A Walk in the Cemetery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Family Ties

It is really quite amazing what a little dose of companionship can provide. Yesterday was seasoned with a little dose of family on a day I was feeling a little off.  

There was really nothing terribly wrong but when my son drove up and showed up on the doorstep I think my heart did a little happy dance.

I had an excessive amount of word-build-up accumulating within and putting a voice to what I was feeling was the release valve I needed. I hope the feeling was reciprocated ...

Then I heard from a few of my cousins.

Family. A family I would have never got to know if I had not lived life exactly the way I lived it. 

Accumulating family memories connected me with my extended family in a way I could have never imagined. I have come to know some of my uncles and aunts in an up close and personal way. Every connection is a gift. Re-unioning and reconnecting has left the door ajar for little impromptu check-ins. 

So many little things have led me to exactly where I am. I fully believe with all my heart I am exactly where I am meant to be. Right in the heart of family, my roots and "home" in every sense of the word.

Integrity

A quote from Mom's family history book:

"Grandma’s integrity was unshakeable. There are some things that are best taught by example and Grandma lived what she taught. A gentleman was travelling through the area and asked if he could leave a suitcase at their place and he would pick it up when he came back that way. Twenty or thirty years later, he still hadn’t returned for his suitcase. Curiosity may have gotten the best of most of us, but Grandma never once would think of looking inside the suitcase." 

I searched Dad's family history document and the word integrity came up often - as Dad's brother's described their father and many of my cousins used "integrity" when encapsulating their father's (Dad's brothers) traits. My own description of Dad was this:

"I will never forget the kindness in Dad’s eyes, his willingness to take people at face value, judge them only according to how they treated him, his strong work ethic and the honesty and integrity he modeled."

Integrity. Of all the family traits I hope to have acquired, integrity tops my list. I hope it isn't just a word. I hope it is a story of the way I lived my life. 

Of all the compliments I could ever hear, the one that holds the greatest weight is hearing the words, in some capacity: "I know I can trust you with this ..."

If one thing can bring me to my knees, it is to be to be accused of betraying a confidence. It has been done. For this I am sorry beyond words.

Integrity is a character trait I can aspire to live and breathe. Hard working however? That is a family trait I hold in high esteem but I could never hold a candle to those who walk that walk. 

Rebirth

Today is my youngest son's twenty second birthday. It is no wonder when I sat down with an empty page, pen in one hand and coffee in the other this morning, that my pen started to ramble on birth and rebirth. My thoughts took me down memory lane as I thought of the birth of each of my sons and how I was reborn each time.

My firstborn son was born in August. By January, I was separated from my husband and the need to become a self-supporting parent of one was my guiding light. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Thankfully we had my parent's home and support to weather the storm. I not only found one job, but two. In short order, due to a subsidized mortgage offering, I was able to qualify to purchase a townhouse for us to move into.

1978 My First Time Reborn - Baby. Divorce. Start a job. Buy a house.

My second son was born in September. By December, I left my on-again-off-again marriage for the third and final time. Dad died three days later. His funeral was back "home"- where our family originated and my first home. One off hand comment to the effect of "You should move back 'home'..." was all I needed to set the wheels in motion. That is exactly what we did.

1987 My Second Rebirth - Baby. Divorce. Find a new job. Move to a new province. Create new life.

My third and final child was born in June. By December, I had applied for a year's leave of absence from my employer to test the waters to see if I could open a daycare from my home. I did exactly that and I've never looked back.

1998 My Third Time Reborn - Baby. Leave job. Strike out on my own. Work from home. Become a full-time parent for the third and final time.

The birth of each of my children changed my life, changed me and redirected me towards a better path. My children were an average of ten years apart in age so perhaps my life was in need of a major change at each of these pivotal decades.

It often feels easiest to just keep doing what we are doing and not shake up our world too much, too often. Once every ten years or so worked for me. In fact, as I wrote those words I quietly wondered if I reinvented myself ten years after my youngest child was born. And I did.

My youngest son's father and I broke up late spring. The life I had imagined myself living evaporated into thin air. I was lost. I spent the summer painting and maintaining our home. When winter set in, I started down the road to collecting family memories and binding them together in the form of a book. The following spring, the first book of a series of two was almost complete.

2008 An Unexpected Rebirth - Separation. Ambition. Motivation. Finding myself and my place within our extended family. The birth of two books of Family Memories.

The last decade's transition was less about birth and more focused on loss. Mom's last year was life changing. In September, the wheels were set in motion to create a life where I could be exactly where I wanted to be. Mom's health situation was diagnosed in February. She focused on her continued independence and did not want us to worry. To be able to go out to Mom's on a whim, in good times and in bad was exactly where I wanted and needed to be. She died in September. It was my final year of being a daughter. It is a year I will never regret.

2017 Focus on Being a Daughter - A diagnosis. Moving through. Being there. Loss. Moving on.

I'm in between major decade transitions at the moment. I sense another transition is in the air. I am reminding myself to focus on the moment. Moving through the challenges. Being there. In the midst of the seriousness, our home is going through its own transitions and re-inventing its purpose which is a delightful diversion to all that is going on in the world around us.

Focus on the moment. Be grateful for what "is". Be there. Be motivated. Keep reinventing yourself as the world moves on. One forward step in front of another.

It is truly no wonder they call the birthing process "labor". It is a labor of love but well worth the effort.

Rekindling the Fire

I have been scrolling through this Sunday morning trying very hard not to drop down yet another Internet rabbit hole and lose myself and the day along with it. I have given myself until 10:00 a.m. and then I have made the decision to do "one hard thing" for as long as I can do it.

It is a writing assignment I started about a year ago. It was a promise to rewrite some travel journals, put them in date order and make the timeline easy to follow. The purpose was to reignite old memories, stir up new conversations and create a tangible piece of history to have and to hold.

Our thoughts, our memories and the way we retell our stories change over the course of time. There is something about taking a "snapshot" of those words written as one is living them, without a thought these journals may come to mean in the future.

When I reread my old thoughts, written as I was living them, there is something very poignant and raw about the truths behind the written word. Flashes of memories, feelings and perspective ping around within my mind and I am taken back in time.

Holding onto our memories is a gift. Having that history recorded in a journal, pictures or videos is kindling and has the power to reignite the moment.

I'm going to go "start a fire" this morning. It is my hope by completing this little project, it may be the kindling I need to finish other tasks I have only just begun.

21 Years

Twenty one years ago today, my youngest son was born. As I woke up this morning, thinking of this anniversary, I scrolled through my own personal archives and thought about my own life at the age of twenty one.

By the time I was 21, I had been married, had a baby, divorced, had worked at a bank for three years, bought a townhouse and then remarried my ex-husband. My siblings were ages 32, 30 and 16. All I remember about my actual birthday is that my brother gave me a special birthday gift to commemorate my 21st birthday. Mom was 53 years old; Dad was 56.

I lived a very sheltered and protected life until I married. I had a lot of life lessons thrown at me in a short period of time but thanks to a strong and supportive family, I weathered the storms and came out standing. I had lived a lifetime by the time I was 21.

