lying safe in your arms

hear your soft breathing

in sync with mine

i want to wake up each morning

looking into your eyes

and close mine each evening

hearts beating in time

who eats the popsicles from popsicle sticks?
how shelled sunflower seeds are shelled?
how shelled watermelon seeds are shelled?
someone once told me they fed the watermelons to carabaos, which is why the seeds are black…
how shelled pumpkin seeds are shelled?
how they get so many watermelon seeds?
how they shell shelled nuts?
where they shell seeds and nuts?
how close the cake decorator breathes on your cake?
if the baker licks his fingers? or the spatulas, the way you did when you were kids?

snowflake shower falling
here and there
in random fashion blowing
hither and thither
not knowing
is it winter
yet or stalling?

no time for mourning when the dying are gone

no time for mourning when the darkness falls

no time for mourning when the darkness calls

no time for mourning with the morning sun

no time for mourning because life goes on.

The main staging room at Murphy’s Community Centre was set out with a dozen tables or thereabouts on the afternoon of Monday, November 7. Around 3 p.m., maybe even a little earlier, people began drifting in with boxes, bags, suitcases and other paraphernalia. No, they were not refugees. These people were artists and artisans who had recently arrived in PEI, the majority of them new to Canada as well. And the baggage? These contained works – the products of their creativity that they carefully and meticulously set up on the tables for display.

The event was the 2^nd such networking event organized by Culture PEI and the PEI Association for Newcomers to Canada, sponsored by the Murphy’s Community Centre. The first such event was held in 2010 and, following its success, the 2^nd ever event was mounted this year, attracting several newcomers and representatives from various groups and galleries. Its purpose was to get business owners and managers to meet newcomer artists and artisans to see if they could do business together.

Several calling cards were exchanged, certainly some deals would have been made, and there was also the occasional purchase of products. As this was all going on, a few cultural numbers were staged to entertain visitors and exhibitors alike.

It was most certainly a helpful event, especially to newcomers who had absolutely no connections–or a very precious few—on the island. I personally would never have debuted as an artist had the cultural community in PEI not made it so easy for me to see my dream come to fruition.

What I would like to see, though, is more gallery owners or studio owners and managers or directors of places that would sell works made by newcomers present. I would have loved to have given out every single calling card I brought and maybe even made deals that evening—but that may be just me dreaming a little too much a little too soon.

I do know I’ve made a couple of contacts that seem really promising and hope to eventually follow up on those, but because there is no immediate promise of a solid sale, I know I still have to continue working at my day job (or night job, as the case may be) to support my art.

I would also have wanted an expo-type or fair-type of set-up that might have lasted over a weekend at least (so we could do it despite our day jobs), and we would have the opportunity to sell works as well. Nonetheless, I look forward to participating in more of these events, including craft fairs and such, with the fervent hope that, one day, my art will support me and I won’t need another job!

My table

listening to christmas songs all evening

decorating my rooms from floor to ceiling

hoping my tree won’t be long coming

so i can decorate it from floor to ceiling

while listening to christmas songs all evening

just to get that christmas feeling.

taught me a little rhyme

while driving home from school today

and it was cute, that i must say

about a bird who learned in time

what i did like in that same rhyme!

So here it is:

There was an old owl who lived in an oak

The more he’d seen the less he spoke

The less he spoke the more he heard

And that’s why they call him a wise old bird.

The moral of the story is: GO LIVE IN AN OAK!

I love comedy. There. I’ve said it. There are many other things I’ll say I love, but the evening of November 3 has gotten me out and admitting that I love comedy, and I just loved this performance, so wonderfully directed by Laurel Smyth! CONGRATULATIONS, Laurel!

Of course, without the cast, the play would have been nothing at all, and it was mainly the cast that made the play so amusingly and amazingly human.

The playwrights, whom, I have learned, started writing the play as improvisational theatre and worked on it over several years, have captured the essence of family and sisterhood in their delightfully delectable and infinitely humorous script. Tell me if there are too many superlatives…but I can’t really think of enough.

Three sisters, Jojo (the eldest, played by Melissa Mullen), Jane (the in-betweener, played by Kathleen Hamilton) and Jelly (the baby, played by Gill Mahen) have to deal with their father’s death and the party he requested as his dying wish. But it is not just the party and his death they have to deal with, apparently. Like any normal family, they have had issues about each other and with each other, as well as with their lives outside their sisterhood.

Jojo has been in a couple of failed relationships after giving up her one true love, Umesh, to be with Jane at her “death bed” which, as it turns out, was not final. Jane, who is plagued with episodes of some unnamed condition (asthma? a weak heart?) has also been in several relationships, and is as yet unable to come out in the open about her sexuality. Jelly is a struggling artist who has decided to return home and take care of their ailing father in his last year of life.

