The Bald Eagle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a moment to behold. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hear you, Mom. 

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

I Can Do This

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I can do this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Offer - ✔

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

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

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

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

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

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

friday, July 1, 2011

Home Town Connections

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

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

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

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

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

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

It Takes Two Hands to Clap

I remember Mom commenting on the excellent experience she had while in an emergency room during a brief hospital stay. It was a time when many were commenting on the negative experiences at hospitals so Mom was very appreciative of the care she received. She expressed her gratitude to one of her nurses and the nurse simply responded, "It takes two hands to clap". 

A memorable moment, a memorable quote. Mom recalled the moment and I have thought of this quote numerous times since hearing Mom's experience. 

It is a quote which reciprocates the compliment. While Mom had a very good experience on her end and expressed appreciation, the nurse was also a benefactor of Mom being Mom and simply being a patient who made the nurse's experience positive as well.

I was fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of the simple comment, "Thank you for being so nice" while I was simply doing my job at work yesterday. I sat up a little taller, smiled and quoted Mom's quote (and cited Mom and Mom's nurse as the source of such wise words). "It takes two hands to clap."

Thank you for being so nice to me as well. 👏👏

Mindful Mother's Day

Mother's Day snuck up on me this year. I don't listen to the radio, I don't watch commercial TV and my shopping consists of running to the grocery store. Thus, I have not heard or seen one Mother's Day ad to prompt me into remembering this Hallmark Holiday.

It is one day that mattered to Mom. Birthdays? Christmas? Those were days she focused on others. The giving side. Mother's Day? It was a day to shine a light on who she was.

I sifted through the Mother's Day cards I gave her this morning. She wasn't your typical mother so shopping for the perfect card took effort. Some years I succeeded. Others? Not as much.

Mother's Day is Mom's day. When I am reminded of it, I am reminded of Mom. 

I think of you often, Mom. I speak your name, I hear your words come out of my mouth and I feel you within me a lot of the time.

I don't need Mother's Day to remind me of who you were to me. I know the day mattered to you, so in your honor, I am focusing my thoughts on you today.

Going With the Flow

One more day to savor this April long weekend. My only plan for the day is to go with the flow. Toss out one invitation and happily go wherever that may take me.

Aaahh!! Relief. Pure and utter joy. All the hard-things-to-do are in my in my rear view mirror. Until the replacement set of things-to-do take up the space vacated. Out with the old, in with the new.

Each and every time I cleaned house, I literally made space for the next turn of events. 

My first home began with a clean slate. I bought a brand new townhouse, moved in with my one-year-old and everything we needed to make a home.

The next move meant abandoning that very home and everything in it, with my two children. Another fresh, new slate in a brand new location. 

My next home became a home where many transitions happened under that roof. My oldest moved out, my youngest was born, a daycare was created, a daycare was dismantled, which made room for Mom's belongings, soon I had enough excess to furnish an entire second home, when the excess moved out, my former employers files and filing cabinets moved in and three years after that, all those files moved back out and so did I.

I moved into that little home, once filled with the excess from my long time home and those furnishings have bit-by-bit been replaced with furnishings of my own choosing. A little bit of "Mom" sprinkled here, there and everywhere accessorized with a little touch of "me".

This little house has become home. It is a lovely little spot in the universe. I think I'll stay.

But for today? I am simply going with the flow and breathing in every moment of contentment I am feeling. This too, shall pass. So I will savor the moment while it is within my grasp.

Home Sweet Home

A New Day Dawning

"You are exactly where you need to be" 

Wise words that are not my own, but words I fall back on often.

I have been listening to a lot of podcasts lately. My podcast feed is fed by my interests and most of what I hear feels like it was meant just for me on a given day. What surprises me, is when I end up listening to something I've already heard and I hear a brand new message the second time around.

"Laziness does not exist" 

Devon Price says on the We Can Do Hard Things podcast.

Interesting. When your body shuts down and you cannot do more than sit on the couch and watch TV, that is okay. Hmmm? 

I have had numerous people within my enabling circle of family and friends tell me this. I tend not to believe them because they really have no idea just how LITTLE I do when I say I have literally done nothing for the entirety of a weekend. But wait just a second. When I do nothing, I am still. I am listening. I am absorbing little nuggets of information I may or may not remember. I may spend an afternoon playing Freecell on the computer. But I am listening to podcasts the entirety of that time.

In the time I feel as if I am sleepwalking through the hours, the neurons in my brain are firing. I could be more productive. I will be more productive. I am thinking. I am learning. I am expanding my ideas. I am listening to other points of view. 

