Soul Cards

These are collage cards that I've made using the Soul Collage technique. 

Constance's Magic ~ Exploration #32 World of Magic

On the weekend we floated that page we also put some work in to our Explorer Book as well. I was thinking about a number of different explorations as I walked along the beach when I found a plastic spoon.

It was a regular everyday standard plastic spoon. What struck me about this spoon on the beach was that it appeared to be the ONLY garbage on the beach. Which is, sadly, a rather unique phenomena given this day and age.

I pick up the spoon and started to make my way back to where my family was digging in the sand. I was keeping my eye open for sea glass, something I always do at any beach I go to, and now for garbage.

There was no garbage to be seen. This stood out for me and made me want to keep the spoon.

Just a spoon in a coffee cup
with sea glass and shells

Back at our shady spot I dropped the sea glass I found in my empty coffee cup along with my mysterious spoon.

We found a lot of sea glass that day too. Which is always exciting for me.

I love sea glass. But I'll write about it another day.

Today is the story of the spoon.

Notes on the spoon and my thoughts about it

At home I pulled out the Explorer Book and sat down to record everything about this spoon.

What I struggled with was deciding what Exploration to attach the spoon to. 

There were many option. #5 The First thing you See. #10 One Thing. #34 Interesting Garbage (see below for explanations of these.)

Then I saw Exploration "#32. World of Magic"

I liked this one. There was something perhaps magical about this spoon. I am really not sure what. It is after all just a spoon. Yet, when I read this one I knew I had to write a story of how this spoon was really a magical spoon.

So here goes: Constance's Magic

 Once upon a time, in the summer when it was very hot, there lived a sad little girl.

This little girl was sad because all she ever wanted, in her whole life, was to have a garden. This was her wish. Especially in the summer she wished for a garden with flowers and trees; bushes that grew fruit and a plot to grow vegetables. At night she dreamt of green shadowy places where birds could hide, build nests and sing.

She would grow red and purple flowers for the butterflies and hummingbirds; white and blue flowers for the fairies. In the spring crocus and narcissus would bloom and later marigolds and calendulas would be grown to keep away the pests and because she liked orange.

In the vegetable plot there would be peas and beans on tall poles, like flags across the garden, waving Hello in the breeze. “Come see what we’ve done!” they would shout. “Look peas! Look beans! Look at all the good green things to eat!”

They would shelter lettuce and cabbage, pumpkins and squash. Sage, rosemary, mint, thyme and balm, plants that smelled so good when crushed between fingers would ring the garden beds. 

In the fall as the pumpkins ripened to their jolly jack-o-lantern shapes there would be sunflowers and late blooming roses in blush pink and butter yellow.

When winter came she would protect the beds with straw and mulch, turn over the soil to its rest and sleep away the frost and ice.

But the little girl did not have a garden. She lived in a beige apartment, in a gray city, with a balcony too small for garden. All there was room for on the balcony was her father’s hibachi and her mother’s lounge chair. Not even a tomato in a basket would fit there.

Once, her mother bought her a potted plant for her window sill. The plant was a deep rich green and had light green freckles on its heart shaped leaves.

But either the sunlight on the window sill was too harsh, or the wind too cold, because the plant with its heart shaped freckled leaves died.

