Welcome to The Creativeness Within Me

I hope you will enjoy browsing through this blog and looking at My Writings, Photography and Paintings. Painting is a fairly new enterprise but I will take pictures of them as I go along to assess improvement (if there is any). But the point is in enjoying what we do and hoping that what we have to offer brings some pleasure or interest to others, or just plain curiousity.

If you like The Creativeness Within Me you may wish to go to my other blogs: http://www.sbehnish.blogspot.com (Talk, Tales, Thoughts and Things) which is about motivational topics, travel, parenting ... and other things, ttp://www.progressofabraininjury.blogspot.com which is, as the name suggests, about brain injuries and http://www.sebehnish.blogspot.com which is my travel blog.

Thank you for stopping by.

Sylvia Behnish

Friday, May 25, 2012

A Most Unusual Camping Trip

This Story was Published in 'Our World' in 2005 - In eager anticipation we set off to explore all the nooks and crannies, historical sites, galleries, studios and shorelines of the beautiful area we had chosen to visit. We kayaked and hiked before finally realizing that it was six o'clock and time to find a campground.

Almost missing the sign, faded and nearly obliterated from age and weather, we pulled into the isolated campsite. Picnic tables were covered with moss, payment was on the honour system using damp envelopes which were to be put into a bolted, rusted metal box. Outhouses were devoid of toilet paper and locks were long since useable. The water pumps had signs posted warning users to boil water for a minimum of two hours but were lacking the water to boil.

Finding a site with the least moss on the picnic table, on the river side, we decided to set up camp and were delighted with the thought of our enjoyment at the sound of rushing waters as we slept.

That was the very beginning of our experience.

But first things first. I pushed all the buttons to put up the windows in our van so the mosquitoes wouldn't bother us while we were sleeping. Next I slammed the door against those pesky insects. We gathered damp wood for the fire and set up the camp chairs. Then it was time to start dinner. Back to the van for the stove and cooler. Locked - with keys securely inside.

"You didn't," he tried valiantly not to glare at me but didn't quite succeed.

I had an uncontrollable urge to laugh but was clever enough to know that this was not the time, nor the place, to remind him what a great sense of humour I have. "Can you phone road service?" I tried a smile. The smile didn't work and neither did his cell phone.

"How far do you suppose it is to town? I'd be quite willing to walk with you." I tried another smile. Smiles weren't working today.

"I'll get help." That was the least I could offer - after all it was partly my fault.

"And where do you think you're going to get help? We're in the middle of nowhere."

Another smile. "I'll bet we'll laugh about this tomorrow."

"It isn't tomorrow."

"Are you feeling just a little bit out of sorts today?"

Fortunately for me there was the sound of a car. "Excuse me," I called as they drove past our site. "We have a little problem. I wonder if you can help us."

A very nice young couple got out, pierced and tattooed, with beautifully coloured florescent hair. They were going to be the only other campers in this campground and I was certainly happy to see them.

"I've had that problem myself," he explained as he pulled out a key chain full of keys. Trying Chevrolet, Ford, Toyota and Honda keys, he was finally able to open the door of our Blazer with a Volkswagon key.

Sitting around our smoldering campfire later in the evening, we marveled at our luck of the only other people in the campsite having a key that worked in our car. "I wonder what type of work he does?" I asked.

My partner was getting very good with the 'looks' today.

Ignoring the 'look', I pointed out that there were flashlights moving along on the rocks beside the river. Suddenly there was a loud blast. The sound vibrated up the banks of the river at our feet, seeming to last for many minutes and then utter silence. In our rush to the van, we collided and tripping over wet firewood, we bruised noses and stubbed toes.

With a minimum of discussion, we decided that an early night was just what we needed to enjoy the sounds of the river from the comfort of our mosquito-free van.

Writing, Excerpts and Publications

Our Most Unique Family Vacation

Published in The RV Times - Our 'Griswold's family vacation' started out like any other normal vacation with two grandparents and three grandchildren about to embark on a three week trip. Some might say, "Three grandchildren, are you crazy?" Well, there's crazy and then there's crazy.

We drove four long, hot days with no air conditioning in our hottest weather. I know what you're thinking. I thought so too. It took us one day to drive through Washington, one day through Oregon and two days through California. It was not until we had almost reached Palm Springs before a little voice asked, "Are we almost there yet?" The first leg of our trip was over and we were welcomed at our destination with cold drinks and a refreshingly cool swimming pool. We weren't crazy.

