Farewell

Jet joined our little family in June, 2015. 

"My youngest opened the door and this little black kitty immediately started loving her. Then me. He snuggled. He purred a quiet but steady little purr. And he drooled. There was no going back. "Jet" had found the family he wanted to go home with."

Jet's story is interwoven into the context of this blog in a manner that encompasses who he was to us in every way. His antics, his personality, his quirks, his neediness and intense curiosity.

When I made the move to my Little Oasis here just over a year ago, my daughter took over the care of our home and cat dependents. Two senior cats who came with a diverse and complex set of unique-to-them health challenges. 

To be loved by my daughter is to be loved without condition. She has taken these cats to the vet time, time and time again. Then some more. She did and has done everything in her power to make our cats comfortable. What medicine didn't heal, my daughter's love and devotion soothed.

Jet had a "mystery intestinal irritation" which resulted in litter box issues that preceded my move out and away from cat-responsibilities. We had investigated and tried everything. No stone was left unturned. In the end steroids bought Jet as much time as he could endure comfortably. 

Two weeks ago, the time to let him go had come.

Loss is not easy. Letting go is hard. Being held, comforted, in the presence of loved ones, consoling voices and tones in the end is the best one can hope for. 

As my daughter described Jet's last days and moments, I couldn't imagine a more loving farewell to our beloved Jet.

Jet was loved to the end and beyond. He was a good cat.

The Bald Eagle

I am settling back into life-as-I-know-it after a short weekend excursion. I drove so far out of my comfort zone I felt like I was in a different country. 

I do not enjoy roads less travelled. I like my well worn, divided highway with familiar cities and towns along the way. I like arriving into a city where I know my way around. I favor staying at AirBnB's over most every option out there (including free accommodations at a family or friend's home). 

I like what I like and most of what I like is familiarity.

This past weekend was anything but familiar. I got into an argument with Google Maps because she kept trying to change the route I had specifically chosen while I was not driving. I think she heard me because when I attempted to reroute my destination to a gas station where I could cash in my airmiles, she circled me back to my son's house and he wasn't home.

Exasperated, I gave up and asked my son if we could take my car for supper so I could fill it up and wash the bugs off before they baked onto the windshield in the heat.

I went from arguing with Google Maps to high anxiety with someone else behind the wheel of my car. I was not off to a good start.

Then came the new Techno Toilet my son purchased after the isolation valve on his original toilet failed, causing a flood in his downstairs basement suite. Repairs and restoration from the flood were a test of endurance but he didn't tell me about his newest acquisition. A toilet that does pretty much everything but brush your teeth.

I cannot express my angst over using a toilet that beeps and chirps and has a mind of its own. It came with a remote control. Enough said.

We visited until the wee hours of the morning and the next day included a leisurely trip to the mountains, a few easy hikes and meeting up with my sister-in-law for supper. Okay! This is right up my alley.

Long story, short? The next day was nothing like I envisioned. 

I was a very nervous and agitated passenger on our trek into the mountains. Mountains are not a favored destination of mine but I can endure them. The twisty, curvy mountain roads to some of our destinations were exceeding my comfort and car sickness zone. My son's definition of an easy hike is quite different than mine. I could not savor the hiking experience due to my apprehension over losing my footing resulting in a trip and fall, wrecking the only pair of pants that fit me comfortably, let alone the thought of twisting an ankle and having to walk back as far as we had trekked in.

I'm quite sure I was wearing "all of the above" on the expression on my face. All we had to do was get back to where we began. That was the goal. 

My son offered many "rest stops" along the way. I really didn't need or want to rest. I simply wanted to get back home. I was not savoring the views along the way. I was watching where my feet were stepping to avoid any trip and falls (saving the knees of my pants was my priority).

Oh, the self talk I had going on in my head. I should be embarrassed. Instead, I was just getting on a roll and it got worse before it got better. 

It was at one of these stopping points when a bald eagle flew right up to us and over our heads in a blatant "Look up and see me!!" kind of way. Even my son, who is no stranger to mountains and all he finds awe inspiring about them, was in awe. 

It was a moment to behold. 

We were on our mother-son-trek on the 8th anniversary of Mom's last day here on earth. This is not a day Mom would want to focus on but it just so happened our weekend together landed on this date in history.

The song "An Eagle When She Flies" had special meaning to Mom. We played it at her graveside. The song described the person Mom was. We have placed a connection between Mom and eagles. We spread some of Mom's ashes at Mom & Dad's old farm. The family who were last to leave, spotted two eagles soaring above the farm as a memory filled day wound to a close. 

I have never seen an eagle. Even when I went on an Alaskan cruise and bald eagles were pointed out to us in the trees. "They look like little golf balls..." I couldn't find them hidden in the scene.

But this bald eagle was blatant and obvious. It flew up and over us in a manner that said, "Look at me! I am here!"

Mom? If she had any way to say "Look up and out of your thoughts" to me, she would have.

My son was giving me a gift of a lifetime. Taking me, showing me, experiencing the wonders of  his world. And I couldn't see beyond the negative thought spiral I was in.

I have been home two days now and I can finally appreciate the weekend. I can hear Mom's voice in my head admonishing me for not seeing the experience for what it was while I was living it. 

I hear you, Mom. 

I also hear her say she is in full agreement about the driving though ...

Body, Heal Thyself

I have marvelled on many occasions how this vessel I live in (my body) has the ability to recover from a myriad of things on its own. With little or no outside intervention, it rights itself and maintains its equilibrium. Much like how a cat lands on its feet.

