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.