Regrets? I Have a Few ...

I must write fast. I wrote slowly yesterday and did not have time to post. My words took a turn I wasn't expecting and I had to walk away and go to work. I will try to write what I intended to write yesterday:

Regrets. I have a few...

Yesterday, I focused on the regrets I have. Today, I will steer the same ship in a different direction. I will write of the year I will never regret. The year? 2017.

I had been concerned about Mom for some time. My eyes were opened when we went to her after she broke her wrist. It was the first time in my life I had witnessed Mom in a weakened state, while insisting she was fine on her own. She told us there was no need for concern. My eyes and my heart heard otherwise...

I made one subtle change and it changed my world. I simply showed up.

My life was at a turning point where I could create the flexibility I wanted, needed and craved. I worked for two incredible people who took me on, knowing Mom was my priority. I wanted to be able to go to Edmonton on a moment's notice. And I did.

I went when my heart needed reassurance. I went when I felt Mom could use some company or to have someone with her to go to an appointment. Yes, my brother could have, would have and was prepared to be there for all of that. I went for him too.

Any time I felt the need to go, I went. I went for the good, the bad and the everything in between. I simply showed up.

Did I make mistakes along the way? You bet I did. Almost every night, I had to talk myself down off the cliff and forgive myself for the errors of my ways. "You tried" "You did your best" "You didn't know better at the time" "You know better now" "It's okay" "You tried"...

So many silly mistakes I made along the way which, in the end, did not make a big difference. The end result would not have changed. Could Mom have had a few more comfortable moments? Perhaps. But to make assumptions that she may not be up to certain things would not have been what she wanted. She simply wanted me to "know" without asking. When you don't ask, you make mistakes. When you make mistakes, you learn.

It was a year I will never regret. Do I have memories of regrets along the way? More than I can count. But I kept forgiving myself and doing the best I could do, with what I knew at the time. Which led to a year I know I simply did all I knew how to do. I showed up. Not only for Mom, but for and with and beside my family.

Regrets? I have a few. I would have far less if I never tried. I don't want to be afraid to try. So I will live on to regret another day.

Time is up. I've got to stop writing and live the day. I don't want to regret showing up later than I should have.

Fail!

All it took was one day. One day of deciding to just go with the flow of the day. And I lost what I had gained the past two weeks.

One day without exercise. "I'll shovel the snow and call it good," I used as my excuse.

One day without writing. I told myself, "I'll do it later."

One day without doing anything productive around the house. I didn't even try to talk myself into feeling better about that one.

One weekend at home. By myself. With myself. And I fell right back into the comfort of doing nothing. In fact, I believe I revelled in it a little bit.

I forced myself out the door to buy groceries yesterday. I had hoped that would start the ball rolling and I would accomplish something after I got home. I didn't.

It felt so good at the time. "I need this down time," I consoled myself.

I was so very wrong. Doing hard things is the key to maintaining my status quo. Maintaining my contentment. Maintaining my "happy".

It's never too late to start over. I believe I will try to salvage the morning by finding a "Slim in 6" YouTube video so I can pump some oxygen into my malnourished brain.

I will try to write better tomorrow. This morning? It was simply an exercise of discipline. To put me where I need to be to nourish what I found.

Don't forget what works for you. When you abandon ship and take the easy route, remember how much better you felt when you did hard things. 

P.S. The entire weekend wasn't a wash. I found laughter within my solitude. An auto-correct during a text exchange with my brother lightened the moment and I laughed all over again the next day, when I reread our conversation.

Then I watched snippets of Mom's 80th birthday program. It was a most excellent day filled with family, friends, laughter. Though Mom was not on camera, you could make out her answers when my brother quizzed her on some little known facts. Lastly, her thank you. Hearing her voice saying these words found a special place within my weekend of solitude:

"I have to thank you all. You've just been great. And you are a wonderful family and to think I'm kinda responsible for it, is the sad part. Apart from that, thank you for coming and the wonderful singing. And that's it."

"Is the sad part" ... did Mom have a hard time taking credit for the qualities she liked about her family? I wonder about the meaning of that little self deprecating comment. Mom did not give praise freely and wouldn't want anyone to think she was taking credit for the way her family turned out. But it slipped out anyway. She was so appreciative of who we were to her, to each other and I think she thinks we turned out okay. I think...

The Post I Didn't Have Time to Write

I organized my morning just right. I was out of bed by 5:30 a.m.; done exercising by 6:30; showered/hair washed and dressed by about 7:00; lunch made and even a side order of toast by 7:15; and by 7:30, I was savoring my morning smoothie & coffee while doing my puzzles while my son readied himself for his day in the half hour that followed...

I was sitting there thinking, "Ahhh! I will have an entire hour to myself to write, email and do one household task before I walk out the door ..."

That was about when the morning took a twist I didn't expect but was fully prepared for. My son told me, "I think my ride has slept in again. You may need to be on stand-by."