I look at my youngest son and I see myself before the world started teaching me "all I needed to know". I look at my younger self and the words young, naive and impressionable come to mind. If someone had told me what was to come, I may have locked myself in a room and never come out. I wouldn't have thought I could handle it.

We all have different lessons to learn, new roads to travel and challenges that are unique to each one of us.

I look at my son and I am pleased. I like him. I like his style. I like his quiet demeanor which masks the deepness of his thoughts and his perspective of life. I see bits and pieces of the best of the people within his world intertwined within him, mixed with the essence that is "him" and I enjoy the person he has become and is becoming.

My biggest concern is wondering how he will weather the storms of life. He has had some tests but I know there will be more. He is a sensitive soul. He watches the world around him, listens with his whole being and his interpretation of life as he sees it opens my eyes.

None of us can predict the future that is headed our way. My biggest wish for him is that no matter where life takes him, he will have the ability to weather life's storms and come out standing. I want him to feel the strength and support of family. I hope he feels safe within his world and will always know he has a soft place to fall here within our home and family.

He is the youngest of three brothers with a twenty year age span which separates them. What I am liking best about the age he has become, is that he is starting to "catch up" with his older brothers. His brothers and him are doing things together which is starting to forge a stronger bond in their brotherhood. I didn't "catch up" with my older sisters until I became an adult and now the years that separated us don't even exist. I hope this bond grows and strengthens over the years to come.

They say that joy is doubled when it is shared and sorrow is halved. In good times and in bad, it is good to know you have a support system in place to cheer you on, cheer you up and encourage you through whatever moment you may be going through.

The wish I have for my youngest son is a wish I share with all three of my boys. I wish them a strong sense of themselves, grounded in what I hope is a strong sense of family. I wish for roots to ground them, while reaching for the stars and retaining the ability to hope for the remainder of their lifetime. I wish them a solid community of family, friends, support systems and a resilience that will carry them through the rough patches life will inevitably throw their way.

I believe one of the best gifts Mom and Dad gave me is a strong sense of family and community. Mom and her story-telling led to the gift of collecting family memories which was the best way to infiltrate myself within the family and get to know everyone a little bit better. I was 47 years old when I started collecting family stories and history. It was then, when I started to feel my roots strengthen enough to hold me solid no matter what storms came to pass after that time.

The moral to this story is: No matter what age you are presently at, you must hold onto the belief that the best is yet to come. The best comes veiled in so very many ways and it is seldom a straight path. If you didn't have the struggle, you wouldn't appreciate the outcome. The best outcomes usually came after the hardest struggles.

You've come a long way, my son. I believe in you. I see your strength and though I wish I could wish only good things for you, I know the best parts of my life were a result of the hardest of struggles. Hold onto that knowledge and let it ground you when the going gets rough. Keep looking up, my son. The best is yet to come...

I Read a Book (I Read a Book!!)

I got a few new-to-me books for Christmas. Yes, I received the best kind of book there is to get. A book that has been read, enjoyed, studied, approved and passed along. A pre-approved book. Best gift ever!

I sat down with both books at my side yesterday morning, waiting for them to speak to me.

I had leafed through one as soon as I received it. Great book! Great ideas! Good motivation!! I'll wait until the New Year and then I'll take action, is what I thought. Why not start yesterday? It is a pick up and start anywhere kind of book. Why not now?

That book didn't speak to me yesterday.

So I picked up the second book. I read the forward. I read the back cover. I leafed through the first chapter. I read the last chapter.

I flipped and flopped my way through this book. But I had to try too hard. I really, really wanted to curl up with a book and lose myself and my thoughts in it.

That book didn't speak to me either.

I wandered into a most excellent reading room. Our abandoned upstairs bedrooms are having a hard time defining themselves. I loosely refer to them as "the spare room"; "the TV room"; and "Mom's room". As I directed my son towards what he was looking for the other day, he didn't understand my code. Our upstairs bedrooms are looking for an identity.

Yesterday, I further identified "the TV room" (the room with a TV; a folded out futon awaiting guests; Mom's love seat; a closet filled with tax papers, Mom's books and spare linens; and Mom's bedroom trunk - what would YOU call it?) as a very good place to read. I grabbed my coffee, a blanket and waited for one of the many books within the room to speak to me. And one did ...

"Life as We Knew It" - Dad's family's book of history, memories and stories almost jumped out of the bookshelf and into my hands. I have two copies. My copy and Mom's copy. I opened the cover and found my handwritten message to Mom:

"Mom, 'You' are my inspiration. Listening to you tell your stories my whole life has led to 'stories like this' ... Thank you for all of your suggestions. If it wasn't for you telling me to talk to friends and neighbors, this book would not be what it is. I think 'this' is good (at least good enough). ~ Colleen"

The idea was born the fall of 2008; seeds were planted throughout the following six years; by fall of 2014, "the book" was finally (finally!!) in the hands of Dad's family.

I spent hours days weeks reading, rereading, rewriting, editing, re editing and scouring those pages for errors before I sent the final, FINAL copy to the publishers and felt the book was ready enough to print. I held that book in my hands and I felt like I had accomplished something. My heart and soul went into those pages.

Suddenly I reheard my thoughts. My heart and soul went into those pages? This book was NOT about me. It was about Dad's family. Oh no! What had I done? I had put too much of myself into this project.

I tried to read it. I picked up the book after it was printed off for posterity. I found errors. I went through all 55 copies of the book to correct the errors I had found. I had to stop reading before I found any more mistakes. I corrected the main document and I have ordered 12 more books since that date.

Whenever I picked up the book, I could only read it as an editor. I have used it as a reference and gone to it to look up information. But I couldn't just read it.

Yesterday, I read it.

And it was good. It was just fine. Just the way it was. I read the book like any member of our family and I actually enjoyed it.

Of course I had the inside scoop within the stories that were told and I think the reason I actually did find myself inserting myself into the book, was to give the reader the feeling I felt as I collected and assembled the stories. I tried to put the reader in my shoes as I gave each chapter a quick overview so the reader wouldn't have to read every word to get the essence of the pages which followed. It was okay.

The pages which followed were stories right out of the mouths of the story tellers. I heard the voices of my uncles and had fond memories of the laughter and the visits we had as I collected these memories. As I read the words, I remembered more of the conversation and hoped it hadn't been omitted. It hadn't. I may have reordered some of those memories but they weren't forgotten.

I defined myself as "Collector and assembler of memories", which is a very apt description of the role I played putting these memories down in writing and recording them for generations to come.

As I scanned the photos inserted into our collection of memories, I couldn't help but stop a little longer at the more recent pictures. One picture in particular, taken in 2007, a 50th anniversary of one of Dad's brothers. Eleven years ago. Ten people in the photograph. Four have died. Three of those four contributed memories which were included in our book of family history.

"This" is why it is so important to follow through on an idea. "This" is why it is vital to write things down. "This" is why it is important to say what you want people to hear. "This" is why we must set things free when they are less than perfect. "Good enough" was the phrase I had to live and breathe as I let this project go.

