Category Archives: Adventures in YYC

A House of Many Corners

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We are a house of many corners.

There is the ‘Reading corner’ in our bedroom.

Each corner has a purpose. Yet still, within each purpose was the opportunity to shift. Evolve. Change.

Sometimes, there’s a dog on the napping chaise or sprawled across the couch. Sometimes, the reading corner chaise becomes the pack my suitcase corner. Sometimes, the corner’s are just empty spaces where no one sits, or rests, reads or writes or be’s.

Let’s sit awhile and have a chat corner

Yet still, each corner holds its space in time.

The ‘Put your shoes on’ corner in the entrance..

Sometimes, the space is created because the space was empty and needed to find its purpose or, a chair just fit perfectly and suddenly the corner’s purpose was found.

The ‘Time for a nap’ corner in the living room

It doesn’t matter what use the corner is put to, each corner held space for us, along with family and friends, to savour time. Alone. Together. Apart in the same house. Time to relax. To visit. To connect. To create. Dream. Concoct. Do. Become.

My ‘Creative Work Corner’

Time simply to be present within the moment and space without time or space demanding we be somewhere else, someone else as I explored my creative boundaries, pushing them out to fill spaces I’d never entered before. Spaces, that in their exploration, healing, growth, becoming unfolded with the grace and ease of the river flowing past.

‘I just need some alone time’ corner in the alcove at the bottom of the stairs

Life is filled with corners, straight roads and curves, bumps and potholes, alleys and detours.

In life, like the corners of our home, when we are willing to shift and change, adapt and adopt, embrace and reject the things that work and those that don’t, our path rises up to greet us with opportunities to rest and relax, sit awhile and visit, meditate and savour time alone, create and dream, do and become.

As we prepare to leave this home for another, I carry with me memories of how in each of these corners, magic awoke and I found myself once again embraced by this home we created together. This home that has held us so loving and joyfully for seven years.

Soon, it will hold others in its embrace as they create their own corners and spaces to be at home.

What You See Is Not Always All There Is To See

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When I captured this photo of the window washers, my focus was entirely on the three individuals suspended on the building’s side. They seemed almost unreal—ethereal, courageous figures against the glass. I stood there, observing, and my mind filled with questions about their experience in that moment. Were they chatting amongst themselves? Discussing politics? Sharing jokes? Perhaps even laughing at us tiny humans gazing up from the sidewalk? What was happening in their world?

I uploaded the image to Instagram, again emphasizing those three hanging figures. And then, my eyes caught sight of the fourth person. The one down in the bottom left corner.

I hadn’t noticed them at all when I took the photo. They were completely outside my awareness. It made me wonder how often this happens in life. How often do we become so fixated on what’s directly in front of us that we miss the subtle details happening on the periphery? The other narratives unfolding in the broader picture?

Life is a vast tapestry of people, animals, plants, and objects in constant motion. It’s a state of perpetual change and evolution. Sometimes, it’s easy to become so absorbed in what’s right before our eyes—whether good or bad—that we forget the boundless possibilities surrounding us.

And I can’t help but ponder: What story was that lone window washer telling themselves, being separate from the main action above? Did they realize they were unseen? Did they consider themselves the central figure in their own narrative? Or were they so immersed in their work that they were oblivious to everyone else, including the small group of us watching from below?

It all boils down to perspective.

We can choose to see only the obvious elements on our path or to seek out the hidden treasures at the edges. We can focus on the troubles or the possibilities. The ugliness or the beauty. The unhappy stories or the glad tidings.

Our attention and willingness to look beyond the obvious, to explore the periphery of our imagination and vision, determine what we see. It’s about acknowledging different perspectives and the multitude of stories unfolding around us.

I took a picture of three window washers, but it was the fourth one who ended up holding the most meaningful story for me.

(This is a rewrite of a post from August 2018)

Sultry Whispers (a poem)

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Sultry Whispers
by Louise Gallagher

Sky 
Azure bleeds to ash 
smoky haze curls and writhes 
spectral dance 
carried south on winds 
heavy with embers' breath.

Forest
Trees bow low 
leaves droop, listless 
weighted with aphids' silent feast
the forest stands weary. 

Grasses
Each footfall stirs a dust devil 
parched grasses sigh 
whispering ancient pleas 
for twilight's cool caress.

Sun
Unmoved, temperature rising
blazing sun scorches 
deaf to murmured prayers.