They were words I didn't really want to hear but I was ready. I brushed my teeth, poured the rest of my coffee in a travel coffee mug, grabbed my lunch and we were out the door.

I've driven my son to school on a few other occasions. But I wasn't ready to start my day, so that drive to school and back home to finish readying myself for the day added 45 minutes of travel time to my morning which did not bring me joy. I am living a life where I can be on standby, so I continue to be grateful for this lucky lot in life I seem to be living.

That one "bonus hour" I spent going directly to work instead of returning home and then slowly making my way out the door was nothing short of a gift.

I was completely and totally prepared and ready to go on a moment's (well, actually ten minutes because it takes me ten minutes to walk out the door no matter how prepared I think I am).

I saved gas by going directly to work and not turning it into a trip that was completely out of my way.

AND, I got to work an hour earlier than I anticipated. And get this: I actually get paid to go to work. So I earned some extra cash due to this unplanned detour.

Before my morning got derailed, I had intended to write a post about counting all the small blessings I found as I lived the prior day. I had forgotten to make notes along the way and that particular day simply felt "hard". I wasn't entirely certain what I was going to write but I was creating a rough first draft in my head as I was drinking that cup of coffee that ended up in a "to go" cup.

The blessing turned out to be an unexpected twist in the morning prior. A twist, which would have completely side tracked my morning only a few short weeks ago, turned into a gift.

The previous day, I walked out the door with lead in my shoes. Everything felt hard.

I didn't feel the euphoria that sometimes hits me when I complete a hard task at work. I planned to count "moving ahead throughout the day, despite the fact it still felt hard" as one of my small blessings that particular day.

I was going to write about the detour I took when I picked up some McDonald's for my son and I, on my way home from work. It cost less than the amount I had left on a gift card. So it felt "free". It felt like a blessing.

I had cleaned cat litter in the morning, so I didn't have to do it after enduring a hard day. I love remembering I have already done some of the hard things in the morning, so I don't have to do them at night.

I received not only one, but two personal emails that day. Ask for what you want in life and life has a way of making things come true. Especially when you meet "life" half way and create a space for those small blessings to find their way to you.

The weight of the upcoming week was pulling me down. I thought I would be working at my bookkeeping job close to full time, after my boss returned home from the hospital. So in lieu of carrying the weight, I asked her if she minded if I took off Monday and Tuesday, so I could be there for the balance of the week, when she got home from the hospital. She thought that was an excellent plan, so I ended up with an extra, extra long weekend away from my bookkeeping job.

"Ask for what you want" in life. Sometimes it is just that easy. Other times, a compromise may be met. There are times when the answer is simply "no". But there is peace of mind in knowing that you stated your case, presented your solution and simply asked.

My thoughts have taken a complete "180" over the course of the past few weeks.

Exercise? I believe any type of activity which pumps extra blood and oxygen into your brain is a most excellent place to start.

A good substitute may be simply getting outside, breathing fresh air, looking upwards and let what is weighing you down waft upwards into the universe. Set it free. Let it go. Let what happens, happen.

Writing? I knew it was a huge part of my answer. By the time words hit the page, there is a brain to fingertip connection which starts translating the angst, the sadness, the worry and the helplessness. As I continue to write, I seem to find my road map.

The brain to fingertip connection (for me) is mystical in the way it works. I always, always find my way through when I let my fingers fly. They often tell me things I didn't expect to write. The subconscious mind is all knowing. Try to find "your way" to hear yourself think, reason and come to terms with life as you know it.

This is my morning email from https://www.projecthappiness.org/

May you seek and find your "better connection" today. 

Possession Day

Today is the day the keys to Mom's home are handed over to its new owners.

When this thought first crossed my mind this morning, it was due to the fact that a snowfall warning showed up as an alert on my phone. "Trev won't have to worry about the snow at Mom's any more", was the passing thought I had.

This is it. The end of an era.

We moved into that house on November 1st, 1976. The only thing I really remember about the move is the fact that the previous owners had rarely cleaned the top of the kitchen cupboards and there was years grime and grease built up on them. Mom wistfully said, "I'll give you a dollar if you clean them!" I'd do pretty much anything for a dollar, so clean them? I did.

The last time I was at Mom's, I checked out the tops of those cupboards to ensure they were clean for their new owners. Granted, most of those cupboard tops are now covered since a sunshine ceiling was built, but what remained was clean. You're welcome.

My room was yellow. I made a quilt for my room and tried my hand at decorating. I even entered a redecorating contest a youth magazine was holding at the time. I didn't win, but at the time, I thought I had a good chance. I have no idea what happened to that quilt. I'm certain I must have taken it with me when I moved out, but it never made it to our Saskatoon home.

Little things.

I only lived in that house from November 1st, 1976 until February 24, 1978, yet it felt like a lifetime.

