My First Valentine

14 Feb

My First Valentine

Dad_Kate_van
{ Asleep on my father’s shoulder. Summer camping. What you cannot see is that I am dangling off of his seat with  my feet barely touching me seat below. }

My father. My dad has always loved me unconditionally…and never stops, no matter. When others do not, he does.

He has told me to slow down, take one step at a time and would say, “Rome wasn’t built in a day” when I was in frantic rush to finish an art mural overnight or write an English Lit essay. And it worked.

My Dad showed up to every single soccer game. Everyone one. He even became the coach of my midget team when the real coach didn’t show up one time. “Hold Your Horses!” he’d yell to a team of screaming girls, “Put me on Coach! Put me in net! Put me on Wing!”

He rose early, got ready for work and made us hot porridge – Red River cereal rolled oats AND quick oats. Molasses and brown sugar every morning. Every. All 12 years of school. That’s approximately 2660 bowl of porridge. I didn’t really like it, but I ate. It “puts meat on our bones and keeps us warm all day.” he’d say.

He was home for supper mostly every night. My mom would warn my twin and I when she could see his car coming down the road or we tucked our foreheads as tight as we could at the are end of the bay window in order to see it at the earliest point it would come into our sight. My twin and I would go and duck behind the kitchen counter and wait in giggles. When my Dad walked through the kitchen door we’d jump up, run towards him in unicorn screaming, “Yabba Dabba Do!” He’d catch us in his arms – one of us eventually falling over the years as we grew and then he would swing us though his legs. He always acted surprised to see us!

My dad designed and built a beautiful home fit for a King, Queen, Princess and princes. He had never built a house before and just decided to go for it!  He instilled this conviction in us in our lives too. Complete with a pool and a horse. Okay the pool was a swamp one year, and we couldn’t ride the horse, but she was a beaut! My first prince charming tried. He was bucked off. He’s survived. It was at a family reunion.

One time in high school I wanted to go to the Richmond Dance in the next town. It was at least a 40 minute drive from where we lived. My father drove me and dropped me off. He told me he would come back to pick me up at 11pm. When I came out of the dance I couldn’t see him any where. Then I noticed the van across the street parked at the gas station. I went across the street. He’d never left. Slept there for the few hours the dance was for and waiting for me.

My father is a calm man with unsuspecting wisdom in his noggin. There are not many things he’s insistent on. Here are some. He insisted we all learn how to drive a standard car. I couldn’t stand it at the time, but I’m forever thankful now and prefer to drive a stick shift. Men are impressed as well. When I got into Ottawa University, Carleton and Queen’s it was down to the wire and a decision had not been made. With the deadline being the next day, he calmly announced, “She’s going to Queens.” When I was checking the residence box choices my mother was supportive of my enthusiasm with choosing Vic Hall – the Co-ed residence. He was not.

“Addy Hall. She’ll be putting down Addy Hall.”
Dad_Kate_UniversityThere are some things I won’t share on here – to personal – but the depth in their mystery should tell you. My father has driven the distance to help the ones he loves.

What really took me by surprise happened 25 years after my father’s gesture actually took place. It was a year or so after my Mom died. We were all sad – grieving the light in the family gone. I the worst for good reason. Things never to be the same. We were sitting { First day of University. Getting dropped off. I didn’t even want my parents there. I had left straight from the camp I had worked at to arrive. My attitude- woot – woot – I am out of here! Two summers on my own and I am ready. My parents new better and arrived. The tears came – fear of leaving your entire existence for the last 19 years. My father is consoling me here and telling me everything is going to be ok. My roommate also had Bon Jovi posters and ugly crocheted granny blankets. I wasn’t a Bon Jovi fan and opted for the more trendy forest green florals that were in. }

in a German eatery in Ottawa valley cottage country. I can’t remember now how we got this part, but I was saying, you know Dad, you remember that life size dollhouse you gave me when I was 6? That was so cool. I woke up on Christmas morning and we were always held back until we entered the room together as “Santa” did not wrap all our presents, but had them carefully laid out in piles. When I entered the room, there in the middle was an absolutely gigantic life-size pretend house for me! It was made of wood and had a door I could walk through and a cute paned window with red chequered curtains and a frill across the top. I was floored. So excited, so happy to have my own life-size “fort” to play in. I asked him what store he bought it at and how he hid it from me without me seeing with the sheer size of it.

