World War I Trench Warfare - 5 Senses

The horse whinnied in pain. I saw it limping, half dead, along what passed for a road. It was no more than a knee deep muddy trail strewn with the refuse of a passing army. Cartridge shells and belts, pieces of uniform, bandages, helmets, and assorted pieces of shrapnel all in the same soft brown of mud, but with a slight glint of metal, or tell tale contour, that set it apart form the ground. I could see how a man could drown in the mud, or a horse become so trapped in it that it couldn’t be pulled free.

             The sound of the artillery guns overhead were a disorienting whiz followed by a thunderous bang. Wagons and ambulance trucks splashed along the road. The muted voices of men rose from the waiting area outside of the aid station. They felt the rain pelting down on their faces as they lay on the narrow sodden wool stretchers that held them. Their feet hung freely over the edges. They had to wait for hours in the wintry cold and dripping wet for an exhausted doctor to tend to their wounds.

 My muscles ached. My feet were blistered and swollen from weeks of lingering cold and wet. Water was everywhere. There was no escape. I could smell gangrene setting in on some patients limbs, the sickly, pungent odour that meant amputation, and often death. My hands were raw from exposure to the elements and were barely capable of feeling the surfaces they touched. I kept cutting and jamming my fingers.

I was past being scared. I had been scared for so long that now all I felt was a lingering numbness. I just wanted it to end. I didn’t really care how. 

Pier 21 - 5 Senses

On a cold wet morning in May our ship landed at Halifax. It had been a long and slow passage across the Atlantic. Halifax was a small gray city strung out along the shores of a great harbour. There were rusty clusters of buildings around the dock yards and landing piers full of activity.

 I wasn’t looking forward to the long wait for the train to Alberta. I wondered if the West was very far. We would have to spend days here before we left. I could smell the oil from the shipyards and the tang of wet wool from the coats of the other passengers. They were unfamiliar aromas- foreign.

I stood on the rail and then jumped off and weaved my way between the legs of other passengers trying to get a better look. Father picked me up and put me on his shoulders. So this was Canada. People crowded around Father and me as we walked down the gang plank. Some of them were very strangely dressed. I know they weren’t from Poland like us. Father stumbled on the wet passage but recovered his footing before we fell. I could hear fog horns in the distance and seamen directing us towards the processing room.

 “Have your documents ready!” We couldn’t speak English but another passenger translated for us. I’d have given anything to be home. 

What If…

What if I skipped a class?

What if I handed in something late?

What if my son’s class had one dozen less cupcakes for the sale?

What if another parent had to drive my daughter and her friends to the movies?

What if I didn’t make dinner?

What if I left the gas tank on empty?

What if I stayed home and rubbed the dog’s belly?
What if I didn’t make small talk with the hairdresser?

What if I didn’t shovel the snow?

What if I bought it because I wanted it and not because I needed it?

What if I didn’t take down the Christmas lights?

What if I didn’t clean the bathroom on Saturday?

What if I didn’t write the Christmas Cards?

What if I didn’t buy my husband’s parents a present from him?

What if I didn’t check my email?

What if I left the dishes in the sink?

What if I always told people what I really think?

I’d miss a class and meet a friend for coffee.

I’d hand an assignment in late and get a lower grade.

I’d disappoint my son.

I’d disappoint my daughter.

I’d force everyone to fend for themselves.

I’d inconvenience someone else.

I’d make her very happy.

I’d be considered rude.

I’d wait for the snow to melt.

I’d enjoy what I bought.

I’d wait for Christmas to happen again next year.

I’d live with a dirty bathroom.

I’d disappoint a few older relatives.

I’d force him to do it himself.

I’d find out what people wanted when I checked.

I’d have dishes in the sink.

I’d get tired of the conflict.

What if I took time for myself?

I’d stop feeling guilty when I ran out of time or energy.

What if I believed that people would be O.K with me doing my best?

I’d stop worrying that my best isn’t good enough.

What if ?

The King’s Speech-Movie Review

TTTThiiss mmmmovie wwaas fa fa fa abu-lous!