The little girl couldn’t bear the thought of throwing out something that had once been alive so she left it on her window sill; a dried out reminder of a dream waiting to come true.

~~~

The summer that this little girl was very sad was also very hot. So hot the apartment felt like an oven and the little girl a roast chicken inside it. She begged her mother to take her to the park, the pool, the beach, anywhere that she could cool down and perhaps spend time in someone else’s garden pretending it was hers.

On days her mother did not have to work she would take the little girl to these places because she too felt like a roast chicken trapped under the broiler.

Both of them loved best of all, the beach. The breeze off the water cooled them. The sand between their toes tickled and sparkled in the sun. The water was brisk, refreshing and completely inviting.

One day while at the beach, during the summer that was very hot, the little girl found something. A plastic spoon; an ordinary piece of trash, lost from a picnic on the sand; or perhaps it fell off a boat as it sailed along the shore, then washed up on the rocks as the tide went out.

It was made of clear plastic, but the salt and scruffiness of the ocean floor made it foggy. To the little girl is looked like it was made of mist and cool sea spray.

To the little girl is seemed not an ordinary spoon at all but something curious, something mysterious and containing a secret for her alone to discover. Or so it pleased her to imagine as played along the surf.

Later, she sat on her towel in the shade of a beach umbrella playing with the spoon. Her mother handed her a slice of dripping watermelon to eat. She held it one hand while she dug in the sand with the spoon in the other. As she bit into the juicy watermelon the little girl imagined she was planting watermelon seeds with the spoon.

~~

That evening, after the little girl was sent to bed, she got up and looked out her bedroom window. Sometimes if she tried really hard she could see past the other apartment buildings to the park a few blocks away; where there were maple trees and roses.

She was turning the spoon over and over in her hands imaging the park, and then she stuck it in the dry dirt of her dead potted plant.

“I’m sorry that you died.” She whispered as she dug in the dirt. It was firm and parched; she had to push the spoon so hard she thought it might break. Once she loosened some of the dirt it crumbled to powder and dust that made her want to sneeze.

Leaving the spoon stuck in the dead potted plant she went to bed. Her mom had promised to take her to the park the next day.

~~

The little girl was so excited the next morning when she woke up that she completely forgot about the spoon; so she did not see the magical thing that had happened over night to her little dead plant.

The soil was no long stiff and parched. It was damp with moisture and it gave off the faint scent of green grass, freshly cut. And right in the center of the pot, next to the lip of the plastic spoon, was a tiny green shoot.

~~

The little girl had a wonderful day at the park. The maple trees cast long deep shadows on the grass; their leaves whispered in the wind. Squirrels climbed on their branches picking the seeds; which the little girl knew were called keys. The little girl like to imagine the maple keys that twirled around in the air like spinning tops were actual keys that opened magical doors; each one leading to a magical realm and of course gardens. Gardens where all the flowers were blue or everything smelled like bubblegum or maybe every flower was black with silver and tin leaves.

The little girl was disappointed she had forgotten the spoon. She would have liked to have dug a hole with it, perhaps opening up a tunnel to an underground home of a cheery gnome or hedgehog.

She was very tired when she returned from the park and went into her room to lie down. When she entered her room she gasped, the little dead plant was not dead at all. It was alive and growing. Six leaves, heart shaped and freckled, were reaching out from the pot and a long tendril with a curly end dangled over the edge of the sill.

“Mom, come quick!” she shouted.

“What is it Constance? Are you okay?” Her mother exclaimed as she rushed into the room.

“Look mom!” said Constance, “My plant. It’s growing again!”

“How strange,” replied her mother. “Have you been watering it? I thought it died.”

The little girl shook her head too shocked to speak. She noticed something that her mother did not. “Well, you’d better take better care of it this time.” Her mother said, as she left to start some laundry.

“Okay.” The little girl said. Quietly she closed her bedroom door. And slowly she walked over to the plant, eyeing it carefully. She was a bit afraid to touch it, yet she was also curious. How could this have happened? She wondered. She hadn’t done anything to it except dig in the dirt with the spoon she had found. The spoon. The ordinary piece of trash plastic spoon, washed up on a beach, was sticking out of the pot.

Gingerly she reached out towards it, not sure what to expect when she touched it. Warily she poked it with her finger then drew back quickly. Nothing. It was just a spoon. Again she reached out for it and pulled it from the pot. Rich damp soil fell from the spoon as she held it up to the light.

“It’s just a spoon.” She said to the setting sun in the window. Twirling it in her fingers, thinking it looked like cool mist she also remembered the twirling maple keys. Perhaps it wasn’t an ordinary spoon after all.

~~

