​I had a memory pop up recently—and that remembering can also be triggered from seeing someone wearing very thick ‘coke bottle’ lensed eye glasses. 

My recollection is from my early elementary school days, where i was probably in grade 5 or 6… The principal in that school was named Mr. P_____, who was a very tall well-dressed middle-aged white man with dark hair.  Mr. P_____ took his job as school principal very seriously.  I don’t remember seeing him smile much.  His dark-coloured rimmed glasses were definitely a part of who he was.  He would often tilt his head back and peer over them, as they often slipped  down his nose—probably from the sheer thick-weight of them.

During that time—it was probably around 1970 or so…and, the strap (corporal punishment) was still being used in schools until it was banned in about 1973.  And, Mr. P_____ seemed to like using the strap as a disciplinary action in our little school.  It certainly worked for him.

When some poor sod got into trouble and was sent to the principal’s office, fear would reign—as one would often get a strapping as a result.  I myself came very close to receiving the strap once—though managed to get out of it, some how, i have no idea how…

So, when a student was slated to receive the strap, what Mr. P_____ would do every time, was… He would go to every classroom one by one, open the door (he never knocked), rudely interrupt barging into the room, look over his thick black glasses and state very sternly: “I’m leaving the door open…” 

We soon learned what that meant…
​
He would then move on to the next room and do the same.  When he was done with each room, he would then go back to his office where the student was and, leave his office door open as well.  He would then proceed to strap that poor student.  

The whole school would go into a disturbed hush…

Needless to say, we as a student body were absolutely terrified…where we all ‘felt’ that strap together, ‘as one—while we were forced to listen to the cries streaming down the hall from his office.  

We were always relieved and breathed a big collective breath when it was finally over with.
​
Until, the next time.

I stumbled on this memory from 10 years ago—a posting i had posted, when we had lived in Burnaby…  something that taught me about impermanence… 

“I’m kind of sad to see our grand hosta heading off to sleep for the long winter... We have sooo enjoyed their strong presence in our humble garden.... Good night dear hosta—see you again in the spring... have fun hanging with our dear mother, during this dark half…” 

When we lived in Burnaby over 10 years ago, we had a shade garden where, we had many hosta plants that flourished—the photo above shows just one of them.

When we first rented this home, it came with a garden that had many plants that weren’t doing well because the canopy of the tall cedar trees had grown so high that they now shaded the garden.  So, over the eight years we lived there, we slowly transitioned the garden over to more shade and native plants that would grow and thrive in lower light.  Hostas are one great plant that do well in shade gardens!

When we moved off the lower mainland to a small gulf island, we moved our many hostas with us… it was quite a job—as many of them were in large ceramic pots and they were heavy to move.  However, they did survive the move—where they lived and thrived on our ‘shade deck’ in the forest, for six years.

Last January, we had to move once again—this time to a much smaller home… where we had to downsize considerably thus, giving away most of our beloved hosta plants to a dear friend.  They now live and thrive in her beloved garden.  

We truly miss them in many ways… We did keep a couple of hosta plants that live in pots outside our door—however, the local deer tend to nibble away at them and they (the hostas) never did get a chance to fully leaf out this year.  I think we’ll attempt to cage them in somehow, in the spring, so the deer can’t get at them—as they, the deer,  seem to think that our hostas are sweet candy!

Nothing ever stays the same… x (((💚)))

below, a fun video by John Denver on the Muppet Show, ‘The Garden Song’…

What’s the Story about the Repent Sinner Sticker that was sprinkled about the streets of East Vancouver…

I’m not sure I know the whole story though, here’s what I saw + learned back then.

When i lived + worked in the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver during the mid 1980’s + 90s, I kept seeing a ‘Repent Sinner’ sticker plastered about the city and beyond. Every sticker I happened to see, was always hand-written in two colours:  the first word, Repent in red and the 2nd, Sinner in black with a jiffy marker.

These stickers were posted randomly, all over—on telephone poles, walls and benches—sprinkled about and throughout the eastside of Vancouver (DTES).  

​Rumour has it, that it was an elderly Jamaican woman who was the culprit—who definitely had made her message clear… Frankly, I thought it was a brilliant guerrilla marketing art project—which became a wee Vancouver urban legend!  We’ll never really know… though, i feel it’s very cool… x (((o)))

If you happen to know more about this legend of Vancouver, drop me a comment below…
​
Also, you’re invited to visit my ‘Repent Sinner’ Shop at Redbubble >>

​Feeling like the world is getting too much again—sometimes i forget to use the tools i’ve been given.

Re-membering that our dear Mother is always there for me… for us.

It’s a reciprocal relationship… me + She… as i feed Her... She feeds me.

What works good for me is, to just get outside and to simply connect with a big tree… one grand, rooted soul i can get my arms around and just hold on + say hello and perhaps offer a gift of my heart, my love—cuz i know i only breathe cuz trees breathe… i ground my self deep… letting go through my sacred breath deep down through Her stone layers—to the crystal core of our dear Mother, i connect with her resonant fire—Her flame of compassion that burns away all that no longer serves me.

