Hergest Ridge

You’ve asked for it, and here it is: My Official Wish List. You’ll also find a link to it in the main navigation on the right hand side.

In Memory of my Grandmother
Teofila Grodzka (January 6, 1923 - December 3, 2006)

When my mother, my sister, and I came to Canada in the early 90s, our first home was that of my Grandmother. Having never seen the house in pictures, I had imagined endless times what her house must look like

I had imagined a large yard with hundred year old trees, and a home that few grownups dare imagine for themselves. A child’s vivid and spontaneous imagination poorly reflects reality, but like imagination, reality has surprises of its own.

I remember the many newspapers, magazines and books that filled the kitchen table and the living room. My Grandmother loved to read. Every day, she spent hours reading. She didn’t care much for fiction; She found the world we live in more interesting than anything anyone could imagine.

The house always felt warm and secure. Everything fit quite well. I remember my Grandmother come and go as she took the bus to go swimming and visit her friends, or, on the cold days watched nature and animal shows on TV, while cracking and eating hazelnuts.

Soon, the modest house with all its imperfections was defined not by that which the eye could see, but by that which was felt and experienced inside. The house became a home.

Having raised four children on her own, lived through five years of forced labour during WWII, and worked as a nurse for two decades, Teofila never lost her strength or resolve to go on and make a difference in the lives of the people around her. Even in her planning for the days and years after she is gone, her kindness and generosity will benefit those of us left behind.

Teofila’s final wish was that her body be donated to the University of Manitoba for medical research and advancements. My first instinct was that of just wanting her to rest; I didn’t want her to be a research project. After she passed away, her face looked so peaceful. She finally looked at rest and that’s how I wanted her to stay. But my Grandmother never thought that way, she always put others ahead of herself. And for that, and so much more, she will be missed and remembered.

Most of the post categories on this blog tend to be pretty straight forward. The title says it all, and if that’s not the case for you, chances are you are better off skipping those areas anyway. In that regard, the Aspirations section is a bit different.

In ‘Aspirations’ I write scraps of thoughts using a more unique and creative method. The entries are designed to give a story like feel opposed to the journal feel experienced throughout other areas of the blog. The category name refers to my aspiration of someday getting published; Not with the content in the section, but in general. I look at it as my training ground.

One important aspect of the category is that I try to limit myself to 15 minutes per entry, with few or no edits afterwards. I’m a perfectionist in many ways, and imagination and perfectionism are bad neighbours. As such, I force myself to paint a picture with limited words, without idea confining detail. The goal is not to present you with a finished story of my thoughts, but to simply get your imagination going into conjuring something that speaks to you, the reader.

I hope you enjoy my take at this venue of expression. If not, there are always the other sections. :)

As the sky got darker, more flakes filled the cold air. They came to the ground in waves, the wind at their back. A thin soft blanket covered the already packed snow that was the snowfall of days ago. The city lay quiet, awaiting the next invasion from the heavens.

With the sun set behind the horizon, the glow from the street lamps grew ever bolder. Looking up at the glow, each light was its own giant snow globe as it illuminated the flakes on their way down to earth.

The soft blanket of snow compressed with a soothing sound under the boots of a passing couple. Some flakes manage to escape the fate by gently lifting off the ground, only to land back down again elsewhere. With each step the process repeated, its taking place marked only with the footsteps that lay behind.

Walking down by the park, the world ended where their sight gave way to the darkness that lay beyond. Toque, mittens, and heavy jackets served as a barrier between the crisp cold and the warm bodies wrapped underneath.

So they walked, and slowly began to disappear behind the wall of snow and darkness, into a world of their own; Without a word, but communicating. Her shoes too big, clearly belonging to him, they walked until all that was left behind were the footprints.