These were the words I wrote as I sent this book off to press:

It is hard to say 'good-bye' to this project but its time has come. I must let go and set it free. I hope you can feel the pleasure I had putting this together as you read the words. If you can ... my work here is done. This is not "The End". It is simply "Good Enough"  ... (for now)

I reread those words as a reader (not a writer) and I believe "good enough" WAS enough.

Searching

In my quest of seeking "inspiration", I have found myself back in the archives of the blog writers who speak to me the most.

I have found so much pleasure in going back and reading other people's archives, that it just dawned on me to go back to my early blogging days. My life, my moods, the drama, my coping skills and courage are so very cyclical, that I thought I would find my own answers within what I have already written.

I have been writing within this little blog space for over ten years. My early writing was all about finding my courage, rediscovering myself, my passion and joy for living and writing about the lessons to be learned from the challenges one faces. I wrote with the purpose of finding the lessons in life and my goal was to write with optimism and hope.

As I went back to the beginning, I found this paragraph, written on January 16, 2008:

"There has been a time when my free hours were so scarce that I became very greedy with my free moments. So to be offering to 'share' this precious time .... it's kind of scary. But overall, I think it is a sign that I am regaining some equilibrium in my life again. I'm ready to share my time and myself again. I have a little left over at the end of the day, and it feels good."

The greediness I feel when it comes to sharing my free moments is an ongoing theme throughout the ebbs and flows of my life. Yet it was right at that very time when I made the decision to forge ahead with collecting memories from Mom and her sisters to create their family's book of history and memories.

I was slightly terrified at the prospect and my enthusiasm and fear cycled through my days regularly. I just found these words:

"I knew I should start making my next round of phone calls to line up my next interviews ... and I was stuck. Wouldn't you know it? Mom called me and our conversation got me excited again ...

I had printed off a few of my blog entries and she had gotten them in the mail today. And her words felt so good to hear. Praise coming from your mother is simply the best approval in the world. She didn't say all that much ... but she said just enough to make me feel worthy. And capable of taking on this book endeavor."

That book project was the beginning of a journey that evolved into the rather special connection I felt with Mom. She was my cheer leader throughout my life. Reading that one paragraph reminded me of the many times she was the one who encouraged me through the process of amassing those memories. And so much more.

I miss my most ardent cheer leader...

My thoughts are all over the map as I write that last sentence. So I went back and reread more of my old posts. I wrote the following on January 23, 2008. It sounds like a road map for where I need to go next:

Fulfillment

I am feeling absolutely jubliant about life these days!! I have an outlet for my excess words, here on this blog, I have an outlet for my 'creativity' with ''The Book", I have my dancing to fulfill the 'fun' part of my life, I have my work,which is something that I feel like I am doing well. I have my family - I feel like my own family unit is getting stronger once again. I have reached out to so many family members these past 6 months ... it is amazing. Between keeping in touch with my own siblings (planning a birthday gathering for Mom) and initiating these get togethers with my aunts to gather information and stories for "The Book". And friends. Where would I be without my friends? And I feel like I am a equal partner in my friendships ... not the needy one.....

I have patience with the kids, I am enjoying my the parents I babysit for, I feel like I am a better parent, I have something left of me to offer at the end of the day ... whether it is to help someone out in some way ... or actually leave the house and go and visit someone ... I am so very, very ''full''.

I have often felt a void in my life. And it has honestly felt like a hole in my heart or soul in some way. I can feel the difference in the way I eat, I shop and I live when I am ''full''.

I have shopped and filled my cart as though I was 'filling a void' ... I have eaten to the point where I am beyond full but still shovelling in the food to fill something inside me that is empty ... I have rejected people and socializing in my life because I am so hollow inside that I feel I have nothing to offer anyone.

But these days ... I am full. I eat because I am hungry. I shop because I need to. And I actually can leave the house at the end of a day ... and still feel like a vital human being that has something to offer someone else.

I have just returned home from a most enjoyable visit ... my heart and my soul are so content. Feeling like this at the end of the day defines contentment and happiness.

My cup is overflowing ...

When in doubt, search your own archives. The answers were within you all along, Dorothy (another slightly paraphrased phrase from The Wizard of Oz).

Change is in the Air

I woke up at 4:30 this morning. I was wide eyed, ready to hop out of bed and start my day. I smiled to myself when I realized the cats hadn't had time to rush back onto their spots on my bed to give me the illusion that they had been sleeping soundly with me all night. Yes, they were still prowling and doing heaven only knows what. It sounded like they were working on pulling up some carpeting upstairs. They were doing their cat things and I was alone and awake. It was a glorious 4.79434 seconds.

Cats have an innate sense of knowing when there is a fly or a spider or a human stirring within a 10 ft radius. Yesterday they tracked down a spider and a maple bug (?) and saved the day. This morning, they both raced down the stairs to ensure they didn't miss our making-the-bed-with-a-cat-on-it morning tradition we have.

It is light, fun and easy to wake up when you wake with a smile. It is the littlest things that bring light into my days. I must remember that. There for a very long while, I was looking for the big stuff, but the truest of joy comes from the smallest of things.

I wandered through my morning revelling in the fact that I had three full hours before my day walked in the door. My day. My second last day of an almost full daycare load. This time last week, I was pulling my hair out. Heavens, this time yesterday morning I was feeling great angst about the three days left in my daycare reign. Then we had "yesterday". And I find myself wishing I could find a way to keep doing what I am doing.

I purged my frustrations right here on this very blog platform. As it so very often  happens, when I allow my fingers to tell my story there is a release that is life affirming. When I see my words written out before me, I find affirmation, patterns and possible solutions. There is so much power gained by setting the words that are haunting me free. Words are dangerous things when confined to my brain, within my small, isolated universe. The truth shall set you free ...

I woke up with thoughts of relationships of the courting kind. Those of us who have them. Those of us who don't. I'm sitting on the side of "I don't have that in my life but I think I want to explore it", so my awareness is being drawn to those who seem to be of a similar circumstance or age and drawing new love into their lives. I look at those people like an outsider and wonder "What do they have that I don't? What are they doing that I am not? What do they have that attracts love, romance and partnership into their world?"

In the quietness of my morning, as I made my bed around our cats, the answer came to me. They have a willingness to do the work which is required to make a relationship not only come to life, but to keep resuscitating it time and time again. Relationships are a full on commitment. I know without a doubt that I am kind of lazy that way. Or at least I have been for the last very long while.

I have been on my own for over nine years now. Nine. Nine has been a number which shows up a lot in the cycles within my life. It has been nine years. It is no wonder I am feeling restless and starting to wonder again.

I spent the initial part of my mourning period regrouping. I did it in a rather productive fashion that I wouldn't mind recreating one day. I fixed up the house, the yard and myself in the process. There is much to be gained by painting a fence that doesn't end. I still remember what part of the process I was living as I glance at different sections of our fence. It was a lot of work. Finding "me" after I had started identifying myself as part of a couple was life affirming. I survived. Again.

