Reflections

Dreaming of daffodils

Often I receive cards and artwork from students. Sometimes it’s a creative expression from a school assignment, or colouring that they did while waiting for their lesson, or even a hand-crafted card of thanks.

Last week the mother of two of my students surprised me with artwork of her own. She has recently taken up painting with water-colours. With a full-time job, new blended family and extremely busy children, I have no idea where she can find the time. She asked me what my favourite flower was, and naturally I assumed it was preparation for a year-end bouquet or something…but this was unexpected.

In my quest to slow down my life, and find time for myself and search out new creative activities to help me renew my energy, I had considered drawing or painting. I have a sketch pad that I received about 20 years ago, and have now used up 2 whole pages — and that was sketching I did about 15 years ago. It would be nice to fill more pages with my own artwork. Someday.

Over the years I have moved many times, earlier with my children, and later on my own. It seems that October has been the month that most of my moves have taken place. One of the first things we did in each new place was plant daffodil bulbs. During the winter they are almost forgotten, until early spring when we see the tips of the leaves poking up through the dirt. Anticipating the new flowers in the spring gives me hope each year that life gets better.

Heirloom dollhouse

More than 80 years ago my grandfather built this dollhouse for my mother. Over the years many young children have taken turns looking after this house — rearranging furniture, playing make-believe, dreaming.

Each door opens to reveal a different room, with windows, curtains, rugs, furniture. There is a miniature grand piano in the living room, a bed and dresser in the master bedroom, toys in the nursery and pots and pans in the kitchen. My favourite is the old fashioned sturdy metal stove and oven.

This dollhouse was in our home when I was a child, although I couldn’t tell you how much time I actually spent playing with it. My mom would redesign the curtains, bedsheets and other items when she had time. Now that I am a grandmother, it is natural that I would be a temporary keeper of the house.

Yesterday my electronic organ was picked up by the movers, and taken to a colleagues home, which gave me space to display the heirloom. I am excited to watch the reaction of my granddaughter, and my students when they discover the dollhouse!

More visitors

My back patio was a busy place yesterday. This masked bandit was my first visitor. Later in the morning Scamp stopped by for some water, and to stare in at me. I wonder what he is so curious about.

While I was teaching in the afternoon, I noticed a squirrel on the patio. I tried to scare it away. The squirrels that live around me are constantly digging up my potted plants to bury the peanuts which some of the neighbours leave out. I try to keep the squirrels away, but this one was not willing to leave. It came right up to the screen door and looked very much like it wanted to come in.

Last night I heard noises on the patio. When I rushed down to check it out, the water dish was full of dirt (from dirty paws or jaws) and my watering can was overturned. I suppose the raccoon came back for more.

Tomorrow morning a friend from Montreal is coming over for breakfast. He wanted me to meet his fiancé while they are here for a very short vacation. It has been about a year since I have entertained friends in my home. I have had visitors stop by for outdoor visits, but sitting around the breakfast table together with people outside my regular bubble (i.e. students and family) is causing some excessive angst.

I am not ready for life to return to the pre-pandemic normal. We are not yet post-pandemic, and I still feel so much safer masked when near others. Tomorrow will be one step to help me return. It’s a bit like that “Hokey Pokey” song…you put your right foot in…

Japanese Snow Bush

We were walking near the sea wall in Yaletown last week. This beautiful shrub caught our attention. After some research online I found more information on Viburnum plicatum Watanabe. It is native to China, Japan, Korea and Taiwan. Because it is quite resistant to disease and pests, it looks perfect. The flowers are pure white, untouched by hungry pests. The leaves are full—like a painting.

My garden has pests. There are slugs, aphids, and this year so many caterpillars. Some of the potted plants that I have been growing for several years did not survive the heat dome of last summer followed by unusual cold this past winter.

Maybe that’s a reflection of my life. Things die, things change, and a renewal has to begin. Someday I might be like the Japanese Snow Bush, but for now I am going through that renewal. One potted plant at a time.

Brave squirrels

This squirrel was trying to be brave. I met another far braver and much fatter squirrel out in the parking lot. On Friday I had booked rehearsal time, and showed up a half hour early (long, convoluted story!). The chubby squirrel ran right up to me as I walked away from my car. An amused man who was walking by commented on my “new best friend”. The squirrel starred into my eyes, hoping for a peanut. My thoughts quickly returned to the squirrel that moved into my attic about a year ago. They are rodents — cute yet persistent.

This second squirrel was trying to beg for food, but at the same time seemed to prefer to be invisible. It didn’t make eye contact, but I’m sure that if I had any kind of food available it would have inched closer.

This lovely, quiet garden is surrounded by a seniors residence, a church, and a parking lot and nestled in the part of the city that is “home” to hundreds of people experiencing homelessness. These cute rodents gave me an excuse to engage in a brief conversation with a person whom I would normally try to walk past without allowing eye contact. Why is that? Am I so afraid of people I don’t know or understand that I need a third party to help? I suppose a few negative past experiences have taught me to be wary, and when I see someone walking angrily toward me, throwing sticks and shouting obscenities, then it would be a good idea to cross the road, but most of the people I meet in this part of town are harmless individuals who have run across some misfortune.

I still prefer to not invite squirrels into my attic, but there is much I can learn from them.

Self-sufficient

Self-sufficient is my word for the day. Since I am not always sure of the deeper meaning of many words that aren’t part of my daily vocabulary, I usually look up what the dictionary has to say. My idea of being self-sufficient is not being co-dependent—basically, I can survive without assistance.

