I shall not die this way..I am Canadian ehh !

18 Jan 2016 2 Comments

by Katz in My short stories-Creative non fiction Tags: Canada, canadianwinters, death, Frost, God, growing up onthe east coast, Labrador, neardeath, Newfoundland, Ontario, slidingonice, slipperyroads, snowyweather, winter

Being Canadian I expect snow and ice in the winter, a lot of it; and rarely does it ever frighten me, till today that is. Things are now different, possibly forever as today I thought I was going to die, really die!

I was surprised to see snow when I went outside this morning to warm up my seventeen year old Toyota Corella; a small gas efficient, reliable beater whose tiny engine coughs and sputters even in -1 below weather. The new fallen snow perhaps the second or third dusting of winters breath so far this year as we have been getting “a mild one in Ontario” as they would say. We had a green Christmas too which is not the norm but not a first for me having lived in Ontario since my late teens; winter here tends to be unpredictable and you never really know what to expect day to day.

I was running behind this morning, as usual, so I didn’t even have time for my five minutes of CP24. I hardly ever watch the news except in the morning to see what going on out there on the roads before I leave for work, however today I had no time. I remember reading someone’s post on Facebook last night about how the temperature would drop and how it was going to get cold overnight but I did not see anything about snow fall.

With no jacket I began to brush the foam like snow off my car, “it was cold what was I thinking!” I laughed a little as I thought to myself “get over it girl; you grew up in Labrador ehh! This is nothing!” I continued to brush off my car as I traveled back in my mind to my youth and thought about the thick snow covered roads and mountains of snow I would wake up to see as a child. Overnight the winds would howl and the frost always so thick on the windows you could not even see outside once the coldness reached November each year. I remember the frost thick inside the windowpanes as well as outside, crystallized beauty and creativity crackled in such a way only Mother Nature had the skill to create. As kids we would use out hot breath to carve out a small peep hole to try and see what was going on outside in hopes we had another snow day to look forward too. The wrath of winter often would result in high snow drifts blown up against every second story window of every house on my street, having to get shoveled out just to get to school. Yes I was born and bred a true Canadian accustomed to real winters having grown up in Newfoundland and Labrador, this really was nothing, “I must be getting old.”

Since leaving home at the age of eighteen I rarely have experienced a harsher winter than Labrador, unless going home for Christmas of course. Winter can be cold and yucky here too but to compare the two you would say Toronto (GTA) is the Florida of Canadian winters.

Already running late for work I thought about how the roads would add to my lateness; I grumbled under my breath, “what a horrible way to start of my Monday morning and my week”.

I have never been one of those nervous winter drivers, but I could tell as soon as I left my house and began driving that the roads were very slippery. My first guess was that no one must have known there would be snow today, it was like the salt trucks were not even out to salt the roads last night. I looked at the time again, “oh God I would be at least twenty minutes late for work, if not more.” I continued to drive carefully as I didn’t have any snow tires for my little car and hoped the main roads would be better.

Less than ten minutes after leaving home I approached an intersection, the light was turning from green to yellow so I pressed slightly down on my break to slow my car. I had been driving slow and cautious anyway but I could not feel any real traction beneath my tires, a true testament that the road was just as slippery as I thought. To my left I could see a tractor trailer barreling down the road towards the intersection, he was going fast, too fast! It was then I realized “Oh my God I’m sliding!” I pressed my foot down harder on the break as I continued to slide into oncoming traffic. The tractor trailer screamed closer and closer with no signs of slowing down. My mind flipped through all of the things I knew about sliding on ice, 1) turn into the slide “I could not do that I’m sliding forward!” 2) Do not press down on the breaks “I could NOT do that, I had to stop!” 3) Look in the direction that you want to go, “I couldn’t do that there was NO safe direction, I had to stoppppppppp!” Then I did the only thing I could do, I closed my eyes as tight as I could as I held on as hard as I could. In my mind all I could think is “this kind of impact would not be survivable, not in my wee little car and not with his speed and size.”

I don’t remember seeing or even thinking anything else except “Oh My God, Oh God! People always say they see their life flash before their eyes when they think they will die; well I wonder if that’s true as today I only seen death flash before my eyes, not life.

My car was not moving anymore. I opened my eyes as the midsection of the tractor trailer whooshed past my car; the wind tunnel from the speed shook me. First thing I thought was “Oh my God how is it even possible he missed me!” I wondered if the driver even noticed my almost near death experience, “maybe he moved over, I just dont know.” I sat there and all I could do was guesstimate the distance from my front end to that truck, “the truck could not have been more than two feet from me, yes really just two feet!”

I covered my eyes and felt the rush of emotion flood over me; I put my car into reverse and slowly backed up. I could see a car behind me but I still had to move back as I was still about three or four feet out into the intersection; still in shock to be alive.

I think it was only then that my life flashed before my eyes. I thought about how I woke up my oldest and told him how disappointed I was that he didn’t finish his chores last night, “wow I would have hated to leave this earth with those words as my last my words to him.”