Jojo is angry at Jane for many things, but mainly the loss of her one true love and for having slept with her ex-husband, then inviting him to the party. Jane is obsessed with her work, her girlfriend, and her former lover, Mrs. Gray, who is also at the party. Jelly is the only without any real hidden anger, and interprets her life in her art, particularly for an upcoming exhibit in Munich.

Their father’s death has thrown the three together in the house they grew up in, full of memories of good times and bad times, and the script constantly throws us back and forth between past and present. Most of the memories are literally and figuratively stored in the attic, which is where the girls are reminded of most of them.

How they confront each other and their pasts is alternatingly poignant and hilarious, as Jane and Jojo lapse into rambunctious remembering in between blaming and bickering. Jelly finds herself more and more in the role of mother and peacekeeper, emphasized by the way she is supposed to look so like their mother and how she does things the way their mother did. Still, she is the “baby” who is constantly ignored and not heard, until she finally finds a way to get their attention and make them listen to her. In the end, they find the best solution, which really was Jelly’s suggestion in the first place.

The actresses were superb in their roles, which all seemed so natural. It’s no wonder after all, since Laurel told me that they had about two years to go over the script and work on the characters before they finally decided on a definite run.

The sets, executed by Anne Putnam, had all the charm of a rustic aging attic—indeed, the whole house seemed like an attic, fraught with memories—and served the performers well. David Bennet’s lighting, including a few special effects, worked excellently with scene changes, except for one tiny forgivable execution in timing, which revealed an exit that should have been hidden. The costuming was both whimsical and characteristic of the teacher, the businesswoman, and the artist in each of the three characters. And the music! The sound effects and the music that triggered many of the memories were the icing on the cake.

If I could, I would watch this show every night of its run! One performance is not enough to savour every little aspect of the play, or even to just enjoy the quick and witty dialogue and the little surprises every scene change brought. Definitely a play to catch before the month is over!

-30-

Sunlight fades to purple haze

Autumn night has come.

The trip was a short one…not more than 40 minutes out of town taking the route through Stratford and somehow arriving at Orwell Corner after a series of pretty farmland scenes with corn fields and other fields, cows taking a noon nap, bales of hay rolled in white plastic wraps like gigantic white worms stretched across the fields, and gently rolling hills.

Once into the Orwell Corner turnoff, the road was slightly bumpy, as it was unpaved, unlike the highway. A bit of dust rose from the rear end of the red bus ahead of ours, but the buses were air conditioned, so that didn’t bother us at all. We pulled into a sharp turn that led into a parking lot, where our only view of the village was a dirt path bordered with log fences. Upon disembarking, we proceeded to follow the red dirt road to the museum and, of course, gift shop.

A view of the distant hills from the parking lot

Welcome to Orwell Corner!

following the red dirt road to the museum

Inside the museum, we were greeted by shelves of souvenirs, curios and other PEI products (like lobster chips, which I have yet to try), hand-made soap and goat milk soap. Unfortunately, this was a cash-less field trip, so I could only appreciate what I saw. Besides, everything was priced for tourists! Well, pretty much.

Once past the gift shop counters, we encountered huge and varied farm equipment, transportation modes, mostly for winter, and all sorts of alien machines. There was also a miniature log cabin and a miniature setting of a house–pretty much like a playhouse, with child-sized furniture.

Log cabin

There was even a little potty chair!

a little potty chair!

Outside the museum, we strolled down the road to the village proper, where the first thing you see is the cemetery in front of the Presbyterian church.

Orwell Corner cemetery

It was a nice peaceful quiet spot, God’s little acre where the old denizens of Orwell sleep for eternity. If I’d had more time, I’d have looked at the gravestones to see what years they were put up. Not that I’d find any relatives there! The sleepers would be from England and Ireland and Scotland.

The church was a simple building, a bright shiny white in the September sun. It looked pretty much like most of the rural churches around PEI. Simple, unassuming. I wonder if that is a characteristic of non-Catholic churches, or of churches built by the English, Irish, and Scots. Back in the Philippines, hardly any two Catholic churches look alike!

Orwell Corner Presbyterian Church

As soon as you stepped into the door, you could smell the old pine and cedar and the very strong smell of must in the air. The archway in the foyer above the door to the interior of the church bears the year the church was built: 1861.

built in 1861

The pews were sitting there, facing the pulpit. Old, solid, shiny from wear and some polish, I suppose.

The pulpit stood dead center of the altar area, dark and imposing, as it probably meant to be.

To be continued.