I got my first job while I lived there. I saved up and bought a bedroom suite, a 10" color TV and a none-too-fancy stereo. I was very proud of what I had accumulated on my own, to bring into my brand new marriage.

My wedding pictures were taken in the living room, with some somewhat gaudy looking velvet wallpaper as a backdrop to those photos...

Dad and me

Me and my mom

That was almost 40 years ago ...

I moved back home for about ten months after my marriage ended. All tolled, I lived in that home a mere 26 months. It was not about the time it was my home, it was about all of the years it was our family home and how it always felt like "home" to me. Always.

That house saw so very much. A highlight reel of occasions waft through my mind as I type those words.

"It's a good house for entertaining", my brother said to me during one of our last walk-throughs of Mom's home. Oh, the stories those walls would have to tell, if only those walls could talk.

That house saw us through so very much.

As I sit here and think of letting it go, I tend to think of Mom and Dad's lives ending during the years they owned that home.

Dad was far too young. His story scrolls through my mind ...

Mom's touch was in every nook and cranny of that house. As we went through the process of emptying, sorting and getting the house ready to leave our family, I wandered through each and every room and breathed in the essence of Mom.

The day she died, I could feel her presence when we came back to her house. She was still so close. Each time I returned, I felt her essence a little bit less and less. The last time I was there, I did little more than simply breathe in the moments. I could almost hear tell me to stay another day when the cold weather didn't break. I heard her. And I stayed. At the time, I felt I could have lingered in that existence between "then" and "now" forever.

Almost a month has passed since that day.

The only real reason I would have gone back, would have been to return her ironing board that doesn't fold. It belongs in Mom's laundry room. An ironing board that doesn't fold NEEDS to be in a laundry room like Mom's. It was not in the way. It served a purpose. Mom was always quite proud of her ironing skills and she had a room which made ironing easy.

Yes, that house was tailor made by and for Mom. And her family. Yes, it was a great house for entertaining. So many memories. So very, very many of them are light and easy and family filled. I hear the laughter, the voices and stories that were told under that roof. I hope the echoes of those days remain part of my memories forever.

 It was a good house. I hope it goes on to become part of another family's story...

The Hardest Part of the Day (is waking up)

As I gear myself up for another long day out of the house, I am sitting here reminding myself that the hardest part of the day is where I am sitting still (or lying in bed) and not doing anything about it (or convincing myself to put my feet on the floor and start the process of living a day).

Being idle and in a state of inertia is one of the worst places to be.

As I sit here and stew about this place in my day, I have decided to focus on the little things which bring the greatest joy to my day:

My morning coffee. It is less about the taste and more about the sensation that I am still, in the moment and treating myself to my morning ritual.

Arriving at work and completing the first hard task of the day. The first task is the hardest, so once it is overcome the rest of the day feels like a bit of a celebration.

Finding joy in the smallest of things. Running into someone in the hallway and exchanging a few words which result in their eyes lighting up and twinkling a little bit.

Making memories and getting to know someone I already know, a little bit better. I love the moment when I find out something new about someone I know well.

An email of a personal nature. I've all but given up on snail mail (but will never stop hoping for some). Text messages are okay but nothing (but an actual, physical card or letter) beats opening up and finding a personal email of a conversational nature.

Sitting in a car wash and knowing I can sit behind the wheel of my car, hands free, eyes off the road and those two and a half minutes are mine. All mine! The freedom I feel when locked in that momentary cone of solitude? There is nothing quite like it.

Sitting down on the couch at the end of my day, teeth brushed and everything is cleared away so the next item on my agenda is going to bed. My hand goes to my mouth and I throw away a kiss. Mwah!!😘 Le piece de resistance! THE ultimate best part of my day...

Hmmm...

The hardest part of my day is getting out of bed. The best part of my day is savoring the moments before I crawl back into it. With sitting alone in a car wash, free to move my eyes and hands away from the steering wheel of my car a close second.

Something is wrong with this picture. Or else I am simply very easy to please. It's one or the other. Or maybe a little of both.

I must step away from the computer and do all the hard things that must be done before I leave my oasis for the day.

I will count the small blessings I find within this day and report back. I have found a mini-notepad to place within my mini-purse. I will focus on all the goodness that comes from my stressful day away from home.

In Search of a Blog

The blog writers I have followed for years have either switched their focus to social media, abandoned the idea of regular posts (look who's talking 😔) or I have outgrown their blog for one reason or another.

So I have set out on a quest to find a "50 something" blogger who writes of life as they see it. I don't want to read exclusively of health, fitness, fashion, travel, etc. I simply want to read of their spin on "life".

