Inviting you to my new site

 

 

After a wonderful start at this site, I have secured my own domain at storygal.ca. 

I hope you’ll come and see my posts at my new site too. Since then, I’ve published two new books and continue to blog and put out my newsletter FineTuned. Also my website has seen a whole new overhaul at a new website domain.

Blessings to you this New Year of 2020.

And the fairies welcome a visitor

Last year, we continued our fairy garden, and this year my oldest granddaughter set it up, complete with a sparkly path and the fairies. This is our third season for it.

There was a discussion about which fairy belonged to which girl. The younger one of the two was tired from her weekend of camping with the Brownies and Guides. She wanted to trade fairies. Maybe another day it will go better.

The older girl, aged 9, created a new path among the flowers and stems with coloured stones. They’ll be shaded for sure once the heat comes and the daisies beside them grow even taller. (The fairies reside indoors between play times so no little critter makes off with them.)

 

Set up on my garden stone, a perfect foundation for the fairy house

Our first fairies, made of clay, didn’t stand up and the process was disappointing. Then it was Grandma’s decision to go looking for these fairies, found at a local craft store. Last summer, we made some extra fairies with wooden clothespins and silk flower petals.

When a third gardener was added to our annual planting event, we needed a new fairy for her. And again a new one was found, this time at a garden centre gift shop. Oh, the interesting things they had. Alas one of that fairy’s wings was broken and we haven’t quite worked out how to fix it. We may need a new fairy and then retire the other one.

And so the fairies we created with clothespins are still hanging around… and one comes to visit. What stories will they tell of tea parties and running through their garden, and playing beside their path?

 

See the visitor coming with her purple-petaled hat and skirt?

 

Note: Fairies give way to other popular things in the market. Anyone know where we can get a new fairy?

Gardening with my Grandchildren

 

We have five grandchildren, ages ranging in age from 2-9 years old. The oldest two at 7 and 9 have had opportunity to help me plant my vegetable garden since they were three, and the youngest of our gardeners turned 4 in March. The little boys, currently two, will get to help next year, once they’re three, but if they should happen to visit, they can still help give the plants a drink, with a little help. They can also begin to understand now, that just as they need a drink, the plants also need water to grow.

Helping with the watering

The oldest two girls know what to do with the plants once I show them where I want the plants arranged. I show them the spot, hand them the plant and they manage very well. One even pops the plants out of their pot and divides the seedlings. All three were excited to help me plant this year again.

In process, watering as we  go along

 

The four-year-old is learning to dig the hole, put the plant in, fill the space around the plant. She’s learning to pat the soil gently around the stem and knows that the plant needs water right away. We give her the small watering can, for she’s just a small girl herself.

We do these tasks together, then everyone gets to play awhile afterwards, along with having a little snack and a drink of water too.

The older girls and I talked by Facetime the week before about what we’d plant. We honour their requests in as far as things they like to eat and the available space, so we have a small variety of items. We’ll always have tomatoes and cucumbers, those two are assured, and parsley, but other items may change from year to year. Their Mom requested jalapeno peppers so that’s new this year. We’ve added squash, lettuce and zucchini as well.

 

This year, in addition to our own raised beds at home, I decided to rent a bed at a church that’s expanding their community gardens. I’ll plant some of the extra bean seeds there, carrots, and perhaps a few extra herbs. That garden isn’t ready yet, but it will be very soon. The water tank is waiting and other supplies are already there. It just needs a crew to complete the tasks and put up a fence around it.

New garden beds being prepared

In time our grandchildren learn about planting and harvest. When veggies and tomatoes are ripe throughout the summer, they’ll have some to eat. They already recognize seasons as a time to ski and make snowmen, a time to plant, and a time for swimming outdoors. The planting season is part of this wonderful creation of which we’re simply caretakers.

 

Photo credits: L. Shaw, L. Wilker and C. Wilker,

 

 

 

Author Afternoons– I’m on!

I’m pleased to announce that I’ll be part of Author Afternoons. On Saturday, June 29th, from 1:00-3:30 pm,  I’ll be at the Waterloo Visitor and Heritage Information Centre on 10 Father David Bauer Drive, Waterloo.

I’ll be giving a workshop titled Begin to Write Your Memories. The workshop will be hands on, as in you get to write, so bring paper and pen or  your laptop and be prepared to participate.

This is a new initiative by the City of Waterloo Arts and Culture to introduce residents and visitors to the authors in the area. It’s exciting to be part of it.

See you there!

https://www.carolynwilker.ca/

Resurrection–A Mystery to Many

Imagine yourself heading to Jesus’ tomb the day after [Jewish] Sabbath, very early in the morning. The birds might be singing or all may be quiet. You’re bearing spices to leave at the tomb. A special friend like none other—who healed sick people and even brought the dead back to life. One who taught with authority, sharing stories that made you think about life in a new way. And now he’s dead and you’re doing the last thing you can to honour him.

Imagine coming close to the tomb that had been sealed and seeing the large stone that once blocked the entrance. It’s been rolled away. And suddenly the things you brought don’t seem adequate. The gift intended is not what’s being asked now.  Suddenly that cross has a new meaning and you’re not sure what’s expected now.

 

Empty Tomb

 

In the gray dawn

I say goodbye to one

whose hands brought life from death

whose words confounded kings and priests

The cave is shadowed and dark

a boulder rests unneeded, but not unheeded

rising light exposes

folded cloth in an empty cave

confounding

compounding yesterday’s drama

 

footsteps

i turn

 

in a voice as soft as morning

He calls my name

 

© Carolyn R. Wilker, 2007 Esprit

 

Jesus is risen! He is risen indeed.

