A Little Moment of Awesome

I woke up before 4:30 this morning and stayed awake. These bonus hours are a gift to myself today.

It snowed yesterday. The first substantial snowfall of the year. And it was good.

I put in a solid day of bookkeeping work and though my brain was done thinking at the day's end, it was truly refreshing to go outside and shovel. It was the right amount of cold. Not too cold, not too warm ... it was the "Goldilocks Zone" of being just right.

Last year I didn't bother bringing out anything pertaining to Christmas. I wasn't all bah-humbug about it. I simply didn't see the point. No company was expected, nor did the idea of changing the scenery to reflect the season bring me joy. So I didn't decorate. The end.

This year, I invited friends over at a pre-seasonally-appropriate time. It wasn't too early to decorate and I had the incentive required for me to take on the task. 

I felt joyful and light as I brought out my box of memories. I was delighted while adorning my corner shelf with stories of Christmases past and pleased with the result.

It is January 6th and I am still enjoying the white light, memories and peaceful easy feeling my little Christmas corner brings to me. The decorations consist mainly of angels, snowmen, pine accents, sleighs and pinecones. I am now officially dubbing it my "Winter Wonderland" corner.

I feel serenity within me this morning. I'm just going to coast a little while on this feeling. 

Life is fleeting. 

Please savor those little moments when you find them.

P.S. There were rabbit tracks in the snow. Oh, how I have missed my rabbit friends. They can come out of hiding now, as their winter white coats will finally blend into the scenery so they can hide in plain sight again.

Little things...

Some Things Never Change

On Feb 8, 2016 I wrote this: 

I remember the years I was living my dreams. People talked of "bucket lists", I scoffed and said, "I'm keeping my bucket list empty!"

They were adventurous years (for me). I tried new things (Zumba and Belly Fit), I was determined to become a Zumba instructor (and only missed the mark by one, final practicum assignment), I participated in a dance competition, I went on a cruise, I invited people into my world and it was a most incredible ride.

Yes, I kept my "bucket list" empty. Looking back on those glory years, seeing where I am now and looking ahead I have kept my promise to myself. My bucket list remains empty. It is a good thing and a bad thing all at the same time.

It is a sad and lonely place when you stop dreaming. Instead, I have filled up our home's bucket list. It contains dreams such as: new doors, new floors, new baseboards and door casings and a new paint job (inside and out). There is a very expensive domino effect that happens once you start home renovations, thus my paralysis in this regard for so many years.

I have no desire to travel, nor do I  have one pang of envy for those who are setting off and/or enjoying their winter vacation destinations. I am exactly where I want to be. I am at home, living my dream in my quiet and understated way. I've done all I want to do for now. It is time to centre myself and take care of my finances and our home.

Seven years later ...

My bucket list remains empty and I'm happy to announce our home's bucket list as of February, 2016 has been emptied as well.

The house's bucket list has been filled up (times 2, with the addition of a second place to call home) but my personal list of hopes and dreams remains static. I found myself saying these words just a short while ago and was rather pleased to find proof this has been my feeling prior to so very many life changing events over the past seven years. I've said it before and I'll say it again:

I'm glad I did what I did, when I did it. The time was right. It was a carefree and fun-filled time. I was the person I needed to be, to get the most enjoyment out of all of my little adventures. I have changed. The world around me has changed. I want and need to be close to home.

Remembering When...

When I was a child, I dreamed simple dreams. I lived in a world of make believe, playing house, pretending and acting out what I imagined to become my future. 

Playing house utilized a lot of imagination when I was growing up. Pretend stoves, fridges, TV's and numerous household belongings were made from cardboard boxes or whatever one could find at hand. I dreamed of child sized furniture, miniature kitchens and doll furnishings and was grateful for anything that could be imagined into reality.

During my daycare days, I created my idyllic childhood dream for my daycare family. We had a Little Tykes kitchen, doll furniture and accessories galore, a little playhouse for the deck and a building, most would call a shed, that was dubbed "playhouse". Thanks to garage sales and second hand shopping, I created my dream come true for the little ones in my care.

As I grew out of playing house, my interest in TV was my second most favorite place to imagine myself. I wished I could be a witch like Samantha on Bewitched. I remember the elation of watching Bewitched, a favorite show of mine, and wishing another episode would play immediately. To have to wait one long week for a new episode felt like forever. 

Now, thanks to the multitude of streaming services and the vast amount of syndicated television programs, one can go back and watch old favorites. Just as I had dreamed - one show after another, no need to wait a week for the next episode. 

I am quite literally living the life of my childhood dreams. Child sized furniture has been replaced with real life furnishings and appliances. Live, breathing children replaced dolls and pretend babies. I can sit still and watch a favorite show as long as I can stay awake (never, in my wildest childhood dreams, did I ever think I would fall asleep at the speed I do in adulthood).

My life has become everything I dreamed. Minus a husband - I'm not quite sure why I never imagined that into my reality. I tried. It just didn't work out the way of my dreams ...

I sit here within my quiet, simple little life and am simply amazed. Life has become everything I had ever dreamed it could be.

Should I have dreamed of something bigger? Perhaps. But that would be someone else's dream. Not my own. I am content with what I have, what is real and the day I wake up to each morning.

As the world events of the day dominate the news and serve as a reminder to be grateful for the peaceful existence within our country, community and homes we have created ... I have slipped back into my childhood memories and am simply grateful.

Remember your dreams. Forget other people's expectations. Strive to create the world you hoped to live in when you were a child. 

Let there be peace. Within our hearts, minds and souls. And let that peacefulness embrace our family, friends and community. One peaceful heart at a time, may harmony dominate.

