Category Archives: it’s all about family and friends

Where the wild things howl.

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Photo by Anton Strogonoff on Unsplash

The howling of the coyotes wakes me up.

Beaumont the Sheepadoodle hears them too. He leaps up from the floor at the end of our bed where he has been sleeping. Races down the stairs to the patio doors. He stands. Barking, body tensed, eyes fixed at what he cannot see, somewhere out there on the top of the hill beyond.

It is 3am.

I try to calm him. To get him to stop barking. He wants to get out there.

I close the blinds.

Finally, the howling stops and Beaumont lies down by the glass doors. He does not want to come back upstairs.

And I am reminded, no matter how much concrete surrounds us, we are not far from the wild.

It is in our roots, our DNA, our genetic history.

We have seen a coyote a couple of times since moving into this place in December. I don’t know if it’s the same one, or a different one each time. We see him, or her, loping silently across the hillside in the early evening. We know there’s a den, somewhere at the top. We’ve heard their howling before. They are the wild things.

I wonder if they howl to entice unsuspecting prey into their space. Beaumont always wants to take off after the sound. He wants to investigate.

I don’t let him. I keep him on the leash now whenever I let him out.

He is not wild. Though I wonder if the howling awakens deeply-buried wild memories of life before domestication.

Deer live somewhere on the hillside too.

We see them often. Four or five. Every day they traverse the slope. Walking elegantly through the snow, scrubbing through the bushes and trees for fodder.

They too make Beaumont bark. Whenever we’re outside and they see us, they take off, their long legs leaping through the snow with ease. Beaumont strains at the leash, barking. Inevitably, one of the deer will stand at the edge of the trees, staring. Unmoved by Beaumont’s barks, he seems to be enticing him to play, ‘catch me if you can’.

In those moments, it takes all my strength to get Beaumont to quieten down, to not pull and strain at the leash.

The wild stirs within him, calling him to run after it. To be part of it.

We are not that far from the wild here. The city limits stretch further into the rolling hills at the edge of that liminal space where wild meets tamed and man keeps pushing the wild further and further away. Yet, still the wild things roam. They have adapted to the citylife. They have formed their trails from the wild spaces to cityscapes.

The howling of coyotes woke me at 3am.

I feel the wild calling me. Let go it calls. Come. Outside. Run. Barefoot in the night. Dance beneath the belly of the fullness of the pregnant moon. Throw your head back and howl in the pure delight of being alive.

I calm the urge and go back to bed.

Beaumont is on guard. He will keep the wild things at bay.

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The howling of wild things in the night reminded me of a song my brother used to play long ago on his record player when we were teenagers and not yet tamed by life.

Perhaps it is fitting I am reminded of my brother this first day of March. It was this month, 19 years ago, that his journey on this earth abruptly ended.

My brother loved music. He’d play a few bars of a song, stop it and ask me to “Name that Tune”. I wasn’t very good at that game. He’d laugh and tease me and play another song. “Wild,” he’d exclaim as some drum roll or guitar riff caught his fancy.

My brother was a wild thing. He loved life.

 

It’s a girl! Birthday wishes to my youngest daughter.

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liseanneWhen she was little we nicknamed her Ghee! because that was the sound she made when she was excited about something. The exclamation mark was important. Even as an infant it was obvious that her mode of travel through life would be to always put an exclamation mark after everything she did.

Yesterday, my youngest daughter turned 29. I couldn’t write my blog about her yesterday as I had forgotten to ask permission. She’s particular that way. Determined. Confident. Assured.

On Sunday night, six of us went for dinner to celebrate her big day and I sat and watched her and felt awe wash over me just as it had that day, 29 years ago, when she burst into the world with her delightful laughter and way of being and said, “I am here!”

It was cold on January 30th, 1988. Her father and I were just finishing off touches to her bedroom when my water broke, two weeks before my due date. There was a nurses’ strike happening, the temperature was sub-Arctic and I hadn’t quite finished doing all the things I wanted to get done before her arrival as Alexis’ little sister. I wanted to wait. At least until after the nurses’ strike. My doctor informed me waiting was not an option. Liseanne agreed. She arrived just after 3pm in the afternoon of the 30th. Two weeks early. 6lbs 1 oz. A perfect miracle of life.

And that is how she has rolled for 29 years.

Taking the world by storm. Ready or not. Here I come.

It is one of her many gifts. She doesn’t wait for the world to catch up. She leads the parade.

