All posts by Heather Haley

A labyrinth of sword ferns and bad dreams

Journal, poems

On the road, or on the water more accurately, all day, on the fancy new ferry, the Coastal Renaissance, right now to Nanaimo to pick up Roderick and the painting I commissioned from him, for the blank wall in my office. In any case, I managed to make it to Crofton, to the ferry landing without getting lost. There are no signs at all and I went every which way except the right way last time. I was able to cruise all the way down to the end of the dock so Roddy didn’t have to carry the painting, his guitar and bags so far.

BFF Cathy has hit the west coast and I hope to meet up with her later at the Boathouse in Horseshoe Bay. She always blows in and out of town, and my life, in a matter of days, frantically busy during the short time she is here so I’m lucky if I get to see her. Junior has come down with another cold! Poor kid. He’s miserable. It always hits him in the throat and he gets laryngitis. I suspect it’s partly, if not entirely, hormonal, his adam apple growing in, which doesn’t happen overnight from what I hear.

Sure sign of spring; I found a doe raiding the bird feeder. (See poem below.) The dogs were going ballistic; I let them out on the deck to bark at her, the only way to get rid of her. The deer aren’t afraid of humans, with no natural predators on the island, except perhaps the phantom cougar. Between the squirrels and the deer I am going to go broke buying birdseed.

Old folks nightmare. I dreamed I was hosting a reading at our house and the start time was delayed and before I knew it, and to my horror, all these white-haired, tired, old people kept lying down or passing out and wouldn’t get up when I tried to rouse them. They would not participate in any way, as performers or audience. I was in a panic, frustrated and upset, didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t room for them all and they were all over the house, taking up all the beds and couches. It didn’t seem that late to me!

Life is strange. I’ve been conjuring up a shot list in my head all afternoon, ideas for the video Roderick and I hope to shoot for How To Remain. I was thinking about horses of course, because Continue reading →

Snow, synchronicity and fat, flying squirrels. “Scout”

Journal, poems

It’s snowing! Again! I can’t believe it. Guess it was folly to presume that things were getting back to normal around here. Shit. I am so disgusted, keep dreaming of the desert.

Threw a pineapple at a squirrel this morning; a pineapple-shaped lantern-candle holder. I picked it up and threw it at a fat squirrel raiding the bird feeder. He flew into the bushes. Looked like he could use the exercise.

Synchronicity alert. While working on a poem yesterday, I wrote, “periwinkle as stars emerging.” Jon Stewart or someone on his show last night used the word “periwinkle.” What’s up with that? How does that happen?

There is something rather spooky about this project with Tina, the art book combining Continue reading →

Knee injury @ Slits show. “Victor.”

Journal, poems,

Ah, the familiar, the pluvial. It’s been a relief to have our typical weather return the last few days; dark, dreary, torrents of rain, which are thankfully washing away heaps of dirty snow, providing access to yard and property. A friend said yesterday that she would never complain about the rain again. I suppose we need to complain because if it’s not that, then of course there is always the government, the ferry or bad art.

I saw a physiotherapist yesterday about my right knee which I injured long ago at a Slits concert in San Francisco. I was too impatient to wait in the hideously long queue for the Ladies Room; so feeling very clever and rebellious decided to pee behind the rhododendrons in the churchyard next door. I wish I could remember the venue but I think it was the Geary St. Theatre-the People’s Temple. I suppose I could research that. Wherever it was, it was located next to a Catholic church, or cathedral would be more accurate. I have no qualms about peeing outdoors, was used to it after years of accompanying my father the bushwhacker. I will use whatever is at hand, toilet paper, napkins, tissue, newspaper, are bonus. I can recall climbing back over the tall, wrought iron fence and jumping down onto the sidewalk, which was a lot closer than it appeared in the shadows. My ankle gave way and Continue reading →

Future of reading, books, authoring. Dead boyfriends.

Journal, poems, ,

I was chatting with my buddy poet Pete Trower and we were commiserating about how hard it is to get into print these days. The subject of e-books and online publishing came up. Several authors I know have recommended Lulu com. I like the idea that a customer can choose between downloading or ordering a book, which isn’t printed until it’s purchased, going green in a big way. Then I found a message in my In box about how to sell your book online. Then, Jon Stewart had the CEO of Amazon.com on the Daily show promoting the Kindle, a device with a screen that can hold thousands of books. I have no idea whether I would want to curl up in bed with it, would have to try it out but I’m open to the idea. I’m some kind of hybrid I guess, a cross between a page baby and digerati. I am not a digital native like my 14-year old son who used to fall asleep on the keyboard as a toddler. I have been on the internet since the early 90s, published one of Canada’s first electronic literary zines, the Edgewise Cafe and have typed so much my handwriting is about as legible as a doctor’s, but neither am I texting or tweeting much. I just haven’t had time to adapt to them or explore Second Life either. Well, at least I’m finally blogging, as much as possible. In any case, I told Pete I don’t think books will disappear, that they will become rare and even more like sacred objects. They are art objects as well and people will want them around. The demise of painting was predicted when photography  came along and we all know the name of that tune.