I want to feel like I have sat down with a friend and had a conversation of substance. I want to read  how others navigate this phase of living:

• This feeling of drifting through one's days without a defined purpose after children are grown and parents are gone...
• Living with the process and reality of loss of a loved one
• The loss of "purpose" and having to dig deep to find something that truly matters, to help rekindle the spark.
• An aging body and what to do with it in order to keep it in good running condition until it is no longer required.
• Looking after one's health now and in the future. Ill health is simply not part of the plan, so preventative measures are probably a very good idea.
• Thoughts of finances and how one is going to manage them, while hoping and planning for a work slow-down and eventual stoppage of work and retiring.
• And what of this thing called "retirement"? What does one do to redefine themselves when the necessity of going to work each day stops defining life as they knew it?
• The emotional changes as one thinks ahead, reflects and plans for a future you know nothing about. 
• Moods that drift from fear to depression to anxiety and resignation. 
• The need to remain involved, positive, vibrant and alive. 
• A feeling of drifting through the days aimlessly until you figure out "all of the above".
• The need for solid and sustaining relationships as one walks this walk. 

I have found my greatest resources come from that which I already have. Maintaining and nurturing friendships when I have not had the time, energy or desire to do so is the spice of life.

Mom's advise to "surround yourself with youth" (and she didn't mean of a daycare aged population) is essential. Conversations which focus on a healthy, youthful take on living is life affirming.

Mom appreciated the relationships she developed with her adult grandchildren. I can only guess why this may have been the case ... when it comes to your children, there is always a part of you which is a parent and always will be of a parenting nature. Grandchildren (I assume), are a step outside the parent/child relationship which alters the dynamic.

These are the things I want to read about. I want to hear how others navigate these waters. I long for these conversations to be light, humorous but pack a punch with the meaning behind the lessons learned as we make our way through these "post 50" years.

If I cannot find it, maybe I can create a piece of what I want within this space here. Life as I Know It is changing...

The Ticker Tape of My Mind...

Thoughts are scrolling through my mind like a ticker tape at the bottom of the screen on a news channel. The highlight reel of the past few days would read something like this:

A perfectly fine Friday was spent meeting up with My Sister for lunch, at the halfway point between our two homes. We were accompanied by our aunt and her sister and a wonderful time was had by all. Roads were spring-like, the sky was clear and it was a great day for a road trip.

An unexpected invitation on Saturday took me out of the house and meeting up with my Middle Son, who then proceeded to take us on a country drive so we could go and check out the four, 1/4 sections of land Dad once farmed; passed along to Mom and is presently owned by all four of their children. 

It was another perfect day for a drive, the clouds parted and the sun shone through and smiled down on us as we walked on the soil that was handed down from Dad's dad, to Dad and his brother. The land has been sold to two great grandsons of Grandpa's. I could almost feel Dad smiling down upon us as we walked through all four fields. "I'll never wash these shoes again", was my acclamation after my son asked me how it felt to walk on the land my dad had once farmed.

Sunday was another day which was touched with perfection. Meeting up with a childhood friend for brunch (my son and I drove past her old farm yard, just down the road from where we lived) set the scene for a visit which lasted for hours. There is nothing quite like a friendship that transcends time. We've quite literally known each other "forever" and our conversation was that of someone you share a lifetime of history with.

It was a let down to come home at the end of that day and have the last few "plans of the weekend" be aborted without notice. Normally, I would relish in the unexpected gift of savoring the last few hours of such a memorable weekend by myself. But my contentment came to an unexpected halt after a brief conversation which took a turn I wasn't expecting.

Digging up the remnants of a life I once lived put a cloud over an otherwise perfect weekend. This is why I don't like digging up the skeletons of the past. I thought I had dealt with, resolved and come to terms with life as I knew it. The unfortunate truth is the "ripple" of a pebble cast decades ago still has the power to overturn my life raft without warning. 

Onto a fresh, new week. I don't have quite as many "hard things" to conquer this week. Simply opening my eyes each morning and trying to recreate what worked for me last week will be challenge enough.

Exercise, write, eat well, socialize and looking forward are on today's menu of events. Onward. It is the only right direction to take.

Dredging Up the Past

I was recently given a "homework assignment" by my Oldest Son, who is going to counselling. He wants to deal with his childhood, understand it, confront it and (I hope) find some peace once he has some guidance as he walks through and relives the sequence of events which has led to the present day.

I did not want to go there. I've dredged up the past in order to try to give my son the information he needed to get through a trauma. I don't deny the life we once lived. I pull what I need from those days and bring it into the light when life hands me a reason. But I don't go back and relive it. I don't want to feel the emotion that goes with those stories. I need to stay detached from that world.

I finally faced up to the task yesterday morning. I started writing down what I remembered. Then I started digging through old letters and pulled out my journals. I reread the words I wrote when I was living the moment.

It was a little bit like reading about someone else, though hearing the sound of my voice tell the story took me back to those moments. I didn't sink down and lose myself in them. I simply recalled and remembered from a distance.