The following morning the potted plant had 13 heart shaped freckled leaves and 3 tendrils with curly ends reached out towards the floor.

It was very early with Constance woke up. She dressed quietly and picking up the spoon just as quietly snuck out of the apartment.

In the night an idea had come to her, one she wanted to test.

There were few cars and no people out of the street this early in the morning. Not even morning dog walkers which pleased the little girl. She didn’t want anyone looking at her strangely or questioning what she was doing out so early in the morning by herself and with a plastic spoon.

Out on the sidewalk Constance looked around and quickly found the perfect spot for her test. A long deep crack snaked across the gray sidewalk. It was full of dust and grime from the street. Very carefully she crouched down and dragged the lip of the spoon along the whole length of the fracture.

Satisfied, she stood and looked around for more places to put the spoon to the test. Along the edge of the apartment building, where the sidewalk met the dingy bricks was a brittle looking dandelion. It lay limp and brown from the crack ready to crumble to filth. She gently popped the edge of the spoon into the crack next to the dandelion and wiggled it a bit.

The task complete she grinned to herself and headed off down the block the spoon gripped tightly in her hand.

Next to her apartment building was a bakery. It had closed down a couple months earlier and stood empty. Outside the front doors were two large wooden barrels that the bakery had had flowers in. They were dead and the dirt was dry. Confidently the little girl dug around the brittle plants with the spoon. She sung a little tune under her breath as she worked.

Further down the block there was a scraggly old tree. Once there were many trees growing along the street, but most of them had died and the city hadn’t replaced them. Constance dug in the dirt surrounding the tree which was mostly dead and had no leaves, except for a few tired yellow ones on a single branch.

She found chewing gum and cigarette butts in the dirt, which she carefully lifted out with the spoon and threw into the nearby bin.

Suddenly she remembered the time.  She’d been out in the street for quite a while and her mother would be scared if she got up and discovered she was gone; so she headed home. On the way she was please to notice that the dirt in the crack where she had done her first test had turned a faint green. A closer look showed tiny seedlings growing. Constance giggled, it was working! And she went into breakfast.

~~

“What’s gotten into you?” her mother asked. Constance couldn’t sit still. She kept jumping up from the table and leaning out the kitchen window. Not that she could see the sidewalk below, she just couldn’t help herself.

“Nothing.” She replied. “What are we doing today?”

“Did I hear you open the apartment door this morning?”

“Mom, I asked you a question first?” 

“Okay, okay. We can go back to the beach if you want. I think it’s going to be hot again today.”

“YAH!” Constance shouted so loud her mother took a step back in shock.

It was hard for Constance to be patient as she waited for her mother to get ready for the beach. She paced about the apartment, trying not to whine for her mother to hurry up. Instead she checked on her potted plant now with 15 leaves and another tendril just beginning to uncurl at its base.

Finally they were ready to go.

The little girl laughed out loud as the stepped from the apartment building. The long snaking fissure in the sidewalk was bursting with glossy jade leaves. It looked like a river of green water meandering across a gray desert.

The dandelion in the crack next to the building had fresh and bright, long toothy leaves jutting out in all directions like a green star burst and right in the center was a yellow flower the size of the little girl’s hand.

Her mother was speechless and she took in all the green that now filled the street; so different from the bleak gray and tan of yesterday. Constance grabbed her mother’s hand and pulled her down the street. At the bakery the wooden barrels were over flowing with pink and white geraniums, smiling pansies with orange and yellow and black faces spilled over purple petunias and happy yellow and white daisies.

On the corner the scraggly old tree had bright red leaf buds on all its branches. Soft ferns were slowly unfurling at its base. As the little girl watched one of the buds opened into a small green leaf.

By the end of the day, Constance knew, the tree would be covered in leaves.

The little girl’s mother shook her head with disbelief and Constance said nothing, instead she clutched the spoon in her hand and smiled. This ordinary look plastic spoon wasn’t ordinary at all. It had a secret, a secret shared only with the little girl who had dreamt of a garden. The little girl knew that wherever she went for now on she could have a garden and she was sad no longer.

~~

When they got to the beach they saw a huge crowd gathered. Constance pushed her way through the crowd and she saw growing from the spot she had first dug with her spoon the largest watermelon plants she had ever seen.

The End. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Since beginning this story I've found other objects for World of Magic - items that have stories attached to them and I am working. There are 3 more in the works:

 "Bladderwrack"

"Raven Cone"

"Donkey Thief"
















Stay tuned, or better yet follow this blog and you'll be updated when I post them.