Please? 

It is Time ...

I have become the world's best procrastinator over the course of the past many years.

There are so very many things to be done. So much I would like to have done and behind me. But there are a list of little just-for-me things I would like to do.

Oh, to take the entirety of a weekend to sift through the boxes of memories I have amassed. On more than one occasion recently, I have been reminded of a few keepsakes I have saved over the years and it has ignited a desire to rifle through my memory box to see what I have forgotten.

I want to empty the shelf of photos, photo albums, loose pictures and organize them and amalgamate them into one whole cohesive collection including the pictures and albums I inherited from Mom.

I want to take the time to cull through Mom's boxes of memorabilia. Sort, organize and decide what is excess. When we were going through Mom's collection of belongings, I felt everything was important, a piece of history and a piece of Mom. Perhaps I don't need to keep two decades worth of her calendars to hold onto a few vital dates and notations.

This weekend I wish for will spill over into days. Days on end. Days where one photograph, notation or piece of paper will ignite thoughts I had forgotten. Thus, I don't want to rush the process.

I want to make the time. It is time ...

Life is in the Re-Telling

I visit my aunt on a regular basis. She has reached a stage in her life where her stories and recollections are on "repeat". A story will start with one memory which triggers her narrative in a predictable fashion. When she forgets a detail, I can nudge her memory to help her recall and she is off and running again.

The stories are comfortably repetitive. A few of the details are slipping. I can sense the fight within her to hold on tight to what she remembers. I am grateful when I can fill in the blank as needed.

Our conversations are not one way. She asks me about my life, my choices and we ponder parenting, our choice in careers, our past, lessons learned and our general take on life-as-we-know-it.

My story isn't one of a predictable nature. My on again, off again marriage triggers so many questions from my aunt. "Why did you keep going back?" "You came from such a different life - how could you have made that choice?"

My career wasn't one I sat and pondered. I got a job out of necessity. I honestly believe the job I had was the one best suited for me. "You should have become a teacher" she tells me on a regular basis.

The twists and turns in my story brought me to a point when I opted to walk away from the stability of a job with benefits and a pension and opened my daycare, so I could be a stay at home mom. "You are the same age as [my son] - why aren't you retired?" "You should have been a teacher" ...

Our mutual story telling goes back and forth. We have come to expect each other's responses. My aunt's theories on life become stronger with each telling. My conviction that the choices I made as I lived my life forward also become more convincing each time I re-tell my story.

My aunt reflects on her life and her take-away from life-as-she-lived it is you should enjoy life while you are young. Having fun, being physically active, being home for your children are the lessons I hear. There is an appreciation for her stable marriage and parenthood as she compares and contrasts her story to my own.

She recently told me "You have led an interesting life". The inner thoughts that run rampant through my mind as we retell our stories was silenced. Within the silence I heard the voice of my middle son once telling me, "Go on that holiday! When you start repeating your stories when you get old, I want them to be interesting ones."

Yes. I have led an interesting life. It is a life that has taught me what I needed to know. This particular path has built my character. I wouldn't be who I am today if life had been any other way.

When I start retelling my stories, I hope I remember the lessons. I hope I focus on the happy endings. I hope I tell the other side of my stories with compassion and empathy for the other party(s).

There is a benefit to repeating the same conversations on a regular basis. I have the opportunity to revise and refine my responses as time progresses.

When I start repeating my stories when I get old, I hope they are interesting ones.

I can almost hear the voice of my son saying (half serious, half in jest), "You aren't all that interesting now so why would you think anything will change?" 

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.

September 11th

Just a moment of silence to appreciate waking up to a day where I feel safe, secure, warm and sheltered from the outside elements of the world.

Just a moment to take note of what is truly important. It isn't the "stuff". It is the peace of mind I have as I map out another relatively predictable day.

Just a moment to reflect on the relationships I have with family, friends, community and the world outside these doors. I am treated with kindness and do my best to pay it forward.

Just a minute to gaze at the walls that surround me and the roof that shelters me. I am home. I am safe. I am content.

Just a minute to count my blessings. They are many. Few, if any, are material belongings. The contentment I feel within life as I know it is priceless.

Just a moment to remember how fortunate I am to wake up each morning. Period. To wake up with the ability to breath easily, place my feet on the floor, live independently and the gift of knowing there is an excess of what I have to share with those I meet along the way.

A moment of silence to honor this moment. To remember how fortunate I am when the day goes relatively according to plan. To go to bed at night with the peace of mind that those who touch my world have also made it through another day and are preparing to do it all again tomorrow.

A day to appreciate the ability to dream of "tomorrow" is a gift bigger than life itself.

I remember the way I felt the day the world as we know it changed forever. September 11, 2001 was a day etched in my mind. I vowed to never take our peaceful existence for granted as I walked through a day where the sky was silent.

She is Within Me ...

"I miss missing you ..." These were the words I was feeling as I walked into the weekend. Feeling the acuteness of emotion after my sister's most recent visit, I thought of Mom which resulted in a fleeting "I miss missing you" moment.

The connection our family shares is a gift like no other. It is a gift I hope to pass along to my family. It is a gift I see within my sibling's families. It is so poignant at times, it leaves me breathless.

I felt myself stop and think to myself, "Mom, are you here?"

The day gained momentum and moved on but the feeling remained. I woke up Saturday morning and simply thought to myself "I miss missing Mom ...". Then I spotted two rabbits in our neighbor's "rabbit garden". An overgrown area in my neighbor's yard seems to attract rabbits - I would like to grow a garden such as this. Rabbits make me think of time spent with Mom.