“I made it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I made it.”

“You did? You mean you put the pieces together?”

“No – I designed and made it from scratch.”

“Noooo! Really? Dad, I had no idea. All these years, I either forgot or never knew. But how did you keep it hidden from me? (I was a pretty good sneaking around looking for hidden Christmas gifts).

“I made it that night.”

Tears started to stream down my face. I looked at him in shock.

“You mean, not only did you come up with a design for it, but also you bought all the supplies, and you put it together that night? Where?”

“In the basement.”

“God, Dad. That’s amazing. I had no idea. How long did it take?”

“Ohhh – well, probably the whole night.”

I reached over the small table and gave my Dad the biggest hug and cried.

“Aww Dad, I had no idea. That is so amazing. You rock Dad. You rock.”
Kate_dollhouse_dad.
{ The dollhouse my father designed and built from scratch. Christmas circa 1981 }

When my mom passed and I had some several strong reactions that I couldn’t explain. I sought a grief therapist. And in that therapy I have discovered so many things that most people don’t even skim on that makes them think the way they think, do the things they do. I had an extremely traumatic birth and my mom mother never let me forget – miracle baby she called me. “Katie, you were so small – 3 months premature – you almost died Katie,” she would say. My parent’s didn’t name me in the beginning – in case I didn’t make it. This might make the pain of losing me easier she told me. I had 3 nicknames – Twin B, Bird Legs and Sweet Lady.

For some reason I have always loved the sound my father’s boots would make when he’d come home and walk across the kitchen floor. My father wore full suits work and dressed up full leather cowboy boots. He has always been most comfortable in them. One of the many many things I discovered was that no matter what strength or confidence I project, there was always an underlying chord of fear of death – fear of everything running through me. I have never let this stop me. In fact, it pushes me to do the things I fear. The sound of my father’s boots entering the house made me feel safe now that he was home. What I didn’t know and I’ll never know for sure until my life-review comes at my death. You know where you see you life flash before your eyes.( I already know this happens as I experienced it in the Queen’s car accident). Is that apparently, leaving a newborn baby in an incubator with no human contact at all, and a constant bombardment of tape, needles, straps, breathing machines, doctors, nurses, bright lights, noises and a seperation from your c0-womb cohabitor doesn’t make a 1.5 pound preemie want to really stick around. Would you? Runts of puppy litter usually die from lack of attention as they are to tiny  to fight siblings for nurturing attention and food. My mom tried of course she did. The medical reports I mailed away for speak of doctors notes indicating her daily calls. My mom had to have a surgery immediately following our birth and then home to rest. We lived a 1/2 hour from the hospital and so she didn’t come every day.

And only in my therapy could I really only grasp how awful this must have been for me. And a better way for you the reader to grasp this concept is if anyone has had a baby. You are attached at the breast or the hip following births for hours, days, weeks, months. When your baby cries 3 minutes they are picked up and calmed or soothed. Imagine crying for minutes, days, weeks, months and not only your mother not coming to pick you up, but because of the risk of infection, not even being physically touched with a soothing hand. And the only hands coming in, our giving you needles. Even though they were trying to save my life, the nature of what they were doing was in a way torture to anyone, let alone a 1.5 pound infant that doesn’t know where her mother is or her twin. What came to me through different techniques with my therapist is at one point I may have decided to check out. Wouldn’t you? But what I saw in this flashback was me not being able to stand being so alone anymore and leaving my little body, hovering over it in the little incubator –  I heard the sound of my father’s cowboy boots walking down the hospital hallway. I recognize the sounds of those boots. That’s my father.