Re-membering to just get outside—so my light-body can relax and expand, yet again….

​I let go of my ‘stuff’… all that dark + heavy stuff… and She lovingly composts it back into light—then i mindfully bring that fire of passion back up to feed me… into those places, the nooks + crannies that need lightening—so i can shine bright once again… so, now i can perhaps help others of need… we have to fill up first… thank you dear trees… dear Mother for your blessed gifts.

​—photo by jp wright/art by weaver…

We had a lovely gathering together on Wednesday evening, August 24, 2022 to celebrate the upcoming New Moon and sing together… It was wonderful for Allannah + i to have dear hearts ‘in the room’ for the first time in 2.5 years since the pandemic arrived…  it was sooo good to sing together once again!

We also dedicated this show to all those dear to us—that we lost, since the pandemic—who is remembered, lives!

So, thank you to all for coming to join us—we look forward to more in the future.

However, we were saddened that we experienced a technical issue regarding our face-time live that we usually offer.   I was only glad that i managed to video-record the show so we can share with our online audience… please scroll down page below to view…

If you would like to offer a donation towards our work, know it’s always appreciated… for it is our work, thank you!
• for paypal please use this link >>
• if you prefer interac e-transfer, pls email weaver for email address >>

Thank you for supporting live music xoxo (((💜)))

Click the video, photo links to view… show runs about 1 hour, 7-mins total… ​https://youtu.be/bPsXt-FHBtc

The other day i attended a poetry workshop during our annual ‘isle of the arts festival’…  i was glad i went as i learned some new ways with writing poetry… and i really enjoyed the day…

At one point the instructor asked us to  write a poem about an object… So,  i chose to write about my glasses.  

And, as i was writing, the process seemed to take me into a deep journey—suddenly remembering John Denver—who had been a big influence in my life growing up and continues to be…

He was a huge mentor for me in many ways… as i really connected to his sensitivity—his love of life and that really moved me… what he wrote about + shared with the world… those ‘things’ that mattered most in life, family, friendship + all things sacred including our environment—our mother earth… in another way, he taught me to sing—helping me find my true ‘voice’… I did get to see him perform live a couple of times and i always wanted to meet him—to have the chance to just thank him… I know we were all shocked the day he died… i guess i made the assumption that he’d live to be an old man…

He was only 53 when he perished—one very sad day for many of us…

As i continued to write, i also remembered a video i once saw… it was a tribute to him after his death… (i’m still attempting to find this video to post here)… It was a very poignant sharing of a few select ‘known’ musicians opening the case to Denver’s vintage round granny glasses, that he was so known for… While viewing this video i remembered being very moved and so touched—as i was being witness to a very sacred moment… wow, i wondered what it would be like to do just that—open that case + hold his glasses…

While writing my poem about my own glasses i was quite surprised…as to how this simple exercise moved me so quickly to another place… a place of honouring an amazing man who held such a huge impact in my own life… so, here’s my poem—as it is, at the moment, in its draft form…

nosedive

my glasses
round and purple
considerable
uncomfortable
not scratched quite yet
teeth marks cut
into one right temple arm
helps keep my hands free…

in abruptness of a recent power outage
they slipped off the top of my head
when we fumbled in the dark
making tea
on a propane burner
cracked when they hit 
the frigid concrete floor
i guess they’re
not new anymore…
​
recalling that day
shocked
when i learned you died
tragically
over Monterery Bay
you were off to visit your daughter
when you fell right
out of the sky
decapitated

mother ocean swallowed you

they only knew it was you
when Annie identified your two missing toes
from your right found leg
​
far out.
​

…
© 2022 all rights reserved… carol weaver x (((💜)))
—rest in peace dear sir, born December 31, 1943—died October 12, 1997…
​—thank you dear John, for everything! (33/6)… 
—and, when or if i find that beautiful video, i’ll post here…  in the meantime, here’s another, below… xxx

​every morning i bow down
first thing
to prepare the day’s fire
knees tough 
square on the floor

i lean back
stretching out

bending
my eyes close
calling
gently
dear shining one
daughter of dagda
come nearer

our hearth’s
heart.

bright goddess 
of wisdom
poetry
music
healing
protection
blacksmithing
your love of gentle beasts

keeper of 
unending flame

shelter us
within your
clear green
cloak of care

together, 
let us kindle our
heart’s flame
of infinite 
spark

may i
breathe your
sacred song

upon the wind.
​

—poem/photo © 2021 by weaver…
brightest blessings x (((💜))) 🔥🙏🏼🔥

​a poem........

yesterday...
i was nudged to journey...
while drawing + painting...
​
something ‘drew’ me in...

go deeper... 
to a rooted place...
buried... threads fragiled...
thin multi-coloured mark-making...
revealing... what?

i tracked...
ever so lightly... tenderly...
my slanted hand steered...
“just go”..........

i offered a wee hello while...
i migrated... wandered... hunted... chased...
that perhaps...

