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. 

Memories on Mother's Day

I wrote this twelve years ago. We had Mom for four more Mother's Days. I read these words today and they are true as they were the day they were written:

Saturday, May 11, 2013

To Mothers Everywhere ... "Happy Mother's Day"

I'm having a little bit of Mother's Day Anxiety. I do a better job at living up to this occasion when I am not 'on location'. Writing a letter to tell Mom that I think she is pretty special? Easy! Sending a card to mark the occasion? Hallmark, you've made a few dollars off of my ability to carry through with that. Sending a gift in the mail? Receiving a parcel in the mail is a gift unto itself. It takes the pressure off of what is inside of the packaging. I can do that. I enjoy doing that. Especially when the gift is attached to no important date.

This year, my mom is coming here. Tonight. She will be waking up Mother's Day Morning. Here. In my house. With me. In person. What in the world can I do to live up to the pomp and circumstance of such an occasion? [heart rate goes up here].

First of all, my biggest gift to you will be whatever I can manage to clean, organize, buy and arrange before your bus arrives tonight. There is so much to do. And I have so much time to do it in. But I don't want to do it. The dirt and the dust and the clutter and the disorganization have grown so big and so tall that I don't know where to begin. Honestly? I want to begin by shutting out the sun. Then you can't see how dirty everything is. Perhaps this will be your gift to me. Your arrival will force me to move. To take one step in a forward direction. And start to move the mountains of dirt around here. One teaspoon full at a time. Thanks, Mom. I will be forever grateful.

Secondly, I had hoped that some deep and profound words would pour out of my fingertips this morning so that I could print this off and give it to you as a testament of my respect, honor and love that I have for you. I know that I don't do this as often as I used to, but I have done my best to convey my thoughts and feelings as I live and breathe them. I hope that I honor the mother that you have been, are, and forever will be ... by living my life in a way that makes you proud. I hope to raise my own family in a way that perpetuates the sense of family that we have among us. I am so grateful for the bonds within our family. I can see my own little family starting to emulate what they have grown up with and it makes my heart happy. Thanks, Mom ... for living your life the way you do. For showing us 'love' is a verb. I'll never forget the story about when a squabble among my two older sisters resulted in Mom telling one of her daughters to tell the other "I'm sorry". My sister simply couldn't do it. The best that she could muster was, "I can think it ... but I can't say it". Mom thought to herself "Good enough". It is better to think something and be truthful to yourself and the world around you, than to go off spouting empty words just because you have been told to do so. "I love you too, Mom" ...

Third, I don't have a gift for you. Perhaps as today unfolds, some physical token will present itself to me so that I have something for you to unwrap. But I don't do well under pressure. Let my gift to you be the unexpected gift that may have already arrived. Or the package that will find its way to you when I find something that speaks to me. Just because I don't have a gift doesn't mean that you aren't gifted. I hope that the day is a little bit special for you and I will do my best to help that happen. But I simply fold under pressure. Please forgive me. You don't have to say the words ... I will hear them if you feel them. Your unspoken vocabulary is far louder than you realize.

Fourth, I expect no more than I give this Mother's Day. To my own children ... no physical token is required. You give me gifts throughout the year without realizing that you are doing so.

To My Oldest - the last time you were over you shuddered just a little bit when you uttered the words (to me) that you can't believe how much you are like me. Yes ...  you were talking about my our obsession with pre-washing dishes before they go into the dishwasher. The moment you said the words (again), I had an instant replay of the time you came home when you were driving your friends around in my car when you were a teen. Your friends were 'misbehaving' (I don't remember their exact actions but they were distracting you while you were driving in much the same way an out-of-control child can do) and you pulled the car over and stopped. You told them (something to the effect of) to settle down or get out. You quite physically shuddered when you told me this at the age of 16, "I can't believe it ... I'm turning into you!!"

Thank you. You have been listening all along. Your subconscious mind will remember some of the wisdom lessons that I have done my best to share with you. You will hear my 'voice' throughout your life. It may not seem like much right now but some day it will. Trust me. I know this. I cherish hearing Dad's words of wisdom when I need them the most. Mom may live five hours away but I am forever quoting her. May you remember the 'good stuff' and let the rest go. Please??

To my Second Son - you and I share a perspective about life and how we see it on a sporadic, yet somewhat regular basis. Having you back at home while you rerouted your life these past years has added a little lot of the mundane day-to-day stuff to our lives. Neither one of us enjoys chit-chat on a regular basis. We tend to steer our energy towards 'real' conversations. We have had many. Most recently, was when we drove out to see Mom a month ago. I enjoy your perspective, your passion, your integrity and your honesty. You tell me truths that I may not always want to hear but you keep it 'real' around here. You see me - inside and out. The good, the bad and the ugly. And (I think) you still love me. Words are cheap around here. We don't say it out loud. We act in loving and respectful ways. I hear you too ...

Thank you. You make many, many days 'Mother's Day'. You do things without me asking you to. You do things when I ask too. I know it is ever-so-much-easier to do something when it is your choice ... I thank you for doing the 'hard stuff' when I know you'd rather take a memo and get back to me. You have been the 'Man About the House' that I have never had. Not since Dad ... not since Dad ... Thank you doesn't even begin to cover it.

To My Youngest - you are wise beyond your years. You have enveloped the characteristics of your older brothers and wove them into something unique and special within you. You have inherited and embraced the characteristics within your dad that I loved. You have only just begun yet I see the path that you are headed towards. You were the gift that I did not ask for, yet I received anyway. You talk with me about your days, your hopes and dreams ...  yet you listen to me carry on about my mundane little stories too. You know of what I speak when I talk about my frustrations within my little daycare family. And you lead by example. I am learning from you ...

Thank you. You listen to my little rants. Oh, except for those times when you sort of shake your head a little bit after I've spoken a little too long without breathing and say, "What?" Yes. I know. I do it too. So did your dad ...  so did your dad ... (please remember to honor that side of yourself). You are patient and caring. You see beyond the obvious and you are looking ahead with your head secured tightly. No rose colored glasses perhaps, but the ability to see through the clear reality-tinted ones is a gift. Embrace it. When you look back on your life one day, I am wondering whose words of wisdom will come back to you. Mine? Or your own??

To My Mom - see what you have done? Do you see what I see and feel within my little family? This is the greatest gift that you have given to me. The ability to parent my children in the best way that I know how. I was a different parent to each of them at different parts of my life. I did the best I could with what I had at the time. My Oldest does not recognize me as the person who raised him. For that, I am both sorry and grateful. I'm grateful that I improved (?) with age ... but sorry that he was the one who took the brunt of my learning curve in the early years.

Thank you, Mom. Words can't begin to encompass my gratitude. But I try. I will continue to do my best to carry your wisdom and lessons and words within me. I promise to hang on and cherish the good stuff and let the rest go. We are imperfect people in an imperfect world. We teach our children what we know when we know it. But most of all ... we teach by example. Thank you for setting the example that you have set for me. Thank you for enduring the 'hard stuff' so that you can sit back on a day like Mother's Day and feel the goodness that you have created come back to you. May that be the gift that you receive. Not just from me. But from all of those who you have mothered along the way.

There you go, Hallmark. I did it my own way. I may not make greeting card brevity requirements, but I did what I set out to do (I think ... I must go back and reread this now!).

It is kind of nice to have a special day to honor your mom after all. No matter where she may be. We carry our moms within our hearts and we share what they gave us to those who touch our world. I think moms everywhere know this. May the moms who are looking down upon us feel all that we are feeling. Sometimes ... the words simply don't have to be said. They know. Because we feel it deeply and act accordingly. Please know and be comforted that your mom knows how you feel about her. Wherever she may be ....

Possession Day

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

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

This is it. The end of an era.

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

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

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

Little things.

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

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

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

Dad and me

Me and my mom

That was almost 40 years ago ...

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

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

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

That house saw us through so very much.