As reality settled in I wanted to throw up, I wanted to go home and hide underneath my blankets and cry myself to sleep. I felt my eyes fill with tears as the car behind me nudged closer without a sound as if he knew or witnessed my near escape from the clutches of death. I turned on my clicker , then pushed on the gas slowly as I turned right heading down the road towards work, terrified yet thankful for my life. I wanted to go home but I knew I had to keep going; I had to go forward, no matter how hard.

I know today I faced almost certain death; I’m not sure how or why my car stopped sliding, or why that truck didn’t cream me! I also can’t help but wonder if it was my last call out that made the difference! “God was that you again? Thanks a bunch!”

My shoulder hurts like hell, damn Canadian winters!

Written by: Corrina Leblond

Image :winter in Canada – Winter Photo (645104) – Fanpop

TIS SEASON – to give or not to give?

20 Dec 2015 Leave a comment

by Katz in My short stories-Creative non fiction, Rants and Raves Tags: awareness, Daniel Cullen, giving, homelessness, Homelessness in peel, Lindas Kitchen Brampton, Regeneration Brampton, region of peel, spaces and places, support for homelessness

man

I dug deeply into the corners of my purse searching for spare change, just a toonie or loonie to pass through my window before the light changed green “come on purse!”

I knew in about three minutes the cars behind me would scream on their horns with discontent threaded with road rage in this angst that moves us along our hum drum catatonic road of life.

He stood there holding a sign that read in broken English, “hungry need money for food, wife dead, three children.”

Walking slowly to those cars lined up behind my car his expressionless face held some remnants of hope, hope that a hand of compassion would reach out to drop a coin for his cause; my car’s unwelcome window as many others was rolled up tight.

Second in line behind the light I dug faster as I watched him five cars down through my rear view mirror; the hand on the light flashed warning that the moment would soon pass. “Damn, not even an emergency grocery cart quarter!”

My purse was a usual disorganized mess of crumbs, old receipts and unused plastic point cards. “Why???? I usually have something!”

An epiphany came over me! My hand felt the smooth bills in the corner pocket of my purse; the 20’s I had withdrawn a few hours ago for our family’s weekly jar money , a new thing I was trying in hopes to keep us on track with our monthly spending.

I pulled out a twenty not even looking at my partner to see if he would agree or disagree. My guy knows when I have my mind made up I usually dig my heels in stubbornly; when I need to give I give.

I rolled down my window as the light began to change and yelled “sir, sir”, he was still at least 2 cars behind my car but I could see him walking back slowly in my rear view mirror. I held my arm out the window “sir!” yelling louder.

He appeared to the left of my window as the light changed, I had slowly begun to release my foot of the break. I smiled as I said “I couldn’t find any change but I hope a 20 will be okay!” He quickly stuffed the bill in his pocket not saying a word unlike most I give to who often murmur the seemingly grateful response of “God bless you.” No not a word from this man and not even a change in his facial expression. From his khaki pants and sweater I wondered if this may have been his first time on this highway corner.

No matter what his story I knew I did right by me and my heart felt good! Perhaps he did have kids to feed, and even if he didn’t “who am I to judge?”

I drove away with my kids unusually quiet in the back seat, my partner quiet beside me and a tear in my eye. I knew at that moment this was exactly what I was supposed to do and because I could, I felt blessed.

I have posted a video link below of a clip I watched a couple years ago. I also worked with one of the gentlemen in this video, Daniel Cullen a published author who had struggles with homelessness for many years; last I heard he was still facing many challenges. At the time I met Daniel he was working on bringing awareness to the public about the issues faced by those experiencing homelessness in the Brampton and Peel area where we both live; working with him was an eye opener to the issues in Peel. Ill never forget how he introduced me to the corners of support and sadness in the Brampton area. I never knew there were places like Regeneration whose team feed an amazing breakfast to everyone walking through their door on a daily basis just downtown Brampton. I also had the pleasure of serving at a Linda’s soup kitchen another spot I never knew of in Brampton working effortlessly to provide hot lunches to those in need. My heart still remembers my own poverty as a child and how I believe many of us could be just a few pay checks away from homelessness should our conditions change. Please watch this video and bring awareness to yourself and others if you can.

Image by:

Spaces & Places – Homelessness in Peel Part 1

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cesymDsCsP8

THE MONK WHO TAUGHT ME TO ROW

29 Nov 2014 6 Comments

by Katz in My short stories-Creative non fiction Tags: buddhism, church, creative non fiction, meditation, self discovery

Fingering through the Sunday bulletin I almost choked on my coffee as the Ministers voice faded while I read through the upcoming events section of the weekly church handout.

Coming soon, Learn to Meditate with a Buddhist Monk, Mondays 6pm.

Having been raised a strict Irish Catholic I was in shock. More shocking this news was in a Christian church bulletin!

What paralleled my astonishment was deep excitement. The many years of Catholicism burrowed deep under my skin jeering negative thoughts such as; Am I not at church? Who approved this?My grandmother’s voice also echoed in the furthest corner of my mind as I imagined her rolling in her grave. The rules I grew up with were simple; “stay away from them dirty Protestants up the road, do not worship false Gods.”

With my amazement and shock behind me I was excited to read about the upcoming meditation classes. I always longed for more understanding and connection with what I tend to define as my own unique spirituality. I’ve never considered myself religious, too many rules.