I have been wandering through my days feeling a little bit "powder bluish". Not a deep, dark blue mood. Not even a regular "blue" feeling. Just a little bit of a faded blue. I recognize the state and know from past experiences that life has natural ebbs and flows. As I was getting frustrated with myself for my inability to snap out of it, I thought of the "snap out of it" scene from Moonstruck, chuckled a little and I was cured (until next time).

I rarely feel sick but when I recently had a bout with a stomach ailment which grounded me for a day, I slept it off, recouped, recovered and moved on. No intervention required.

A sunburnt face which peeled, peeled and peeled some more. It took a while but my skin has stopped shedding and I'm back to my normal skin tone. No matter how much I tried to moisturize and ease my way through this minor dilemma, my body healed in its own time, in its own way.

Each time I catch my body in a heal and recover mode, I look upward and utter "thank you". Every time I climb out of the other side of the doldrums, I am grateful. Any time I notice my body taking care of me and doing its level best to recover, I am appreciative.

A few nights ago, I took a 3 mile walk. Nothing strenuous, I wore good shoes and everything was in my favor. It was an enjoyable stroll. I came home, had supper and stretched my legs out on a chair. Ahhh. Then I got up. My ankle was not happy supporting the weight of my body while it walked. 

My ankle was fine for the entirety of my walk and in the aftermath. There was no trauma. Did I stretch something when I elevated my feet and relaxed? Would this become an ongoing issue like my painful "resting neck syndrome"?

I pampered my ankle with its own pillow when I went to bed. I awoke in the middle of the night and strolled down the hall to write some middle-of-the-night pages. Ouch. My ankle still hurt. I wrapped it in a tensor bandage and left it on for the rest of the night. 

I awoke to an ankle that was still a little angry. I wandered through my morning routines and my ankle was better. Then came the test. I dropped my car off for an oil change and walked (not quite a mile) to work. I never thought of my ankle again. It healed itself.

Thank you! Thank you!! Thank you!!!

I am beyond grateful for my body's ability to retain its state of homeostasis. Our bodies work hard to maintain all that makes us run smoothly. When everything runs as expected, it is easy to take it all for granted. I'm grateful for life's little wake up calls to remind me to simply be grateful.

A Walk in the Cemetery

I walked to the Cemetery after work yesterday. It was a work-related task (deciphering between what our Town Cemetery map said and the reality). My goal was to find what family plot was available for a daughter to bury her mother and also her eventual resting spot.

It sounds a little gruesome. My co-workers suggested I go after dark (who can stay awake that long I wonder??) and they would come out and scare me. I chose daylight hours and looked forward to the nice, long walk on a perfect day.

I found the family I was looking for immediately. Our cemetery map contained errors and once I oriented myself to the map I had in hand, I replayed the conversation I had with the daughter and filled in a few of the blanks.

As the daughter spoke to me yesterday, I immediately thought of the conversations I had with Mom. Mom often spoke of her family members, she saved funeral cards, obituaries and had a small collection of the history books from nearby towns. If Mom didn't know an answer, she had her siblings and resources to seek her answers.

This particular daughter didn't have siblings to turn to, to help decipher some of the information we were seeking yesterday. I told her I would put on my detective hat and do my best to find what we needed to know.

Our family has some people who are true family historians. They have searched out family trees and we are the benefactors of their knowledge. I'm more of a story-person, so I collected memories, stories and history of life-as-they-knew-it. 

I collected Mom's family's stories right from the source. Mom, her three sisters and sister-in-law were happy to contribute to the book. When I collected Dad's family's stories, they were from five of seven of Dad's brothers (as well as their wives, children, friends and neighbors). All of Mom's family and two of Dad's brothers have died since their memories were put into writing, leaving us with the family lore they spoke of and the memories that were captured within the pages of history books and family memories.

I couldn't help but think of the stories and memories held within the cemetery. Everyone has a story. I hope they had a chance to leave their mark.

I had hoped Nature would pull out a small wonder for me to relay to the daughter I spoke to yesterday. The closest I got was spotting a gopher in the entrance of the cemetery. Never to be seen again. 

I have no mystical story to relay. Simply a respectful and peaceful reflection honoring those who were laid to rest. 

Sharing your story with your family and friends is a gift. Something to hold onto as time passes. 

Homeostasis

My new-found favorite word is "homeostasis". As defined by Google AI: Homeostasis is the process by which living organisms maintain a stable internal environment despite external changes.

This process of maintaining a stable internal environment, in my case my home/home-life, describes my need for a calm, quiet, orderly home and constant need for grounding by being home.

I remember the conscious awareness of the feeling of calm, safety and order when it was finally restored when I left my marriage a third and final time. Our home enviromnent was stable despite the chaos that ensued after ending my marriage. 

I have never forgotten the contrast between the before and after of my marriage. Any time there has been a threat to the feeling of serenity within the walls I call home, I have been able to make the changes required to return to that stability.

Various relationships and work environments have evolved due to my deep seated need (knowledge) that something had to change to bring me back to where I needed to be.

People have commented on my ability to adapt, reset, restart and basically trust my intuition. My true north is my need for this feeling of stability. My homeostasis has guided and contines to guide me in the direction I need to go.

I believe we all have this deep inner "knowing". Taking one step towards that knowing can feel impossible. Trusting it will all work out in the end may seem impossible.

I'm very fortunate to have had the privilege to make some giant leaps of faith. It has felt like jumping without a parachute at times. But I always knew I had some safety net to catch me if I ended up in a free-fall. I simply knew I had to do something to bring my life back into balance.

Every time I made a big change, I had a contingency plan of some sort. I knew Mom had my back in a worst-case-scenario. I was shaken after she died. Knowing I had to have my own back (which I had all along) was a little unnerving. 

Life is so big and scary. It is full of unknowns. It can change in a New York Minute. The need to maintain a stable internal environment despite external changes is vital. 