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

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

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

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

Almost a month has passed since that day.

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

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

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

Moments

I thought I would have to go into work this morning. I went through my morning routines, expecting to leave the house at 9 a.m., but instead, I made a phone call and was told "There really isn't a full day of work here for you today". And in that moment, I knew I had exactly what I wished for. A quiet day at home.

Our cats capitalized on the moment and made a break for the outdoors as soon as I opened the back door. Our little black cats have (almost) become content to stay within the confines of our back yard, with only the occasional breakout these days. I made myself a cup of coffee, brought out the tools which help my brain function and here I sit:

This moment feels like a small slice of heaven.

Moments. That seems to be the theme of my days of late. Simply being where I feel I need to be. Sharing those moments with people I want to be with. Even when conversation wanes, I feel I am exactly where I am meant to be.

Planning has become next to impossible. I set a date for what I would like to do but I'm ready to change course on a moment's notice. Kind of like this unexpected morning off of work.

Flexibility is everything to me. I am fortunate I have "life" set up exactly the way it is. I have employers who are willing to bend and stretch as needed to make things work for all concerned. My children are grown and even my youngest needs only a small piece of what I have to offer these days.

My priorities are exactly where I want them to be right now. Life at home can go on just as smoothly without me. Perhaps things are a little "hairy" around here while I'm away, but what's a little cat hair in the big picture?

When I'm home, my goal is to make it simple for me to pick up and leave on a whim. I think the powers that be must laugh at us when we actually think we have the ability to plan anything. I've all but given up. I have a basic outline of what I must do, when I think I must complete certain tasks and dates when I anticipate I will be away from home. But it is really a joke. It is a little like those suggested "best before" dates on food packaging. It is a suggestion at best. It is not set in stone.

I have literally packed my suitcase and thrown it in the trunk of my car so I could make a getaway straight from work. As it turns out, I probably should have followed that instinct and left that day. But I didn't. Because I stayed at home a few extra days, I may not have been "exactly where I should have been", but those very same days allowed me the freedom to stay as long as I did once I finally got there.

Moments. In reality, that is all we can really count on. The here and now. The moment we are in. String all those moments together and you have a life.

Take the worry out of your day by remembering you cannot know what the future holds in store. Whether it be good, bad, indifferent or anything in between, all you really control is the moment you are in. Try to make the best of it.

Go ahead and write your outlines. It is the best way to make your story worth reading about later on. Outlines are good. Continue to set the date, place and time to do, see, go and be who you want to become. When life has other plans, try to bend and go with the flow. Trust you are exactly where you are meant to be.

I thought I was wandering and living my life without purpose this last long while. Perhaps that is true. But it is for a purpose. I will simply call this time "My time of great flexibility".

There are moments I wonder if this is the best use of my life. But what those very moments give me, is the stamina to walk through whatever "tomorrow" may have in store. Instead of beating myself up for not being, doing or producing "enough", I am going to assure myself it is okay. I will take these quiet moments to build myself up from the inside, out. I will rebuild who I am and what I expect of myself in the times of great quiet.

But for now, I simply want to be in the moment. And enjoy the company of those I spend those moments with.

Today? It is our cats. Tomorrow? It may be the world.

I'm Back

I took an unplanned hiatus from writing over my holiday. Then I went back to work and I was even more depleted than I had been before my holiday so there were no words. I take that back. There were lots of words, thoughts and ideas. But they weren't pretty, consistent nor fun to live with. So I drowned myself in television and sleep and kept most of them to myself.

Long story short, I knew I had to make a change. I just didn't have a plan. After three solid weeks of squirming with uncertainty and trying out many different scenarios in my mind, I think I am making headway. I am handing in my notice at the end of today. I am winding up my daycare and moving on. 

I'm not jumping into this transition. I will wind things up by the year's end. I have four months to get used to the idea. Four months to fine tune "what happens next". I like to hold onto the illusion I have a modicum of control over my fate but in reality, I am taking a leap of faith. I have a plan. I just have to put my trust in it and I'm not quite there yet.

So many ideas have wafted in, out and through this tired little brain of mine. 

When I last wrote here three weeks ago, I knew with a certainty I haven't felt in a very long time, that I had to give up my daycare. I knew it. I had no idea what to do next nor did I want to push the idea. A year's leave of absence was my plan. I would do whatever it took to quit one job without leaping blindly into the next. My year of jumping desperately from one job to the next and barely holding on taught me I need to move cautiously. No leaping before I looked. That was all I knew for sure. 

So I set the wheels in motion and signed the papers to start withdrawing from my pension fund. Not a wise financial move. I know this. But you weren't inside my head. It was dark and scary in there. I knew I needed a safe place to fall and knowing I had a little nest egg I could draw on was all I could hold onto for consolation. I knew I could not continue doing what I was doing but the idea of taking on a brand new job outside of our home paralyzed me. I had to take a step in a forward direction so I took it.

Then my son dropped by and talked with me. He stayed and talked until I stopped feeling so desperate. The more I talked, the freer my thoughts flowed. I opened my mouth and the words I planned to say didn't come out. Instead (I have no idea how this happened, because it was without forethought) I heard myself say "Maybe I should contact my former employer [of twenty years] and see if they would consider rehiring me". It was as if the truth was just spoken. The world stopped spinning for a millisecond until I heard my son reply, "I think you may be onto something ..."

I woke up the next morning feeling like the weight of the world fell off my shoulders. I cancelled my pension withdrawal immediately. I had a plan. It wasn't a terrifying one. It was scary enough but I thought I could do it. I called my mom and told her I finally felt like I was on holidays. I felt energized and my energy is a rare resource these days so I cautioned her that I was considering coming out to see her the second week of my holiday instead of "that day".

I went about "that day" and all was well. I did laundry and went through the motions of preparing myself to leave for Mom's later that day but I truly believed I would stay home and simply revel in the fact that my life was in order, I would pick up "holiday groceries" on my way home then settle in for a few productive days at home.

Then I got the call. Mom broke her wrist and was in the hospital. My plans changed on a dime and my sisters joined me for the ride. Mom said she didn't need anyone to come out but not one of us regrets changing our plans midstream and following the path we were meant to take.

So many thoughts come to mind when I think of Mom living on her own, with my brother being the only one who lives close by. Mom is fiercely independent but this accidental fall was an eye opener. She was so lucky in the whole scheme of things but this inconvenient breakage of a bone has severely hampered her independent spirit. 

I woke up the second morning we were there "knowing" what I wanted and was perfectly capable of doing. I wanted to pack up everything and move out to Mom's. I could be as quiet a presence as she wanted me to be but I could be there. I could take care of little things, I could drive her where she wanted to go and I could be company when her days felt too quiet. I could do this. With one minor hiccup. I still happen to have one dependent child and two cats at home. This hiccup turned into a road block I couldn't overcome.

So I ended my holidays knowing little more than I knew before they began. I knew I had come to the end of the line here in my daycare world but I was terrified to make a move to change it. I thought I could push through if I didn't push what I felt capable of doing. I watched my friend sit among her three daycare charges when I went to see her and I admired her calm demeanor. Her daycare charges picked up on her energy and they were so good, so calm and so easy to be around. "I can do this!" I told myself all last week. I was wrong.

I gave the week the best shot I knew how to give. One of my daycare families gave me notice they would be done at the end of the month and I tried to envision the personalities I would still have in my midst. I wanted to believe that without this "one" extra child, I would be capable of holding on and sticking it out. But when I recapped my remaining challenges in an early morning Saturday email I heard the truth. Again. I need to give up my daycare. For me, for the children I tend and for the sake of humanity. I have to quit.

So I unloaded my burdens on my bookkeeping boss when I went to work a few hours later and I think I have found a safe place to fall. At least during the transition out of daycare and back into the real world. She needs me to work far more than I am working now. At least two, maybe three days a week. But in the new year, she said she has full time work for me as she wraps up the "year end". This feels like the perfect solution for both of us. At least for now.