I felt a feeling of missing Mom wash over and through me, then went to my library of Mom's books. I felt the strong urge to simply lose myself in a book I didn't want to put down. A lot of Mom's books are biographies, non-fiction, historical and basically educational. I wanted something to grab my interest and hold me still. I found the book "Half Broke Horses" by Jeannette Walls. She had me at "Those old cows knew trouble was coming before we did ..." - the very first sentence of her book.

A piece of paper wafted to the ground when I opened the book. Mom's writing. Simply the words "certificate" and "diploma". I created a story in my mind behind the words she wrote. Mom questioned everything she didn't understand. She was wondering ...

I kept Mom's scrap of paper as my bookmark. It was comforting to think she had read the pages I was about to read. There is something about opening a book and feeling her presence that is akin to the breathlessness poignancy I have felt after separating myself from my siblings. I just breathed in the moment, was grateful for the sensation of Mom's presence and savored the story within the pages of the book.

The next morning, I was eager to reread "The Glass Castle", also by Jeannette Walls. I had bought this book myself and offered to give it to Mom but she said she already had it. "Half Broke Horses" was the story before the story which was told in "The Glass Castle". I sat down with a renewed appreciation of the book, knowing the history which preceded it.

I turned a page and found crumbs within the book. Pretty good chance they were crumbs from something Mom was eating as she read the book. A fair chance that they may have been cookie crumbs. Mom enjoyed her cookies once upon a lifetime ago ...

Another heart swelling moment as I replayed the thought of Mom reading the exact pages at a different time and place. There was a slight time warp sensation as I envisioned Mom within me, me within Mom and the connection of the book I was holding.

I have noticed myself feeling this way when I butter toast. I have a crystal clear memory of the way Mom buttered toast. Her goal was to take enough margarine the first time, so she didn't end up with toast crumbs in her margarine container. She meticulously buttered her toast to the crust. I feel me in her/her in me when I watch myself do exactly the same motion. Suddenly, I am standing at her kitchen island, reliving the many times I watched her care and precision as she buttered her toast.

In these moments, I feel like I'm in a space-time continuum. I'm on this plane over here; Mom is on her plane sometime in the past; and neither one of us are here nor there at the same time anymore. But we are still connected.

She is within me, I was within her. I miss missing her ... but I'm grateful to still feel her so strongly at times.

Happy Birthday, Mom

Birthdays were never a big deal for Mom. I don't think she particularly enjoyed a day that brought attention to her advancing years but I would imagine she didn't mind the contact from family due to the occasion.

We only surprised her once. One surprise party on her 65th birthday was one too many but she was young enough to survive the shock and tell us to never EVER do this again. So we didn't.

Fifteen years later, we asked if she would be agreeable to a gathering of the families on or around her birthday. We tried to take the focus off of "birthday" (my brother jokingly interchanged the word "extravaganza" in its place) and with Mom's blessing and input, we had a most excellent gathering of family and friends.

We collected hand written memories and/or pictures in place of gifts, amassed them in a binder and it was a gift Mom enjoyed for years to come.

I can visualize the pictures in my mind. The year was 2008, everyone was in good health and Mom was surrounded by her sisters, brothers in law (who felt like brothers to her), family, family, more family and friends.

She danced to the song "Could I Have This Dance" with my cousin, who had danced to this song with his bride on his wedding day.

There was a program which was light and easy, we had a few family soloists who sang some of Mom's favorite songs. It was a fun, easy and memorable day. I'm so glad we have the memory to hold onto.

Mom's funeral was very similar to that special birthday memory.

The year was 2017. She was the sole member of her family left. Her sisters, who were all alive on Mom's 80th birthday, predeceased her. A brother-in-law and two sisters-in-law had also passed. Looking at Mom's 80th birthday pictures, I see the life in everyone's eyes that was extinguished during the years that followed.

I remember the impassioned letter I wrote to a family member who couldn't attend the occasion due to their beliefs. They celebrate wedding anniversaries but not birthdays. There were no more wedding anniversaries for Mom, since Dad died thirty years before Mom. We were gathering family and friends in good times and my unspoken plea was "Please celebrate Mom with us while she is here to enjoy the party".

I didn't sway their decision. But I tried.

I'm so grateful for the memory of that special "Extravaganza" celebration of Mom's life. The joy of that day lives on and I believe we brought a piece of that most special occasion into our final good-bye to her.

When you live a joy-filled life, it is easier to smile at all the memories as your days wind down to an end. I think of the laughter that surrounded what would become Mom's final year. I remember thinking how disrespectful it must seem, to be laughing in the hospital corridors while others were facing life and death situations. Little did I realize at the time, that was "us". We were walking through Mom's final days with her. Although it was heart breaking at times, it wasn't a sorrowful time because we had an arsenal of good thoughts, memories and a mighty spunky mom who made things as easy as they could be.

It was her final wish for us to simply be with her. She would rest, wanted to hear our voices and laughter.

One of my favorite pictures of the day. Maybe not the best pose, but it captured the essence of the day. "Familiarity and ease among family and friends"

Mom, with her sisters and Dad's brothers

Mom, with Dad's brothers. This is such a good picture of Mom and I can still hear her voice saying "They were like brothers to me" (and I can also hear the voice of Dad's brother echoing the sentiment)

"Could I Have This Dance" ~ the grand finale of what was a most excellent day

Thanks for the memories, Mom. They are a gift like no other...

I Remember ...

I was just trying to do some mental math, as I wondered how old my brother was when he moved out on his own. My Youngest Son and I were speaking of the future last night and I was just trying to draw some comparisons.

