Kitty Quiet Time

I love when I'm home to enjoy quiet time with our cats ...

The house becomes very still in and around 1:00 and I enjoy seeking out our cats to find them in their preferred resting spot for the day.

Quiet time goes on. 

With or without my daycare. 

My daycare kitties are holding space for this sacred time. 

I love the days when I can join them in their place in the sun.

Something is in the Air (it may be change)

Something is about to change. I can feel it in my bones ...

I may have mislabeled the feeling as anxiety. I put words to it as I spoke aloud yesterday morning. "I feel like my fight or flight mode has been activated."

My vivid dream about Mom wandering around and ready to go home a few nights ago, coupled with two of Mom's favorite people in the world coming into focus lately has ignited a fire within me.

Just be there. Show up.

I am looking at our home and focusing on making it feel like a safe haven. A soft place to land. A place of comfort and peace.

After I closed my daycare, I was driven with a force of energy I haven't been able to summon since. I had a very strong feeling I was making room for change. I emptied rooms, cupboards and storage areas. Our home was open to whatever came next.

Then Mom died. Little did I know I had made room for some of Mom's belongings. They had a home here long before a home was required. This was not what I expected but it calmed me to know I had already made room for what was to come.

Our home has been undergoing a bit of an identity crisis ever since. "I have three spare bedrooms," I would tell those who were facing a fork in a road where relocation may be an option. I have room. No one came.

My bedroom availability has shifted and changed since that time. I still have the ability to house a lot of guests for a short or long time period, offering privacy, space, quiet and (unfortunately) a fair bit of cat hair to go along with it.

I have made the offer again. This time the answer was yes.

The tides are shifting. They may ebb and flow and it is quite possible life will go back to a slightly revised new normal for those who touch my world.

I am simply grateful to have something to offer.

Mom would be pleased...

She Came to Me in a Dream

She was ready to go home. She had been visiting family and friends but now she was heading home. All she had was an empty dresser ...

Dreams are liquid, ever moving and illogical at times. This dream was so vivid I could have sworn I was living it.

Mom was ready to go home. For some completely unknown reason, she was packing up an empty dresser she had loaned to my cousin's wife. The dresser was used in the same fashion as a Tupperware container is used to give someone a cake or batch of cookies. The dresser was simply the vessel used to give what was inside. She was taking her empty dresser home with her. The dresser was in the back of a truck and Mom was going home. At last. 

My sister and I looked at each other with a mirrored expression of horror and disbelief. Mom didn't have a house to go home to. Her house has been emptied and sold. How could we have done this? We thought she died. Not only did Mom not have a home, she didn't even have a pair of underwear to put inside her empty dresser ...

I was wracked with guilt, disbelief and horror. My heart was shattered with the very idea that we gave all Mom's belongings away.

I woke up and it took a few minutes to shake myself into reality. Never have I felt so relieved to be reminded of Mom's death. It was okay. We had to empty her home and distribute her belongings. It was necessary.

This is a recurring dream I have had sporadically since Mom died. She wants to know where her belongings are. She is wandering. Wondering. This time she was heading home. With an empty dresser in tow.

The dream is most likely rich with symbolism. Those who believe in a loved one's presence in a dream may weave some logical explanation into this distorted dream sequence. All I know is I woke up feeling "Mom" all around and within me.

I have never been so pleased to have an oasis within my home where I can simply breathe in Mom's essence. I sat on Mom's love seat, held my coffee to my heart, was conscious of my own heart beat and wrapped my other arm around myself. I felt her. I missed her. Her essence was so strong within and around me.

I couldn't shake the feeling, nor did I want to. I let myself be still and simply breathe. I held my warm cup of coffee and let my thoughts wander.

My thoughts have been wrapped up in all things family recently. It is no wonder thoughts of Mom trickled into my subconscious mind.

She came to me in a dream. She wants to go home.

No Words

So many thoughts ... so few words.