May you find and keep returning to your own personal homeostasis.

Regaining Equilibrium

Jumping back into life-at-home wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. Offering to work the afternoon of my first day home threw me off my groove a little but it jump-started me in a way that was necessary.

Now that I have 2-1/2 workdays under my belt (one to go until the weekend), I'm feeling a little more human. Then again, is that because I went and booked a restorative weekend away?

What?? That's crazy. After all the "holidaying" I did last week, why did I go and do this? 

A myriad of reasons but the best of all the reasons is because I found an above-ground AirBnB two blocks from Mom's previous home. Home. The place I always returned to regain my equilibrium.

I'm going "home" again. A quiet weekend with family/friends and no commitments. No appointments, no errands, no cats and in a rooftop suite with LOTS of windows.

They say you can't go home again but I'm going anyway. Everything has changed. I've changed. Relationships have evolved. But "home", back in my old neighborhood, is the closest I can get to the feeling I had when I visited Mom.

I've been missing her a little bit lately. I want to go home.

Home

I've been away for a week. I never quite gained the equilibrium I feel by simply being "home" while I was away. I'm back. I'm relieved.

There is nothing quite like waking up in your own bed, to the sound of robins singing their good morning songs. Everything has a place and resides quite nicely in its spot at home. Home. Oh, I've misssed you so.

The desire to drive home mid-holiday and unpack the mounting accumulations that were amassing in the car was great. It would have been silly to do so. Waste a tank of gas and the better part of a day driving to and fro, unpacking and most likely tending to the lawn while I was here. No, it was better to stay put, veg out in the backyard with the cats and do my best impression of relaxing.

Yes, I spent the week in my Original Home, presently rented to and occupied by my daughter and her spouse. And the cats. 

It isn't my home. I spent my time in my own little suite downstairs that has everything I need (except a bathroom with a shower). It took a few days to settle into my space and find a way to make it work for me. The first thing I missed was my upstairs writing spot by a window. Writing my morning pages was painful.

I spent years in that basement "suite" and loved every moment of it. It wasn't like I was confined to the basement during my stay. I had (too many) errands to run, people to see and the only thing that dictated my day was the cat's feeding/medication times. Times that work for me. To be home by 6:30 - 7:00 p.m. was a gift. It fit right into my love of quiet evenings at home. But there was something missing. Windows.

I have windows, windows and more windows in my little home. As long as I'm not trying to block out the heat of the sun, my morning ritual is to open up the blinds/curtains immediately upon my waking. Daylight. Gazing outside. Watching and listening to the birds, the sky, the trees ... ahhh.

Yes, I spent time outside. With the cats. They are senior cats with little desire to scale the fence and escape the spacious back yard. But every now and again, one will make a break for it. So time spent outside was mostly relaxing but ever present of where the cats were. 

I could have and should have puttered in the back yard while the cats explored and sniffed out the outdoors. I devoted one day to yard work, worked up a sweat, a good covering of dirt & grime and had little desire to repeat the process. So I simply sat out there and felt just a tad angsty. I seemed to need to know the time, so had my phone with me. **Note to self - take your watch with you when you go on a holiday so you aren't so bound to that danged phone!!**

I accomplished everything I set out to do while I was away. I even managed to squeeze in a manicure and pedicure. I visited friends and family. I enjoyed every moment of the one-on-one socialization. But I was off. I wasn't home.

The return home yesterday was welcome. Unfortunately I had offered to work in the afternoon so the joyous occasion wasn't celebrated properly. I played the game "how much can I do before I go to work?" instead. I managed to put almost everything in its spot except the groceries that didn't need refrigeration before I ran outside and mowed the lawn, then washed the bugs off the car.

It was a race to the finish and I made it to work by 1:00 but my head wasn't in the work-game and I seemed to forget anything I thought I knew for a while.

I finally reaped the benefits of my efforts when I came home from work. Home. Home at last.

Be it ever so humble, there's no place quite like it.

You Know it's Going to Be a Tough Weekend When ...

This was the hardest weekend I've endured for a very, very long time. I knew it was hard when I found myself counting down the days until I got to go to work on Monday.

Yes, I made it. Yes, it was hard. Would I do it again? Maybe.

Attending the Homecoming by myself was the hardest thing I've done in decades. Made tougher when my car started rattling as soon as I decelerated from highway speeds to turn into town. I mentioned my dilemma to a few people (probably twenty) and one person's response was, "Yes, a lot of people start acting up when they come to our hometown".

It was hard but it was good. I saw a lot of people. Two of the three Mom gathered together for the life changing homecoming in 2006 were there. One of those people was one of the first people I saw; I latched onto the second person's wife during the last piece of the day. I missed the third person terribly.

I survived the day, the car got me home (rattling again when I decelerated). The car situation hovered over me like the dark clouds that decided to rain upon us during my little family gathering of twenty five the next day.

My cousin's wife, to whom I am extremely grateful, arranged, invited, suggested everything pertaining to the afternoon. All I had to do was open my doors (and a little prep and clean up). Two of the first to arrive were my mechanically inclined cousins. I asked them a huge favor as soon as they arrived. "Before you leave today, would you mind driving my car to see if I need to get it fixed in town or if I can make it to the city?" Making it to the city was critical because I'm holidaying/cat-sitting in my previous home and it was imperative I make it to the city in two days. 

Anyway ... back to the gathering ...

It couldn't have went much better (considering the impending rain clouds which kept all 25 of us under the very small roof for quite a while). The garage was company-ready and eventually the crowd divided in two (with a few enjoying the peace of simply sitting on the back step). Small groups conversed together - I like when that happens because that is my favorite part of being "one" in a crowd. Is the small conversations that are more genuine and real than the small talk that happens when there is one, big circle.

