That got me thinking about how I communicate. It’s been over 4 years since I have had a land line. What good is a phone that is stuck in one place? Doesn’t have live video. Doesn’t sync with my contact list or calendar. Doesn’t send text messages. Doesn’t take photos. Or check my Twitter stream. Notify me of Facebook messages?

It was a shock to me to realize that I couldn’t think of any instance where I would actually use a land line.

If I want to talk to my family, I use Skype. With video. I want to see my parents when I talk with them. For family and friends without Skype, I pay about $2.00 per month so I can call them through Skype to their land line.

When my husband and I are apart, we connect using text messages. “I’m leaving work and am stopping to pick up salmon for dinner. Be home about 4:30.” Easy and unobtrusive.

I like taking photos and tweeting them or uploading them to Facebook. I like sharing [what I think are] interesting things in the environment around me. Immediately.

My phone reminds me of appointments and events. Shows me which local stations have the cheapest gas. Finds the location of nearby shoe stores. And so much more.

Land line? Okay. If it’s free. Maybe I’ll actually go pick up a used phone that I can plug in to the “Tel 1″ port on the modem. Maybe. Just for the novelty of it. But I can’t imagine how I will use it. Call me if you have an idea. 778-440-2813. But wait a few days – I’ll have to get the telephone first.

Sent from my BlackBerry device on the Rogers Wireless Network

Feb. 26th, 2 – 4 pm: Free-lance Writing: Can you still make a living at it? In the changing media landscape it is harder, but possible!
Tips, opportunities, handouts, q and a.
$10 – refreshments included.

March 5th, 2 – 4 pm: Stories From Victoria’s Past: Readings from recent works of fiction and nonfiction (free with purchase of drink or snack). Vanessa Winn, Larry Grey, June Perry, Rosemary James Cross and others … (with open mic)

March 12th, 1 – 4 pm: Labyrinths, Mazes and Sacred Geometry, an interactive workshop with Aryana Rayne (author of Labyrinths of British Columbia).
$20 - refreshments included.

April 9th, 2 – 4 pm: ‘No Regrets’ – a workshop in creative living, by Heather Loewen, fun and stimulating, based on her book 101 Reasons To Be Yourself
$20 – refreshments included.

April 30th, 2 – 4 pm: Readings from the Gadrian Poetry Group (free with purchase of drink or snack). Includes an ”open mic” — all poets welcome.

My first sestina:

I sit down to write
The wind whistles around the door
It comes in gusts, pushing it’s way
The seagulls wait for days like this
A chance to dive and rise again
I sit and wait – is it my time to soar?

Sometimes I do soar
Usually when I sit and write
Or when I connect with a friend again
How does it happen? this spirit that opens a door
To show me this
Here is the way.

I am impatient to find the way
Just take me to that place where I soar
How is it I get stuck like this
Stalling out on what to write
Unable to find the door
Surrounded by fog – again.

I sit down again
And take time to find a way
Scanning my soul for the door
to open – to let soar
And so I write
Another line – only this.

My pen moves writing this
Cherry picking words again
Letting them drop on the page as I write
Juggling them to place them in a new way
Releasing them in order to soar
Letting them make their way to the door.

The words stop at the door
And disappear through this
keyhole where they emerge to soar
Let loose again
Finding their own way
Onto the page where I write.

As I write I step through that door
My way appears through all of this
And so I know again – that I can soar.

It all started with the turkey gravy. It was sick looking broth and Ann knew exactly how to get it darker – turn the heat on high and scorch it. As the kitchen started to fill with smoke, I opened doors and windows, wondering why the smoke alarm wasn’t responding. But then it did – not just a shrill howl, but a wailing siren with whoop, whoops interspersed with wow, wows. The outdoor lights started flashing.

I opened all the doors and windows. The neighbour came over to see what was happening — he suggested we had to enter some kind of code in the security system to shut off the alarm. Ann couldn’t remember the security code. Finally the alarm quit, but the outdoor lights continued to flash. We ate our dinner. Drank our wine. Groaned about how much we had eaten.