I remembered where I was when I read My Brother's first letter to me after he moved into his first apartment. I was still living in the first home we moved into when we moved to Saskatoon. I remember the landscape around me as I read and reread that letter...

I counted back the years. Since we moved to Saskatoon in 1988, my guess was my brother moved out in 1989.

I then recalled him saying he wanted to prove to himself that he could live on his own and support himself before he got married. He got married in 1990. My assumption was confirmed.

I can remember how I continually forgot the year my brother married. I guess I never made a mental note of the year. 1990 is a nice, round number and easy to remember. Once I realized and noted this, I never forgot.

Not too long ago, I wondered how Mom would have felt after her youngest child left home. I now remember when My Brother moved out, his soon to be fiancée moved in. Mom's nest wasn't left empty for long.

A light and easy conversation with my Youngest Son took me down memory lane for a rather delightful walk through time.

I can remember thinking all of the knowledge I gained through various courses I had taken could be lost in a fraction of a second if my brain suffered an injury. I laughingly said that I should insure my brain because it would be such a shame to learn all of this information and stand a chance at losing it all.

It is now several decades later, my brain is still functioning and I even remember some of what I learned back in my learning years. But "retaining information" is still in the forefront of my mind. I worry less about what I learned from the courses I took and worry more about forgetting what I was just told.

Our brain is a precious commodity. We need to nourish, exercise, appreciate and treat it with care. As we go through the paces of living our life as we know it do we really appreciate what a blessing is to simply ... remember?

Remembering ...

Seven years ago today, I was savoring the vacation of a lifetime. I was cruising up the Alaskan coast with a friend I've known ever since I have a memory, en route to meet up with the first best friend I made after our family moved to Edmonton when I was nine years old.

I just spent the past hour or so rereading the blog posts I wrote while I was livin' the dream.If you click "here", it will take you back to May, 2011 and you can reminisce with me for a while ...

Wow. My life has gone through a lot of transitions since then.

As I write those words, I am reminded of the journey my career path took after I returned home from that cruise.

I look around me and remind myself that I still live in the same home but different cats adorn it.

I think of family connections and how much stronger they feel.

As I think back on those seven years, I remember those who have passed during that time. So many of those who were an integral part of my memories, who shared their stories with me so we could assemble them onto the pages of our family history books. I am so very grateful for each and every memory I made.

My relationships within my own little family unit ebb and flow, which is to be expected as each of my children become more of who they are. I hope we will grow closer despite the distance created by our individual growth spurts.

I remember who I used to be, who I became, who I lost and as I reflect on those years, I am starting to feel the stirring of life within me again.

I kind of like the sound of the girl who wrote those posts back in May of 2011. She was a girl who was living the dream. She was looking up, making memories, appreciating the moment and dreaming big.

I remember how my sense of security about the future was shattered when Mom had a health scare in the months that preceded that Alaskan cruise. My senses were heightened after that. I was gently reminded how precious life is. Mom and I made a lot of memories between then and now. I'm so grateful for each and every one of them.

Life was full of ups, downs, in betweens, transitions, living and loss these past seven years. I am grateful for the ability to look back and reread the words I wrote when I was walking that path. I am reminded that throughout the low times, there was a sense of hopefulness and gratitude that prevailed.

I wonder where life will take me the next seven years. Wait! I really do not want to know the answer. One day at a time. Let hope and gratitude rule the day. Write, laugh and maybe dance. Let my actions be ruled by these thoughts and all things become possible.

Possession Day

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

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

This is it. The end of an era.

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

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

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

Little things.

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

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

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

Dad and me

Me and my mom

That was almost 40 years ago ...

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

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

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

That house saw us through so very much.

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

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

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

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

Almost a month has passed since that day.

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

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

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

Out With the Old

There is something symbolic in hanging up a fresh, new calendar. It hasn't been messed up with notations, appointments, life happenings and all the stuff that gets scribbled onto the pages as the year goes on.

I have a hard time letting go of the old. I always keep my previous year's calendar close at hand and it amazes me how often I have to refer back to it to nudge my memory.

My calendars are pretty boring. They are all about "work" and "daycare comings and goings". I write the odd appointment down and often make note of how I spent days off and holidays. I try (but often forget) to note when I've gotten together with friends or done something a little out of the ordinary.

My financial spreadsheets get a lot of wear and tear as I reconstruct the financial aspect of what I've spent, where my money has gone and justify how I literally "spent" my year.

What was the year 2015? What have I learned? Where will I go from here? And how much control do we really have over our destiny anyway?

Last year had its share of woes. Probably no different than any other year. In fact, when I gloss over the year in my mind I would quite likely say it was a pretty good year. All's well that ends well. And the year ended on a calm and predictable note. Sort of.

Life as I know it has remained pretty calm and stable. There were the rather predictable ebbs and flows within my work situations but my personal life? I didn't push myself out of my comfort zone very much. It was a comfortable year that way but not really all that good for me. It is good to feel uncomfortable from time to time. That is the part where you learn, grow, reach out and become a little bit more of who you already are.

When I scan back last year in my mind, I remember feeling the fear of loss in the air. I remember doing all that was in my power to do. I remember giving as much as I had to give at the time. I remember trying my best. But my ability to give and my best was not really all that great. Good enough, I suppose but I didn't push myself as hard as I could have and should have.

I am not going to "could've, should've and would've" myself to death. What's done is done. I did my best at the time. Maybe I will do better next time.

As I look back on the extra-curricular outings and excursions I planned, they are tainted with all that was happening in and around the time of our plans. "Should we back out and cancel?" was a common theme among everything I tried to plan in advance. The last time I planned, I can remember screaming inside my head, "THIS ... is why I don't like to plan things!" I think I may have made a solemn vow never ever to plan ahead again. Ever. That was probably not a wise decision.