We spent two days in Palm Springs and then drove to Anaheim for four lovely, hot, fun-filled days of walking around Disneyland fighting the crowds. Some again might say we were crazy but it all depends on how you look at it. If you love Space Mountain or the Holywood Tower of Terror, you're crazy. I'm not one of them but I did get conned by one of my sons who joined us there into going on Thunder Mountain. I should have been suspicious because last time we were there he told me Space Mountain wasn't a roller coaster ride; it was only a 'roller coaster-type of ride', and I fell for it. Uhmm.

From there we returned to Palm Springs late in the evening. As we drove up to my brother's place - tired, hot and sticky - my husband, misjudging the outside overhand of our motorhome, knocked their mailbox over. The cement base lay in crumbling little pieces on the ground while the children and I carefully stepped over it. I won't say crazy but my husband spent two days rebuilding the cement base to its 'almost' original state while the children and I enjoyed the swimming pool.

After a four-day rest from Disneyland, we decided to set off for Arizona in 48 degree weather with, like I mentioned, no air conditioner. But like troopers we persevered because we had promised the children a visit to the Grand Canyon. Through deserts and over mountains we travelled until finally we stopped near a small town, hoping to find a campsite. The funny, or not so funny thing, was that once we stopped, the motorhome wouldn't start again. I laughed. Really, what else was there to do?

"It's our lucky day," I declared.

"How so?" my husband asked grumpily.

"Well, we could've broken down in the middle of nowhere."

"We are in the middle of nowhere," one grandson pointed out.

However, we did make it to the Grand Canyon and what an awesome sight that was! There is nothing to compare to it. But while we were leaving our campsite the following morning, my husband failed to notice a tree stump and tore the corner out of our motorhome. It was the corner that housed the secondary battery that the fridge ran on while we were driving. Well, what the heck - warm drinks, melted freezies and canned meals are better than nothing. The children handled it much better than my husband did drinking warm beer.

Then we stopped at Bryce Canyon in Utah - another unbelievable sight and one we were glad we had not missed. But when we arrived at our campsite that night and hooked up our water supply, we ended up with water all over the bathroom floor - a loose connection and not the appropriate tools to fix it with. So with the help of the children, I used pots and kettles to bring water into the motorhome. It was just like camping in the good old days.

From there we travelled to Nevade where we stopped at Virginia City. Another great place to visit and one I'd like to go back to again when our motorhome is in a little better shape. As my husband started to back into our campsite, I said I'd get out and direct him. "No," he said. "It'll be fine."

I shouldn't have listened because within minutes he had somehow attached himself to a metal fence post. That wasn't too bad though. The problem occurred when he tried to pull away and the bumper and part of the back wall of the motorhome came away also. Have you got a clear picture of our holiday yet?

So back to two grandparents and three grandchildren. The children were fabulous. They weren't an ounce of trouble. I would take them anywhere again but the husband I'm not so sure about.

Writing, Excerpts and Publications

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Get Stuffed

This was published in 'Our World' in 2004 - While doing my will, my lawyer asked what should have been a simple question, "Do you wish to be cremated or buried?"

Not liking either idea, I considered my options and eventually an idea began to take shape.

"I could be stuffed," I said presenting the idea to my five offspring. None were impressed. "Think of the opportunities. I could attend all of the family functions. You could share me week by week. I can be at every dining room table. I can continue to share your lives with you. You can talk to me. I may not answer but I'll certainly be a listening ear. I really can't think of anything nicer!"

They obviously could because not one jumped to say they would take me first. In fact, not one said they would take me, period.

Undaunted with their present lack of enthusiasm, I mulled over the possibilities.

Hinged knees would be a necessity for mobility. Hinged elbows would also be necessary for family dinners and hinged fingers to hold a wineglass would be a must.

They must never let my hair go gray and they should make sure my make-up is always applied. I certainly wouldn't want to attend any social function looking like I had been dragged there. And I definitely wouldn't want to become frayed around the edges. But most important, I wouldn't want to miss anything. They know how I hate to miss a good party.

Each one insisted that while it may be a good idea, (although they weren't convinced), someone else could keep me. How could they not want me when they loved me? I began to realize that love me they do but decline me they did. I was fighting an uphill battle with my wonderful idea.

I decided to convince the grandchildren that a 'stuffed' me would be great to have around filling their homes with warmth and love.

However, I quickly discovered there was no success in that area either. A 'stuffed' me did not appeal to anyone except me.

