Category: Family Life

My Unexpected Bucket List, 2023

On By Anna EastlandIn Arts and Entertainment, Family Life, Poetry, Writing8 Comments

Happy New Year, everyone! Perhaps many people are planning their fantastic bucket lists for 2024, but I’m not quite there yet. Let me first share some of the crazy little adventures I had in 2023, including various things I never planned to check off my to-do list!

1. Fishing a school of fishy crackers out of the toilet when the toddler dumped them there, or rather, to be more accurate, flushing them!

2. Getting pulled over by the police in a cab when rushing my daughter from the orthodontist back to Highschool, on the way to my younger children’s elementary school Christmas pageant. My poor cabbie looked like Santa with a giant beard, and I, sitting there all flushed with a “lunch on the go” Freshslice pizza box on my lap, begged the officer to take pity on him, as I had been telling him about my mad-dash day and probably distracting him from slowing down in the school zone…thank goodness he got off with just a warning! I missed my 5 year old singing “Winter Time is Here” but caught the other 3 kids’ acts…then went to the evening show to see it all again, on time this time. Phew!

3. Playing the part of a giant sassy crow in a Christmas play called “Suki’s Reindeer Wish” with my local literary arts guild.

4. Getting a Christmas poem published in an anthology of Christmas poetry called Harmonic Verse by Local Gems Press. https://www.localgemspoetrypress.com/harmonic-verse-preorders.html

5. Dressing as a pirate and narrating spooky stories for a Halloween show called “Killer Verse” with the same wild and wacky arts crew…

…and discovering that my toddler had painted the table with Nutella while I was at dress rehearsal. He later repeated said visual art performance with yogurt.

6. Drinking white wine while drinking in the beauty of my dear friend Jude Neale’s (https://judeneale.ca/) poetry at her book launch for her gorgeous new book of poetry, accompanied by the paintings of Nicholas Jennings, called Water Forgets Its Own Name.

7. Being given a surprise trip to Saskatoon by my husband, to spend 5 days with my soaking in life with my bestie, and having amazing Mexican food downtown there.

Well, that’s enough adventures for one night! I hope you all survived the madness of December, had a very Merry Christmas, and are enjoying some relaxing vacation time before the business of school starts up again. Happy New Year!

Sunset Caress

On By Anna EastlandIn Family Life, Poetry4 Comments

Amidst the usual evening business,

there was a moment of golden light,

when all the chaos of messy meals—

my baby climbing out of her high chair,

little chubby limbs besmeared with mango

and requiring yet another bath,

as the phone rang and the water boiled,

and the seven-year-old pontificated

on the merits of trampolines

vs slip and slides for summer safety—

all this ceased to grab my attention,

which was caught by the light of a far-off star,

speeding across millions of miles of space

to gaze at me on my porch this evening,

a glowing orange ball

peeking through the dark fir trees.

I paused to gaze back.

My daughter sped around the porch

on her running bike,

her tongue running fast as her feet

to describe her tricks in real time

—but I had stepped out,

and was steeped in golden light—

“I am here, all along; I am here,”

spoke the universe calmly,

all its diverse particles coming together

to deliver me this caress of beauty

from the halls of eternity.

Just Breathe

On By Anna EastlandIn Family Life, Poetry21 Comments

There was another year of Covid,

but we crawled out of our caves

like newborn butterflies with sticky wings,

slow and hesitant in the spring sunshine.

We hoped to migrate to a new home

of our own, a fresh start…

but the inheritance was not enough.

Nevertheless the landlord said, “Go.”

A flutter of wings, a flurry,

a tiny hurricane of stress,

and searching, searching, searching

for a safe place to land.

A flying in the dark

—a trusting through blindness—

through not knowing at all

what was meant to be.

The summer sun swelled with heat

yet no shady dale

or safe valley dappled with sunshine

appeared—until it did.

And then it did.

Out of the concrete embrace

of the city we flew,

away from sirens and cement

towards the cedars and starlight.

Towards wind whispering in the fir trees,

the moon staring at me on my patio

and winking as I grin and grin

at the wonder of my new home.