Imagine yourself in a theatre full of people who are all collectively holding their breath. In the opening scene of the film we see the Duke of York (Colin Firth) standing in front of a mammoth microphone in a sporting stadium. Everyone is on their feet waiting silently for the Duke to begin his speech. The hush is deafening. Everyone in the audience of the movie theatre, and Wimbledon, hold their breath and waits for the Duke to begin. After a painful minute the first tentative syllables emanate from the loud speaker. We watch the Duke stumble through this speech and see the pain in his wife Elizabeth’s (Helena Bodham Carter) eyes as he bumbles along. The camera pans to audience members who look at their feet in collective embarrassed diffidence for the Duke.  

Bertie (King George VI) stammers. We see what disturbing neglect and abuse at the hands of royal nannies and emotionally distant parental figures can do to even the most privileged members of society. The future King of England has endured a childhood of pain. Viewers gain insight into his early years through the masterful telling of this poignant tale. Your heart can’t help but bleed for this man. We feel his pain through the empathy of his wife and watch him learn to find his own voice with the help of his speech therapist turned friend, Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush). Rush’s portrayal of this character is exquisite. He says more with his eyes and body than most actors could manage with an hour of soliloquies. Firth’s portrayal of King George VI exudes angst, frustration, and fear.

At its heart this is a movie about the friendship that develops between the King of England and his unconventional Australian speech therapist Logue. It is set against the turbulent backdrop of the 1920’s and 1930’s and Great Britain’s entry into World War II. No longer can a King lead by simply being seen in the society column of the newspaper. Now a King must be heard on the radio and seen in the newsreels. Although these events are important, the true focus of the film is the relationship that is forged between the main characters. Logue becomes the King’s friend. The viewer is left with the distinct impression that Bertie, or King George VI  has never had a friend before. He is unsure of how to react to the familiarity that Logue shows him. Ascension to the throne does not come easily for Bertie.  The film chronicles the debacle of King Edward the VIII (Guy Pearce) abdication in favour of marriage to the Baltimore divorcee Wallace Simpson.

Throughout the trials of his speech therapy the King’s greatest supporter is his wife Elizabeth. We see the future Queen Mother in an entirely different light than in other royal movies. Here we see a loving wife and mother who desperately needs to help her husband, but doesn’t know how to turn her emotional support into practical suggestions. This portrayal seems to cut through the mythology surrounding this story and give us a glimpse into the hearts of the main players. In many ways this story is one of tragedy, but it is also a film that speaks of the perseverance of people and the power of individuals to overcome adversity.

            The biggest drawback with this film is its venue. It can only be seen in Halifax at the Oxford theatre. I understand that many Haligonians feel some nostalgia when they think about the Oxford, but as a foreigner to South End filming traditions, I can tell you that I find this theatre to be an archaic relic. We stood outside in sub-polar temperatures for what seems like a lifetime before the lone ticket agent was able to process the crowd, my husband had to park a few blocks away and then find me in the crowd. The line up at the tiny popcorn stand seemed endless, and the seating felt as though it would have been new when Ben Hur was the latest film sensation in the city. I really can’t fault the film for the theatre, but I can fault the theatre for creating one reason for criticism of what would have been a perfect movie experience. 

Shelburne

Rude hut of degradation.

Hauled water, chipped ice.

Gathered dead fall burning.

One eye open for a decade.

What will be will be.

What has been has been.

My future -others decisions.

Choices few.

Comforts rare.

Wide eyes face east.

Past hopes and ragged huts abandoned.

Desperate voyage embarks.

Leading to the dark.

Others court hope.

From pan to fire.

Same flames different burns.

Wind blew cold and bold in adopted land.

Wind blows hot and steady in ancestral foothold.

Neither is just.

Neither feels right.

Does somebody know my name

Kitchen Drawer

Front of the drawer.

Scissors dulled and sticky.

Never where you thought you left them.

Black marker worn out and frayed from abuse.

Lids partially off. Neglected.

Hastily labeled camp clothes.

Back of the drawer.

BBQ lighter requires coordination.

Several attempts before it shines.

Extension cord, tangled and knotted.

Always in the way.

Waiting for Christmas.

Light bulbs that might be good.

Then again maybe not.

Jostled and knocked about.

Under the rubble.

Band aids, never where you think they are.

Sucking fingers, harsh words, drops of blood.

Spare keys far too important to throw out.

No idea of what they are for.

Important clutter.

Post it notes with passwords and phone numbers.

In my husbands hand.

Might be important.

Probably not.

Best not throw them out.

Just in case.

Rubber pot gripper.

Dollarama booty.

Too good to resist.

Too impractical to be used.

