For My Family This Sunday

My friend Jimmy sent this along to me in hopes that it might bring some comfort. It is a beautiful poem and I wanted to share it with my family in hopes that they too might appreciate it as they stand and lay our Monte to rest. I wish there was a line in this about the ocean though for the fisherman that he was; maybe that could be the part about 'a thousand winds that blow'! That's what it feels like on the West Coast when you can see nothing but towering waves of water on all sides and you wonder 'why am I fisherman/woman?!' It was so invigorating though and made you feel very alive.

DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND WEEP by Mary Frye
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep
I am in a thousand winds that blow
I am in the softly falling snow
I am the gentle showers of rain
I am the fields of ripening grain
I am in the morning hush
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight
I am the star shine of the night
I am in the flowers that bloom
I am in a quiet room
I am the birds that sing
I am in each lovely thing
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there, I do not die

Life changes quickly. I am so deeply glad that our family had a chance to express our love and appreciation for Monte publicly this last December. If there is something you have been meaning to do, or something you have been meaning to say, perhaps there will never be as perfect a time as now. We all have right now. Thanks Jimmy so much for the poem and for checking in daily with a bit of cheer. To my family, though I am a world away, I stand by your side. I think of Monte laughing.

Monte Stewart-Burton. February 21, 2010. 7:55 a.m.

Dear Monte,

You are the best of cousins. Your laughter and your joy in life have always been an example about what is important. You always live in the here and now. I could never have the right words to express my gratitude to you for always being there since Dad died. Thank you for mixing, lugging and pouring the concrete that anchors my beautiful smokehouse. Did you know that I wrote your name and mine and Mom's and Alfred's into the concrete before it set? Thank you for taking the time to dig the trench so that Mom and I could plant the lilacs. (okay, so it wasn't the other guys' fault for filling it in before we got to plant them:) Every morning when I used to walk to school, you would stop working on the crab pots to remind me to look up when crossing the street. I used to be so irritated that you thought I wasn't smart enough to look up from my book. Now I know it was because you loved me. Thanks for that. Thank you for becoming Captain and Skipper of the Silver Shadow. Thanks for waving at us gathered on the sundeck whenever you took the Silver Shadow out of the harbour and came back home into the slough past the pilings just like Dad always did. Thanks for always saying I love you. Thanks for bringing Shelagh into our lives. We love her and she is our family. Thank you again for unhesitatingly providing all the seafood for my first robe unveiling. You never hesitate. Thanks for your great imitation of Dad. Your impersonations of everyone, come to that. Thank you for singing and playing the blues on your many guitars. Thanks for being larger than life when I was growing up. Thank you for everything.

I am glad that you and Shelagh got to be Mr. and Mrs. Wind-in-their-Hair on your motorcycle trip.

You are an honourable man with a great and generous heart. You are exemplary.

My cousin, a brave and true Haida warrior, please forgive me for not being there to hug you close one more time.

You are a star in my firmament, an anchor to which I hold onto.

I promise to look up from my book both ways when crossing the street.
With all my love and respect for you Monte.
I love you.
Lisa Diane

Across A Great Divide (subtitle:Let the Lying Begin)

A few steps up the street from Simo, the only man to purchase your hand-crafted leather belts from as far as I'm concerned, is a long stretch of high wall that holds a large array of striped bed throws or coverlets. A number of vendors claim their portion of wall and with long handled hooks, hang the weavings on nails so that as you pant your way up the Tala'a Sghira or amble on down it, your eye is greeted with this rainbow wall.

Beautiful Link

My buddy Ocean sent me a link. This link is to a video of Vancouver using time-lapse photography accompanied by lovely vocals. Please check it out. It is beautiful.

http://innerlifeproject.com/InnerLifeProject/Videos.html

[ Ocean, I don't miss you either, and I don't like you too. Now quit reading my blog during office hours or you're going to get fired and it will be my fault and you and your wife will have to come and live with me and I'll have to support you in the style to which you've become accustomed and then I'll like you even less. ;-) You owe me a tray of Nanaimo bars. No, I am not bringing you back a present. ]

Ours is a very unique friendship. We strongly dislike each other. :-)

If You Didn't Learn Anything the First Time...

I have great news. For eight days, no one asked me if I were married! Granted, I spent eight days in bed sleeping and dreaming only the dreams that a fever brings. The ninth day brought only two inquiries into my married state. Then again I only had conversations with three gentlemen and the last one was so busy pouring me herbal infusions and putting cold compresses on my brow that he forgot to ask:-)

Note

Whenever you decide to read some of my thoughts and visit my blog, please use ravenweaver.blogspot.com and DO NOT PUT WWW. in the front of it. I'm not clear about the why's but the Google help is advising me of this. Also to make it easier, I've changed my address for all of you to visit the photo page to www.flickr.com/photos/ravenweaver
Technology makes my brain ache. The new iPad won't:-)

A Gracious Gesture

I have a friend, DJS, whom I would like it to be publicly known has the most generous heart and makes the most perfect gestures. While laying sick and useless this week, I received an email from Mr.S. He would like to gift me with a stay at La Mamounia in Marrakech. Some of you may have heard me speak of a few of the dream destinations on my list.

From the Recovery Bed

Skywards,
originally uploaded by Raven Weaver.

Do you know that day when you are recovering from being ill and the thought pops into your head that you feel pretty good? This thought arrives after more hours of sleep than you can count. You are also in a prone position expending almost no energy. After ninety some odd hours in bed, this thought came to me today.

Some Weeks Are Like That

For those of you that can hear my tone of voice when reading my blog postings, you'll understand that my Sunday trip to Meknes took up a large supply of my patience. Pedantic, didactic, colonialist Father-figure types are those that I am seeking to avoid. However, some of my attitude might be explained by the fact that I was getting sick.

No, Marjane is not a Town in Morocco

The Lanterns of Meknes,
originally uploaded by Raven Weaver.

This past Sunday, I visited the town of Meknes. P. had invited me and I thought that it might be nice to explore another town nearby. On the drive there, directional signs printed with the word Marjane were plentiful. If you did not know better, you could be fooled into believing that Marjane is a town.