@nazimaali spoke of how far we’ve come in technology over the past 40 years.  Then I look back on my mom and dad and all they’ve seen in their life.  My mom was born in northern Alberta in 1918 and my father was born in 1912 in Russia.  Yeah, they were of a far different era.  They have, alas, both moved on to the prairie in the sky.

Imagine in the 1920’s, a northern Alberta village where a large family, of eight children at the time (her family grew to 13 kids!!) and living in a one room homesteading cottage.  My mom told me how her mom used to burn birch wood and spread the ashes on the floor.  And how they used to ride horses to school in the winter and if they were first to arrive?  They had to start the fire in the school stove.  Then in the spring they used to walk across the creek on the backs of the thousands of fish.  But if you got sick!  My mom told me of when her sister broke her leg they had to hire a horse and buggy to ride 20 miles through muddy roads to a doctor.  I ain’t making this up!  Google the book “Ten Dollars and a Dream” and look for the Houle stories.  One of my mom’s uncles was a member of the Louis Riel rebellion in Manitoba too!

My dad’s father was an Imperial Guard for the Tsar in Kiev and they had to escape the red terror (I’ve written a script around this – well fictionalized anyway), so they came to Canada.  They ended up homesteading in Saskatchewan.  Dad told me stories of working on farms during the 20’s and 30’s, the steam combines and teams of horses.  But alas, unlike my mom’s family, there wasn’t much documentation on my dad’s history.  Just a few, sparse stories.  Breaks my heart that I just never had the wherewithal in my youth to capture my father’s history…

The last time I visited my dad was a few months before he passed away.  At his house where my mom and my sister took care of him.  He was 91 and Dementia was taking hold.  But I was so grateful for the few lucid moments.  We spoke of the time at his cabin, or his time in the army (he was stationed in Vancouver at Point Grey in WWII!!), but mostly his years being a barber (he started in WWII and didn’t retire until he was 82!) and how I used to hang out there.  Then we talked about all the changes that occurred since his steam combine days… so much change…

Mind you there was probably more change since my childhood in the late 60’s to now then from the 20’s to the 60’s.  Wow… so much changes…

Title: My Joy

Ode to my funny valentine
How she makes me smile
With a simple turn of her mouth
My heart flies

I chuckle along with her heart
I giggle with her sweet laugh
Her sense of humour makes
My ribs ache

I share my life with her as
She fills the day with mirth
Happy moments imbued with
Joyfulness personified


Title: Broken

How scorned one is
How bitter one becomes
How when hate finds its way
Into a heart, how it eats
How it consumes one’s soul
Until nothing is left
But a sadness of fate

© 2010 by DC Lessoway

I want to look back a moment in my life where I experienced what I could only call pure, unconditional love…

I woke up at 6:30 am on August 8, 2008, a sunny, joyful morning.  The day I was to marry my Marina.  Tired, didn’t sleep too well, maybe jitters, but it clearly was the excitement of a full-blown church wedding and reception!  That and Marina and I were up late decorating the reception room at the hotel.

I quickly dressed and went out for a coffee and a quiet, contemplative moment on a bench at English Bay.  I kept imagining that Marina will have so much tashcala (meaning “craziness” in Armenian) around her before the wedding.  I knew she’d be at her brother’s house getting ready.  The whole works:  hair, makeup, dress, everything.  Her whole family was going to be around her.  While on that bench I began to feel a bit sorry for myself as I wasn’t getting the same attention.  Only my best man, my nephew Brent, was coming over for lunch, then to help me run a few errands, then get ready and head to the church.  I had to get up and walk a bit to push away these feelings.  I got a coffee and walked around a bit.

Later that afternoon Brent and I did have lunch and ran the errands.  One of which was to pick up a photographer for us and then to stop Marina’s brother’s to drop off something.  I didn’t get to see her, but I heard her “Love you!” through the wall of in-laws who didn’t want me to see her before the church.

We went back to my apartment to get ready.  Snapped a few pictures around our place, one other site, then, off to the wedding!

We were getting married at this small orthodox Armenian church in Richmond.  It’s situated on top of a hall at five road and Westminster highway.  We pulled into the parking lot and I ran upstairs to the church as I didn’t want to see Marina before she was to walk down the aisle!

I stuck to the front, keeping away from the windows as Brent kept a lookout for Marina’s arrival downstairs.  Meanwhile I lit a candle for our dad’s who both died well before we met.

Which reminds me: Marina and I felt that there was something special that brought us together.  I told her that it was this:  That one day in heaven her dad Gregory was out for a walk and met up with my dad Phillip.  Gregory then said to him, “My daughter Marina is looking for the love of her life.”  Whereas my dad responded, “well I’ve got a son who is single and looking for his soul mate.”