Life demands that you "plan" things. If you don't, you end up wading aimlessly through your days. I don't mind the odd day or two where I have no plan or purpose. But by the end of that second day, I know something has to change. And that something is ME.

As I hung up my clean, crisp and new calendar, I wondered, "What now?" I wondered in a way that felt like I had no control over the days and months as they unfold. Then to prove my point, I woke up to an email telling me I was exactly right about that ...

A new little girl is joining our daycare family in a few days. I had my reservations about saying "Yes" to this family because one of my parents on maternity leave will be returning to work in seven months. Do I say "No" to opportunities as they present themselves and count on what I think the future will bring? Or do I say "Yes", knowing that the future is completely uncertain? I decided to say "Yes" and let the chips fall where they may. They have already fallen.

My new little girl is only going to come for one month and then one of her parents is going to stay home with her.

It is January 2nd and life is telling me "Don't count on anything". I can't stop remembering about all that I didn't know as I flipped over the page into the new year 2015, but in reality all that was about to happen was already well in progress. I just didn't know it at the time.

I know we can't know what is going to happen. I know we have to just keep opening up each day like a gift and appreciating what we have when we have it. I know life is full of unexpected surprises. I strongly suspect if I were to keep score, the happy surprises would outweigh the sad ones by far. And even the surprises that break your heart are often laced with light moments and gratitude and small blessings along the way. I know I must focus on the goodness in life. And honestly, for the most part, I already do that.

I have just been too still and too quiet the past few days. I have spent an inordinate amount of time with our cats, who have done their best to amuse and entertain me. I could have used a little less "entertainment" at 3:00 this morning though as our senior cat in residence decided to chase ghosts on my bed. Over and over and over again...

It is time to hop in the shower and wash out the cobwebs. It is time to sit back and count my blessings. It is time to get dressed and walk out into the world and see where the day takes me. It is time to look up and rejoin the land of the living.

It is time to start dreaming again.

Remembering

I'm feeling quiet this morning and reading stories about the events of this day, fourteen years ago. The thoughts I was thinking two years ago are the same thoughts I'm thinking this morning.

I remember how quiet the skies were that day and the days that followed. I remember how sad and eerie that felt. Our world changed that day.

From September 11, 2013:

I remember ... turning on the TV that morning and the slow realization that what I was witnessing was a live broadcast.

I remember ... sleepwalking through the day. I did what I had to do, with my eyes focused on the TV every available moment.

I remember ... wandering through the hallway of our home and appreciating the simple fact that I felt safe. We were going through a day just like any other, while our American neighbors were living a tragedy that touched millions.

I remember ... feeling gratitude. Gratitude for all the freedoms that living in our country allows.

I remember ... thinking that I would never forget. I would never take what we have for granted.

The world felt like a very small place. The tragedy of 9/11 brought to light that we are all vulnerable. Life as we know it can change in an instant.

I remember it well.

Running Out of Storylines

When my life is very still and quiet and a tad on the boring side, I sometimes get the feeling like this life I am living is all something that I have made up as I have went along.

All the drama, the thrills and chills or the lack of them. Made up. A figment of my imagination.

Then I recoil inside of myself and think of what a self absorbed soul I am. How dare I believe that the world revolves around me?!

As I walked through the quietness this past little while, I am beginning to wonder if I have been right all along.

Just think of it. When you are a child, you are the centre of your universe. I remember feeling responsible for every action and reaction of those who touched my world. I didn't see (or look) any further than my own reactions and feelings to understand others were a complete and totally separate entity from myself.

Fleeting moments of my childhood flash before my eyes as I write those words. Embarrassing moments that caused me no end of worry. Tears I didn't understand but felt personally responsible for.

Perhaps the first real memory I have that is completely separate and apart from me being the central character within my own story is when my brother lost the tip of his finger due to a lawnmower mishap.

I had nothing to do with the accident and all I remember is mom and dad rushing out of the house with my brother and I believe I called a friend in their absence. I remember feeling empathy for my brother as he healed and came to terms with his loss afterwards.

Then I went about my merry little life, creating drama out of nothing, worrying over things that never happened, thinking ever-so-much-more than I ever spoke and getting all wrapped up in my self absorbed world.

As I made my way through my sheltered and very safe life, I tiptoed into places I had never seen or felt before.

My marriage was filled with honeymoon periods, tension and explosions. It had thrills and chills at every turn, not to mention a baby and a whole new adult world of responsibilities to contend with.

My life was anything but boring. Any time things did get a little tedious, I seemed to reconcile with the current love-of-my-life and that spiced things up a notch. Eventually, my teenage children provided new, yet familiar, challenges ...

I wrote that sentence and suddenly I was back in the thick of raising my oldest son. I am embarrassed to admit that I had not yet evolved out of the "everything revolves around me" stage of my life. I didn't see beyond my own point of view and it was (again) another very self involved state, filled with drama and it didn't go smoothly.

Once again, another turning point comes clearly into focus. It is when I started walking through those teen years with my second son, when I finally started seeing the world through his vantage point a little more. There was still a fair bit of excitement but I didn't take everything personally.

Life got very calm sometime in and around this phase. Is it surprising that I reconciled (again) with my third son's father? Is it a surprise that did not end with a "happily ever after"? Is it a shock that I decided to change things up a bit and go back to school and change careers at age 50? Then reel with the reality of how tough life in the trenches can be?