The myriad of podcasts I've listened to have motivated me to reserve and borrow books from the library written by those interviewed. I am reading again!

My interests are expanding outside of my own small little vantage point within the universe. I hear nuggets of information I have heard replayed in the world outside my head. I am literate in life beyond my own.

I will be attending an event where I will be among people I saw four and a half years ago. I was running on a tank so empty that when politely asked what I was going on in my life, I honestly answered, "Nothing". Period. End of story. A kind soul listening in answered for me and within that response, was what I used to do. I didn't do that anymore. 

I felt defeated. Small. I wanted to fade into the scenery. Who was I when all I could be defined by was a version of who I used to be?

I will see these people again. The conversation will be completely different. We will be at a memorial honoring two people within that small grouping who are no longer here. The focus will be outward but I feel more grounded. I am becoming more of the person I used to be, with a dash of growth and perspective added.

"Listen to dread. It is such an important direction. There is something not right about the situation."

I had been waking up physically, emotionally and spiritually filled with dread for quite some time four and a half years ago. I cried on my way to work. I could feel it in my heart, my soul and my bones. 

The sensation was mixed with grief at first. I had been feeling this way before Mom died. Running out to see her was running away from the angst I felt at my job. Mom listened while I talked. What I remember most about our last mother-daughter-life-as-we-remembered-it supper together was her asking me "What is your ten year plan? You do know your "bread and butter" [income sources] are both over the age of 80, don't you?"

I didn't make ten years. Mom knew my answer before she died. I pushed through six years before I gave a year's notice to leave the work that was killing me softly. I woke up dreading the day. I didn't act upon it. I can still feel the way I felt driving to work those days.

How old do you feel?

A question Julia Louis-Dreyfus asks every guest on her "Wiser Than Me" podcast.

My answer never changes when I hear her question. I feel the age of whoever is in my presence.

I have started two new jobs recently. I may be the oldest in the office but I am surrounded by people younger than me. I envelope whatever age they may be and feel at home in their company. I remember feeling the same way when I ran my daycare. I was of a grand-mothering age and could have easily been most of my parents' mothers. We had young children in common and I felt like a fellow-warrior in this parenting role. Then I started working with those who were over the age of eighty.

I'll leave that thought alone.

There are many who are older than those I worked with and they are life affirming and young in spirit. But those I was keeping company with were in a state of decline. It took all I had and perhaps a little bit more.

Mom's words of wisdom were "You need to be around youth". She clarified she was not talking of my daycare crowd. The full time responsibility of fifty hours a week tending pre-schoolers was a little too excessive. At least for me.

I abandoned my daycare career at Mom's urging and can now thoroughly enjoy those exuberant, youthful little people. There is little that brings more joy than listening to contended children at play. I can even appreciate a crying child who is not dependent upon me. 

Everything in moderation. 

I feel a sense of balance being restored within myself and the life I am living. Life is bubbling up inside of me once again. I am feeling the energy of surrounding myself with the energy of those who are regenerating little pieces of myself that were lost to me for a while.

It is a brand new day. How we spend it is entirely up to us. No guilt. No expectations. Just do what you are capable of doing. 

The Calm Before the Storm

I am sitting in a warm, insulated, fully stocked bubble of joy this morning. Snow is coming. Lots of it. And I am all nestled in, in the way I aim to live every single weekend - no errands to run and everything I need is in the house or within walking distance.

My small promise to myself is "don't drive on the weekend". It started when I spent a lot of weekends in my little oasis away from home. A small house in a small town where one doesn't need to drive anywhere. I would park the car when I arrived Friday night and it wouldn't move until I went home Monday morning. 

I loved the feeling of having a car available but not needing to use it. It took me back to my daycaring days, when I worked at home and everything we did during the day had to be within walking distance. It was the exact opposite of today's reality. The feeling of knowing the car is available but not utilized is a comfort.

Suddenly, Mom comes to mind. When she gave up her driver's license it was an assault to her freedom. She drove only when necessary, her routes were tried and true, she drove only when driving conditions were at their best and only in the daylight hours. She drove so little, her car battery died on her one time. Yet - she knew the option to drive herself and be fully independent was available.

There was a stretch of time between when she stopped driving and when her car insurance ran out, when she kept her car in the garage so it was still available for someone else to drive for her. I do believe being a passenger in her own car was perhaps one of her favorite modes of transportation. "Driving Miss Daisy Margaret" was a movie she often referred to, when it came to describing her ideal way of getting around.

