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Wishes for you

Happy New Year to all!

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As one would expect, the arrival of the luggage was frought with anxiety and disappointment. I received the long awaited call early on Friday. ‘Your luggage has arrived in Kingston.’  What sweeter words could there be?  I didn’t even want to think about the journey the suitcase had undertaken. The caller gave me a range from today or  tomorrow. I stated unequivocally, tonight please.
Since I had already discovered that the office closes early, I was waiting until the 5 o’clock hour before allowing anxiety to set in.  If the luggage didn’t arrive, there would be no one to call. As the evening wore on, hope faded along with the setting sun. No one does business after dark and driving around the Island with luggage from abroad seemed to be almost asking to be hijacked. By nine, all hope had gone and I resigned myself to a surety on Saturday. Not long after the release of my last sigh, the phone rang. In a house with two women having the same first initial and last name, the call taken by the youngster of the house was precariously handed to the elder. She was probably the best person to answer anyway. The driver was lost. Could he get directions?
We stood at the metal grill, which protects most homes on the island from predators, and waited for the van to arrive. Indeed, he was not long. The young man stood in the pouring rain and unloaded quite a few suitcases in the dark, using a simple flashlight to search for the missing case among many others. Our own special markers helped him to find it quickly.
He was clearly wet and hungry.  He admitted to having many miles to go before he would get his own rest, but we were grateful for his efficiency and good manners.
This is the end of my saga. A happy ending to be sure. Others may not have such luck but in everything I found the manners to be respectful and outstanding, something I miss in the easy going cultural climate of the north.

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One thing I hope to do, this visit, is to be re-acquainted with the area where a part of my story takes place. In book two, “In the Shadow of the Blackbird”, our heroine travels to the island to recoup. It has been quite a few years since I have actually been on the north coast in St. Ann’s Bay. The area has history and is dear to me. Part of my mother’s family originated there and I have had two of the most wonderful vacations in the area.
I hope tobe able to write another story at some future time which will feature the island and its seductive beauty. In the meantime, we are under water and still without luggage.

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Status Grrrrrrr……

OK, it is now day two ‘post-landing’ without luggage.  Amazing how many places one phone call can take you.  We know all about outsourcing services.  I don’t care, as long as you speak my English.  Yesterday, I was in Mexico with a very nice lady. I had to call back several times before one connection held.  We were old friends by the end of 8 calls. 

Here’s what I know today.  The global 1-800 number for Air Canada luggage does not work although I was given the number on several occasions by different people.  Everything here closes at 5 p.m. even though planes are still coming in.  There is a small window between 4 and 5 p.m. when all uncollected luggage is checked and sorted.  If you don’t get someone at that point, it’s another day of waiting.  Most people are polite and I try to respond in kind despite seething anger below the surface. 

The logic of the whole thing escapes me.  Even if no other criteria exist for safe passage of luggage, how about first come, first served?  Pack the plane with who and what is there.  If you’re late…you wait!

More to come.

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For the first time in a long time, we travelled to Jamaica via Air Canada. The service personnel were respectful and kind to us. My husband needs wheelchair assistance and this was provided adequately.   I can’t say with conviction that anyone who transported him around Pearson had anything near the sense of humour evident in Jamaica.  However I have a lingering complaint to get off my chest.
Over the years, as we have travelled back and forth to Jamaica, we have heard numerous complaints about the service, the lateness, the luggage hassles, ad nauseum, but the truth is that in all those years I found their service exemplary.
Last year when my husband was barely recovered from his accident, we travelled down for a funeral and the help and support was outstanding. They have never lost our luggage, nor been anything less than respectful.
Yesterday, we arrived early for our flight. Forget delays due to weather.  We slept close to the airport to avoid the possibility of being caught by slippery, snowy roads.  What was the point of getting there early, only to have one suitcase left behind? In my opinion customers arriving late to the airport should have to wait for their luggage not those who get there early.

The flight was crowded.  I was surprised because it seemed so early in the season for a lot of Christmas travellers.  Everything had to be paid for by credit card.  When did cash get to be a dirty word?  Suppose you don’t have a credit card?  Much of the travelling public is woefully uninformed about modern travel.  Diabetics were fainting by the end of the flight.  Be at the airport by 5am, landing at 1.30 p.m.  Seems that even a sandwich could be included in the cost of the flight. 

The double dip landing was uncomfortable but there was a wicked wind out there. (Did you know that Jamaicans always applaud the pilot when he or she lands the plane? No standing ovation for this guy though) After long lineups for immigration things got ugly when we realized that our luggage did not arrive.

After checking in at Toronto, no luggage tags were placed on our boarding pass, so when I went to fill out the forms I had no numbers to guide the attendant. So Air Canada, not only left luggage behind for the passengers who arrived the earliest but failed to ensure that if luggage was lost, it would be twice as difficult to find the missing suitcases.

Jamaica was mercifully cooler than on my last visit.  Cooler heads also prevailed at lost luggage counter at the airport.  The tedious process of filling out the forms manually was done by a young man who kept his own cool in the face of some very angry passengers, many of them wheelchair bound and some semi-literate or unable to see.  He asked me why I didn’t complain.  We don’t.  We wait our turn in line expecting to be served in order of arrival, where I come from.  My disappointment was not directed at him or anything in the Kingston Port authority.  They screwed up in Toronto.  Maybe when the pilot had to make the turn to land, more than once, our luggage fell out. 

After three hours waiting in a wheel chair, his gluts numb from sitting, my husband and I were finally sprung from the airport.  The young lady who was assigned to push my husband was a lovely girl, who hugged us, an unusual circumstance for staff at the airport but she was fun and helpful.  She delivered us safely into the hands of our brother in law.