I am grateful I wrote myself through those moments. It gave me the opportunity to purge myself of the emotions in the moment. But the act of writing it down brought a different perspective to what was happening, even when it was new and raw. And there is hope that these "written in the thick of the moment" ramblings MAY be of some use to my son as he reads and (hopefully) understands the other side of our story.

One piece of writing is old. It is very old (1994 or 95). I read it and thought of the ripple effect of our past within our family:

If He Could See Us Now

... a man's voice was on the other end of the phone line ... the questions, the voice, the "unknown" triggered an emotion in the young boy's mind. He hung up the phone, deflated. He sighed out loud, "I thought it was my dad." ...

... a young man. Eager, yet terrified to step towards adulthood is tentatively learning about cars in a mechanics class. He feels a betrayal. So many of his classmates know so much more than he does. Their dad had taught them. So many emotions lie beneath the surface. But one seems to rear its ugly head the most ... anger.

... the responsibilities of running a household and family on her own, she wrestles with the trials, triumphs and day-to-day mundane ... alone. Whether it be a moment of devastation or one of jubilation, she longs for a partner to turn to. To share the moment. Another day, like all the rest, is over. Sleep will bring comfort ... dreams of the future.

...somewhere out there is a man. Alone in his own way. Possibly masking it with another drink ... another "toke" ... running ...

Does he know he's not alone in his pain and his grief? Does he know he'll never be able to run away from it? Does he ever wonder about his family and their pain? Or is he too busy masking his own?

Years go by and like the ripples from a pebble tossed into the stillness of a lake, his influence in their life is a constant.

She had tried to run from it too. For a while it seemed to work. She inched towards independence and distance from the life they had lead. A life, that no matter what pain and devastation it wrought, that kept bringing them back to each other ...

The cycle of abuse is seemingly endless. The good times SO good ... the bad times so devastating. It affects everyone ... the ripple in the lake ...

From the outside looking in, it appears so black and white. "They" see the family torn apart ... "they" know the answer. But ... when the family does the "right" thing and separates, does the outside world feel the ripples?

There's a longing inside her. A longing to "solve" the past. To spread the word and help someone learn from her experience. It wasn't good enough to protect her children from a future exposed to the havoc of an abusive relationship. The had already been exposed. The seed already planted. The ripple ...

The anger the young man feels slips out from time to time. An anger that's always under the surface. He can "justify his actions because it's "someone else's" fault ... .. ... Her blood runs cold at his response ... What will trigger his anger next? Who will be wounded as the ripple continues to affect the calmness that surrounds the lake?

Has your life been affected by abusive behaviours? Are you one of its victims? Are you masking the pain in any addictive behaviour? Are you running?

Those who are inflicting the pain of abuse are usually victims too. It's a cycle. it's NOT an heirloom one would choose to pass along to their children. But unwittingly that's what happens.

No matter if you'r a victim or the one inflicting the pain, STOP RUNNING! Remove yourself from the situation. Get help. Find support. Talk. Confront the issue. Get help. FACE the pain. If you don't face it, it will never go away. Don't allow another generation to toss another pebble into yet another peaceful lake.

She wishes he would get help. Get healthy. Get to know his children. She wishes he could acknowledge that he understands she did what she thought was best for everyone. She hopes that what she did wasn't in vain. That future generations will not suffer because she didn't learn sooner the toll it would take on her own children.

She prays the anger the young man feels will be dealt with in a positive way. Before it affects the people who touch his life.

She's sad the young boy never knew his Dad, but yet relieved. The ripple can't touch him. He didn't feel the pain. He felt the loneliness instead.

She longs for the ripple to calm into the stillness of the lake. She's tired of fighting the waves.

The "young man" who was in and around the age of 16 when this was written is presently 39 years old. He's still feeling the ripple effect of a life he was removed from 30 years ago.

The "young boy" is 30 years old. The ripple effect has touched his life and his relationship with his brother, though it may have strengthened the bond he has with his mother...

She is still alone, a little lost at sea at times, riding the waves from a ripple from long ago when necessary but longing to find her way back to shore and stay there.

The man is facing his own mortality. The sequence of events which could follow a dire or terminal diagnosis has the potential to toss yet another pebble into the lake which has not yet stilled.

The ripple effect is seemingly without an end.

Gotta Fly Now!

If I was to sit still and let my fingers fly freely across the keyboard this morning, this post would most likely be a to-do list for the upcoming weekend. I have places to go, people to see and things to do. And they start with my need to leave the house in about a half hour. So I must write fast if I am going to keep up this morning writing habit.

My morning inspirational email was about "facing fears". It was a reminder of the years where I did exactly that.

One year I took on the task to compile memories for Mom's family and that undertaking literally changed me from the inside, out. It rerouted my thoughts, helped me feel as though I truly belonged within this family of ours and it gave me the courage to do it all over again with Dad's family.