But I was not convinced that I was totally on the wrong track. I pointed out the benefits of having a stuffed relative. No one else would have one. And if nothing else, I would be a conversation piece right up there with ownership of a Wayne Gretzky hockey puck. When suggested, Wayne Gretzky's hockey puck won hands down.

I began to hear rumblings that I may instead be stuffed into a closet or a shed (not exactly my idea of being stuffed), if I persisted with my notion.

I was rethinking my idea when my grandson suggested that it might be a good idea after all.

I was ecstatic. I finally had a convert. I'm so happy you like my idea," I enthused.

"Yeah," he smiled charmingly in a way only a 10 year old can, "I was thinking that if we put you out beside the garbage cans, it might help keep the crows away."

Now back to that very simple question.

Writing, Excerpts and Publications

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Chemainus, Vancouver Island

Published in Northwest Travel Magazine in 2005

Unwilling to let their town die in 1982, some of the residents came up with the idea of a giant outdoor wall mural. This was an attempt to breath life into Chemainus, a small town on Vancouver Island, so it could live without the mill. The mill had kept the town alive for 120 years. They believed in the slogan, "If you say you can do it, you can." Like The Little Engine That Could, "I think I can, I think I can" puffing its way to the top, Chemainus has also puffed its way to the top and now enjoys 400,000 visitors annually.

The vision was one of people who refused to be conquered. It was about determination, persistence and belief while the naysayers insisted that turning the town into an outdoor art gallery could not, and should not, be done. Thankfully there were people who upon hearing those words, heard only "should" and "could".

We recently visited Chemainus, "The Little Town That Did" and were glad we had. The people of Chemainus invited internationally-known artists to use the town as their canvas, making it the exciting and interesting town it has now become. There are currently more than thirty-five murals and twelve sculptures depicting the town's history and its people.

Following the yellow footprints throughout the town, we passed murals relating stories of much of Chemainus' history. The Japanese community is depicted from 1900 to 1942 showing mill workers and fishermen. There are murals of the Chinese "bull gang" moving timber, as well as murals of sailing vessels, steam trains, and workers that were the foundation of Chemainus. There are also murals showing original buildings with long-ago scenes. At the entrance to Waterwheel Park, there is a mural with a working waterwheel. And not to be missed are the murals and fabulous sculptures of First Nations People.

In our stroll around the quaint little seaside town, we passed antique stores, boutiques, studios, and galleries. Arriving on the beach, we enjoyed the sun and had an ice cream cone in the interesting flavour of moose tracks. To better enjoy the murals located around town, and really feel as if you have become part of the past, there are horse-drawn carriages.

We didn't take advantage of the wealth of other activities that Chemainus offers but there is also golfing, boating, fishing, hiking and camping. And for those interested in history, there is the Chemainus Valley Museum and live theater if you wish to pursue your cultural side.

For a little town that thought it couldn't, it certainly did!

Writing, Excerpts and Publications

Life's Challenges, A Short Story Collection

In The Works

PREVIEW: Her Mother's Fur Coat

Pulling the long-ago memory from the dark recesses of her brain, Martine remembered the spectre of her mother as she stood at the edge of the ditch, her fur coat dripping, and her hair thick with mud as it lay plastered against her cheeks. Her eyes, appearing like black caverns leading into her soul, sparkled brilliantly as the headlights of each passing car reflected their light.

When last Martine had turned around, she had seen her mother walking the narrow pathway between the road and the ditch dressed in her finest; a fur coat inherited from a deceased aunt, brand new rhinestone earrings and her hair newly coiffed. And because it was a rainy evening, she wore her gumboots. Anyone living on a farm knows you don't wear your best shoes when it's pouring cats and dogs, no matter what special event it is you are planning to attend.

As a young child of eight years old, to Martine this startling transformation in her mother was a shock, and one that she knew even at that tender age would stay in her memory forever, periodically bubbling up to the surface to haunt her. Before leaving home, she had admired her mother's efforts at elegance and in spite of the gumboots had thought she'd looked quite beautiful.

After getting out of the bus, Martine had walked ahead of the two women. With her head tucked into the collar of her heavy winter coat, she had slogged along, leaning into the northely blowing wind. Struggling against the cold blast of winter she thought of the singing and dancing they would be seeing, music she knew she would love, music she'd been singing in their large kitchen for the previous two weeks.