For some reason, I was given the task of figuring out the alarm system and how to turn off the flashing lights. I didn’t mind — I got out of doing dishes. At least I didn’t mind until I pushed a few wrong buttons and the security system showed that it was armed. Oops. We waited a few minutes. No alarm sounded. I opened the front door and the alarm responded with a harsh shrill that wouldn’t stop. Oh my.

I tried entering the last four digits of the phone number. The alarm continued.”Ann – you have to call the owners and get the code.”

Christmas evening – will they even be at their winter home?

Daisy the dog ran around the house. I paced the floor. Ann calmly phoned the owners and went into a long-winded explanation of all the details of what had happened.

“Ann – just ask them for the code!”

Four simple numbers, entered in the right order as I held my breath. The alarm stopped. The outdoor lights quit flashing. Whew.

Now I am traumatized. It’s nothing serious, like what soldiers would have experienced, but every time I walk by the security panel, I look at it sideways to make sure the little green ready light is on. I open doors cautiously, somehow expecting the alarm gods to scream. The security code is burnt into a corner of my brain. Just in case.

And I will be checking my fingernails over the next few months.

Now I understand the saying “sitting on pins and needles.” Your whole focus would be on that one sensation and everything else would be a blur. I have things I should do, could do, like finally write some press releases, but I am finding it hard to concentrate. All I can see in my mind’s eye is the UPS truck pulling up to the gate, me rushing down to take the box from the driver’s hands, cutting open the box and pulling out the book.

I can’t seem to think about what comes after that. What if I open the book and I see a glaring error? What if . . .? What if . . .? I close my mind to the fearful thoughts, pull myself back to the present, and decide to clean the house. I might not be able to get my mind to focus, but I can get my body to vacuum, dust, wash windows. The act of moving my body will calm my mind and keep me from creating scenarios for the future. When everything is polished and shiny I will be able to sit down and write that amazing press release. And think about something other than the delivery of my book.

Experience Victoria at bench level.

In Victoria—Bench by Bench, Rebecca Kennel takes you on her journey of discovery in and around spectacular Victoria, British Columbia. Visit historic sites and gardens; cemeteries and viewpoints; shipyards and restored creeks. Using pieces of local history and personal reflections, she introduces you to over 60 benches and inspires curiosity and creativity.

Whether you are here for a day, have lived here all your life, or wish you were here this delightful guidebook will be a rich experience and you will gain a unique perspective of Victoria.

Includes:
• maps, addresses, and GPS locations
• nearby Harbour Ferry, Hop-on Hop-off, and city bus stops
• where to park your car or bike
• locations of public toilets
• places to eat and drink
• wheelchair accessibility

For more information, visit benchbybench.com

Preface

I didn’t really intend to write a book about benches—I was looking for a way to turn my ‘round the world trip blog into a book. When I heard that Julie Salisbury was offering an InspireABook™ weekend workshop, it seemed like the perfect tool to make that happen. However, as I was going through the pre-workshop assignment, I realised that the ‘round the world book was too complicated for a weekend project. It would be more beneficial to choose something simpler, like the writings from my favourite benches around Victoria.

At first it was just an exercise to learn the process that Julie teaches: how to organize your material, how to publish, options for marketing. But, as I worked through the assignments and received feedback from the other participants, I decided to write and publish my benches book.

The group of authors from the workshop continue to meet and have provided me with feedback and support. I thank all of them for helping me turn a vision into reality, especially Jo-Ann Loro for her design layout and photo advice.

My “bench writings” started before the book was even considered. June Swadron’s “‘Write’ Where You Are” workshops nudged me back into a habit of writing. June’s special talent for facilitating writing groups pulled the words out of me. I started writing, not only for myself, but to share with others.

My special writing friends, Nan Campbell and Deb Jones, listened to me read and helped me find my voice.

Words on a page make more sense when the grammar, punctuation, and spelling are correct. Esther Hart’s critical eye and ability to cut away the unnecessary eased the transition from draft to final copy.

When I decided I needed maps for each chapter, I put out a call on Twitter, using Victoria’s hashtag, “YYJ.” Margaret Hanson responded within minutes of my request. I was delighted when I met Margaret, as she is both personable and professional.

