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.

Lost Days

I wasted a day. Though I could pinpoint a handful of meaningful things I did with the day yesterday, I allowed most of the day to slip through my fingertips like water. 

I woke up this morning to find the door unlocked and the dehumidifier running in the basement. On one hand, I didn't have any unexpected company drop in and the basement isn't as humid as I thought it was as the water did not reach the maximum shut-off level. On the other hand, where was my head?

The luxury of my Daybed Room with a TV, canister of chips and ready access to everything I need is I can wander upstairs and not bother coming back downstairs to lock up at the end of the day.

My new ROKU TV has a Little House on the Prairie channel. It runs absolutely nothing by Little House, 24/7.  That series takes me back to a simpler time - both the time period it depicts, the age I was when it first aired and a time when I watched reruns before I went to work. It is a show that simply lowers ones stress levels, blood pressure and (unfortunately) ambition levels.

I have this niggling thought in the back of my mind that I could/should/may end up working more than four days a week. Between summer holidays, changes at work and what is best for the office, I am almost certain I could work five days a week while I long for a three day work week.

The thought of giving up that bonus day contributed to my state of mind yesterday. Mostly? I blame the TV. Days when I turn on the TV first thing in the morning usually end up being lost days.

This weekend? If I do nothing more than keep the TV off until after supper it will be enough.

Thoughtless Thursday

It is almost 11:00 am on my most treasured day of the week. A weekday I get to stay home. What in the world have I done with my time so far?

I have not a lot to show for my day. Yet. I have played around with my financial spreadsheet and analyzed my spending, past and future. I have made a call to Revenue Canada to confirm a few things. I have caught up on Sullivan's Crossing and eaten the better part of a bag of chips.

Where does one go from here?

I was hoping for a semi-productive puttering kind of day. I would like to lose myself to fine tuning the "stuff" within my Daybed Room. I'd like to declutter the basement. I may pull some weeds.

Words feel sparse, ambition even less so. Thoughts of where things will go from here waft lightly through my head. 

Oh, Thursday, where have you gone. And where are you going? I may just fall down a few rabbit holes...

How To Make Hummingbird ENDLESS Water Fountain

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OHd_9D_6x6o&ab_channel=RobbieandGaryGardeningEasy

Displaced

Minutes before the end of my workday yesterday, three people walked into the office looking for information about the location of an evacuee centre in our community.

Two of the three had been evacuated from their home a week ago and the last update they heard, the wildfire was one kilometer away from their home. They were with someone they knew from our town but looking for alternative accommodations as the unknowns continue to mount.

One can only imagine what it feels like to flee your home, not knowing if it will be standing when you return. A devastating situation.

I wonder about the wildlife, hoping their natural instincts tell them what they need to know. 

As I walked home, I considered the idea of a situation which would place untold numbers of people looking for a "port in the storm". What if my community was called upon to open their homes temporarily?

I thought of my simple little life which includes a home, spare sleeping quarters, some back up supplies and thought of how quickly one would go through their supplies if there were five people to house.

At this moment, I am one of the lucky ones. Fortunate enough to consider how I could come to the aid of someone in need. 

Life can change in a New York Minute. What if I was one of those people wandering into a place of business looking for shelter in an unthinkable time?

My cousin, spouse and three young children lost everything in a wildfire five years ago. It could happen to anyone. And does.

I hear Smokey the Bear's voice saying, "Only you can prevent forest fires". Human-kind, we are our own worst enemies. To think of the origins of any one of these fires. I don't know the answer to how these raging fires began. I fear humans are not without blame.

Stay safe out there.

Memory Games

Hand writing three, 8 1/2" x 11" morning pages on a daily basis has been an interesting exercise in exorcising my morning meanderings.

I have written almost 400 pages and my desire to go back and reread any of them is nil. The most I may do before I shred them is scan the margins to see how many of the tasks I've written down have been left unattended.

One purpose of these pages is to reveal one's inner creative self. I think I may have used up my creativity years ago, as my pages haven't revealed much beyond the fact that I find my thoughts pretty tedious and boring.

Recently, when the words aren't coming, I have been trying to recall events of my life. Years, dates, events and so on. This morning's thoughts began with wondering how much I remember before I started blogging.

I started listing the people I worked with when I moved here in 1988, names of a group of co-workers from 1990. Then, the sequence of events one life altering day in 2023. Recalling one event led to another, another and another. I used no resource other than my own head, assisted with the ability to write things down as I recalled them. 

These are the games Mom used to play. Testing her memory without assistance of any kind. If she couldn't sleep, she would think of poems from her childhood and a myriad of things to hone her memory skills. I am convinced this mental gymnastics contributed to her sharp thinking and overall brain health. Her memory, combined with her curiosity and desire to learn are tools I think are good for all of us.