I found my way back to solid ground again and once my feet were firmly planted, I completed "part two" of the biggest projects (outside of raising my family) of my life. I finished compiling the stories of my dad's family.

That was eight months ago.

Life has become very quiet once again. I don't seem to have the energy it takes to interact with the world and be a vital part of a friendship or conversation or project of any sort. I have become an island.

I have been walking around in my little self absorbed state for a little while again. Then it hit me. It is like I am tired of writing my own story. I've run out of storylines that I want to pursue. "New" is not some place I want to go right now. I want to sit here in my comfortable little life, dust it off (literally), fix it up and just sit here and see how it ends.

I don't have the imagination to start the next chapter.

I believe this is the phase of my life where I should start to play a supporting role instead of the lead.

Perhaps this is part of the reason I have had clips of my past, with old "co-stars" wafting through my head. I cannot imagine a new co-star at this point in my story so I have brushed up old memories and focused on the good parts. Thankfully "life" is very good at providing me with the information I require, just when I need it the most, to remind me there is a reason those partnerships did not endure the test of time.

Perhaps this is why I have been thinking of "grandchildren". I am very grateful my own children did not become parents prematurely, but I sort of thought a mature fatherhood role would be cast one day. Just because I think I am ready for the supportive grandmother role, does not mean that will happen on cue.

Perhaps the role of "supporting person" is that of "mother", "daughter", "sister", "friend" and "daycare provider" to name a few.

Supporting roles take a bit of energy that ebbs and flows with the tides. I believe "the more you give, the more you have to give" rings true to me as I sit here and write these words. I have been too selfish lately.

My pen seems to have run dry. I don't have a new storyline in me and I'm not quite prepared to hop into someone else's "story" and take on a leading role.

Maybe I'm just lazy. Maybe my imagination ran dry. Maybe it's time to get a new pen and start writing again.

Or maybe I should just adopt a dog ....

A Quilt in the Making

My thoughts are as scattered as the individual pieces of a quilt strewn across the floor before they are sewn together to create something unique and personal and beautiful.

I have hoarded too many quiet Sundays to myself. I feel there is purpose behind this solitude. Different thoughts are wafting through my mind due to the quiet. That is something, isn't it?

I know it is time to reach out and share my down-time with friends. It is one thing to think it, another to say (or write) it. It is a whole different thing altogether to do it. Why does it feel so hard?

I'm feeling like a mother-failure in many ways. Maybe it is because I have felt so greedy with my time but in reality that has little to do with it. My boys are all spreading their wings in different ways and this is good. Our family seems to have an "elastic" quality to it. We can pull away from one another but the elasticity of our relationships bring us back to one another in good times and in bad.

I have been looking back and romanticizing my past. I am grateful for that but I don't want to get stuck here. I am happy that I can look back and remember the good stuff, while keeping my feet on solid ground in the present, at the same time. The secret is to look back fondly, have no regrets and move forward.

I have been beating myself up on a rather regular basis lately and I'm tired of that nagging little voice inside my head. I recognize the truth within and know I have to listen to some of what that voice is saying, otherwise I could easily get stuck here.

I've been sitting in "this place" for quite some time now and I have run  out of excuses. It is up to me, and no one else, to start shifting the tides.

I stumbled across this on my Facebook page:

OWN: Oprah Winfrey Network

I think "Facebook" is trying to steer me in a better direction.

I have lost my focus. I don't have a dream to push and drive me. I think I need to open up the gates to the possibilities that are out there.

I think I need to sit down with all the pieces of this "quilt" and see what kind of design I can come up with.

I think it's time for a little Friend Therapy. A good dose of conversation intermixed with laughter and shared history will guide us to where we most need to be.

I say "we" because as I sit and write this, I just received an email from a very good sister-friend of mine and I hear she is sitting in a place very similar to me. Different "pieces" to assemble but feeling a little lost just the same.

Reflecting and Reminiscing - A Little R & R

At the onset of my Very Social Weekend, I stopped my world for a moment and made myself promise to be quiet and listen to all that was going on around me as I was living the weekend. I did not want to wake up with a verbal hangover after it was all over. I wanted to hear the voices of others.

It was an easy promise to keep. For the most part, there was a minimum of a 'party of four'. Four is a good number. I think it is my favorite. There is plenty of room for everyone to speak and lots of space left over to sit back and absorb. And listen.

I heard so very much as I opened my ears and shut my mouth.

My conscience speaks loudly to me when I am quiet. I sat back and listened to words that had nothing to do with me directly, but were exactly what I needed to hear.

Sometimes when you wiggle and squirm and feel uncomfortable, you know that you are hearing 'a truth'. As a rule, I hear these things and an internal conversation takes place where I berate myself and 'beat myself up'. This weekend, I felt that familiar feeling but I talked myself down.

The conversation within my head went something like this:

"Yes, you are hearing the truth. Yes, you are guilty of doing this." But then, the other side of my brain consciously thought the words "This is your conscience speaking. If what you are hearing is true, change it!"

When I listen to people speak and tell their story or the story of another, I subconsciously slip myself into their shoes. How does it feel? Why do they feel this way? How would I feel if I walked around in these shoes for a lifetime?

A person simply does not know how another person is feeling, what motivates them, what touches them and what life experiences have guided them to where they are and what they did.

When I listen to the stories of people who act in unkind and unjust ways, I tend to question why they act this way. I only know life from the experiences that I have lived so I don't know too much. In my own personal experience, I know that I want to be liked and accepted for who I am. I live in a 'bubble wrapped' world which is safe and kind so my experiences and reactions come from this place of security. When I hear the stories of others who act defensively or hatefully I wonder if that comes from being raised in a place that is not safe. A place where you have no one to fight your battles, so you come up fighting and see who is left after the fact. I try very hard not to judge what I do not know. But what do I know? When I hear these stories second, third and fourth hand, I have not been the one who has been directly 'hit' so I have the luxury of stepping back and wondering.