Buddhism was not new to me. Just seeing it printed on a Christian church’s bulletin was.

I once attended a full day meditation in the park with a renowned Buddhist monk. Aside from my butt going numb from sitting all day I did find some useful techniques that allowed me to incorporate more variety in my attempt to establish a daily meditative practice.

My next thought shouted defiantly inside my head “I’m going!”

The church looked different at night. The dark window panes mirrored recent images of the lively Sunday afternoon worship. I imagined each seat releasing a puff of an embedded music note as each person sat down.

Walking closer to the front of the church I was startled by a very happy monk who bopped out of nowhere and gave me an uncomfortable full body hug. She pressed her almost fully shaven head hard against my bosom, ugh!

Everyone’s attention turned to the back of the room as I attempted to shake off the shock I felt from the unwelcome squeeze.

A much older gentleman shuffled lazily towards the front of the church where a hard wood chair awaited. Without making eye contact, he floated past everyone silently. He sat down and gazed sleepily at the rows of eager meditation students just a few feet in front of him.

Even though his words did not come immediately, I imagined when words did come they would be as slow and as purposeful as his walk to his uncomfortable seat was.

Words softly rippled from his lips as he broke the silence and talked about mindfulness and keeping our thoughts hushed opposed to singing out what so ever was on our mind, like his favourite song “Row Your Boat”.

“Row, Row, Row your boat gently down the stream, merrily merrily, merrily life is but a dream”.

His words hummed with rhythm as he told his story pausing in between each sentence for the added drama.

Row your boat, your boat, no one else’s.

How to do it? Well do it gently and with ease, doing your best to stay happy and merry, not thrashing about.

For what we all know to be true is; life really is “but a dream”.

I did not immediately absorb his words about this childhood song, I smiled inside at his eccentric manner and delivery.

I got home and found myself asking questions to my family as I usually did. Did you do this? Have you called so and so? Do you know when you will? Then it hit me!

OMG! I’m rowing their boats!!

I considered how less stressful my life could be if I just rowed my own boat .

Those three simple words would be sketched into my every day thereafter. Who could have though a simple story could change my way of thinking about this life, it did.

I now only do my very best to row my own boat.

Well mostly.

Written by: Corrina Leblond

moonshine

MY NEW BIKE

22 Oct 2014 6 Comments

by Katz in My short stories-Creative non fiction Tags: carefree, childhood, first bike, new bike, YEAHWRITE

Most days you would find me floating on a daydream, but not this day!

I carefully cut each straw “this must be what it feels like to be the coolest kid on the block”.

I stopped for a minute to think about how I ached for long shimmery tassels for my handle bars; much like I pained for long hair so I could flick it from side to side. I comforted myself “those tassels were really no big deal, soon I would have a bike and THAT was a big deal“.

“If we cut it , it will grow in thicker“. My mom’s words always whispered silently beneath my fingers as I reached up and patted my short bowl cut hairstyle, “when I grow up, I’ll never cut it again“!

It was a beautiful fall day, in a distance Dickey’s rusted pick up truck rumbled loud as it neared, thoughts of my wheels decorated with colorful straws clicking round and round in a swirl of colours began my heart racing.

I had never owned a bike, I was 9 years old this would be my first one. Truth is, it was one of my cousins hand me down banana bike with no brakes, but I didn’t care, it was new to me.

Mom yelled out the window “Now you better be careful young lady!”
The clank of dishes echoed in the back ground.

Within minutes I grasped the handle bars and with a run an’ hop I sped away without even looking back, “Mothers”!

I was a tomboy in those days; I didn’t care that the bike had no brakes; I had feet, feet were all I needed to stop.

Windswept leaves danced about my heels as I rode on the sunken, cracked road in front of my house, cool autumn wind whipped thin strands of my hair in and out of my eyes as I tried to keep my bike balanced.

Behind my every effort to practice stopping, a large dust cloud trailed.

My first ride was to my grandmothers. I carefully pressed my feet to the ground, the bottom of my feet burning, bouncing from the gravel. I imagined igniting the tall grass with a blast of fire from my shoes, yes feet worked!

The sun low, perched slightly above the cliff’s edge hinted I had better get home fast; or there would be hell to pay.

I rode fast and hard and as I walked (always in the middle of the road) I now rode my bike the same.

The road back was dirt and gravel , the connecting paved roads not repaired in years. The streets seemed hillier, the early night shadowed my long strides up the small hill.

As I got closer to my house, a car came out of nowhere!

I jerked my handlebars to one side as I felt my tires skid and slide on a small patch of broken road, chunks of asphalt smashed against my ankles. Last thing I remember I was airborne.

I woke up with my mom gently brushing impacted pebbles from my forehead, a few people stood around us. Laying at the side of the road I felt a familiar warmth of blood trickling into my eyes as I witnessed the look of horror on my mom’s face, the same look I’ve seen before.

Yes I was the tomboy, always breaking something or getting stitched. This time the cut was deep not bad though, first time I ever got taped instead of stitched.

What a day!

I never did see that banana bike again.

Written by : Corrina Leblond