Less is Less

While going through the process of furnishing our new second home, I went through the house and sifted through excess and duplicate items. I culled all that was not being used and my clothes were not spared.

I now have spare hangers in my closet, more room in my drawers. Yet, when I read an article on "Wardrobe Declutter" this morning it was easy to see there is much more work to be done.

I hope the motivation I have found within my home-away-from home carries over to my home-at-home when I finally spend a weekend here. There is so much more work to be done. 

Living with "less" feels so much lighter. Literally.

I have been weighed down by life for longer than I can put my finger on. I keep thinking back to when it all began. I have been eating my way through my emotions for at least a decade. It is no wonder I had outgrown the larger sized jeans I bought before winter arrived this year.

Life has felt heavy.

Lightening the load around our home has lifted my spirits. Less? Is simply less. And it feels good. 

Closer ... yet so far to go

Guess What I Did

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

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

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 2020

Echos of Conversations from Yesteryear

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here is this morning's picture:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

The Things that "Stick"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Flashback from a Previous Post

I reread this post written shortly after Mom died. I am presently at a place I could never have foreseen when I felt so lost. Reading old words reminds me that though the path may be long and winding ... we eventually end up exactly where we are meant to be.

MONDAY, OCTOBER 9, 2017

Dear Mom (Oct 9/17)

Mon, Oct 9/17

Dear Mom,

I thought this may be an easy letter to write. But I was wrong. With each forward step we take, we are walking further away from this "Time of Frequent Family Connections". We will soon run out of excuses to gather together. And here we will be. Standing in the middle of life as we know it. Without you.

We gathered the family together in your honor one last time yesterday. The day was nothing short of amazing. If you had been with us, I think you would have enjoyed watching three generations of your family lapping up every moment and memory of the farm where Dad and you started your lives together.

We walked around and explored. We climbed "the big hill". We checked out the old buildings and the fallen down playhouse (even more meaningful because it was part of your very first home). We tried to find the shortcut through the bushes to the school. Donna and Wendy told stories of "remembering when" and I heard their inner child with every nuance, the subtle change in their voice and the look in their eyes.

I am beyond grateful to have the memories I have of the farm. They aren't as plentiful as Donna and Wendy's but they are so much more than Trev had. But by being able to go back and revisit your old home place, we all have so very much more to hold onto.

How do we hold onto all of this "greatness" and still move forward? Dale is reminding me I must look to the present to create my own future. Not a future that revolves around my trips out to see you.

I cannot lie. I can't look that far ahead. I am stuck in the moment. I am revelling in the "now". Now? Is okay. Tomorrow? I can do. I can look a week ahead. Maybe two. But I see a vast panorama of emptiness in the weeks that are in the not so distant future.

In the meantime, I shall simply revel in the small things. Boiling eggs in your new pot, slicing aforementioned eggs with your handy dandy egg slicer and ensuring the candy jar is filled with ju-jubes for the family. 

Packing up your old picnic basket and taking it out to the farm soothed my heart. I'll just keep doing those "little things" that embody my memories of you and take it a day at a time. 

Thanks for the memories, Mom! And the picnic basket too. 😊

Love,
Colleen

My meagre contributions to our Family Thanksgiving Potluck at the farm

(transported with care, in a picnic basket that brings back memories of harvest time on the farm)

Weighed Down

"Random idea for you to think about ..."

These seven words changed my life. Perhaps the words that sealed the deal was my response seven minutes later. "I haven't even finished looking at [what they sent me to consider] but most definitely interested!"

The rest is history.

When that fateful message arrived early one Friday morning, I was contemplating my fate. I had offered up space in our home to house the contents of an office. At the same time, our basement was full to overflowing of belongings we no longer had any use for. All I wanted to do in that exact moment was to rid ourselves of the excess in the most expedient way I could find. 

The proposal was a partnership on a second home. A property instantly dubbed "The Cute House" caught our attention and wouldn't let go. It's a short story. That cute little property is now ours. We moved in last weekend. Those belongings that filled our basement? They furnished a house.

Yes. I had accumulated enough extra belongings to furnish a 897 sq ft, two bedroom house. Right down to the bedding, towels, kitchen needs and even offerings to "furnish" the back yard. All that was missing were kitchen chairs and a toaster. 

I spent a day culling through the excess of our home. As I cleared the linen closet, kitchen cupboards, bathroom, laundry room and closets, I soon realized why I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. It wasn't the weight of the world. It was the weight of two households of belongings sheltered under one roof.

I felt Mom's presence within me as I assembled enough to turn a second house into a home. When I left my marriage and packed up to move to a new province I remember lamenting, "I don't know whether to rent a moving van or a Volkswagon" (my ex was not too co-operative when it came to dividing up our belongings). Mom replied, "Rent a moving van. I'll fill it!" And she did.

It turned out Mom also had enough excess to make a house a home under her roof. We packed up that van with enough belongings to start a new life. I never looked back.

That is exactly how I feel with this shared investment. Everything within my little world has been building up to this exact moment. A million small things all combined together to create two homes from one. 

There is a lightness of heart that has filled the void where the excess once resided. Lightening my load never felt so good. I am filled to the brim with the feeling I will look back at this time, history will repeat itself and I will say: "And I never looked back"

Hello

Hello. It's me. I was wondering if after all this time I'd like to sit down and write again ...