I'm glad I hosted the event. My family was beyond grateful but that wasn't the reason. I am hosting a "gathering of nine" in August and I was a small bit apprehensive about the larger gathering. Now, "nine" sounds like a very good one-digit number. I'm ready.

And yes, I must work today. The easiest part of the entire long weekend. Going to a place I don't mind going alone, know my way around and ... it's my last day before a week long holiday. This is the first time (other than adding a day or two onto a weekend) I've taken holidays since 2018.

I'm ready.

P.S. My car is ready too. Other than loose lug nuts (and one missing one) on the front tires, my cousins couldn't hear the rattling I heard. I thought the rattling I heard was from the rear, but I'm taking my chances and driving anyway.

I Can Do This

Mom, I sure miss you right now. I hope you are within, around and surrounding me this upcoming weekend.

I knew I wanted to extend an invitation. I didn't have it in me to do it. Thankfully my cousins married people who aid and abet our best existence. A door was ajar. I simply had to open mine and it was as easy as that.

Nerves were getting the best of me. Then I got a call from another cousin's wife. She may not realize it but she was exactly who I needed to talk with, to get me where I need to be to actually look forward to this weekend. I've adopted her as my own. She is my cousin. In fact, I feel more like sisters. Thank you.

I hung up the phone and did what I could do, to ready the yard for company. Not much. I mowed the sparse lawn and picked an ice cream bucket full of weeds. A step in a forward direction.

I woke up this morning and told myself attending this upcoming Homecoming Weekend will be easier if I go tonight. It will make tomorrow fall into place naturally and I'll find my way.

I'm missing Mom terribly right now. She was my strength at these hometown events. I became stronger after the last time she did the legwork and gathered "my people" at a table together. That strength is still there somewhere. 

I'm sure I will find it. Mom will be at my side in some capacity. She is within me and I still feel her walk beside me at times. Times like these.

I can do this.

If You Ask Them ...

I'm living my Field of Dreams life once again. I extended an invitation yesterday morning. There wasn't any back and forth or wavering. It was a simple, "Sounds perfect"; "Wow that sounds awesome"; "We will do that"; "Thank you"; a few more "Thanks"; one "I'm old and wondering about bathrooms" (I'll take that as a 'yes'); 

All I had to do was ask.

It's an easy group. I'm pretty sure it will be as simple as opening up my home/yard/garage and providing the basic necessities. We are ordering in pizza. Bing! Bang! Boom! Easy peasy.

Except I have to get from here to there.

My socializing muscle is weak. My hosting abilities are rusty. This sequestered, solitary little life I lead has not been good. It's been easy but sometimes one must do hard things to live a better life.

One. Forward. Step. At. A. Time.

I asked. They are coming. This is good.

Offer. Connect. Go. Do. Ask. Talk.

I'm stuck. I've been stuck for a while but I've disguised it with excuses. New home, new jobs, new everything. Thus, I have little energy for anything beyond forcing myself out the door to go to work. 

I have disconnected. Connections, connecting and re-connecting were CPR for my soul during the phase(s) of my life when I pushed myself out of my comfort zone and grew to be more of who I could be. 

I have been muddling through just fine. Until this upcoming weekend. My hometown Homecoming weekend. 

It was a Homecoming in 2006 that rerouted my life. Every forward step I've made since can be traced back to that reunion when Mom gathered up a few cousins and a childhood friend at a table. We re-connected like no time had elapsed. It was the last time Mom had to do my talking. I've been a bit of a chatterbox ever since.

So this morning, after much trepidation, I did it. I invited my extended family to gather at my home after the Homecoming. One invitation, no questions, simply a resounding "Yes".

I felt like a bit of a wreck as I wrote my morning pages. I tried to wake up the dormant side of myself. I have disconnected myself from a life I had been enjoying. I had a feeling it may be as simple as making an offer to open my home and yard as a place to gather. And it was. 

Offer - ✔

Connect/Go - I will go to the Homecoming (alone)

Do - Oh, I now have much to get done before this gathering unfolds

Ask/Talk - I must ask how my much anticipated holidays will be affected by our staff shortage at work

I have a ways to go. But I've offered. I believe that momentum will take me where I need to go.

I didn't have Mom's assistance this time. I did it on my own. But I think I feel her silently cheering me on from afar...

Fourteen years ago, I wrote this. Nineteen years ago, Mom got me where I needed to be to feel that hometown connection again. Thanks, Mom.

friday, July 1, 2011

Home Town Connections

This weekend is something that I have been quietly anticipating for the past five years. Since the last time I was 'home' ...

Five years ago, I returned to our home town for a Homecoming Reunion. I drove into town, expecting nothing more than to hang out with my own family and maybe see a few relatives. Little did I know at the time ... that weekend would change the course of my life.

I felt so comfortable ... so at home, that I returned for the second day. I reconnected with a friend ... and I ended up going on an Alaskan cruise with her (almost) five years later. The past started to meet up with my future that weekend.

That weekend started to bring my life into focus. It was the beginning of something that needed to be nurtured within me. The nine year old child in me (I was nine years old when our family moved to Alberta) finally came 'home' again.

Since that time, I have rerouted my life. I have nurtured, watered and tended to my 'roots'. My past, my heritage and my family are now a great part of my life.

This weekend ... I get to go 'home'. Again.

Summer Solstice Hiatus

I'm not certain what happened but I fell out of the habit of my early morning blogging habit over the weekend. I'll blame the longest day.

The day was so long, when I woke up and saw the time 9:35 and full-on daylight outside, I was rattled. I not only slept through the night but I slept through the morning too!! What the heck?