Inspiring. Thoughtful. Thought-provoking. Liseanne likes to challenge ideas, shake-up the status quo, see things through different perspectives.

And she likes to invite everyone into her creative way of seeing the world.

Once, when she was about eight, she really, really wanted a dog. When she asked me if we could get one, I told her I didn’t think so. I was a single-working parent of two young daughters. I didn’t want to have to care for an animal. A few days later, she asked me if we could get an elephant. Of course not, I laughed. An elephant’s too big. What about a giraffe? Same thing, I told her — plus the fact our roof wasn’t high enough to accommodate an animal that tall. She pretended to think about it some more and then asked if we could get a tiger. Tiger’s don’t do well in the city, I replied. Oh, she said. Do dogs? Of course, I casually responded. And they’re not too big or too tall for our house are they? No. They’re not. Good, she said. Then a dog is perfect.

It wasn’t until two weeks later when we were on our way to the SPCA to check out dogs that I realized I’d been outsmarted by my 8 year old daughter.

And when we came home with Bella, an 80lb shaggy black bear of a dog, I realized I’d been out-smarted again. I’d insisted that if we got a dog, it would be a small one.

Liseanne was right though. We needed that big shaggy girl in our lives. And so did their dad, she would later convince me.  Travelling back and forth between houses with the girls, Bella had become his best friend. She’ll only be a block away, mom, she told me when she asked if Bella could go live with their father. You’ve got us. He needs someone in the house with him. And so Bella, the dog she’d lobbied for so convincingly took up residence in their father’s house a block away.

Because it was the right thing to do and doing the right thing is at the heart of who Liseanne is. She cares about people, animals, everything. And beyond caring, she turns up. She takes action.

During the floods, she volunteered around the city helping to sweep out flooded basements, carry out sodden belongings of strangers. It didn’t matter. She was needed. She was there.

Liseanne is a successful young business woman now. She holds a responsible job. She sits on the board of a not for profit. She gives of her time, her talents and her treasures.

It’s who she is. It’s how she is in this world. Loving. Laughing. Living life her way.

And I am so blessed. She has gifted my life with grace and love. And when I really needed it, she gave me the forgiveness I so desperately needed and kept on loving me just the way I am.

Yesterday was my youngest daughter’s birthday. My life and the world are a better place because she’s in it.

 

Beaumont the Wave Chaser

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He is a wave hound. A chaser of the curve as it falls over onto itself racing towards the shore.

He follows the line of the water, running at full speed along the beach.

He does not bark. He does not zig nor zag. He runs like a bullet speeding through air, following the wave.

Beaumont loves the beach. He loves the ocean.

As always happens, no matter where we are or who we’re with, I am the first person up in the morning. It is my habit. My way of being.

I treasured those quiet mornings in Tofino. As the sun rose behind the trees lining the eastern horizon, the light advanced in long shimmering lines, reaching far into the western shores of the Island, pushing night’s blanket away from the shore. Beaumont and I would quietly leave our cabin at the edge of MacKenzie beach and walk in the early morning light, down the steps to the golden sand of Crystal Cove. I’d let him off his leash and he would race around me in circles, his mouth open in a great big huge grin, his body quivering in anticipation of the frolics to come, just on the other side of the rocks protruding from the sand. I’d throw his ball. He’d grab it and make a beeline for the first wave washing ashore.

And the fun began.

Ball in mouth, he races along the curve of the water, splashing and leaping in the waves. If there are others out in the early morning light, they inevitably stop and watch and smile.

Beaumont in the waves is a smile making machine.

He does not pay attention to humans, other dogs, birds. Nothing. He only has eyes for the waves, the water cascading over itself as it rushes to shore.

One woman couldn’t resist his antics. She waited patiently to grab just the perfect photo. She walked towards me, camera outstretched to show me. “I’m so excited I caught him leaping in the waters. His smile is contagious.” She showed me her photo and added. “I want a dog just like him!”

Every morning I walked the beach with Beaumont and was reminded of how easy it is to be in the moment, to be present to joy and share smiles with strangers.

Lesson from a Dog: Chase waves. Smile lots. Life is an adventure.

Grief wears thin with time’s passing. An ode to my brother.

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He loved music.

He loved to play a song and stop it after a few bars and ask, “Name that tune!” And, before you could even get the answer out, he’d be onto the next one. It was a game he always won because he controlled the music. He knew all the songs.