I thought I was self-sufficient. One of the dictionary definitions is “emotionally and intellectually independent”. It is the opposite of incompetent, incapable, needy. I can go along with all of that. But then I looked further. Self-sufficient also means arrogant, smug, over-confident—that is where I draw the line. I am not over-confident. In fact, I lack confidence in many parts of my life.

Today I wanted to reinforce that I am self-sufficient enough that I don’t need to rely on one person’s love and connection to be able to wake up and function each day. I can move on even if that one person refuses to communicate with me and pulls back from a life-long relationship. I can get up, face each day with confidence and wonder, and be happy again.

Peace

Living on an island has its advantages and disadvantages. I like the weather here. In the middle of the city, including my yard, are huge trees. Flowers bloom all year. But, when I need to visit family I really have to plan.

There are three ways to get to the mainland; either a 95 minute ferry ride, including about 1 hour of waiting in line, a 15 minute flight including arriving at the airport 90 minutes early, or a 35 minute flight on a float plane from the harbour. Each option is time consuming and expensive. When I only need to travel to the Lower Mainland I usually take the ferry.

The pricing for the ferry has changed significantly since the beginning of the pandemic. Now if we reserve we save, and if we reserve on a very early morning sailing or late night sailing, we save. So on my trip last weekend, I had reserved on the earliest sailing, arriving several hours before it was practical for a visit. On the way to my daughter’s house I stopped at a park. I had packed an orange for a snack, and walked around Como Lake.

This past Sunday happened to be the first warm day of the year. People were out walking around the lake, fishing, chatting, playing in the park, watching the ducks and geese. I found a bench and sat eating my orange, and thinking. It is so much easier to think and clear my head when I don’t have books to sort, dishes to wash, shelves to dust. Sitting in the park that day took me back to the year when I would stop on my way home from piano lessons in a nearby town to sit by a creek and spend time by myself sorting through my thoughts.

As I continue the process of clearing my schedule of extra work, I need to keep looking for opportunities to clear my head.

Mid-blink

I must have caught her in that split second where she was mid-blink. I don’t recall taking this photo on the weekend, but it was on my iPhone.

This is my third child. The one who could sit so still at the age of 3 that people thought she was a life-size doll. And two minutes later she would talk non-stop, making friends with random strangers, eating crayons and lipstick, discovering joy in learning how to light a match (then leaving the room to do some colouring while the house catches fire!). She is the only child of mine who can even come close to talking as much as my sister! She can argue politics and discuss history with my brother, knows more about composers and symphonies than I do, bakes incredible cakes and macarons, and could probably enter and win any cooking contest.

This split-second, mid-blink snapshot of her doesn’t say much. It doesn’t tell you anything of her struggles and triumphs or of the incredibly patient way she helps her husband through his struggles, or of how compassionate and understanding she is towards others. Without any context strangers wouldn’t even look twice at the photo, and would never discover the incredible person that she is.

Every person has context. Every person has come from somewhere, is growing, learning, becoming. What are we missing when we only see other mid-blink?

Bee bottom

Baby ”A” loves flowers. She likes to pick pretty flowers or leaves, one for each hand, and carry them gently while walking or riding in her stroller. I spent the day with her yesterday, enjoying watching her explore her surroundings and discover new things.

She learned how to gently pick mint leaves and not squeeze the prickle bush beside the mint. She learned how to grab wood chips and dirt to scatter carefully at the bottom of the slide — imitating the older child who was most likely imitating the child she had met yesterday.

When do we stop imitating and start innovating? Or is life all about imitating right from birth?

Yesterday I was fascinated with the bumblebees collecting pollen and nectar. They dive in head-first, leaving only their bottoms showing. Much like a toddler diving head-first into new discoveries—oblivious sometimes to their surroundings.

Baby “A” has two very attentive parents, watching every step (and misstep), ready at all times to encourage good behaviour, teach and reprimand. When she is oblivious to her surroundings, her parents will be there to protect her, and to comfort her when they couldn’t protect her.

Memories of a full moon

This was the first full moon after the initial pandemic lockdown in the spring of 2020. In those days Toffee was very eager to get going in the morning. We would get up very early and go for a walk before other people were out. At the time there was very little knowledge of how Covid was spread, and I wasn’t taking any chances, so we would walk when others were still in bed. If we came across anyone on the sidewalk we would cross the street.

My days were filled with online teaching and rehearsals, as well as practicing and of course endless searching for ways to improve on the online work. Webinars, meetings, training sessions, and learning to sew masks. On our early morning walks, often ending at sunrise, I started to notice my surroundings more. The moon seemed to shine brighter and the flowers were bigger and more vibrant than I had ever remembered.

I started to dread the evenings and nights because for many months my neighbours engaged in their own rehearsals of drumming and chanting. Usually they started up in the early evening and sometimes continued until 4 or 4:30 a.m. There was no way to escape the noise, and it wasn’t the soothing kind of music that could potentially put someone to sleep.

The lockdown was sudden and unexpected and a very new experience for most people. Priorities shifted. Once again my life is at a turning point. Most of my work commitments are coming to an end as I ease into retirement. The losses of the past year have caused another shift in my priorities. Though I am excited about having more time to take care of myself there is an element of fear of the unknown. Will I have the discipline to avoid becoming lazy and unproductive? Will I be able to avoid boredom?

This morning I am up way too early. The birds are only now starting to wake. The sky is still dark. The time stamp on that photo from April 2020 is exactly the time it is right now, but there is no moon visible this morning.