What is most important to me right now, is the ability to drop everything and run out to Mom's if the need arises. I was so relieved I could be so available during my holiday. I was exactly where I needed to be. I want to be that available on a permanent basis. Maybe I can't uproot my life and move out there, but I can shuffle my life around a bit and be "available". 

It isn't the end all solution but it is enough to push me through this moment and give me the courage to hand in my notice today. I puttered around with a daycare newsletter most of yesterday. I will hand it out and talk to my parents at the end of today. It will be done.

"There is no easy way to say this, so I will just say it. I will be closing my daycare on December 23rd, what was scheduled to be my last day before Christmas holidays..."

Change is in the air. I hope it wafts gently through the days, weeks and months ahead and I land safely on the ground when the dust settles. The last time I tried this it was a bit more like a plow wind, wreaking destruction along its path. I must have faith that I learned some valuable lessons along the way and though I'm sure this path will be windy at times, I do see a port in the storm somewhere in my distant future. I'll just keep taking one step in front of the other and try to enjoy the journey.

My True Heart's Desire

What would I wish for if I was Cinderella and my fairy godmother granted me my true heart's desire?

My true heart's desire. What is it that my heart is yearning for? If my heart does indeed know, the circuit between my heart and my brain is under construction because my no one seems to be running the ship here in my body, mind and soul.

Since I seem to have no idea what it is that my heart is yearning for, I would ask for a one year's leave of absence from life-as-I-know-it. I would require some funding for this year because I would utilize it to rebuild my world so it could go to work for me when my time was up.

I would hope my fairy godmother would know what is inside my heart even if I am unsure. She would wave her magic wand and work her magic so I could rent out the top floor of our home and live comfortably in a downstairs suite. Since the downstairs is lacking in natural sunlight, we may need to add a four season sun room to the mix to ensure an adequate dose of Vitamin D was administered throughout the winter months. Either that, or I may have to winter down south. But this is a year. It is only a year. A sun room would be a better long term investment.

I may hope that my fairy godmother turns my renegade, bored silly black cat into the social director of my life. Here is a man who knows life is best lived outdoors, exploring and pushing one's boundaries. His one basic need is a "safe place to call home", but other than that he wants to live life to the fullest and is not content with anything less. Yes, he would make an excellent "cruise director" for this life I'm living.

This would leave my more quiet and skittish cat to hold down the fort. He could be "Jeeves", my man servant, who would orchestrate the running of our home. He would cook, pamper and accompany me through the hours of day to day living.

I would be free to run out to Mom's on a whim and stay for a while, when needed. Perhaps she may consider coming home with me and moving into my not yet rented upstairs suite. Or more importantly, I would like to just "be there" to be or do or take care of whatever Mom needed to be done or taken care of.

Mom is weighing heavy on my mind these days. I'm glad that going out to see her is all I really have planned for my holiday. I do believe that my heart is guiding me to Mom's. From there, I will see a clearer path.

At Least I Like My Hair

I feel like I've been doing an awful lot of belly aching about nothing lately. The thing about complaining is, that I believe it does become a habit. I whine and complain so much that people ask me about what I've been grumbling about as an act of consideration. So I talk about it some more even when I know I shouldn't. My troubles aren't growing, only my perception of them is.

Mom called last night to see how I was doing. She takes on my worries like her own and I have been harping on my dissatisfaction and frustrations far too much lately. She called at the end of one of my better daycare days so I was full of joy and optimism about the day, explaining the day prior was the worst daycare day ever, so "this" was good. She replied, "I thought you said that before", to which I happily replied, "Yes I did, and they keep getting worse!" with joy in my voice and a smile on my face. She asked if I was going to quit this job and I said I really didn't have a choice. That is, unless I moved in with her. She laughed and said, "You may as well..." then went on to talk of her friends who have their 50-something children living back at home.

As Mom and I chatted, I was well aware that she had recently had a few "bad days" and wasn't feeling on top of her game all day, every day. She doesn't like talking about "stuff like that" so I didn't prod but eventually she told me everything I had heard from my siblings. Perhaps with the emphasis being more on too much coffee and too much heat. But she did tell me that "I" need to be around people more then went on to tell me she had called my brother at work and he dropped by on his way home. "Sometimes you just need to talk with somebody you know?" The value of that visit, my brother's ability to stop by on a moment's notice and the feeling of knowing someone was "there" to talk with and be heard was huge.

Mom doesn't complain. She may harp on some things more than is necessary but she doesn't complain about her lot in life, her health, her circumstances, feeling lonely or any number of things she has every right to feel.

I have much to learn yet from my mom:

• Stop complaining
• Just "do", accept and be content with all I have right in this moment
• Be around people, "everyone needs that" (she said from a deep sense of knowing)

Yes, I have much to be grateful for. Have I mentioned lately that my last haircut was a life changer for me? I have a "scrunch and go" look going on right now. Perfect for those mornings when I wake up and can't believe my hair didn't survive last night's shower better. I quickly washed my hair and carried on with my morning routines. No big deal.

Life is good. I not only have a head of hair, I have a style I can manage with ease. My hair is no longer dictating my life. And this is good.

A Whirlwind Week

It's been a whirlwind of a week and I am very glad to have it all behind me. I just now folded the laundry I put in the washer five mornings ago (then put in the dryer a morning later). I've logged 1,135 kms on our Saskatchewan highways, travelled down gravel roads, sketchy highways and drove down memory lane with my mom. Literally and figuratively.

I listened more than I talked and I still talked too much. I'm not putting myself down when I say that, it is simply that I ran out of words long before the days were done.

My youngest son graduated and it was a privilege and honor to share the day and all the memories with family. My own little "family of four" were all together, my mom wanted to come out for this occasion and my sisters joined the party. It felt a little bit wonderful to spend the day surrounded in family.

Mom spent a full day with me and my daycare crew. Considering she found the ticking of our kitchen clock loud and irritating, a day with four very vocal and busy children felt very long and hard.

We had a full day at our disposal so we drove around and took in a little bit of quiet family visiting. We spotted a moose in a field, a few deer in the ditch and generally took in the beauty of our Saskatchewan landscape, enjoying this summer season of growth and greenery as we made our way down country roads from one destination to the next.

The next day, we drove out to our home town to take in the parade and festivities of their 105th birthday and "Homecoming". For a small town of (I believe I heard this correctly) 195 people, they put on quite a party. There were 700 registered guests and many who didn't "sign in" to be counted. It was quite possible there were about 1,000 former residents and families who gathered. It is a small town with a big heart. It feels very humbling to be a part of such a community.

After one very long, exhausting and busy week I met my brother at the halfway point between our two cities and we got Mom back home safe and sound and (I would imagine) just a small bit exhausted.

Mom is 88 years old and full of vitality and spirit. It was a week that wore me out, pushed me out of all sorts of comfort zones and into a world where I barely had time to recoup from one day before the next was thrust upon me. Yet Mom woke up each morning with a "What's next?" kind of attitude that put me to shame.

I asked her if she knew who may have been the oldest one at our hometown reunion and she answered, "I certainly hope it wasn't me!!" There were some pretty worn out souls who attended our homecoming and Mom certainly didn't look like the oldest. Not by a country mile. But at the age of "88", she could have been. I replied, "But what if you were? I think that would be the greatest compliment you could receive" (as I thought of those who were ailing, in wheel chairs and looking very tired and worn out). Mom may not be as spry as she was even five years ago, but she went where she wanted to go, reminisced with the best of them with her quick wit and smart comebacks.

I really have no desire to live a long, tired life but if I do, I want to be "just like Mom". Too stubborn to let a few little aches and pains be the centre of my conversation and thoughts. I want a mind that is as sharp as hers as she can easily pull out the facts and memories old and new. I would only hope for one minor modification. I hope my brain holds onto the "good stuff" and lets go of that which does not serve me.