My brother passed away on St. Patrick’s Day, 19 years ago today.

It sounds like a long time when written that way. 19 years.

Grief wears thin with time’s passing. But the missing doesn’t fade. Especially on this day. The day of wearing of the green when my brother would celebrate all things Irish in honour of our dad whose Irish roots ran deep.

My brother didn’t look very Irish. He was dark and handsome. More Arabian prince than Irish duke. But he had the Irish way. One minute dark and brooding. The next smiles and laughter as if the blue sky was a gift that he could bestow upon everyone with just his smile. Like a bright sunny day, my brother could win over any heart. Young or old. Male or female.

I was reminded of my brother this morning as I watched a video of two men having an Irish dance off this morning. I laughed.

They made me think of my brother. He died long before Facebook became ‘a thing’. I can only imagine his feed. It would be filled with inspirational videos and quotes. Things to make every heart smile and every mind open.

My brother would have loved to watch the two men in their dance, but he would never have joined in. George could not dance. He had no rhythm. None at all.

We used to tease him about it. My sisters and I. We’d stand still and move one foot in semi-time to the beat of the music. We’d put our hands on our hips and randomly fling out one arm, not in time to the beat, bob our heads spasmodically and laugh and say, “Look George! I’m dancing like you!”

And my brother would laugh with us and parody himself dancing just like us making fun of him. Because despite his lack of rhythm, he loved a good joke and his laughter was always a song of joy.

Which was about the only song he could sing in tune. He had no rhythm and I swear, he was tone death too.

Midnight mass was always a killer. Especially as we got older and the Revillon my mother insisted we revel in before midnight mass also included my brother and dad imbibing in copious amounts of Irish whiskey. We’d go to the church and stand in the back (my brother was notoriously late for everything) and George would insist on singing at the top of his lungs. “God doesn’t care if I can’t carry a tune,” he’d tell me laughingly. “He just likes to hear the sound of my voice singing!” And he’d belt out another note as my sister Anne and I would attempt to drown out his singing with what we considered to be our more harmonious sounds.

As a kid he tried to play every instrument under the sun. But the lack of rhythm thing always got him. Especially when he was learning the drums. It was painful. We begged him to please stop. To make it end. But he persisted. I’m not sure if he actually liked playing the drums or just enjoyed the tormenting of his sisters more. I have a feeling it was the latter.

He was one boy amongst three girls. Second in birth-order. First in-line of sight. Or at least, that’s what I always jokingly told him. The sun rises and sets on the son, I’d say and he would smile knowingly and carry on with whatever mischievous misdeed he’d concocted that inevitably came back to roost on me. I knew better than to compete with his position in the sun. I knew better than to try to set the record straight. The only nickname he ever carried at home was ‘Music man.’ Mine was ‘The Brat’. No contest. It was always my fault when things went wrong.

And they often did with George’s escapades. He loved to play tricks but he wasn’t very adept at scheming. And he could not keep a straight face, no matter how hard he tried. Which always made it difficult when he tried to play a joke on someone. Inevitably, before the punchline was ever reached, he’d break into laughter and tell the recipient what was going on.

I think he knew that his jokes and tricks were never that funny.

But it didn’t matter. His enthusiasm for the execution of a joke, and his desire to bring everyone in on the joke long before the game was up, won over the hearts and minds of everyone who came within his sphere of influence.

And his sphere was great.

That’s the thing of being like the sun. You touch everyone with your warmth.

My brother and his wife Ros, passed away on this day 19 years ago.

Grief wears thin with time’s passing. And still, they are missed.

 

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This is the video that made me smile in memory of my brother this morning.

 

Family: what we cherish most

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In the silence there is only possibility. In possibility there is hope. In hope there is possibility.

These thoughts drifted in and through my mind this morning as I sat in meditation, letting my body sink into the silence. The silence, and its companion stillness, feed my soul’s yearning for me to know peacefulness, harmony, oneness.

Some mornings, the silence evades me. “Time is passing,” my critter whispers. “You don’t have time for meditation.”

“But if she has time for writing, why doesn’t she have time for meditation?” my voice of reason counters.

The critter laughs. Throws back his head and bays at the invisible moon it cannot see hanging somewhere in the darkness outside my office window.  “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s only so much time and writing is more important than her taking time to get still so she can drift off into la la land.”

I sit between the two, feeling stranded, lost, almost hopeless. I want to heed my voice of reason. She knows what’s best for me. But the critter has a point. There is only so much time before I have to get ready to go to work.