I listen to stories of loss and try as I might, I do not have any idea what it is like to walk in the shoes of someone who has faced devastating losses. I can only guess and wonder and listen. The writing that I have been drawn to lately has been about living after loss. I am gaining empathy by reading the honest and brutal words of people who have faced unimaginable losses. I believe that this has helped me gain a perspective that I wouldn't have otherwise. So I just keep listening. I love listening to the stories that people tell about a loved one who is no longer here to tell their own stories. It is music to my ears.

The long and winding road of living life is not a straight and narrow path. It is a road filled with potholes, detours and dead ends. It is a steep and slippery slope at times. It is a roller coaster ride filled with thrills, chills and unexpected turns.

I sat back and listened a lot this past weekend. I heard so very, very much. I hope that memories of these days-well-spent come back to me when I need them the most. I hope that everyone who was a part of the memories feels exactly the same way.

As I try to tell the story of my dad's family, I am not only collecting memories. I am trying very hard to put it all into perspective and tell the story from a wide angle lens on one hand, yet up close and personal on another. It is a little bit like the weekend that I just lived. I stepped back and listened. I sat still and absorbed. And I hope when the stories come off of my tongue, they do the memory justice. That is exactly what I hope for with my Book Project.

Touched by a Memory

I had a crush on a boy when I was in my early teens. I had several small crushes throughout my elementary years but for some reason this crush mattered just a little bit more than the others. I don't know why ...

I didn't speak to boys in those days. Honestly? I don't really think that I learned how to speak to those of the opposite sex comfortably until I was nearing 30 years old. So I would imagine that I would be about as memorable as a gnat to those in my class. Especially boys.

This particular crush had a memorable moment.

I was in gym class. Somehow in some way, I got knocked over and fell to the floor. I quickly picked myself up and (knowing the me that I was back then) the only injury would have been having my invisibility cover blown. If anything at all, I was probably embarrassed.

Then ... the boy-I-had-the-crush-on, came up from behind me, put his hand on my shoulder and asked me if I was okay. He touched my shoulder! He talked to me!! Me!!!

I was over the moon. I remembered that moment for ... forever. Heavens! Even right this moment, I remember that touch.

One other moment stands out in my mind like that.

I was 27 years old and I was sitting helplessly in my car, watching my 'ex' toss my belongings out of our second story window. I was powerless. But I was not alone.

My brother came up to the car and touched my hand. No words were spoken. But it was a touch that was spoke volumes. It was powerful in much the same way as my teenage moment when the-boy-I-had-a-crush-on touched my shoulder.

Fast forward to this past weekend. Thoughts of my high school's 35 year reunion had me reminiscing and I found my way to Classmates.com.

I signed up and checked out the names that were familiar to me. I found the name of boy-I-had-the-crush-on.

I read his story. It is of a 'Prince-Charming-married-his-Princess-and-lived-happily-ever-after-variety'. That is nice. I like happily ever afters.

Then. Monday morning, I received a message from Classmates.com, that two people had "stopped by and signed my guestbook".

I would have shown up in his guestbook the day prior. It is not an unexpected thing that anyone who is curious may have checked in on anyone who 'signed their guestbook'. Even if they had no idea who that person was.

But ... the moment I saw the name-of-the-boy-I-adored-in-junior-high-school in my guestbook, I was a young teenage girl once again.

It felt like someone touched my shoulder and asked me if I was okay all over again.

I lead a charmed life. Moments where I feel 'angels on my shoulder' in such a wide variety of ways ...

The Dream

When I was married, my husband and I purchased a ten acre plot of undeveloped land in northern Alberta. We were young, full of dreams and high hopes.

Our plan was to clear the land, buy and build a garage package (which would become our home). The concept of bringing in power, water, phone and gas lines onto this completely barren plot was not a deterrent. Neither was the fact that we would be living in a relatively undeveloped area up in 'bear country'.

I put my townhouse up for sale (it is very hard to write the word 'my' there, but I had bought the house on my own while my husband and I were divorced and the house was very much 'mine'. I was longing for joint ownership, hopes, dreams and plans when we bought those ten acres of land). My husband went up north and scouted out the possibilities to make our dream come true.

The townhouse didn't sell. My husband came back home and the dream fades into darkness there. Literally and figuratively. I honestly don't remember much about that time other than the fact that my husband brought home a giant dog ...

Our marriage crumbled at some point thereafter and there were scenes from this drama that made me realize at the time, that living in a secluded area with no one around would not likely have had a favorable outcome. I was quite relieved that life turned out as it did and I remained in my townhouse with our son after the marriage dissolved.

The dream died and all that was left was this abandoned chunk of land and the loan we took out to pay for it. Money, joint property and loans turn ugly when a marriage goes sour. Long story short, since I was the only one willing to pay off the debt, I became sole owner of the property. Despite our plans and high hopes, 'we' turned into 'my' once again.

This land was a thorn in my side as time went on. I paid off the loan. I paid the taxes each year. But I just wanted it 'gone'. The dream had died. I didn't relish the idea of paying for the lost dream each year at tax time.

Sometime around the time I purchased the home we live in now, I put that land up for sale. I can't remember how long it took to sell, but eventually I received an 'Offer to Purchase' from a couple and we arranged for payment by an Agreement for Sale (in retrospect, I can see that it was this payment arrangement that opened the door for the communication that would follow). I didn't have to think more than the millisecond that it took to comprehend the idea. "SOLD!"