My father came every day to see me. You see, as luck would have it, in the nation’s capital and all the possible government buildings locations, the east, the west, Hull etc., my father happened to be working in the only government building that was situated directly across from the Civic hospital – yes in the experimental farms. My father was working for Agriculture Canada at the time – directly across the road from the Ottawa Civic. What are the chances of that? He was at work every day and could come over on his lunch hour to see me. I chose to come back.

And I know that  I’m sure I don’t know half the things my father did for me – for the three kids. The hours he worked, the things he made, the family meetings, the planning, the worrying, the late nights, the shopping, the researching – his make-shift MacGyver fixings of socks, shoes, toys, books, science projects, campers, tents, sleeping bags, cleats. I have no idea and I’ll never know. All I know is it was enough. It is enough that my father is who he is without doing all these things – a gentle, loving, compassionate father who’s unsuspecting wisdom surprised me at the times I would need it the most. When our family was in a group setting or helping others and maybe as a child I didn’t want to be there or if someone says something to me without really understanding me and he knows this he had this way of finding my face across a crowd and giving me a quick wink acknowledging that he see me – he gets it.
Dad_Kate_LivingRm{ The only “official” family portrait we ever had taken }

When I got the best friend award in Grade five for being a good friend to the most people in the school and lending a helping hand – I had no idea.  I was 11 years old. When my name was announced, I got up in shock and walked to the front of the entire school gymnasium. I was A sixth sense told me to look back. I did and there standing with smiles beaming at the back  were my mom and Dad. My Dad should have been downtown at work. What floored me about this is that I was so surprised to see both my parents there in the middle of the day, but even more so because my father was wearing his absolute very best dark chocolate double breasted brass buckled suit that he only ever-ever  wore for the most important of meetings. He wore that for me? I was so happy.
Fathers, treat your children – your daughters right. Hopefully, you will have less to worry about the company they keep and the Valentines they will grow up to have in their future because of how you treated them. Everybody deserves the very best. Be a father you deserved as a child. Respect, unconditional love and a number one team coach/cheerleader should do the trick! A nightly story and a good-tuck in with their little feet under the covers goes a long way too.
Happy Valentines Day Everyone!
Love,
Sweet Lady who decided to stay

It’s Rainy Today

22 Sep

Lovers Under Covers

Rain_cottage_womanI like the rain – sometimes.
If I’m indoors and it’s cozy.
Not if I’m outdoors & it’s cold.
The best time I like the rain – is at a cottage, when you have all these outdoor chores to do, but you’d rather not and you wake to rain.
You are forced to stay inside and take a me day.
No where to go, nothing in particular that has to get done.
Just you and the rain coming down and hitting the roof in rhythm.
Inside rumbling, crackling fires are better in the rain,
Making hot tea or hot chocolate is better in the rain,
Making breakfast is better in the rain. Hot buttered toast smells better in the rain. Bacon smells better in the rain.
I don’t drink coffee, but even fresh percolating coffee is better in the rain.
Big fluffy robes are better in the rain.
My long, black cashmere sweater feels better in the rain.
Freshly dried clothes, hot sheets & primped towels feel so much better in the rain. Playing board games with friends and family is better in the rain.
Playing cards and chit chat with friends and lovers is better when it rains.
Calm kids, giggling kids, kids getting along are better when it rains.
Soccer games are so much more fun in the rain. Dancing in the rain.
3:00 Daytime knaps on the cottage couch or sun porch daybed rock in the rain!
Diving under big puffy down duvets are better in the rain.
Curling up beside your loved one and nestling your bodies together is way better in the rain.
And aren’t the other things we do under the covers with our lovers all better in the rain? lovers_cuddle
Music is better in the rain – especially jazz, ambient and Morrison.
Songs about rain are better in the rain.
The CBC is way better in the rain.
Reading books is better in the rain – Did you ever notice you read more pages?
Hot bubble baths rock in the rain. The bubbles are bigger when it rains.
Tea lights and candles are better in the rain.
Red wine tastes better in the rain.
Paris is better in the rain. It’s even more romantic in the rain.
And hot tropics like Costa Rica are better when it rains.
Homemade soup is better in the rain.
Chilli, spaghetti & garlic buns all taste better in the rain.