P.S. the dusty night table and dirty clock have been tended.

It took a few minutes to realize it was 9:35 p.m. I had fallen into a deep REM sleep and awoke to utter confusion. The longest day snuck up on me.

When morning finally did arrive, it was a dreary, cloudy, rain warnings galore kind of day. Ahhh. A perfect snuggle up on the couch and waste the day away kind of day. I had few deep thoughts utter than deep appreciation for my new windows:

 

They work! They really work!! I gazed out my new, rain-proof windows and appreciated the secure, dry feeling while the lawn got a good watering. Ahhh. A dreary day is the perfect excuse to let the day slip through my fingers.

I finally awoke to this morning. The birds and furry critters of the neighborhood popped into my back yard to play.

This little squirrel frolicked by the trees, climbed the tree, played in the branches for a while, came back down to the ground and up again before he scampered off behind the garage.

He was joined by grackles (of course), a mourning dove or two and my friendly neighborhood robins. Ahhh. I love when Mother Nature's little wonders grab my attention. I lost yet another morning.

After some relatively productive days off, I lost a weekend. I made the mistake of tuning into the news yesterday afternoon and this morning. World events are sobering and I find it hard to make light of my safe, insulated little life this morning.

I am grateful for this specific moment in time. I dearly hope I can remain focused on my Disney Wonderland of furry and feathered critters outside my patio doors. The best television on earth. Just watching Mother Nature at play.

Mental Gymnastics

Yesterday, my wondering mind led me down a digital rabbit hole within this blog to find an answer. Today's unanswered question provided some exercise for my brain.

My thoughts began with considering this digital age we live in. We can replay the history of a conversation by scrolling through old text messages. Much more efficient than trying to find an old letter, card or paper document. Emails provide the same back-up. Easily stored, filed and the search function makes retrieval relatively simple.

I have a Rubbermaid container and two baskets within my Daybed Room I need to sort through, decide what is worth keeping and find logical spots to store what I decide to keep. So much paper. Yet there is history within that I don't want to lose.

My daughter suggested scanning and saving digital copies of what I want to keep. Sounds like a very good idea. It also sounds like a lot of work.

Then I started wondering about things like "When did I get a cell phone?", which prompted the memory of when my oldest sister and husband got their cell phone. If I remember correctly, they were the first ones within our immediate family to get one. I must have thought cells were for young people and probably a passing fad. I was somewhat amused that my sister and husband were the first to join this passing phase.

"What year was that?" 

Well, there was a family reunion. A family reunion when we had a new-to-us-dog, who got involved in a water fight (the dog was not the hero - as he bit my brother-in-law, while trying to protect my nephew's wife from the water war), where I think said cell phone ended up falling into some water.

I backtracked all memories related to this reunion, trying to pin down the year. Snippets of memories, who was a baby, timelines, where everyone camped/stayed ... as many details as I could muster and I was still coming up blank.

Eventually, I came up with the year 2001. I might be right. I might be wrong. I welcome corrections and clarifications from my siblings. If I was desperate to know the answer, I could rifle through my old letters to Mom and find the answer. 

The moral to my story is I came up with a satisfactory answer to my question, simply by rewinding the memories I hold within my head. I think of Mom every time I challenge myself to remember without falling back on the Internet or a digital form of the memory. Mental gymnastics may not be the answer to brain health, but it can't hurt.

Livin' My Dream

My morning has been completely derailed by looking for the answer to one small question. How long did I enjoy my downstairs bedroom in my previous home? 

I knew the answer was within this blog (the answer is: November 8, 2015 until shortly after the renovation project was complete: March, 2019).

Look what I found while I was doing my research. I documented my dream on July 26, 2013: 

Friday, July 26, 2013

I had a vision of how I wanted last summer to go...

I was working for the school at the time, so there was little chance of being called to work over the summer. In a perfect world (a world where I didn't have to worry about paying the bills), I would have two months of summer holidays. I had an adult child at home that was willing to take care of the house over the summer and I could do anything or go anywhere I wanted. In a perfect world...

I dreamt of finding a quiet retreat. I would pack up my little laptop computer, my Book Research and all the paraphernalia that would be required to get us through the summer. I would pack up My Youngest and they would spend a summer outside, away from X-box live, the Internet and the television set. They would hate me for a while but after all was said and done we would look back on the summer as the-best-we-had-ever-had.

To perpetuate my dream, I found out that one of my dad's brothers had vacated their country home ... which just happened to be the last home that my dad's parents lived in together. It is a two story home and I would set up a desk and computer beside an outward facing window (insert picture of John Boy Walton here) and I would write.

I would vacation in a world that was close to my dad's family. The geography, the atmosphere, the essence, the solitude and the time would provide me with everything I needed to tackle the job that I had set before me. It was going to be wonderful.

I'm still waiting for those two months of summer holidays, but the quiet retreat, the two story home with a desk by an outward facing window, a world close to my roots ... is my reality.

If you dream it, it will come.

I'm living in my field of dreams.

Barettes in the Candy Aisle

As I waited my turn at the grocery check out yesterday, I scanned the chocolate bars and candy at the till. Back in the day, there were bins that had sale prices of 2 for $1.00 (or am I imagining that??). 

Prices have skyrocketed so I am no longer tempted by current day sale prices. I am almost immune to even looking. But I check it out regardless.

And what to my wondering eyes should appear??

Barettes!! 

I don't have a barette in the house and my hair is driving me crazy when I'm working outside or cooking. In the house, at least my hands are clean and I have access to elastic bands to concoct some way of keeping hair out of my eyes and food. When I'm outside, the wind takes hold and whips my hair into my face, my hands are usually filthy so I turn my head into the wind, like a dog sticking its head out of the window of a moving car to clear my vision.