The photograph was taken on our drive back from Vancouver last August. The fires were blazing throughout the interior of BC and the sky was filled with smoke, ash and fiery glows.

The air quality this morning was not great, visible smoke hung in the sky above. The heat, even at that early hour, felt oppressive and heavy.

The new normal is upon us as wildfires blaze through Alberta and BC and the winds carry the smoke wherever they blow, impervious to our human entreaties.

Will You Dare?

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I awaken from a dream, words flowing effortlessly. I surrender to the current, carried along by the momentum of change.

Big changes are upon us. C.C. and I are selling our beloved home, venturing towards the coast, towards sea level. We seek a sanctuary where his breath can find ease, where the COPD’s barbed-wire grip on his lungs might loosen.

In the midst of preparing our house for the market, it’s easy to forget to breathe. Even without the physical constraints of barbed wire, anxiety can constrict my own lungs.

The vastness of possibilities unfolding before us can get lost amidst the mundane tasks of decluttering and sorting through years of memories. Photos, trinkets, and bookshelves overflowing with stories—each a testament to the life we’ve built together.

This home, lovingly crafted to embrace our family, friends, and furry companions, holds countless tales. Laughter echoing over anger, joy enveloping sorrow, love nourishing us through it all.

Amidst the chaos, it’s easy to forget that this adventure—this journey towards the unknown—has always been our life together.

Will You Dare?
by Louise Gallagher

Morning  intrigue,
a room full of doors, 
some flung wide, 
sunlit and warm
with possibilities beckoning
others cracked slightly open,
curiosity whispering an invitation, 
a door shut tight, 
locked-up secrets lurking, 
silent and foreboding.

Beyond each threshold, a mystery 
unfolding
birdsong, 
a city's hum,
the thrum of rain on distant fields
a voice, a scream, a cry, a laugh, silence.

Somewhere, a rooster crows
morning awakens
dawn flees
the day awaits.

Which door will you choose? 
Which unknown path 
will you dare to tread?

Creative Essence Unleashed – set your creative spirit free

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I cannot remember a time when I did not write. As a child, I created stories, wrote in my diary, and had pen pals all over the world.

In Grade 8, I wrote a story I was really proud of: a tale of two spies—a strong, decisive woman and a brawny man—on a mission to save the world. They succeeded but met a tragic end when their car exploded as they were about to celebrate. My teacher praised the story but insisted I couldn’t kill off the heroes. “Why not?” I asked. “They’re my creation.” She explained the need to cater to the audience’s desire for happy endings.

Since then, I’ve struggled to write without tying my stories up in pretty bows, to let go of the need to write cautiously and neatly.

This is why I created my 6-week course, Creative Essence Unleashed: An Artful Journey. For the past four years, I’ve written poetry with a group of women, freeing myself from the “Box of Tidy” and writing from a place of deep, raw wisdom. Combined with the freedom of art-journalling, I have unlocked the blocks that kept me tied up in writing

I LOVE it and want to share this freedom and joy with others. Creative Essence Unleashed: An Artful Journey launches on May 22 at a special introductory price.

Join me in this beautiful, intimate space to explore, unravel, design, create, and become. This course combines simple art-journalling techniques to create a holistic environment where ‘anything goes’ and everything becomes. Embrace the freedom of art journaling and discover the limitless potential within you.

I’d be thrilled to have you on the journey with me!

I hope to see you there!

How’s the Weather?

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I expect to receive an influx of photos of cherry blossoms bursting and daffodils rising their sunshiny heads towards clear blue skies from my family and friends on the west coast today.

It’s just the way it goes.

The weather here on the windward side of the Rocky Mountains is always entertaining and, for some reason, seems to bring out gleeful expressions of ‘so sorry it’s snowing’ from the west.

It’s okay. Whether I like it or not, it’s the weather. I still get to go outside and frolic and savour nature’s beauty.

Especially because Beaumont does not let me rest, no matter the weather!

How’s your weather?

Better yet! How’s your attitude? 🙂

All’s Quiet on a Midday Flight: A journey through Memory and Legacy

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I’ve always found a unique serenity in choosing midday flights. Unlike the bustling mornings or the weary evenings, airports during these hours whisper tales of transient calm. This time, the terminal, usually a stage for the hurried footsteps of countless travelers, offered a rare pause in its daily rhythm. Such moments of tranquility amidst the chaos of departures and arrivals are fleeting, yet profoundly appreciated.