i was on to something......

travelling alongside washed...
black-ink-penned...
shaky-handed....
painted threads of...

my own weave...

she is...

very fine, dazzling tapestry path of filament light...
capturing a glimpse......
my tender glittered strength...
​torn-worn tangles... grief... joy... pain... celebrations...
ancient... new........
​
now...

grief drops...
splashing upon my soaked page...
blending abstract... accident... of be-ing...
inside...
​my owned inked hues...
becoming......

perhaps...
​... a re-weaving?

i will definitely call again soon..... x (((💜)))

So... last tuesday, after having a deep healing session, i was standing in a long line-up at our post office, freezing my butt off when... i was nudged to look up....

and there, right above me.... a lovely white cloud shape-shifted into one beautiful smiling being...stunning spirit.........

i asked, “now, who are you?”
she replied, “i see you...............thank you for seeing me...”

​then she was gone.........x

more to come... with much love,
​weaver x (((o)))

This one day was an interesting one, as i found many emotions popping up—out of nowhere.  I just wanted to scream…scream out loud what was pent up inside me since this pandemic arrived.  I’ve also not wanted to do a dang thing—what is that?  Not usually me… as I simply want to just lie around like a lethargic stretched-out cat.

I chose to get outside and go for a much-needed walk, to clear my head.  Down to our local beach I went, to chill out and ask Spirit for some help.  I asked for a sign of some sort, as i was feeling pretty disconnected…discombobulated.  

There’s definitely an ‘uncertainty’ that this covid-time has brought.  I have found the ‘not knowing’ of many, many things rattles one’s being-ness.    

I’ve lost a lot of work during this covid time—gone.   All of it…

So, off I went and made my way down to the beach.

I sat on the warm sandstone in quiet for a bit and then was prompted to walk out to the water’s edge.  I really appreciated the fresh winds, smells of the beach, and the tide being way out.  I could even hear sky drummers (thunder) playing off in the distance. Opening my arms, I let salted winds blow through me, dropping a heaviness I seemed to have been holding.

As i walked  back from the water’s edge, to my left, a blue heron fell out of the sky, gently gliding down onto the beach, not 15 feet from me.  Oh, sooo beautiful.  I was frozen in awe while the heron fished in a little tide pool, calmly sauntering its way to the ocean’s edge.  I offered gratitude for the beautiful gift of heron—so close. 

All of a sudden, breaking my relation, my moment with the heron, I could hear off in the distance someone yelling loudly. When I turned around, I saw a man standing and holding onto his bicycle, yelling something incessantly and at the top of his lungs. There was no one on the beach except me and the heron.  It was hard to decipher what he was shouting through the sounds of the beach, the wind and the waves.  

The heron and I just stood there.

I could hear that he wanted me to back away from the heron!  I wondered what his problem was. 

My first reaction was to yell right back at him, to express assault in return.  I felt upset about this verbal attack—it rudely violated my sacred moment.

Nonetheless, I chose to ignore him by simply turning around.  The heron seemed unaware of what was happening—as it continued to leisurely saunter, hunting for a next morsel.

Connecting back with the heron, I returned to my feeling of being lifted by this beautiful stately bird. Of being so close to this being who didn’t seem bothered whatsoever.

I turned back to see if the upset man was still on the road; he was now gone.  “What was that all about?” I asked myself… I guess someone just had to vent. 

Turning to make my way back, picking up a few shells here and there along the way, I walked up the beach and onto the road, I made my way back home.

A dear friend driving by pulled over to say hello.  We shared mutual challenges and grief—having aging parents in locked-down care homes and hospitals and how hard it felt, being so far away from them.  Knowing that this crazy pandemic isn’t ending anytime soon, I wondered if I’ll ever get to see my mother (93) again, as she was in hospital on the mainland, having fallen and breaking her hip.  My dad (94) was in dementia care in White Rock.

While we chatted, my eye caught five or six ravens shouting vociferously as they played in the wind together, high above the towering firs.  My friend and I shared much needed tears, gave each other a big, distant hug and each headed back to our homes—I on foot and she in her car.  It felt good to connect with another dear human again.

Turning the corner to my road, I spotted a flicker woodpecker (the drummer) who cried out in the woods beside me. I smiled, thanking my dear ally for the percussive hello.  As  I walked towards our lane, in a neighbour’s yard, a beautiful young doe poked her head up out of the long grass.  We both said hi through our eyes, then she slowly followed me down the gravel road—and my heart was smiling.

I sure did receive a message—gifts of deep connection of the heart, the pulsing of our blessed earth Mother... shapeshifting magic within the void of sweet Spirit...self-reliance, and wisdom evolving to a higher place of consciousness and choice—in the present moment.

I am very blessed to be here now, in this sacred, green place... Thank you sweet Mother, great goddess, Gaia.  Thank you for holding my back... I bow in deep reverence… Thank you… I trust.

much love,
weaver x (((💜)))

photos by carol weaver © copyright 2020