When a Bird Falls from the Sky

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There are some stories that just need to hang for a while – as threads and beginnings of the same fugal looping of life, and the inexplicable moments that sometimes come in small and blinding flashes.

The story of the hawk that was in my freezer when I returned from the Camino is a long story. I knew what it was, and I had been told what I was to do with it.

But I don’t climb high, that is not something that I do.

That hawk stayed in the freezer until after I happened upon an eagle one warm June day in 2010, when I was out for a walk in the woods searching for a railway tunnel with my friends Harold and Marleen,

These birds, these birds.

Harold was my witness, he said so.

And then there is the strange and almost-not-believable story of a book club and a little brown thrush, feet crossed on the threshold with a still-vibrating warmth in its belly.

What?   I said as I turned to face her.

Is she alive?  She said.

Did you know her?  I said.

Yes.  She said.  A long time ago.  

Did my first feather come from your hawk?  I said.  

Yes.

Slow Down; Get Slick

The bear runs through the forest carrying seeds on its coat. The bear doesn't pay attention to where the seeds fall, and doesn't worry about where they will land.  The bear's coat is slick.

Proud Woman 

This is a life long lesson for me, and she knew it. 

I am becoming pretty slick. I have no staff.  I have moved my law machine far away from where it is visible.  I do my work.

I'm almost at the point where I can't remember what it felt like to have a door opening and closing, day in and day out, all day long and then into late evenings when I often felt like a bit of a money trough for others - because it is the lawyers who make the big money after all.  Living life as a trough, why was I surprised when the trough became sticky?

I am getting light on my feet, and there is a whole pile of white space.  The forest feels good. 

A Sparkler and a Bear Claw

This is Grace

At the launch party for The Camino Letters on August 7th, Grace read her task to me, and I read my letter to her.  I did this in front of friends, colleagues, my family, my neighbours.  The things I wrote about in this letter to Grace, now Chapter 7, were things that I barely spoke of except to my husband.  


And to Herb in small whispers in the courtroom. 


And eventually to Grace in my letter. 


And to my dad before he died.  

On the afternoon of the launch I was in Peterborough at a book signing at Chapters - a busy, rushed, overwhelmingly fun day.  My friends Stephanie and Morgan came just in time - they helped me pack up and pick wine.  I was grateful for them. 

I loaded the wine into their car and started the drive back to Millbrook, worried that I was leaving myself no time to put on lipstick before the party.

I started to think about reading Chapter 7 and shifted my worry to the fact that I had been calling Proud Woman without an answer.  She was not calling me back, which was not unusual - except that I had mailed her a copy of the book and was sure that she would have called once she received it.  

I pulled over to the side of Highway 115 and sat on the hood of my car with phone in hand.  I called.  She answered. 

She had just arrived home, she said.

A massive heart attack had left her unconscious and breathing through a ventilator the week before.  She wasn't ready to die yet, she said, and so she woke and gathered her strength to get home to her son, his wife, and her grandchildren. She would died at home.

This is Proud Woman

She told me that she read The Camino Letters in the hospital because her son brought it and it was waiting for her when she came to.  Because of the ventilator she couldn't talk and could only read, so that is what she did.  She said that she laughed so much that the nurses asked her what she was reading.  


Proud Woman has always laughed at me. 


I told her I was reading that Chapter tonight.  She told me to wear the bear claw.


She said that she would be lighting a sparkler at 8:00 p.m. for everyone gathering in my living room to hear me read, and then she laughed a large Proud Woman laugh. It made me feel like a very little girl and I was happy.

And so at 8:00 that night, I read the letter knowing that there was a sparkler being lit while I was reading to Grace, to Herb, and to all of the others gathered in my home.  My friend Bill came up the walkway, specifically and deliberately, to hear me read.  Bill is dying and yet he came.  He was carried up the steps into the house.  I think Bill gave me the courage to say almost anything out loud.