Day of Wonder

Today is one second longer than yesterday.

Fresh snow to celebrate the lengthening of days.

The winter solstice yesterday means we are on the way to longer days, minute by a minute or so until the buds, the blooms, and the greens burst exuberantly into summer decoration.

To us, it is all part of the magic of living in this climate of four seasons: white, brown, green and yellow/red.

Four days before Christmas and we have fresh snow. We are all white again and I see the forecast promising a wee bit more. Warmish too.

This is all so different to what Lois and I experienced just one year ago when a New Zealand visit gave us sunshine, big heat, refreshing surf on sandy beaches, and picnics in the parks.

Calgary City Council in its infinite wisdom has declared this day as the final day in the transit route that saw buses 16 and 84 end their run along 98 Avenue SW.

The (almost) final Route 16 bus to visit our stop on 98 Ave SW.

The sign says these routes have been rerouted. My interpretation is canceled, discontinued.

We will miss the chattering school kids though, crowding our driveway, sitting on the steps as they wait for their ride home. We’ve had up to 18 junior highs gather here.

Passengers from this section now walk across to Southland Drive, where they can hop aboard Max Yellow, or catch a bus to the Southland LRT. Alternatively, we can hike a block to Palliser Drive and join the bus to the LRT.

Life is always changing and always interesting especially so when green Future Bus Zone signs have replaced the blue Transit Stop signs.

This means the council is keeping its options open in case this route is restored sometime down the road.

The good part it is now legal for cars to park there.

With the bus route extinct, I wonder if we have seen the last of  plow and sand trucks around these parts. The funny thing about this comment is that I cannot recall our little corner of this big city ever being so popular with the grader crews as it has been so far this winter.

I wonder . . .

I love this picture of our great granddaughter Eleanor Lois Fukuda, down on the farm at Patricia, Alberta, north of Brooks. It says so much.

The wonderment of a one-year-old’s perspective, a wee tot who has discovered her ability to stand on two legs. Tiny steps on tiny feet. Maybe the thrill of grabbing the sill and hoisting herself up for a new view of her world.

I wonder what she sees? Is it just a frosty morning, fresh snow on the trees? Are there birds finding sanctuary in the branches? Is there a deer, a bush bunny, hare, or even a dog?

I wonder how we might view our world, near and far, with open eyes?

I wonder what this week will bring for our family, at Patricia, in Calgary, AB, in Sooke BC, in New Plymouth, New Zealand?

I wonder what our friends and neighbours are up to as we countdown to the shortest (or maybe longest) day of the year, Christmas and New Year.

I wonder what our politicians are up to, civic, provincial and federal?

I wonder about the poor folks involved in New Zealand’s tragic White Island eruption?

I wonder at the effect of the Trump impeachment process on Canada?

I wonder at the impact of UK politics?

I wonder about marketing and sales of my new novel Beginnings at the End of the Road? I wonder who might read and enjoy the story?

I wonder how I might write and finance the new book gradually taking early shape in this computer?

Yes, I wonder what the 2020 will bring, that hope and faith we have, a new respect and tolerance for each other.

Thanks, Eleanor, that I might look out my window. What do I see: the missteps of days gone or the new steps as I pace into this day that I’ve been given by the grace of God.

I wonder . . .

Who’s a happy camper?

Call out the band! Roll out the red carpet! Dance and sing!

It is here. A few copies of Beginnings at the End of the Road are in my hot little hands. Woot, woot, as my grandson says. Congratulations say my granddaughters. Roar, say a couple of dinosaur-stricken great grandchildren.

Best price I have seen in Canada is through Chapters/Indigo and in New Zealand/Australia through Fishpond. In the US Westbow Press is best.


I am deeply grateful and appreciate all the goodwill and encouragement I’ve received on this novel, especially in this past year.

Anticipation

My word for today (and the preceding week) is anticipation. The days seem to get longer yet the calendar tells us otherwise.

The little flutters of expectation stem from expecting a shipment of Beginnings at the End of the Road to arrive on my doorstep via Purolator. I might have been less anxious if I’d not received a week’s notice from the shipper. I know the books will be here in my hot little hands anytime within the next 24 hours.

Meanwhile, I liken this to waiting for a letter, not the window kind but the handwritten “how-are-you-doing” kind. No emojis, no text, no email, just a good old-fashioned letter, postcard or snappy greeting card from near or far.

To pass some time, I visited the www.ritewhileucan.com letter writing social down at the Good Earth coffee shop at Glenmore Landing, Calgary, Wednesday night. I was so keen to see this social in action I turned up on Tuesday evening, much to the barista’s amusement.

Typewriters sit on the empty tables waiting for the expected eight letter writers to show. It was a bitter night at -15C, plenty of new snow, and a modest wind. Chilly, as we say here, yet in they stamped, shaking off their boots, shedding coats, scarves and hats and taking up their station at the keyboard of choice, all supplied by Barb Marshall, the entrepreneur behind this endeavor.

To top it all off, I got lots of oohs and aahs when I showed off my fountain pen, crafted locally by Ralph Sears at http://www.justwriteink.ca. It’s a beautiful instrument and probably the only writing tool I use for notes and writing. It’s amazing to write with and so soft and comfortable in my hand. I have a matching roller ball version as well for field work.

Now I sit and wait and watch out the window for the big white van.
It’s like sitting round the Christmas tree seeing the eager faces of the little guys waiting for the next round of wrapping paper and color ribbons.