Which voice will I heed?

This morning, I heeded my voice of reason. I took ten minutes for meditation before starting to write. Which, given that this post is now about my experience of trying to avoid what I know is good for me, shows how much the silence informs my writing.

I wasn’t going to write any of this when first I sat down at my desk earlier this morning. The beginning of this post was going to be, “I had only 15 more cards to paint when a text from my stepson arrived on my phone, ‘You’re in. Ticket at the door under 36?'”

36? performs at Festival Hall

36? performs at Festival Hall

36? is the name of my stepson’s band. Dubbed Calgary’s ‘band to watch’ for 2015 by several media outlets, 36? was playing a concert last night as part of CBC Radio 1’s Sunday music program, The Key of A. The performers had been provided two tickets each. He’d given one to his dad and the other to his girlfriend. We’d tried to purchase tickets but online sales said they were sold out.

Fact is, they weren’t. When TC, my stepson arrived at the theatre, he scored me one.

I had only 15 more cards to paint. It was 8:22. The show started at 8. I was in painting clothes and immersed in my process. I had 70 cards to paint and was almost done. I needed to get them done. I like crossing things off my list of “Things to get done to be ready for the wedding.” It would be 9 by the time I got there…

To stay home or to go?

Both critter and the voice of reason agreed on this one, GO!

55 Thank you cards done. 15 more to go.

55 Thank you cards done. 15 more to go.

For the critter, the win came from not letting me finish something I’d set out to do several hours earlier. The cards are to accompany the ‘party favours’ we’ve ordered for the wedding. I could have left them blank but they look so sweet and springlike with the flowers all painted up. I was actually smiling as I painted them!

And then, I thought about the conversation we’d had earlier in the day when my dear friend Kerry Parsons came over to talk with us about the wedding ceremony and our vows. Yours is a story of hope, she said. Of possibility. Of love always winning.

She’s right. Even after broken hearts and shattered dreams. Even after I do’s cast out into fate with the intention of  falling into love forever, only to fall apart long before forever came, we are courageous enough to turn up for each other and say, I do. I do believe in Love. I do believe in marriage. I do believe in giving love a chance because in the end, what matters most, is love. And our love is all about our families. It’s all about C.C. and I, not just as two people joining together into a single matrimonial unit but as two families coming together as one.

The voice of reason was right. I can paint anytime. I can’t be with C.C. and listen to his son, our son, perform at Festival Hall anytime. I can’t sit beside him every night of the week and hold his hand and watch his face beaming with pride as he watches his son leap and dance and sing and play his guitar and pound on his keyboard as he throws his whole being into his performance.

I can’t do that anytime. I must take the time to do it when I can.

And I can only do that when I choose to put aside what I’m doing and focus on being with the one I love, so that together we can celebrate what we cherish most; our family.

 

 

 

 

Go ahead…Click

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The View Through My Window This Morning

The View Through My Window This Morning

I got blown away this morning by one short paragraph. Imagine, all it took to stop my heart, deepen my breathing and open my senses wide open to the truth were a string of vowels and consonants strung together to create a vision of wisdom for my soul to feast on.

My blog-friend Val Boyko shares a quote and photo from Zen philosopher Thich Nhat Hanh on her blog this morning entitled, That Particular Moment. 

The quote she shares begins with, “When something upsets you, when something happens that is not to your liking in your family or your community, you want to change it right away.”  What Thich Nhat Hanh writes afterwards is so simple, so elegant so filled with loving kindness putting it into practice cannot help but create a better world for all.

Go ahead…. Click.

Photographer and a new blog find for me, Mary Hone, shares beautiful photographs of the journey she and her artist husband, Al Hone, are taking on backroads of America with their dog and fifth wheeler on her blog, Tales from the Backroad. On Tuesday, Mary asked for help with votes in a competition she’s entered at Fine Art America. It’s a simple and elegant way to make a difference today simply by clicking on the title above each of Mary’s photos and voting (you need a FB account). You’ll make a difference today and give a feast to your eyes and all your senses.

Go ahead… Click.

Yvonne, at The Presents of Presence, is a breast cancer survivor and a woman of deep faith and beauty. In Wasting a Mind Away, she writes with loving kindness about caring for her Aunt Mable whose mind has been devastated by loss and disease.

Go ahead… Click.