I marvelled at the way people act in Mom's presence. At times, it was like the seas parted to make way for Mom to be seated and comfortable. One person even gave up their lunch for her. There was a sense of respect and admiration for this spry, vivacious soul. Mom has always been one who has been small of stature but is large in her presence. She never complains about her health, her lot in life or her circumstances. She is not only who I want to be, in most ways she is also who I want to become.

The Gift of a Weekend Well Spent

There is no place I'd rather be, than "home". Perhaps this is a gift I learned to appreciate from my mom. I remember the years when "going back home" was where I would have much rather been.

This past weekend, I "went back home" to take Mom out for a Mother's Day breakfast. It was hard to push myself out of my brand new back door, but it was good. I wrote a little blog about it over at MyKawartha.com:

http://www.mykawartha.com/blogs/post/6545028-the-gift-of-a-weekend-well-spent/

Reflections from Christmas Present

It is almost "all but a memory" now. Christmas Present will soon be Christmas Past and I can carry on living my happy little life in the moment. The place I most like to be.

My trip to see Mom couldn't have went much better.

It was summer-like driving conditions, in winter weather. No drifting snow, no ice, no worries. It was a very carefree and easy drive.

The visit was very much the same.

I thought my stay may feel too long without the added company of one or the other of my adult children along. But it felt like the perfect amount of time with an ideal amount of distractions.

Mom cooked a turkey meal and preparing for that filled in the cracks of the "day before". Preparing a meal doesn't even feel like work when you divide the job in two. She filled her table for six and commented that she had enough dinnerware for "two more". And I quietly thought of how much my family would have enjoyed sharing that meal.

The day after the big meal was spent hanging out at the mall. A light breakfast and a stroll down the mall just looking at things and buying nothing was a most leisurely way to pass the time. A few more stops were made before we took a coffee break on our way home. I'm not certain how many hours we passed out of the house but it felt like the perfect amount of time.

The exhaustion that seemed to wash over Mom in preparation for her big meal was replaced by an energy that seemed to come from a place of "a job well done". She gathered and fed her family a Christmas meal and her work was done.

I had the chance to see a few friends and we managed to pack in a day's worth of visiting into the hours we had at our disposal. These friends go back so many years and we share so much history. We have walked such parallel paths, we are kindred spirits and our friendship is one of the sisterhood variety.

No gifts were exchanged, other than the assortment of my "favorite things" I packed up in a plain, brown bag and gave to Mom. In reality, I didn't need that package at all. All I had to do was pick up what I noticed Mom needed and listen for cues as to what she wanted while I was there and that was truly my gift. She really, really doesn't like shopping. But I don't think she would mind a little grocery/household elf to survey her house at night and just fill it with what is lacking so she could find it when she needed it. I made an attempt to be that "elf" and it felt good. It felt right.

I made my way home and the long road to Mom's became shorter as I made my way back. Thoughts of my visit wafted in and out and through my mind. No one thought sat still. They moved and shifted and shifted like the landscape I drove past.

I returned home and all was well. I opened the door and our two cats were there to greet me and my youngest was hot on their tails. The cats did their "I didn't miss you!" but "Where in the world were you?!" and "I'm mad at you" but "I still love you" routine. They didn't need me. My youngest tended to all their physical and emotional needs in my absence. I'm just the person who buys the cat food and cat litter.

I am the little grocery/household elf in this house. I am appreciated as needs are quietly fulfilled, supplies are replenished and more often than not what we need is at our fingertips.

Our life and household runs pretty smoothly. So smoothly, I can walk away for a few days and these guys just pick up my slack and when I return, I just have to pick up where I last left off and carry on.

I have a very good life to come home to. I think of one of my sister-friends whose life is in a complete state of upheaval, renewal, loss, change and evolution as I sit here and write. I think of my other friend who described the scene in her home one short hour before we met for supper. I looked at her in amazement that she walked out the door like everything was perfect in her world. She just replied, "That's just a day in my life..."

I lead such a "bubble wrapped" existence. All is calm, all is bright, I am surrounded by people who value me, believe in me and support me when I'm down. I work for and with people who appreciate me. There is so much contentment within the core of my being. I have strong bonds with the people within my world.

I found myself reflecting on the relationships I was unable to sustain throughout my adult years and I am starting to see the common thread. At one time I gave myself away. I gave all I had until I was empty. When I was empty, the relationships died. These days I don't give myself away. I share what I have. I do my best to plant what has "gone to seed" in my life and hope those seeds can grow in someone else's garden.

I don't give until I am empty any more. I keep trying to keep myself nourished so I can continue to share what I have. My nourishment comes from a place of quiet.

I have one more day to push through and then I can nourish myself. And our cats. Perhaps my son will join us.

"Jet" (our young and "I'll take all you have to give" cat) just tried to jump up on my lap a few minutes ago. "Tomorrow", I said to him. Tomorrow, we will have a cat day. Tomorrow, we will fill up on all things light and easy and simple and just breathe in the same air. Tomorrow, I will be still. I will make turkey soup with the turkey bones Mom sent home with me. It will be a "Turkey Soup for the Soul" kind of day.

Take some time to nourish your soul today. I am stealing this time this morning when I should be working on something else. It all works out in the end. If I don't "feed myself" I have nothing to give. I am hopeful that by taking this time, the one project left undone will come together with ease when I return from my work day this afternoon.

One more hard day to go. Just one ...

Little Drummer Girl

It's been a long day. All my thoughts are in rhymes (oh, the poems I have written this season). This one has been sitting in a state of incompleteness since I found out my brother already bought the gift I thought I could give my mom. I finally finished it tonight:

Come she told me, pa rum pum pum pum 

She had no Christmas tree, pa rum pum pum pum 

I'm not sure who will come, pa rum pum pum pum 

To keep us company, pa rum pum pum pum, 

rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

So to honor Her, pa rum pum pum pum, 

I will come. 

Oh, dear mother, pa rum pum pum pum 

I have not shopped for you, pa rum pum pum pum 

I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum 

But I could buy some wings, pa rum pum pum pum, 

rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum, 

What shall I bring for you, pa rum pum pum pum, 

When I come? 

My mom nodded, pa rum pum pum pum 

The clock ticked and kept time, pa rum pum pum pum 

I'd bring my sons for Her, pa rum pum pum pum 

That would best for Her, pa rum pum pum pum, 

rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum, 

Then She smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum 

Me and my sons.

A Train of Thoughts Which Led to Mom

I can't believe it's "Friday" already! Having a holiday sitting by itself, in the middle of a week, sandwiched between two working days on either end of it is my kind of week!

It is the kind of week where it is easy to say "Yes!" to most everything.

Friend - "What are you doing Monday night?"
Me - "Most likely nothing ..."
Friend - "Would you like to come over for supper?"
Me - "Sure!"

It was that easy. And it was easier just to show up, lose myself in friendship, good food, good company, cats and step into a conversation that felt like it had never ended from our last visit.

We scratched the surface and got deep and introspective at times, whimsical and silly at others but mostly we just enjoyed the flow of words and a conversation that took us to the place where it is easy to say what is on your mind, in your heart and share hopes, dreams, sorrows and pain. It was exactly the conversation I have been yearning for.

I got home to a message from another friend. "What are you doing on Wednesday? Do you want to get together?" My answer was easy. Sure! That sounds great!!

In reality, this is another weekend for me! I don't work every Saturday but I work enough of them to come to expect only one day off per week. So to have this gift of a weekend tucked neatly inside of a week is such a bonus for me. I am energized in knowing I have another "Friday night" on a Tuesday and another "Sunday" on a Wednesday.

I chatted with Mom last night and she wearily sighed, "What do you do with a holiday in the middle of the week?" My answer? "Absolutely nothing at all. That is the beauty of it!"