~~~~~~~~~
Other Explorer options, as mentioned at the start:

Infuse with the scent of your choosing

When I was a little girl some of my most prized possessions were my smelly felts. Which now that I’ve typed it out I realize the words look a lot like smelly farts. sigh.

I know that that’s not really their name, but who ever actually referred to them as scented markers? No one, that’s who. They were, throughout my whole childhood, ALWAYS known as smelly felts. FELTS!

Owning a set where the cherry wasn’t dried out and the green felt smelled like apples and not mint, made you popular, at least in my odd little bohemian crowd of 7 year old artists.

I loved my smelly felts. 

(FELTS. Damn it I can’t edit this without reading farts now.)

Drawing with them made creating art seems more adventurous somehow. I know now as an adult, having read science blogs and the like, that smell is deeply connected to memory centers in the brain. Perhaps that what made smelly felts so wonderful – the art  was more real because of the scents associated with the creation process and afterwards.

Anyway, what I do know is sometime between my childhood and now they changed the scents of some of the markers – the black one for instance – was Licorice when I was a child and changed to Burnt Marshmallow at some point.

Now I’ll admit the burnt marshmallow scent was okay, but it is not the same as the rich, mucilaginous thickness that is black licorice.

I didn’t even like black licorice as a child, but I loved the smell of that marker.

A couple weeks ago I found some packs of ‘Mr. Sketch Scented Markers’ at the store. The first thing I did was check the back of the package – if the black marker was still burnt marshmallow I wasn’t buying, but YAH! 

Black Licorice was back!

They also had a pack of fancy limited edition “Movie Scents” so I picked up them too. 

The next couple weeks at work were super busy so I forgot about the packages and then decided to save them until I was on holiday. 

They became my treat and the anticipation of smelling them again was somehow deeply compelling. The waiting would make it that much better, like dessert. So I waited.

And I waited some more.

Then I started to worry... what if the black licorice didn’t smell like it did when I was a child? What if it had changed and didn't invoke the same power it did 25 years ago?

So I waited, and waited more. Until finally the time can when I was ready.

Seriously this was like drinking my first sip of champagne, graduating from university, getting married and watching my child take his first step all rolled into one event – the uncapping of a black marker.

And it smelled exactly as I remember it.

Black delicious freaking licorice. Divine!

What’s really strange though is that while I put a lot of pressure on that black marker to deliver and it did. AND it did remind me of my childhood; in the end it wasn’t the marker that carried the most influence over my memories.

It was the brown marker – Cinnamon - which invoked a much more powerful memory of my childhood.

I think this was because I had totally forgotten the brown marker cinnamon scent. 

I remembered loving the black marker, even if I couldn’t recall the smell. I could remember deep inhales of the black one from when I was a child so there was a part of my brain that was ready, a part of my brain that was prepared.

Not so with the brown marker. There was no anticipation when I uncapped the brown marker and sniffed it. No desire to relive a memory, no vague memories triggered even by reading on the package that the brown marker was cinnamon scented. Unlike the black maker the brown one had no associations attached to it.

Then I uncapped it.  

Memories flooded back – completely unexpected and with more power than the black one could have ever had.

I remembered being a child at the kitchen table, markers in hand, paper scattered about drawing and imaging myself away from the world. The fantasy worlds I created on those papers were full of forests and trees.

There were houses full of elves and fairies, dragons and gnomes, and every one of them were cinnamon scented because I used the brown marker.

My childhood is scented with cinnamon.  I remember this now.

My imagination is scented with cinnamon, all the places I created to escape to are scented with cinnamon.

It is both wonderful and overwhelming to have those memories return. How could I have forgotten?

Now I can remember the scent of the trees drawn on the paper. I can remember the paper damp with ink, fragile and limp. After colouring with the markers I had to be careful with the paper or it might rip; the moisture in the ink made it delicate. These fantasy worlds were not safe until the ink was dry, they could tear and split so easily.

I can remember how stiff the paper became after the ink dried. The ink made it stronger, stable and somehow indestructible. These worlds of cinnamon trees and houses and cherry rooftops, apple leaves, blueberry scented sky and banana scented suns existed, really, really existed after the ink was dry.

These are the important pieces to remember. It is bittersweet, the bittersweet scent of cinnamon, to have these memories back. All of this because I bought some markers to colour the wreakage. 