Life is like that. We think. We feel. We process. But at the end of the day, words are not enough.

Owning the Age We Are At

I was delighted to discover that Jamie & Paul Buchman were dusting off their TV series "Mad About You" and allowing their audience a glimpse at their lives twenty years after the series ended. I was even more excited to discover a cable channel I have is airing this comeback.

I loved this show when it was new and fresh. Jamie (Helen Hunt) is only a few years younger than me and they were living the dream I was never able to attain. They were married, mostly happily and we got to watch this brand new marriage evolve over the seven years the series aired.

I read a book Paul Reiser wrote (Couplehood) and enjoyed every word. I liked the characters these actors portrayed and enjoyed Helen Hunt's movies  in the "after Mad About You years".

I couldn't wait to sit and watch the reboot of the old series.

The story line didn't entirely captivate me so I found myself scrutinizing the appearance of Paul and Jamie.

Paul (Paul Reiser) looked his age. A distinguished bit of graying, a little heavier than my memory of his appearance from twenty years ago. I watched Paul and enjoyed his look. He simply wore his age well.

Jamie (Helen Hunt), on the other hand, appeared (only from where I sat and I do not profess to be an expert on this subject) to encompass the way I feel about aging. If I could, I would like to look the way I did twenty years ago. I liked my weight back then, I enjoyed a face that had fewer crinkles, skin that was tighter and a hair color that didn't come out of a box.

Jamie's face was taught, her body looked lithe and youthful, she has good hair ... but (in my humble opinion) she didn't wear her age as well as Paul.

I relate far too much to Jamie. She looked the way I wish I looked. But she doesn't look natural. I admire how Paul simply "owns the age he is at" and wears it so naturally.

I have looked in the mirror a little differently since this revelation.

Yes, I like the fact that I can dye my hair and maintain the illusion I am in control of some part of this aging process. But how long do I really want to continue doing this?

My sister set the bar for me when she decided to "go natural". She looks good. She looks natural. She looks right. Her youthful outlook on life, the twinkle in her eyes, a ready smile and her natural good looks (oh, how I hope that I have inherited a few of the same genes) make her beautiful.

I want to own the age I am at. Presently I am gazing at the "root situation" in my hair. I have one box of hair color in the cupboard and wondering...am I brave enough to let go and let my hair color define me?

Juggling Time

My world has shifted on its axis just a little bit in the form of a revised sleep schedule which has left me scrambling for time when I savor it the most.

My son will be performing in a play which has comes with a great time commitment. Since parking in and around his place of education comes at a hefty price, I have been on "pick-up" detail. This has been ongoing since his first day back to school. Four weeks of rehearsals plus one week during the performance. Rehearsals are a four to five hour commitment, Monday through Saturday throughout the duration.

This has required me to shift my preferred sleeping hours by about two hours. My early morning wake up time which gave me most of the morning time I crave is lacking. Yes, I have gained that time in the evening but I come home at the end of my days thoroughly depleted. Two extra waking hours in the evening are lost on me.

I am not making the most of the hours I have at my disposal. This is not new. It is simply an adjustment of what I had made work for me in the past.

I have not carved out time to write "just for me". I tried adjusting writing three, 8-1/2" X 11" long hand morning pages routine into a half hour commitment. Or three small pages. Or listening to inspirational podcasts or videos. I can't do it all. I have a hard time honing in on one of the above.

This week, I thought I would try to write during the time it takes my son to shower. Approximately fifteen minutes. This morning I have squandered my time explaining one of the many varied excuses I have for not showing up.

Life is fluid. The need to change, shift and adapt is a requirement. The ability to be flexible has been challenging me for a very long time.

Perhaps it was time to try out a new morning schedule. The need to have an after work hours life would most likely be beneficial. We'll see how this goes. Two and a half more weeks to go. Then the schedule will morph into something new.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. I hate change. I know change is good for me, a requirement for living and being adaptable is a positive thing. I'll focus on the positives.

