When Summer Hits …

… it packs a punch.

The thing I love most about living along the Bay of Fundy is the way it moderates our weather here.  In the winter, while the rest of the province is getting pummeled with snow, the words “rain along the Fundy Coast” are music to my ears.  And in the summer, while people a mere fifteen-minute drive upriver are sweltering, life here is quite bearable.

So what the heck is happening this week?!

This afternoon, it was 30 deg C/ 86 deg F, but with the humidex, it was a “feels like” temperate of 40 deg C/104 deg F.  I know that compared to what is happening out on the west coast, this pales in comparison, but it’s just one more thing that is completely unrecognizable to me in this weird decade of the 2020s.

Anyone else of a certain age think we’re going to wake up to find Bobby Ewing in the shower, and the last year and a half was all a dream?

They always say that, while in the Maritimes, “If you don’t like the weather, just wait ten minutes.”

I’m still waiting.

By the air conditioner.

This post was created as part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life Challenge

You can view other writers’ contributions via the comments here.

Morning Pages and Musings

I was in my late-twenties, I think, when I first heard of Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way, and Morning Pages.

The idea behind Morning Pages is pretty simple: you write — by hand — three pages of whatever is in your head as soon as you can upon waking each morning.

For about twenty years, I tried to get into the habit.  I loved the idea; it was just the execution that took awhile to make a consistent part of daily life.

Then a couple of years ago, two things happened: 1) I found my ultimate Morning Pages destination, the Itoya Profolio Oasis Notebooks (which are a dream to write in, plus assist in improving my handwriting, and 2) I decided that if I could only write one page, due to time or health constraints, then that was good enough!  And BINGO!  The habit was begun!

This morning I finished my first Morning Pages notebook of the year.  Flipping back through all of those pages was so satisfying!

And it was interesting to see, too, how much one can tell by my handwriting on any given day.  Was I rushed?  Was the autoimmune disease strongly affecting my hand that day?  Was my new kitten king-konging up the back of my chair and conducting guerilla hairstyling moves on my unsuspecting head?

Speaking of the new kitten … Bronson has a blog.  It’s a fun project to work for me to work on, when the serious writing has become a bit too hard on the head.

He has been here just five full days, and he has brought so much joy.  I love sitting at my desk, writing, while he dreams away in my lap.

This post was created as part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life Challenge

You can view other writers’ contributions via the comments here.

Spring Rain

When I was in my early twenties, back before the turn of the century, I was obsessed with a Crabtree & Evelyn fragrance called Spring Rain.

It smelled of no such thing, of course, but the phrase alone reminded me of walking in the rain with my favourite umbrella, amongst the brilliant green trees anchored in kelly green grass.

Spring is my favourite season — as the witnesses to my yearly countdown on Facebook will attest.  There is nothing I love more about being outdoors than taking in as much moist, rich air as I possibly can — as if I am taking in all the newly awakened life around me, feeling it settle into my blood, into my cells, rejuvenating me.

There is something about a spring rain that reminds me that even sadness can be wonderful, that out of every ending comes new beginnings, that some things that seemed lost forever will appear once more.

And each time I forget, the spring rain reminds me all over again.

This post was created as part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life Challenge

You can view other writers’ contributions via the comments here.

Super-Short Story Card!

Are you familiar with Artist Trading Cards?  They’re little pieces of art, measuring 3.5” x 2.5”, created for trading.

Anyway, I decided to do what I’m calling a Super-Short Story — straight from the head and onto the card.  No planning, no plotting, no editing.  No big agony.  Just … there it is.  And if you hate it, it can be tossed with only a minimum of time and effort spent.

I made one in Time to Write today and I want to share it here with you.

If you want a quick writing buzz, cut up a cereal box, drop your finger on a dictionary page, and see what you come up with.

Ebb and Flow

One of the happiest accidents of my birth is that I was born along the New Brunswick shore of the Bay of Fundy, home of the highest tides in the world.  (How high?  Try 54 feet in difference between high and low tide at the head of the Bay, and about 28′ where I live.)

When you are born beside the sea, it becomes a part of who you are, and when you live along the Bay of Fundy, you are used to watching the water height, even if you aren’t conscious of it.

Driving across the Harbour Bridge, you register how far up or down the boats are in relation to the dock.  And — because of those incredible tides (160 billion tons of water flowing into the Bay each tidal cycle!) — you get used to seeing the local river speeding up, slowing down, stopping, and changing directions.   You usually have an intrinsic sense of how close the moon is to one of its two extremes (new moon or full moon) based on the height of the two tidal extremes, and your inner compass points to the sea.

Life along the Bay teaches you that everything is in a state of change; nothing remains exactly the same.  Treasures disappear, and new ones appear in their place.  If you need to centre yourself, a deep breath of salty air will refresh you, and the exhalation will take away the stress.  And if you aren’t paying enough attention, you’re likely to get your feet wet.

Most of all, the incessant pulse of the sea reminds you that there are things that can always be counted on: the water will return, covering the seaweed and the sea creatures that rely on it.  None of the worries we humans carry with us can stop the surge of the sea.

Nothing — the highs or the lows — lasts.  And those automatic glances out the car window as I drive high above the water remind and reassure me of just that.

This post was created as part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life Challenge

You can view other writers’ contributions via the comments here.