Then I found my friends again. I reached out and became available as a friend. It started with me feeling the need to be surrounded by friendship. Then as I told my story, others started telling me theirs. It was groundbreaking work. There was a strong foundation being rebuilt. Strength in numbers. We are not alone.

I found myself searching for my roots. I collected family memories, organized them and put together a few family history/memory books. I started reconnecting to family and discovering myself in January of 2008. I amassed and bound my last set of family memories into a book by October of 2014. I spent over six years immersed in the process of feeling like I belong to this thing I call family. My root system is strong, stable and I believe I can now weather any storm.

I feel like I've been wandering aimlessly over the course of the past few years. The honeymoon period of finishing my last book project lasted well into the following year. That was followed by a crash of a subtle and not so subtle kind. I was exhausted. Physically, mentally and emotionally.

Then came the identity crisis. If I was not part of a couple or a survivor of a broken heart or the collector of family members or the mother of dependent children or good at the job I was doing ... who WAS I??

Life happened and placed me right back into the heart of my family and family home over my summer holidays. I wasn't standing on firm ground before I found myself there but once I was in the thick of family, I became strong again. I knew what I could do and I did it. I found a vital piece of myself within a crisis of minor proportions. I was finding strength within my weakness. I was still a little broken and fractured but I had my root system. I was still standing and I had weathered a long lasting winter.

I didn't know where I was going (I still don't) but my strength is within my roots and my future will come from allowing spring to come into my life.

This must be where this feeling of adding "new life" into my world is coming from. After my last long term relationship ended, I felt so broken I wanted to leap right back into love and heal my heart that way. The longing was real. I was so lonely. I'm glad I took the long road back into finding my way back "home". I am longing for a deepness within my world these days. It very well may not be within the confines of a relationship. I believe it will come from the deepness in my soul, when I become still and quiet and content in the life I am living.

I feel it coming. I don't know what it is. But change is in the air.

The World Just Keeps on Spinning

So many thoughts, so few words. That seems to have been the theme of this weekend past.

My youngest son turned into an adult on Saturday and the world just keeps on turning in exactly the same way, in the same orbit. Yet he has been expecting less and less (and less) of me lately. His grocery wish list is almost "nil". His expectations at meal time? Not much. This is the pitfall of being a child of mine. My children's mouths never start to water when they think of coming home. New clothes? No thank you. Haircut? Maybe later. Then yesterday he made a comment "Now that I'm an adult, I won't cost you as much because you don't have to pay for me any more". Whoa, Nellie. That will come all in due time, my son. For now, you are still in high school and fully dependent upon me. This will not change over night. One day at a time ...

My aunt (Mom's sister) passed away on Saturday. She has not been well for a while now. She was 92 years old. It wasn't her death I was thinking of, it was the memories we collected for Mom's family's book. It was all the stories Mom told me of her sister over the years. It was the "sister relationship" they had over the years. I smile at the thought of the two of them chatting like teenagers on the phone, when they both got a long distance bundle and made the most of that time while the chatting was good.

I have always related to this aunt the most. Her life was not an easy one, yet you would never have known it. She focused on memories of better times. Her memories may have been bittersweet but I never heard her sound bitter.

She was quiet as a child and had a quiet strength about her. She was my hero. I believe I even told her that. We were penpals for a short while but it became hard for her to write back (and she always replied), then she started having trouble with her vision.

I pulled out her letters to me and reread them. I compiled some of the pictures I have collected and made a little "collage". Thoughts of conversations, memories and little things Mom has said over the years wafted in and out and through my mind. I am grateful to have known my aunt as well as I did. I am grateful I stepped out of my small little world and collected her stories, along with the rest of Mom's family's memories.

My heart aches just a little bit that only one of the "authors" of that little book of memories is still with us. I wonder how Mom feels. She describes herself as "stoic" and it is a very good word for her. She is strong and rarely shows weakness or wears her emotions on her sleeve. Yet it feels like "this" could feel different.

The world just keeps on spinning. No matter what happens within the lives of those we care deeply about, the sun sets on one day and shows up bright and early the next morning. The weather may be unpredictable but night and day, one season turning into the next and the fact that "life goes on" is one thing we can always count on.

Invite Them and They Will Come

The words "a year ago today" often ring through my mind as anniversaries of dates I remember pass me by.

One year ago today, I woke up to one of the most exhilarating days I have ever known. It was a day which was a culmination of six years worth of memories.

It's funny I now smile at the memories and relationships forged during those years. At the time I was living those years out, most of my time was spent "beating myself up" over not completing our family's book of memories, putting a cover on it and distributing it to those who were interested.

I set the bar so high for myself, I knew I could never attain what I was after. So I sat and did nothing with a lot of those memories for a lot of the time. I was setting myself up for failure.

In hindsight, I can see there simply could not have been a better time to release those words and hand them out to our family. I would never have believed it, if someone had told me "there would be a better time" halfway through my journey. 

I set a date, a place and a time for our family to congregate in a stress-free, worry-free environment. We stayed at Cedar Lodge, where accommodations, meals and beverages were part of the package price. There was room for visiting, for the kids to play and for people to spread out, mingle and even just sit back and take in the view.

It was an extravagant idea and I honestly thought only a handful of people would be interested in coming. As it turned out, almost seventy family members chose to attend this little event I created in my mind eight months prior.

Yes, one quiet Sunday as I sat still in my little room-with-a-door, nestled in among five years worth of memory collecting, with a family who I had come to know within my heart and soul, there was a little voice which whispered "If you invite them, they will come..."

I needed something to push me to complete our family book project. I needed a date. One week, to the day, after I sent out the email to our family we had our accommodations booked, the deposit was made and we were committed. 

I had the date, place and time I needed. All I had to do was "write a book" as we awaited our date.

Well, as they say, the rest is history. The weekend will go down in my own personal history as one of the highlights of my life. I completed what I started. I fulfilled a dream of getting to know Dad's brothers. This courage was fuelled by compiling my mom's family's memories (and getting to know her sisters so much better in the process of doing so), putting a cover on them and "calling it a book" the year prior to starting Dad's book.

It took me almost fifty four years to get there, but I finally came to believe that I actually belonged to this family of mine. I found my roots. The culmination of those years was wrapped up in that room, that weekend and that book. I was entrenched in memories, stories, emotions and a sense of belonging. It was intoxicating.

I felt I had found my purpose to living my life. I was a part of a whole. I added something of value to our family unit. I found myself, my roots and my sense of purpose along the way.

It is hard to come down from a cloud so high. So I stayed and floated for a while. As I wafted, life continued to go on. 

My uncle, who was instrumental in helping me compile the memories for our book, was going through a lot at the time our family was reunioning. It has taken the better part of the past year for him to regain his own sense of himself, belonging and just putting one foot in front of the other and moving on. I mailed him his copy of our book so he would be the first person in our family to hold our treasure. I did so, believing he would be able to attend our reunion a few days later. But I mailed it off anyway. It was crucial to me that he was the first person to hold our book in his hands. I am so glad I followed through with what my instincts told me to do.