Tomorrow, nothing but positive energy will flow out of these fingers of mine.

Fifteen Minutes

I have completely gotten out of the habit of writing. My excuses are varied, multiple and quite lame. No time. No space. No thoughts. Nothing fresh. Nothing inspirational. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Who else feels this way in the depth of winter? The days are getting longer but have also been colder. January is speeding by but spring feels far off and illusive at the same time.

I long for what I don't have. Then I get it and squander it away.

I had holidays over the Christmas season and I let them slip through my fingers. I regretted making plans as soon as they were made and never really got past that. No one's fault but my own. I am accountable for my actions but I wasn't even finished my holiday and I was already longing for my next.

I read a book (two, actually!) this past weekend. One was a biography based on someone who survived and thrived after a stroke. As the story of this journey progressed back to a semblance of "the before", his "executive thinking" was compromised and he was completely content in this state of not planning, not doing and not caring about goals and achievements.

"That's me!!", I thought. My executive thinking powers are waning. When I am on vacation, I relax in the knowledge that it really doesn't matter. It's okay to squander the days because (here come the excuses) I have to work outside my home ten hours of every weekday. Poor me.

I console myself with the thought "whatever I accomplish will be enough". I accomplish very little. I am completely okay with that.

How many holidays would I need in order to find the energy, motivation and desire to do more than nothing?

That is an experiment I'm willing to take! In the meantime, I must (like everyone else in the world) get up, get dressed, get moving and get to work so I can come home, climb into my pajamas and turn off my brain.

This too, shall pass. The goal is to make the best of the winter days that are looming ahead.

Just keep swimming ...

P.S. See why I haven't been writing? 

Slow Motioned Multitasking ~ Tim Harford

I may have stumbled onto something that works for me. "Slow-motion multitasking" as outlined by Tim Harford in this Ted Talk: "A Powerful Way to Unleash Your Natural Creativity" 

Tim advises using cardboard boxes to hold onto your ideas, inspirations and thoughts so you don't lose track of them. Hold them in a space and come back to them later. It's okay to have multiple projects on the go. Slow track them. Don't lose your train of thought. Collect all your thoughts and ideas in a box and come back to it later.

Slow motion multitasking. I like it.

Boxes to hold onto thoughts, information and data you want to come back to at a later date. Sounds like a plan.

This feels akin to organized confusion but it calmed me to think of my overwhelmed state of mind in this light. I collected some boxes and hopped right on this bandwagon. It feels right to collect my "seeds of inspiration" in this cozy room I quietly refer to as Mom's room.

This room has been begging to be used for a very long time now. I do believe I'm onto something good.

Finding Your Place in the Sun (it may be closer than you think)

New calendar page, new year, new insights for what I want this blog to represent for the year 2020.

Most of all, I want to endeavor to write with more purpose. My thoughts may still be relatively unpolished here in this space but I do want to make room for what is working for me. By writing it out loud, I may live more productively and if by any chance, someone else may have a "me too" moment, that is a bonus.

I have stumbled onto something which feels rather big to me early this year. It is the serenity I find within "Mom's Room", our new den or as a friend of mine referred to it as "Our Cozy Room".

I have been drawn into this room on several occasions now. To enjoy a cup of coffee or tea with a friend; to sort through pictures and mementos; to write my morning pages; to write my thoughts as I work through Julia Cameron's newest book; and I hope to settle in with a good book one day soon.

I walk into this room and I'm enveloped with a peaceful easy feeling. It is lovely.

Do you have a space within your home where you feel calmer, more grounded and simply more of the "you" you aspire to be? If so, allow yourself the gift of soaking it all in, make it home and a place where you can get away from it all, right under your own roof.

With these temperatures (-33º C with 19 km/hr winds this morning), finding your own piece of sun within, is a wonderful thing. 

