Thursday, or Thereabouts - June 30, 2016

School's Out!

Today, 7am was silent.
Today, no windows resonated with the rumble of school buses.
Today the 3pm 'rush hour' convoy of those same buses will be absent.

"No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers’ dirty looks!”

Oh how I remember chanting that rhyme. The vast expanse of uninterrupted playtime stretched out before me - Summertime!

Getting up when I wanted, sometimes to just see the sunrise from the lounge chair on the back porch. 

Riding my bike all over the neighbourhood, sometimes taking longer treks, farther from home just to see how far and how fast I could go (if only mother knew...probably a good thing she didn't!). 

And long afternoons spent in our backyard pool, until with fingers puckered like prunes, I'd drip over to the towels laid out on the grass, to be baked dry by the sun. Then dash back in the pool again!

Life was good!

July 1972

Fast forward some 45+ years (FORTY-FIVE?? Are you serious? It can't be... ) to 2016 and "School's Out!" doesn't quite have the same kind of celebratory exuberance. Now, I can get up whenever I want every day. I don't bike all over the neighbourhood - 150m in one directions gets me to highway where the gravel trucks roam; 150m in the other gets me to the bottom of a quad busting, knee popping hill!  And we don't have a pool in the backyard.

Still, all is not so very ho-hum humdrum in my life this day.
The strawberries are ripe for the picking...

and Canada Day sits on the doorstep.

I am so privileged to have been born where and when I was.
I am blessed to call Canada my home and native land.

"I am a Canadian!
Free to speak without fear,
Free to worship in my own way,
Free to stand for what I think right,
Free to oppose what I believe wrong,
Free to choose those who shall govern my country.
This heritage of freedom I pledge to uphold for myself and mankind."

John Diefenbaker, Canada's 13th Prime Minister,  July 1, 1960. 

Life is still good, very good!

Happy Canada Day, eh?

©2016 April Hoeller

Monday Moanings - June 20, 2016

Those were the days





You know it's going to be a hot one, when the A/C kicks in at 5:30am. By 10:30 this morning it was already 29°C (84°F). Unlike her prior siblings, Summer has rushed her entrance onto my doorstep, arriving a tad early and overheated.

Her usual entourage of bugs - black flies, mosquitoes, deer flies, and ants - are all present and accounted for. Even the "Bobbsey Twins", high humidity and poor air quality have shown up.

No doubt about it - Summer is HERE!




I would have preferred a kinder, gentler approach, a gradual ramp up to the eighties and nineties. Actually I'd really love a summer of 22 - 25°C with only occasional forays into the mid-eighties and above; intrusions that are brought to a swift end by a ring tailed snorter of a thunderstorm. Great flashes of lightning followed by ear splitting, room shaking, gut vibrating booms that rumble on for minutes it seems and rain, torrents of rain that wash, quell and replenish the earth - there is nothing like a good summer thunderstorm.

 

As a kid I loved the summer... 

Hot! Hot! Hot! So hot the tar bubbles up between the pebbles on the road; round, shiny black globs. I can smell the tar - acrid gasoline fumes rise up from the road surface. My flip flops stick haphazardly as I walk; sometimes a step is unhindered, other times the foam sole sticks then releases raising fine black strands of gooeyness. Round flat, black globs decorate the bottom of my favourite summer footwear. I scuff over to the lawn hoping the grass will wipe away the sticky tar. It's futile. Now I have flipflops with green grass clippings stuck to them...

Mom July 1971 - backyard party

Happy days indeed! Wind in my face bike riding, 5¢ popsicles, 10¢ ice cream cones, Coppertone® sun tan lotion (no sunscreen), big circulating fans swirling in the windows (A/C back in the day), family bbq's and a backyard pool made summer an absolute delight.



We didn't have a heater so a pool freshly filled in June began at 16C (or less!) and crawled its way to a blistering 23 by mid August. Those were the days of Fahrenheit, so "Arthur" our pool thermometer actually registered 74. One banner year I recall ''Arthur' made it all the way to 78F. In the early part of the season, while Dad was at work, Mom and I added buckets of hot water to the pool. Dad came home, splashed his hand in the pool and announced, "It's warming up nicely!" Mom and I just smiled.

Those were the days...