The scariest thing I ever did was pick up the phone and tell Mom's sisters I would like to write down and compile their memories. It was a life changer. I think we all won that round. It was a wonderful way to get to really know my family.

Another year, I signed up for Zumba and Bellyfit. Alone. A friend did not accompany me through those rooms full of strangers. Some people go on solo vacations. Me? I signed up for a few fitness classes. Same thing.

Confronting the fear of doing something on my own. That was huge for me. It motivated me in ways that scared the socks off me.

Unfortunately the timing of going "sockless" and a health scare with Mom happened in and around the same time. The sequence of events are intertwined within my mind and I can't really tell what scared me the most. Facing Mom's mortality? Or taking the final test to become a Group Fitness Instructor?

Life took a tumble after that fateful year. It was a slow decline. I never fully recovered. I never felt inspired to do so.

Until now.

It's time for a change, my friend. It has to start from within. And gosh darn it! I feel a power within me at this very moment in time that makes me think that this could be the time I break free of the year that broke me. The year 2011 was the beginning of my decline. The year 2018? I read someplace that it will be the year I break out of my cocoon and start to fly again.

Speaking of flying ... I must soar now. I've got much to do and little time to do it. I've gotta fly now. Cue Rocky's theme song "Gonna Fly Now" and you have it. I hear the trumpets playing. Maybe I'll guzzle down some raw eggs first.

And I'm off!

New Habits are So Time Consuming!

New habits are time consuming. I believe I've heard it said that the best way to kick an old habit is to replace it with a new one. Doing one thing instead of another takes away the temptation to do what you want to stop doing, with an added bonus of keeping your daily regimen intact.

This new exercise thing has added a half hour to my morning routine. I gave up sleeping in that extra hour in lieu of making time to exercise, while (trying to) form a new habit of getting up at 6:00 a.m. This is good.

The writing thing? It feels harder.

In my old life, I woke up early to intentionally make time to write. My daycare family walked in the door at 7:30 a.m. and everything I managed to get done in the day from that point onward was a bonus. I placed writing first and everything else was second priority.

I now appreciate the fact that my daycare days forced me into some good habits and routines.

I believe what I miss most about my daycaring days is "quiet time". Once my little people were all sleeping &/or still and quiet, I took my laptop and worked on my word puzzles like my life depended on it. Getting those puzzles completed satiated me in a way I assume a smoker may feel after having a cigarette. It was a need. It had to be done. I felt better while doing it and relaxed when I was done.

I would squeeze in time to write in our daycare blog during that time of great quiet. If there was still time to spare, I would cruise the Internet and (most likely) find myself in the thick of my Facebook feed looking for adult input into my very child oriented days.

In this renovated life of mine, my mornings are still too short. I have been running behind on my puzzles by almost a day for several mornings and this morning I just "had" to catch myself up. I believe this is what may be called an addiction but it is not a negative thing so I'm not going to berate myself for it. I must simply find a new place in my day for it.

This thing called cleaning is another thing I have not delegated time for. Once again, back in the daycare days of yore, I had a basic cleaning routine. At my peak, I washed swiped down the kitchen floor every day after lunch. I kept on top of day to day tasks, did basement chores on Thursday and upstairs cleaning was done Friday. It was not uncommon for me to be vacuuming while the kids ate their afternoon snack, so we could head directly outside and I would come into a clean house at the end of a very long day. Yes, I even vacuumed daily back in those days.

I sat down each and every Friday afternoon and mapped out our lunch, snack and supper menu for the following week and on the weekend, I bought groceries accordingly. I baked, I cooked, I froze leftovers and I seemed to have a readily available bounty of homemade muffins, slices and cookies to offer a guest who may drop by. Yes, I even had guests back in the olden days.

Man! That does not sound like me at all. In my prime, I did okay.

There is no need for much of the routine I had in place back in those days. Vacuuming cat hair, cat chores, laundry, cleaning bathrooms and having a clean kitchen are about all I really expect of myself. And I'm doing all of those jobs in a very slap dash and half hazard way.

One thing at a time. Like this:

Maybe I need to add "vacuum cat hair off of living room blinds" onto my weekly chore list. Yesterday, the bathtub. Today, the blinds. Who knows what tomorrow may bring?

Doing the Hard Things

Each Sunday night, I glance at the week ahead and make a mental note of all the "hard things" I have to confront in the week that follows. My Monday morning mantra consists of something like "Only five more days...". I don't follow that thought with the actual words "until the weekend" but it is how I live my life.

What a sad state of affairs for a 57 year old adult. To admit that my life has not grown past the school child's view point of counting down days until the weekend. So instead, I have slightly rerouted my thoughts to tell myself "Only three hard things..." to do before I get to coast within a hard work week. Which is NOT hard. It's just me. I know this.

Yesterday was a big one.