That was in May of 1995. December of 1995 began the tradition of exchanging Christmas cards/letters/and photos that continues to this day.

I became pen pals with the wife of the couple that bought our land. It warmed my heart and soul to hear about their slow but steady progress as they turned our dream into their dream. That little piece of land was destined to be someone's dream. I was so grateful for the opportunity to bear witness to the story that land would come to hold.

Bit by bit, piece by piece this family worked together to clear and develop the land and turn it into their home. She spoke of the peaceful times before they had power that became cherished memories "... last night we talked into the wee hours, amazing how different things look in the candle light. A very enjoyable time we spent together! And we talked ..." (short excerpt from her letter three months after they moved onto the land).

I could feel the humble pride and joy as they made their dream progress slowly but surely as the years went on. I have listened to (read, via her letters) the story of their little family over the course of the last 18 years ...

My heart jumped a little when I spotted a letter from my long time pen pal in yesterday's mail. Inside was a thank you note for all of the Christmas Letters and request to "... please continue to keep in touch ...". Also enclosed was the memorial card from her husband's funeral. A strong and loving force behind the dream has died.

I feel honored and privileged to have shared just a small piece of their story. How often do we get to see our own lost dreams come true through someone else's journey?

Our dream died. But it lived on through another family. It was not our dream to be had. It was theirs. Thank you for letting me see it come true.

Feeling Sombre

I don't know if I've processed the feelings behind the words that are in me today. It may be too soon to release them. Writing is my way of sifting through life's reality and sorting out the lessons to be learned.

I found out that 2 people died yesterday morning. I didn't know either of these people well, but the loss of these 2 souls has deeply affected 2 people that I am extremely close to.

Often when an older person dies or someone who has been battling a terminal disease, it seems that there is a sense of peace that comes along with the loss. As much as the person is loved and the people who love them want them around as long as they can have them ... knowing that their loved one is at peace and out of pain brings some solace.

When an elderly person passes on, it seems that there is a lifetime of memories that fill the hearts of the lives that they have touched. The ache of knowing they can never talk to their loved one again must be heart wrenching. But having good memories to hold onto must help the transition. A little.

Personally, I have experienced very little loss in my life. My dad had a debilitating heart attack 26 1/2 years ago when we lost the essence of who he was (due to extensive brain damage caused by lack of oxygen to his brain). His body lost the battle almost 22 years ago.

Even in my personal experience, loss was introduced to me gradually. When his body survived and his brain didn't, I was young and naive enough to believe in miracles. It took a while before I fully grasped the concept that 'Dad as I knew him' was gone. It gave my brain time to process the idea of losing the Dad I knew.

When he died, it was sad. It was final. The funeral ceremony was new and foreign to me. I was more angry at the necessity of putting together this 'party' than anything. I didn't understand at the time, that the gathering of family and friends is to help those that are left behind. I didn't understand any of this while I was living it.

That was almost 22 years ago. Since then, there have been losses. People who touch my life have experienced loss but I haven't experienced it first hand. I can't begin to comprehend what those who are walking that path are going through.

I do know that much comfort comes from knowing that the person who has deceased lived a good life and feels an inner peace. Family ties and close relationships define a person. Not any of the material accumulations. The way we touch each others lives when we are living is truly what matters in life. Those that have strong and loving relationships have a wealth that can be left behind in the memories they made and the hearts that they touched.

The flip side of that coin is one that I have honestly never fully been conscious of. One of the people that lost the battle of breathing early yesterday morning led a rather tortured life. I know only what I have been told, but it seems this person didn't forgive easily. She held onto negativity, she had secrets, held onto bitterness from her childhood ... but most importantly, it seems that she didn't forgive herself.

We all make mistakes. The people we love and care about make mistakes. It's called learning. Part of the learning process is to take the lesson learned, forgive yourself and others ... and move on. When you hold onto the pain, blame others for your situation and don't move on ... you are hurting others, but most importantly you are hurting yourself.

It was only in death, that this person confessed her fear of dying. Because this person had never forgiven herself, she was afraid to die because she knew she wasn't headed to heaven. My friend heard these words for the first time but in reflection, she could see the truth behind what she heard. My friend was wracked in guilt because she felt that had she known this sooner, she could have helped. She was feeling not only the pain of pending loss, but the agony of watching a loved one fearing death.

I can't begin to comprehend the complexities of death and dying. Knowing that you have a finite time left here on earth seems to me, to be a second chance to make things right before you leave this world. I've often said that if I must die when I have dependent children, I would want to know so that I could make sure everything was in order before I left. Otherwise ... 'surprise me'.

But more importantly, I want to live a life that I feel good about. If my world was to end tomorrow, I would want the people that I love and care about know how I feel. I would want to have made enough of an impact in those people's lives that they could carry a small piece of me within. I would want people to know that I have forgiven all. Some things aren't forgotten ... but no matter what has been 'done unto me', I have forgiven. It is my wish to be forgiven as well ... but most importantly, I have forgiven myself.

I love making memories and capturing them in a way that will last forever, even though I won't. One of the most touching thoughts that I have, of one of the people that died is the poetry she wrote that encompassed every family member. Her family has a tangible memory to physically hold onto, that can only enhance the individual memories that they carry within their heart.

I don't know this person well, but from what I've heard she seemed to be a loving and forgiving person. She had a strong faith within her church and forgiveness is a big part of religion.

'Forgive me Father, for I have sinned ...."

Not one of us is perfect. If you do yourself one favor ... let it be that you forgive yourself and others. Live a happy and peaceful life.