Not Smelly Felts.
But clearly I've always engaged all my senses
during the creation of my art. 

~~~ 

On a side note: the movie scented markers are super gross. Nacho Cheese smells like rotting vegetables, chocolate mint smells like BAD cheap crumbly chocolate, buttery popcorn smells stale popcorn on the theatre bathroom floor and hard candy smells like medicine. Blue Slushy is redeemable and Root Beer smelled like an old fashion general store, so I like that one. Reminds me of those ‘old time village museums’ where you could buy stick candy in lots of different flavors from glass jars on the counters. You know, like the one's Laura always wanted on Little House on the Prairie. 

`

Compost Update #3

I set this page - the left side - out to compost on May 20th 2014. It didn't take very long for the ink from the drawings to be washed away and fade in the sun. 

The Garden Gnomes have been doing a great job watching the composting process. They love tedious jobs like this along with watching grass grow, paint dry, berries ripen.

Over the last few months there has been a lot of sun in Vancouver, which was odd. Vancouver has the reputation for being very rainy. Especially the North Shore which I was told once got 20% more rain than the rest of the city - blame the mountains.

I don't actually know if that's true or not. Vancouver folks are oddly proud of our rain and proud to be able to complain about it too.

But really we need to get over ourselves. It's been much drier here over the years and we're probably pretty average or normal when it comes to rainfall at this point. This is just a thought based on observation. I've done no research in to weather pattern changes because I'm pretty sure it will just freak me out.

Anyhoo...

Here is the composting page as of yesterday. This is 69 days into the process and it's almost completely gone. It's pretty cool, in my humble opinion.







`

Coconut oil and Kertosis Pilaris

This has nothing to do with Wreakage or Exploring. I just realized I had too much to say on this subject, so decided to post it here, rather than in a long FB post.

Coconut oil and Keratosis pilaris.

So a couple days ago I began the search for Coconut oil because the internet claimed it would be a freakin' miracle for my 'chicken skin'. Google Keratosis pilaris (KP), if you want to know more.

Because you want to know about my personal hygiene, this I know, I'll tell you that I have this KP thing all over my upper arms. Red bumps that often pop out in acne like pimples. I kinda hate it.

So Coconut oil is supposed to help the red, the bumps, the shame and the embarrassment of not having perfect skin go away.

Since it's also inexpensive and natural I figured it was worth a shot.

So about 4 days ago I found some at the local, mostly all natural, grocery store.

Most of the internet research I did suggested using it along with an exfoliation routine. Most websites suggested a brown sugar and coconut oil scrub - which just sounded sticky.

So I went to my old stand by - baking soda.

Baking soda is awesome. It cleans stuff - like the counter tops, the grunge around the bathtub and my hair.

Yup, I wash my hair with Baking soda and water. That's it. (FYI: baking soda will not wash coconut oil out of your hair. So I did (for shame) use shampoo to wash the coconut oil treatment out of my hair)

Anyway, baking soda exfoliate; cuz it's already in my bathroom and I know its good a breaking down oils and the like.

KP is a excess of Keratin built up around the hair follicles. Keratin is what your hair and nails are made of and that's about all I know about it. And really all I care to know.

So back to getting rid of excess KP: 1. Exfoliation and 2. Moisturizing.

Which is all good and a routine I've tried before - with regular cream based moisturizers, which maybe(?) helped the KP but clogged my pours and produced acne. yuck.

Coconut oil is different. In fact it's down right weird.

At room temperature, and I mean a cool room, it's a solid that looks a lot like lard. Any heat and it liquefies almost instantly. It's clear, not yellow like olive or grape seed oil.

It doesn't taste like anything and it doesn't smell like coconuts - at least not the brand I bought.

When you hold a chunk of it in your hand looks and it melts like an ice cube, but it's not cold, so it's just plain odd.

Anyway - for the last few day's I've been following the exfoliation and moisturizing routine daily. My skin drinks up the oil and after about 30 minutes my skin does not feel greasy.

And, long story, finally getting to it's point - I am happy to report a decrease in the redness on my arms and a decrease in the bumpiness. It's not totally gone. I'm not sure it ever will be, but I am content that it's doing 'something' and that's good.

 Is it the exfoliation? Is it the coconut oil? Both? No idea.

Since I started both as new routines I can't say for sure which or both is the winner here. I'm not sure I care. As many people know once you find something that works (especially when it comes to vanity) it's best not to question it too much.

Bonus (or not) my cat likes the taste of it and now grooms my arms regularly. Maybe that's the REAL cure - cat saliva!