I still tear up to think of this…

The word came, Marina has arrived in her limo.  With my heart in my throat I stood at the front and waited, and waited… apparently Marina thought I hadn’t arrived yet and was waiting for me, funny.

Anyway the cello player (Marina surprised me with a this at the wedding – Loved it!) started to play as my new nieces and nephews walked the aisle… then the doors at the back of the wedding closed and Brent whispered to me “breathe”.

Then what I considered to most beautiful piece of music ever written: J.S. Bach Suite no. 1 began (I have to pause a few times to wipe away tears as I still get very overwhelmed writing this).

Whoosh!  My heart jumps, my knees weakened as the doors opened and there, the most beautiful women I’d ever seen in an angelic white wedding dress.  Her wide, luminous smile and her eyes looking for me.  Our eyes met and Brent had to grab me to hold me up.

When those doors opened the feelings, the image was instantly and permanently imbued on my soul as one of those moments of pure, unconditional, unforgettable, profoundly magnificent moments.  For the rest of my life it will remain as a signpost in my soul’s rebirth and the start of a wonderful life with Marina.

Ah love…

Below is a poem I wrote for Marina and read at the reception.

Armenian Rose

How like a rose she doth persuade my eye
How like the summer’s balmy wind I fly
How like the sun her smile ignites my soul
How like the moon I find her with the stars
How like the spring she grows upon my heart
Thus in nature’s beauty she has renown
All I can do is sigh and close my eyes
My spirit sashaying in her blessed step
Infusing moments until the next time
Thus any instant absent from her grace
I am prompted to then recall her face
Her sweet bouquet imbued upon this man
As when the time enwrapped within her arms
My mind exalted alights upon love

All writing © 2010 by DC Lessoway

Calm in the Storm

Okay Sam here it is…

A twitter friend @Samuel_Clemons said get your blog fired back up.  Especially as I haven’t blogged since 2007.  So here I am.  I warned him it’ll not be anything of note or exciting, but it is what it is.  I’m grateful he pushed me to do this as I need to find a regular writing project to keep my writing muscles flexed.  I plan to post it twice a week for now.

I thought about making it a video blog but to hear that slight lisp in my voice drives me crazy so writing would be far better, on the hearing anyway.

Been thinking about what to write about.  I’ll add my poetry, short stories, life experiences as they come up.  But today what can I writer about… hmmmm… about writing?  We all struggle with that and there is a myriad help for that.  About making films?  I will later.  I’d rather be making them really.  I will, just not now.  About the current TV Pilot project I’m working on right?  No, contractually I can’t do that, for now anyway.

Oh oh oh!  How about the emotional trials of a middle-aged, slightly emotionally damaged man?  I’ve been in tons of therapy (both private and group) and spilled my internal impairments unto the world; well, enough to function on a fairly reasonable self-awareness level, I think.  Aaaaand having said that, they say the blog is an excellent place for narcissistic ramblings and I’ll be no exception.

I’m that quiet guy in the corner
Something far too obvious to my friends, but I’m not great social animal.  Never been a social animal at all, never had a large group of friends. Ever.  But that’s okay, I’m not for small talk.  Just not great at it.  I’ll tell you the social networks are a boon for me.  Met my wife on one (a story for later) and have lots of virtual friends.  Yes, I have a few, “real life” friends too.  But I feel so lucky living in a time when I can speak to people around the world.  Hear their stories, a wonderful thing.  But I digress.  I’ve always been shy and never really came out of my shell until I started the deep introspective and then joined an improv theatre group (another story for another time), that was an eye-opening thing.  Here a wall flower going on stage and without a script.  So fun!

Anyway, I’m going to cut it off there as I have lots more to say… here are a couple of my poems:



Title: Passage
A brush to blush
This skin I touch

How my passion rises
Such animatistic lust

My mind vindicates
What my hands exploit

Cutting through curves, through
Valley, dales there hidden by choice

Until that moment, bliss
Explodes on your voice

How then lay we
Spend and sedate

Waiting, waiting, waiting
For the next moment to initiate


Title: Still Beats, My Heart

I, for health
stroll paths, this
all hallows eve, in
waning light
waxing, dimmed moon

at, alley’s access
ponder, should I enter
such, sullied lane
pushed, it seems
onward so

ache, straining sight
probe, nook, cranny
brave face, in
shadows forming, as
fright turning
skin’s pallor mine

halt progress, in
echo’s, not my own
launching, leaping
heart’s, pounding
breath racing, raging
brewing stewing
who, what, there?

heeled turn
hoping none
there, knife clutched
yet, yet
eyes staring
blazing my soul
I am, I am
alone alone
in imagination’s

All writing © 2010 by DC Lessoway