It is a great comfort to have all you need within the place you call home and know your independence is fully intact. It feels even better when you have the added insurance of knowing your supplies are fully stocked and everything you need to occupy yourself is within the walls you call home.

I'm feeling pretty fortunate this morning. Milk, toilet paper, grocery, home, cat and office supplies are in stock. The car's gas tank is full, credit card balances are all sitting at my favorite number in the world - zero. Library books and DVD's are queued up and ready to entertain me. I can finalize my taxes, finish organizing my office files, finish shredding the last of a very large box of personal shredding (and there is so much more where that came from!). I can work, I can play, I can write, I can read, I could call a friend. 

It is the calm before the storm. In so very many ways ...

The before:

A foot of snow is in our forecast, so I will update "the after" very soon.

The storm ...

The Power of Puttering

I have had the happy pleasure of preparing for guests two weekends in a row. While this sets off a domino effect of panic transformed into productivity, the results are worth it in the end.

Cleaning is always top-of-mind and living with cats makes cleaning an endless and futile job. Vacuuming is the second last thing that gets done, followed by a shower and taming my hair. Once I get my hair washed, my company is usually due within the next hour or two.

But I digress. The reason for this post is due to a morning when I started to putter before I poured my second cup of coffee.

I thought I would bring out my Christmas decorations and bring a little light and joy into the room. I turned on some music and the rest is history ...

Dusting off the unused and neglected decorations brought old memories back to life in a magical way. Everything I touched had been gifted to me over the years. Old friendships, my daycaring days, my family, my dancing years, a handmade decoration from an old family friend which was given to Mom, a gift from my Secret Santa one year ... I thought of each person and the circumstances around receiving each gift as I placed them on my cat-proof "Christmas shelf":

The corner shelf, itself was Mom's. Mom was with me all day as I adorned her shelf the way most people decorate a tree. I served supper on her plates; we drank apple cider out of her crystal wine glasses; we had tea from her china tea cups; we sat in "her room" with our tea, after supper. 

At every turn throughout the day, I heard Mom's voice, felt her spirit and honored my memories of her as they washed through me.

Memories. We are so very fortunate when reminiscing brings about a feeling of peace. The ability to recall and remember is sometimes a privilege we don't have the ability to hold onto forever.

So why? Tell me why?? Why am I tamping down the good stuff? Why am I filling every void within my days and nights with streaming TV shows, podcasts and other people's words? 

It felt SO good to putter around the house with music playing in the background. Light and easy music which left lots of room in my head to think my own thoughts and remember as I touched my life up close and in a personal way.

I have cleaned enough to see beyond the surface dirt and cat hair to discover there is SO much more to be cleaned! I have emptied off enough surfaces to realize I am holding onto things that really don't matter. 

I have come a small way but there is so much further to go.

So why? Tell me why?? Did I wake up the next day and turn on the TV and lose yet another day after tending to only a few small tasks I had left over from the previous day? Why was it so tempting to turn on a podcast and play a mind-numbing word wipe game in the background instead of stopping here to spill some of my thoughts into the written word?

I must remember the Power of Puttering. The magic of music. 

May you find a little piece of yourself today. Tuning into music, turning off social media and scrolling, tend to one small pile that has been accumulating and allow yourself the freedom to putter. Listen to your thoughts, move your body, search for the little piece of serenity within that has been evading you lately.

That sounds bossy. You do "you". We all must do what we need to, to take the next forward step. But when you DO find a little piece of yourself somewhere along the way, stop and nurture the moment and if you can prolong it, try. Just try. 

Some Things Bear Repeating

In my valiant attempt to re-jig my finances to find new ways of living within my means, I have cancelled cable and in its place, our internet provider provided a free streaming service. 

A new found wealth of programs I have never accessed before has me watching more TV than ever before. I discovered a documentary section where I have invested many hours. Me, being a long time fan of Cher, found a few documentaries on her. 

I knew I had blogged about Cher after attending two of her concerts. Thus, I opened up my blog and typed "Cher" in the search bar. I lost track of time as I read every post I wrote that contained "Cher" within the context. When I found this one, I thought "this one bears repeating". Enough said.

Here are some thoughts from almost four years ago. The anniversary of the day Mom left this world was a few days ago, so these words feel like a timely message from beyond:

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 2019

Filling the Void (Living Life Forward)

I found myself thinking of Mom this morning. "I miss missing her ..." I wrote. As I continued to let my fingers do the walking, I found an inner contentment which has filled the void that was created since Mom died.