Structure, advice, encouragement, and inspiration were what I needed to create this book, but through it all I received support from my family and friends. Most of all, Galen, my husband, has supported me in every way.

My thanks to all of you.

Introduction

A woman sits on a bench in the rose garden, a book open on her lap. Her daughter, feet dangling, snuggles next to her. They come here to be together. To read. No distractions. Just them, the bench, the birds, the flowers. Stopping together. Outside.

Some guidebooks encourage you to keep going. This book is to encourage you to stop.

I started my search for benches when I first came to Victoria. Sometimes I would wander, turning left or right on a whim. Sometimes I would pore over a map, looking for the little green, shaded areas that represent parks. I searched for two reasons. One was to discover this place that I had moved to—the landscape, the history, the buildings, the people. The other was to re-create myself. Who was I now that no one knew me? When people would ask me, “What do you do?” I had to have an answer. “I walk around. I stop. I look. I listen.”

I searched out places to write. I would walk until a bench caught my eye, then sit and write what I saw around me. Write whatever came out, squiggly lines on a page. Some might call it creative writing.

This book is about creativity. Giving you permission to take some time for yourself, to feel your feet on the ground. To really see the world around you, and in seeing the world, open that door to allow your creative expression to come out.

This is about discovery. To discover something that you didn’t know or understand before, to see something spectacular. How will you see the bridge open for that special boat if you don’t sit here? The sea lion lifting its head to sniff the air. The flower turning to face the sun. The beauty in the bark of that gnarly tree. The dead grasses, buffeted by the wind. The sea gulls, hovering and diving, flying for the fun of it.

This is what I want to capture, inspiring you to experience the simple things around you, and through this experience, to open up a little, to let a sense of calm and playfulness come in.
While working on this book I set off to document that perfect bench, a place sheltered from the wind, or with a great view. But I don’t have time to pause long, just long enough to capture the essence of the place. I have to keep going to the next bench.

I am caught, rushing about. I sit. I breathe. I force myself to become still. It works sometimes. Trying to find that elusive balance between my to-do list and my attempt at stillness. How can I stay in a creative groove, in touch with my core, and still get everything done?

Our culture has taught us busyness. We love our to-do lists and our efficiency and productivity. We brag about how busy we are. And then we schedule in the spa time and the weekend workshops that promise relaxation. We dream of retirement, but we never really learn how to stop, to become still.

I stop at Quadra Park where Belleville meets Oswego. Three benches, surrounded by tall trees just beginning to show hints of green leaves. Flowers and shrubs surround me. It is nice and protected, the sun filtering through the branches above me. The breeze plays in the treetops and barely touches me. This is a little oasis, so close to everything, but just removed enough to feel secluded. Activity all around, but no one stops to sit.

I walk through the Native Plant Garden in Oak Bay. What a tranquil, energizing place, right beside Beach Drive. Here’s a table, tucked in amongst the trees. It looks like no one ever sits at it. Farther down the path is a bench by the pond. It calls out to me “Sit here! Sit here!”

I sit and take out my little sketchbook. This is part of my attempt at learning to see. I bought the smallest sketchbook I could find. I thought it wouldn’t be as intimidating as a big one.
I take a deep breath and try to see what is in front of me. I stare at the pond and the plants around it. I am supposed to close my eyes for five minutes, then open them and draw.
I don’t think I have five minutes. I’m getting hungry and I really need to write something, not draw. Maybe tomorrow I will be able to find five minutes. . .

I am caught in my own schedule, my own reluctance to actually stop. How am I supposed to write a book about sitting when I can’t even do it myself? Just sitting. No wonder no one does it. It’s too complicated. It is too much work to just sit. And breathe. And see. And feel. Without incessant activity, the space around us opens up. And panic sets in. I should be doing something.

But I stay a little longer. I get used to it. Sitting. Outside. No other distractions. No laundry to fold or dishes to wash.

Come to a bench with a friend to sit together. Come alone. I invite you to go exploring, check out the benches in this book, and find your own favourite places. Take the time to stop and look at the world through fresh eyes. Create some time for yourself to just sit.