Every time this happens, I think to myself, "Get some barettes!". This involves getting cleaned up and stepping out of the house again. Once I'm in the house, I'm IN for good. If it's hot outside, the last thing I am going to do is walk to the store in the heat and work up a fresh coat of sweat in order to buy some barettes. The next day, all is forgotten. Until the next time I'm outside and I think to myself,  "Get some barettes!!"

I ran to the grocery store after work last night and the last thing on my mind was picking up barettes. I was out of milk, strawberries were on sale and I was craving Fresca. Priorities!! My hair would be blowing in my face on my walk home but that was the last thing on my mind.

I was perusing the chocolate bar and candy selection at the till, when I spotted the barettes. Bonanza!! I didn't know the price and didn't care. They were exactly what I would have chosen, if I was in an aisle containing a barette selection.

You know the world is looking out for you when you find barettes in the candy aisle. If, of course, you have been in the market for barettes for a while...

It's Already Been Written

I can't count the number of times I find myself searching this blog to discover I've already used a title or find I have already written what I had planned to write. Not necessarily the same stories (though that happens too), but the underlying theme. Same lesson, different circumstances surrounding it.

When I have felt lost, I'll refer to my own writing. It speaks to me in a way nothing else does. Funny how that works, huh? I speak my own language. 

I'll search for a phrase or term that will bring up posts where it's mentioned. It works well when trying to recall the dates I've seen Cher, for example. My "Dear Mom" series or memories of Mom or Dad... I'll fall down rabbit holes of my own doing. 

It's a fun little exercise when I'm searching to find my own answers. This life we live. Same emotions, similar conflict, previous resolutions. We keep cycling around the answers we continue to seek.

I believe our own answers are within us. That is why talking things through with a friend is less about receiving advice and more about hearing your own thoughts outside your head, volleying them back and forth with another human being and one begins to hear their own answer.

Writing has always been therapy for me. Going back and rereading old posts reminds me I'm a fairly good therapist for myself. I've walked the walk before and eventually walked through whatever is plaguing me at the moment.

I keep falling back to the Rules for Being Human I came across decades ago. This says it all:

~ Cherie Carter-Scott, From "If Life is a Game, These are the Rules."

P.S. I fell down another rabbit hole when I tried to find where I had written this before. I searched "life lessons" on my blog, never to find what I was looking for. I found it in a closet. Apparently life lessons is a well documented topic on this little blog of mine. I may go lose myself in my own lessons once again.

On the Eighth Day

Ahhhh! Things look the same around here but they sure feel different after a relatively productive weekend.

TV off. One step in a forward direction. Start. Just start.

Yesterday began with "I'll just clean a blind". One blind led to another. And another. And so on and so forth. Clean blinds led to vacuuming screens and cleaning the inside of the windows.

I stopped for lunch. Most days that would have been the end of me but before I stopped, I parked the vacuum cleaner at the top of the basement stairs.

I'll just vacuum the stairs. Forward momentum didn't take me as far but it took me to the cardboard recycling bins a few times. I picked a few more weeds on my final trip home. 

All I had left to do with the day was to add a few side dishes to go along with the ham I had cooking most of the day (I like my ham dry and overcooked). I think I may have overdid it a little:

I had the mantra "If I make it, they will come" chiming through my head as the aroma of the ham slowly cooking wafted through the day. Please! Let someone drop by and take me out of my misery. I had done enough. I was ready to stop.

Maybe no one likes overdone ham the way I do. I have enough meals to take me through the week and beyond. My future self feels very taken care of.

On the eighth day, after a five day work week and a two day work weekend, I'm ready to head back to work to rest. 

Setting Intentions

Today, my goal is simply to keep the TV turned off until suppertime. My intentions? I simply hope one act leads to the next, which leads to the next, and next and so on. 

I am showered up and clean after yesterday's battle against the weeds, grackles and nature in general. Today? I hope to sit on the back step with my second cup of coffee then move inside to see what battles I can wage within.

Nature is one tough cookie. I didn't even attempt to pick up pinecones. The wind keeps blowing them off the trees. If I was a rich person, I would hire someone who had a crane truck to pick all the pinecones off the forest which surrounds my home. 

I would collect the pinecones, mulch them into bits, then spread them around the perimeter of the house as a decorative mulch. I thought I read that pinecones repel insects and rodents. I'm all for that. They also help retain moisture and deter weeds. Hey, maybe I could spread my make believe pinecone mulch over the lawn like fertilizer. With all the above benefits, what could I lose?

I think I'm onto something here. Pinecone mulch. 

But for today? I hope for even a fraction of the forward momentum I had and held onto yesterday. If nothing else, I know what I'm cooking for supper - intentions have been set.

Ham & hashbrown casserole anyone?

Just One Thing

My morning started by looking out the living room window, noticing the cement that used to lead to the front step. The door and step have been removed. Now the sidewalk leads to no where. I wondered if it continued further than I could see. So I went outside to sweep/shovel off the dirt ...

 (p.s. there was no more cement to uncover - what I saw is what there was)

That was at 6:00 am. One thing led to the next. "I'll just pick a few weeds," I thought...

  

  
More than six ice cream pails full of weeds later, things were looking a little less weedy around here.

I sat on the back step with toast and coffee at one point in the middle of my weed-picking. I went inside and had lunch later on. I was already dirty. What else could I do?

I finally re-washed the new living room window ...

 

... then washed the windows on the garage.

I washed grackle droppings off the side of the house, garage and step. I swept cobwebs off the garage and back step. Then, I swept a little more.

