Brush Strokes – Chapter 1

The VIA Rail train pulled out of the Ottawa station, smoothly and silently.  Most of the passengers in the Business Class car settled comfortably into their roomy seats and looked forward to being pampered on their four-hour journey to Toronto.

Kenzie MacRae breathed a little sigh of envy as she looked at her fellow passengers as they picked up magazines, chatted with companions, or leaned back with closed eyes.

This wasn’t a pleasure trip for her.  Her boss had phoned the night before and asked, no ordered her to be a meeting in Toronto the next day.  Harry had obviously had another of his brilliant ideas and she knew it would mean extra work for her.

She snapped open her laptop and checked her schedule.  Damn.  That illustration for Monique Sheridan’s latest was due in three days time, and she hadn’t even started.

“Would you like coffee or tea, Miss?  We’ll be serving a hot breakfast in about ten minutes.”

“Coffee, black,” she said without looking up.

“Hope you enjoy your trip, Miss,” the steward said, handing her the hot drink.

“I doubt it,” Kenzie muttered.

From across the aisle she heard a distinct laugh.  She looked over at the man facing her.  He was grinning boldly and she gave him a glare in return.

She felt her cheeks warm angrily and was about to tell him to mind his own business, but swallowed her remark when he picked up a novel and began to read.  He sat alone in his seat and stretched his long legs out in front of him, apparently engrossed in his book.

For the first time since Harry’s call, Kenzie began to smile.  Here was a man who could help her with one of her problems, and he’d never even know it.

She took an inventory – purely from a business point of view – of his physical assets.  Dark hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders, and definitely in need of a shave.  The close-fitting blue jeans and short-sleeved shirt revealed a muscular body that could drive women wild.  Most women.  Not Kenzie.  She was immune, and she had seen the best of them, and with less on than this guy had.

Good looking men were her business.  Well, painting them actually.  For the covers of those impossibly romantic books so many women loved to read.  And this guy was perfect.  There would be a lot  of female hearts racing when they picked up Monique’s new romance novel, “Pirate of Hearts.”

Kenzie knew just how to portray him, and couldn’t suppress a little chuckle of her own, as she reached over to get her drawing materials from her carry-on bag.

Twenty minutes later, the drawing was taking shape.  With her watercolour pencils, she added a little colour to the picture and then sat back to admire it.  There he stood on the deck of a Spanish galleon, shirt open to the waist, a sword in one hand, and one arm around a shapely woman with flowing golden hair.  He was every woman’s fantasy.  Every woman except Kenzie.  She was immune.

“We make a great looking couple.”  The voice was low and close to her ear.

Kenzie jumped.  Oh, God.  It was him!

“What do you mean we?  That’s not me.”

“No, I guess not,” he said sarcastically.  “Your eyes, your hair, your nose, even your dimple, but it’s not you.”  He looked at her closely and grinned.  “Now, in that business suit, and bent over like that I can’t tell for sure, but I think the body is yours, too.”  He looked at the drawing of the woman in the low-cut gown.  “Yes, they’re definitely your…”

“You’re disturbing me!”

“I’m flattered.  But I think I often have that effect on women.  Or so they tell me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she sneered.  “I’m trying to work.  And it is not me in the drawing.”

The grin was back and the voice was lazy.  “And here I was thinking that you were imagining the two of us together on the high seas fending off pirates.”

“Well, I wasn’t,” she snapped, “so don’t flatter yourself.  I just put you…”

“So it is me.  Well, that’s still quite an honour.  I’ve had woman take my photo before, but this is the first time someone has gone so far as to…”

Kenzie sputtered, “Do you actually think I am doing this because I am attracted to you?  I’m totally oblivious to your…your…to you.”

She looked into his eyes and swallowed hard.  When had he slipped into the seat beside her?  When had he stopped reading the paperback?  When was she going to get control of the situation?

“Look,” she said, in what she considered was an even and patient voice, “I see men like you all the time.  With me it’s purely business.”

He raised his eyebrows at that.  “And just what is your business?”

She gritted her teeth.  “My business is none of your business, but just to set the record straight…I’m an illustrator for Heavenly Romances Publishing.  I do covers for the Romance of the Month.”

“Hey, wait a minute.  Are you telling me that you want to put my face…”

“And body…”  It was her turn to grin wickedly.