Yes. I do believe I do. I feel more "me" than I have felt in a very long time. I think I'm finally ready to let my fingertips do the talking and see if I can hear the deepness of my thoughts that haven't had the opportunity to find their way to my consciousness.

As I have been walking through my morning, I keep hearing Mom's voice in my thoughts. I miss being a daughter. The last year of Mom's life, I believe I went to see her as often as I did so I could be mothered, hear what she had to say and just lean in and take in all I could.

Mom knew me better than I knew myself. She knew I had to close my daycare. She was wary when I switched my vocation from child care to senior care. She knew ...

A wise friend of mine once wrote about the contrasts between caring for the young who are becoming more independent with each step forward verses caring for those who are on the opposite end of the spectrum and becoming more dependent as time progresses. 

While children may sap one's energy physically, there is a mental fatigue that comes with investing one's time solely with their senior counterparts. 

There is a joyfulness in children I often described as "heaven on earth" moments when I had my daycare. In equal comparison, there is an inner child within my more senior friends who light up like a Christmas tree when reminiscing and talking about the good old days. 

One of my favorite things was watching children at play while they had no idea I was watching. The fly-on-the-wall moments. Innocence. Imagination. Their unique ways of taking in the moments. The moments wonder. Listening to children using good manners without an adult prompting them. The moments were precious and plentiful. One just had to stop and take notice of them when they happened.

One of my favorite things while spending time with my senior companions is when they get lost in the retelling of the stories of their past. Their eyes glisten and shine. Their posture changes. There is an energy from within that lights them up and rolls back the years. They have so much wisdom to share. So many stories. There is a history within them begging to be told.

There is a space between the day-to-day repetitive nature of child and senior caring and those moments of joy that is hard. It was those times when I ran out to Mom's to escape the increasing pressure of of maintaining my equilibrium. I needed to place some distance my day-to-day life and drive off to spend time with my lifeline. My mom.

I have missed running out to see Mom. I have missed being "daughtered". I have a supportive group of friends and family that would keep me standing throughout any storm. But I have missed distancing my day-to-day life from a place where I can go to recharge and rejuvenate myself.

I believe I have finally found my way back "home". Again.

I haven't felt this certain about the next right step for quite some time. I have not felt the yearning desire to leave this oasis I call home to go anywhere for a very, very long time. 

Something has changed.

This little gem is a weekend getaway for now. A potential place to call home when I retire. 

I haven't looked forward in anticipation for longer than I can remember. I lost my dream gene. Every little piece of the puzzle has fit together in a way to make this new dream possible. I have felt Mom and Dad's nod of approval every step of the way.

When I was a nine year old child, I vividly remember sobbing uncontrollably when we drove off our farm in the hills in Saskatchewan to head off to our new lives in Edmonton. I vowed to myself, "I'm going to grow up, become a teacher and move back to our home town". 

I didn't become a teacher but I do believe my inner child is completely satisfied with the reality of moving to small town Saskatchewan. Not the same small town I dreamed of as a child. But close. So very close.

I Can't Hear Myself Think

I have become everything I never wanted to be. 

Unmotivated, uninspired ... put the prefix "un" in front of all the things I ever aspired to become and that is the gist of my overall feeling of unrest.

Writing has saved me from myself time and time again. Yet I cannot seem to find the words to put to page the way I used to. It doesn't matter if I write uncensored thoughts just for myself, words here on my blog to force myself to be accountable, reply to an email or respond to a text. Words do not come easily.

TOO MANY WORDS are a requirement for living these days.

I woke up feeling my feelings very deeply one recent morning. They were so deep and so heavy. I did one right thing. I did NOT turn on the TV or computer to numb myself out of what I was feeling. I simply allowed myself to feel my feelings and let myself sink into the abyss.

I did cheat. I sent off a few messages which resulted in hearing the words I most needed to hear which was followed up with a conversation with someone who has known me long enough to know who I truly am and likes me anyway, which allowed me to say the words I was feeling out loud .

Days have unfolded since then and as I look at what brought me to my knees that particular morning, it feels like a non-event. I have resumed life-as-I-know-it and the heaviness I felt in that moment has lifted. 

If I hadn't let myself succumb to those emotions at the time, I would have forgotten the entire incident. Enter the addiction of the new world. Numbing. Tuning out one's thoughts and losing them to one's addiction of choice. Food, alcohol, scrolling, drugs, Netflix and any number of mind numbing activities you can think of.

Back in the "old days", I would take a morning such as the one I just described and I would have done one of a number of things. I would have cleaned, gone outside or wrote. Whatever activity I may have chose, I would have sunk into my thoughts and listened to myself. In a reflective, healing and cathartic way.

Whether I walked, worked, sat in a sun beam or toiled at some menial household task, I would have let myself THINK.

I have stopped thinking. 

I miss my thoughts. I miss my old self. I miss the light that follows the darkness.

I just read that a person needs three things be happy. Someone to love. Something to do. Something to hope for.

As the thought of my children moving out and on with their lives in distant locations; followed by the "knowing" I have that my employment relies heavily on people who are well into their 80's; and the loss of a dream on the horizon ... I am not looking too far into the future right now.

Something to hope for.

Seems like a small step in a positive direction. Hope. Faith. Trust that "we are exactly where we are meant to be" ...

Everything is going to be okay. Things always works out. I have faith in what I don't yet know. It will all be okay.

It will all work out in the end. If it hasn't worked out, it is not yet the end.