A blissful moment in my "Sunshine Room"

January Thoughts

I did all the "hard things" yesterday morning and have found myself with time on my hands and a cup of coffee at my side. I shall stop by and visit for a while ...

There are so many catastrophic events happening in the world which makes any of the petty little worries I have feel small.

In light of that thought, life is ambling along quite well. It is starting to feel like January and I am grateful every time our furnace kicks in when I hike up the heat a notch and every single time the car starts and takes us to our destinations and back.

Do I miss my daycare days when I didn't have to leave the house, start the car or battle the elements other than what was required to tend to my daycare family? You bet.

Every time I think these thoughts I wonder how I can conspire to bring that-which-was-good about daycaring into my present day life. I had a routine that worked well.

I tended to all that needed to be tended before my daycare day began at 7:30 a.m.
We aimed to be ready to go for a walk, go outside or find some "adventure" by 9:00 a.m.
Lunch was at a regularly scheduled time and a balanced offering of all the food groups were offered.
Quiet time followed lunch time. Oh, how I miss quiet time!
This was followed by snack time, outdoor time as long as the weather allowed as our day wound down to a close.
I often had supper prepared and ready to consume as soon as my last daycare child left around 5:30 p.m.
The remainder of the day was mine to do with as I pleased.

What I would like to reinstate:

Complete all my household/personal tasks by 7:30
Eat regular and balanced meals
Walk
Spend time outside and simply breathe in fresh air and notice the wonders of nature
Quiet time
Work responsibilities end by 6:00 p.m.

These are not lofty goals. I cannot attain every item on my list. But I could tackle a few. In fact, I should be able to accomplish most. My work hours are presently out of my control. The time of day when I can work in my "quiet time" is not when I would prefer, but it exists.

The days are cold but the sun is shining a little longer each day. Spring is not yet around the corner but it will come.

Beginning Again

Last year, my goal was to resume the habit of  writing. I wrote 365 blog posts in 2019. The quality and depth of writing material is questionable but I did what I set out to do. I kick-started my writing habit. This success was followed by a time of great wordlessness.

Recently, I was asked what I wrote about. I didn't have an answer. I write about nothing in particular. A lot of my energy has been directed towards rabbit sightings and in the moment the question was asked, all I could say was "... ... ... rabbits?".

"What will I write about?" I quietly mused in the aftermath of the unanswered question.

I wrote three pages of long hand writing daily for four months, then in one fell swoop I shredded every last page. I wrote, I destroyed the evidence and let it go. I have yet to pick up the habit again. Sleep trumps writing.

I have not replied to a few Christmas letters I received. I thought I would sit down and write a letter instead of writing morning pages. What I ended up with, was six small pages of "morning pages" in the form of a letter. Rambling, excessive words and details and basically I emptied my thoughts onto the page and there was nothing worth reading. I shredded that too.

Responding to emails has become increasingly tough. The briefest of replies take an extraordinary amount of time and energy.

I feel the creative side of my brain withering up and dying. I feel passionless. I go through the paces of getting through the days in order to reach the weekend. The definition of a perfect weekend is one in which the car never leaves the garage and I get to stay home.

I need to define a purpose behind what I write. I believe delving into Julia Cameron's book "It's Never Too Late to Begin Again" will be the anecdote to my annual case of the winter blues. I just need to motivate myself to immerse myself in the process and I will find my way out of where I'm at.

My goal this year? To come up with a better answer when someone asks "What do you do?" and "What do you write about?" Sounds pretty simple.

Beginning again (and again and again). At what age and stage of life do we stop redefining ourselves?

Synchronicity

I am working my way through "It's Never Too Late to Begin Again" by Julia Cameron. 

Julia instructs her readers to divide their current age by twelve. In my case, since that answer is five, my first assignment is to go back and recall memories, smells, feelings and all I know about my first five years.

Lucky for me, what I lacked in actual memories, I was able to find in pictures.