However, adhering to the conventional wisdom of arriving two hours early for a domestic flight often seems excessive. Today, just ten minutes sufficed to navigate through check-in and security, even with a suitcase that needed checking-in. The efficiency was a welcome surprise, especially considering my departure from the newly renovated B gates. This change significantly shortened my walk, a small yet significant mercy for someone who, out of convenience or necessity, checks their luggage.

The renovation, aside from logistical benefits, hinted at a broader theme of travel: the blend of wonder and ordeal. For many, including myself, the journey to the gate is the least appealing part of travel. Yet, it’s an integral step in the dance of departure and arrival, a necessary prelude to the adventures that await.

On this occasion, my luggage carried more than just essentials. It bore fragments of my sister Jackie’s life—items destined for my daughter, granddaughter, and sister Anne. In sifting through Jackie’s belongings, we distributed much to charity, but some pieces were too imbued with memories, too rich in sentimental value, to part with. They represented not just personal history, but a tangible connection to Jackie, a way to keep her spirit alive in our daily lives.

I sit and watch passengers walk past the cafe bar where I type and wonder about my own possessions: the artifacts of travels and life events that compose the mosaic of my existence. From the shawl I picked up in Ireland to the earrings from Barbados, each item carries a story, a piece of a place, or a moment shared with loved ones. These are not mere objects but the threads from which the tapestry of my life is woven, each adding colour, texture, and depth to my personal narrative.

I ponder the future of these threads, the fate of these tangible memories when I am no longer here to hold them. Will they serve as cherished reminders for my loved ones, or will they become burdensome relics of a past no longer connected to the present?

In my carry-on, two bags of jewellery—one for Anne and one for my daughter in Vancouver—serve as a testament to these reflections. They are heavy, laden not just with their physical weight but with the emotional gravity of the memories they represent.

As I navigate through the quietude of the airport, I am reminded that our journeys, both literal and metaphorical, are interwoven with the lives of those we touch. What we carry, what we leave behind, and the memories we cherish are part of a larger narrative. It’s a narrative that transcends the individual, connecting us through the shared experience of love, loss, and the enduring question of legacy.

Who will treasure the memory of us? It’s a poignant question that echoes in the silent corridors of my midday flight, a reminder of the indelible marks we leave on the hearts and lives of those we love.

Women make the best friends.

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Since the early breaths of December frosts, when my birthday candles grew brighter leading the way into my next decade, my youngest daughter and I have planned on visiting the Zoo Lights at the Calgary Zoo. Yet, as sometimes happens, the tapestry of life unraveled our plans, and we found ourselves postponing the adventure.

However, one night, over a dinner where laughter danced between the clinks of cutlery, we extended an invitation to my cherished friend Jane and her daughter CJ – whom I fondly call TaDa (Tall Daughter) as she calls me ShoMo (Short Mother). And so, under a celestial dome of an obsidian ocean, the four of us finally reveled in the enchanting embrace of the Calgary Zoo’s ‘Zoo Lights’ Wednesday night.

It was a night embroidered with wonder, our hearts awash in all the colours of awe we could imagine. High above, the sky was a vast canvas of mystery, while around us, the earth transformed into a fairy-tale land. Tree trunks, bare yet proud, wore garlands of twinkling lights, painting the air with whimsical shapes and vibrant hues. Along the pathways, animal figures crafted from lights stood as silent sentinels, guiding our journey through a maze of sparkling bulbs – reds and greens, whites and blues, yellows and purple – all serenading us with the symphony of distant music and the bubbling laughter of children.

In this magical realm, I was reminded of the extraordinary tapestry of female relationships – a bond that transcends the ordinary, weaving through the realms of friendship and familial love. These connections are a mosaic of acceptance, understanding, tolerance, and, most profoundly, Love.

My journey as a mother has been a river of endless joy, a gift that continually enriches my life, filling voids left by past longings. Though my relationship with my own mother was a challenging voyage, where I strove to bridge a chasm with love and understanding, it was a journey of growth, nonetheless. A journey that enriched and informed my transformation as a mother.

The bonds I share with my daughters today and the beautiful threads we share with Jane and CJ are rooted in a garden of shared experiences, having weathered storms and basked in sunlit clearings together. In this sacred space, judgment and expectations dissolve into the ether; there’s only the warmth of unspoken understanding and unconditional Love.

Wandering through the luminescent wonderland of Zoo Lights, each step was buoyed by gratitude. Gratitude for the incredible women in my life who infuse my days with joy, laughter, and an abundance of Love – and who tease me lovingly as I tease them.