And evenings filled with sunshine

sparkling in the sprinkler-kissed grasses

of the wildflower field

that is my unmowed back yard.

And glistening on the rosy skin

of my newborn daughter,

sleeping like a little wild nymph

in my joyful arms.

“And all is well

And all is well

And all manner of things

shall be well.”

Julian of Norwich

A Small Zoo (revisited)

On By Anna EastlandIn Family Life, Writing2 Comments

Here is my first ever blog post, shared with you again after about eight years! I recently used it for a writing assignment about animals, even though it was kind of cheating…this zoo is full of animal-like creatures…but none is actually furry or feathered!

Hope you enjoy it (again, for the handful of you who have been with my in Crazy Land from the beginning)!

Living in a house with five young children is much like running a small zoo, full of exotic birds and monkeys who are liable to climb everything, and constantly build themselves habitats all over that seldom-seen thing called “floor.”

The clever chimpanzees create modern art pieces with supplies like to finger-paint and spaghetti sauce—any surface is a suitable canvas, from walls to couch covers. Ever innovative, they can turn toilet paper and bath water into paper-mâché tile art. Don’t be surprised to find a small one bathing in the bathroom sink, making steam art on the mirror, or having a healthy snack of toddler toothpaste. 

There is always something fun to do, such as scatter puzzle pieces around the confines like wood chips, or paint boxes with the smallest monkey’s diaper cream.

All these endeavors make the animals extremely hungry, so there are frequent feeding frenzies. The feeding area is swarmed with little birds chirping “Me! Me! Me!” and there is no silence until all the feeding dishes are filled with animal crackers and other suitable snacks. 

If the offering is deemed worthy, the birdsong “More! More,” will be heard; however, if the animals are unsatisfied with their rations, they will resort to scowls, whines, and barking, sometimes followed by the tipping over of said feeding dishes, or worse: the use of a dish as a small missile, hopefully in the direction of the floor rather than the zookeeper’s head. The baby hippo often gets so messy that it is placed immediately in the wading pool, where it gets a thorough scrub.

After their meal, the animals usually head off to the recreation area to engage in elaborate displays of beauty, strength and agility, including leaping off the furniture while adorned in princess feathers, or circling about repeatedly in brightly patterned skins that would camouflage them in a tropical coral bed. Like chameleons on hyper-speed, they are liable to change their skins every five minutes, scattering colorful heaps about the confines.

We won’t go into a discussion of the animals’ bathroom habits, for their lack of refinement in areas of toilet training, their parading about without proper rear covers, and their enjoyment in leaving surprise droppings and puddles for the zookeeper would be thoroughly reprehensible if they were not such small animals.

It is with great relief that the zookeeper puts them all in their cages for the night, with the blissful thought that at least for several hours, no little creatures will be burrowing about the living room in blanket tunnels, or scattering paw covers outside until the zoo’s garden becomes an Easter egg hunt for missing shoes. 

How peaceful and sweet the fuzzy beasts seem, with their limbs flung out in the abandon of sleep, and their little purrs and dreamy sighs…

You might think that the evening would bring peace and quiet to the zoo and rest to the zookeeper, but don’t forget one important thing: night watch; after all, many animals are nocturnal!

Family Day Fail, or “I’d rather eat noodles”

On By Anna EastlandIn Family Life, Photos3 Comments

The other day we went to the park for Family Day; it was damp and chilly. The sun hid behind a massive grey cloud, despite the deceptive blue sky. Baby was not impressed.

“What are we doing out here?”
“Is this supposed to be fun?”

Eventually we gave up trying to stay warm enough and went home for tea. After a big nap in his cosy blanket in the stroller, our little one felt much better, and ate his noodle soup with gusto.

“I’d rather be eating noodles.”
“Good to the last drop.”

An Imaginary Journal Entry from Little Women: Mr. Lawrence Ruminates by his Window

On By Anna EastlandIn Family Life, Writing2 Comments

Our latest writing assignment for my online writing class on The Habit Community was to write a page from the journal of a minor character in a famous book. It was such an interesting assignment; people did all sorts of great things from Jane Austen, J.R.R. Tolkien, L.M. Montgomery, Suzanne Collins, the tale of Beowolf and more.