While Mom was here, I wrote her a weekly letter. She phoned me in response to my letters. If I was not home, she would wonder where I was and if she had to wait too long before I responded there was a sense of urgency within her voice. She knew my routines and would concern herself when I wasn't where she expected me to be. My holidays would revolve around going out to see Mom. Our sister weekends would often involve going to Mom's.

Mom has been a strong guiding force within my life. I listened to myself repeat what she had said often over the course of my life as I lived it and I wistfully thought of the day when I would be quoting her after she was gone. I was pleased to recognize I appreciated who she was to me while she was here on earth.

After Mom died and the immediate needs of taking care of her house, estate and tying up all loose ends with the lawyer, accountant and our taxation department were done, there was a distinct void in my life that was once filled with "Mom".

The void created the space for me to feel all the feelings I had been tamping down with busyness. It was a time when tears appeared out of nowhere and everywhere all at the same time. It was a time of sadness but it was necessary.

Life doesn't stand still for anyone. The sun continues to rise each and every day, seasons pass, bills need to be paid and life goes on (and on and on). Life dragged me along as I dragged my heals through that first year. It didn't matter. The sun rose. The sun set. Life called out its demands. I had no choice but to move along with the flow.

Fast forward another year. I stopped bucking the idea of moving on. I started making a few plans. I dared to dream a little. I placed my dreams and my final financial gift from Mom into our home. Home renovations began, my thoughts were consumed with all aspects of that. Bit by bit, the void created by Mom's absence began to fill up.

I continue to think of Mom, what she may say or think, I quote what I remember from Mom's vast array of quotable quotes and smile when I think of some of our conversations. She continues to guide my thoughts, actions and motives. She is part of who I am. It is undeniable. Sometimes I must quiet my inner-Margaret but most of the time, I just smile when I get a flash of her expression or hear the scorn in her voice over some inane use of the English language.

The cracks of my life have been filled up with living my life forward. As I think of the past year, it is "full". Full of home renovations, family, plays, Glennon Doyle, Cher, Oprah, friends, getaways, gatherings and celebrations. It was a year which was filled with doing things that filled me up and filled the void left in Mom's absence.

It feels good to feel fulfilled again. I do miss missing Mom but it is more important to go with the flow of life and live it fully while one is able to do so. I still feel Mom's guiding force and I hear Dad within my thoughts too. Between the two of them, they gave me the tools, my siblings, a strong sense of who I am and who I aspire to be.

Life goes on. We carry bits and pieces of everyone we meet as we make our way along. I am grateful to have thoughts of Mom and Dad within me. It is my hope to live my life in a way that would please and honor them.

The Best Holiday I Didn't Know I Needed

Have you ever taken a holiday without really feeling a great need to get away? When the ache to separate work and home isn't the driving force? When splurging on a little getaway feels like an indulgence and not a need?

I just returned from such a retreat. I wasn't running away from anything. I wasn't running anywhere. I was drawn towards a place I called home for 18 years. I had a yearning to stay at a little home-away-from-home at an AirBnB close to where I grew up. 

I ached for an independence and solitude you don't get when you stay with family or friends. Don't get me wrong! I love visiting and meeting up with people. I simply enjoy the feeling of having time alone to digest, absorb, reflect and fully inhale the day I am anticipating or have just lived.

I had a moment of angst at the end of my very first day. It was a day where I left my little oasis first thing in the morning, touched base at one point and was immediately off again, returning at dusk. I thought "Oh no!! When will I have time to savor the moments right here at my little 'home'?"

The very next day was all about those moments. I sat on the balcony, read a book, gazed upon the rooftops and yards of the neighborhood while awaiting my guests. One set of guests left and I gathered up more company for the duration of the day. It was marvelous.

I didn't have to rush home on check-out-day so I returned to the balcony, reopened my book and simply inhaled. A deep breath where everything felt good and right. A moment I knew I could recreate at home but I savored the fact that it was nestled within memories of relaxed and relaxing visits with people who mean the world to me. 

I drove home to the sound track of music of yester-year. Feelings of days when I didn't know what life had in store and my inner me was simply young and a little naïve. 

The innocence of my youth was seasoned generously throughout a vacation away from my day-to-day life. Though I had many visits of a serious nature, I was grounded in the sensation of "coming home".

I walked by Mom's house. It has changed. Life goes on.

I spotted several rabbits as I made my way through the days. The first crossed my path as I left after a visit with my brother's family. A second was spotted as I headed southward to walk the paths of my youth. Not a rabbit to be seen near or around Mom's. One more rabbit ran parallel to me on a busy road as I headed to visit my childhood friend. Not many rabbits, but I felt a significance in the timing of their appearance. 