One lone holiday stuck inside of the middle of a week does not have the same impact in Mom's world. It is not attached to a weekend, so the chance of some long weekend company is pretty close to nil. There won't be a stark contrast between the two days on either end of this day off for Mom. I think I understand what she is saying.

Mom is living the life it seems "we" are all talking about. Retirement, a time of ease and living without the demands of a full time job. Yet it is that very structure that we are fighting all of our work lives that helps us appreciate little things like a holiday in the middle of a week.

Mom's words often make me sit back and take inventory on the life I am living and where I think I want to go from here. She helps me appreciate the sense of purpose I have built into my life. I compare and contrast who I am, to who she is and I often say that I am already thirty years ahead of my time when it comes to the lack of desire to clean the nooks and crannies of our house. But I think it comes from a different place and that is what makes all the difference in the world. Her house simply doesn't get dirty. Heavens, it barely even gets dusty! So why would she feel the need to crawl on top of counter tops to clean that which is already pretty clean?

Mom has spent her life feeling driven. She went to sleep, mapping out the next day so she could make time for the sewing she so enjoyed or a project around the house that she was working on. She worked hard her whole life. I listen to her now and I hear a little echo in the place that used to drive and inspire her. Without that sense of purpose and a body that is slowing down, I think there is a sense of loss of what she once had. And here I sit, wasting (what she may consider) some of the best years of her life.

She spoke of investing on some new hearing aids when we chatted. She asked if it was crazy to spend "that kind of money" on them. I said, "Absolutely not! Other people spend money like that on a vacation and don't give it a second thought." Mom loves to visit and enjoys people's company so very much. If there is a way she can improve her sense of hearing so she can savor what she already enjoys a little bit more, it is priceless. She misses so much by not hearing the little nuances of a conversation. She is quick witted, spry and has so very much to say but I have a feeling she would enjoy all that she is, just a little bit more if her hearing was just a little more keen.

Mom is our miracle lady. In a world where it seems that "everyone I know" is dealing with either aches and pains and symptoms that doctors can't diagnose ... and even when they can, they cannot cure, heal &/or take away the pain. Almost (although she still has a "funny head" sensation which she has just learned to live with) every time Mom has had a serious set of symptoms which needed a doctor's intervention, they were able to diagnose, medicate &/or fix the root of the problem. Who can say that these days?!?

So if there is a way she can hear and enjoy her world a little bit more? I say "Go for it!!"  I told her "I would do it and I don't even have money." I will never be rich and I never will be, because I think like this. I spend my money (that which I have and that which I have not yet earned) on what is important to me. Everyone's priorities are different and I am not going to judge the choices anyone else makes. But when I see a solution that money can buy, when it comes to one's health or the ability to enjoy your life a little more, I think it is the best deal going.

I know Mom basically had made her own mind up before we spoke and (I think) she was maybe just bouncing her words off me to see how they sounded out loud (this adds such perspective and I highly recommend it!). As our conversation was winding down, she said even though she hasn't committed to anything yet, her choice of hearing aids were "Good", "Better" or "Best". She said she thought "better" was the way to go. I asked her why she didn't think she was worth the best. She said, "For a thousand more dollars?!!" in a tone that implied "Money doesn't grow on trees you know!" I think if that is all it costs, in a world where money cannot buy happiness, love, peace or health, I think that is a heck of a deal!!

I hung up the phone and smiled.

Mom has seemed haunted by the age "87 years". Her dad and two of her sisters died when they were 87 years old. Mom had that birthday this spring and I've never seen or heard weakness in Mom's spirit until this 87th hurdle of her life. I almost felt a resignation of her spirit at times and have braced myself for "anything". But if she is actually seriously considering in investing in her hearing, I think she believes not only is she worth it, but she is going to get her money's worth out of that deal!

You are worth the best, Mom! Believe it! Go for it!! And you go and get the best value out of that hard earned money. No, it doesn't grow on trees but you and Dad worked together to provide a crop which has sustained you comfortably throughout your "retirement" years. Not only are you worth it, I think you are a pretty solid investment and deserve to reap the rewards of your hard earned harvest.

How Do You Walk Away?

The pit in my stomach, the heaviness in my heart and the anxiety as I felt as the weekend was looming has returned.

I have to go to work today.

I savored every moment of each of the past three weekends which I have had off. I had time to run errands. I had time to accomplish small things. I even had time to run in circles. I had time to breathe.

I know "this" is the job I most need to relinquish. But I also know this is the job I just can't quit.

My boss has told me time and time again that she couldn't continue doing what she is doing if I wasn't working with her.

The last time we worked together she had just returned from her eye specialist. She walked in the door and the first words that fell off her tongue were, "I am going blind. That's what my doctor just told me ..."

She has macular degeneration. She is an accountant. She lives, breathes and works with numbers all day. Numbers are to her, what words are to me. She needs her eyes.

She stays up all hours of the night working out mathematical mysteries, balancing the books and working on various financial projects she always seems to have on the go.

Numbers are her therapy.

The kinship I have found within this friend who I work for stems from many things. We have walked a parallel path.

Her husband had a massive heart attack and survived three years after the fact. He never came back to live at home again. Though he died five years ago, I can feel how much she misses him still.

Her two sons have characteristics which mirror (in many ways) my two oldest sons. There have been some storms they weathered which I could relate to on so very many levels.

I could relate oh-so-well to the years she spent in that land of limbo. So much of what Mom talked of, during the time when Dad was hospitalized, came back to me as my friend walked such a similar walk.

There are some feelings which feel so similar to how I felt in among my ex-husband's family. The family dynamics. Some of the family's challenges. The way she speaks also reminds me of my mother-in-law. Her oldest son has some of the characteristics of my ex-husband.

I relate as a friend, a daughter, a mother and even as daughter-in-law at different times, in different ways.

Our paths were destined to cross. The challenges we have faced within our lives are so parallel.

She once told me that she could talk to me because she knew I would understand. Because she knew I had once walked down a similar road.

She has told me how she looks forward to our work-days together. We work 98 to 99% of the time but we take little station breaks now and again and chat. She tells me stories of her life and reminisces with ease. She will talk of recent events and how they have affected her. She talks to me as a friend, as a mother, as a mother-in-law and as a parent.

She once told me she feels such comfort in knowing I am coming out for the day. I thoroughly enjoy our days once I get there. It is simply the discomfort of leaving my home and knowing the day is all about work, with a side order of friendship tossed in for good measure.

It is the side order of friendship that keeps me coming back for more.

She keeps telling me she wants me to earn more of a wage from her. I tell her the money is the last thing in the world I am worried about. I'm not in this for the money. I can say that without a word of a lie.

She has groomed me to do more than run a daycare. She is my mom's salvation because Mom thinks I should be doing more than running a daycare. But these things called "numbers" are like ice in my heart.

I don't want to work in a black and white world. I like the fuzzy, gooeyness of words, relationships and kindness. As much as my little people challenge me at times, they entertain and amuse me. They keep things "real" for me. They keep me at the top of my game. And I get to nurture them from the comfort of my home.

The accounting/banking part of me has taken a back seat in my life. I believe I have packed it in the emergency bag within the trunk of my car.

Like that spare tire and booster cables, I can do the accounting and numbers in whatever way is necessary. I just don't want it to ride along side me in the passenger seat of my car.

This car is headed in the right direction. I'm glad I have my back-up talents and supplies that I can bring out as necessary. But I don't want to get stuck with those tools on a full-time basis.

Saturdays are hard. They are like changing a tire. I can do them as necessary but I would just as soon call on a professional to do the job for me.

Yet at the end of the day, I am grateful I went. It is always a satisfying day. I feel appreciated and the warmth of our friendship is always sends me on my way feeling better than I did when I woke up in the morning.

How does one "quit" this? One doesn't.

And that is why so many people out there are doing things that they simply can't walk away from even though it is not fulfilling the part of their soul that needs filling. There are a million and one reasons we do what we do.

I am grateful this is only one small part of my life. I am even more grateful that I am compelled to do this out of friendship and it isn't the almighty dollar which is controlling me.