My uncle tells me he held onto that book and carried it with him through those impossibly hard days, weeks and months that followed. When the ground beneath his feet was shaking, unsteady and not solid enough to hold the weight of all he was carrying, he could literally hold his family in hands.

As my uncle healed, other family members faced their own challenges. My mind wanders to the battles one cousin is still battling, the loss of another cousin's child and the battles that were won along the way. It is a blessing to care so much that you can feel the pain in your own heart when another person is suffering.

We had a fun-filled and joyous reunion this past summer. We met again at a funeral last weekend. It is so much better to gather for no reason than it is to attend a funeral. The family ties which were forged at a time while we were collecting, making memories and reunioning made it feel easier to support a family member in their time of great loss.

It is harder to live a year like the past year I have lived. I have lost my sense of purpose and belonging. I feel like I'm still wafting on that cloud and unsure where to land. I've lost my drive, my focus and sense of self. 

Yet when I look back on this past year I feel the quiet and almost invisible thread which has tied me to family, my roots and the essence of who I am. I am more comfortable with a quiet presence. It is who I am.

I am feeling lost and weary. I don't have the energy (or courage) to set a date, a place and a time these days. I don't have a dream or a purpose right now. I'm still wafting. One year later...

Christmas in January

On the morning of Christmas Eve, I wrote a  little 'story' about a card which I didn't receive this past Christmas.

The words came straight from my heart and onto the page without editing. They were words to honor my uncle who has made a huge impact in my life and the life of so many others.

This story was shared among family and my cousin read my words to my uncle. I was touched that my words hit a chord that resonated among many.

My uncle told me my cousin had a hard time reading the words because of their emotional impact. I told him that is because they were a truth that she felt and recognized. Words that touch one's heart are hard ones to read out loud.

I haven't spoken to my uncle since Christmas. I wrote him a letter and passed along my greetings through family who have been able to go out and visit with him.

He has been busy recovering and spending time with family. That is harder than it sounds, but it seems like he is making slow and steady headway and he is on the hard road back to us.

Yesterday morning, I opened my mailbox and I found a handwritten letter to me inside. I didn't recognize the writing on the envelope but I recognized the return address. The letter was from my uncle. And it was a fat one!

He started writing to me on December 28th. He continued on January 14th, 15th and the 21st before he sealed it up and sent it on its way to me.

His words were a gift.

From a sunset he described which reminded him of a similar sunset my dad once told him about on their family farm growing up ... to remembering Dad's hair and eye color ... to his kind and grateful words as he started several of his messages in response to some of my letters or cards ... to his absolute Pride and Joy (he capitalized those words, not me) as he described the book of family memories, he helped me assemble. "I've spent hours up and down halls flogging your book. Much interest..."

I raked myself over the coals time and time again as I berated myself for taking so long assembling those memories. Yet, as I listen to the way my uncle has flaunted our book (he even has stories about telling his cleaning lady about The Book), I couldn't be more pleased that this book found its way into my uncles hands at a time where he needed something firm and tangible to hold onto.

Roots. They ground us in unfathomable ways.

Find what grounds you within your life. For one never knows when your 'root system' may be compromised.

Dig deep and hold on tightly as you weather life's storms.

My uncle seems to be coming through the other side of this latest hurricane. His world has been upended but to hear him dreaming of rebuilding his life in bright and shiny new ways makes me think 'he has his eye on the prize' and he will get beyond the point he is at and out pursue some of those dreams.

Dream big. Make the impossible possible. Look up. Try to look beyond the moment you are in. If you are in a deep, dark place, it is hard. I know. It feels impossible. Maybe it is. But only for the moment. Feel it. Let it wash over you. Don't deny the power of the eye of that hurricane. But trust the storm will pass.

From my own personal experience (in my world of fairy tale endings), the storm does pass. It may leave devastation in its wake but out of the devastation comes opportunity. Opportunity to cull the clutter of one's life. Opportunity to start over and rebuild. A clarity of seeing what is truly important in times of crisis. Out of the need to lean on and rely on others, you learn faith. Faith that stems from finding strength and support in the most unlikely of places.

My uncle has spoken fondly of many of the people he has met over the course of the past three months. "One of my many favorite people here ..."; "My new friend ..." Yet he is feeling like he is wearing out his welcome and admits he is a bit antsy about moving on.

My uncle, who has been admired and revered among family, friends, neighbors and co-workers for the entirety of his life found an oasis within his 'refuge from the storm'. A safe and supportive place where he has been allowed the freedom to 'fall'.

He has been caught in the arms of strangers as they guiding him through and past some of the toughest days he has known.

Yes, family has been waiting in the wings, supporting, cheering him on all along the way. But there are times when one must rely on powers greater than the love and support of family.

I am beyond grateful my uncle was 'exactly where he needed to be' to work his way through this stormy season of his life.

Gratitude is deeply ingrained and woven into most every word he writes. He sees the gifts in people and the many ways small actions make a profound difference. He befriends cleaning ladies, fellow-residents and speaks kindly of those he writes about.

He lavishes compliments easily and proves his point by citing examples.

He recently told me how he 'hears' Mom in my laughter and my voice. He has accidentally called me by Mom's name. I know there was a mutual admiration between the two of them so I hold these comparisons close to my heart and quietly smile. He even wrote my mom's name and then crossed it out and replaced it with mine, in his letter to me. He will never ever know what a well timed gift he gave me.

Thank you, dear uncle. Your letter was the best gift I could have ever received.

Thank you.

The Missing Christmas Card

I peek inside the mailbox every day, wishing I could be expecting a Christmas card from you. But I know better. It won't be coming this year. Not like the years which have preceded this one ...

We started exchanging Christmas cards thirty years ago.

You came and spent our first Christmas 'without Dad' with us. You filled a gaping hole in our hearts, our supper table and our Christmas memories that year.

You have a quiet way of knowing. You look at each one of us and seem to hear so very much more than we are saying. You speak everyone's language because you listen with your heart.

You were and still are a favorite uncle to all. We filled pages upon pages (within our family's book of stories and memories), with all the ways you impacted all of our lives.

You quietly went about your life thousands of miles away from the place you call 'home', yet you remained connected and a great part of our family despite the miles and time that distanced you from us.

Every time you came home, there was great rejoicing among all.

Your nieces and nephews said perhaps it was because you came home at Christmas time, bearing gifts for all (and there were a lot of us). You were our family's very own personal Santa Claus.

You gave and you gave and you gave.

We gave you our hearts, our trust and our loyalty in return.

You were an icon within our family. Similar to Santa Claus, only better. Because you were real. You weren't just a fictional character who appeared only once a year. You came back home at times of celebration, for reunions, for good times and bad. Santa is a fickle, fair-weather friend. You showed up for 'life'.

Yes, it was the year after you 'showed up' for our family when I sent you that first Christmas card.

You are such a gentleman. Full of honor, respect, generosity and impeccable manners. You replied to that first letter I sent to you and we became Christmas-time pen pals.