So there you go. Another internet claim about the the miracle that is coconut oil that as no scientific basis and is just one persons meager experience of 4 days - but OMG I used coconut oil on an unsightly skin condition and the results will astound you! 

I can't help up I love upworthyish headlines.





`

Float this Page

 It's Summer in Vancouver and the weather has been awesome. It's hot and sunny and when this happens in Vancouver everyone in the city is just a wee bit happier.

Our little family spent the afternoon at Cates Park yesterday.

Cates Park is one of the nicest parks in Vancouver, it's located on the North Shore of the city out towards Deep Cove.

Cates Park is located on Native land. There are shell midden's on the beach and in the past other native artifacts have been found there.

There is a magically quality to this park. Perhaps its the breeze or the water or the trees. I am not sure, but it is one of my favorite places to go year round.

On a more practical note, while the beach is a bit rocky, by 1 or 2 in the afternoon a good portion of the upper part of the beach is in shade, while the water remains in sun.

So if you want to relax at the beach but not get burnt, it's a very good place to be.

I brought my Wreak Journal with me with plans to 'Float this Page'.

I decided to fold it into a boat.

 "Sailing, sailing over the bounding main... "

Here's my little boat sailing in the ocean.

Here's an icky dead crab.

I do fine swimming in the ocean until I see that it's full up of dead things. Then I'm just not convinced it's such a good idea to be in the water.

My camera is waterproof.

So I can do strange selfie like shots looking up at the boat and myself from UNDER THE WATER!

Here it is back on dry land a little bit soggy. but still totally  sailable.

I put it back in the Wreak Journal and squished it when I closed it back up. I don't think it will sail again now.

Wreakage now complete.

I found these super tiny sail shells in the sand. 

`

Bookworms and 'Life of Pi'

A couple of weeks ago I fell down our backstairs. It can be so wet in Vancouver that algae will grow on most surfaces throughout the winter.

Usually by summer it dries out, but in the case of our back steps it's been wet enough through out the spring and warm enough that a wonderfully thick layer of green slime grew on the wooden stairs in our backyard.

It had rained the night before and the stairs were wet when I walked down them, carrying a coffee mug, taking my sisters dog outside. Suddenly I was flat on my arse and I think I slid down a step or two.

The coffee cup went flying, landing on the concrete below and miraculously survived. My body? Not so lucky.

My bruised backside

I spent the next two days doped up on painkillers and muscle relaxants, binge watching'Orange is the New Black' and season 4 of 'The Walking Dead.' 'The Walking Dead.'

I also spent a lot of time wandering around the internet, looking at failblog and failbook because nothing, and I mean nothing, makes a person feel better than to see how miserable and full of fail other people are. I also spent a lot of time reading lists on buzzfeed.

On those two days I found a number of lists of books on Buzzfeed. These are two of my favorite things: lists and books. I have books full of lists and I love to make lists and lists and then lists of all my lists - I might need some help, come to think of it.

So anyway, what does that have to do with the Wreak Journal? Well, in my drugged stupor it seemed to make sense to write these lists of books in the journal, that what I'd be able to find them again so I could read the books on the lists.

Bookmarking them in my computer did not, at the time, occur to me.

Instead I wrote them out in my Wreakage Journal:

Books that will make you laugh out loud

Books that will actually change your life

Guilty pleasure books that are awesome

Books more addicting than Candy Crush

Books that you'll love if you loved "A Fault in our Stars"

I put check marks next to the books on these lists that I have already read. I wrote 'movie' next to a few books I haven't read, but seen the movie. The 'sort of' are for books that I've started, but didn't finish (the same for movies).  I just could not get through reading or watching 'The Importance of being Ernest' it was just to ridiculous and I freakin' love Colin Firth.

Anyway, this afternoon I finished reading 'Life of Pi' by Yann Matel. It is on the 'change your life' list and the 'more addicting than candy crush' lists, also I had it on my shelf along with the 'I'll read these one day books'.

I've never played Candy Crush, so I can't attest to whether this book was more or less addicting. But once I got through the slow beginning I was certainly hooked and read the last half in one go because it got intense and I had no idea how Pi was going to get saved.

What I started thinking about this afternoon was did it change my life? 

Did it? 

I'm really not sure. I'm thinking about the story, wondering how I would survive if that happened to me. On the Huffington Post site they say this about the book:
  "One man, one lifeboat, one tiger. If you haven't yet read Martel's masterpiece about spirituality or adventure (depending on how you choose to read it), take the time this summer to get lost in it."
Was is Spirituality or an Adventure? 

 That's what I'm trying to figure out and it's bothering me that I can't.

I don't think it changed my life, not it the way reading 'The Road' did. Which is not on the change your life list, but on the better that Candy Crush list. It didn't change my life the way 'Joy of Cooking' did or 'The Artists Way'. Both drastically improved my life - better cooking, more creativity.

Or even the way the Wreakage Journal has changed my life, to be completely honest. But I suspect that it is too soon to tell with 'Life of Pi'. It probably needs to seep in for awhile. Which is probably why I connect the two.  The Wreakage Journal and my experience with it has changed me. It's changed my perspective on the world around me and has helped me to better understand and appreciate the fragility and impermanence in this world.

Nothing lasts forever, not the journal I am bound and determined to destroy, not the garden I tend every spring, not the life of the mouse my cat caught the other day. My life too, my world, my everything is as fragile and impermanent.

This same fragility is a theme throughout 'Life of Pi', just under the surface, like the sharks. Pi's life and Pi's story both are fragile and both carry with them the possibility of impermanence.

I am haunted by it. I'm left thinking about the ending, so much so I'm trying to write about it to sort out my feeling about it, but I also don't want to give away the ending, which as an aside is just plain awesome.

There's more pondering to be done, I think.

 In the meantime, below are links to the book lists... not sure what book I'm going to pick up next...

Huffington Post: The Best Page turners that will make you forget about Candy Crush

Buzzfeed: 32 Books that will actually change your life

Buzzfeed: 30 guilty pleasure books that are in fact awesome

Buzzfeed: 32 books guaranteed to make you laugh out loud

Buzzfeed: 17 books to read if you liked 'The Fault in our Stars'





`

Collections and the Explorer

One of the primary themes in "How to be an Explorer in the World" is to be a collector and the value of collecting interesting things. This is something I understand completely because from a very young age I collected things. Lots of different, strange and peculiar things. Like most kids I collected rocks and shells from the beach. I collected pretty leaves in the fall and picked flowers in the spring.

I also collected odd things, usually things that were small and what I believed to be inconsequential. Things no one would miss, things likely to be forgotten, or I believe had already been forgotten, but held value to me. I never considered myself a thief. I was a collector and a keeper for things that shouldn't be forgotten. Though I'm sure my sisters would disagree with that assessment.

One of the most peculiar things I collected at a child was rock salt. The kind big trucks flung about on the streets in winter time. I loved those big crystals, the way they dried out my skin when I held them. The way my skin smelt and tasted after holding them. I would hid them under my bed and at night I would suck on them - not terribly healthy to be sure. But I loved the saltiness and I loved that they were secret.

Some of the things that I still collect to this day, much to the chagrin of my husband are tea pots, sea glass, books, crystals, African Violets of different colours and boxes.

I love to collect boxes. I don't even always put things in the boxes, I just like having places I can store or more importantly hide things.

This is a picture of just some of my boxes. This collection on the table does not include my many jewellery boxes or some other boxes around the house. This was just a quick grab of the boxes close at hand. Most of these are currently empty.

Going clock wise from the top (where 12 would be) is an empty wicker basket box, with a wooden box my dad made me for pencil crayons on top. I made the handle for the wooden box out of an old button. To the right is a sliding lid wooden box with a moon a gift from my father in law. When I opened it had some old Canadian 2 dollar bills in it. Next to it is a wooden wine box. I painted the bottom black and glued the image on the lid.

At 3 o-clock is a round box made with old newspapers, a gift from my sister. The red and black boxes are simple cardboard boxes I like the shape of.

At 6 o'clock is the wooden box that held out wedding rings. I stained it and added the ring embellishment. The pick box is an empty mint tin. Then at the 9 spot is an empty unpainted wooden box, a cardboard box I decorated with leaf printed paper and finally the large retangle shaped box which once contained stationary.

The boxes in the middle actually contain things.

The oval shaped wooden box, Owen uses to store his little tresures. It was a gift from my father in laws wedding. There is a little wooden box next to it that is actually little drawers - they've empty. The three small boxes in the center contain tiny crystals, beads and amber scent.

