It was long abandoned and dead. Pushed to the back of the shelf, the palm sized digital camcorder had not been used in over a year. The tangle of wires promised a remedy, the charger and device had not been separated.

In search of refreshment, I stop halfway to the kitchen to observe my ten year old daughter. In a cartilage induced slump, she has flayed herself half on, half off the couch, her pony tail brushing the area rug.

“Bored” she said. Then her eyes came to rest on the natural wood chest that doubled as a side table. With a twist she flopped onto the floor and rose up onto her knees. Carefully picking up a pillar candle by its iron base, she continued with the wire basket of sparkling paper-mache apples until the hinged top was clear.

My journey to the refrigerator momentarily resumed before asking. “What are doing?”

“This used to be full of games, might be something to do.” She said. Her head already bowing into the cavity.

Reaching for the juice container, I am infused with a slight pang of guilt. I should offer to play with her.

Turning back from the fridge, she stood at the granite topped island that separates the kitchen from the great room. She looked at me and held up a rectangular wooden box. The contents clicked as she slid it onto the counter. “I am going to build one of those falling down things.” She then proceeded to unpack the box of dominos.

My thoughts drifted to just moments before. “When you’re done, let's video tape it.” The game had become a production and my daughter’s sense of showmanship ignited.

She finished building the domino fence long before the orange light stopped blinking to indicate a full battery charge. Impatience consumed another hour and the filming begun, complete with dramatic commentary and even a song.

Later that day the camera was pointed at one of our dogs during a run in the desert, the guinea pigs ‘popcorning’ (strange vertical jumps in their pen), and our cat’s lazy gaze. All of these simple domestic moments were captured onto the tiny video cassette. I was participating in a day in my family’s life.

The use of the video camera had an unexpected result. Looking through the tiny 3 x 4 lcd monitor, the gentle moments came into focus. In these days of stressful pre-occupation about the economy, difficulties in the workplace, friction with my children, family finances; I was aware of how much I have to be thankful for. All the other distracting and draining thoughts were momentarily off-frame where they belonged. Even behind the camera I was more engaged than I had been in months.

Only now, a week later as these thoughts tumble into a journal entry do I realize that the day I picked up the camera was US Thanksgiving.

As a Canadian living in the United States, I have always felt detached from this favorite American holiday. I admire the family focus it engenders but I recoil at the connection to shopping.

I often wonder about the salutation “Have a Happy Thanksgiving.” To give thanks is an outward gesture of compassion. It always feels more appropriate to wish “Have a happy holiday.”

The dominos splatter across the shiny granite surface, each pushing the next one down. The fallen henge silent as the camera moves in on my daughter’s smile.

Ultimately I found my own way to be thankful. Through the serendipity of closet, camera, daughter then family I give thanks and had a most Happy Thanksgiving.

“So what are your plans for the weekend?”

This is a polite and innocuous question that on Fridays relieves the need to talk about the weather. In the employee dining room of my employer, 200 diverse individuals come in waves at lunch time to congregate at communal tables. On this particular Friday, already a few mouthfuls into my salad I was more into my own thoughts than the repartee around me. I was about to respond “I need to get Gorman away from the village market and in front of Thederie to find out if either of them recognizes the other”. There would have been silence around the rectangular blue laminate tables and more than a few sideways glances -- this is not a group that knows about my writing pursuits. Out of context they might imagine me as a part time social worker.

The situation with Gorman and Thederie is a key plot point in a young adult novel that I am writing and it had been on my mind all week. I really don’t know how the scene is going to play out. This happens a lot. I become a spectator at the keyboard as my characters do what they are supposed to, somehow without my intervention.

In a different environment, for example at a communal table at a writing retreat or a conference my response would be understood. Writing is not my day job but it is never far from my thoughts. My characters poke at the psyche and occupy the gaps in my busy days. I do not outline but try and set goals that are like push pins on a road map. Natalie Goldberg in one of her books spoke of this technique. She was discussing the routine she used to write her novel Banana Rose. Natalie knew as she sat down with pen in hand that she had to get her character Nell to Denver (or something similar). I do most of my writing on weekends so perhaps I am less social on Fridays with a growing preoccupation of what the writing goal should be.

Natalie also recommends carefully planning a writing schedule, even if for only a short period. Make a commitment and show up. I block time to achieve four hours each week for writing practice and current projects. Saturdays are typically one of the blocks of time, sipping loose leaf tea while my daughter dances.

I find scarcity breeds a level of focus, give me a small block of time and I will light up the keyboard. Give me a full day and Monkey mind will have me doing everything but writing. For similar reasons, get me out of the house.

A while back I returned from a trip to Canada. Another very similar question was asked “What did you do on your trip?” For those that know of my ‘hobby’, I enthusiastically respond that I spent time writing in two of my favorite coffee houses. I had a sense of being in a great place and the accomplishment of writing for two hours at a round glass table at the Wired Monk in Crescent Beach BC, or reading the Red Ravine blog before writing at the Snug Café on Bowen Island. Writers enjoy very different landscapes when they travel.

So what are you going to do this weekend? Or tomorrow? Or when you travel? For the sake of clever conversation, there is always the weather, but look around with the pen or the keyboard, was it raining on you or your characters.

I am sitting in a Starbucks, cut from the same die as all of the others, but different.

The floor is wet with melting snow - stomped from boots, humid closeness, I can taste the wet wool. The chafing of nylon ski clothes mutes the house music. Beyond the steamed windows, in the diffuse afternoon light, the gray wash of sky makes the snow capped rooftops bright. It's a long way from my home in the Sonora desert. Whistler, British Columbia Canada.

I set out this morning to find a corner of a cafe to write. This is a very busy place on a wintry weekend. One of the signposts indicated that there is a library at the other end of the village. Certainly a practical choice but how could I explain that I went to a world class ski resort (even if the purpose was work related) only to go to a library. Such is the life of a writer, at least when he is not consumed by his day job. I do plan on experiencing this stunning landscape but not today - a bit too wet for me and my camera.

There is a scene in the movie 'Love Actually' (a favorite film of mine) where a young English bloke, not too clever, not too good looking, heads to the U.S. thinking he will be more attractive as a foreigner. As the world of movies would have it, he is befriended by 3 stunning young woman who ask him if he would like to stay with them, but there is a catch - they only have one bed.

To my right, pinned to the notice board is a wrinkled 8 1/2 x 11 sheet with a fuzzy black and white picture of two young women smiling. The caption reads, "2 in 1",2 persons, Swedish, No Home, Please let us be your roommate....Don't need much space, can even share a bed!...The sign offers no restrictions, eg: Gender, Non Smoking.....maybe the movie wasn't so wrong.

The lineup has grown and curls into this back section. Men stand with hands in pocket or with arms crossed. A few glance casually at the notice board. The younger males snicker and poke each other.

A man in his early 40's lets a smile drip onto his face as he reads about the 'desperate' situation of the Swedes. The woman beside him turns, the tap tightens and the drip, the smile, is cut off and vanishes. She scans the notice board, her reaction is altogether different. About to look at the man, the lineup shuffles forward - thankful the man reaches for his cash and the focus shifts to their coffee order. No difficult questions.