My husband had the idea for my piece, told from the perspective of the rich old neighbour next door in Little Women, which is one of my very favourite books. It felt like treading on sacred ground, trying to slip into the writing shoes of Louisa May Alcott…I really hope you enjoy it!

Mr. Lawrence Ruminates by his Window

Every evening for months, I have heard their voices lifting in song—the four neighbour girls singing with their mother around an old piano. At first, I would shut my windows to block out the sound of their happiness, for its lively youthfulness unearthed memories of my own dear granddaughter, now so silent and still.

I tried to make myself believe that I was simply annoyed at their disturbing an old man’s rest, but it was not irritation at all: it was fear of the sorrow their joy was unleashing in my locked heart, until I could contain it no longer.

Eventually, I began opening my window. I now watch for their work-weary mother to come home through the gate, carrying her baskets and bundles. Her daughters greet her with joy, calling “Marmee!” through the open door.

After an hour or so, I bring my pipe and sit by the window pensively, as if pondering some profound problems, while the smoke wafts into the night air, but I am simply waiting to listen to them sing.

Sometimes, their warbling songs are delightful; other times their girlish voices and soft piano tunes are accompanied by my silent tears, the ones I could not shed when my own little grandchild died. How she had loved music!! Her untouched piano haunts me.

However, anger is a lonely refuge. It sustains me no longer, though I try to hide it from my foolish nephew, Lawrence, lest he think I have grown old and soft.

Perhaps I have. I long to do something for them now that their father is away at war. They must feel it deeply, though they carry their burden cheerfully. That lanky one even leaps over the fence at times; I have to restrain my laughter when I see it through the window. Oh, to have her spring in my step!

But what could a lonely old man do to increase their happiness? Their mother seems too proud to accept money; she bears herself so nobly, and I believe their family was wealthy before her husband’s business was ruined.

If only I could be there with them in that cozy little front room, with the light streaming through the window into the dusk, along with their dear voices…then I could hear the soft tunes of their old piano better.

That is it—a new piano! My granddaughter’s favourite instrument shall be silent no longer.

Granny Koenig

On By Anna EastlandIn Family Life4 Comments

Here is a short piece I wrote for my writing class about my amazing Dutch Granny. The assignment was to describe someone based on their likes and dislikes, rather than what they looked like, etc. On this special day of remembrance, it seemed fitting to share a little of her story with you.

Every night, Granny Koenig took grim satisfaction in throwing Hitler off her third story apartment balcony. He deserved it; he was trying to steal her jewelry box. The wound of living through two world wars in Holland ran deep enough to be embedded in her dreams, and caused to her to wander the house weeping some nights. But in the bold light of day, she gloried in her nocturnal victories. After all, they made good stories, and she enjoyed telling stories to her three Canadian grandchildren who had come to live with her.

She told them of her father, the German Baron whom she despised for abandoning her poor French mother, who had died when Granny was only five, leaving her orphaned and alone. She relished in telling the children about the naughty things she had done in church, such as what exactly she had put in the holy water, for she had no use for God the Father after her own father disappeared.

Granny Koenig loved to sit in her rocking chair and describe her self-made success… how she learned French and English as well as her native Dutch, and was able to be a nanny for a wealthy American family who took her on cruises, decked out in black velvet and diamonds. How she had cherished that velvet…her fingers thrilled at the memory of its softness.

Granny Koenig despised such things as smoking and drinking, which she had never, ever done. The children tried not to smirk at the picture hanging above her rocker, showing their Granny drawing on a huge cigar with delight. You could forgive an old woman some discrepancies when she frequently bought you popsicles from the newsstand flower shop on the corner, and delighted in chasing your little brothers around the apartment, waving her walking stick in mock anger when they put toy bugs on her neck. In any case, anyone brave enough to hide Jewish children in her house during the war, and to still face the Fuhrer every night in her dreams, certainly deserved to be treated with generosity, even we children knew that.