Broken scotch tape dispenser.

Hidden beneath the debris.

End invisible.

I pick and pick to make it functional.

Brown shoes laces just in case.

No shoes match them.

No need to keep them.

No need to throw them out.

Can opener.

Refuses to clip on.

Frustrates, infuriates.

Forgotten until the next time it disappoints.

Another can opener.

Even worse than the first.

Everyone knows not to even try.

Totem Pole bottle opener.

Used long weekends and

summer breaks.

Makes me smile.

Dutch shoe bottle opener.

“Having a great time.

Wish you were here.”

The trip must have been great.

Eiffel  Tower bottle opener.

Small, cheap and easy to bring back.

Never gets used, but I see it often.

Reminds me of the river cruise.

Neon coloured straws from summer slushy’s.

Duff Goldman uses them for cake tiers.

I’ll make one,

Someday…

Pennies and nickels.

We don’t throw away money.

Too small and heavy to spend.

We add to it weekly.

Clean it up bi-yearly.

Don’t think we need any of it.

Until we do.

Dog Licking

“Will, is the dog the same?”

            “Yeah Mom, I walked her but it didn’t help. Why don’t you just take her to the vet?”

“Because the last time I did it cost eighty five dollars and all I found out was that her ears were bothering her. I already knew that.” replied Mom.

            “Well it’s been two weeks. We can’t let her keep licking and rubbing like that.”  

“Have you tried looking it up on the internet?” asked Alison. “Remember when she had a tick? Dad googled it and found out how to get rid of it.”

            “Well, it’s worth a try. Where’s the I Pad?” asked Mom.

            “I have it.” replied Will.

            “Look up, dog licking rear end, and let’s see what it says. Maybe we’ll be able to treat her at home.” said Mom.  “Click, click, clickity click,” went the keyboard as Will typed the inquiry into the Google search strip.

            “Ah…Mom?” said Will.

            “Well, what does it say? Did you get anything? Maybe we should try dog with licking problem instead?” said Mom.

            “Well, it’s more of a visual explanation than a written one.”  

            “Let me see.” said Mom snatching the i-pad from Will.

 “Sweet Jesus what is that?

            “I thought that was kind of obvious.” said Will.

“Let me see,” said Alison.

“You stay right where you are young lady. Doesn’t your father have any screenings set on this thing?” exclaimed Mom.

“Wow. These people are freaks,” said Will as Alison craned her neck to get a better view of the small i-pad screen. Mom grabbed the i-pad and hastily pushed the black button to bring up a new screen.

            “You have to be really careful what you Google. I once googled Bare Naked Ladies for a school report I was doing on the band and really got an eye full,” said Alison.

            “Hey Alison do you remember when we googled Disney stars new pictures and we got pictures of Harry Potter that someone had pasted together to make disgusting?”

            “What are you two doing on the computer when I’m not around? I really have to have your father set the viewer screening functions better. I think we should get rid of all of this stuff. What’s wrong with good old fashioned books? I’ve never had a shock like that one opening up a book. What is wrong with the world today? Can you believe that anyone would put something like that up on the internet?

            “What do you mean what’s wrong with the world today? You’re the one who told your fourteen year old boy to Google dog licking rear end. What were you thinking Mom?

            “That’s a good point Mom. You have to be smart about these things. Your computer literacy is appalling. You should really work on that.”

            “I know. I know. I’ll do that sometime between when I get up to make lunches and get you ready for school, work all day, come home and make dinner, take you where ever you want to go and buy you everything you need and most of what you want.”

            “Here we go again,” said Will. “Every time you do something wrong and we point it out you pull the old overworked mother card.”

            “Never mind Will. Go walk the dog,” said Mom.

            “I just walked the dog. You’re just trying to change the subject. Why don’t you just call the vet?”

            “I guess I better. The poor little thing is miserable.”

             

           

Summer’s End

Miniature blooms of tear drop shaped joy.
Purple as popsicles or stained bridesmaid’s satin pumps.
Fall’s triumph over death,
Stubbornly thriving when all else shrinks and fades.
Countless clusters of variegated plenty,
Standing proudly framed by lush leaves.
Green and spiny with life blood’s vein of light sugar.
Created and shaped like Adam’s fig.
Woody branches implied but never seen.
Snowflakes of fall in endless variety,
Some dark, some light, some undecided.
Sunlight plays with its colours creating splendid nonconformity.
How handsome where planted.
How temping to uproot.
Hallway consoles and dining tables long for a cutting.
I go by with a slight grin at the sight,
But no real notice is taken.
It sways and grows as countless people pass.
Time graces it.
Time creates and ends it.
Only time remembers it.

