I Read a Book (I Read a Book!!)

I got a few new-to-me books for Christmas. Yes, I received the best kind of book there is to get. A book that has been read, enjoyed, studied, approved and passed along. A pre-approved book. Best gift ever!

I sat down with both books at my side yesterday morning, waiting for them to speak to me.

I had leafed through one as soon as I received it. Great book! Great ideas! Good motivation!! I'll wait until the New Year and then I'll take action, is what I thought. Why not start yesterday? It is a pick up and start anywhere kind of book. Why not now?

That book didn't speak to me yesterday.

So I picked up the second book. I read the forward. I read the back cover. I leafed through the first chapter. I read the last chapter.

I flipped and flopped my way through this book. But I had to try too hard. I really, really wanted to curl up with a book and lose myself and my thoughts in it.

That book didn't speak to me either.

I wandered into a most excellent reading room. Our abandoned upstairs bedrooms are having a hard time defining themselves. I loosely refer to them as "the spare room"; "the TV room"; and "Mom's room". As I directed my son towards what he was looking for the other day, he didn't understand my code. Our upstairs bedrooms are looking for an identity.

Yesterday, I further identified "the TV room" (the room with a TV; a folded out futon awaiting guests; Mom's love seat; a closet filled with tax papers, Mom's books and spare linens; and Mom's bedroom trunk - what would YOU call it?) as a very good place to read. I grabbed my coffee, a blanket and waited for one of the many books within the room to speak to me. And one did ...

"Life as We Knew It" - Dad's family's book of history, memories and stories almost jumped out of the bookshelf and into my hands. I have two copies. My copy and Mom's copy. I opened the cover and found my handwritten message to Mom:

"Mom, 'You' are my inspiration. Listening to you tell your stories my whole life has led to 'stories like this' ... Thank you for all of your suggestions. If it wasn't for you telling me to talk to friends and neighbors, this book would not be what it is. I think 'this' is good (at least good enough). ~ Colleen"

The idea was born the fall of 2008; seeds were planted throughout the following six years; by fall of 2014, "the book" was finally (finally!!) in the hands of Dad's family.

I spent hours days weeks reading, rereading, rewriting, editing, re editing and scouring those pages for errors before I sent the final, FINAL copy to the publishers and felt the book was ready enough to print. I held that book in my hands and I felt like I had accomplished something. My heart and soul went into those pages.

Suddenly I reheard my thoughts. My heart and soul went into those pages? This book was NOT about me. It was about Dad's family. Oh no! What had I done? I had put too much of myself into this project.

I tried to read it. I picked up the book after it was printed off for posterity. I found errors. I went through all 55 copies of the book to correct the errors I had found. I had to stop reading before I found any more mistakes. I corrected the main document and I have ordered 12 more books since that date.

Whenever I picked up the book, I could only read it as an editor. I have used it as a reference and gone to it to look up information. But I couldn't just read it.

Yesterday, I read it.

And it was good. It was just fine. Just the way it was. I read the book like any member of our family and I actually enjoyed it.

Of course I had the inside scoop within the stories that were told and I think the reason I actually did find myself inserting myself into the book, was to give the reader the feeling I felt as I collected and assembled the stories. I tried to put the reader in my shoes as I gave each chapter a quick overview so the reader wouldn't have to read every word to get the essence of the pages which followed. It was okay.

The pages which followed were stories right out of the mouths of the story tellers. I heard the voices of my uncles and had fond memories of the laughter and the visits we had as I collected these memories. As I read the words, I remembered more of the conversation and hoped it hadn't been omitted. It hadn't. I may have reordered some of those memories but they weren't forgotten.

I defined myself as "Collector and assembler of memories", which is a very apt description of the role I played putting these memories down in writing and recording them for generations to come.

As I scanned the photos inserted into our collection of memories, I couldn't help but stop a little longer at the more recent pictures. One picture in particular, taken in 2007, a 50th anniversary of one of Dad's brothers. Eleven years ago. Ten people in the photograph. Four have died. Three of those four contributed memories which were included in our book of family history.

"This" is why it is so important to follow through on an idea. "This" is why it is vital to write things down. "This" is why it is important to say what you want people to hear. "This" is why we must set things free when they are less than perfect. "Good enough" was the phrase I had to live and breathe as I let this project go.

These were the words I wrote as I sent this book off to press:

It is hard to say 'good-bye' to this project but its time has come. I must let go and set it free. I hope you can feel the pleasure I had putting this together as you read the words. If you can ... my work here is done. This is not "The End". It is simply "Good Enough"  ... (for now)

I reread those words as a reader (not a writer) and I believe "good enough" WAS enough.

Home for Christmas (and loving every moment of it)

Life has been quiet. I have been on holidays for eight days and I haven't strayed far from home other than absolutely necessary. It has been ... perfect.

My life has evolved over the course of the past several years. From daycaring, to Momcaring, to the year which followed. A year of work, rest and a LOT of vacation time away from home.

I'm a homebody. I love home. I love quiet. I feel like I could envelope myself within this tiny little world and it would be enough. 

I keep beating myself up for not having the ambition I "should" have. Where has it gone? Will it return? When do I start "filling myself up" by achieving small goals and tending to everything within this oasis I call home?

These are the conversations with myself:

"The Year of Mom" took a toll. I came home to work, regroup, tend to what needed tending and then went back to Mom's. Rinse and repeat. Over and over. I did this until it didn't need to be done.

Then I rested.

"The Year After Mom" took its toll in its own way. Who was I if I wasn't looking out for Mom's best interests? Before and after her death, Mom was my priority. I could hear her words and remember her eyes as I mulled over conversations of the past. Mom accompanied me through that time long after she left our world. She was a force to be reckoned with. 

After I had done all I could do, I broke. I fell into a million tiny pieces and I had to put them together each and every morning to do what had to be done. I slept. I worked. I ate. Rinse and repeat. Over and over. I did this until it didn't need to be done any longer.

I started to become whole throughout the last part of the year. I woke up in one piece each morning and my feet didn't feel as heavy. I could do hard things and get through the days. I still lived for the weekend though. My definition of a perfect weekend is a weekend when I don't have to leave home. Home is where I most want to be. 

I vacationed. I didn't think I could. But I did it. I made plans. I followed through. I had fun while I was away from home and enjoyed every moment of the experience. But coming home was still the highlight. Home. There is no place like it!!

Then came "Christmas". Holidays without a plan. I have anticipated these holidays like no other. Time off work with no place to go, no expectations, no needs to be met. Christmas at home was the perfect gift at the end of this second Christmas without Mom.

I knew I should accomplish something with this time. I should paint. I should organize and cull the excess. I should write. I should, I should, I should ....

The "shoulds" started screaming at me. I heard little else until I shut them down. I would stay home. I would buy groceries. We would eat well throughout my time off. I would follow my whims and see where they took me.

They haven't taken me very far.

I have spent one day "Netflixing". I spent another day glued to an addictive "Word Wipe" game trying to beat my highest score. I have spent endless hours following the Internet path of where my curiousity takes me. I have done up a "preliminary 2018 income tax return" and know where I stand with my taxes. I read a book. 

I made turkey soup with Thanksgiving Day turkey broth. I boiled up Christmas Day turkey bones for soup broth at a later date. I have cooked a few meals. I have assembled easy-to-grab sandwich fixings for lunch. I made breakfast Christmas morning. I have supplied food for the season and it has been good.

I have talked with three friends. I have emailed a few relatives. I called my uncle Christmas morning. Even within this fortress of solitude, I have brought friends and family into my safe little bubble. All, while sitting here in my pj's. I have been having the time of my life.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. 

I'm a homebody. I love home. I love quiet. I feel like I could envelope myself within this tiny little world and it would be enough. 

I know enough to be careful what I wish for. What if "this" was all I could have? What if I didn't live in a world where invitations, interaction, work obligations, friends and family weren't at my fingertips? Would this be enough?

I know it wouldn't be. I know I have this incredible peace within me because I have a sense of purpose combined with strong, safe relationships with people outside of my tiny little bubble. 

My bubble wrapped little world. I'm not taking may risks here yet. I'll keep taking one forward step at a time. Peace and contentment first. The rest will follow ...