A Witch’s Children Seldom Sleep ✨

On By Anna EastlandIn Family Life, motherhood, Poetry4 Comments

A witch’s children seldom sleep;

they stay up in their rooms 

conjuring up mythical lands,

building kingdoms and castles,

✨

or run through the house—

all wide-eyed wildness

once the full moon comes up,

and mirrors itself in their round, blue eyes.

✨

They dance, cackle and fly about the room

until a crash into the wall—or each other—

signals the doom-bell of bedtime.

✨

The later the louder;

the more tired the more terrible,

until their witch-mother’s exasperated hair 

shoots out in all directions like flames.

✨

Finally, she has to resort to softly chanting spells

to soothe her tiny witches and warlocks to sleep.

✨

When their dark lashes lay on their cheeks at last,

they almost look like ordinary children,

but the witch grins to herself…

she knows better!

✨✨✨

Spell Weaver ✨

On By Anna EastlandIn Family Life, motherhood7 Comments

Her hair is askew;

she has the rakish look of a wild one 

who has been up with the werewolves,

swaying under the 3 o’clock moon, 

chanting spells to lure the world to sleep.

✨

She can often be seen muttering over her pots, 

consulting her glowing spell book 

and adding one by one to her potion 

pinches of hope, dashes of courage, and handfuls of strength.

Her bittersweet sacrifice of love 

rises like incense from her steaming cauldron.

✨

She has a healing touch 

to soothe the brows of feverish toddlers, 

comfort crying babies, 

and reassure the young witches in training, 

as they begin to see shapes in the darkness around them— 

the fears they must face and fight 

on their journey to take flight.

✨

But even the life-giving, spell-weaving woman 

gets worn down at times, 

and caught up in the storm around her, 

she shoots lightning from her eyes 

and thunder from her terrible mouth 

so that all things might cease!

✨

She longs for a moment’s solitude, 

to untangle the lightning from her hair;

refill her well with starlight 

and the song of flowers

to weave into spells the next day.

✨


In the hush of a deep breath she remembers

that her most important spells do not decorate 

life’s struggles in sparkling cobwebs;

rather they reveal to her children the deeper magic 

that was around them all along, 

and help them draw life from it,

even in the darkest moments before dawn.

✨✨✨

The End of the World

On By Anna EastlandIn Family Life, motherhood7 Comments

A little vignette about bedtime…

She knew it might be bad, but she hadn’t expected it to be this bad. It wasn’t like she had done it violently or without warning. Nevertheless, it had plunged her daughter into the depths of despair.

“I will never eat again!” she declared, lower lip trembling as her eyes began to redden.

“That’s too bad; you’ll get pretty hungry.”

“I won’t open my presents. I won’t come to Easter or Christmas.”

“Really? How sad. That’s a lot to give up.”

“I won’t ever let you help me!” she threw out this statement like a well-aimed spear, sure it would conquer her enemy and bring victory.

“You’re only hurting yourself, babe,” her mother deflected the spear with a shield of serenity. “I’m sorry you’re so sad.”

The girl thrust out her jaw and glowered up at her mother with narrowed eyes.

“I’m not sad, I’m angry!”

“Ok, I’m sorry you’re angry, then. But why don’t you go up to bed, honey? It’s time to sleep.”

“I will never sleep. I will just stand by my bed with my eyes open. I will never shut my eyes again!”

“Oh, really?” the woman sighed. Determination was a great trait. To be sure it had helped her daughter finish the steep, two hour hike up the mountain with her Dad the other day, chattering the whole way up. But when it was bedtime, determination to have one’s own way was a distinct disadvantage in a child of three.

“Sweetie, you can play more Reading Eggs tomorrow. I had to turn it off ‘cause it was 9:30. Now it’s 10:15. You have to sleep.”

“I will never sleep!”

The woman rubbed her head and sighed. You can’t fight crazy. She climbed into bed and nursed her baby to sleep. Eventually, the war-weary toddler climbed in under the blankets and hid. That way no one would see her eyes close.