The Most Comforting Inn Of All

 By Maryanna Gabriel

"The power of finding beauty in the humblest of things,

make home happy and life lovely." 

- Louisa May Alcott

Shaking things up. 

     Sometimes one has to shake things up a bit. You know. Do something interesting.

Done up lounge by the sea. 

     I found a bark-laden historic building by the sea, a four-star hotel, at two thirds the price. I was in... barky being an attention getter. This used to be a country home home commissioned by a lieutenant governor located in the Saanich Peninsula. It looked all done up and conjured visions of high tea, gin and tonics by a fireside lounge, and elegant breakfasts. A bygone era caught in time. All terribly romantic.

     Gosh, I haven't a thing to wear. 

History still standing. 

     This is the third time I have done this. I love history and so anything vintage in Victoria catches my attention. The last time I did this it was in the heart of the city and I hastily departed at 6:00 am. I would not even stay for the "b" part of the "b&b" I was so needing to leave with cracks in the walls and rattling in the night. This time, it was not rattles.

     The gorgeous bathroom was enchanting, but

Barky being an attention getter. 

the big old tub was out of commission due to "old plumbimg", the curtain was torn in the bedroom, the lounge deserted, and breakfast was wisked away before I was finished. I know I could have stopped the latter, but the truth is by then I had lost interest.

     The upshot? Being home is the most comforting inn of all.
I light the fire, draw my bath, and linger over breakfast. A third world problem solved, I know, but one must draw comfort in the little things in our lives. Besides which, I have a lot of bark around here. 

Ease

 By Maryanna Gabriel

Self Portrait
(pencil)

There is a point in winter, in the stillness of the dark, when I forget this is not forever. The hours feel heavy and time slows. To deal with this, I have been keeping a daily appointment with myself which entails curling up with a good book and a cuppa. Under my blankie I enter another world. Not sure why I have forgotten how much I love this quiet pleasure because I emerge refreshed and in love with my day. Well done, I say to myself. Time well spent. Good job. 

Although it is February, here on the Southern Gulf Islands, the garden is waking up. The days dawn much earlier, and it's a surprise. Why I don't know given it's like this every year at this time. Today I cleaned some windows with an unaccustomed vigour as the sunlight poured in. Outside, crocuses are blooming as are the miniature daffodils. It's time. 

With this inner awareness, I cleaned out a little planter box near my kitchen garden and planted lettuce seeds. Of course, it's early. I'm well aware that winter likes to give a kick or two before departing. But the truth is, everything is on the move, meaning the kale and chard have yielded several salads this week and well... what more proof do I need? Gosh. Should I be mowing the lawn?

So the lethargy of winter is actually a rest. So is the reading. Resting is not something I do well at. Given that nature models it, I am trying to improve my sense of ease with the quieter time that is winter. However, before I read today, there are plants to divide and transplant. A cusp between stillness and movement. So off I go - before I sit with the final chapter.

Hope Is A Thing With Feathers

A hopeful place to be...

                

Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers    
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without words
And never stops at all
Sweetest in the gale is heard

Sore must be the storm
That could bash the little bird
That kept so many warm

I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea
Yet never in extremity

                                - Emily Dickenson (1830-1886)

Book Reading In Vancouver

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

It was the director of King's College. Would I be interested in doing a reading? Yes. In Vancouver? Thank you, I would. 

So off I went. I knew the reading part would be okay. It was driving in the dark in the fog that was intimidating. While I grew up in Vancouver, it has been a good long while since I negotiated the route to East Van. Did I say a while? I girded my loins and tightened my seat belt as I made my way.

What was with the tunnel under the Fraser River? Cars were going all which ways as traffic lights directed outgoing traffic down incoming lanes. Hate that. Who knows why? I believe they are building new lanes which is causing the havoc, but in the dark fog it was impossible to tell. I white-knuckled my way through. 

Well, it was all fine and dandy after I realized my life was intact and my pulse normalized. I love reading and it showed. It was nice to connect with the literary community. 

"I knocked on the door wondering how this was going to go. There was the sound of a bolt moving back and the door creaked open. Holding my breath, I stepped in. It was a crowded room, a jumble of bric a brac and gaudy religious paraphernalia decorated every available space. A squat rotund woman with bulging eyes peered upward...."    from, Walking The Camino: On Earth As It Is.

The Rose Whisperer

 By Maryanna Gabriel


I'm not sure what people thought when I displayed the variety of roses from the garden that I had for my Christmas table. They go kind of quiet. So the other day when I saw him, I didn't hesitate as I hung from the balcony and called out his name. I'm not sure what I said next, but he strode up the drive. I organized and rushed down to meet him.

This was the master architect - a gardener of true greatness. The man who plants mere sticks and blossoms flourish. He is the Rose Whisper with extraordinary talent, not just for the plantings, but also for the architecture as to how they are placed, given what blooms with each season. And lucky for me we both share a deep love of peonies... 
 
My greatest worry was how to prune. What was his opinion of what I had managed thus far? I got a nod of approval as he strolled and listed off the latin names as though he mumbles them in his sleep. We talked about the heat, the water, and the soil conditions, and I could tell he was astonished that the daffodils were inches up. As is the garlic. While many in the country are under snow, it feels like spring on the Gulf Islands.  

He was missing the garden, he told me. I was fortunate enough to have purchased it when I did. I'm not sure the visit helped him. But it did me. And now I am pressed to finish the pruning. So many roses.... so little time. 

The Rose Whisper's crowning glory in the center of things.

High Time For High Tea

By Maranna Gabriel 


      Avoiding the January gray, and the dreaded perils of cleaning a post-holiday fridge, I dusted off my pale face and set out on an adventure. And why not? It was to be High Tea at The Empress Hotel in Victoria, of course. I had been thinking of it for some time. Come walk with me. 

I wandered past the Parliament Buildings with a totem pole….

towards the hotel…

along the inner harbour…

...past a man moved to wear a crown on his head beside a WWll statue...

and who for some mysterious reason diplayed this message as he sat cross-legged...

...to the Emily Carr statue on the hotel grounds with her monkey on her back…

...to where the primulas are planted… or are these called cowslips?

...beyond a grand fountan and alongside the solarium...

...to where a pianist sat and played a merry tune…

... drawn to the fire with the harbour beyond... 

... only to have a white linen napkin swished across my lap and where I was hovered over by a plethora of servers. The china is very nice, I thought. 

The hourglass timer told me when the tea was weak, medium or strong.

I started with a little salmon number, but I was told I really must begin with the bottom layer of the tier given it was still warm.So being mannerly, and wishing to be polite, I did.

     The conversation quickly turns to lemon curd, this is the clotted cream, and this sandwich over here is made with Coronation Chicken and has curry. All terribly sensible. I was interested they didn't use a tea cosey, but rather the tea pot is placed over a candle in a ceramic container. Who knew? You heard it here first, don't forget.

All in all, it was a wonderful tea and an uplifting experience. The end. Except for the part about still having to clean the fridge.