I finally washed the bird droppings off the swing and scrubbed the table. Nine and a half hours after I started, I'm finally all ready to relax and enjoy the fruits of my labor.

Except I'm all cleaned up now and don't want to go outside and get dirty.

Maybe tomorrow...

I love days when just one thing starts a domino effect of forward momentum.

Finally.

One Day Too Much

Today is the "other" fifth day. The fifth consecutive work day. Sigh. I can do this. I simply wish I didn't have to.

10 hours later ...

I did it. I made it through.

I didn't take very good care of my future self though. I abandoned this post in order to make myself a tuna sandwich to take for lunch. It was a good choice.

When you don't take care of your future self, let your present day self choose the best priorities.

Lunch trumped blogging.

And that's all I have to say about that.

War of the Birds

The quiet of my morning was interrupted by the sounds of a war being waged among the birds in the trees outside the kitchen window. The distress calls were fierce, multiplied by their neighboring relatives joining the scene to unite forces. There were grackles and robins flying in and out of the trees. My assumption was someone's nest was under attack. My next assumption was the grackles and robins were at war. I was wrong.

I happened to look at the ground and spotted a crow, surrounded by some grackles, just before it flew into the tree. The robins and grackles appeared to be uniting forces against the crow. It was quite a scene to behold.

This vantage point is from the closed kitchen window:

This is from outside, after the grackles and robins deterred the robin from the trees by the window, to the trees by the shed:

I watched the battle for as long as it took the small birds to chase the crow across the street and out of sight. I silently cheered as the sheer numbers and group effort of two different species of birds, who are not necessarily allies in the whole scheme of things, deterred their common enemy. 

Witnessing this unity against an enemy in common gave me hope for humankind. Further thought led to the outcome if there had been more crows. Would the distress calls been loud enough to call in enough troops to save the day?

Nature is not kind. The natural order of things result in outcomes that defy a Disney World ending. 

This morning, the crow verses grackles took place on the other side of the house. When I peered out the window, I spotted the crow walking on the neighbor's roof. The grackles were holding their own but the distress calls were different. I watched the grackles fly in and band together, strategically placed among the branches. There was a completely different vibe this morning. I didn't get the feeling a nest was under attack. Yet the grackles seemed determined to protect their territory even when the stakes were not as high. 

I quietly named the crow a name that rhymes with "Grump" and let my thoughts linger a moment. The state of the world feels very precarious. Will the distress calls be loud enough to call in enough troops to save the day?

Twenty Seven

Twenty seven has forever been a number I considered a good age to be. It sounds like a good age and it was a life-changing year for me. A year of beginning to make good decisions for myself and my family. 

I wrote these words and walked down memory lane for a while, to formulate the rest of what I had in my mind. Apparently I wrote everything I wanted to say before. I will attach those words rather than repeat them.

Today, is my youngest's 27th birthday. This is the last time I will celebrate this milestone year for any of my children. It will not be the last time I think of where my 28th year led.

My children, as individual as snowflakes. Each one's journey vastly different than the other's. 

My youngest has walked a walk I would have never predicted. Her personality has always been quiet and reflective. There is a lot going on underneath the surface. Just because she is quiet natured doesn't mean she doesn't have a lot to say.

It has take a lot of work to get to this age. Life has many more lessons in store. My wish for you, is no matter where life takes you, remember all you have learned along your way. Your foundation is being laid one block at a time. Start from where you are and build the life you most want to live.

Today is the first day of the rest of your life...

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Twenty Seven

Twenty seven always sounded like a good age to me. Twenty seven simply seemed like it was a 'perfect' age. Both in the years that preceded reaching that goal and the (almost) twenty seven years after attaining it.

If someone woke me from a deep, dark coma and asked me how old I was, there is a fairly good chance that my answer would be "twenty seven" because I felt that age for decades. I would be surprised to look at a document that had my age in black and white and it said "forty seven" for all the world (and me) to see. Forty seven?! I would be taken aback for a moment before I realized that the numbers did not correlate with my inner state of aging.

For me, twenty seven was a year of making good decisions. That is not to say it was a great year. It was a tough year. Within a month of turning that magical age, I left my marriage (for the third and final time) and my dad died. Within two months of that same birthday, I moved my family-of-three (me, along with my nine year and four month old sons) to a new province and found a new home, job and daycare.

The drama that unfolded during the first and second month of turning twenty seven was daunting. Ending a marriage can be a volatile time and place. Things got explosive. It got ugly. Hearts and vows were broken, never to be the same again. Sometimes, things have to get worse before they get better. This was one of those times.

It was frightening to start over in a brand new world. I had abandoned a secure and long-time job, friends who knew and supported me, a house that was no longer a home (and a pile of material possessions within it) and my mom and brother. I came to a city where I knew my aunt and uncle (and a handful of cousins who I knew by name only). It was scary and lonely. But it was necessary. That moved changed my life and quite likely saved it at the same time.

During my twenty eighth year, I rebuilt our home. No, I didn't build it from scratch. I built it from within. The collection of donations which furnished our new home became serviceable items to eat, sleep and sit on. My life had been stripped bare and it was so plain to see, all that really mattered were my children. We were tucked away in a safe and quiet oasis of 'starting over'. It was exactly where we needed to be.

That twenty eighth year was the foundation on which everything that followed has been built. It was solid. It was a year of making good decisions. The benefits were yet to be seen and there would be some more rocky times to follow. But the year of being twenty seven was the basis on which I was rebuilt. It will forever go down in my own personal history as being my most life-changing year.