Mark Kolke, the man who originally inspired me to begin blogging 8 years ago, has a blog today on a decision coming down from the Supreme Court of Canada today on Assisted Suicide. A touchy, divisive and important conversation is being held right now on our Eastern slopes to decide, do we or don’t we allow those who are standing helplessly by while loved ones struggle to breathe, ease their pain and suffering. Mark’s post, There Will Be Change, is worth the read. Let’s hope those who make the law of our land agree.

Go ahead… Click.

Have a wonderful Friday!

Birthday gratitude and other things

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I had a beautiful birthday.

I worked from home, finished off an article I’ve been procrastinating on, sent it off to the editor and it is done.

A sigh of relief, of gratitude for getting it done, of satisfaction for a task completed, moves joyfully through my body.

That’s the thing about things that sit on ‘the pile’ waiting to get done. They don’t actually go away until I transform the energy I waste avoiding them, into the action of doing them.

Avoidance strengthens fear.

Avoidance not only adds to stress levels, it also creates a chemical reaction that, with every time we avoid a particular thing, sends tiny little messages to the brain that says, “See! Avoiding it actually felt good. Let’s get better at avoiding it so we keep getting that tiny fissure of relief in the immediacy of our avoidance!”

In actual fact, while that tiny fissure of relief is  momentary, it can create giant waves of discord when activated too often.

Those waves of discord are created from the worry, shame, fear, excuses, blame… whatever emotions we encounter when avoiding doing something we know is good for us, or we need to do, or we have to do because…

In the case of the article I finished editing yesterday, it was a commitment made in the summer to a magazine for an article on the challenges of housing formerly homeless individuals in community. My former boss had asked if I would do it, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

And it was. It’s just, between the original draft and the final, there have been many revisions, and many other items, (not to mention excuses) that got in the path of completing the article.

Yesterday, I worked from home and got it done. It is gone. Off my desk. Finished. Final.

And while the fissure of relief from avoiding it repeatedly was kind of intoxicating in a sick and cyclical way, the relief from having it finished, never to be thought of again, never to be shoved aside or discounted or procrastinated over, is even greater!

Once done, I had time to review a document I need to work on this week — and the benefit is, I can work on it without thoughts of what I ‘should’ be finishing clouding my thinking.

It is easy to convince ourselves that not doing what needs doing is okay – at least until tomorrow.

Challenge is, tomorrow will arrive and the not doing will begin to take up more and more of our mindspace as we spend more and more time rationalizing why we’re avoiding doing what is there to do.

If avoidance strengthens fear, doing it creates peace.

And I like peace of mind and heart. I like the peace of knowing that I am right with my world and all is right within me.

I finished a task yesterday I’ve been putting off for awhile. Now that it’s done, I wonder what I was putting off for so long. Perhaps it truly was just the addiction to those tiny fissures of relief that were getting in the way of my seeing how easy it was to strengthen what I want more of in my life, just by doing what I feared!

Namaste.

And thank you for the Birthday wishes!  It was a grand day.

 

Thank you 1

 

Westjet rocks the skies — and customer service!

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“I went to Vancouver,” my co-worker, Aaron tells me when I ask him about his Thanksgiving weekend.

I am surprised. I don’t recall him talking about plans to go away.

He laughs. “I was only there for twenty minutes.”

It was just one of those things.

His sister and two friends had gone for a ‘girls’ weekend away, leaving their husbands at home for a couple of nights with their small children. At the airport, all set to board the plane for their return flight home, his sister discovered her wallet had been stolen.

Panic set in.

Tearful, angst ridden phone calls. Cries of help. Brother and father converge at the Calgary airport in a desperate attempt to get their loved one home to her family for Thanksgiving dinner. Enroute to the airport, the father picks-up his daughter’s passport from her husband while Aaron checks out options to fly to Vancouver to deliver it. At this point, they’re not thinking about the cost. It’s all about getting her home to her family.

“Westjet was amazing,” he tells me.

Who knew they have a 25% policy for situations such as this?

“I couldn’t believe how understanding they were,” he says. Not only did they give him a 75% discount on the fare, they put him on the next flight and upgraded all four return tickets to business class for the return flight home, which happened after Aaron’s 20 minute stop-over.

Way to go Westjet! It’s no wonder you were inducted into Canada’s Most Admired Corporate Cultures Hall of Fame.

Who wouldn’t be proud of working for a company that treats distressed passengers with such good care?