Then there's the last box. The one in the very middle. It's not open. It's a puzzle box the key and the key hole are hidden and need to be found to open this box. When I was young my dad set out this box and both my sister and I tried to figure out how to get into it. I did. I found the key and the key hole. My dad gave me the box and I kept all sorts of wonderful little things in it from then on. He got it in Egypt when he was a boy.

So why all of this about collections and boxes? I've been thinking a lot about exploration #9 and thinking about how I would create such a collection.

The case of curiosities is a strange concept to me - things I don't understand or have meaning for. Most people collect things that they like and DO have meaning for.

To collect things I don't have meaning for is tricky.

Then there's the miniature museum. This will be hard because I have so many small things it will be hard to choose what to put in a small box. But as seen I have plenty of boxes to choose from.

With this collection of boxes on the table I called Owen over and had him pick a box for his Miniature Museum and Case of Curiosities. He chose these two boxes. The unpainted wooden one and the old Victorian one.

I decided on the wooden sliding lid with a moon box and the wicker basket box. In fact I picked up the wicker basket box at a thrift shop a couple weeks ago not having seen exploration #9, but knew I would use it the moment I read this exploration.

There is an example picture of a miniature museum in the Explorer book. I like this picture it is intruding and a want to pick up all the little things in the picture. I want to be able to smell and touch and taste the things in this picture.

I sat for awhile thinking about how and where I would begin. I made a list in my mind of all the little tiny things I could put in my museum.

Then my mind wandered to the Case of Curiosities. What would I put in that? What do I have that I don't have meaning for or I don't understand.

What kept on coming to mind was a strange image. One that I really don't understand why I would think of it, so I guess that's a good thing. The image that came to mind was one of this little doll.

My dad gave me this doll when he came back from a band tour in Europe with my two older sisters. Sometimes I wear my hair like this girl. She has a very calm and self possessed expression on her face.

Did I chose to add this doll because the colours go well with the inside of the box?

I'm not sure what it is about this doll or the memories it invokes. I don't understand them or have meaning for them.

Perhaps it's the fact that I've kept this doll well into my 30's and while I no longer play with or am drawn to dolls I could never give it away.


I was a teenager when my dad gave me this doll, I'd outgrown dolls then too. But I cherished it. Loved it and even then it created emotions in me that I didn't understand and still don't today.

In novels somethings things are charmed to hold memories or take the protagonist back in time. Somehow I think that if I clutched this doll hard enough it would reveal itself to be just such a doll.

There's ethereal magic about this doll that I can not grasp. So I put it in the Case.

The doll has been on a shelf in my living room for a long time. Next to it was, surprise surprise, a box.

 This box. 

Again another box that my dad gave me when I was little. This had been his box. In it contains treasures from his childhood. And I've always just kept it. I remember the first time I saw Amelie and she finds the old tin box behind the tile in her bathroom; that scene and all that follows reminds me of this box.

Inside the box are what's left of my dad's tin soldiers. Two nurses, two WWI men, who once had a stretcher between them. One British solider on the march, one with broken feet (usually carried in the now lost stretcher) and the soldier without a head.

Their paint is chipped, their faces gone. Yet when I hold them I feel like I did when I clutched rock salt in my hands. Their tinny smell as at the metal warms stays on my hands long after I put them away.

I wish that they were charmed and could take me back to visit my dad's childhood.

Also in the box are these plastic clowns. I think they were on a birthday cake once? I vaguely remember someone telling me that. Though I don't know whose cake or when that was.

These are, btw, the only clowns I am not terrified of. They are nice clowns and will not try to eat my face in my sleep, unlike every other clown on the planet.

There are a few other treasures in this box. A few little animals I know I put in there, but why I now don't recall. There was also this old Mexican coin, which has been added to that - where the heck did these coins come from? - collection. More anon.

 So begins the collection for the Case of Curiosities. This will be an on going project, building as I find things that I want to add. In the meantime it is comforting to hold these things I saved from being forgotten and remember them again.





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