Why? Why is everything better in the rain?
Because we are nature.
And the closer we our to nature, the closer we our to our soul.
And our souls often need nature to reboot.
Rain feeds the soul.

If it’s coming down over you, around you, into the earth beneath and through you and even if your caught running in it – You are getting soothed by mother nature.
A very wet mother nature.

Getting caught running in the rain without an umbrella is the worst thing about the rain.
Unless it’s sunny and you’re about to have your first kiss with a lover – Then, then it’s way ok getting caught in the rain.
What do you love to do in the rain?

In Richness of Being a word lover,
Katie

fingerprint• Locale: Under fluffy covers in my new temp Feng Shooie (What My Dad calls Feng Shui) Beaches home
• On Deck: Into the Mystic { listen }by Van Morrison. “I want to Rock your Gypsy Soul.”
• Mood: Feel’n cozy, creative & romantic. Where can I get me a fire?
• Wet Dogs are not good in the rain. Now Pina Colada’s and wet hugs – They’re good in the rain.

Girl’s East Coast Roadtrip, Bottomed Out Oil Pan & Brushes with Buddhism

7 Jul

My Brushes with the Buddhism
Screen Shot 2014-07-06 at 4.42.22 PMI have though always had an affinity to, an attraction to Tibet culture, colors and Buddhism. It was never front and center in my mind, but there lingering…

One summer my best friend and I were deciding what we could do together for our vacation. I suggest Road trip! I’d already lived out west, so I suggested, “Girl’s East Coat Road trip!” Final destination: Peggy Cove of course. The Holy grail of anyone’s east coast road trip! Just to set the scene, we had 10 days and were kinda wing’n it until I my friend arrived to pick me up and handed me 20 pages of Google map quest sheets with instructions from Toronto, with stops at major tourist attractions ending at Dalhousie and Peggy’s cove. I didn’t think she was really-truly “into this trip” until that point. I wanted to have some fun and good times. While I was putting gas in the car, my friend was sorting some things in the trunk of her Sunfire. I’m thinking, ok, she’s uber organized on this front- which was grand – but, tell me, will she have the capability to ver of course and have some fun. Next thing I know, while she’s headface into a pile of clothing, bags & camping stoves, she abruptly flings out something and throws it at me

“Hey – Catch!”

“Hey – I’m pumping gas here.”

I catch it. Cuz I can catch. And then she throws something else at me that’s glowing flourescent.

“Ahhh= Only 2 hands here Lady!”

I managed to catch it too. A flourescent orange water gun. I’m confused.

She looks at me. I flip the hot fuchsia sparkled book over to see the cover.

Cameron Tuttle’s book, “Girls Guide to the Open Road”.

“If were going to be doing anything out of there, then we’ll need these!”

She pulls another flourescent water gun from the back of the Sunfire.

I’m smiling so intently that she is finally getting this. Getting IN to it.

“What are these for? So we can shoot each other in the car like you’re pissed off at your car since we’re going to be in it for 10 days?”

“No” she grabs the book. “Didn’t you read?”

“Chapter 5. Page 47. Shoot Water pistols at construction workers on the Highway.”

“Ha! I lost it. I think it was the largeScreen Shot 2014-07-06 at 4.48.51 PMst, longest funniest laugh of the whole trip. We recorded everything. I still have the “Thelma & Louise” travel log. Although, she looks swiss, so I think we re-named our selves, “Gretchen and Helga” or something like that – only better looking of course. ‘Never saw so many heads turn at Tim Horton’s drive-ups through rural east coast at 6am every morning let me tell you. I learned not to communicate with my friend before a couple minutes after her fist sip of coffee. In fact, as I recall, I think I leaned to wait until it settled in, and she’s breathe a sigh of

“Thank God” and say,”Ok. Now what? I’m caffeinated.