It was the best holiday I didn't even know I needed. I highly recommend it. Don't put off those little retreats too long. They are best enjoyed when you are enjoying a version of your best self.

In Lieu of a Cigarette...

Further to my post yesterday, when I thought I should take up smoking to force me to be still outside and simply take a nature break, I savored my second cup of coffee outside this morning.

It was already hot, so I found a shady spot and let my legs spill out into the sunlight. A robin was chirping and encouraging me to come out and play. It was a very convincing song. I enjoyed every note. 

I sat still. I listened. I watched the birds (mostly sparrows, I think) disappear into our lawn. I spotted a bird using the bird house. I wondered what it must be like to be a bird. I have lived a lifetime of living pay cheque to pay cheque. How different is it to be a bird who lives from meal to meal, with seasonal nesting requirements and keeping safe from danger EVERY day of the year? 

I scanned the blue sky to find a jet stream in the distance. Where had that plane been? Where was it going? Who was on board? Were they travelling for business? Pleasure? A family emergency? So many stories within that little speck in the sky.

I was grateful for our maintained lawn. Several weeks of a disabled lawnmower helped me appreciate the much dreaded task of tending to a lawn during the spring growing season. The lawn needs a fresh cut again, but the dandelions have been tamed and we have a lawnmower that will tend to the task. Oh, how fortunate we are!

Mom's wind chime was still. I gazed at it, remembering times when I felt that chime speak to me on a windless day. I willed it to speak to me this morning but it didn't have anything to say.

Thoughts of Mom and Dad, of those who no longer walk on this earth and recent conversations I have listened to that spoke to the fact of how one lives on after they stop breathing. Without getting all spiritual or whimsical, there is an undeniable truth to those words. I feel Mom's essence within me all the time. I speak and I hear her words come out of my mouth. I hear Dad's wisdom chime in when it comes to that which he taught me or conversations we had. I think of those who are alive and well, and the way they live within me when they are out of sight. Chance encounters with strangers that make a lasting impression. 

I was sitting outside by myself. But I was not alone. 

Breathing in the moment without distraction was the best gift we can give ourselves. Take some time to deeply inhale today. Exhale and do your best to let go of the toxins within. It can't hurt and maybe, just maybe it will help just a bit.

20 seconds of "Morning Bliss"

A World Event; a Family Divided

I have a fascination with the Royal Family so decided to camp out in front of the TV last night and sleep my way through King Charles' coronation.

After Queen Elizabeth died, I watched several documentaries of her life and thought I had a glimmer of an idea what to expect. What I forgot is the running commentary and skip-to-the-highlights reel within said documentaries. 

Watching a coronation unfold in real time, while drifting in and out of sleep is not something I will do again any time soon.

First of all, with all of those robes and wardrobe changes (Charles had as many costume changes as Cher and none of them quite as fascinating), I had a very hard time keeping track of the star of the show. At one groggy point of the ceremony, I saw a balding grey haired man in a robe take a sip out of a golden goblet. I automatically assumed it was the new King. Then he turned around and shared the contents of the goblet with a few more people after giving them (what looked like a chip) what I believe must have been "host" and this was part of a communion (?). 

I have not fact checked one iota of what I'm writing and I was in and out of sleep and various stages of grogginess but it was pretty hard to follow in a dream like state.

Where were William and family? Where was Harry? Where was the rest of the family? Why were they not panning the audience with the cameras to showcase the supporting cast? Why can't I understand anything that is being said? Remember, I was mostly asleep throughout.

When I finally woke up and stayed awake, they were saying the Lord's Prayer. That's a good sign, I thought. That must mean things are winding up. I was wrong. There were a few more hymns, a few more prayers and a blessing to go. All I could think was the Royal Training must begin at a very young age for William and Kate's children to be so well behaved for such a long ceremony.

Throughout the ceremony, I had intertwined the soundtrack of the coronation within a dream I was having. I was sitting with Mom in a huge churchlike place. People everywhere, hymns, people coming and going. The performance went on and on and on. At one point, I looked over at Mom and she had an unlit cigarette in her mouth and she dryly said, "I think I'm going to start smoking again".

I was relieved when the narrative of the commentators came back and I chastised myself for losing a night's sleep over something that will be replayed and rehashed over the next long while (honestly, I didn't lose much sleep - my dream with Mom and me in attendance was much, much longer and more detailed and included cameos of Boris Johnson and Barack Obama - don't ask ... it was a long and complicated dream).