I would walk away from this pay cheque without a second thought. But I won't walk away from a friend. There is no amount of money that can compensate us for some of what we do.

Walking in Mom's Footsteps

I am approximately two months younger than my mom was before she "lost" my dad, her husband of 34 years plus the five years they knew each other before that. She would turn 55 years old less than two weeks from the day that she lost the man she married and faced a life she could never in a million years have predicted.

I can't think of one thing in the world that could have prepared Mom for the life she would now face On her own, with a seventeen year old son who would graduate in three months and a twenty three year old daughter with a marriage in crisis. My sisters were only 32 and 34 years old at the time. Younger than my oldest son ...

It is good that we don't know what life has in store. It seemed impossibly hard at the time but we only had to digest one day at a time. In retrospect, I see now how Mom was already looking ahead and preparing herself in ways we couldn't even begin to imagine, as her children.

Dad was hospitalized for the four years, eight months and almost two weeks he lived after the massive heart attack that stole the essence of who he was. There is no word that defined Mom's role at that time. She fell somewhere in between the cracks of being a wife and a widow. It is a hard place to live - in that place with no name.

But Mom persevered. She just kept taking the next forward step at a time when she had no idea where those steps would lead.

She didn't ask for help. In the immediate aftermath of Dad's heart attack, family came out to offer comfort, support and friendship. I remember little from that time.

All I seem to remember is Mom bouncing back and holding down the fort, running the household, raising my brother and (from what I can guess now that I have a little more perspective) trying to keep things as normal as possible for my youngest brother. He was a young man cub, just on the cusp of being in a place where Dad would have probably had so many life lessons to pass along. But just as Mom was used to the role where she became a cub scout leader because Dad was not available for those extracurricular roles, Mom stepped up to the plate and became who my brother needed her to be.

Mom and Dad had a reputation of taking in family members who moved to their city and providing lodgings and the comforts of home as needed. Mom continued to fill that role and in doing so, she came to know many up and comers within our family.

Was that when she realized the value of keeping company with those younger than her? As long as I have a memory, Mom has never been one to complain of any kind of body or health ailment. When Dad was hospitalized and nothing of significance would change over the course of time, she said she could have screamed when people asked how he was. There was nothing new to report and there never would be. For a person who never talked about sickness at the best of times, she most certainly didn't change when times changed.

Never once did I hear Mom complain about being alone or having everything fall on her shoulders. She hired people to do what she could not do and we did hear a lot about how no one in this world could work the way Dad did or perfect the job that was being done to the standard that Dad upheld. Living with a perfectionist is hard. Living without them is harder.

No one would ever meet Dad's standards. Whether it was in regards to home/yard/or vehicle repair, nor in any other way. As far as I know, Mom never even considered the possibility.

It was Mom against the world. She did what had to be done and hired people to do what she could not. There was no such thing as defeat for Mom.

That was thirty two years ago. And Mom is still feisty, determined and a force to be reckoned with.

She still despises talking about illness, aches and pains and anything related to doctoring. The idea of moving out of her home and moving into a condo type of arrangement with other "seniors" is almost unspeakable. Mom has never wanted and still does not want to live with "old people". I thought that was a rather hilarious statement because Mom is 87 years old herself. Until I toured the home my uncle has just moved into.

My uncle could benefit from some of the services of a retirement home and having the option of meals and laundry being included was a good fit for him at this juncture of his life. He has been through a rather worrisome time and it would seem (from the outside, looking in) that having little to worry about would alleviate some of his stress load and give him the opportunity to live a more carefree life.

Except there are so many other people so much worse off than him, who live there.

When I was talking with Mom last night, I confessed that I finally had a glimmer of understanding about her deference about moving into a retirement type of setting. We spoke of my uncle who is a well read, educated, well spoken and thoroughly interesting man, being in an environment where he could all-too-easily become someone's sounding board as they go on tirelessly about their ill health and other woes. He is so kind that he would stop and listen for as long as a person cared to talk. That is just who he is.

Just because a person can use some of the services provided in this setting does not mean that they have lost their ability to live a full life outside of their room.

My uncle has so much to offer this world. He listens and understands in a way few others do. He is so empathetic, compassionate and caring that my fear is that his positive energy could be drained if he doesn't have an outlet which "fills him up" on the other hand.

On another note, I have an aunt who moved to an assisted living facility (not quite) three years ago. She is four years older than my uncle but was close to his age now, when she moved in. Granted, she has a few more health issues to contend with. But it saddens me to hear how the past few years have worn her down.

Two of her sisters have died during that time. She has lost a fair bit of her vision and is unable to read. She lives in a home where people, friends she has known for a good part of her life, move in and "move on". As a rule, there is usually only one way to leave a facility such as this. I don't know how it must feel to live in an environment where death and dying is commonplace.

My aunt has lost so much. Her body is fighting mightily on but she is tired. She phones Mom and they have run out of things to talk about. My aunt used to be full of news because she was living in a facility where she saw and heard so much news to share and brighten Mom's day.

I look at growing old so differently these days. I am adopting a lot of Mom's thinking with a renewed perspective. I look at Mom, the life she has had and where she is at. People admire Mom for her strength, feisty and independent ways, her quick thinking and her ability to stand on her own in the face of adversity.

I don't know how she does it. But I am starting to see why she advised me not too long ago, that I need to find young friends. Too much talk of illness, death, dying and all of the things that can go wrong in the last half of one's life is the wrong place to divert one's energy.

I believe my sisters have this thing figured out because they surround themselves in their family. Their children, their grandchildren, youth, vitality and that invincible spirit one has when life hasn't taught you too many harsh lessons.

Where do I want to be thirty years from now? I want to be happy, healthy and nestled in an environment where I feel needed, wanted and loved. I "want it all". I want all the things that money can't buy.

I look at who Mom was, when she was my age. I look at who she is today. I look at who I am and I wonder what I can learn.

Life has become so terribly serious. We need to surround ourselves with people who bring us up and draw us out to become the best person we are capable of being. I count myself very fortunate. I have all that I need to get where I hope to be.

One small step at a time, in the direction I hope to go will propel me from one year into the next. If I can become half the person my mom is, I will be content. In fact, I am already pretty content, so I'm halfway there.

“Everyone needs to be needed, wants to be wanted, and loves to be loved.” ~ Heather Lende

Following My Heart

Be it ever so humble, I am so glad to be home.

Mom and I just returned from a four day holiday to visit my uncle (Dad's brother) and my cousin. It was a trip I feel I was destined to take.

From the time my uncle couldn't make it to our family reunion this past fall, I knew I wanted to go to him. When Mom had her own health concerns this past winter, I knew I wanted her to come along with me.

There were moments this past winter when I didn't know what our future would bring. I just knew I wanted to dream past the moment and invite Mom along for the ride. I wanted her by my side when I followed that dream.

The "dream", was this trip.

I am quite likely the last person on earth who should be spending their money so "foolishly" on things I cannot hold onto.

But as our house is filled to overflowing with "things", I know for sure that I do not want to invest in material belongings. I want to invest in my future. And at this very moment in time, my future feels dependent on doing the right things right now.

I came home from our trip, tallied up the expenses and (as always) there is enough sitting in my bank account to cover what I just spent.

I added my Las Vegas trip onto this Ontario trip and I see that I could have most likely bought doors and a living room window with the money I spent. I could have spent that money on something tangible and real. And something our house really could use. But I know in my heart of hearts, I invested my money wisely.

I invested in "the present".

Right now, right at this moment, I had the opportunity to invite my sister and my mom along on my little "adventures". Life can change in a New York Minute. These opportunities don't last forever.

Right now, right at this moment, my uncle is here and (hopefully) at a place where he appreciated and enjoyed some company from "home".