As I came up with memories I thought I had forgotten, I even made a comment to Mom in my morning pages. I thought she may be pleased I was taking a page from her book.

Now, I have to hone the skill of hanging onto those memories without writing them down. Mental math is a skill I've lost. 

I'll keep playing my memory games and hope for the best. 

A Guest Room I Don't Want to Share

They say you should sleep in your guest room to ensure it is comfortable and your guests have what they need to enjoy their stay. Well? I've gone a step beyond that.

Even before "my room" was my bedroom, I commented it was the perfect guest room. It has an en-suite bathroom, queen sized bed and the room is cozy and a comfortable size. A guest could get up any time they wished and have everything they need to extend their time alone before needing to be social. Plus, they wouldn't have to go down the not-to-code stairs if they needed the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Let the record show I already knew my room was the best guest bedroom.

Then I moved into my room and the guest bedroom became a pet project of mine. I knew a daybed would be ideal for that room because the air register is by the wall, under the bed. And I found the daybed of my dreams:

Then the writing desk of course. I cannot say enough about my writing desk by the window but I will try.

I was searching for just the right kind of cabinet which would mostly serve the purpose of holding stationary, writing and office supplies but could double as a dresser if required. Plus, I wanted another smaller cabinet for the closet. Due to the fact this cozy little room is carpeted, I was looking for furniture on wheels. 

Closet cabinet

Then came the pièce de ré·sis·tance. The final touch.

After a great deal of thought, research and test runs, I decided a TV for this cozy little spot would be my little treat. A place to watch TV at night, when my sensitive neck cannot relax on my comfy-looking-couch in the living room. 

While the living room windows were under construction, I moved the TV up into this cozy little room and I loved, loved, loved ending my days in this most-comfortable-spot steps away from my bedroom. A little TV watching and I'm literally 12 steps from my bed. Twelve steps on the same level. Not 13 steps up, then 10 steps to the right. Twelve steps.

 

I brought home my new TV yesterday afternoon and couldn't wait to set it up. It is the perfect size, perfect fit and perfect-for-me ROKU TV with access to more channels than I'll ever need:

A small fridge and microwave and this room would have everything I need.

I have created a guest room so cozy, comfortable and ideal that I don't want to share it. I'm just glad I already proclaimed my bedroom as the ideal guest room. So I guess that makes everyone happy.

Dad

The gift of living near and visiting a sibling regularly is sharing the same core memories. It is common for us to find a thread of Mom woven throughout our conversations. We have a lot of "Mom" in us, she lived for 89 years and though it has been close to eight years since she died, thoughts and memories still feel fresh.

Dad, on the other hand, was young when we last had the dad we knew. His massive heart attack, days before his 58th birthday, was the end of Dad living his life. We had fewer years to collect Dad memories and it has been 42 years since that fateful day. 

So when a "Dad memory" arises, it touches a part of me that hasn't been touched for a while. It feels rather special.

When my son built a shed for me and I commented I couldn't wait to roll my tires into their seasonal storage spot and not have to stack them, it stopped him in his tracks for a minute. He quickly commented he'd build something for tire storage, since the walls of the aluminum shed wouldn't withstand the weight. He came up with this:

It was made completely out of leftover wood that was lying around. It cost nothing but his time. It was a very "Dad" thing of him to do. When I showed this shelving unit to my sister, she immediately commented, "This is Dad. This is something Dad would make." Yes. Yes, it was.

Cool little memory to store inside the shed along with the tires and other miscellanea.

Yesterday, I was commenting on my ability to hang a picture. Except when I looked at the back of the picture I wanted to hang, it was missing the picture wire. Two loops to string it into, but no wire. When I mentioned this to my sister, she perked up and said she had some.

She ran downstairs and came up with her picture wire storage container:

"Dad!" I exclaimed. That is Dad's, right? Yes. Yes it was. 

Dad used tobacco tins to store nuts, bolts, screws and many numbers of things in the garage. Seeing that tobacco tin was an immediate callback to my memory of Dad. No, rolling cigarettes is quite possibly the last thing he may want to be remembered by, but the tins. The resourcefulness of not letting anything go to waste. "That" was Dad.

I wistfully asked my sister if she minded leaving that tin to me in her will. Just a little thing. I loved the way I felt when suddenly I felt the memory of Dad wash through me. She said she could do one better. She ran downstairs and found its twin. Now we each have a little memory of Dad in our storage collections.

Dad. I love being reminded of you. Your essence. Your work ethic. Who you were. I love when a brand new, never-been-recently-recalled memory flashes through my mind. Most of all, I cherish having a sibling who shares that exact same memory of who you were and the ways which we still see you in your children and grandchildren.