Good news! My book of verse, “Window Seat” is finally going to be published! Richard Olafson of Ekstasis Editions has selected it for his fall list. I am so relieved, was wondering Continue reading →

Blue moon

Journal, ,

Is it a blue moon? My kid pointed out the beautiful full moon to me, much to my surprise. I’m usually the one calling him to come outside and look. We have such a brilliant night sky here on the island, with no streetlights. Perhaps my love of the natural world is rubbing off after all.

Snow again! This is the longest, coldest west coast winter that I can recall. It really is disgusting. I might as well be living in the prairies again. Other than that a good day though I am finding it difficult to focus. I’ll blame it on the bad weather. It’s distracting. I helped Lucas make chicken stir-fry for dinner and it turned out well, very tasty indeed.

I’ll be so relieved when Valentine’s Day is over! With all that there is going on in the world, the media becomes obsessed with Valentine’s Day, especially the Vancouver Sun and Province newspapers. Talk about fluff! Retailers should be paying them for promoting their flowers, lingerie and chocolates. Restaurateurs too. If two people are truly in love, every day is Valentine’s Day. How’s that for cheap sentiment?

When was the last time I was at a basketball game? I could not remember! We went to cheer on our niece Ashley. My nephew Jason and his girls—spouse Heidi, daughter Emily and stepdaughters Sanjezz and Ashley live in “Scabby Abby” as Heidi refers to Abbotsford. We all met up on the North Shore for her basketball tournament. We were not able to connect over the holidays, largely due to inclement weather. It seemed like a good opportunity to socialize so we Continue reading →

Flu-slayed. Hope. Disturbing bear dream. Art book poem.

Journal, poems, , ,

We're in Volume 2

Nursing a cold, listening to Kings of Leon sipping Stag Hollow Pinot Noir, ostensibly writing. Dinner by the boys tonight—some kind of pork and pineapple stir-fry—which means a late dinner. Trying to teach Junior life skills. He is very adept at plastering poppy seed bagels with peanut butter or pouring out a bowl of Cheerios but preparing a meal is a bit of a challenge. It is entirely within his abilities, I am certain, which is not to say that he is very motivated. He does like to eat however, so I hope it dawns on him some day soon that we won’t be around forever to feed him and that learning to cook is in his own best interests.

Despite this nasty virus, I am working on poems for our most unusual art book, mine and Tina’s. I must admit to no real method. The work is getting done but I never believe, no matter how many poems I’ve written—that I can do it again. It feels like a hat trick, and of course highly anxiety inducing but if I persist in muddling through, I succeed. Tina digs them and that is the most important thing at this point.

Dreamed I was in a car with Josef at the wheel, a bear in pursuit, it’s giant furious furry head at Josef’s window. Continue reading →

Aspiring snow birds fly the coop

Journal, , , , , , ,

Obamamania. Inauguration fever. Last day of the Bush regime! Exit interviews? As one of the fortunate survivors of race riots, the LA riots of 92, which seem like only yesterday, this day is very meaningful. Like so many other people, I never thought I’d live to see it.

Josef and I had coffee poolside with my dear friend and fellow poet, SA Griffin before we left LA. We discussed Bush’s absurd farewell speeches, the things he wants people to believe he accomplished as opposed to what really happened. Certainly he is trying to hack the media, the way his legacy is portrayed. I’m more inclined to listen to Keith Olbermann’s Eight Years In Eight Minutes. I don’t understand how Bush got away with all the despicable things he did!

January 20, 2009 THIS IS THE DAY WE BEGIN AGAIN

SA gave us several handsome posters of a poem he wrote commemorating Obama’s big day. We said we would be happy to distribute some in Canada and told him about the election night party we had on Bowen Island with its significant population of American expats. At one point, SA got up and gave a poster to a fellow who entered the lobby sporting an Obama-PROGRESS shirt. It seems the entire world is excited, hopeful at the shift in paradigm and it is my hope the world is able to stop hating America. Progress is being made, a characteristically American drive.

I was chatting with a friend this morning who has dual citizenship. Born in Montreal, adopted and raised in New York-Queens-I met Debby in Vancouver, then ran into her in Los Angeles after we had both relocated. We spent years painting the town red together and she is the inspiration for my poem, Three Blocks West Of Wonderland. I told her that I often miss my American friends and have so much fun when I’m down south. The people are generous, vigorous, expansive. After I hung up, I came across a funny article in the Vancouver Sun by Dan Gardner, called Get Over Yourself Canada, If this country were a teenage girl, she would be in for years of therapy which stated many of the things I had bitched to Debby about, including pettiness and parochialism. I am determined to buy a house in the California desert some day and winter there right about the time of year this place is at its darkest and coldest and it’s not just the climate that I am referring to. Perhaps geese aren’t such bird brains after all. Doesn’t it make sense to go where the food and good times are? Follow the sun? Screw borders. I’m a citizen of the world.