Her only audience had been her father's canaries, budgies and finches. Each had chirped their approval at Martine's renditions and in their own unique way had caused pandemonium in the small dining area. Because her thoughts as she walked had been up on the stage with the musicians, she had failed to hear her mother's muffled calls for help. The frightened voice of her mother had been pulled into the soggy night air by the wind and rain where it was carried off to the mountains beyond.

But fortunately her mother's best friend had heard her plaintive cry for assistance. "Sir," she had called as she waved to a passing gentleman, "would you be kind enough to help my friend out of the ditch?"

As Martine remembered her mother's ditch dunk, as she now thought of it, time had not dimmed the memory of that stranger's expression as he looked first at her mother's friend, then at Martine before his eyes finally and reluctantly looked down at the sodden spectacle in the water-filled ditch.

"How did she get there?" he asked while he attempted to put off the inevitable. With an expression of extreme sadness, he glanced down at his suit and shrugged before again looking at the sad spectacle of this strange woman helplessly ensconced in the muddy warer. "Okay," he finally answered as he saw that our faces were watching him, beseeching him to help. At that moment he was our guardian angel. The only one for miles around, it appeared.

Martine, with an adult's perspective, thought that it was not the first question he should have asked. But to a young child, his question was reasonable and she had wanted to know also. She knew without a doubt that if she had ended up in the ditch wearing her very best clothes, she would've been in very big trouble and explanations would have been required to more than just this stranger. ...

His Sins

'His Sins' is a three generation family saga telling the story of Alexander and Janet in the first part, Elsa in the second part and Sarah Ann in the third part.

PREVIEW:

Alexander and Janet, Part I - When the cage brought them to the surface at the end of their shift, it was dark again and Alexander often wondered if there had ever really been any daylight. As they bicycled home, Alexander's thoughts were of Janet. They were going to get married and leave Galston forever as soon as she had fulfilled her two year obligation as servant girl to her employers, the Cunnminghams at the Manor House. He'd leave the damp pit and the coal dust and the constant poverty behind forever. He'd leave the miner's row of attached houses where every house looked like its neighbor with its stone walls and thatched roofs. Some said the row of buildings were eighty years old, most others didn't care. The roadways were unpaved and there was mud and pools of water during the winter in front of every doorstep. There was almost fifty people in their row with only one earth closet and one ashpit. Human excrement littered the muddy yard and the stench was unbearable but the inhabitants of the row houses had long since become unaware of it. Only visitors held their noses and wondered why anyone would want to live like this. But visitors weren't welcome so no one worried what they thought. ...

Alexander and Janet were married in the local church surrounded by all of Alexander's neighbours and his family. Janet's family had decided not to participate in the marriage of their middle daughter since they had been hoping for a better marriage for her than to that of a miner.

"Miners," they told everyone they knew, "are little more than rodents, burrowing in the ground; only coming out at night. They're dirty creatures with coal dust instead of sweat coming out of their pores." Janet had smiled courageously in spite of their hurtful words but Mam Stewart saw the tears in her eyes.

Janet's pregnancy was not as yet obvious but the neighbours whispered that there was likely to be a seven month baby. They shrugged. "There are a lot of nine pound seven month babies born but who counts anyway?"

Elsa, daughter of Alexander and Janet, Part II - Walking aboard the C.P.R. Ferry from the downtown Vancouver wharf, Elsa clutched her battered old cardboard suitcase tightly. As the vessel moved further out into the water, she watched the deep troughs of waves following behind as it made a wide arc, gradually leaving the wharf far behind. She might have been crossing the ocean back to Scotland, so lonely did she feel. Seagulls screeched overhead, occasionally landing on the railing nearby. Wrapping her coat more tightly around her body for warmth, she remain on the deck, not wanting to go into the interior of the crowded ship. She preferred instead to be alone with her misery. ...

He had black curly hair, streaked with gray and what appeared to be a two or three day growth of whiskers on his weathered face. His eyes were alert and intelligent as he watched a group of small children playing, a paternal and good-natured smile hovering on his lips. Elsa walked timidly towards him.

"Ah, you must be the new girl, Elsa Stewart," his friendly face was wreathed in a huge smile.

Elsa nodded her head causing her hat to bob vigorously on her head. She grabbed it before it could fall to the ground, feeling her face grow warm with embarrassment.

"It's very nice to meet you, Miss. The Clarkson children have been bouncing around for the last few days, plenty excited about meeting you." Grabbing her suitcase, he threw it into the back of the truck before turning to open the door of the cab for her.