So we are now waiting the arrival of luggage left behind.  Am I seeing the ghost of Christmas future?  I hope not but Air Jamaica is no more.

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Thanks to people who recently read my book. I thank you for taking the time and also for giving me feedback.  My favourite and most overwhelming comment is ‘I couldn’t put it down’.  Those words please me a lot.

Everyone’s reading style is different. I like a fast paced book, full of information, teeming with activity and scenes with lively and intense dialogue. This is not for everyone. Writing long passages of descriptive scenery feels as if I am usurping a reader’s right to extend their own imagination.  Occasionally, I find that the beauty of the world around me was worth the space if I could do justice to it.
One of the lovely things about a blog is an opportunity to find those words in a shortened format.
I would love to write about all this snow which has come our way this past week. However, an aching back and sore shoulders prevent me from finding anything beautiful just yet.  I doubt that anyone will be interested in dialogue born out of my discomfort and frustration. I will be going away for a few days to a much kinder, gentler climate.  Let me see what the warmth of the sun can generate as  inspiration.

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About the book!

The Will to be True was written about twenty years ago. At that time, I was highly motivated to write a story with complex characters and issues. The type of work I did, always taught me that the human condition contains a multitude of nuances within us which can be at play in any given situation. Sometimes we don’t know why we are motivated to react or respond to situations. Perceptions about the way we interact with people are filtered through lenses attached to the heart of each of us and monitored even more thoroughly by our ‘cellular memory’, a very powerful body ‘first responder’

My sister and I, in a discussion about the main character, realized that we saw her completely differently.  At first I was dismayed thinking that I had portrayed Stephanie as weak and ineffectual. That had not been my intention but the perception, on reflection, was quite plausible.

This blog is about the book and a little of what I see as I move through life. I hope that anyone with a strong view of my characters would write me. I would love to get a sense of how others see these characters.
In the Shadow of the Blackbird was written more recently, or rather completed more recently. I can tell by the style of writing how different I am as a person and a narrator by the choice of words and situations.  A twenty year evolution for me!
There is a hope that we all evolve but my question will always be from what to what? Do we get better with age or more stuck in the ruts and grooves of life?
No the book is not autobiographical. Some parts of it are wishful thinking and dreams yet to be fulfilled, some parts are a narration of other’s stories, some daydreaming, and some recollections of places visited. If you know me, and see parts of yourself there, I thank you for contributing. If you don’t know me and see yourself there, then you understand that some actions and reactions are universal and not always available to our conscious mind. If this book helps you to find a kinship with something inside of you that needed a voice, then it will have served its purpose.

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Pumpkin Faces

The big Hallowe’en treat day is over.  Candies are distributed and hopefully not too many of the kids ate too much.  Costumes varied between what could be thrown together and some genuine character changes.  It got just interesting towards the end.  I don’t have small kids around to make the day extra special.  My observations and memories will centre on the following day.  As I drove through my little housing scheme, I was struck by the number of dead pumpkins lined up  at the curb, along the street.  Before the big night, many homes had several pumpkins on display at windows, on steps and verandahs, carved out with faces in all  states of happiness to horror.  To see these hollow hallowe’en emoticons lined up at the curb waiting to be sent to the big pumpkin patch in the sky, I felt sorry for the loss of light behind the faces which charmed, frightened, or cheered us up as we drove through the streets in the days leading up to the holiday.

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Leavin’

I am still quite caught up in the autumn images. I guess that’s what happens when you do a lot of country driving. There are no oppresive concrete structures along the country lanes to mar the beauty of nature.  In southern Ontario, the view is spectacular. The rolling hills lend themselves to vista upon vista of colourful delight.
As the days pass, what becomes noticeable is not the colours so much as the sad fact that the trees are becoming barren. Soon their contracted limbs will face the blowing winter winds and the weight of new fallen snow.  The scene will be a monotone white.   On a sunny day, that pristine look will have its own beauty,  but for now, I try to live in the beauty of the present.

Looking up  as I drive along I am showered with the falling leaves.  The gentle sprinkle made me wonder about what we would call this interesting phenomenon, unique to this time of year.  Moving along the natural sequence of the elements, I came to the following conclusion.  Water, when falling,  is rain therefore, it’s rainin’. Cold water is snow and it’s snowing. Dead leaves are falling.  Is it ‘leavin’?  Yes indeed it is!  I am sad but resigned.

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Aging leaves

When the fall comes and leaves change colour we are so taken with their beauty. And, they are truly lovely. I thought about what makes them so appealing. Of course, who can deny that the vista of reds, golds, orange, yellow, green shades truly create a unique palate of delight. It’s enough to take your breath away sometimes.
The truth is that the leaves are really in the last stages of their life. The ground is contracting and the life force is leaving them. Even as they dry out ready to fall to the ground in death, we see them at their most beautiful and vibrant. Why don’t we feel the same about our elderly. Their bodies are contracting into death, more rapidly as they age but they are still vibrant. Their hearts and minds hold so much knowledge and information. They deserve our admiration for the awesome contribution to this world and what we will lose of their life experience when they are gone. Not eveyrone writes an autobiography. Who will remember their lives?
After a long drive through country lanes bright with the shades of autumn, I attended a party where the oldest was 90 years old and the youngest just a few months.
The little one was often the centre of attention. He is delightful and engaging and yet our utmost respect should be paid to the elderly lady, well past even the autumn years of her life but still shiny and beautiful with all her colours glowing much like a very late harvest. Every time I see these shades of the changing seasons, I remember someone elderly who has taken the time to share a little of their life with me.

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