I have been reading and listening to Harry's book "Spare", thus Harry was very much in my thoughts. I haven't finished his book yet but as he recalls his memories, thoughts and feelings as he grew up and beyond, I can only see him as the individual I perceive him to be by his honest recount. Diana was a year and a half younger than me and right from the moment she married Charles, I slipped her shoes on for size and knew I wouldn't want to walk a block in them. To read/listen to her youngest son's first hand narrative of his life and not be a larger part of his father's coronation felt wrong to me. All wrong.

When any belief system or set of rules creates a clear cut "you are in or you are out" chasm in a family, I tend to be suspicious and question the source of the division. The rules the Royal Family must adhere to, all the while, living life under the wide lens camera with a bounty on pictures that create a story that sells papers makes me marvel at the job Queen Elizabeth did for 70 years.

While all the pomp and circumstance was interesting and news worthy, my heart went out to those who were not a part of the Buckingham Palace balcony scenario. I saw a family divided and putting on a good show for the world. 

As Mom once said, "A person never knows what goes on behind closed doors". We will never truly know what it is like to walk in a Royal's shoes and maybe we should be grateful to live our quiet little lives without public scrutiny.

No Regrets

My fingers fumbled over the keyboard yesterday morning and the next thing I knew, I had accidentally opened an archive of blogs I once wrote at Life As I Know It - MyKawartha.com.

I let myself wander through some of my writing. I write everything and anything here but I only allowed what I considered my "better writing" to be published when I wrote for a handful of publications. So I spent a little time reading my thoughts from yesteryear.

The post that stayed with me long after I read it, was something I wrote after Mother's Day, 2016. I had decided to surprise Mom with a visit in lieu of a Mother's Day phone call. I recognized the truth in the words, "I have gone out to surprise Mom for Mother's Day two years in a row now. I think my reasoning behind the surprise factor, is my dire need to have an "out" if I can't follow through on my plan. I was so close to cancelling. SO close."

It was a weekend that could have just as easily not happened. 

All was well in May, 2016. A year later, much had changed and I don't think I was alone with the feeling it would be our last Mother's Day with Mom. 

Prior to Mother's Day 2017, Mom dictated a message and asked me to text it to my siblings. No voting upon the where, when and how. No fuss, no muss. Just a simple invitation with easy to follow instructions:

We all met up and shared a Mother's Day brunch together. It was a chilly day so we didn't head off to a nearby park as we had done in years past. Mother's Day was a day that meant a lot to Mom and I am so grateful we were all with her. No surprises. She was fully in control. It was a good day.

There have been so many good memories, made without thought of "this could be the last". There were stand out moments all along the way. Moments of laughter, joy, celebration of togetherness and the simple gift of appreciation of what we have. 

It was a gift to find words I had written when all was right in the world and there was no foreshadowing of what was to come. 

May, 2016 I wrote:

I have the feeling Mom would have been just as happy with a quick "Mother's Day phone call" and perhaps a card in the mail. But I didn't plan that far in advance. Maybe next year ...

And that is the gift of the weekend past. The gift of thinking, "I will try this differently next year, knowing I did my best this year". Tomorrow is not promised. Today is a gift. Living life in the present tense is the only true way to live a life.

Looking back at the weekend past, I know I will never regret it. That is the way I need to live my life. Living my life nestled up in the serenity and security of our home is also a gift. But it is best appreciated when I leave the nest from time to time.

There's no place like home! There is NO place like home!! But there is also no place like "going back home". I'm so glad I went.

Recurring Thoughts

When I resigned from column writing, I wrote:

"... I need to write like no one is reading for a while. Some of this unfamiliar territory involves my family, so many of my musings and thoughts are not my story to tell. Most of this will turn into a great lesson one day..."

I had recently handed in my notice to my daycare parents and was taking (another) leap of faith into my future. A future, I didn't realize at the time, that would revolve around three seniors who have taught and continue to teach me life lessons.

Mom - a fiercely independent 88 year old (at the time) who modeled the person I most want to emulate as I move through the years ahead of me. She was a life long learner long before they coined the phrase. She was curious, interested and deeply invested in her family and those within her life.

My bookkeeping boss - still working at age 85, loving what she did and invested in teaching me enough to take over the ropes one day in the distant future. 

My aunt - a gracious, curious and light hearted soul who had lost her husband (my dad's brother) three years prior. She was in the beginning stages of dementia and would need some support systems in place to keep her independent for as long as possible. She graciously accepted the help she was offered and was/is so grateful for her children and all they did/do to support her.

