That's not to say I haven't have some lovely glimmers of happiness over the last couple of weeks, but the clouds have been pretty dense and the tears very close to the surface (or burbling over) much of the time. But I'm coping and that's worth noting. And I've had some lovely positive experiences, and that's worth celebrating. Tonight I'm compelled to share how beautifully helpful it's been to be creative in a completely different realm than my work-a-day creativity. It's all about cake.

Riding on the inspiration of a dear friend, I've ventured into the wonderful world of fondant icing. My travelling companion in this fair land is the fabulously creative J, at whose side I've spent hours playing with colour and shape and texture and creating playful works of edible art. Our first venture was a fairy cake:



With fairies such as this wee star-gazer, whom we named Violet:



Then we moved on to bug/garden cupcakes, with characters like this:



Can you see how therapeutic this can be? It's play-dough for adults. There is, of course, extra pleasure in knowing what delight will rise in the eyes and appetites of the little ones for whom we make the cakes. This spring we made a Tea Party cake:



I was particularly proud of the cucumber sandwiches. Yes, that's all icing.



Last week, we branched out to serve adult (albeit playful adult) tastes with a daisy wedding anniversary cake:



All the more satisfying when it elicited this response:



But tonight's decorating venture really takes the cake. Tonight we laughed so hard at the results of our handiwork that it was abundantly clear that we were both delighted with the whimsy we were able to participate in and desperate for a laugh. First, the scene... A tranquil garden, peaceful green, playful pink...



And into this Garden of Tranquility.... Enter Felix, the Snail, the Party Dude.



In the spirit of the five year old for whose party this was created, we thought it fitting that Felix (the birthday girl simply ADORES snails) took a pre-emptive sample of the birthday cake. It was especially fun to "nibble" into the cake and affix enough buttercream icing and chocolate cake crumbs to make Felix look joyfully guilty.



"Who me? What cake?"

Laughter really is the best medicine.