Many hilarious stories to share about this road trip. I’m going to tell a kinda cute story of getting lost on a mission.

My friend is a vet, and one of her goals of the trip ( I ask people what their main desires or intentions are for a trip to appeal to everyone and ask for it to happen!). He 100% response was,

“Gotta sea whales. Whales. Yup. Must see whales. Whales must see.”

We had already been on the road trip for several days and many happenings. We left our last site and goal of the day was to take a trip on a Schooner with the prime goal of being able to see the whales. Two motion sick pills, some crazy-schooner wind hair and $80 later – no whales. My friend was not a happy camper.

“I’m sorry you girls didn’t catch any whales. You know, if you really want to see them, you should go to where the locals go.”

“Oh” my friend was intrigued.

“Yah, if you really want to see them, try secret beach. No tourists, usually you can catch whales there. No guarantee, but usually.”

We got directions and headed there right away. It was only 20 minute drive. The instructions were kinda sketchy, “Two fields this way, second unmarked road on the left” kind of a deal. We drove down the road we thought was the road to the secret beach. About half way down, feeling and hearing the high-grass hitting the underbelly of the car, I said,”

“I don’t know if this is the right road.” I saw a roughly painted sign staked into one of the trees fly by.

“Maybe you should slow down a bit. I think I passed a sign that may have said parking. You really couldn’t tell as the car tracks that made this “road” were to overgrown with tall grass it was crap shoot if we were really on a road or not.

“No , no we’re good. I’m going to keep going.”

The trees and grass were tall and thick and you couldn’t tell where we were going.”

“I don’t think it’s  good idea. You have a low car. It’s not really an off roading car. It’s not a jeep.”

She kept driving. “No – I think this is go….”

“KA-BOOM…crash…ta-ting, ta-ting”

“Shit! That doesn’t sound good.’

“Nah, We’re good. She pulled into a rivet that looked like cars had parked there at some point in the last..year.”

Screen Shot 2014-07-06 at 4.50.04 PMWe parked the car. Hiked a shot trail that opened up to the beautiful ocean, set down our mexican blankets popular at that time and caught some rays. No whales.

“We’re leaving!”

“We’ve been here like 20 min.”

“There’s no whales, We’re leaving.”

“Don’t you just want to take a break for a bit?”

“No. Whales. Mission.”

“Ohhh K. How exactly do you expect to find them now?”

“Don’t know. Lets go to the car and I’ll figure it out.”

At least she was “wing’n it at this point.”

We got back it the car, head to the road.”

“Aren’t we near the Cabot trail?”

“Yes. close.”

“We’ll go there.”

“But it’s the afternoon. It takes forever to take the trail.”

“Whales.”

“I gotta tell you. I’m open to this, but I’m bagged. I’m not sure i can navigate. I really need a knap.”

“Fine. No worries.”

We headed out on the infamous Cabot trail. We drove all the way to one side mock whatever!  I’m sure at times with the road trip music blaring that we had mixed. Song of the road trip? George Michel in Wham, “Wake Me Up Before You  Go-Go!” We were reliving out youth. Come on.

I fell asleep. She looked for whales while navigating the windy Cabot trail.

When we go to the end. She turned around and went back.

“No whales?”

“No whales.”

We were on our way back. She was disappointed as I was when I found out we couldn’t have a campfire on account of the dryness meter and potential for forest fire on the provincial park sign. I felt for her, but I was relieved to be venturing back to the campsite.

“We better head back. We have to find site, set up camp before dark and dusk it coming.”