People Who Go To Work Sick!

Don’t sit next to me and ask me to forgive your sneezing. I’m too Canadian to move or say anything to you other than an inane, “Oh, that‘s alright. I hope you feel better soon.” Next week when you’re recovered and I’m getting sick don’t you dare laugh and say, “I hope you didn’t catch that from me?” Of course I did. So did half of the room, and so did untold thousands who touched the same door knob as you did or turned off the same tap. You inconsiderate plague monkey. Where do you think I caught it?

When you come to work unwell you make sane, sensible people who, when sick, would like to stay home and watch Oprah wrapped in their Cheetah skin Snuggies look bad. How can I not show up to work after you’ve infected me if you’ve soldiered on and gone when you were below par?

Don’t expect my sympathy, or concern. I may sound like I feel that way, but I don’t. Nobody does. Everyone wishes you would just go away until you’re better. Your attitude is the reason we had SARS and Swine Flu.

You’re the type of person who flies sick aren’t you? That moist re-circulating airplane air is the devil’s breading ground for death.  I always seem to sit next a kid with an inner ear infection, or someone with a mysterious ailment that makes them climb over me and go to the bathroom every twenty minutes.

If you make me sick I’m going to have to go to the doctor’s office. I hate going to the doctor’s office. God knows what I’ll catch. It’s the distribution point for deadly disease. I don’t even want to think about the upholstered seats at the dermatologist’s office. There should be a law against putting fabric seats in places where people go to get rashes treated. You can practically see the microorganisms squirming around just waiting for a new place to live.

Did you know that ulcers are caused by viruses? Who knows what else may be catching. It’s bad enough that we have to deal with the unknown plagues of the modern era without dealing with you cavalierly exposing everyone to your festering mass of microbes.

How do you know it’s just a cold anyway? Are you a doctor? For all you know you could be the next Typhoid Mary.  Don’t tell me that bullshit about it just being an allergy. I know better. Stay home; tea, toast, bath!

“AHCHEW! I wish I could stay home from work today. I don’t feel well.

“Do you mind if I sit here? Please forgive my sneezing. Don’t worry it’s just a cold.”

Out In the Cold

The 3:30 bell just doesn’t want to ring today. Mrs. Knight is announcing something using her stern, you better pay attention voice, but I don’t know what it is. I hear Susan Berry bragging about her new skating rink. Mr. Berry makes a rink in Thorn Lodge Park every year. His garden hose reaches out to a flat place in the field in the park through his green chain link fence. Susan and her brothers make snow dams around the edges to keep the water in and once it freezes all of the kids from Thorn Lodge Public School go skating there. If the bell would ever ring I’d be able to run home and grab my skates and get to the park.

“BRINGG!.”

We’re in the grade 5 hallway putting on our coats, hats, mittens and boots. I have yellow, green, blue, red and white moon boots. Well, they’re almost moon boots anyway. They look just like real moon boots, but my Mom bought them at K-Mart and the name brand on them is Toonboots. Susan is so jealous! I wish I could be the most popular girl in grade 5 instead of her. Everyone hangs on every word that she says. I pull on my brown
White Stag ski jacket and red mittens and head for home. Everyone is talking about going skating. Suzanne asks, “Liz, are you going skating?” My yes echoes down the stair well as I tear out or the door.

My run home isn’t very long. I scoot down on my hunches on the toboggan hill, passing my little sister Christine as I go. “Come on Chrissy. “I call, “Let’s go skating.” She scurries behind me all puffed up in her one piece purple snow suit. We run through the pathway that leads to Vineland Road and shuffle our way down the patches of ice, snow and pavement as fast as we are able.

When we reach the corner of Vineland and Winthrope we cross the street even though it’s not the fastest way home. Krista the huge German Shepard lives on that corner and we’re both afraid of her. I wonder why they don’t build a fence or tie up that dog. She’s been terrorizing me for years now. Chrissie is so scared she holds my hand as we approach the corner. The dog isn’t out today. We pass back over to our side of the street and run the last two hundred feet to home pushing our way through the newly formed snow drifts clustered on the side of our house. We’re at the back door. I try the knob but it’s locked. I ring the door bell and hear it softly chiming on the other side of the brick wall. Mom finally appears to open the door and lets us into the back hallway.