I remember thinking of these widely diverse group of seniors and how I would like to adopt some of the qualities from each of them into the person I was becoming. Six years later? The person I most want to emulate is Mom. Perhaps that is true because she died within the year and memories of her are frozen in time, while my other senior friends have continued on and their story is still being written.

No one can predict the road ahead of us. We can look at our parents, grandparents, our gene pool and make some vague predictions. But we can never know what twists and turns will develop as modern medicine, preventative medicine and the vast sea of the unknowns change over time and impact our future.

I stopped writing before I knew the path I was on. I simply knew all I could think about was Mom and what she was going through. Not my story to tell. She has been gone six and a half years and my thoughts return to her often. Perhaps there is a story there ...

I Can Only Imagine

I recently listened to a podcast where the well worn phrase "I can't imagine" (what someone else is going through) was brought into focus and dissected. Of course we can imagine. If we are saying the words, we ARE trying to imagine. As I listened to the discussion, I immediately thought of the words "I understand" (what another person is going through) and how in people's desire not to assume what another person is enduring, could easily utter the words "I can't imagine" with the best of intentions.

When I hear of news that touches me deeply, it is most likely because it has touched a familiar chord and brings up my personal memories of a time when I was touched by a similar fate. I have been feeling deeply and remembering a time when I faced a similar situation a lot lately.

The loss of a parent is unique to each and every one of us. The relationship we have or didn't have with them; the arsenal of memories, good, bad or indifferent; the longing for what we had or wished we had ... the list is endless. Though we cannot assume what the one who has suffered a recent loss is enduring, if we have a parent (and we all do), we can try to imagine what it may feel like if we were to walk in those shoes.

I could fill a notebook with my own personal thoughts, reflections, lessons learned and significant memories to my experience but I want to silence my words. I simply want to listen. To hear what another is feeling as they walk into uncharted territory.

My story isn't important. I have walked a parallel path. I can empathize. I can listen. But I can only imagine what another is going through.

When I say "my thoughts are with you", I mean it with every fiber of my being. 

I can only imagine...

The Writing on the Wall

There is something mystical about the way I feel each and every time I walk into my little home-away-from-home.

The house has been furnished with the excess from my home. It seems each piece of furniture comes with a story and a bit of history. The kitchen table was Mom's; Dad made the bench we use at the table; Dad reinforced one kitchen stool, while the second stool was Mom's; a bed that was once my brother's; the rocking chair Mom gave me prior to the birth of my youngest child; a dresser my sister refinished and donated when we moved to our new city with little besides the clothes on our back; a kitchen that is largely comprised of what was divvied up among us after Mom died; the stories go on and on. There is a large piece of history woven into the essence of the house. 

My son has sold his home and is storing some of his belongings within our joint investment which has added another dimension to our shared space. 

The only thing that has been out-sourced in the picture below are the kitchen chairs which fit into our home full of misfit furniture which has somehow come together in a wonderfully cohesive home.

Then there is the house itself, which seemed to call out and touch us in a up close and personal way  ...

 ... could it be as literal as the writing on the wall?

P.S. The flash on my camera wouldn't work when I snapped this picture, adding a dimness which enhances the writing on the wall, while still capturing the essence of the house which has been furnished with history. I kept the picture because it said what I wanted it to say. 

Welcome Home

This is the sign that greeted me as I walked into the weekend past:

The letter holder was Mom's. 

It has found its way back into a house that feels like home.

The writing was my son's,

so I looked for more of a message underneath the welcoming words.

Two words were enough.

I always feel such awe when

a small thing makes such a big difference.

Guess What I Did

I thought the post I was about to write felt familiar to my fingertips. I started writing, then searched my blog. Yes. Here it is again. 

Life goes around and back and then comes back again. Here is the original post:

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 2020

Echos of Conversations from Yesteryear

Whenever Mom came for a visit, we always lingered over our morning toast and coffee. It was a ritual that was as predictable as the sun coming up in the morning.

On more than one occasion, after I had left the kitchen and returned again, Mom asked, "Guess what I did while you were gone?" She had an expression that dared me to guess correctly so I played the game.

I wasn't able to come up with the answer so she would give me a clue: "You can't see it". As I said, I'm pretty certain we had this conversation before. Even at that, I didn't come up with the correct answer.