Perfectly Wonderful

The last few days have been simply ... wonderful.

A Christmas supper invitation took us down the country roads towards my Second Son's home. The sky was blue, the morning's fog had lifted and left the outdoors covered in hoar frost. It was picture perfect drive.

Our Christmas day was a perfect mix of everything one could hope for. A delightful visit, a most excellent meal and I couldn't have wished for more.

We left home about 2:30 and returned shortly after 9:00 p.m., a perfect amount of time away from home for a short Christmas getaway.

This morning started similar to another recent holiday morning. My Second Son told me he was planning to come over and help me out with a few things around the house. Yay!!

I found myself a friendly neighborhood handyman but he has taken ill. I had a small list of things to do (and the list seemed to grow while my son was here). Installing windshield wipers, a back door light, some blinds and hanging some pictures took care of the time my son had available to tend to my wish list.

I managed to put together a late lunch before he had to leave and I've had turkey bones from yesterday's meal simmering on the stove for the better part of the day. It smells a lot like Christmas around here.

I've taken down our Christmas decorations but they were up long enough. Long enough to breath in the season, take in the lights and add a little sparkle and shine to our home.

It was a low key Christmas. But it was perfect. It was enough ...

Christmas Morning

'Twas the morning of Christmas

and all through our home

nothing was stirring

not even this poem.

No stockings are hung

but I've hidden a few.

I'll top up their contents

in an hour or two.

Me in my pj's

the cats are astir

Kurt is still sleeping,

this rhyme's goin' nowhir ...

Our little family doesn't have any solid Christmas traditions. Gifts are low on the priority list and any gathering of the family is simply a bonus we enjoy as it unfolds. 

"No expectations = no disappointment" was my motto as I tried to raise my family not to set the bar too high on these hyped up holidays.

I woke up to a cat pawing and pawing at me as he vied for my attention this morning. Usually a quick scratch behind his ears will send him off to his corner of my bed in a contented sort of way. Not this morning. He bugged and pestered me until I finally got up.

"It's Christmas morning and he doesn't want me to sleep in!" I thought to myself as I started moving into the day. I thought our kitty cats had somehow enveloped the Christmas spirit and wanted me to get stirring in anticipation of the day ahead.

It turned out their food dish was empty.

I filled their bowl and stepped into the morning. And so Christmas day begins. A day like most others, with a supper invitation tacked onto our agenda.

A morning filled with little gestures of Christmas has set the tone for a day which will, no matter where it goes from here, will turn out to be a perfectly fine Christmas Day.

No matter what your Christmas traditions and expectations may be, I wish you a day which you can unwrap as it comes along and enjoy the small gifts hidden within this day.

Home for the Holidays - Second Day Better Than the First

I have developed a "Go With the Flow" attitude which I attempt to adopt into every corner of my life (renamed "Go With Flo" during a recent holiday with a good friend). I must tell you, everyone should adopt "Flo". She is a pretty good partner to have around no matter where in the world one finds themselves. The theme of my time off during this holiday season is to simply go with "Flo" and if today is any indication, Flo is a mighty fine holiday planner.

My day started with an early morning text that read "Just leaving ... I'll bring breakfast". Now if that isn't a perfect start to a day, what is?

The bearer of our breakfast meal was my Second Son. He was coming over to work on a role play assignment, with his Younger Brother. This was going to be a very good day ...

And it was.

I got to watch the creative process unfold as the two put their heads together to create the backdrop for this videotaped role play assignment. It was like watching a reenactment of their childhood. A car door was a required prop and when a spare car door didn't make its way into the day, massive amounts of cardboard made their way upstairs from my Youngest Son's room.

The props were pure improvisation. The script was followed with acting flourishes which (being on the inside loop), I fully appreciated. Last minute additions of a "drive along" had me in the back seat listening in on my Second Son ad-libbing his way along.

But the best part? Watching my two boys filming a small segment which would be dubbed into the final production (which had been filmed in our downstairs "movie studio"). This particular scene took place in my Youngest Son's car which is conveniently parked in front of our living room window.

I couldn't hear a thing. I could only watch their actions and facial expressions.

The scene was filmed, they stopped and watched the clip and they laughed. It took three takes. Each take resulted in smiles and laughter. The moment the camera was off, they were "on". Smiling, laughing and simply enjoying the process, the moment and each other.

I snapped a picture of the two of them in my head and quietly "photo-shopped" my Firstborn Son into the frame (he is presently holidaying somewhere near the equator). 2018 will officially be "The Year my Boys Became Brothers".

It started with Son One and Son Two taking on the West Coast Trail together (along with one girlfriend and an aunt to add more stories to the tale). Long story short, they survived. And so did their relationship.

Fast forward a few more weeks and it was the Family Reunion of Great Brother Bonding. My three boys did such a fine job bonding, they adopted a Fourth Brother to the mix. There are many fond memories that accompany this story but in the interest of brevity, I will simply say there was a new dimension added to the brotherhood of my three boys, who span twenty years age difference from youngest to oldest (my "adopted son" fit snugly right into the middle somewhere so he was obviously a good fit).

This Time of Great Bonding was enhanced by a decision made (quite possibly while "under the influence", but the act itself was carried out while all were stable and of sound mind) to go sky diving together.

I wasn't there to witness the event but there is ample video and photo footage available to prove it took place.

These events have been interspersed with communication between my three sons where I have not been the middle man. They are making plans among themselves and I hear about it afterwards or when I am invited to join.

My boys are becoming "brothers".

Coming from a family where my siblings mean the world to me, watching this bond very tenuously start to form warms my heart from the inside, out.

There are sixteen years between my oldest sister and my younger brother and our bond is strong, true, tried and tested. It is the real deal. My siblings are THE best gift Mom and Dad gave me.

It is a small wish, but if dreams were to make wishes come true ... this is truly the wish I would like to bestow upon my family of three (four, if we count my adopted son).

May this bond grow in time, may it develop an elasticity to adapt to the many changes over the years ahead and most of all, may they strive to strengthen that which is in its early stages.

There is truly no better gift than the way this day unfolded. I am grateful ...

Home for the Holidays - Day One

I have just sat back and savored my first day of holidays. How does one spell relief? "A-H-H-H-H!! Home. Truly, there is no place like it.

I am not one who is wrapped up in the Christmas hype. I prefer to "gift" when I see a need, a want or a wish I can fulfill. I prefer to "cook" when the stars align and I have food in the house and company over at the same time. I do NOT prefer to "bake" at all, but I don't mind buying a few shortbread cookies. And writing ... "this" is where today's story begins.

I have all but stopped writing. I felt like I was wielding a poison pen and spewing raw emotion and negativity. So I stopped cold. I didn't blog, I didn't journal, I rarely email and I no longer write my weekly letter to Mom. I thought my thoughts had dried up and withered away.

Then I wrote one Christmas card.

The magic of feeling like I was sitting down and visiting the person I had addressed the card to returned. My pen flew across the page without thought or design. I just sat back and visited. And it felt a little bit wonderful.

I refused to turn this card-writing thing into a job, so I just wrote as names came to mind. I didn't make a list. I simply wrote. I wrote seven cards. Then I quit. I sat down a few mornings later and wrote four more cards. Then another. Then a few more. And another today. It not only "didn't hurt", but it actually felt good to sit and write. Very good.

In the spirit of the holidays, I (finally) decided to bring up our (very small) Christmas tree today. I brought out a favorite decoration.

Then my collection of angels. And one string of lights. Then I sat back and simply enjoyed the flavor of Christmas which has now been lightly sprinkled around the house.

Good enough!

I have spent my first holiday of the season accomplishing a few minor tasks. If I can just keep puttering away throughout this holiday, I may be able to start tackling more as the days gain momentum.

I am over the moon to be home for the holidays. No pressure. No worries. Just putting one foot in front of the other and savoring the moments as they arise.

It was a good day. I cannot wait to see what tomorrow brings...

Heaven ... Right Here on Earth

I know I have been talking too much when I wake up in the morning and I have nothing left to say. I have no leftover words at the end of my days to catch up with me in the morning. I am blessed.