“Burr, brush the snow off of yourselves before you come in.”

She seems excited. She kisses us both and asks how school was.

“Fine” we both say. “We’re going skating in the park”

I go to the basement to fetch my skates. When I come back upstairs Mom has a Hudson’s Bay Company bag in her hands.

“Elizabeth Ann, I got you something today. Your coat is getting small, and when I saw this I thought of you.”

She pulled a white wooly coat from the paper bag. It was a bomber style jacket with an elastic waist band and elastic cuffs. It had four bright stripes that ran around the chest. They were inky black, emerald green, poppy red and bright golden yellow. It reminded me of the Olympic rings I saw during the Montreal summer Olympics last year. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

“Wow” I exclaimed.

“It’s called a Hudson’s Bay Point Blanket coat and it’s all the rage this year.”  “Can I wear it skating?”

I remember that Susan made fun of me when I got my brown coat. She said I looked like Starbuck from Battle Star Galactica. I pushed her in the snow and Mr. Button made me stay in for recess.

“Elizabeth, young ladies don’t fight and they don’t push.” He said. Just wait until she sees my new coat. She gave me the cold shoulder for two days when I got my moon boots. She sent Darrel Johnson across the playground to tell me that Mork, from Mork and Mindy, wore dumb boots like mine, but I know she was jealous. I just smiled and told Darrell that Susan should grow up. He shrugged his shoulders and skipped back to Susan’s circle of friends who all jiggled when he told her what I said. I looked at my feet and ate the Sun Maid raisons in the tiny red box that Mom had given me for recess.

When recess was over and we were reading our SAR cards in Mrs. Knight’s class. I could think of all sorts of clever things to say to Darrel, but I can never think of what to say when I need it. Susan cheats at SAR cards. I saw her. She copies the answers onto her hand when she is pretending to chose a card. None of that matters anymore because I’m going to go skating in the park wearing my new coat.

Chrissy and I cut through the Horseley’s back yard. My feet punch through the icy top of the snow, but Chrissy walks right on top. We hear the rink before we see it. It looks even better than last years. Susan and about ten other girls are standing at the edge of the rink talking and flipping their Farah Fawcett hair in the wind. We step onto the rink and I head towards the crowd. The smell of lip gloss and hair spray cuts through the crisp air.

Susan spots me before I make it to the group. Her eyes grow wide as she spies my new coat. I put my hands into my fuzzy new pockets and gracefully glide over to the group. Barbara Goody and Stacy Dale make room for me in the circle. Stacy reaches out and strokes the arm of my new coat. She’s smiling and I know she is going to say something nice. Then Susan says,

“Did you steal Mrs. Knight’s new coat?” Everyone laughs. “That is an old lady coat; I can’t believe you’re wearing it. I wouldn’t be caught dead in that bath mat.”

I went home.

“Where is your sister”, asked Mom.

“Still skating I guess.” I said.

“You know better than to leave your little sister alone in the park Elizabeth Ann. Go back and get her.” I went, but before I went I took off my new coat and stuffed it behind the pile of glass pop bottles that were waiting to be returned to Dominion. I put on my old brown coat and went back to the park. When Susan saw me coming towards the rink she smiled. She had won and she knew it.

“Mrs. Knight does have the same coat as me.” I thought as I waited for the morning bell to ring. She was huddled with two other teachers talking as steam billowed from the top of her coffee mug. The bell rang and we went into the school. I hung my brown coat on my hook.

Out in the Cold –Condensed Poem

Snow dams around the edges of the frozen rink.

Susan holding court in her shining frozen kingdom.

Unavoidable dangerous navigation.

Smiling, jackals smelling of lip gloss and hair spray.

She’s jealous of the moonboots and gives me the

cold shoulder for two days.

Everyone hangs on every word she says.

I wish I was her.

Long for hair that flipps like Farah Fawcett’s.

Inky black, emerald green, poppy red and golden yellow,

new white wooly coat pulled from an HBC paper bag.

Given with love, received gratefully.

Just wait until she sees.

“You have an old lady coat!”

Tears well up.

I look at my feet and eat my Sun Maid Raisons from their

tiny red box.

She‘s won.