Mom and me

I love the look on Mom's face in this picture. I am amused by the ashtray and cigarette at her side. This was the norm back then. Nothing unusual there. Except perhaps the fact that Mom is wearing plaid pants with a striped top. Now that one makes me sit and wonder what inspired her choice in attire that day. Maybe that was the norm too?

Dad and me

I'm a little older here. Once again, I love how Dad is looking at me. Obviously I was placed in the crook of his arm for picture taking purposes only (who would read a paper with a baby in their arms?). I find it comforting that Dad is reading a paper here. Dad sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper is how I think of Dad when I think of him relaxing. 

My Sisters and me

I have been told my sisters were pretty excited to have a new baby in the house and I was adored as a child. Mom saved a card of congratulations from my uncle saying "Congratulations to the 2 sisters too - I hear they're pretty happy people." I have few sister-memories from this age and stage of my life but I have a feeling the closeness I feel to them stems from their attachment to me from day one. Apparently plaid and stripes were the norm back then - check our my sister's attire above.

Momma Cat and me

I don't really remember Momma Cat (I think that was her name) but this picture encapsulates the way I still feel when I'm wrapped up in the moment of being a content cat parent. Cats, boxes, cushions and kids. This has been a common theme throughout my life and that of my own children. The expressions on Mom and Dad's faces in the previous photos have been transferred to me - this time I'm the proud "parent".

Sorting through these pictures, putting them in chronological order and scouring the pictures for long forgotten details segued into my first "Artist Date".

I love the way the music of the 1960's makes me feel. In a word? Happy. As far back as my memory goes, there was a record player in our living room. Remnants of my sisters' teen years were the 45 rpm records of the hits from the 1960's remained when I grew into my teens. This music must have been the soundtrack to my youngest years. I remember nothing but the feeling. Happiness.

Yesterday, I played 1960 music in the background while I finally took on the task of sorting through pictures, memorabilia, newspaper clippings, wedding/funeral cards and all that Mom deemed important enough to save. 

I started a photo album of the first five years of my life while music from the '60's played. I let thoughts, feelings, memories and a sense of wonder wash in, around and through me. 

What started out as a quiet little task to assemble memories of "0 to 5 years", became a walk down memory lane.

It is the closest I've felt to Mom in a very long time.

As per usual, the first thing I did when I woke up this morning was open the living room blinds in the hope of spotting a rabbit. I haven't had many rabbit sightings lately but the evidence of their presence is everywhere. Rabbit tracks galore and the need to replenish their food every other day. 

This morning? A rabbit was sitting on the street, facing our window as if it was sitting and waiting for me. I gazed at this lone, still rabbit for a good half hour before something got its attention and it stood on all fours, stretched upwards, looked towards our living room window one last time and hopped down the street. 

Part of this week's assignment was to be mindful of synchronicities as they happen - being at the right place at the right time, thinking of someone and they call and other little ways of calling your attention to the minute details of life and considering how they are connected.

I was looking back on my 2019 calendar and was reminded of a childhood friend I wanted to invite for lunch. I turned the calendar pages a few times and the friend I had just been thinking of called me. We are having lunch together today.

I knew without a doubt I wanted to spend the early morning hours in "Mom's room" yesterday as I planned to concentrate on my "It's Never Too Late..." assignment. The moment I sat still in the room, I was enveloped with a sense of peace and stillness.

Be still and know ...

I sat still with Mom's box of memorabilia, photos and breathed in the day. I spent the day in the room I dubbed "Mom's room" from the very first time she stayed with us. I immersed myself in childhood thoughts, memories, music and felt a warm embrace and the sense of feeling

 "Everything's going to be okay".

Then I woke up to a rabbit gazing towards our living room window this morning. A rabbit who was in no hurry to move on. A rabbit who seemed to be exactly where it was meant to be.

Synchronicity? I like to think so. It feels good ...