My old life was one where I was immersed in children, parents and routines with spaces to think generously dispersed throughout the day. Spending my days with a house full of children ages 1 to 4 years old left me quite alone with my adult thoughts as I manoeuvred us through our daily routines.

There were those moments under the sun though. The moments where I sat back and watched over my little people while they played contentedly. On many occasions the phrase: "THIS ... is heaven right here on earth" wafted easily through my thoughts. A small group of children playing in harmony - it is a wonderful thing.

I juggled routines, behaviours and personalities. We played a little, went outside when we could, had lunch, settled into our pre-quiet-time routines and then there was the other heaven-right-here-on-earth moment. Quiet time!

When people marvelled at my ability to run a daycare, I had only two words to respond to my capability as a daycare provider: "Quiet time"

I miss Quiet Time.

My role these days is much more interactive. I am challenged in new and improved ways. My most satisfying days are the days where I hear laughter ringing in my ears after I walk away from a conversation.

Quiet Time has been substituted with Laughter.

It is not a bad trade off. Not bad at all...

I think back on my last "good day" spent with Mom. Interspersed between the mundane, the ordinary, the serious and our routine chatter, there was laughter.

What I remember most of all is the laughter. We laughed in the face of what we both "knew" was on the horizon.

While Mom was in the hospital and the realization that we were near the end of her days dawned upon us, I remember the laughter. I recall thinking how disrespectful we must sound to those who were dealing with life and death issues. Until I realized "those people" were us.

We shared those moments together and the memories I have to hold onto is laughter generously interspersed with some tears. One was as healing as the other. Extreme emotion has to go somewhere. Tears can get the best of me at times but I choose to laugh. If it was me lying in a bed at the end of my days, I would choose to hear laughter over tears.

Laughter is a gift. Savor those moments. When the dust settles at the end of your day, listen quietly. Do you hear laughter? Can you feel joy? Do you hear those little moments that make your heart sing?

Look for your little moments of "Heaven right here on earth". If I could find them in the middle of a challenging daycare day, I'll bet you can find a moment here and there yourself. Perhaps that is why when I feel blue, I tend to look upwards. I feel like one small speck in the universe when I look skyward. It helps to keep "life" in perspective.

Look for what brings you your peace. Even if it is fleeting. Grab it. Remember it. Hold on tight and remember it. It is those "heaven right here on earth" moments that we need to focus on.

Simply Grateful

Thanksgiving. My favorite holiday of the year. The day has come and gone. I'm looking back on the weekend in my rear view mirror. And I am grateful.

Grateful for the many invitations that came my way. As overwhelming as it felt in the moment, I talked myself down and simply stayed still and quiet. Cancellations, changes and modifications allowed the past weekend to unfold as it was meant to be.

Grateful for the one small task that was asked of me. "I was wondering if you would do the stuffing..." I panicked at the thought. I haven't made stuffing for years. Stuffing is the second "recipe" of Mom's that I can make instinctively. The secret? You can't have too many onions. And you go by the way it smells. In the end, it smelled like Mom's. And it was good.

Grateful for my weekend guest. Having company pushed me out of my state of idleness and into a (more) productive mode. Having company forced me up and out of bed (when I would have normally "Netflixed" the morning away). Having company was good.

Grateful for the activity filled weekend. I live a very sedentary life. This past weekend I hiked the Beechy Sand Castles for a few hours one day; walked the paths by the river the following morning; then strolled through my son's hay field later that afternoon. It felt good to move. 

Grateful for a family Thanksgiving meal (that I didn't have to cook!). My entire family sat together at one table. We were joined by my sister-in-law (my sons' aunt). We were family. We were together. We were united.

Grateful for a "normal". And most importantly? Grateful for the harmony within our small family unit. 

I am grateful. Simply grateful.

It's Been a While ...

The last time I wrote here, I wrote about rabbits. I was determined to write about that which was sunny and bright; thoughts that were thoroughly digested, interpreted and had a moral at the end of the story. I wanted to write about light and easy. But I wasn't "there" yet. So I stopped writing.

If you can't say something good, don't say anything at all. Or as Mom told me her own mother's words of wisdom (in a rather hushed tone, because these were not her words and she didn't speak in this particular *vernacular): "Don't give up your guts".

Mom's words continue to waft freely through my thoughts. She was pretty wise, so I've been listening. There is a time to be quiet. This has been that time.

It has been okay. I have been busy. Life has been committed. I've been places. I've done things. I'm planning to do more.

I've been with people. I've been alone. I've travelled. I've stayed home. I've planned. I've laid back and gone with the flow of plans others have made. I've worked. I've idled.

What I have learned about myself right now is:

I prefer to be alone. Home is my favorite place to be. Planning is okay but it isn't what it used to be. I prefer to be idle.

When I am home, I do very little but gather my strength do what must be done. I numb my thoughts with food, Netflix and sleep. This fuels me in a manner where I can function. It soothes me. I am content. I am okay with this state of idleness.

I have discovered that one of my most favorite places to be is nowhere.

I savor the spot when I am in between destinations. Driving down a highway or all checked in at an airport awaiting a flight's departure and the feeling of weightlessness in mid-flight as I have flown off to a few destinations. I love looking down into the clouds below and marvelling at the orderliness of cultivated fields below.

When I cannot be in between destinations, I tend to find serenity by standing at the living room window watching for rabbits or birds or simply staring up into the sky and looking upwards. If I'm not in a plane looking down into the clouds, I find myself on the ground, looking up. I am looking towards the heavens to see what can't be seen. But simply feel the calmness of being in that particular moment. And it is good.

I am searching. I'm looking for answers. My answers. I am trying to find my way around this new terrain I am wandering through. The ground is solid, there are few surprises, a few forks in the road but mostly I seem to feel comfortable with the path I am on. But it is a path which has a feeling of going nowhere.

I truly believe that is just a feeling. Not reality. I believe this state of relative predictability is temporary. I can already feel the landscape changing. It is uncomfortable. So I come home to eat, sleep, turn on the TV so I can tune out my thoughts. So I can get up and do the next day all over again.

My live has a feeling of the movie "Groundhog Day" where Bill Murray wakes up to the exact same day, day after day after day.

I tend to feel like I have little control over the outcome of the day. I spend ten hours of every weekday with my two seniors. One, whose body is starting to betray them and as one symptom is relieved, it comes at the expense of another symptom superseding the first complaint. The second, who is fighting to remember things. "What day is it?" is one of the easiest questions to answer. But there are so many more...

Life as I know it revolves around these two souls. I am teetering on a very precarious ledge. I know enough to savor each memory, each laugh and each day like there may not be a tomorrow. But the repetition is eroding my spirit.

So I go home and replenish my resources so I can wake up and live the same day all over again.

I feel anxiety and depression taunting me, reminding me they are laying in wait. I have joined a group where they teach us where these thoughts stem from in, order to have the tools to confront and battle them. I feel like I am in the beginner class where I need to be in an advanced one.

I am sitting within a group of brave souls who are where I used to be. I am painting this group with a very wide brush because my opinion of "where they are" is based only on those who are brave enough to speak. I am not one of those courageous participants so I have no right to voice my thoughts. But I have "been there and done that". I have fought my way back after divorce, separation, heartache, raising children, career challenges, Mom's ill health and eventual death.

I found a passion to fight for at the end of each of these life altering events. I found a new, stronger, feistier me at the end of each path. I found courage within. I was grounded in family, friendship and support. I have not lost any of the above ... except for my "passion".

I wrote that paragraph and dug out the book I have which may ignite the spark I'm missing. "The Passion Test". I received this book at a time when I was living a passionate life and thought to myself, "Who needs this? I could WRITE a book on the subject myself!" It's too bad I didn't act on that thought because now I am the person who needs to crack open the cover and research this topic a little.

It feels good to purge one's own thoughts now and again. Am I "giving up my guts" here today? Maybe. But only because I feel quite safe on the other side of where I have been. I know I'm headed in the right direction. I simply have to find the courage, energy and motivation to take one step in a forward direction and I will be better than where I have been.