Mom has said on numerous occasions, that Dad's brothers are like brothers to her. This particular brother (my uncle) and Mom have a friendship that transcends "all". I think he knows Mom in a way no one else does. I think it was important for them to see each other and talk with no one else around.

Our family is having another reunion within days and my uncle and my cousin are planning to attend. We would have seen them anyway. But we wouldn't have had this opportunity to visit. Not the way we just did.

This was the right thing to do. I know it with every fibre of my being.

I heard some hesitancy within Mom's words in the weeks that preceded our departure. I thought she wanted to back out. This would not have been right, if it had not been Mom's choice to join me. But in the end she told me "Let's just go ahead with 'Plan A' ". And we did.

I asked her on our way home if she was glad we went. She said she was. I believe her.

When you feel something strongly, go where that feeling takes you.

When doors open easily and help you make your way without obstacles or detours, let that be a sign that you are headed in the right direction.

Follow where your heart takes you and prepare to be amazed.

Look ahead and enjoy the view. We just never know where the next road may take us ...

Sitting in the back seat, looking at the back of my uncle and Mom's heads, I had the feeling of being a little kid,
tucked safely in the back with Dad at the wheel and Mom at his side,
this view was one I had felt and seen before...

Exactly the Kind of Weekend I Needed

I popped out to my mom's for the weekend and despite my complaints about "needing time for myself", this past weekend was exactly what I needed.

I took care of more little tasks Friday evening and Saturday morning than I would have accomplished all weekend, had I stayed home.

Little things, like "laundry" were done and over with before I sat down with my morning smoothie Saturday morning.

Medium things, like vacuuming out the accumulation of "winter grit and grime" from the car and giving it a minor dusting and polishing felt like I had moved a mountain. Maybe only a hill.

Harder things, like taking the car in for an oil change as I headed out of the city got done instead of put off until another day.

I tidied up the house before I left. Nothing big. Just vacuuming, sweeping and generally leaving the place in a condition that was ready for my upcoming work week upon my return home on Sunday.

I noticed the yard needed some TLC but I didn't have time for that. Instead, I placed it on my Mother's Day Wish List.

My fairy godmother did not drop by while I was gone and grant my wish but instead, I received the gift of "early pick-ups" yesterday. All of my daycare family was picked up by 5:00 and I had the lawn mower and weed eater at-the-ready. I started mowing by 5:00, the job was complete by 5:55 and I was sitting down to watch Dancing With the Stars by 6:00.

I could have dragged "all of the above" out, over the course of the weekend and little jobs would have taken on a bigger feeling.

Instead, I just kept nicking away at the pile and nothing felt too onerous or heavy.

Add onto that "lightening of the load" feeling, the fact that I savored the solitude of eleven hours of driving without speaking. Thoughts wafted in, out and through my mind like a spring breeze. Songs played on the radio that brought me back in time and I sat and enjoyed the memories of where the music took me.

After I my quota of alone time was met, I arrived at my destination. I filled up the car before I got to Mom's so my car and I both arrived on Mom's doorstep on "full".

Our visit was light and easy. There has been so much "heaviness" lately that we were ready for an easy, laid back visit.

My brother and his family wafted in and out my time at Mom's. Mom suggested we go for a "morning drive" Mother's Day morning and we met my brother for breakfast an hour out of the city, in a homeward bound direction for me.

I take these little things for granted. I know I do. The ability to pick up the phone and surprise Mom with a Mother's Day visit and her wistful suggestion of a "breakfast in Vegreville".

Only a few short months ago we were sitting at a fork in the road and had no idea which road was going to open up for us.

I like the road we are on. It is old, it is familiar but it is oh, so comfortable. I've said it before and I'll say it again. I like my comfortable, worn out ruts. Nothing much has changed but oh so much has happened to bring us back to this warm and familiar place.

There is no place like home! Thanks, Mom.

Wordless

I am aching for "input" this morning. I scoured the blogs I read for some new words, thoughts and ideas. It looks like I am not the only one who is without words.

I don't like the words and emotions that are swirling around my head right now. I was never one to blame hormones on my mood fluctuations, but this downswing I am presently encountering feels "bigger than me" and I am wondering if I can blame hormones for it.

Yes, I just googled it, and I believe I can blame declining estrogen levels. I have every symptom on that list. I am irritable, sad, unmotivated, anxious, angry, I have the attention span of a gnat, I am exhausted, moody and tense. Check, check, check, double check and check!

Okay. I know the cause. Perhaps it is something that is a little bit bigger than me. Thus, my inability to shake this off easily.

Google also tells me to exercise and eat better. Meditation, deep breathing &/or yoga is also recommended. I have no problem avoiding tranquilizers or alcohol - they are the least of my worries.

"Engage in a creative outlet" it says. For me, that is usually writing. I feel like I am wielding a poison pen at the moment. The last thing in the world I should do is set myself free (or maybe I should, then just delete &/or shred &/or burn my words).

"Stay connected to family and community"; "Nurture your friendships". Oh. My. Gosh. Do "they" know how hard that is to do at times like this?!?!!!! I just want to bury my head under a quilt and come out when I feel my butterfly wings starting to emerge.

I don't feel like talking or doing or being anything more than absolutely necessary to get through my days. I tried doing "all of the above" with the moments I had to spare over the weekend and it absolutely depleted me. I had nothing to give and when I was in the company of others?! It just made me feel worse.

I am toying with the idea of running out to surprise my mom with a quick visit for Mother's Day. I am torn.

I need down time. I will get that down time as I drive there and back. I enjoy travelling alone. I like being alone with my thoughts and letting them flow in and out and through me. The drive would be good.

I love waking up in my own bed. Oh, it is so hard and uncomfortable to pry myself out of my comfortable bed, routines and solitude that I savor at home. It is just one night. Just one morning. I could do this. I could.

I need to do something that makes a difference. Right now, there is very little I can do for some for those who are in my thoughts. I can make a difference for my mom. I can show up.

I know I annoyed her the last time we spoke on the phone. I know I was a little over-caffeinated, over-concerned and feeling the need to do something. For somebody. Anybody. So I tried to find her answers ("Yes Mom, I can do that!! I can order you some KFC and have it delivered. From here. Right now! It will arrive at 4:44 p.m. I can even pay for it!!" "You want to go see My Uncle? I can take care of that. I can book the tickets. I can find a place to stay. I can make the calls, the reservations! I can even join you (if it falls on a weekend or my holidays). Just say the word..."

I could feel the tension rising. But it wounded me when she said, "I thought this was just going to be a short call..."

Those few words cut me like a knife. I hurt so hard that I still feel it when I rethink that conversation.

I couldn't stop myself. I need to do something. But I am powerless. I spoke the words aloud, that I usually keep to myself. This is how I think. This is not how I should speak.

I have uttered phrases that have cut others to the quick. I hold nothing against Mom for the words she spoke. I was just "too much" and she needed very little. I was overwhelming her with words the way my daycare family overwhelms me at times.

I understand. I truly do. But at the same time, I am torn.

Do I sacrifice a quiet weekend at home, to surprise Mom with the "gift" of my company when I am not entirely sure that is the present she wants to unwrap?

I write the words and I know. Phone conversations are not the same as a one-on-one visit. I know I was trying to turn our chat into a visit. We have had them before. I was trying to recreate a time when a phone call made a difference.

Those were days when Mom was able to get out and about more. I think she has a small case of Spring Fever and just wants to get out and do all she used to enjoy doing so much. I get that. A phone call just doesn't cover it. But maybe a visit will...

"Stay connected to family and community" - that is what Dr. Google prescribes. Perhaps it is exactly the medicine I need most right now.

And Then She Called Me ...

The phone rang just before my daycare day normally draws to a close. By some miraculous fluke, not only had all of my daycare children gone, but I had just returned from a walk to the mailbox and our supper was in the oven. The house and my mind were quiet when she phoned.

Mom hasn't called me since before January 9th. I've been the one lifting up the phone and dialing it. She has had a lot of company since that time. I went out to see her twice myself. I've been writing and calling and visiting and writing and calling.