She would straighten up in her chair (even more, because her back was always straight and her posture was excellent) and wore the expression of a cat who just ate a canary and reply, "I emptied the crumb tray in your toaster". That tray was always full because Mom may have been the only person who emptied it.

Now? Whenever I empty the toaster's crumb tray, I hear Mom's voice: "Guess what I did while you were gone?"

And in a moment, Mom is right beside me, smiling over my shoulder again.

I love those little memories. They find me when I least expect them.

Here is this morning's picture:

Full circle. Thoughts, patterns, life events, history repeating itself. I'm not talking about toast crumbs any more. Life. 

My youngest has decided to change their name. Yesterday, I pulled out their birth certificate which was a required part of the process. Some missing information, which was news to them, on their original birth certificate unknowingly aligned with their decision to also change their middle name.

A few days ago, we had a brief text conversation about the spelling of their new/old middle name (they have chosen to revert back to the middle name I had originally chosen when they were born) and the question was how to spell it. 

"Would it be "Jordan" or "Jordon" or some other spelling?"

"I believe originally I spelled it Jordan. It is a nod to my dad if you spell it with an 'o'."

The decision to go back to their original middle name. The decision to acknowledge a version of my dad's name with the revised spelling came long before the missing information on their birth certificate aligning with the lack of support which has led to the decision to change their middle name.

Interesting.

On another note, we noticed "Mother's Place of Birth" on the birth certificate. It is the name of the town where I have just purchased a new house I hope to call home when I retire. 

Full circle. Going back to the beginning with a fresh new perspective and starting all over again.

Funny what thoughts can come of emptying the toaster crumbs. I hear Mom's voice, "Guess what I did ..." How I wish I could sit down with some coffee and rye toast and ask her the same question after the quick decision to invest in a potential home to retire in. "Mom ... guess what I did!"

The Things that "Stick"

My mind has been all over the map this morning as I rewind the tape of the weekend past, conversations and trains of thought that have led me to this post.

The small act of making myself a cup of coffee with as few wasted steps as possible led me down the garden path of the maze of memories interwoven into my being. 

I read the book "Cheaper by the Dozen" as a child. I remember the father character of the book being an efficiency expert and how the story wove his efficiency into the tale. It is one of those things that has stuck with me over the years. I recognize the part of me that became "efficient" after reading this book.

Oh, what an amazing world we live in when one can simply google "cheaper by the dozen book efficiency expert" to correlate what one thinks they remember, to Wikipedia - which in fact confirms my memory is not just a made up story in my mind. It is in fact, a fact.

I love when life gives me the opportunity to remember something I thought I forgot.

My aunt asks many questions that provide me with various opportunities to remember little things. "Do you remember living on the farm? Do you remember your dad farming? Do you remember ..." 

To keep myself entertained during our somewhat repetitive conversations, I find myself digging a little digger to refine and explain my answers. I have fond memories of taking supper out to the field during harvest. I remember the picnic basket Mom packed up, the feeling in the air, the memory of food tasting so much better because it came from that picnic basket. Then my memories took me to the time Dad showed us (I don't remember who I was with but I know there was someone with me) how to chaff the wheat, then chew on the kernels of wheat, to see if they were ready to harvest. We were at the bottom of the hill on our farm, by the grain bins. The memory is so vivid, I can almost remember the sky that day...

I spent the past weekend at "The Cute House" we have recently adopted. The house is furnished with history. The kitchen table with a history that goes back as far as my memories; a bench Dad made; an old stool Dad reinforced; the picnic basket (see above) currently holds various household hardware; my brother's old twin bed; not to mention the multitude of items I inherited from Mom's kitchen. Even the items from my home which have been donated to the Cute House have a story, because I don't need them due to what has been replaced from Mom's belongings (crystal wine glasses in my city home verses the dollar-store wine glasses which preceded them).

Memories. To have them. To hold onto them. To be able to retrieve them from the recesses of your mind or be triggered to recall them. Precious. The human brain is a miracle like no other. It is a precious commodity we tend to take for granted when it functions as expected.

The kitchen table on the far right side of this photo resides in my cozy little "home away from home" (that is me in the box, along with Mama Cat, which dates the picture back to the early 1960's)

The oh-so-special picnic basket, along with the potato salad Mom taught me how to make

It is amazing. The little things that "stick" as time goes on. I am grateful beyond words for the memories I have. So many good feelings are triggered. A history I am happy to recall.

It is sad to realize how many people are triggered by less than idyllic remembrances. The things that "stick" are not necessarily all good things. 

I am so very grateful the things that have stuck with me over the course of my life are predominantly warm and fuzzy.