Here is exactly where I am at in this moment in time. Writing in this blog spot with my 4th cup of coffee; The Passion Test at the ready; and yes, I am dreaming of home renovations (thus the Bath Fitter pamphlet); and a whole stack of birthday cards:

And just to prove my thoughts are not all sombre and dark, I actually laughed out loud in the birthday card section of the Co-op store last night when I found THE birthday card I would send myself:

If I was looking for a "sign" that Mom was watching over me and wanting to tell me to lighten up, THIS would be it! It is time to get over myself and stop pushing cats around in strollers. Whoops! Too late. Been there, done that:

Everything is okay. I am surrounded in a world I cherish and am totally grateful for. As I take one tentative step into this Thanksgiving Day weekend, I am shifting my thoughts towards gratitude and away from the responsibilities I must face before this day is done. There is stuffing to be made, carpets to be vacuumed and so much more. 

Today's mantra for myself:

One forward step at a time. Just move yourself in a forward direction. ONE step at a time (and pull out the Stove Top Stuffing boxes as a back up plan).

We can do hard things. ONE forward step at a time!

*Vernacular: The language or dialect spoken by the ordinary people in a particular country or region.

Rabbits

I am over the moon that a young pair of rabbits are hopping by to visit on a semi regular basis. I have been fortunate enough to spot them every other morning.

This morning, the two young bunnies were hopping around in my neighbor-across-the-street's front yard which gave me a front row seat as I watched from our living room window.

My neighbor has a round pot sitting where a tree used to be, so there is a rim of dirt around the pot and it is edged with bricks. The two frisky rabbits found this rabbit playground this morning, chased each other around the pot, stood up on their haunches and peeked over the rim of the pot from time to time to see if they could spot the other guy.

They kicked up a little dirt as they ran. One rabbit was more interested than the other in this little game of tag, so eventually the less enthralled guy ran across the street to check out the flower beds in the neighbor's yard kitty corner to me.

There was less playing and more investigating going on in this yard. I didn't have as good a view but I always managed to keep one rabbit in sight. Good thing, because if I hadn't I would have given up on the "shadow" that remained after a person with two dogs walked by scared off the second rabbit as it literally hopped across the street towards an alley never to be seen by me again.

I almost gave up on watching the place where the second rabbit hunkered down into a well disguised shadow. Then I noticed a slight movement within the darkness and kept my eyes pealed. My patience was rewarded.

Shadow Rabbit made its way right into our front yard and eventually joined the family of three crows who were feasting on whatever they found in our yard.

One crow flew off when the rabbit moved too quickly. The others just looked up and ignored the rabbit as it quietly made its way through the yard. Neither one bothered the other. The crows didn't harass the rabbit the way they do our cats. Each of the species knew the other wasn't a threat to their existence.

It was the most peaceful snippet of nature to take in as my day began, Oh, to spend time just gazing out the window of life and enjoying what appears before you. There is truly nothing like it.

Happy gazing to you today!

Hello Weekend, My Old Friend!

Guess who came by our front yard to usher in the weekend? Three young rabbits!!

Unfortunately the second one got away before I could focus the camera but the first one stuck around for a few shots.

Then the third one appeared and I was ready to snap a photo before it hopped off into our neighbor's back yard oasis.

I remember years ago, when Mom first mentioned spotting a rabbit in her neighborhood. She wondered if a pet rabbit had escaped. One rabbit was followed by several generations and Mom's home evolved into a rabbit watching haven.

Last year, at some point, I noticed a rabbit crossing the busy street into our neighborhood. After that, there was a rare rabbit spotting right in our own front yard. Not many sightings but enough to give me hope that the rabbit was too afraid to hop back across that busy street and we may have gained our very own neighborhood rabbit.

When I spotted not one, but two, then THREE small rabbits this morning my heart jumped for joy. The rabbits are going forth and multiplying. We may have our very own rabbit watching haven right in our own front yard!!

I am ready for a few days of quiet, reflective rabbit spotting. I may perch myself on our front door step bright and early tomorrow morning. Morning seems to be the time they hop through our neighborhood. 

In fact, I have noticed they seem to like dandelions. This may be the best weed control solution I have heard of.

Hello, Weekend. I am so ready for you!!

Home, There is no Place Like It!

My West Coast Trekkers have returned. They conquered the trail, battled the elements, survived with what they could carry on their backs and made it back home alive.

I would imagine the West Coast Trail experience is as individual experience as you are. I am eager to hear everyone's individual stories, as much as I would love to listen in on a conversation among their group of four.

The beauty of the trail sounds like a universal "take home". Camaraderie among the fellow trekkers sounds like another. One example was a story about running low on food supplies which was immediately countered with a fellow traveller on the trail willing to share their excess.

The personal challenges of each individual will be interesting to hear as the stories seep out over the course of time. As assuring as it was to travel in a group, I'm almost as certain that travelling as a group presented its own challenges.

As the seventh day on the trail approached, I started feeling antsy about not hearing from anyone. The first contact was made at 11:08 a.m. on the seventh day. "11 kms until we're done the trail". Then nothing until 12:09 the following day. "We are all alive and well. Got off the trail early afternoon yesterday and found a motel ...."

Snippets of the updates that followed revealed the mental exhaustion of the prior week was starting to come to the surface. "Togetherness" is a wonderful thing. But for those who thrive on a lot of mental alone time, finding one's footing in civilization does tend to ignite one's homing device.

What started out as a trip to Victoria for dinner and the anticipation of leisurely enjoyment of living the good life with electricity, running water, dry shelter and readily available food sources became a non-stop drive towards home.

As the sporadic updates came my way, the first thing I asked when the bedraggled survivors showed up on my doorstep 27 hours after the update that "plans have changed a bit..." was if everyone was still speaking to each other.

It wasn't an easy "yes" to my question. I was a little bit relieved to hear the 54 hour old version of that answer, marinated in 27 hours of reflection after they drove the long road home. The answer was still a very positive one.

Upon their return to civilization, there were varying expectations, compounded by the high cost of holidaying in an expensive urban centre, along with a dash of various personality types meshing at the end of over a week of constantly being "on" and around each other.

The one thing my son told me was that he was surprised that he actually wanted to come home after this holiday. He has had the sensation of never wanting to come back after other holiday adventures.

If that is the "take home" after the West Coast Trail experience, I have learned all I need to know about such an undertaking. I am thrilled to see our home at the end of the street upon my return no matter how long or how far I have been away from it. There is a joy I feel within our home that is strong and unmistakable.

There is no place like home! There is no place like home! There is no place like home!



The West Coast Trail is a challenge many may wish to undertake. But for me? If I can force myself out of the house on the weekend to walk to the corner store to buy a Saturday paper, that is just as satisfying.

Home ... there is simply no place like it (in my humble opinion).

"This" ...

Memories triggered by a conversation with my youngest son brought about yesterday's post, which elicited a reply from my brother filling in a lot of the gaps, correcting and fine tuning my vague memories. Even at that, my brother had a few holes in the (much more) detailed memories he had, in and around the time he moved out of home.

Armed with Mom's old calendars and letters from her at that time, I thought I may be able to find some of the information he was lacking. So I set out on a mission after I got home last night.

I pulled out Mom's old letters and read everything she wrote to me in 1988 ...

"I washed six loads of laundry today ... one more to go"; she spoke of the endless ironing she did at the time while she had a grand daughter and soon-to-be daughter in law living with her. I remember her saying she didn't mind doing laundry and it seemed she preferred to do the laundry herself rather than having everyone do their own. 

She wrote of painting "Shauna's room", being so pleased with the new vertical blinds she bought for the room and the quilt which was the finishing touch. She had doors put on a shelving unit in the same room; she wrote of painting the bathroom, mowing the lawn every other day, trimming the hedge ...

She wrote about cooking for those who were staying with her, the people coming and going, the busy phone and one time she set up a writing space downstairs so she could "... keep Stacey company while she did her homework" and write to me at the same time. 

She wrote about her friend calling her up to go out for supper at McDonald's; sitting with the same friend so she wouldn't be alone after receiving some bad news; going over to the same friend's for a visit - not knowing for sure if she would walk or drive but the decision was made for her when she accidentally locked herself out of the house without the car keys; then climbing in the window upon her return home.