His eyes narrowed.  “…and body…on the cover of a…”

“Romance novel…Yes, that’s about it.  You’re just the type – women will sigh over you when they see you on the bookstands as they wait in the supermarket check-out line.”

He leaned closer.  “And what about you?  Do I make you sigh?”

Her colour rose again.  “Of course not.  I’m a professional.  Your looks have no effect on me whatsoever.  I’m immune.”

He picked up the drawing and looked at it closely.  He shook his head. “You’re not immune.  Not immune at all.”

Should I continue???  Thanks for reading and have a good day. – Maureen

An African Adventure – Part 3

How to Take a Bath

Our first house in Zambia was modest by North American standards.  There were five rooms, living room, two bedrooms, a tiny kitchen containing a stove, fridge, and a table with two shelves above it.  No cupboards, no counter space.  There was also a very small bathroom, with sink, toilet, and bathtub.  But there was no hot water in the house.

So to have a bath, Husband had to go outside and fire up the old wood stove which had a small water tank above it, which would then heat up the water which would trickle into the tub to a depth of  about three inches.  This was also the way the laundry was done.  I had to get on my knees and wash and rinse the laundry, and then take it to hang on the clothesline.

When the laundry was dry, sometimes in about half an hour, it all had to be ironed, on both sides.  You see there was this little pest called a putzi fly, invisible to the human eye, which would get into wet clothing and then lay its eggs under your skin.  You can imagine the rest.  A visit to the doctor would be required, to have the eggs removed.  Sheets, pillow cases, towels, bras, underwear, dresses, shirts, skirts, blouses.  All had to be ironed on both sides to kill the putzi fly.  Bras and underwear seemed to cause the most problems.

When our baby, Michelle, was born a year later, all of her diapers had to be done in the tub, hung out to dry, and ironed on both sides!!!  But more about the baby later!

Now to the creatures who lived in our house and obviously were a little put-out at our moving in!

The house was furnished with a few pieces – dresser, beds (single), table, chairs, small love seat and a couple of lamps.  It was exciting until, on moving day, I opened the dresser to clean it, and a zillion bugs scurried out.  I almost fainted.  I was deathly afraid of all bugs, worms, snakes, lizards, and of course, all of the wild animals.  I don’t know what I thought Africa was going to be like but I obviously didn’t think it through.  I mean – Africa?  C’mon!

That day I slew more spiders, cockroaches, and other sundry bugs than anyone should have to in their lifetime.  The spiders alone were as big as saucers and I didn’t want to be anywhere near them!  Later that evening,  we were getting ready to go to bed (or beds) and there on the wall were three HUGE spiders.  We just lay there and I know for a fact that neither of us slept one second that whole night.

Just as a side note.  The single beds were pushed together by John.  His words?  Never let it be said that I procrastinated on a household job when it was really important!

Thanks for reading and I hope I haven’t scared you from visiting the beautiful country of Zambia. Have a great day! – Maureen

An African Adventure – Part 2

Rapid Calculations in Pounds, Shillings, and Pence

When we arrived in the capital, Lusaka, it was early September, and the sun shone in a clear sky day after day.  We stayed in a students’ residence  for a few days while we were assigned our living quarters and where we were told what posts we had been given.

In Canada, I had taught a class of five and six-year olds in Grade 1.  An elementary school post would have been great but there was a little problem.  There were very few university graduates in Zambia at that time, and anyone who had completed Grade 6 was qualified to teach elementary school!  I was given a job teaching Math and English to High School students.

The day after we arrived we were driven to State House, the home of the President of Zambia, Kenneth Kaunda.  In the gorgeous formal garden, we met the President,  who was very welcoming and charming.

A couple of days later I went to a meeting at my new school and met the staff.  Most of the teachers were from Great Britain, but there were several from India and two African women, from South Africa.  One of the Africans, Lauretta Ngcobo, became a close and dear friend.

My first lesson was “Rapid Calculations in Pounds, Shillings, and Pence”.  Of course I didn’t know how many pence were in a shilling, or how many shillings were in a pound.  The lesson must have been torture for the students as I had to keep asking them.  They were very kind and patient, though.