“Yah, I know. I guess so.”Screen Shot 2014-07-06 at 5.14.12 PM

We headed back on the road. Not for long. I was trying to keep my eye lids open to help steer the car from the passenger seat, but couldn’t. I felt the car do a 180.

“Whatttt are you doing?”

“I have a hunch!”

“Uhuh. Yes, go on.”

“I just got  hunch, about this road we passed. I’m going to take a look-see. Wasn’t you that told me trust my hunches, listen to my intuition, often our first instinct is correct, and not the fear statement that stops it after? Yadda yadda yadda….”

“Yesssssss. That was me.”

“I saw a road back there. I’m going to it. Besides didn’t you say you have to go the washroom?”

“Yes, yes, it’s fine. Go.”

We drive down the road or UP the road as it were. The road began to swivel and take a turn, as it climbed and climbed and climbed, it wrapped a wide bend, as we approached the top, we could see the ocean on our right. We stop before we get to the top of third road that seems to be going no where and has no inhabitants on it, held only by the ocean at its side. Before getting to the top we decided to stop. There were so many tall grasses with beautiful wild flowers of all kinds blowing in the wind – you know when you see a field and wish you could just dive in and float there before hitting the ground? We got back in the car.

“All right. I give up! No whales. I tried. I’m ok with that we can try tomorrow. Should we turn around and go back down? This road isn’t leading anywhere.”

You could feel the relief in the car of friend letting go of  her mission to have a whale sighting.

“Nahh. Let’s keep on, we’re going up, so it mush come down on the other side and hit the highway.”

We continued up and then the wildlife and the road seemed to be coming to a halt. The road literally stopped at the top of the hill and went nowhere. Odd? How does a a road end with no official end? How is it a road? Why was there no sign that said dead end? We got to the top. Stopped. Looked around. Looked at each other and thought, “this is odd.”

‘This is kinda weird actually.”

I got out of my side of the car and shit the door.

She motioned me that it was too loud. I motioned her that who was it going to bother, there’s nothing around us with my hands. We looked around again, looked at each other. Then our eyes came to meet a large sign that wasn’t in english, red with gold lettering. Our eyes met – enlarged. We laughed confused.

“Where the heck are we?”

“I’m a little confused. Actually kinda spooked.”Screen Shot 2014-07-06 at 4.44.28 PM

“Oh it’s fine. We’re fine. Look there’s a building. Maybe they have a washroom we can use.”

We start to walk over to the white barnyard building. Not long after, a shadow appeared. Out walked a bald headed man, cloaked in a long merlot robe. Erin and I looked at each other. ” Geezuz – Where are we?” we thought to ourselves.

We were honestly a bit put off in the beginning. Are we at some cult? And I immediately realized, we’re fine.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh – sorry, we didn’t mean to disturb you. I guess we kinda got lost on this road. We’re looking for a washroom.”

“You are welcome to use ours. Please come.”

We walked towards the large white house on the cliff. Really it was bigger then a house. The monk gave us direction for the washroom.

“We don’t typically allow visitors outside hours, or to go through the home. We have many monks here now on a residence retreat. It’s ok though.”

My friend went to find the washroom.

“Where are we?”

“Would you like a tour? You are at Gampo Abbey. This is a Buddhist monastery in the Shambhala tradition.”

“Sure!”

The young monk walked me around. I entered the kitchen and there were a couple monks playing cards. “Monks play cards?” I thought to my self. What a silly question. All they’re missing is a couple cold ones on this kitchen table and they’re any Jim or Joe playing cards.

“Would you like to see where we mediate?”

“Sure. Ok.” I was expecting a pretty drab, basic room with cushions on the floor. Quite the contrary. He lead me into this room and opened the door. Breathtaking. The entire room was was set on the backdrop of the ocean and dripped in brass and gold Buddha statue and flags. Lovely Merlot cushions lined up. Some three pillows high. Actually looked comfortable!

My friend returned and I went in. When I came back out, the same monk approached me.

“You said your friend was looking for whales?”