She wrote of the things she had to do, things that had to be done, an unpleasant exchange of words between her lawyer in Alberta and the lawyer in Saskatchewan as Dad's estate was wrapped up. Six months after Dad died, they were still in the process of tying up the loose ends. 

Our family dog, Tramp, was brought up on a few occasions - mostly because someone would need to be around to take care of him while she was away. She wrote of her decision to forego any dental work for Tramp to deal with his deadly breath, due to the fact that he was aging and may not wake up after the anesthetic.

She still smoked back then and wrote of getting her furnace cleaned, getting a special filter for her furnace and buying an ecologizer air purifier due to the fact that her granddaughter had developed a rather severe allergy to cigarette smoke. "I haven't quit yet but I've cut back", she wrote.

She wrote of the rather special connection my brother and I have which she said was pretty rare. She wrote a little about how she felt about me. Not much. That was not Mom's style. But I have her words in her hand writing, to have and to hold.

I tucked the year's letters back where I found them and tucked them back in their storage spot. I may go back and read the year 1989 another day.

As I sat on the floor with the box full of Mom's letters at my side, reading her words, seeing her hand writing, it was as if she was right beside me.

I heard her voice, I felt her energy and she was full of life. 

She wrote those letters to me thirty years ago. She was sixty years old, ambitious, energetic, motivated and she was in tip top shape. 

"This" was Mom. "This" is who she was. "This" is how she would want to be remembered. When all the memories of her last year with us fade to grey, "this" is what I will remember about Mom. "This" is what she would want.

It is a comfort to have Mom's letters here with me. I may never read through the entire box but it is good to know they are there. The months without her are passing and as time distances me from "the end days", my heart is at peace. 

I still miss her, but I'm letting her go ... "this" is what she would want.

I Remember ...

I was just trying to do some mental math, as I wondered how old my brother was when he moved out on his own. My Youngest Son and I were speaking of the future last night and I was just trying to draw some comparisons.

I remembered where I was when I read My Brother's first letter to me after he moved into his first apartment. I was still living in the first home we moved into when we moved to Saskatoon. I remember the landscape around me as I read and reread that letter...

I counted back the years. Since we moved to Saskatoon in 1988, my guess was my brother moved out in 1989.

I then recalled him saying he wanted to prove to himself that he could live on his own and support himself before he got married. He got married in 1990. My assumption was confirmed.

I can remember how I continually forgot the year my brother married. I guess I never made a mental note of the year. 1990 is a nice, round number and easy to remember. Once I realized and noted this, I never forgot.

Not too long ago, I wondered how Mom would have felt after her youngest child left home. I now remember when My Brother moved out, his soon to be fiancée moved in. Mom's nest wasn't left empty for long.

A light and easy conversation with my Youngest Son took me down memory lane for a rather delightful walk through time.

I can remember thinking all of the knowledge I gained through various courses I had taken could be lost in a fraction of a second if my brain suffered an injury. I laughingly said that I should insure my brain because it would be such a shame to learn all of this information and stand a chance at losing it all.

It is now several decades later, my brain is still functioning and I even remember some of what I learned back in my learning years. But "retaining information" is still in the forefront of my mind. I worry less about what I learned from the courses I took and worry more about forgetting what I was just told.

Our brain is a precious commodity. We need to nourish, exercise, appreciate and treat it with care. As we go through the paces of living our life as we know it do we really appreciate what a blessing is to simply ... remember?

Barley Soup for the Soul

While Mom was nursing her appetite back to health after she lost all desire to eat, she found a recipe for barley soup and we made it together. Making that soup was one of the most stressful things we ever did together as she loosely followed the recipe and interjected what she would do instead. She had to rest midway through the entire soup production and I was left with the remnants of the soup in progress.

Partially following the recipe's directions, complicated by Mom's vague instructions left me in the kitchen not knowing which way to turn. I have no natural instincts when it comes to anything involving cooking. I either follow a recipe to the letter or else I have two "recipes" of Mom's where all I have is her passed down knowledge. I had no idea what to do when those two worlds collided.

I panicked, crossed my fingers and toes, then hoped for the best. It was one of the tastiest soups I've ever made.

In the afterglow of this traumatic soup making ordeal, I realized what a gift it had been to be on the receiving end of Mom's tips. She never professed to love cooking but she made very tasty meals. I didn't appreciate those whimsical comments of "well, I'd do this instead" until we were savoring our tasty soup together afterwards.

Mom's appetite came and went throughout the time that followed. She seemed to enjoy food a little more if it was something she specifically asked for &/or shared her meal with company. So on a following visit with Mom, I tried to replicate the magical barley soup.

I had made the mistake of telling Mom how stressful the initial batch of soup making had been for me. So the next time she left me on my own to tackle the second batch of barley soup. We may have started the task together but before long she left me to my own devices and I did my level best to recreate "our" soup from before.

Needless to say, it was not the same. I don't even think I tasted it. I left one small batch in the fridge for Mom and froze the rest.

She never did comment (to me) one way or the other about my soup but it was still in the freezer when she died. So I packed it up and took it home with me.

One of Mom's superpowers was taking something that didn't taste quite right and knowing exactly what to do to better it. Adding an onion, tomato juice, soup base &/or frying something up would often save a meal others may have thrown away.

I am presently in the process of trying to eat our way through our groceries and Mom's soup kept rising to the surface of something I felt ready to take on.

I tackled it this morning. I added some brown gravy, onion and chopped up some celery (Mom would have NEVER added celery, but I did) and hoped for the best.

I wasn't hungry, but I sampled it anyway. The celery was a little crunchy (Mom may have been right about the celery) and it could be a tad on the salty side. But? It tastes okay. It may even be classified as "good".

I thought of Mom and me in her kitchen making that initial batch of soup. She didn't have the stamina to do the job on her own but having me be her right hand cook was a good compromise. The result was a soup done according to her specifications, I learned a thing or two but most of all, it is the memory I hold onto. Even though I felt a blog titled "56 Years of Mother/Daughter Bonding Undone With One Batch of Soup" coming on at the time, it is still a little nugget from last year I have retained.

This morning, I stirred up Mom's soup and thought of that day. I remembered the relief in watching her eating and enjoying a rather hearty meal together.

Mom would comment, "Some live to eat; I eat to live". Food was never a source of entertainment or comfort to Mom. She ate what she needed to eat, enjoyed her cookies, an occasional O'Henry chocolate bar, Drumsticks and my sister's chocolate fudge at Christmas. But for the most part, food was not a big ticket item on Mom's things-that-brought-her-joy list. She ate to survive.

She did her level best to eat enough to survive but her illness took over and her relationship with food never quite recovered.

I sit here in my kitchen, taking in the aroma of Mom's barley soup and I'm grateful. Grateful for Mom's Barley Soup for the Soul.

Life's Little Blessings

When we wake up each morning, sheltered from the weather, secure in our environment, with the knowledge that clean water and food sources are accessible we are fortunate.

When we wake up each morning, with the ability to put our feet on the ground beneath us and walk, see where we are going and hear the world around us we are blessed.

When we wake up feeling a little off but it passes within the minutes, day or even several days later we are lucky.

When we wake up with a peaceful heart and are surrounded by walls where serenity rules we are beyond blessed.

When we wake up each morning, we should take a moment to count those very blessings before we place our feet on the floor and take our first step forward.

When we wake up counting our blessings, it strengthens our spirit and resolve to confront whatever the day has in store.

May you focus on your blessings today and allow your load feel a little lighter.

The Easy Life

As I sit here living the good life - a life with a roof, clean water, ample food, easy transportation and a bed to sleep on each and every night - I can't help but think of those who don't have easy access to all of the above.

Presently, two of my three sons are out conquering the 75 km long West Coast Trail. They left on their adventure on Sunday. It is now Friday. They have carried everything they need to survive on their backs, spent five nights camping under the stars in (what appears to be) fairly decent weather. 

This morning, they should be nearing their destination. According to the Weather Network, they have woken up to light rain this morning, with 10 to 20 mm of rain predicted throughout the afternoon and evening, with 100% probability of rain overnight.

