Why I am Not a Buddhist

I have read this poem five times today (we’ve arrived on the ferry from Port Hardy in Prince Rupert) and I will probably read it again.

WHY I AM NOT A BUDDHIST

by Molly Peacock

I love desire, the state of want and thought

of how to get; building a kingdom in a soul

requires desire. I love the things I’ve sought-

you in your beltless bathrobe, tongues of cash that loll

from my billfold- and love what I want: clothes,

houses, redemption. Can a new mauve suit

equal God? Oh no, desire is ranked. To lose

a loved pen is not like losing faith. Acute

desire for nut gateau is driven out by death,

but the cake on its plate has meaning,

even when love is endangered and nothing matters.

For my mother, health; for my sister, bereft,

wholeness. But why is desire suffering?

Because want leaves a world in tatters?

How else but in tatters should a world be?

A columned porch set high above a lake.

Here, take my money. A loved face in agony,

the spirit gone. Here, use my rags of love.

Missing: One PVC Straight Jacket

Today I drove with Toni Smith (in the truck she bought from a high school student who’d spent two years fixing it up in Nanaimo) to Port Hardy. The truck is laden with supplies for Haida Gwaii – for Copper Beech House and Toni’s Beach cabins (beachcabins.com) including two large raven and eagle masks, a cedar bark rain hat and a cedar bark berry-picking basket (made by my partner, Stephen, at William Head.) We also have olive oil for Charley – a gift from Angie who has relocated to Lake Cowichan. The only thing I couldn’t find (at my house in North Saanich) was my PVC Straight jacket. I intended to wear it to the next auction put on by Funk It. I figured it would save me money if I couldn’t raise my hands.

To Feast or Die on Haida Gwaii

Douglas Coupland came to stay at Copper Beech House a year or so ago and David wasn’t feeling well enough to cook. My daughter, Charlotte, was working for David at the time, and she volunteered me for the job. “Mum would love to cook. I’ll help…”

One of Doug’s guest was Gordon Smith, the Canadian artist. It turned out he had given my mother and father one of his earliest paintings as a wedding gift in 1949. Mum had worked as a secretary at the courthouse in Vancouver, and they had become friends.

It also turned out that Doug prefers macaroni and cheese to 17-course feasts. (Honestly, so do I. Most of the time.)

TO FEAST OR DIE ON HAIDA GWAII*

*With a little help from other islands, including Vancouver Island, Lasqueti Island, Salt Spring Island, the Greek, the Spice and so on…

IN HONOUR OF DOUGLAS COUPLAND AND HIS HONOURED GUESTS

Gordon, Ian, David and Curtis

 

Appetizers

Roasted Organic Lasqueti Island Pumpkin Seed and Sun-Dried Tomato Pate

with choice of Raincoast Crisps:

rosemary, raisin, pecan or fig and olive

 

Menage a Trois de Smoked Salmon

with Hand-Cut Sun-Dried Tomato Chips

accompanied by Musgrave’s famous Red Pepper Jam

Rosemary Garlic Foccacia

 

Soup/Salad

Banana and Butternut Squash Soup

make from Tlell-grown organic bananas and Masset non-GMO squash

Rick Grange’s Tow Hill Road Mixed Leaves  in Frico Cups (don’t ask)

 

Main Courses

Farhad-fairly-caught-fillets-of Wild Halbut

with sesame breadcrumb topping

Served on a bed of Sangan River Sea Asparagus

 

Roast of  Vension

prepared by Archie Stocker, authentic Haida National

(in other words, authentic Island cuisine)

 

Chipper’s $5000 Venison Surprise:

Name the Ingredients and win $5000 Award

 

Vancouver Island Kentucky-Blue Green Beans

Dominic’s Tow Hill Road Carrots-in-Their-Infancy

Gourmet Potato Salad with Caramelized Onions by Charlotte

 

Desserts

Miss Wyoming’s Mango Fandango

Peach-Huckleberry-Almond Torte

Hand-Flagellated Cream infused with Orange Flower Water

 

Cheese

Comox Camembert with Sangan River Coulis of Thimbleberry

Soft Surface Ripened Moonstruck Organic Baby Blue

English White Stilton with lemon

French Morbier

 

Daniel’s Organic Impressively True to Nature Dark Orange Chocolate

 

 

 

 

 

More synchronicity

The day I posted my conversation with Robert about the soul, the spirit and the box of cornflakes, he sent me this — his favourite “senior citizen joke”.

A little silver-haired lady calls her neighbor and says, “Please come over here and help me. I have a killer jigsaw puzzle, and I can’t figure out how to get started.”

Her neighbor asks, “What is it supposed to be when it’s finished?”

The little silver haired lady says, “According to the picture on the box, it’s a rooster.”

Her neighbor decides to go over and help with the puzzle.

She lets him in and shows him where she has the puzzle spread all over the table.

He studies the pieces for a moment, then looks at the box, then turns to her and says,  ”First of all, no matter what we do, we’re not going to be able to assemble these pieces into anything resembling a rooster.”

He takes her hand. “Secondly, I want you to relax. Let’s have a nice cup of tea, and then,” he says with a deep sigh,
 “let’s put all the Corn Flakes back in the box.”

 

My favourite Michael Drebert art project to date

I heard about Michael’s famous art project shortly before we met this winter. He borrowed someone’s child, sneaked him into IKEA (or one of those places that has coloured balls the kids jump around in) to take one of the balls, and then flew to Dehli to dip the ball in the Ganges. As the plane was landing he thought he’d lost it (this was his sole reason for the trip) and alerted the whole cabin crew and there was a great curfuffle and then – he found the ball in the bottom of his carry-on. He carried on with his project, flew back to Vancouver, borrowed the same kid, returned the ball. One person (Canadian) I told this story to said, “Eeeeooow. Wouldn’t there have been germs on it?” As if all the balls wouldn’t have kid germs all over them (I think IKEA closed the playroom recently because somebody found a (used) syringe.)

I love to imagine the influence that one lucky ball might be having on its neighbours. Or if any part of the experience rubbed off on any of the children, playing, unwittingly, in that sea of coloured balls.

Michael Drebert

Michael arrived in Masset today, from Victoria. He’ll be the artist in residence (he doesn’t know about his official title yet!) and all around helper-outter at Copper Beech House until the end of April. We hope to entice him back in the fall with the lovely Kayley who works at my favourite bakery in Victoria, Foi Epi.

Check out Michael’s photos on Facebook. He makes bread and yoghurt, too. And then takes photos of what he makes. Delicious, and then delicious again.

The Chicken I Want to Be

This is a poem that most reflects my mood, as I wake up having turned 60 in the night.

Passing a Truck Full of Chickens at Night on Highway Eighty
by Jane Mead

What struck me first was their panic.

Some were pulled by the wind from moving
to the ends of the stacked cages,
some had their heads blown through the bars –
and could not get them in again.

Some hung there like that-dead –
their own feathers blowing, clotting
in their faces. Then
I saw the one that made me slow some-
I lingered there beside her for five miles.

She had pushed her head through the space
between bars‑to get a better view.
She had the look of a dog in the back

of a pickup, that eager look of a dog
who knows she’s being taken along.
She craned her neck.

She looked around, watched me, then
strained to see over the car  ‑ strained
to see what happened beyond.

That is the chicken I want to be.