Washing my hair, a doctor's appointment, working off-site and mentoring another bookkeeper type person through the books that have been taken off of our plate and put onto hers, which was followed by the need to buy groceries on my way home at the end of my work day.

I left the house around 8:30 a.m. and got home sometime in and around 8:30 p.m.

I felt a little bit like a wet dish rag at times but mostly I felt a little bit invigorated as I mentally stroked each one of these "hard things" off of my to-do list. Taking on the day one hard task at a time, I found myself inching my way out of the doldrums I have been resting in this past long while.

One hard thing at a time.

My definition of "hard things" has changed. Hard things are things like:

• getting out of bed
• making my lunch
• tending to cat chores
• taking out garbage/recycling
• brushing my teeth
• tossing a load of laundry into the washing machine

I am happy to say I have added a few extra hard things onto my list and so far (four days in) I'm taking on one or two more hard things per day. 

• exercising
• vacuuming before I exercise so I don't come out of the experience spitting cat hair
• writing

Yes, writing has become hard. I hope to resume my previous habit of writing each and every day. Even if it is only a little. A small habit, repeated becomes a better life (as long as the habit is a positive one).

I need to incorporate cleaning into this new positive habit forming lifestyle I am trying to rebuild. But hey! Rome wasn't built in a day.

This morning, my additional "hard thing" to do, was to clean the bathtub. I was a tiny bit certain that a bad run of bathtub cleaning products that I didn't like was the beginning of the end of having a clean tub. A bad spray nozzle. A foul smelling product. The inability to empty three almost empty bathroom cleaners. The repetitive nature of the job. Cleaning a tub is a little like making a bed. Why bother? It's just going to get used again.

But after acting on an impulse to purchase the bathroom cleaner my aunt's housekeeper specifically requested, I finally (six months later?!) bought this lovely product:

With this (even lovelier) feature:

It sat unused in the bathroom cupboard for a few weeks before I took it on its maiden voyage this morning. And the job didn't hurt a bit. If I still like it after the can is empty, I may add one more positive new thing to my new, renovated life. 

Does anyone out there have any tips, tricks or products that alleviates some of the pain of housecleaning? If so, please let me know. I need all the help I can get.

One hard thing at a time. I may be able to find who I used to be in here somewhere.

Let There Be Light!

As I saw the last of daylight slip away yesterday, I had to take a picture. This is what it looked like at 5:55 p.m. on January 15th:

I googled this when I got home. Yesterday was 8:16:31 hours long. We have gained 32 minutes since our shortest day. It may still be cold and snow and wintery outside. But the sun is staying out a little bit longer each day. We are gaining ground. 

I've changed my mind about January. I used to feel it was the longest, coldest, dreariest month of the year. I wish to amend that to December. 

We are still losing daylight hours in December. It contains the shortest day and all the shortest days around it. There is all that Christmas season "stuff" to contend with. 

It's always darkest before the dawn. I am starting to feel the effects of sunshine. Let there be light!

Exercise First!

In keeping with yesterday's post and theme, here is a picture of the way my morning has started:

Yes. I did it. I found some Beachbody exercise videos with Debbie Sieber on YouTube. Debbie Sieber's DVD's were my initiation into early morning exercise habit a decade or more ago. So when I found her and tried out one of her core busting routines yesterday [note to self: "Your core is busted!"], I knew she will be part of my way back home.

Yesterday's trial run at exercising in the living room was a good start. I found out where I'm at and know I have a long road ahead. "This" didn't happen overnight. So it won't change quickly or easily. All I can do is start to reinstate some good habits back into my life and be satisfied that I am doing the next right thing. One day at a time.

So the second thing I did, was decide to make some homemade chicken soup with the leftover chicken bones from Christmas.

It was easy to throw the bones into a pot and simmer lightly all afternoon. One quick text to my son who was at work (he works in the produce department of a nearby grocery store) and all I had to do was wait for him to come home and our soup would be a peel, chop and a boil away from completion.

I thought my intention was clear. What do you think? How much celery would you have picked up if you received this message? This is what my son came home with:

Two "bunches" of celery. I moaned with the idea of so much celery in the house. He said, "If you would have said 'two sticks of celery', I would have known what you meant."

He disappeared downstairs momentarily and googled the term "stalk of celery" to find out he was right. I knew I had been calling one "stick" of celery a "stalk" for as long as I have had the need to describe an amount of celery. So I had to double check his facts:

"We were both right!" I gleefully announced. We chuckled at the miscommunication as the soup with all its added vegetables started to simmer and finish cooking on the stove.

I was quite hungry by this time since I had not snacked the afternoon away. So I decided to snack on celery and dip as a first course to our chicken soup supper. It sounded so good that my son decided to go for some peanut butter on his celery.

I ran out of chips three days prior and I have missed the sensation of something crunching between my teeth, so the celery provided some satisfaction as I snacked on my rabbit food before supper.