When my Oldest Son turned twenty seven, he was just starting a course which rerouted his life. He learned a trade which enabled him (not only) to pay his own way while he went to school, but it resulted in a job which has provided him the lifestyle to which he has aspired towards (quite likely, ever since my twenty eighth year, when he lost all of his worldly possessions, friends, community and family when I uprooted him from a life which was killing-us-softly). Twenty seven was his turn-around year.

At the same time, my nephew (who turned twenty seven, five months before my son) was taking some of his first steps towards his own personal goal. He was pursuing his career in comedy. He has taken that ball and ran with it. He is my hero. Not due to his success and fame. Simply because he pursued his dream and made brave and bold decisions to keep pursuing it. I would say he has done pretty well (but then again, I am pretty biased). To me, success is in the pursuit of your dreams - not necessarily attaining them. He started to make this choice his reality in his twenty eighth year.

Yesterday was my Middle Son's twenty seventh birthday. He has had some pretty lofty hopes and dreams. He has gone boldly where he has never gone before. Time and time again. Before his twenty eighth year, he started his own company. He gleaned an education from that experience which I challenge any university to rival. There is nothing like Life Experience to teach you things you will never forget. He bought and (with the help and support of His Girlfriend of many, many years) has moved onto their farm. They are building a 'life' quite literally from the ground, up. He has picked himself up and carried on, despite the odds. He  has experienced more in his first twenty six years than a lot experience in a lifetime. Because he is not afraid to try.

My son is heading into his twenty eighth year with a lifetime full of his own experiences. These very experiences which have taught him so much, have also left him a little gun shy. He has made a few adjustments to his life-as-he-knows-it and is also on the precipice of restarting something new (from an old experience).

Even though My Son is in a vastly different place than I was (or his brother or his cousin) as he steps into his twenty eighth year, I have a good feeling about this. Especially as I recall my own twenty eighth year as the foundation on which the rest of my life that followed, was built.

In my humble opinion, age twenty seven is a very good place to start. Happy Foundation Building Year, My Son. I can't wait to watch your year unfold.

Nature Calls

When a day begins with a mourning dove resting atop the roof outside one's bedroom window,

it feels like it is the beginning of a pretty good day.

Then when one takes a few steps outside their room and spots a deer in the yard,

one's hopes get a little higher.

 

I sat down to write my morning pages and spotted the robin I had hoped to capture yesterday morning:

I simply sat still and listened to the birds...

it sounded like a robin was in a tree right outside the window:

When I packed up my book of morning pages and turned to leave the room,

a robin was sitting on the rooftop right beside the window.

I greeted the day with a mourning dove outside my bedroom window,

my day officially began when I left my writing spot and a robin was outside that window.

With a side order of a deer in the yard and birds singing their songs.

Nature is calling this morning.

I am listening.

Flitting Thoughts

So many thoughts,

so little time to flesh them out.

It seems only appropriate I illustrate this rather wordless post with my feathered backyard friends:

A grackle swooped in for a close up ... look at his evil eye.

Oh, the stories I could concoct.

Meanwhile, look at these little lovebirds.

Ahhh ... I do love my mourning doves.

The robins didn't drop in for a close up. 

I waited. Honestly, I did.

Not today...

Music to My Ears

The inclination to turn on the TV and lose yet another day loomed heavy over me yesterday morning. I overruled what I most wanted to do and turned on the radio instead. 

Radio. An assortment of music I had no control over. Music that spanned over the years and subconsciously took me back to moments in time long forgotten. I even found myself singing a little bit.

I thought thoughts I hadn't thought for a very long time. Wistful little memories I could barely hold onto. Thoughts of someone I hadn't spoken to for a very long time. 

I puttered in the kitchen doing baking/cooking/prepping kinds of things for hours on end. I had no burning desire to leave the kitchen because the other items on my perpetual to-do-list were less intriguing. 

Music kept me motivated, kept my spirits light and breezy. I didn't dance. But I did sing. It's a step in the right direction.

My future self will be very pleased:

Treats, sweets, meals and veggies prepped to make life simpler.

And it didn't hurt a bit.

Rain

I fell asleep to the sound of (what I believe was) a nest of baby grackles in the tree outside my bedroom window. I woke up to the sound of rain. 

Rain. Music to my ears. I quietly wished for and envisioned a long, soaking rain on the wildfires. Please let the wind blow these rain clouds where they are needed the most.

I wrote my morning pages while looking out the window and listening to the rain. Next to the sound of a purring cat, there is nothing quite like listening to rain to lower one's feelings of angst. 

The rain slowed, then eventually stopped. Two birds hopped on the fence within my view. They simply sat there and enjoyed the view. They had the body language of mourning doves. 

In my limited experience, grackles swoop, dive and don't light in one spot for long. 

Robins walk around a lot. I love watching robins running around. They are always on the move. The robins who hang around here seem to spend a lot of time walking and their flights seem short. 

Mourning doves seem to spend a lot of time in one spot, watchful of what's around them but rather sedative in their movements compared to their counterparts who frequent my yard. 

One morning I was taking out the compost and the presence of two mourning doves just on the other side of the fence, a few feet from where I stood, captured my interest. Opening and shutting the lid of the compost didn't deter them. They stayed on their side of the fence, I stayed on mine. I'm sure they were aware of my presence but they lingered, even when I moved around a bit. I would have loved to have found a spiritual story to explain their presence but I decided it was more likely I was close to a nest and they were on guard for any danger.

This morning, a mourning dove caught my attention as it hung out near a puddle left by the rain. 

I watched it for a while (mourning doves can be pretty boring as they really don't do much) and eventually it flew onto the fence. I followed the movement and found a flurry of activity going on:

I don't profess to know a lot about birds, but it is my guess there could be another nest of mourning dove babies in the near future.

Just some quiet, morning thoughts to start the day. May you find a piece of serenity within your day today.