Every day, for the two years I taught there, we had barefoot children coming to the school, clutching pieces of paper with their marks on them, asking if they could come to our school.  We all had to say that there was no room.  It was heartbreaking as they knew the only way they were going to do well was to get an education.  There was only one high school in Lusaka.  And it was more than full.

Most of the students lived with their families in round  one-room  houses, with holes for windows, thatched roofs, and dirt floors.  There were no bathrooms or kitchens.  Cooking was done outside and I can’t imagine what it must have been like sleeping on the floor with possibly a blanket, very little nourishing food in their stomachs.  The diet at that time consisted of Nshima, a porridge-like mixture, with some fruit or vegetables, and once or twice a month, some meat.  The whole family ate with their fingers from a communal dish.

Our home was humble, by North American standards.  Look for Part 3 to find out about the adventure involved in taking a bath!

Thanks for reading and have a good week – Maureen.

An African Adventure – Part 1

Flying Backwards Across the Atlantic

In 1966, Africa was still called the Dark Continent.

In 1966, when John and I got married, we were just 21 years old.  Three days after the wedding we were on our way to Africa, blissfully in love and blissfully unaware of how difficult it must have been for our parents to see us go.  No cell phones, no Skype, no Internet, no email, no downloading or uploading of photos, no digital cameras, and no electronic means of communicating.

We were both brought up with a sense of adventure and decided, after knowing each other for only three months, to get married and move to Zambia, in Central Africa.  We joined a volunteer organization called CUSO, which placed Canadian university graduates in posts in many of the world’s poorer countries.

Here we are, married three days, and leaving for Montreal, en route to Zambia.

After an orientation course in Montreal, we boarded our flight to Africa.  CUSO had arranged for about 120 volunteers to be ferried across the ocean aboard a Canadian Air Force troop-carrier turbo-prop airplane, with a crew of pilots and navigators in training.

The feeling of hurtling down the runway facing backwards was amazing.  Apparently it was considered safer so all the seats faced the back of the plane.  It took us eight hours to cross the Atlantic and we landed at the Canadian Air Force base at Marveille, France.

We were billeted in the air force barracks on the base and were scheduled to depart for Africa the next day.  However, there was some trouble getting permission from the government of Libya for a military plane to cross their air space and it took three days before we were able to leave.

We flew into Tunisia just as dusk was descending on the ancient city of Carthage.  We dropped off about 20 French-speaking volunteers who had been assigned to that country.

We flew off again and I remember looking down at the Sahara Desert as the moon shone on the waves of sand dunes, very much like the moon shone down on the waves of the Atlantic Ocean a few days earlier.

The next morning we landed in Entebbe, Uganda, to drop off more volunteers.  Just a young woman from a small town in Nova Scotia and here I was in Africa.

We flew on to Nairobi, Kenya, dropped off more volunteers and then were taken to a hotel for the night.  The next morning at six, we were awakened by someone knocking on the door and calling out something that sounded like, “Key, key”.  We couldn’t figure out who would want our room key but John answered the door and came back with a tray of Tea.  What a lovely custom!

The problem with landing the plane in Lusaka, the capital of Zambia, was that the airport runway was quite short and in the heat at the middle of the day, it would take a long distance for the plane to stop.  We left the rest of the volunteers, destined for posts in Tanzania, to wait for the plane to return to Nairobi to pick them up  after our possibly dicey landing.  The fewer people in the plane the better, so we took off with about twenty passengers.

We landed without incident and were finally, after five days en route, in Africa.

Part 2 to follow soon.  Have a great day and thanks for reading.

Spring Has Sprung

The winter of 2012-2013 was frightful.  It didn’t really get going until December, but it built up a head of steam in March and April that would make you shiver.  And not just from the snow, ice, and winds.

Here in Canada, our meteorologists report  a phenomenon called “The Wind-Chill Factor” which tells us that even though it is -30 degrees outside and we think we are safe to leave the house clad in our long johns, two pairs of pants, three sweaters, a down-filled jacket, hat, scarf, mitts and boots, we’d better go back in and put on our super-cold-weather gear because with the wind factored in it actually feels like -80 degrees and several people have frozen to their front doorknobs and are waiting their turn to be rescued by the Paramedics who are also frozen but to the doors of their ambulances!