As for Aaron, it gave him an even greater appreciation of what happens to people on the margins. “My sister had options. She had people jumping in to help her. When I got off the plane, they were all three standing at the gate waiting for me, crying. Her friends wouldn’t leave her alone and Westjet didn’t insist they catch their original flight. They rebooked us all together on a different flight, without charging them. But, even though my sister knew I was bringing her passport, she still felt lost and really scared. What if she never got home?”

I remember when a mix-up with my passport left me stranded in New York City for a couple of days. When the Canadian consulate told me  they couldn’t help me, I started to cry. Even though I had my wallet, credit cards and money in my bank account, I still felt lost and alone. I feared they’d never let me out of the country, even though they deemed I was there illegally.

At the time, I wandered the streets of New York feeling hopeless. I tried to visit a church, it was locked. I stopped for a tea and when the waiter asked if he could get me anything else, I started to cry. I remembered all the people at the homeless shelter where I worked at that time. How they continually came up against doors closing, people telling them, no, we can’t help you get ID without a fixed address, or open a bank account, or get government assistance. No, you can’t go there, do that, sit on that, talk like that.

It was a reminder of how blessed I am, and how fragile some people’s lives are.

Aaron’s sister never planned to have her wallet stolen. She never planned to need the help of her family to get her home. And she never anticipated that an airline would step in and do whatever it could to help her through a situation they had no part in creating.

Yet, there they all were. Her family, friends, and an airline that wouldn’t leave her stranded.

For those on the margins, stranded in that place called homeless, without resources, at a loss on what to do next, sometimes, the only people standing by to help are in places called Emergency Shelters. In the emergencies they find themselves lost within, it is in those places where caring people reach out to say, “Here, let me help you shoulder the load,” that they find themselves again on the road of life, taking those first steps back to where they belong, that place called home.

Aaron’s sister made it home, just as I did long ago.

For the thousands who have not yet found their way, I am grateful there are places such as the Calgary Drop-In & Rehab Centre and the Mustard Seed and Alpha House and a host of other agencies filled with caring people committed to ensuring that those who are stranded with no way home, are not lost forever on the streets of Calgary.

Wine Therapy at Therapy Vineyards!

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photo (2)

It is a good omen, I said to C.C. as we drove west through the Rockies into a beautiful rainbow of iridescent colours spanning the valley through which we were driving. On either side the peaks soared into the sky, their craggy summits shrouded in misty clouds, while all around us, fir trees marched up the slopes, a silent army of towering pines protecting our path through the Rockies.

Seven hours after leaving Calgary, we arrived at our destination, the delightful, quixotic and aptly named, Therapy Vineyards and Guest House. Perched on the eastern slopes above Lake Okanagan on the Naramatta Bench, the vineyards are one of 24 wineries that span the 23 kilometre long stretch of land that stretches out along the escarpment above the village of Naramatta.

This is Wine Crush weekend at the winery, which is all part of the fall wine fest happening throughout the southern Okanagan wine region. Once, the wines of British Columbia were considered laughable, a hobby that would never grow into anything worthy of the wine lists of finer dining establishments and collector’s cellars. Now, the wine lovingly crafted from the sandy soils and dry climes of the region are world renowned. Gold Medal winners again and again with some of the harshest critics across the globe, there is a wine for every palate and every plate. And, unlike other regions which may be able to boast great wines and views of vast expanses of hillsides and valleys stretching out for miles, this region also has stunning views of the sparkling waters of lakes that flow into the distant horizon tucked safely into the protective embrace of the soaring peaks of the Okanagan.

On the deck at Therapy Vineyards

On the deck at Therapy Vineyards

When we arrived at Therapy, we were just in time to join our host, wine aficionada and passionate raconteur of all things wine related, Renee, one of the proprietors of the vineyard, for a wine tasting. The sun was warm, the wines mellow and the company cheerful and upbeat. While we had missed the scheduled wine tour that is part of the Therapy Wine Crush Weekend, we were greeted warmly by the other 12 guests staying at the winery who had spent the afternoon traipsing through the hilly vineyards, tasting the grapes on the vine and learning all about the wine-making process. Later, we enjoyed an amazing 4 course meal in the Guest House dining room with Chef Casey and his delightful partner and guest house manager, Natalie. We laughed and chatted with our fellow travellers, and of course, had ample samples of the delicious wines crafted right here in Therapy’s cellars. And yes, it was great Therapy!