They have been walking for five days. They are supposedly headed towards the "easier" end of the trail. "Easy" being a relative term, I assume, after conquering the arduous challenges at the beginning of their trek.

Their packs should be a little lighter, having eaten five days worth of their food rations. But the idea of packing up a wet tent to carry on for what should be near the last day(s) of their trek is daunting to me.

My sons are accompanied by their aunt and a girlfriend. I can only guess as to the conditions they have walked through, challenges they have overcome as they test their endurance.

Why people voluntarily sign up for this challenge is beyond my comprehension, yet they do. There is consolation in the knowledge that this is a choice they have made.

As I wake up to a morning where our predicted heatwave is offset by driving to work and working in air conditioned conditions. I am sheltered from all weather conditions, good or bad, yet I still seem to find challenges within the days.

As I pack a light lunch and consider the possibility of picking up some take out item for supper and know that I have a reliable and comfortable ride home at the end of the day, I really must remember life as I know it IS a walk in the park.

There are so very many of those who cannot say the same. For those who do not choose the conditions they are living in and through, I cannot begin to to imagine. 

May your pack feel lighter today. And if you find yourself walking through the rain, tread carefully and may you enjoy nature's shower...

Reaching Out

I have few of my own words this morning as I sit here within my calm and peaceful world. I am blessed in more ways than I can begin to count. But there are so very many who are in a state of struggle.

We all work through the challenges in our lives in our own unique ways. We all do what we have to do to get through the day.

All I can say from my own personal experience is when you come home from a day in the battle field and all you can do is climb into your pajamas and close out the day, be gentle with yourself. When tears accompany this lethargy be careful.

Take what you need for yourself. This is a time to be greedy.

As a person who gains strength from solitude, I know how hard it is to reach out when you are feeling at your lowest. Try anyway. Try...

 If you notice a person within your world who may be struggling, reach out. Open a door and invite them to walk through. They may or may not accept your invitation. Don't forget them. Trust the "pause". What sounds like "no" may mean "not yet". Or it may be "no". And that is okay too.

We’re not going to understand everything that happens in life. When we try to figure it all out, we become overwhelmed.

May you trust in the big picture of your live. Trust the dead ends, remember that "this too shall pass" when you hit turbulent waters.

Relinquish the need to control a situation. Relax. Trust that it will all work out in the end. If it doesn't work out, it is not the end.

"Be still and know. Then do. That is all."

Glennon Doyle

Glennon Doyle says what I wish I could. Thank you, Glennon.

He Must Have Thought I Looked Wealthy...

I was holding down the fort and working at my bookkeeping job the other day when a few maintenance men came in to fix a few things in my boss' apartment.

The older fellow left and a young lad was left to finish up, then update me on what they did, what they were still working on and their plan to come back.

I listened attentively to ensure I heard and understood the message well enough to relay to my boss upon her return home.

It just so happened that I needed to leave very close to the time the maintenance guy was leaving so I asked him if he was done for now because I would have to leave and couldn't leave the apartment unattended in my boss' absence.

At this point the young guy looked like he would have liked to vanish into thin air. He nattered a little bit and apologized profusely, "I'm sorry. I thought you lived here. I'm sorry ... I just assumed ..."

My boss lives in a high end seniors apartment. I often say if I knew I had only four months to live, I would live there. It is that "high end".

Was I offended that this young man assumed I was a resident of a senior's high apartment? Not on your life. I was complimented that he assumed I was wealthy enough to live there.

I guess I could pull off "high end" living. I just need to know I'm in my final months before I can afford to foot the bill.

My Question is This ...

This is a picture of "Ray", our senior cat in residence.

Ray has found himself a quiet little haven within this house he shares with his younger, annoying (at times), attention seeking younger sibling, "Jet". See below:

Jet has outpaced Ray in the race to become the largest feline in the house. Thus, Jet can no longer fit under this particular piece of furniture. So it has become Ray's "safe place to relax".

Ray can be found napping here each and every morning, during their quiet afternoon cat nap time and basically a lot of the times when I can't find Ray, I find him hiding out here. 

Thus my question is ...

... who is ever going to move this large, heavy and awkward cupboard to vacuum the massive amount of cat hair that must be accumulating there?

Does anyone have a special vacuum tool to handle the job? Inquiring minds want to know.

Will This Really Matter in Ten Years?

A simple quest sent me on a short journey the other day. I was seeking an answer I thought I had written down in a letter to Mom. Ten years ago.

Thus my journey began.

In sifting through a few letters during the time frame I was interested in, I found a paragraph I had written that intrigued me.

My youngest son was just starting the fifth grade. He wanted out of the class he was in and was desperate to escape by any means possible. There were no other grade five classes in his school so he begged me to let him either change schools or home school him. My request of him? "Just give it some time".

Ten years later, this incident rang the faintest of bells within my memory. It was akin to looking at a photograph and wondering "Do I remember that incident or do I just remember the picture?" In this case, I wondered, "Do I really remember this or do I only think I do because I am reading my own hand writing?"

Intrigued by this little blast from the past, I asked my son if he remembered this devastating, life altering, all encompassing incident from his past.

He looked at me vacantly. "When was this?" "How old was I?" "What teacher was it?" He couldn't remember.

I thought to myself. "This is a very good lesson for us to remember..."

No matter how devastating a moment may feel at the time, will you remember this in ten years?

I am fortunate enough to have many "ten years ago" incidents within my memory bank. I can remember the big stuff. Ten years later, all that is left is the lessons. The emotion I felt at the time is a distant memory.

Keep the lessons in life. Feel what you need to feel, do what you need to do, react as you need to react to get through and past the moment. Keep the lesson. Try to let the other stuff go. Try to forget.

Will this really matter in ten years?

A Mission Statement

So few words, so little time. I guess this is a winning combination. Except for the fact that I have been trying very hard to maintain the habit of writing each day. Morning writing works best for me and there has been a little "scarcity" in my morning hours. Thus I have not been keeping up.

In stepping away from the computer keypad and reflecting, I have begun to wonder that perhaps this is a good thing. As I sit still each morning and sort through the rubble of my mind, is it a positive thing to write down the minutia of my thought processes? I am thinking ... not.

I believe I need to set up some rules for writing here in this little space.

• focus on the positive
• humor
• light hearted life stories with a lesson
• writing from a scar (not a gaping open wound)
• less is more

A mission statement. I need a mission statement to guide my thoughts towards. Without overthinking it, I have returned to a cover letter I once sent off in my quest to become a weekly column writer. This is what I found: 

"I am a product of what I have lived, read, heard and witnessed. One sentence or glimpse of life passing by me inspires my daily meanderings. Sometimes deep and insightful. Other times food for thought. Then there are the times when life simply tickles my funny bone."

Two years later, I revamped that cover letter to read:

"Everyone wakes up with the same 24 hours ahead of them. Some of those days are special but most are just another regular day. There are little gems within each day we are given. The days that feel laden with burdens and worries don't last forever (though at times it feels that they do). But in the end, we usually come out the other side of a tough situation a little bit wiser and with a new appreciation of how extraordinary it really is ... just to live 'another ordinary day in our life'."

It can all be wrapped up by focusing on the little gems within each day. It's time to get out of my own head and look up. 

Craving Solitude, Creating Scarcity

There has been a scarcity of thoughts within. Not for lack of thinking. Perhaps due to the fact that I am thinking too much, while at the same time while I feel I am doing too much. Let me stress the word "feel". This is not a truth. It is only a feeling.

There is a heaviness of spirit I seem to take with me wherever I go. I am not the friend, sibling, mother or employee I used to be.

I don't feel the spark of enthusiasm and joy I used to carry along with me. I feel like people can see the cloud of doom and gloom over my head.

Conversations become stiff. I don't see the reflection I used to see in people's eyes. Something or someone has changed. I know that "someone" is me.

I am seeking joyfulness but I am not finding it in the company of others. I am finding it when I am sitting in a quiet spot at home, surrounded by all that comforts me. Leaving home, conversing, being social is hard.

I have to leave my home to go to work five days of the week. This should not be so hard. But it is. I loved working from home, from a place of security and solitude. Taking my work out on the road isn't as hard as it has been. But it has made leaving home on the weekends uncomfortable.