Sanctuary dressed for Easter morning,  photo © C. R. Wilker

Notre Dame Fire and Holy Week

 

Whatever happened to cause the fire may be accidental, and that it happened in Holy Week, is unusual indeed. I saw a posting on Facebook today with  a link regarding the cross still being present in the midst of that black hole of burnt-out rubble and think that in itself is a miracle. I think we needed to see that miracle.

That the cross still matters and all that goes with it.

I’ve never been to Paris, have never seen that spire except in photos, and so many more photos this week as people recall a previous visit there (photo credit). That the building still stands after some 850 years is remarkable, and that people were still working on keeping the building strong is also worthy. It is after all, a building. And sometimes those edifices cannot be restored, though it looks as if this one will be.

The edifice represents a significant piece of history. To people of faith, it points upwards as a position of guidance, a place to worship, and a touch point in their lives when life gets messy, as in the wars, our human condition, when we’re not sure where to turn, and I hope also in times of celebration.

I may never see the structure in real life, but I’ll most likely hear of restoration efforts once the embers cool. My hope is that more people will come to know what this season is about, and what the cross means as a symbol of Christianity.

If there’s anything else to celebrate in the midst of this circumstance is that the fire, at some point, was contained and didn’t spread to the structures or the homes and buildings around it. And many will laud the firefighters for their work at containing the blaze as best they could and that artifacts and artwork within the building were saved. It would have been a challenge to consider entering that building to rescue those pieces, nevertheless, they are saved.

In the end, what is important is that human lives were not lost in that fire, though some likely risked their lives by going in. And that the promise of restoration will happen in that historic place, a historic symbol of France’s long history.

Photo credit© Patti Arbon, by permission

 

Piece by Piece book signings

 

Please note that I have several book events already set up for Piece by Piece

 

April 13th, at Family Home Health Care Centre in Palmerston ON, from 11 am to 3 pm

May 11th, at Tavistock Public Library, Tavistock ON, at 11 am, reading and signing books

And I will be at the Tavistock Fall Fair in September. More news on that one later. All of my books available at this event.

More in planning stages

Piece by Piece

Having a new book is very exciting. A lot of work goes in to getting it this far, including years of writing,  then editing, revision and even more editing.

Once the book is about to be released comes the task of letting people about the book and when it’s printed, getting it into other people’s hands. That can be fun or it can be daunting.

My book contains many stories about experiences, both good and challenging or sad. Everyone has those times. I share how it’s been for me.

Go about life as positively as you can. Gather the support of friends who can help you get through the tough times, know who you can lean on. And remember to celebrate the joys and achievements no matter how small. And know that God cares about you in all those circumstances.

 

My book published by Angel Hope Publishing, Drayton, Ontario. Book events coming up. I’ll list them in a follow-up post.

Poetry from a childhood place

Me as a 6-year-old at home, ready for my first day of school

 

I was thinking on awakening this morning of stories in my first published book—stories of home and among them the poetry that spoke of those places.

We had an attic—which many older houses do—a space at the top of the house where things to go to sit awhile or be stored. For some items, not the best place but out of the way of a busy family and all its related belongings and conundrums.

My sisters and I went up there to play the old phonograph, dress up in old clothes, sort through old school papers that became yellowed and brittle in time in that warm place. Where we could look out to the road and over the fields at our farm. This was a place we retreated to now and then for short periods of time.

The poem came much later as an adult looking back and no longer living there. And now our home belongs to someone else. But in memory, it’s still ours.

 

Attic Playhouse

Under the roof is a playhouse

with its familiar odour of heat and yesterday

leather skates lean against each other

like fallen dominoes

March through December

 

outgrown Sunday shoes wait for the next pair of feet

castoff clothes crammed in a crumbling cardboard box

yellowed notebooks   -lined with ancient scribbles

 

crank the gramophone

inside its heat blistered  black box

 

it warbles a tune

in symphony with buzzing flies

hypnotized by the light of one window

and too dazed to find another exit

 

 

© Carolyn Wilker

published in Once Upon a Sandbox, 2011

 

My first book, a collection of stories of family and community

Wilderness Walking

This morning I posted at The Word Guild blog as I usually do, once a month. Today I reflected on what John the Baptist’s words may have felt to the people of his day. And how his being in the wilderness may have been significant to people at the time.  And how we connect with it.

 

Wilderness Walking

Our pastor spoke this Sunday about John the Baptist preaching in the wilderness, a place where all the usual rules are thrown into confusion. The mores of the day were set by priests and rulers. Everyone operated under their combined orders. Priests set the rules, according to their perceptions of obedience to God, and people followed them, or they didn’t, with consequences.
And then people heard about a man named John the Baptist who was preaching in the wilderness [Luke 3]. Word spread and more went out to see and hear him. John, it seemed, was out to turn everything upside down, smashing old rules, calling the religious leaders of the day to task, even going to the length of calling them white sepulchres. He told people of the army to be satisfied with their wages, warned the religious leaders about the practices they followed. Called others to share a coat if they had two, and for the tax collectors, to collect no more than what they were due.

The priests weren’t liking that, I’m sure. And neither were some members at the king’s palace. What’s more, John announced that he was a forerunner, that someone else was coming, and that he was only preparing the way. It didn’t bode well for John. Though many were willing to change, there were others who felt more comfortable following the rules they knew. A wilderness indeed.

Waiting this Advent season may seem like wandering in the wilderness, considering history leading up to that day. We wander around (or rush around), getting ready for the next big season and wonder what to do with ourselves. It feels that way in grief too…

Read more here.

 

 

Imagining my parents dancing together again, only in heaven