And the therapy didn’t stop there. After a delightful breakfast, C.C. and I set out to find the perfect spot for our wedding next April, only to discover, the options abound.

Vines and View at Noble Ridge

Vines and View at Noble Ridge

From the elegant restaurant at Bonitas Winery, sprawled out on the western shore of the lake, to Tinhorn Creek’s vast expanse of vineyards and classy Miradori Restaurant, the Southern Okanagan Valley is delivering up lots of choices! While neither Bonitas or Tinhorn are our first picks, we know we’ll find the perfect spot — one of them, Noble Ridge, is owned by a couple from Calgary whose daughter went to pre-school with my youngest. We laughed when we met and shared the ubiquitous, “I know you!” only to realize it was 20+ years ago that we met when our daughters played together in the sandbox. How times change! From sandbox to the vineyard is a lot of grape underfoot!  And yes, I know. A really bad pun.

But staying here at Therapy, I’ve discovered there are no limits to bad wine jokes! From, “What a grape view,” as you stand surveying the vista, to “Grape to meet you!”, wine references and puns are everywhere.

The view from Liquidity

The view from Liquidity

And today, we’re off again to explore and learn more and to meet more passionate folk of the Okanagan wine country.

What could be better than a day spent in the sun, exploring the sights and wines of some of the most beautiful scenery on the planet?

Drop into the sites we visited yesterday and see for yourself — truly a paradise valley! I’ve listed them below.

Therapy Vineyards and Guesthouse

Bonitas Winery

Blue Mountain

Church & State  (Coyote Bowl)

Tinhorn Creek

Liquidity Winery & Bistro

Noble Ridge

Zackariah and the Non-Profits

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In the minutes and hours and weeks following the tragedy, they huddled together on the corner of the street where it happened, in coffee shops and living rooms, and any other place where one or two or more were gathered.

They cried together, leaned on each other, held each other up and caught each other in those moments when their grief overcame them. They shared stories of their friends, laughed at their remembered antics, shook their heads at some of their escapades. They honoured their names, their memories, their lives intersecting.

And time moved on as they struggled to make sense of what they could not make sense of. How could five of their own, five lives whose promise was just beginning to unfold as they travelled through University classes, art college, band practices and sporting events and the plethora of minutiae that make a life, that made these five lives so precious, how could they be gone? How could they be killed in such a brutal fashion?

It was if a giant unseen hand swept down from the north and wiped away the space these five young friends held on earth. One moment, they were laughing and celebrating the end of another school year, the next, they were gone.

Last night, C.C. and I along with hundreds of others came out in support of the efforts of two surviving members of the Zackariah and The Prophets band.  Organized by Kyle Tenove and Barry Mason, the evening featured The Fox Who Slept the Day Away, The Ashley Hundred, Windigo and Jesse and the Dandelions, as well as a moving and emotional tribute performance of Zackariah and The Prophets.

And while nothing can make sense of such a horrible loss, the evening, called, High Hopes, did just that. It reminded all of us that no matter what happens in the world around us, we cannot let go of hope for a better future, hope for a kinder world, hope for peace. And we must take action to keep hope alive in all our hearts.

As C.C. and I sat and listened, tapping our feet to the rocking beat of the Prophets, the many young people in the crowd leapt up and hurried en masse to the front of the performance hall to stand as one body, shoulder to shoulder, arms around each other, singing and waving their arms and moving their bodies to the music.

And as they did in the moments following the events of April 15, they held each other up, they supported one another and moved as one body united in memory of Josh and Zacharia and Kaiti Perras, Jordan Segura, and Lawrence Hong, all of whom lost their lives on that fateful day.

And when it was over, when the music quietened and the last thank-you spoken, there was one thing remaining that carried each of us out into the night — the High Hopes that we can make a difference that Barry and Kyle so desperately wanted to instill in everyone.

Proceeds from the event will go to the Zackariah and the Non-Profits (ZATNP) established by the two young men which will then be distributed among the five scholarships and/or trust funds established for Joshua Hunter, Zackariah Rathwell, Lawrence Hong, Jordan Segura and Kaiti Perras.

Their dream is to make a difference in the world. To ensure that the lives of their friends continue to make a difference in the world.

And they are.

I’m sure their friends would have approved and while it doesn’t make sense of what happened, it does create better in the world from a tragedy that has impacted so many.

We can learn much from these young people about what it means to honour and celebrate the lives of those we love — no matter where in time their stories end.