Introducing...

Callanish Writes, Volume III

Little did we know (or maybe we did) when we began our first writing group at the Callanish Society, that almost two years and thousands of words later, we would be publishing our third book.

Each volume contains poems, stories and thoughts on living with cancer. Yet, while cancer is the common thread that brought us together to write, the content of the writing goes well beyond the disease.

To be in the company of this group is inspiring, to say the least. It also affirms my belief in and commitment to the power of the creative to heal, strengthen and enhance our lives. I see it happen, time and time again.

So, in the spring, I will be moving forward with plans to bring writing to people living with cancer on the North Shore with a new workshop,
Written Prescription.

The long-term goal is to make expressive arts more available in the community as a tool for healing during and after illness. I'm talking workshops, writers/artists/dancers at the bedside, in residence at hospitals and hospice; poetry in waiting rooms; music on the chemo ward; painting in the hallways...

and, ultimately, a permanent home (which I envision as “The Breathing Room”) which would offer studio space and workshops in the expressive arts free-of-charge to those who wish to include writing, art and music as they journey with illness.

Is it daunting to start planning and filling in the dates on next year's calendar given my situation?

Yes.

Does it make my heart sing?

Absolutely.

Teresa was born 38 years ago today.

She is still with me everyday.

To you, my friend.

Two Cents

Whew, I guess it's been a bit of a busy time lately.

I'm behind on virtually all forms of correspondence so, while it's rather rude on my part, it's usually a sign that I am feeling good and able to do the things I love.

This weekend, we're off to Whistler. Hopefully we won't choke on the stench of the upcoming Olympics. Not that I'm protesting, because protesting is a baaad word in Vancouver these days.

But who cares about civil liberties or a six billion dollar price tag? I like cuts to health care, education and social programs. I like seeing homeless people on the Downtown East Side, the poorest neighborhood in Canada, tough it out in the cold weather (oh wait, we have a forced-shelter bill to handle that).

Oh well, as long as the bobsledders are tucked into their beds at night in the billion dollar Olympic Village, I can rest easy.

What about you?

Spoooooky

I don't know why this breaks me up every time I watch it.

Perhaps I recognize the look of canine despair, the one Finn gets when we put antlers on him at Christmas.

I'm sure they're all thinking: My parents are total dorks.

Brush Strokes

Well, I'm here, so I obviously didn't paint myself into a corner.

Last weekend in Seattle was wonderful. The painting workshop was really interesting, but challenging at times.

On the last day, I was having quite a bit of pain in my back and was really pissed off about it. I was hurling all sorts of threats and choice words at the Hodgkin's (in my head) which culminated with tears at lunch.

Recognizing this as an opportunity to work with the energy, I went back and got myself set up with a huge canvas, grabbed the biggest brush I could find and got to work.

First, I painted a spine and vertebrae in a flesh tone, then grabbed another big brush and started stamping the area of my discomfort (on the canvas) with big, bloody-red blotches, all the while thinking, take that motherf*cker!

I carried on well from there with lots of black and more red and, interestingly, my pain subsided by the time I was finished.

Hmm, I'm thinking I may have to repaint the house.

Happy Friday

(Again, you may want to turn off my ipod on the lower right side of the page while you watch this).

This is adorable Angelo the Lamb who was recently rescued and is now living at The Farm Sanctuary. I think he will make you smile.



Don't you dig his orange sweater?

Now off to Seattle to paint, paint, paint!

Move Over, Monet

(You may want to pause my ipod on the right-hand side if you're watching this):



I am excited.

This weekend my mom and I are heading south to do The Painting Experience in Seattle. I'm not new to painting, but I've always found it frustrating not to be able to translate what is in my head onto the canvas. I am much more comfortable with the written word.

The Painting Experience has been around for a long time and appeals to me because it explores painting in much the same way I do writing in my workshops. It is about process, not product.

It is not about judging or critiquing your work, but nurturing the desire within you to create, whether that be something beautiful, dark, sad or totally meaningless. My mom and I have agreed to work on opposite sides of the room so we don't inhibit or embarrass each other if we are suddenly compelled to paint naked people.

In other news, today is Ian's birthday. He began celebrations early when I arrived home last night after dinner with Jenny, Scott, Ela and Zoe (thanks again!) and saw garbage all over our carport. We appeared to be the dinner hosts for some crafty raccoons. After we cleaned up their leftovers, we went to bed and woke up at four in the morning to the sound of our garbage can banging around.

Ian got up to scare them away and I stood and waited to see them pass by the bedroom window. It was totally dark, so when I saw the first one lumbering along, I couldn't really tell how big it was. That was until it stopped in front of the window and looked at me.

My, what big teeth you have, Mr. Raccoon.

Wait, you're not a raccoon...

You're an f*ing bear!

And you're staring at me in the dark.

Gasp.

Needless to say, I shut the curtains very quickly as I thought, at this rate, he's likely to break through the window, eat me, then bust open our refrigerator.

Better hide the birthday cake.