"I can do this," I prompted myself all weekend. "I can do hard things"; "I can do this".

By the end of my Monday, I finally felt like I was ready for the weekend. I had done all the hard things but accomplished not a thing.

*************************************************************************

I walked away from this and then the thoughts came ...

I believe the root of this feeling is the unspoken desire to run out to Mom's. Mom is gone. Her house is gone. I will never be able to run home again.

But by sitting here, within my home that is sprinkled with some of Mom's belongings, I feel her here the most. I can be still and feel her presence. 

I want to be home, alone and fill myself up with Mom's presence. That is all ...

Bliss - In the Eyes of a Momma Cat

I am convinced all I need to know could be learned by watching a cat.

I have no idea how much time was spent gazing at a new Momma Cat and her four kittens yesterday afternoon. It was akin to watching a fire, staring out into the ocean and watching for life.

Momma Cat sprawled out lazily while her kittens ate, played, slept and wrestled amongst themselves. The kittens were 25 days old and are just getting their sea legs. They weebled and wobbled and often toppled over.

They nibbled on each other's ears, they walked over each other, they seemed to instinctively want to climb up on something and those teeny tiny little claws were out in full force as they charted their new territory.

The look in the mother cat's eyes was pure and unadulterated contentment. She was lying in the middle of her world with her kittens all around her, chewing on her ears, climbing over her and she lapped it all up.

This momma was completely content and fulfilled. Her existence was defined by her need to nurture her little family to independence. I told her I wish she had taught me what I needed to know about parenthood before I had my first child.

By the time my second and third children appeared on the scene, I had learned enough to stop and enjoy those moments of complete and utter dependence a newborn child has. There were more moments of bliss with my third child than with any other. I felt like I may have had the look that momma cat had.

My first child however? I was living a life of fear, scarcity, dependence and I was in the thick of learning all I needed to know to survive away from my own family. I was a wreck. I am afraid if I was a cat, I may have eaten my first born.

Is it any wonder that I carry the weight of guilt on my shoulders when it comes to my oldest child? I did not nurture him the way he needed to be nurtured right from the start.

I had not yet learned what that first time momma cat knew instinctively. I was a mere kitten myself when I had my first. I didn't have time to learn what I needed to know to give him the start he needed.

I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry. If only I had the sense of that momma cat, things could have been so different ...

Hello Weekend!

Well Weekend, you have arrived once again. I was more prepared for you last week. This week I am on standby mode.

The lawn has not been mowed, the car needs gas and the fridge is hungry for some groceries. The house needs a good vacuuming, my hair needs a good washing and the windows could use a little cleaning.

There are things to be done, places to go and I have not done any of the hard things before this day-before-the-weekend has rolled around once again.

I am not sitting in a state of euphoria at the moment but that's okay. We create our own bliss and one cannot appreciate the wonder of life if you live life on a high note all the time.

I'm sitting comfortably on a plateau I know well. I don't have to rush while sitting enjoying this particular view. Everything important has been done and there is always time for all the rest.

I'm in a spot where I can sit back and dream a little when someone asks if I can join them on a last minute holiday.

I'm in a pick up and go mode where I can change directions at a moment's notice.

I may not have all the little details of life tended to at this moment in time. But I will. All in due time.

It isn't going to be the unplugged and blissfully quiet weekend I enjoyed a week ago but the next few days have their own hidden treasures within. Seek and you shall find.

Hello Weekend, my old friend. I look forward to your return and am grateful you are always on the horizon.

Signs

Signs are all around us. Some of them appear to be obvious. Others are hidden and full of meaning.

Since Mom died, I have searched the world looking for a "sign". The harder I look, the less I see. When I sit quietly, simply watch and feel the world around me, signs are everywhere.

A phrase within a song that is rich in meaning at precisely the exact moment I needed to hear the words.

A rabbit hopping through a mall parking lot, completely out of context within the situation and in plain sight so I wouldn't miss it.

The feeling within my heart as I sit still, try to understand and feel what Mom may have feeling as she spent so very many hours alone.

The day I prepared for an impromptu barbeque with my siblings, I felt Mom woven deeply within the day as I unintentionally recreated some of the best moments of the last "good day" I spent with Mom.

I hear her whispering in my ear, saying all the things she used to say in a particular situation. I want to silence her voice when I don't agree with what she said. But I don't, for fear that I will miss out on the good stuff if I snuff out the negative.

I feel her within our cat's eyes when he hid among the lilac bushes and recreated a scene from our ailing cat's, final days. Andre's eyes spoke volumes without saying a word. Mom once told me, "If I ever get sick, I want to be sick like Andre". His steroid medication masked the symptoms of his respiratory illness and to the unknowing eye, one would have never believed he was dying. "If I ever get sick, I want to be sick like Andre" ...

Mom failed to find the humor and perspective of being compared to a cat as her days wound down. But our little Andre taught me everything I needed to know to walk through The Year of Mom.

The conversations one hears by looking into a person's eyes; the weariness of spirit even though the body mightily carries on; the need for rest; the way they rallied as loved ones came to call and learning that letting go is the deepest act of love when you realize they have given all they have to give to the world.

Signs.

I am open to receive and accept any sign I can find. Maybe I'm holding onto false hope. Maybe I'm fooling myself. Maybe I'm seeing what I need to see. But when I feel the essence of Mom within a moment, I know that she is with me in some form.

My cousin posted a video of a hummingbird at the feeder her mom hung many years ago and faithfully kept it full. Throughout the years a hummingbird was never spotted but the feeder was replenished and full of hope.

My uncle said he had never seen a hummingbird at the feeder until this spring. Yesterday was the ten year anniversary of my aunt's passing. My cousin was visiting her dad when she heard an unknown humming sound from above. She looked up and spotted a hummingbird ...

A hummingbird came to visit at a moment when all my cousin had to do was "look up". As my cousin walked through that particular day, her thoughts were quite possibly full of thoughts of her mom. Her mom, who hung a hummingbird feeder years ago, faithfully believing if she kept it full the hummingbirds would come.

A hummingbird feeder was filled with hope. And the hummingbird came. A special gift especially for my cousin and her family, from her mom at a moment when a tiny little bird could say more than words could encompass.

Signs. They are all around us. Sit quietly and look up. You never know what you will see ...

Then Came the Light

This week has had the power to take me back to where I was several months ago. Triggers of the past arose once again.

This past spring was tough. My senior lady friends unknowingly recreated some situations and emotions of the last spring I spent with Mom. I felt the emotional pull before I connected the dots and realized my inability to just roll with things was because I had walked this walk before.

My heart was still a little tender and Mom's last spring is perhaps the point in her journey when I crumbled to my knees before they got strong enough to carry me through the rest of the year.

It is always the darkest before dawn. Spring was dark. Then came the light.

I felt some new triggers again a few days ago. My spidey senses were a-tingling and I knew I just had to pull up my socks, not take things personally, listen well and just do the next right thing.

I anticipated yesterday to be a tricky one to navigate. But I was wrong.

Do you ever feel like you have made a difference just by showing up? I have. All I did was walk in the door. And it made all the difference in the world.

This is the very same door that took all my strength to walk through all winter long. I don't know when it became easier. But it is easy now.

It was dark. Now it is light. I was weak. Now I am strong.

I'll just keep doing the next right thing.

The Day After

I am one day into the work week. It has been one day since I turned on the computer and my cell phone. One day. And it has all but erased the tranquillity of my "disconnected" weekend.

After I turned my devices back on and got caught up after my two day hiatus, I tried to walk away from these energy, attention grabbing pieces of technology. I didn't succeed.

I muted my cell phone, closed my email program and the only window left open on the computer was my budget. It wasn't enough. 

The magnetic pull of the computer kept drawing me in once the power button was on. I felt compelled to check my cell phone for missed calls or text messages that could be waiting. It was Monday after all. I needed to be available to those who employ me.

Except I wasn't.

Since I was home and my cell phone ringer was on mute, I missed a call that I should have taken. I answered the call that came on my land line but I missed the second call that came through on my cell. I didn't find it until hours after the fact. It was too late to return the call so I left it until morning. I shouldn't feel as badly as I do about this because I could have been reached at home. The old fashioned way. By phone. 