The excess celery in our home may end up reinforcing a good snacking habit. But honestly? The first thing I thought when I saw so much celery in one eyeful was to send out the message, "Caesar's anyone??"

Since I don't have vodka or clamato juice OR any of the required seasonings to make a Caesar in the house, I think we'll stick with salad dressing and peanut butter to help alleviate our excess celery.

One good habit at a time. It's all a person can do. I'm starting "Day 2" and feeling better already. The universe is helping me along. Two bunches of celery did not walk into this house on their own. It was meant to be.

Exercise first. Write second. And in the writing, I had an opportunity to relay a silly little story to remind me that laughter is a very important ingredient in living a good life. I feel better already...

Welcome to My Morning - Chapter One

Here is a picture of the moment I'm in:

Jan 14, 2018

It is a good moment. 

It is eerily similar to another photo I accidentally inserted into this post and was startled to see our cats were missing:

Oct 22, 2017

What is different besides the addition of a few cats, an unfinished puzzle and some place mats for the table? The difference is in the way I feel.

In October, I was still working in a state of hyper drive. I felt focused. I had a defined purpose, things to do, ongoing obligations and a sense that when I accomplished all I had to do, I would feel completely at peace.

What has happened instead, is after I did all I had to do with dealing with Mom's estate and no reason to return to her home, I am wandering through my life aimlessly. Without purpose. Without intention. Without a driving force to propel me into action and feel the satisfaction of a job well done.

I have used up all my excuses to stay withdrawn from life as I know it. I am doing what must be done to get through the day. I am fulfilling my obligations to the world in a half hearted, lack lustre way. 

I have been in contact with a few friends this past week and as I summarized the lethargy I'm feeling, I was surprised to find I am not alone. 

Once our conversations switched from a superficial "I'm fine, thanks. And how are you?" and we started talking "real", I heard my thoughts, feelings and emotions echoed by those I call my friends.

We are of similar age and somewhat similar stages in our lives. We are hovering in our later 50's, retirement is either a reality or something we hope to attain in some way or another within a ten year time frame.

As I relaxed and let the words spew from my mouth with abandon, I heard myself saying, 

"I know I will most likely have to work until the day I die, but I have reached a point where I want what I do, to have meaning. It is less about the pay cheque and more about doing something that has purpose. I want to recreate what was good about my daycare years. I want to turn my home into my work place. I want people to come and go through our door again. I want to create a business where our home is an oasis in the Saskatchewan prairie landscape, where it nurtures and houses others, while it creates a drive within me so I want to cook, clean, maintain and enjoy our home again."

I have been through this phase many times before. This is the part of my life where the life as I knew it was upended and I had to reinvent myself and start anew. It has always been hard and uncomfortable. Each and every time. But when I came out the other side of this evolution, I was always, always grateful for all that had brought about the unwanted, unplanned but necessary metamorphosis.

This time is different. I told my friend, 

"I'm running out of story lines. I don't want to write another chapter within this little life of mine, let alone a book!"

I heard a version of "Amen, Sister" from my friend's reply. We thought we were done with the hard stuff. We are in our later 50's, gosh darn it!! We thought we had already earned our wings. We are ready to fly. We don't want to reinvent ourselves, our world, our livelihood and our sense of purpose. Again. We've been there, we've done that!

C'mon, Life. Really now? What do you have in store for us? It must be very good because this cocoon feels like one of the hardest ones I've had to break free of.

I know some reinvention is necessary. This is debilitating. I must return to that which worked for me in the past, to get me up off the couch, away from the chips and chocolate and moving towards taking a leap of faith off a new cliff.

I need an action plan. 

I will start by writing regularly. I have written my way through every hard transition I've walked through. Writing is my therapy.

I must start moving again. Exercise is nature's very own anti-depressant. It will be soooo hard. But I must. I will try. I will.

I have a doctor's appointment made. I skipped my annual physical this past year but now is as good as an excuse as any to check in with my doctor and tend to my body. 

I will tell my doctor that I feel I am fighting a depression see where that conversation takes me. As I said, this feeling is not new to me. But the hole feels broader and so much more comfortable than it has felt in the past. My children are growing independent of me. I have fewer years ahead of me, than I have behind me and I am losing the battle to fight for myself. 

I may need to find some tools to help me beyond this moment. I have a deep seated feeling that this will not be the last time life presents an "opportunity" to reinvent myself.

The worst part of all of the above is the level of comfort I am feeling within this safe little cocoon of mine. I don't know if I really want to fly any more. I just want to coast.

But I want to enjoy the view. Whether I'm flying or simply coasting effortlessly through these next years. I want to enjoy the view.

There is still much work to be done. My story is far from over. I may as well create a good one while I'm at it.

Welcome to my next new chapter. It is not my last, so I may as well call it what it is: 

"Chapter One" (again)...