SA also has a son who is Aspergers so we share much empathy for one another. He has some interesting theories, Continue reading →

True mercy & “First Comes Mary”

Journal, poems, , , , ,

Cozumel, Mexico, 2006

Trying day; snow, snow, snow, and more snow! Up to our knees, still. sigh I haven’t seen so much snow since I was a kid living in Manitoba. I would walk to school in snowbanks two feet taller than myself. Last night I watched the wind hurling huge white flakes from the blackness onto my windows. My bitch Brinda is neck deep in it right now and eating it, shoving her snout in and chewing on it like a bone.

I’ve been stood up for an appointment with my medical herbalist. I received an excruciatingly sentimental Christmas card from my estranged sister. I can sense her reaching out, and my resistance, which I am working to overcome. She is lonely, I suspect. Our younger sister died in August, one of her few close friends. My anger has ebbed. She is all that remains of my immediate family and indeed, can drive me nuts but I do love her and miss her. So, I sent her a card and invited her to visit. If it happens or not, we shall see, but I know that I have tried, extended the olive branch. I decided as well, that our relationship doesn’t have to be perfect, or even healthy. I am going to have to be realistic, not expect so much, of her, of us. Considering all that we went through, I need to cut her a wide berth. She might need to realize that about me as well. I think we’re talking mercy here, which harkens the Mose Allison song/lyric, “Everybody’s cryin’ mercy but they don’t know the meaning of the word.” Used to cover it with my band the Zellots, I suppose because it rang true. Still does, so, we shall see. Continue reading →

Disturbing dreams; snowbound, shack-wacky musings

Journal,

One reason I can’t abide the holidays is that my already shaky schedule gets tossed out the window as we navigate through social obligations and many people book off work. It was worse when I lived in the States as they start holidaying with the advent of Thanksgiving in November which makes it nearly impossible to take care of business for over a month, Nov. 22-Jan 2. I need to organize, so I can produce some writing. Sure enough, I have not accomplished much of it since I returned from my retreat on Salt Spring Island. I convinced myself I would carry back some of the momentum with me but it has all dissipated as I become bogged down on the domestic front. This in spite of a minimal Christmas celebration; in fact, it’s been more like an anti-Christmas. We all agreed to ignore putting up lights on the house, trimming a tree (which was a big relief). There were a few times when I missed the tanennbaum but for the most part, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass.  I was torn from the time Junior was a baby whether to celebrate Christmas or not. We are culturally Catholic, certainly not observant. It seemed hypocritical to celebrate Christmas though I soon stopped resisting the holiday’s powerful pull. As much as I detest organized religion I find religious-especially Catholic-iconography beautiful, captivating. I understand as well, the human need, and reliance upon, symbolism and ritual. The holidays do provide an opportunity to commune with family and friends so when Junior was little making him happy was our main motivation. He certainly had Santa figured out but we always tried to remind him of the significance of the holiday, who Christ was and how his teachings changed the world but now at fourteen, Junior is his own man and couldn’t give a rat’s ass either.

Josef and I have never been big on arbitrarily exchanging gifts on birthdays, etc. We prefer to spend time together as a way to show love for one other; go out for dinner or cook a lovely breakfast and when we’re really ahead of the game, as we will do in a week, fly off somewhere. We went to Haida Gwaii in September and will go to LA for a week in January. Christmas carols fill me with nostalgia though. As a girl, I loved singing them in choir. I do have mixed feelings. I could never understand the boozing and bingeing that went on at our house every Christmas. No matter how broke we had been in November, come Dec. 24, my parents would fill the house with rum and rye whiskey, candy, oranges and nuts, the biggest and loudest being my Uncle Reggie. Invariably the house would fill with yelling and strife as well.

On the other hand, perhaps we are afforded a little time to reflect before tackling another (new) year. 2008 has been interesting to say the least. Continue reading →

Intrepid terriers and trembling aspen

Journal,

A frolicking pre-injury SamIAm

Poor SamIAm. Our pup Sam had to have surgery on his leg, a damaged ligament. He’s in a lot of pain and managed to rip the bandage off even with a cone on his head. We have to keep him immobilized which is requiring constant vigilance. He is a terrier through and through.

I was cleaning out our despicable crawl space yesterday—crawl spaces are truly evil, forcing you to hunch over though I invariably bump my head anyway—and was startled to hear one of the boxes I grabbed break out into “I feel good, like I knew that I would !” by James Brown. I inspected the contents and found one of those musical greeting cards. Cute.

While on Salt Spring I spotted some typical islander humour. Along one stretch of Walker’s Hook road was a place called The Meadows. It looked like some sort of retreat centre; there were stables, a dining hall and cottages. A little further down the road was a dilapidated old house on some overgrown acreage and a crude, hand-painted sign boasting The Brambles. Islanders don’t like pretentiousness, do like to knock people off their high horses whenever possible.

Working on the tree book. I didn’t know the native aspen were called trembling aspen. So poetic. I’ve incorporated it into Whore In The Eddy, which has been selected for Continue reading →