Your letters were always personal. You always asked about my family. You always made some comment about some little quality about 'me' you had noticed. You put pen to paper and reading your words was always a gift.

You see what goes on beneath the surface of a person. And you speak to that quality. I truly believe your perception brings out the best in people. I know I feel a little more special than I really am when I read your words.

I am so very grateful that life, time and circumstances gave me the opportunity to know you a little more than I knew you, beyond our annual Christmas card exchange.

I tentatively invited myself into your world when I approached you with the idea of collecting memories of Dad's family. You were on board before the ship even arrived. You not only encouraged me, you said you thought it would be a great idea before you read my proposal.

And so our voyage began.

Six years ago, Mom and I went out to spend several days with you after Christmas. It was the beginning of 'our story'. Not just our family's memoirs. It was the beginning of the story of getting to know 'the man behind the gifts, kind words and annual Christmas letters'.

When I first came up with the idea to collect stories for Dad's family, it was because I had a quest to know more and to hear everything I possibly could, about my own dad.

Wrapped up in the incredible gift of hearing story after story about Dad, was the gift of knowing his brothers.

You were my go-to-brother, when I had a question.

You must have cringed when you opened up email after email. Question after question. Clarification on the answers you provided.

We wrote a lot. We talked many times. You came to my home and allowed me to do you the favor of being your 'host'.

In all the times we spoke, you rarely spoke of yourself. You would talk of your friends. And boy, do you have friends! You have kept in touch with people you have worked with and come to know. You never broke the connection. Your friendships go back decades upon decades.

Then I thought of our first Christmas card exchange. Of course! You would keep in touch with anyone who took the time to keep in touch with you. Where there is a reciprocal exchange of words (whether it is once a year or every week), the seed of friendship is watered and nurtured so it has the opportunity to bloom whenever the sun may have the chance to shine down upon it.

You, the horticulturist of our family, planted many seeds along your way.

You aren't able to 'tend your garden' this year. You, for the first time since I have known you, are tending to yourself.

It must have been an excruciating year for you. Yet you kept doing what you had done, all the years which preceded this one and just kept moving forward.

Still thinking of others. Still doing for others.

Then ... you broke.

We all have our limits. You reached yours this year.

You are still my hero. I wrote your Christmas card and mailed you a small piece of my heart. You may or may not remember it this year. You have a lot of other things on your mind.

I peek into my mailbox each day, wishing I could see your handwriting on an envelope. I know it won't be there. But I feel it in my heart. You would be showing up in my mailbox if you could be.

I brought out your card and letter from last year and reread them this morning.

The small things. Realizing you spelled my Youngest Son's name with a "C" instead of a "K" and correcting it (with a notation in the margin). You took note of these small nuances of life.

Your letter was anything but a form letter. It was to me. And to me only.

You spoke of our most recent visit and "how much ground we covered" (that was your very kind way of referring to the fact I had talked your ear off) when we went out for supper when you were last down. You made a gentle reference to the great restaurant I 'found' for us (I took the wrong turn and we ended up on a very, very long detour to what should have been a very short trip).

"You remember everything," you have told me time and time again. Oh, my dear uncle, it is you who has set the bar. It is you (who has an eye for noticing the subtleties within people, within life and within the actions of those you encounter), who remembers so much.

You speak to the 'little things'.

Even now. Even when I spoke to you a few days ago, you thought to ask about my 'young guy' and you asked about my middle son's farm. Even now.

You have so much to contend with at the moment, yet you are still seeing and hearing far beyond the surface of what a person says. You spoke to my cousin about a reaction you saw in her, when she didn't say a word. Even now.

I have placed last year's card up in my tree in a place of high honor. It is exactly the place where I hold you within my life.

I am sending you my hope and wishing it could make a difference. You have truly made a deep and lasting impact upon me, our family, your friends and the world around you.

You have planted many seeds along the way. It is time for you to bask in the autumn sun and reap the rewards of a garden well tended. 

Be well, my dearest uncle. Maybe next year I will find your handwriting in my mailbox. I am full of hope. Always have been. Always will be.

I am Exactly Where I Want to Be

I woke up this morning thinking 'the life I am living is the life I have always wanted'. I am living in the centre of my little universe, nestled right in the middle of everything and everyone I love.

I opened my eyes and I was still dreaming.

I thought of the visit I had with a cousin last night. I played back the chat I had with my uncle the day before when he dropped by. I was reminded of another cousin who stopped in last week and then called again this week. A few phone calls from a few different aunts, a text conversation with yet another cousin and another phone call from one more cousin ...

And this was all within the past few weeks.

I have lived in this Fine City for half of my lifetime now. I remember when this location spoke to me twenty seven years ago, it was because I was nestled right in the middle of my own family. One sister to the east; another sister to the north; my mom and brother to the west. I felt like I was smack dab in the middle of everyone.

Twenty seven years later, I know that I am truly living exactly where I've always wanted to be.

I have forged connections with my family that make it feel light and right and easy to pick up the phone, open the door, check my email or receive a text and find family right at my fingertips.

I could probably say this all happened because of two little books.

Stepping out of my comfort zone and stepping into Mom and Dad's families to collect memories, stories and a piece of their history has made me fell like a small piece in this very large puzzle called family.

I invited myself into the lives of my family and I have been welcomed with open arms. I can't believe this has happened to me - a person who barely spoke as a child and lived life on the fringes, wishing someone would invite me in to 'play'.

The best part of all of the above is that I don't think I've sacrificed anything to be open to receive this gift of family.

My relationships with my own siblings and mom are stronger than they have ever been (at least it seems that way to me). And though my own children have reached and/or are on the cusp of the age of independence and we don't sit down and revel in family togetherness on a regular basis, there is harmony among my own little family-of-four. We like each other (for the most part) and enjoy each other's company (usually). My own little family is 'young', we have a lot of years to grow and we have a good foundation under our feet so I can only see good things headed our way.

Ten years ago, if you had asked me what I thought my dream life would look like, I would have probably listed things like: a good marriage; a good job; financial security; no debt; contentment and peace of mind.

Today, I can say I have attained almost none of those goals, except the two that count.

I am content. My heart is happy and full. I want for nothing that money can buy because I am rich in all that truly matters to me and all that money can't buy.

I have peace of mind. I can sleep at night (and most any time during the day as well) knowing I feel like I am 'doing the best I can, with what I have'. I wake up each morning with light and easy thoughts wafting through my head.

I feel like I am making a small impact within my world. I feel 'connected' to the world outside of my head, my home and my family.

I feel like one piece of this gazillion piece puzzle that is 'the universe'. And I feel like I fit. I am exactly where I am meant to be within this great world of ours.

I am but one tiny star within the galaxy. There are millions all around me, each shining just as bright. But this morning? I just woke up with the twinkle of that light shining down upon the life-I-am-living, reminding me that this is a very charmed and special life I am living.

"If you build it ... they will come"

~ from the movie A Field of Dreams

I must have built something grand. Because they came! They really came!! I am truly living in a field of dreams. Maybe I am the daughter of a farmer after all ...