I finally ran out of things to say. Not only to Mom, but to the world in general. I ran out of words.

When she called last night and I was the one to pick up the phone and simply say "Hello", all was right in my world again. This is the natural order of things between me and my mom. I write. She calls. That's the way we roll.

Not lately though. Yesterday was the day it changed.

Yesterday was the day we received the results from Mom's pathology tests on the mass they removed three weeks ago. They all came up benign. She has to go for one last follow up appointment at the cancer clinic and (as her doctor told my brother), "Then we're done with her".

Ever since the word "cancer" was tossed into our world, my center of gravity has been askew.

This has happened before. When my strong, feisty, invincible mom sheds here superhero cape and reveals that she is a mere mortal underneath her brave exterior, my knees go weak.

She is going to be 87 years old in eleven days. I know she won't be around forever but it is still hard to see my strong and vibrant mom travel some of these roads she has never seen before.

When I saw her number on our call display last night, my heart rested. I felt my world shift to a more familiar spot.

We can go back to the place where I write to her and she phones me. Where she phones me!

This equilibrium is what works for us. It's a two way street. The yin, the yang, the give, the take, the I write you, you call me balance is going to shift back to the way it was.

I ran out of words.

The moment I heard her voice on the other end of my "Hello", I realized why I had been feeling so wordless. I had been longing for this day all along. The day where she called me to talk about what she wanted to talk about.

Let the words start rolling again...

A Little Story About Gratitude

Purge first. Ponder later will be the theme of this post.

First off, this post should be all about gratitude. I spent three full days wrapped up in all things family and we are all so relieved and grateful Mom's surgery is behind her.

My spritely 86 year old mom (she will be 87 in four weeks) bounced back from major surgery like a super hero. She has been home a few days now and presently, both of my sisters are with her.

I talked with Mom last night and she sounds as grateful to have company in her home, as she is to have a little assistance as needed until she is feeling a little more independent.

She has surprised and amazed us, each and every step along this journey.

Her motto all along the way has been "Whatever will be, will be".

From the moment she heard the word "cancer" tossed into her arena she outwardly displayed the essence of deciding not to worry about it until she knew what she had to worry about.

How in the world could this be? Mom has been a worrier ever since I have a memory. How could she not be worried?

She quietly mentioned that she would go for surgery if it was an option open to her. And that is exactly what she did.

My sisters and I arrived the eve of Mom's surgery. In retrospect, I can see how worried Mom was that night. I didn't fully comprehend it at the time. She was simply quiet. She didn't have a lot of words or energy to spend on socializing. I don't know for sure, but if I were to guess, I would say she was gathering her strength to get through the next day.

And that is exactly what she did.

Spoiler alert. Grey's Anatomy does not set a good example as to what happens to the family waiting in the wings when a loved one is wheeled off to surgery.

We waited in the waiting room of Mom's permanent home for the duration of her hospital stay. When we asked how we would know when she arrived, we were told "You'll see her come in. They have to wheel her past both waiting areas here."

What!?! I was incredulous. You mean we were supposed to go and peek at those who wheeled by, in case it was our mother?

The first few cases were easy. Wrong hair color. Wrong this or that. Then came this person with only their arm showing, holding their head in a "my head feels funny" kind of way. It didn't look like what I thought Mom's arm looked like, but it was certainly her gesture.

Thankfully, since we had made our presence known, the nurses advised us that it would take about ten minutes to settle Mom in and they came to call us when she was ready.

Mom was very groggy at this point. There was a nurse in the room arranging IV's or something. "Who could tell us about Mom's surgery?" The nurse was not allowed to tell us anything due to rules about confidentiality. She said we would have to talk with the doctor. "He makes his rounds in the morning around 7:00 a.m..."

What?!? Where is the doctor that comes out to the waiting area in his scrubs and advises the family what transpired? What do you mean we have to wait until morning?!!?

"Oh, and the doctor usually comes by to see their patients after all of their surgeries for the day are complete. That will be around 4:00. You can wait to talk to them then if you wish..."

Okay. That makes more sense now. But still! They wheeled Mom off at about 9:00 a.m. and the doctor didn't make his way to Mom's room until close to 5:00. Yes, I know it was a much longer and harder day for the doctor, than it was for us. But it felt like a very, very long wait.

We stopped in to see Mom one more time before we expected the doctor's arrival and she was already 100% better than she was in her groggy state. But the best was yet to come.

By the time we made our way back to Mom's room before the doctor's anticipated arrival time, Mom was in fine form.

She was saying (what seemed to me) all of the things she wanted to say the night prior but didn't have the words for. "You forgot to take those egg cartons home, the last time you were here...".

Once again, not exactly what you would expect to hear on an episode of Grey's Anatomy but what it told us was that Mom was back and firing on all cylinders. And she was grateful and happy we were all with her. And that she was here with us.

It was then, and only then, that I realized just how worried Mom had been about not waking up after her surgery. She didn't say it in words but she screamed it from the rooftop in every other way.

She had us laughing and she entertained us. She was one part medicated, one part relieved and a whole lot grateful.

One nurse came in and found the source of the laughter that must have been ringing down the halls. "So this is where the party is!" she said in a way that didn't make us feel like we were in trouble.

Mom's doctor came in shortly thereafter and the party continued. If only Mom and her doctor could have heard what the other was saying, they would have cracked each other up. Between the doctor's quiet voice, Mom's struggle with hearing and Mom's raspy voice which doesn't project well, we interpreted (most of) the conversation for them. More laughter ensued.

The doctor came bearing news wrapped up in hope and optimism.

They found what appears to be cancer. It seems to be contained within the mass they removed. Visually, it looks like the better kind of cancer to have. He filled us with the hope that the cancer would not return until beyond Mom's life expectancy. Then he gave her the evil eye and said, "But with you, we just may have to relook at that! You will probably live well beyond 100!"

We will find out more when the pathology results come back in two to three weeks. By that time, Mom should be healing well and we anticipate that she will feel better than she has felt in a very long time.

The mass was huge. Larger than a football. We didn't ask what it weighed but I have the feeling it was like carrying around a full term baby, for who knows how many years, at the age of 86 (and 11 months).

The hospital staff were amazing. Mom is a pretty easy patient and quite determined not to be a typical patient in any way. When she went for her first post surgery stroll with one of the nurses, she said "You can walk beside me, but I am not going to hold onto you!"

Mom got her hair colored the week before surgery, even though it was the last thing in the world she felt like doing. She was going to go into this looking her best (even when she was feeling her worst). Sometimes I think these little things boost your spirits in a way that defies logic. Mom was certainly not going to head off into the unknown looking or acting sickly! Sometimes we live up to the way we think and if a trip to the hair salon does it? Go for it!!

It has been a worrisome time.

Even though the doctors at the cancer clinic said and did every single thing absolutely "right" and in a way to alleviate the fear of the unknown road ahead of us, I know I have been carrying around the weight of Mom's worries on my shoulders. I knew I shouldn't worry because worry is a waste of energy. But it was a burden I was glad to carry if I felt like I could do it for Mom.

I know she carried this load very much on her own. She acted "the mom" in every sense of the word, all along the way. She didn't want her children to worry over her. She consoled me more than I consoled her. Because when I tried to say what I thought were the right words, that worried her even more. She was a parent every step of the way.

Even now, she is strong and mighty. In her post surgery haze she asked the doctor, "Will I be thinner now?" And when she was reassured she would be and also that her back pain would have been directly related to this huge mass she had been carrying her instant retort was, "So will I be taller too??"

Yup. That's my mom. Strong and feisty. And something tells me she may be a patient the hospital staff remembers as she set out to defy anyone's expectations.

"Going in one more round when you don't think you can - that's what makes all the difference in your life." ~ Rocky Balboa

[Insert the "Rocky Theme" here. That is my mom.]