©2016 April Hoeller

Thursday, or Thereabouts - December 3, 2015

Ambivalence and the Floodlights











A wet but soothing smattering of white decorates the world outside my door this morning.


It seems rather odd to these seasoned eyes to see the ground with so much green amongst the snow, yet framed by naked trees.


It is December! It should be sparkling white, not bright green! Perhaps this unseasonable weather explains my lack of enthusiasm for Christmas decorations. Until yesterday, there was not a single festive bit inside or outside the house. Yesterday I dragged myself outdoors to attend to our neighbourly contribution to the season, out of obligation not desire.








I love the dazzle and sparkle of Christmas lights. I love the magic of splendid outdoor displays that invite me to play and giggle and imagine. But please don't ask me to create them! I like to think that I come by my ambivalence honestly - I got it from my Father. His idea of outdoor decorations was floodlights; red and green splashed across the front of the house. Some years he went all out and in addition to the floodlight, strung 2m of coloured lights higgledy-piggledy along the awnings.

My mother on the other hand was the creative one. One year, she'd had enough of her husband's lacklustre efforts. She bought a kit that made a wall size Nativity scene to look like stained glass. For weeks my sister and I sat at the kitchen table colouring pieces of the tableau with wax crayons, then oiling it, while Mom cut and assembled the masterpiece.

No ordinary floodlight would do for this. Dad had to reach for this one. He bought a special light that rotated red, green, blue and yellow lights across the scene. It was stunning - one of those displays that the folks from all around the neighbourhood came to see.

Those were the days. And I am my father's daughter...

with just a bit of my mother's flare at critical moments.

And maybe just a little bit more...

©2015 April Hoeller

Monday Moanings - November 23, 2015

Just for the Fun of It


Snookered by a nasty chest cold the other week and feeling very sorry for myself, I recalled that whenever I was sick, (which was quite frequent in my childhood), my Dad always bought me a colouring book. Often he splurged and included a brand new pack of Crayola® crayons!


Eight shiny, perfectly pointed red, green, blue, yellow, orange, purple, brown and black imagination sparklers and a brand new colouring book - always an invitation to have fun and when sick, a temporary escape from miserable. And all for the sum of maybe 50¢.


Plagued by cabin fever, I took myself out to the craft store. There was no shortage of colouring books, all under a banner declaring them to be "ADULT." My cold medicated brain, immediately conjured up images of ... well, you know, naked people ... A grin creased my pallid face and what began as a guffaw ended as a germ laden paroxysm of coughing.

Staff and other shoppers kept their distance as I perused the selection. Intricate cityscapes, elaborate gardens, convoluted mandalas - all made my eyes water. Most were just too complex, too demanding of time and clear-headed concentration. All cost $8 and up. But I was determined to spend and afternoon in the blanket fort, colouring. So I settled on a book of pleasing shapes.

Now I needed something to colour with. Not crayons this time, but coloured pencils would do the trick. The display boasted packs of 24 for $30 and up. Oh, I don't think so! After buying the book, I headed to the business supply store, where I found the tall slim cousins of crayons.

$4.39 for a pack of 12 pre-sharpened coloured pencils AND a sharpener - BONUS!

Back home in the fort I settled into an afternoon of simple mindless pleasure. Not art therapy, not meditation, not a creative exploration of colour and pattern but a tender escape from miserable.

The virus has left me now, but some afternoons I can be found sitting in the living room, lap desk on my knees, colouring.

Just for the fun of it.

Go have some fun this week!


©2015 April Hoeller

Thursday, or Thereabouts - October 30, 2015

Hallowe'en - the 2015 Edition

My love and I returned Sunday evening from a whirlwind 12 day trip to Japan. The laundry has been
done and the luggage put away until the next adventure, BUT my brain is still at sea. So while today is not Thursday, it is close enough to be Thereabouts! And Hallowe'en sits on the doorstep waiting for pumpkins to be carved and lit.



In Japan, Tokyo in particular, Hallowe'en is big deal, and mainly for big kids, aka adults. It's an occasion to dress up and have fun. No door-to-door trick or treating, just neighbourhood celebrations in the streets and restaurants.

Back home in Canada, Halloween remains, for the most part a children's festival. Costumes have to be both fashionable and endurable. They have to fit over snow suits and galoshes. They have to maintain their integrity in some of the wildest winds and torrential rains. Past years have brought rain and wind, cold and snow, and on occasion, even a balmy evening. According to the latest weather forecast, the night of the Great Pumpkin will be warm with a chance of rain and an asteroid.