"By the way, the name's Cye Morrison," he said extending a weathered hand in Elsa's direction. "Must be pretty scary for a young girl like yourself comin' all this way to live with complete strangers." Elsa swallowed with difficulty as she struggled to hold back her threatening tears. ...

Sarah Ann, daughter of Elsa and Peter, Part III - "You have a lot of bruises and scrapes on your face, Heather," Sarah Ann said.

Shrugging her shoulders, Heather kept her eyes fastened to the floor. "If my father finds out ... that I've told you ... I'll be in more trouble." Her eyes shone brightly with unshed tears.

"He won't find out, Heather. Can you tell us what happened?"

Heather nodded her head but refused to look up. "I asked why my mother ... was in the ... hospital. He hit me ... I fell down. He said it was ... none of my b.b.business."

The tears spilled down her face and Sarah Ann ached to take her into her arms but knew she couldn't. "I'm so sorry, Heather. Would you like us to see how your mother is doing? We could find out for you; would you like us to do that?" ...

"Have you thought about seeing a counselor yourself, Sarah Ann? Even doctors see other doctors, you know. I think if you could get over this problem, you and Adam would be happy together."

"I thought I would be able to work it out for myself.

"You haven't been able to so far, my dear."

"Adam said he wanted to get married and have children. We had a discussion and then he just walked away. I can't believe he's been gone this long without calling me."

"I don't blame him, Sarah Ann. He's told you exactly how he feels and I can't see that you've made an effort." ...

Review by Writer's Digest:

"His Sins" spans three generations of a struggling family, focusing on the fate of the women who ally themselves with ambitious, emotionally distant and selfish men. The writer creates compelling, complex and intricate characters, particularly in the case of Elsa who the reader follows from before birth until the cliffhanger ending. The social and political events of the time periods covered by this novel come into play in realistic plot twists and scenarios that help develop charactr and build tension. Each generation is convincingly drawn - they all have different ways of speaking, thinking and navigating their worlds. Ms. Behnish was able to carry some of the concerns of the first generation into the third without making all of the characters similar.

Writing, Excerpts and Publications

Monday, May 21, 2012

Rollercoaster Ride With Brain Injury (For Loved Ones)

PREVIEW

'A Rollercoaster Ride With Brain Injury (For Loved Ones)' is a result of my partner's serious motorcycle accident. When I realized how difficult it was to get information on brain injuries or on how family members can help their brain-injured loved ones, I knew there was a need for something to be written. There seemed to be very little that was readily available for those close to the injured person in learning how to deal with the monumental changes in both the injured person's life and those of his family and friends.

When we are faced with a tragedy such as this, it is difficult to know where to go for answers. Unable to find what I felt I needed, I eventually located the hospital library. I spoke with the librarian and although he said the library was for the use of the hospital staff, he kindly offered to e-mail me several web sites containing information on brain injuries. These were invaluable and were initially my main sources for obtaining information. The web sites are listed at the end of this section.

During this difficult time, I found it was also sometimes difficult to get any extensive information from the doctors or the nurses. This was partly because at the beginning very little seemed to be known about the severity of his injury or what the results of the injury would be. I also quickly discovered that what information I was given appeared to be designed to not build up any hopes on my part. Further, I became aware that the more questions I asked, the more variety of answers I received with each person appearing to have a different opinion on both his injury as well as his recovery prognosis.

By writing this book about our situation, I hope to help others in a similar situation realize they are not alone. There will be progress and although it appears to be slow - brain injury progress is often two steps forward and one step back, it will happen. Often the steps are small and changes are sometimes only noticed after a big change has taken place. Moderate brain injury recovery is somewhat like lying awake in the middle of the night feeling like morning will never come - it always does and so also shall there be progress with a moderate brain injury.

There were other reasons why I decided to write this book. One of these was to assist family members to hopefully be able to understand and know what is involved in being a caregiver. This is difficult since no two head injuries are alike so no two cases will be the same. One of the reasons for this is dependent upon where the head injury occurred, (i.e.: is it a frontal lobe injury, or ...?) Also the personality of the injured person appears to make somewhat of a difference. As a result no two caregivers will experience the exact same problems. There does, however, appear to be some basic similarities.

Go to: http://www.progressofabraininjury.blogspot.com to read more. Book can be purchased at: www.trafford.com/10510 Amazon - ISBN: 978-1-4251-6964-0 or by e-mail: writesylvia@shaw.ca

Writing, Excerpts and Publications