It's a Book!!

Our new arrival arrived at

10:30 a.m.

Monday, October 27th

Weighing in at 2.6 lbs

Height - 11.5 inches 

It is named 

"Life as We Knew It"

the story of 

seven bouncing baby boys

(one of) who grew up to be my father

Author and book are doing fine

P.S. And the unexpected news!?! I have already lost double my baby weight!! The bad news? I could have swore this 'baby' would weigh at least 10 lbs. It felt at least that heavy as I carried it around with me during my six years of 'labor'.

Life is Like an Echo

Now that I've come out from under the rock that was sheltering me, while I was immersed in our family's book-of-memories, I am talking with friends again. At every turn, I am hearing of the lack of harmony within families. I listen to what I am being told and my head is trying so very hard to understand. But my heart just doesn't get it.

I live in a bubble wrapped world.

My children and I like each other. We have relationships within our family that are unique to each of our personalities and how they intertwine with the other. We have had some rocky roads. We have also faced a few adversities as a family unit. I say with an infinite amount of gratitude, that 'what didn't kill us made us stronger'. Coming out the other side of a family crisis, as a unit and a feeling of 'we have each other's back' has made us stronger instead of weaker.

I can take that a step further and talk about my relationships with my mom and siblings. What we have is special and unique. There is family unity, despite the miles, despite the age differences, despite our differing family dynamics. We band together in times of trouble, we cheer each other on from afar when life is good, we are simply 'present and accounted for' in so very many ways. We live five independent lives, but we are connected by an invisible elastic band which stretches and shrinks dependent on what is going on in our lives.

Take another few giant steps and I have my mom's family and my dad's family.

I have stepped out of my quiet, insecure self and stepped into my family. Collecting memories is a most excellent way of getting to know someone. I can remember being in awe of finally feeling like I knew my mom's siblings. I am still in awe of knowing my dad's family. And the gift of all gifts are the cousins I am getting to know, thanks to this life of living-outside-of-myself.

I have extended my arms wide open and enveloped my entire family within my grasp. Some are at my fingertips (but with fingers, come a hand); others are at arm's length (but with arms, come a deeper hold); others are very close to my heart (the distance between two hearts is invisible at times) ...

There is something incredibly sacred about this family connection. I know it is precious. I understand that most people don't have this. I don't know how to spread this around ...

... except to suggest "Perpetuate the good".

In all of my memory collecting, family bonding and close relationships there is so very much focus on what is good and what works for us.

Life is like an echo. "Life will give you back everything you have given to it."

Bogged Down

This is not the way I expected to feel when I wrapped up our family book project. I anticipated a feeling of elation, enthusiasm, boundless energy and eager anticipation for whatever-comes-next.

Instead, here I sit. Waiting for an email from the publishing company, showing they have corrected my revisions, so I can authorize the printing of the book to move forward and PRESTO! Done!!

There was going to be sparkles and joy. Singing, dancing and skipping through the house. I was going to ceremoniously file away all of my research files, documents and all paraphernalia related to the book.

I was going to have an excessive amount of energy and I was going to spin through the house like a white tornado and leave nothing but cleanliness in my wake.

I was going to purge and clean, while I was singing and dancing to the beat of the sound of my happy little heart.

I was going to have energy to burn and inspiration seeping out my pores. It was going to be some party inside of this little head of mine.

Instead?

They missed several of my revisions on the book cover and they didn't even send a revised book document. So I immediately emailed a revised document to make my intentions clear(er). That was at 9:56 yesterday morning.

[Insert the sound of crickets chirping here]

Then, my contact-lady (from the establishment we are holding our upcoming family reunion) sent several emails throughout the morning and we were planning to talk in the afternoon. I had my questions at-the-ready, the house was quiet and I called. She was in a meeting. Then instead of a call, she emailed me to tell me we would talk in a few days ...

Did you ever spend a day spinning your wheels? It was unsatisfying on every level.

I couldn't wait until it was late enough to go to bed last night. I was ready by 6:30.

I need to wind something up to a state of completion which will bring the sound of a happy song to my heart. That something is certainly not going to be a clean house, as I tend to my daycare family during the week.

I suppose I could dust off the top of the fridge ...

The Final Lap

Oh, how I wish it was the weekend today. For this .... is where my heart is:

The proof copy of our family-book-project arrived in yesterday's mail. As soon as I make one, final round of checks and give my final nod of approval, it will be out of my hands and off to the presses.

The sad part is, I am only on page 65 (and I have not been reading - I have simply been scanning the pages) and I have found so many little tweaks to be made. A picture and its caption not aligned properly; a drawing completely misconstrued when I made a 'layout change' to an entire page; awkward wording within sentences and paragraphs; and just plain and simple errors. I am finding them everywhere.

I stayed up until the wee hours (9:00 p.m.) last night and made a valiant effort to scan the contents for the obvious. But (as I mentioned before) I failed.

The book is so long and so tedious. I have read, reread, edited, reedited, sent it out for editing and proofing and checking. Right now (to me), this book is about as spellbinding as reading a phone book.

When I went to bed last night, my plan was to give this book one more cursive glance today and send it off to be printed before the weekend begins.

I woke up knowing that now is not the time to rush to the finish line.

I cannot rewrite the book but I can give it one last, long good perusal and send it on its way knowing I have done my best.

I read what has been written and I wonder how much I have misconstrued between hearing what I thought I heard; writing what I interpreted to be correct; and the actual truth.

My 'critics' have not been harsh enough. In one case I believe I was the one to mis-hear a story and I wrote what I thought I understood to be true. Instead of correcting me, one kind edit said they had a different memory. In my haste to assemble the massive amount of stories, I assumed they were talking of two different memories. As I hone in on details, I realize he was saying, "You've got it all wrong! It happened 'this' way..."

This has happened on numerous occasions. In fact, three other instances came immediately to mind as I wrote that sentence.

I cannot help but think, if I know of four or five occasions where I have misrepresented the facts, there are probably (at least) ten times that amount within the pages of our book.

As I called one uncle to do a little fact-checking and confirm how I should word something within his chapter this week, he told me I was worrying too much over the details. I couldn't brush it off though, because what goes down in writing will stay there for as long as the words are on the page. Future 'editions' of the book can be revised but the ones that are printed this first time through will 'go down in history' as fact.

Frightening.

Thus, I simply cannot rush the process now that I am this close. I will allow myself the weekend. That is it. No more.

Sunday night, before I go to sleep I will send off the final, revised file. Monday morning, I will click all the boxes to approve the book to move forward as-it-is.

The family book project will come to an end. September 29, 2014 shall go down as a date to remember. Six years, one month and two days after I got the 'nod' from my uncle to start moving ahead with this project, it will wind down to a close.

I knew it was going to be 'big'. Every time I dipped my toes into collecting these memories, I knew I was being entrusted with something precious. Whenever I immersed myself in assembling the stories into what would eventually become our book, I felt like I was walking on sacred ground. There is no need to rush. Even now.