When asked how my weekend was I honestly replied, "It was WONDERFUL!!! I am definitely going to do this again!" The reply, "I hope not too soon..."

One statement deflated me. I truly believe it was not meant to impact me the way it did. It came from a place of desperation. But I maintain my position. I was home. Phone calls were welcome. I just turned off my cell phone and computer. I was not sitting on a mountaintop, away from civilization. I was home. All you had to do was call ...

Then again, is there another reason why this is bothering me so?

The feeling, the conversation, the unspoken words and the suppressed anger I felt by not being able to be reached on my cell phone reminded me of a conversation with Mom.

Mom detested cell phones with every fibre of her being. Except when she was the one who was trying to call. Of course she would try all other means first and the mere act of dialing a cell phone number was a last resort. So she would expect an answer. "Isn't that what a cell phone is for?" To be used in case of emergency?!

If Mom was calling me on my cell phone, I knew she needed an answer. I heard the same quiet desperation in the voice at the other end of the phone yesterday.  

Instead of climbing on my high horse and defending myself with the truth (I was home ... why didn't you call my home number?), I need to listen, reassure and affirm that I am almost always available to take a call. 

We are living in a world where we can be reached at almost any time, any place. This is a good thing in many ways but it is suffocating at times.

I suppose this is why some people are drawn to the mountains. If you can't reach me at home or on my cell, I may be sitting atop a mountain somewhere. Not any time soon though. I am needed here at home. I could hear it in her voice...

Father's Day

Father's Day has come and gone and I would not have even noticed, had it not been for those on Facebook acknowledging the day.

I am not a big fan of the Hallmark Holidays to begin with, but Father's Day is not a day that has been celebrated within my own little family unit for decades. The day is sort of a non-event in my little world.

I'm sorry.

It is not for lack of respecting, reflecting upon and remembering Dad. He was an honorable man and every time I utter his name, it is with reverence and admiration. He was the epitome of the "dad" I wish my sons had had.

He was a hard working, honest, respectful and good man. I can't begin to name the adjectives that describe who he was but in all my memories, he did not falter in being true to himself. He was who he was and did not alter his personality to fit a situation.

I saw a lot of his traits in my Youngest Son's dad but no one could quite measure up to Dad. His brothers are a close second but out of all seven of my grandparents' sons, I'm grateful Dad was the one we could call our own.

In this Year After Mom, my thoughts have become all consuming with Mom. Memories are so fresh that I want to write them down now, so I don't ever forget the small stuff.

Dad, you have been missing from our world so very many years. I dare not think of all I have forgotten. The little things.

I remember a lot. I think of conversations we had, things you taught me, how fortunate I was to know the side of you who was able to go away on camping weekends and go on SUMMER vacations.

I remember a silly side of you, your ability to laugh, the conversation we had when I was pouting in our trailer after your first heart attack and I remember you and Mom wallpapering 😲[astonished face]. You were human after all, Dad.

I cherish these memories because I know they are mine and mine alone. There wasn't a camera or tape recorder present to preserve and hold onto them. They are etched in my memory.

It is the little things that mean the most.

I wish I had a bigger stock pile of "moments" to hold onto. But there is something bigger than you that continues to keep you coming to the forefront of my thoughts more often than I talk about.

Dale was born three months before you died. He never knew you, yet he has embodied your persona in so very many ways. It warms my heart to think of the kinship of spirit you share with Dale. It's like a part of your soul wafted into his and became a part of who he has become.

Then there is your only son. Dad, you would have been so pleased with the person he has become. He is another father who is everything you were and perhaps a little more.

Your only begotten son was raised in a predominantly female world. He has a sensitivity within him and the means to communicate his thoughts in a way that makes me feel like I have a strong and faithful male role model within my world and someone my own sons aspire to emulate. His presence helps to fill the void you left behind.

Our lives without you began thirty five years ago. Your presence has never left us. Your future did.

You live on in our hearts, minds and souls. 

I may have overlooked Father's Day but you will not be forgotten, Dad. Even in those who never knew you. 

Disconnected Thoughts

As I lived the past weekend without my cell phone, computer and ever present WiFi connection, I had so much more energy without the pull of all of the above.

I wasn't disconnected from the world. I was simply unplugged from all gadgets that leave me wide open to send, receive and wait for incoming messages. The only connections I left open were the phone line, the television and the freedom to drive or walk wherever I wanted to go. I didn't have to go far. Everything I needed was already here.

Conversations were better, energy levels were higher and I was simply more "present". Due to my inability to dig into the archives of old texts, emails and blog posts I was forced to stay in the moment much more than I have become accustomed.

Yes, my thoughts drifted to the past but they didn't remain there. I took my pen and pad outside with me and let my fingers write whatever came to mind. Fragments of thoughts, house maintenance that needs to be tended and a five year renovation plan came to mind.

Without the ability to draw myself into thoughts and conversations that should be left to memory alone, I naturally ended up drawn into the present and looking ahead. Looking up from my technological devices was required to direct my attention forward.

I couldn't believe how many times I was drawn to check something on the computer. The weather, movie listings. my budget spreadsheet, my Air Miles balance (did I get the 100 bonus points I was expecting??)...

What were the first things I checked when I signed back on this morning? Emails and text messages. Anything important had already been followed up with a phone call. Everything else required no immediate reply.

Next, I opened my budget spreadsheet. I had the weekend's expenses (very few, may I add) to add to my monthly spending tab. Secondly, I wondered how long ago I had paid for the car wash I finally utilized yesterday. Finally, I confirmed the answer to my question, "How in the world did I afford to pay the bills last year?" I found the answer rather interesting.

In October of the year when Mom's health began to take a notable turn, I withdrew a lump sum from my pension. These funds were to act as my safety net while I dealt with the aftermath of closing my daycare and headed into an unknown future. Less than one month later, Mom ended up in the hospital which preempted all else. My daycare closed earlier than anticipated and months after that, Mom's health turned one more time.

Mom didn't really ever completely bounce back after that point. She rallied, she fought back and didn't show weakness. But something changed. I simply knew I wanted to be available to run out at any time and stay as long as I felt I needed/wanted to be there. And I did.

That decision is one I'll never regret. The repercussions were unimportant. Increased car maintenance, gas consumption was offset by a decline in wages. Unexpected expenses continued to arise and I just kept doing what it took to pay the bills.

After all was said and done, the amount of my pension withdrawal covered all of my budget shortfalls except for $1,200.00. After Mom's death, I promised my siblings I would keep track of my costs going forward and recoup them from her estate. Grand total? $1,040.00. So in reality, my shortfall was a mere $160.00.

One year before Mom died, I had withdrawn almost exactly what I would need to cover my shortage of income during her final year.

I have said it before and I'll say it again. Whenever I respect my financial limitations, extra curricular costs seem to be offset by an equal or similar dollar value of something I was not expecting. It happens all the time.

This past weekend, the cost of the hotel room for the night I did not pay for was only $13.00 less than the amount of my healthy eating grocery bill. Then, two unexpected cheques totalling $8.67 less than the cost of the hotel's cancellation fee I had to pay, in order to stay home.

There I go again. Trying to "balance to zero". Justifying staying home in the name of my budget was not even a consideration when I backed out of my plans last weekend. But when being home was exactly where I needed to be was rewarded with little financial windfalls along the way, I simply feel like I won the lottery.

Life is what we make it. I can find a way to justify almost any incident that comes my way. There is always a "plus" to offset any "minus". I just happen to be able to account for my choices in dollars and cents. This makes perfect sense to me.

I have spent the first four hours of today attached to this computer. I have one more blog post in me and then I need to walk away.

Two days of disconnection have resulted in an excess of words within me. Though I discovered that my brain to pen connection works very well when it comes to solving my daily word/Sudoku puzzles, my writing connection is wired to the ability to type my words onto a keyboard. The pen alone, cannot keep up with my brain.

Next time I disconnect, I may fire up my old Netbook for writing purposes only. Because there WILL be a next time. This I know for sure!