Okay, a slight exaggeration, but you get the point!  I always told my daughters (who in turn have told their husbands and kids) that by the end of March every Canadian resident (except the poor souls who live in the Northwest Territories) can expect 90% of the snow to be gone.  Not this year!   I was getting irate calls from my grandchildren and demands to know what was happening.

At the end of April, there was a whisper of green on the tips of the trees along the Greenboro Trail.  The grass on our front lawn has turned emerald-green in a matter of days.  Our garden plants are poking their heads out to see if it is safe to emerge.

Heavenly blossoms.

By May 1, the snow was gone, and crocuses, daffodils, and tulips were dancing in the bright sunshine.  The whole neighbourhood is alive.  Men and women are smiling at each other and kids are playing at the park.  There have been several baseball games being played and one young man actually asked me if the local pool was open!

My grandson, Owen, playing street hockey.

The scent of blossoms is fragrant in the air and the lilacs are just showing a tinge of purple and white.  The temperature is hovering around 26 degrees celsius (around 80 F).  John and I have been on our bikes and I am happy to say Tim Horton’s restaurant is showing a profit again since I’ve made it a regular stop on my adventures.

Forsythia on Echo Drive.

I have tried to describe the Miracle of Spring, but I can’t do justice to the feeling of joy in my heart at the beauty and wonder of God’s creation.

Daffodils.

Thanks for reading and have a  beautiful, wondrous spring day. – Maureen

Back in the (Bicycle) Saddle Again

“Spring” Bicycle Season Opens on the Greenboro Trail

Here in Canada’s capital city, Spring has been a long time coming.  We have had an amount of snow that would strike terror into residents of Vancouver or Phoenix, for example.  We had a huge snowstorm just last week and several in the month of March.

Every year, our family has a “First Robin of Spring” watch.  One year I spotted one on March 17th.  Last year, it was March 7th.  Today is March 24th and NO ROBIN yet!  Hey, they may be bird-brained but they’re not stupid.  Would you fly into a city where there is not one square inch of exposed soil to hop around on? The snow on our front lawn is at least three feet deep and the snow banks formed when shovelling the driveway will take weeks of warmer weather to disappear.

I have always told my daughters that by the end of March, every year, ALL of the snow will have melted.  This year, I may be called on to defend my proclamation.  BUT…..

Today, my husband and biking partner got out the bicycles, cleaned and oiled them, and we went out for the first cycle of “spring”.  It was not very spring-like, but it got up to +2C, which is about 35F!  It seemed balmy to us.  The Greenboro trail was mainly clear, with icy patches, and monster puddles of water caused by the melting snow.

The fun!  The excitement! Oh the joys of being back in the (bicycle) saddle again.

Maureen enjoying a lovely spring day on the Greenboro Trail

Acrylic Painting Class Winter Session

We started our Acrylic Painting class a couple of weeks ago and we learned a lot, as usual.  One of the things I learned was that it is more difficult to paint trees than you would think. Another is that snow is not just white.  Painting makes one more observant and you really look at things differently.  You see shapes and shadows and composition everywhere you look.  Painting has opened my eyes and I love it.

The photo I chose to paint was this one.  It is just a few steps from my front door and a treasured part of my new life in Ottawa.

The Greenboro Trail at Elizabeth Manley Park

I was sick with the flu last week but managed this week to finish the painting. Actually, I think there may be a couple of finishing touches still, to fix it up, but basically I’ve completed it.

Elizabeth Manley Park. January, 2013

 

Our next project is a repeat of one from our last class – green trees with reflections in water.  Looking for a nice photo to paint with a point of interest like a house, cabin, lighthouse, barn, etc.

Have a nice day and thanks for reading. – Maureen

Snow Shadows – Greenboro Trail

The art class that my sister and I are taking is helping me see the world in a new way.  When you are doing a painting you tend to see things that are easily missed in the hurry and scurry of the “real” world.

The first painting we did was of green trees.  The second one was reflections in water.  The third was clouds.  The fourth and final one was rocks.

Next week we will start the new course which we are sure will be a continuation of the first eight lessons.  I think we will be doing a snow scene in the first class.  Our teacher, Blair, brought in a few of his own snow scenes and they were beautiful.  What we noticed were the beautiful and colourful shadows made on the snow by trees and buildings.