There is nothing like a Hallowe'en in Canada!

In my elementary school days, there were no costume parades or parties yet there was no shortage of Halloween themed activities - from art and music to reading, writing and yes even arithmetic. The whole week was haunted with decorations, songs, stories and math problems all featuring ghosts, goblins, witches and jack-o-lanterns. It was fun and a great run up for the big night.

Hallowe'en 1987

My preferred characters for Trick or Treating were pirates, gypsies and tramps (no thieves - lol), and the outfits were hobbled together from stuff in the house an hour or so before heading out. The one exception was the very special year my parents bought me a pirate costume. Dad made the eye patch. My Mom was not a seamstress, but she did know a thing or two about makeup. There was an awful lot she could do with a burnt cork, baby powder and red lipstick. She also had that big jar of cold cream for getting all the stuff off afterwards.


Beyond the orange and black wrapped molasses candies, apples, peanuts in the shell and packages of sunflower seeds, many of the treats were homemade and every kid knew which house in the neighbourhood had the best ones.
For years, our house was #1.

My mother's speciality at Halloween, at any time actually, was conjured up in the kitchen. She made popcorn balls - rounds of white popcorn held together by molasses syrup boiled to the hard crack stage. With buttered hands, so the hot syrup didn't stick, Mom quickly assembled the hardball sized treats. The hot syrup always burned her hands no matter how fast she worked.

Gone now are such delectables, even the apples and peanuts are absent from the treat bag. We've all had to buy into the commercial brands. There will be zombies and vampires out tomorrow night and probably lots of Princesses of Arendelle, but very few pirates and tramps. And it's been a very long time since I've heard anyone utter my childhood chant, "Shell out! Shell out! The witches are out!"

I've got to get out there and buy the treats and a pumpkin.
Be safe out there, and have a "Spook-tacular" time.

And a favourite song from my childhood:

It's Halloween, the lamps are lit
around the fire the children sit
telling ghost tales bit by bit
and sister Jane says, "hush"
who's that creeping cross the kitchen floor
who's that peeking round the bedroom door
who's that SCREECHING like his throat is sore
It's a GOBLIN!

©2015 April Hoeller

Monday Moanings - January 26, 2015

A Fugue of Nothing. A Storm of Imagination



So here I am sitting at the top of the last week of January, staring down at a raging sea of things not done, which ought to have been done this month.What to do? Voices from the sea of tasks erupt in a cacophony of pleas.

"Pick me!"
"No, I'm the most urgent. Pick me!"
"But I'm the most important!"
"I'm the oldest!"
"I'm the newest!"
"I'm the most neglected!"
"I'm the best!"

And it all just ends up being so much noise in my head, the kind of disturbance that induces profound paralysis. Nothing gets started. Nothing gets worked on. Nothing gets done. Nothing gets to experience the satisfactory flourish of being crossed off the list. All are lost in this fugue of nothing. Is there anything that might rescue me from despair?








Why yes, as a matter of fact there is. As long as nothing significant is going to get done today, I might as well spend the time in my imagination, exploring and playing in this fertile field. So, sans constraints of any kind, where would I like to be today; what would I like to be doing?

I'd like to be at the beach. Not the Caribbean resort kind of beach, though that does have its charm, but rather the beach of my childhood, the one on the southern tip of Long Island, the one at Breezy Point. The place where on a clear day I could see the Jersey Highlands, the Verrazano Bridge, the Manhattan skyline and even pick out the Empire State Building. The beach of idyllic summers, sand, sea, salt air, clams on the half shell, and a few glorious storms of epic proportions.










And that's why I'd like to be there today - a storm, a "Massive Northeast Blizzard" is bearing down on New York City. The intrepid storm watcher/chaser in me would love to be there, right in the thick of it, in that cottage at the beach. Sadly the cottage is no more, having been gutted by fire in the wake of Hurricane Sandy in November 2012, but that's where my imagination comes to the rescue...

Outside the storm rages but inside we're sitting at the dining table sipping hot tea and munching on cinnamon toast. The wind howls, the windows shake, the rafters moan. From time to time Dad gets up to tap the barometer, look out the porch windows and maybe even crack open the door to sniff the air...