The book needs to come to an end. This much I know. Just not today ...

It All Matters. We All Matter.

I have spent the past week putting the final touches on our family book project. That sounds like it should be easy, doesn't it? In two words - it's not.

On one hand, I had absolutely nothing left to say to put on the back of the book and the inside flaps. On the other hand, I had so much left to say I could barely contain it within the limitations I was given.

As I have put together our book full of memories, I am continually amazed at the little things that we remember when we look back upon our lives.

Our family comes from a long line of children who knew their dad worked hard so they really didn't expect to 'know' him in an up close and personal way.

Is there a sense of loss or missing out as they recollect their childhood? No. It was simply the way life was.

They remember the way their dad was, when he did have some time to go for a drive and get 'lost' in the fields (and as an adult, realize he had turned checking the crops into a Sunday drive where he pretended to get lost and 'accidentally' end up at a pre-planned destination).

We are lucky if we still have our parents around when we become adults ourselves. We have no idea how much wisdom and perspective they have stored up inside of them until we are old enough to hear what they have to say. When we lose a parent at a young age, I think we ache to hear what that parent may have told us as the years progressed ...

I was twenty three years old when Dad had a massive heart attack (which his body survived but his brain did not). My brother was eighteen. Even though our sisters were older (thirty two and thirty four), they were only just beginning to know Dad as a person (he worked around the clock and the calendar while they were growing up). We had all had our last conversation with Dad, as we knew him, by Thursday, March 10, 1983.

My brother and I were the fortunate ones - we moved off the farm and into the city in 1970. We had thirteen years of knowing Dad with a "9 to 5" (that is a joke, because Dad worked all the overtime he was able to amass) job with a paid holiday. We have memories of a Dad who (technically) had evenings and weekends off and two weeks paid vacation time.

Perhaps I was the luckiest of all. I grew up on our farm until I was nine years old. I have memories of life on the farm (though none of my farm memories include Dad), I have memories of growing up in the city, where I have many memories of Dad as a child and also as I transitioned into adulthood.

I remember the chats we had before I was married and after that marriage broke up (and then after my husband and I reconciled and got remarried...).

My husband idolized my dad. My dad was everything his dad wasn't. My husband thought Dad was pretty cool, because he could swear like the dickens out in the garage (and no one in the world would have guessed he knew any one of those words when he came back into the kitchen for a cup of coffee afterwards).

Unbeknownst to me at the time, my on again, off again marriage put me in an enviable position, as far as getting to know Dad goes. He had the opportunity to talk with me on so very many different levels because I was an independent car and home owner and new to the world of being an adult, parent and full-time employee.

Dad probably had the foresight to see that there was a pretty fair chance that I would need to know how to be independent and thus, we had many 'teachable' moments. My brother was on the cusp of being the recipient of oh-so-much-knowledge that Dad had to impart on him when we lost our dad, as we knew him.

I knew Dad as much as I could have known him, yet I am the one who has gone out on a quest to search for family memories in order to find a way to know Dad better and 'keep' him as part of my life forever.

In my final 'wrap up' of our family book project, I am saying so very much when I say this:

My motives for assembling this book may have been selfish. Wanting to hear and write Dad's story was wrapped in the gift of hearing about and assembling the story of the rest of our family.

As our family continues to grow and spread out across the land, it is my hope this book will serve to pass along a piece of our history to the generations to follow.

We may be transplanted in life, but there is a true sense of belonging when you settle in and are comfortable in the life where your roots run deep.

Home is where your heart is ... but our roots keep us grounded.

Little did I know at the time, my roots are firmly entrenched in our family farm. I have spent a 'lifetime' finding my way back home again. Compiling Mom and Dad's family books-of-memories has brought me to this place.

There is a little piece of me that believes I am not the only one out there searching for this feeling. Thus I am very pleased to say I am so very close to having this collection of memories ready to distribute among our family.

Within the pages of this book, you will find the impact our grandparents and their seven sons have made within our lives as we know them.

These are the stories of the people who created us, molded us, set an example for us and modeled a life we emulate (in various forms) today.

Whenever you find yourself thinking "What difference does one person make?" remember the stories you read within this book. It all matters. We all matter. Read on...

Ready to Shed Some Leaves and Go Dormant

As if 'back to school', a slight chill in the air and noticeably shorter days were not enough of a clue (unbeknownst to me), fall has arrived in other ways. Dancing With the Stars (apparently) started back on September 15th.

Thanks to the magic of our PVR, the first show and results (who knew there were results already!?!) are recorded and I can watch them at my leisure.

Hmmm .... leisure!

I think the best part about (finally) falling back in love with the idea of working on and focusing on the completion our family's book-of-memories, is the fact that TV has taken a back seat in my life. It is right back where I like it. Off.

Oh, not to say I never watch television. I do.

But my palate has changed. The half hour comedy reruns that got me through some of my more challenging years (salve to my injured soul was 'mindless TV') have absolutely no appeal to me anymore.

Thanks to the fact that I could no longer watch 'missed episodes' on our computer (and the advertising which introduced me to more new shows than I ever needed to know about), my list of television favorites presently include: Grey's Anatomy, Dancing With the Stars and the endless stream of home renovation shows on HGTV (no need to record those, since they are on a constant cycle of 'repeat').

I love that my life is no longer ruled by the TV guide. Not that it had to be, since the invention of 'TV on Demand' and 'PVR's' (after our eighth (??) and final VCR gave up the ghost).

I do quite love our little PVR which allows me to pause and rewind a television show (great for all of the times I fall asleep when I really do want to watch the program in front of me). And I quite adore the fact that it is smarter than I am. All I had to do was select 'Record Series' and it knew Dancing With the Stars was back, days before I did.

I like to watch TV by choice. I am also quite happy to say that almost all of the shows I once watched have either gone off the air or become obsolete to me (because I simply don't care about them any more).

Television is a sleeping pill to me, so it is quite an undertaking to stay awake and watch the few shows I do enjoy. It is getting ever-so-much harder to stay awake ever since my body stopped craving excess snack food (consumed for the sole purpose of staying awake as long as possible).

I am more excited about getting back into enjoying a good book, than I am about the return of DWTS. I am almost giddy with the realization that my weekends are (almost) my own once again. I do not want my bookkeeping job to step in, where the family book project ended off but I do know that I will need to keep up this pace (being motivated by deadlines and the completion of projects) in some fashion to keep the state of 'happy' back in my life.

Yes, fall has arrived. And with it, comes a state of completion and renewal.

I can plan again. I can set new goals and look towards a changing horizon. I don't think I want to take on a six-year project again any time soon. But I know the 'creative' part of me will accidentally stumble across something. Some day.

But in the mean time, you will probably be able to find me snuggled up on my favorite love seat with either a book in my hands or watching Dancing With the Stars ... whenever the mood strikes me.

Hunkering in for the cool season ahead sounds pretty good to me right now. I know I will miss the sunshine and the glory of completing the uncompletable. So be it. I'm ready to shed a few leaves and go dormant for a while.

It's been a very good summer.