In that moment, under the celestial tapestry and amidst the kaleidoscope of lights, I felt the profound truth of my blessings.

I am one lucky woman.

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Thank you CJ for sharing all the photos! 

If you’ve haven’t been to Zoolights yet and are in or around Calgary, do go! It’s magical. – and only on until Sunday evening, January 7.

Remember, but do not stay tied up in memory

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May the New Year unfold in a tapestry of joy, woven with threads of
love, laughter, and endless possibilities.

As Christmas dinner unfolded, each shared laugh and exchanged glance around the table felt like a testament to my sister, Jackie’s, enduring spirit. Her philosophy had always been simple yet profound: to nurture the bonds of family and friendship with unwavering kindness and caring. It was Jackie who reminded me always that connections, like the finest tapestry, are crafted with patience and love.

Gathered around the table, as we passed around dishes filled with delicacies which guests had also contributed, I realized how each recipe was more than just a meal; they were stories, memories, pieces of our collective history. The platter full of charcuterie Juan and Angelica provided, the savory aroma of the turkey, the sweet tang of the Bourbon cranberry sauce made by Tamara, the aromatic carrots Laura contributed and the delicate miso infused broccoli from my daughter and her partner, each had a story to tell, a memory to evoke.

Unbeknownst to me, Tim, my daughter’s partner, had decided the meal would not be complete without Jackie’s mashed potatoes and arrived with a casserole dish he’d baked up using her recipe. It was a thoughtful and caring gesture that reflected how Jackie, in her natural way, left her mark on each of us at the table. Her absence was palpable, yet her presence was equally so. Through our shared meal and rituals, her laughter seemed to echo, her smile appeared to light up the room, and her warmth seemed to embrace us all.

And still, amidst the laughter and chatter, the joy and aromas, there was a moment when, as I looked around the table I’d decorated with such loving care and gazed upon the faces of our guests aglow in the twinkling lights, my heart gave a tiny tug on the ribbon of memory that wound its way through Christmases past. Without missing a beat, I felt the ache of loss stirring.. And then, in the next beat, with the gentleness of angel’s wings brushing against my cheek, I heard my sister’s voice whispering in my ear, “Remember me but do not stay tied up in memory.”

Smiling as I passed the gravy, my heart flooded with gratitude. Gratitude for the past that shaped us, for the present that holds us together, and for the future that awaits, filled with the promise of continued connection, love, and shared joy.

May the New Year unfold in a tapestry of joy, woven with threads of love, laughter, and endless possibilities.

Baking scones at 4am

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Jetlag has a peculiar way of rearranging one’s schedule. It was 4 a.m., and there I was, wide awake, having been stirred from slumber at 2:30. Not having spent much time doing anything domestic while on my travels, the kitchen beckoned. Before I knew it, flour, sugar, and butter were sprawled across the island, with my hands deep in a bowl of flour, sugar and butter, crumbling butter into pea-sized morsels.

Doesn’t everyone bake scones at 4am?

Thankfully, my journey home had been uneventful — truly the best kind of flight.

Upon landing, my beloved was waiting, with our imitable Sheepadoodle, Beaumont, peeking out from the backseat. We were en route to a Thanksgiving dinner with dear friends; a quick stop at home wasn’t on the agenda.

I held onto my wakefulness as long as I could, staying alert till 7 p.m. — or what felt like 2 a.m. back in Dublin. But then, sleep’s sweet lure proved irresistible. A brief hour-long nap on a sofa later, I tried to rally, but by 9:30 p.m., I was soundly asleep in my bed.

Ahhh, the sweet comfort of one’s own bed and surroundings!

However, the early hours found me awake again.

Though an unconventional choice, baking seemed fitting. After all, I couldn’t very well unpack or start laundry, not with Beaumont and C.C. peacefully asleep beside me.

Post my baking escapade, I snatched a few more precious hours of sleep and, when morning broke, Beaumont and I headed out to wander the paths along along the riverbank, the landscape painted with the fiery hues of autumn.

The season of long shadows is upon us. The sun barely grazes the horizon, as though even it yearns for winter’s rest. The mornings greet us with a cool embrace, but by midday, warmth seeps in.

This is a time for introspection, for prepping home and soul for the impending icy gusts of a prairie winter.

For now, I cherish my walks by the river. Though its name might not resonate with the historical echoes of the Liffey, its melody is just as enchanting.

It’s the thing about rivers, no matter where in the world you go, the poetry of the river flows freely.