“Yes. Big time. She’s on a mission.”

“Tell her to go around back, to the cliff side. She will see them.”

My eyes lit up. I thanked the monk, and flew outside to find Erin to tell her to go to the cliff side to see the whales.

I couldn’t find her anywhere. I decided to venture to the cliff side. I saw her standing on the edge looking out to the sea. The wind and the ocean waves hitting the shore are so loud, we had learned that there is no point yelling as your voice doesn’t carry. I walked closer to her. Her gaze was set out onto the ocean. As I gazed out to look I kept walking towards her. When I close, her eyes met mine briefly and we spoke in silence. I looked out again to the ocean and there was a whale with it’s tail flapping wide behind. Goose bumps ran up and and down my arms. There was another whale and another, my friend couldn’t continually point to the amount of whales that were diving up out of the ocean and back down again. There was an entire whale pod giving that seemed to be our very own private performance. My eyes teared and so did hers. We watched the show in awe.

The Backstory: When Trungpa Rinpoche visited the site that overlooks the Gulf of Saint Lawrence on Cape Breton Island a double rainbow appeared in the sky. Gampo Abbey is a Western Buddhist monastery in the Shambhala tradition in Nova Scotia, Canada. Founded by Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche in 1983, it is a lineage institution of Shambhala and a corporate division of the Vajradhatu Buddhist Church of Canada.

Under the spiritual direction of Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche, the spiritual head of Shambhala International, Gampo Abbey is guided by its abbot Thrangu Rinpoche and its principal teacher Pema Chödrön.

Gampo Abbey is named after Gampopa, the first monastic in the Kagyü lineage of Tibetan Buddhism.
Gampo Abbey’s guiding teacher is the well-known author, Buddhist nun, and teacher Pema Chödrön.

Three-year retreats at Söpa Chöling are done in English, in three segments with breaks in between. This schedule was designed by Thrangu Rinpoche to make the retreat more accessible for people with family and career commitments.

Six groups of retreatants have completed the three-year retreat, a total of 56 individuals. The seventh cycle of retreats is currently underway.
{ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gampo_Abbey }
Screen Shot 2014-07-06 at 4.45.55 PM

 

 

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Metta,
Kate
fingerprint • July 6, 2014, The Dali Lama’s Birthday
• Midnight
• On Deck: Kate Bush, “Running up that Hill”
• Bamboo writing, night sky and banana cream pie
•••

In Always { a poem }

14 Feb

"Fullmoon Lovers Under the Pantheon" { Kate Flood, Rome, Italy '10 }

In Always
{ a poem }

I want to be with you in the night, in the morning, in the day,
In the snow and in the cold,
In the sun, in the heat,
In the rain, in the wet,
In the spring, in the air,
In the fall, in the crisp,
In confusion, in perfection,
In enthusiasm, in delerium,
In the heat of the moment, in the doldrum of the day,
In the minute, in the hour,
In your arms, in my arms,
In your sighs, in my sighs,
In our silence, in our room,
In our agony, in our laughter,
in always,
in forever.

In Richness of Being a poet…
Kate

• 9:22am, Toronto
Writing in my cozy cashmere robe and suede mukluks
•  Happy Valentines Day! 

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Rain Kissing

18 Oct


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Rain Covers { poem }

the rain slips in,
quietly from nowhere,
hits the pane,
puts me in the mood,
for lov’n again.

‘love when the rain,
sifts in by surprise,
and comes down with fury,
and invites me to light a fire all over again.

the clouds are crying,
the sky is black,
the trees are wet,
there is no holding back.

come down,
rain hard on me,
take everything I’ve got,
and slip me between the covers.

rolled up in big down,
with a changing painting on my window sill,
patter the roof,
and sing my soul to sleep tonight.

~ Kate

•••

Have you ever been kissed like that in the rain?

• 10:33pm
• Skies on High, Toronto
• On deck:  All I Want is You by U2

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Sophie McAdam

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