It's wild. It's exciting. It's fun! And I am so there!

©2015 April Hoeller

Thursday, or Thereabouts - October 30, 2014

Trick or Treat - the 2014 Edition

Halloween 1987

In Canada, Halloween costumes have to be both fashionable and endurable. They have to fit over snow suits and galoshes. They have to maintain their integrity in some of the wildest winds and torrential rains. Last year it was rain and wind. What will it be this year? Snow suits according to the latest weather forecast. Tomorrow will be the coldest of the season so far with what I call "snain" - that snow-rain mix that splats faces and pumpkins. There's nothing quite like a Halloween in Canada!

In school way back when, there were no costume parades or parties but still there was no shortage of Halloween themed activities, from art and music to reading, writing and yes even arithmetic. A whole week of decorations, singing, stories and math problems featuring ghosts, goblins, witches and jack-o-lanterns. It was fun and a great run up for the big night.

Honestly, I would have been horrified if I had to wear my costume IN THE DAYLIGHT, IN SCHOOL! That would have been enough to bring on a sore tummy on the morning before school for sure. My preferred characters for Trick or Treating were pirates, gypsies and tramps (no thieves - lol), and the outfits were hobbled together from stuff in the house an hour or so before heading out. The one exception was the very special year my parents bought me a pirate costume. Dad made the eye patch. My Mom was not a seamstress, but she did know a thing or two about makeup. There was an awful lot she could do with a burnt cork, baby powder and red lipstick. She also had that big jar of cold cream for getting all the stuff off afterwards.

My mother's speciality at Halloween, at any time actually, was conjured up in the kitchen. Beyond the orange and black wrapped candies, apples, peanuts in the shell and packages of sunflower seeds, many of the treats were homemade and every kid knew which house in the neighbourhood had the best ones. For years, our house was #1. Mom made popcorn balls, rounds of white popcorn held together by molasses syrup boiled to the hard crack stage. With buttered hands so the hot syrup didn't stick, Mom quickly assembled the hardball sized treats. The hot syrup always burned her hands no matter how fast she worked.

Gone now are such delectables, even the apples and peanuts are absent from the treat bag; there will be zombies and vampires out tomorrow night and probably lots of Princesses of Arendelle, but very few pirates and tramps. And it's been a very long time since I've heard anyone utter my childhood chant, "Shell out! Shell out! The witches are out!"

The 1990 Carving Fest

I've still got to carve the pumpkin and buy the treats but the resident canine is all set and ready to go.

(please note: I am neither the instigator nor the designer of canine couture. Our daughter is.)

Sophie the Snake Charmer, Halloween 2014

Happy Halloween! Be careful out there.

©2014 April Hoeller

Monday Moanings - August 11, 2014

Amazing...Absolutely Amazing...

As a little girl I stood tight beside my Dad, our backs pressed up against the brick wall of our house, our heads craned upwards, watching, waiting for Sputnik to pass over our night sky. He was a keen astronomer from his youth so while we waited in the cool night air for the Soviet satellite, Dad took the time to point out the Pole Star, Big Dipper, Little Dipper, Arcturus, Sirius, Orion, Alpha Centauri and anything else visible on a clear night. He always was the first to spot the moving point of light arcing across the sky above us.

"There, look there," his finger stabbing the sky above us, "there it is. Sputnik!"

"I see it Daddy, I see it!" I squealed.

Then silence, a deafening silence engulfed us, my little hand clutched inside of his big one. I'm not sure who had the tighter grip as we watched, eyes then bodies turning to follow the alien orbit until it disappeared out of sight. "Amazing...absolutely amazing..." Dad whispered.

The night sky is one of the few places left that still holds a profound sense of mystery. One of the joys of living in the rural routes is seeing the sky in all her glorious light. When I look up into that blanket of darkness pin-pricked with twinkling lights I am always awestruck, almost overcome with wonder and uncertainty, reverence and scepticism, amazement and bewilderment. And one other emotion lurks in the background - a prickling of fear, that ancient human angst that rises in the darkness of night.

And so it was when I waited and watched for the rise of a Supermoon last night, filled with the same wonder and excitement, fascination and awe; filled with history and science, silence and handholds.

And a bit of moon glow:

Amazing...absolutely amazing!

©2014 April Hoeller