When my husband and I were out walking on the Greenboro Trail last week I noticed the shadows on the snow.  My fingers almost froze as I started photographing every scene.  I think I’ll pick one of these paintings to try at the first class.  What do you think?  Which one should I pick?

Snow shadows on the Trail.

 

The Greenboro Trail – January, 2013.

 

Another view of the Greenboro Trail.

 

I am looking forward to hearing from you. Thanks for reading. – Maureen

 

 

Fifth Son – A Book Review

Fifth Son by Barbara Fradkin

Among the books I read in 2012 were six books by Barbara Fradkin, a Canadian writer who was recommended to me by my daughter, Michelle.  Michelle is an avid reader who enjoys mysteries as much as I do.

Barbara Fradkin worked as a psychologist and has brought this knowledge to her mystery series, featuring Inspector Michael Green of the Ottawa Police Criminal Investigations Division.  Fifth Son is the fourth in the Inspector Green series.

A man has fallen to his death from the tower of a church in a rural village, part of the newly expanded city of Ottawa.  Did he jump or was he pushed?  Green is called in because the local police officers are not sure.

Green’s methodical questioning of the villagers and nearby farmers opens up a whole new area of the investigation.  It seems that a family of young men who had lived on a nearby farm may hold a secret so terrible that it is impacting this case years later.

Green’s teen-aged daughter, Hannah, who has recently come to live with him and his wife, reluctantly helps her father when she tells him that she knows one of the key witnesses, who is a special-needs student at the school where she volunteers.

Fradkin’s knowledge of the city of Ottawa and the surrounding area adds a note of authenticity to the characters and setting of the novel.  An example of this that I particularly enjoyed was her description of an apartment building in the Alta Vista area of Ottawa, “…which would have been tolerable had it been on the north side overlooking the grassy shoreline of the Rideau River.  Unfortunately, his miniscule apartment faced west over four lanes of Bank Street and the Billings Bridge Shopping Mall parking lot.”

This book was a great read, with lots of action, deft character descriptions, and a plot that pulls us in and carries us easily from the initial days of the investigation to the surprising conclusion of the mystery.

Barbara Fradkin has done it again. Her books have earned her a permanent place on my bookshelf.

I encourage you to pick up one of the Inspector Green Mysteries.  You won’t be sorry.

Thanks for reading. – Maureen

What a Difference a Year Makes

It is a year today since we moved from the Toronto area (Oshawa) to the city of Ottawa, our nation’s capital.

What a year it’s been.

The biggest pluses for me? We are living in the same city as two of our four daughters and we are only two hours away from another one. The fourth is across the country, living on the west coast, in Vancouver, so it is still a plane ride away.

We live very close to seven of our eight grandchildren, and despite the fact that I love my daughters, this one should have been first because I just can’t get enough of those sweet children.

We have been getting reacquainted with Ottawa as we lived her for two years, forty years ago. We are using the “free Wednesday” buses to explore a new area of the city every week.  The bicycle trails have become a constant and ever-changing source of joy and wonder to us as well. Just outside our front door we have the Greenboro Trail, filled with trees and flowers. I just can’t explain how we are amazed every time we walk or bike on this system of trails.

One of my three sisters lives just outside Ottawa and we see her frequently. Another sister moved here in March, from Vancouver. We took an art class together which we love and are taking another after Christmas. My fourth sister lives in Bermuda, which is a good thing! I also have three brothers who live in Ottawa and we see them often.

My cousin, Ninette, whom I grew up with and went to school with, lives here and I see her once a week. My friend from university, Colleen, lives here and we just reconnected after 47 years! What a joy!

All the activity means that I am getting healthier and I am 15 pounds less than when we moved here. Isn’t that amazing!

I can tell you that every morning I wake up and am so happy I can hardly believe it. I love our little house and I especially love my bedroom which is bright and sunny even on cloudy days! LOL. God has blessed me indeed!

Today we put up our mini Christmas tree and decorations. We are sitting by our (fake) fire and I am sipping tea made by my very attentive husband.  Does it get any better that this?

YES! Our daughter, Lindi, is coming from Vancouver for Christmas with Emil our grandson who turned 8 last week. It will be the first time we will all have been together for Christmas in at least 30 years. I can hardly wait. They are arriving on Tuesday.

Merry Christmas to all my blogger friends!