After 11 days of driving with pauses to visit along the way, I arrived on the east coast at my daughter’s home. I didn’t stop to take many photos especially during the last few days of driving since I was just eager to get to my destination.
It was a good trip. Several of the nights were spent with friends and family, and the others were at hotels. Every morning I looked forward to getting back on the road again; listening to my playlist, and watching the scenery change. From the Rocky Mountains, to the prairies, to the rolling hills and lakes of Manitoba and Ontario, to the big cities of Toronto and Montreal, and the amazing beauty of the maritimes, each part of our country is uniquely beautiful.
One of the songs I listened to daily was “Starting Over”, by Chris Stapleton. The first phrase is “Well, the road rolls out like a welcome mat”. Nothing past that first phrase applies to my situation in life, but the phrase became almost a mantra for me. With each curve in the road or hill I travelled over, I could see more welcome mat in front of me.
Perspectives can change. I no longer thought of how many kilometres I still had to drive, as much as I thought of the welcome I would be receiving both where I stayed each night, and at my final destination.
Monday night I wanted to respond to one last email before heading to bed. Sitting on my soft, comfy, 5-wheeled chair I tried to roll forward, closer to the keyboard. The wheels objected, the chair toppled forward and I landed solidly on the floor — tailbone first. This irritated a previous injury caused by falling on my son’s stairs 1 1/2 years ago. Not what I would call convenient two weeks before embarking on a cross-country trip. Between now and the end of April I have 5 performances, which involve many hours of rehearsal time, sitting on a bum that hurts.
My father’s wheeled chair is now in my garage, waiting for the community garage sale. Yesterday I searched online for a replacement chair and found one that looked quite nice–sturdy with no wheels. I contacted the seller and arranged to have a look at it, and test it out. She and her husband were eager to sell it for what I considered pocket-change.
They said that they had already spent a year trying to get her parents’ house ready to put on the market. Her parents were hoarders and the house was large (over 3600 sq ft). I couldn’t help but notice how sad the wife appeared. Since I don’t them at all, I couldn’t figure out if she was sad, tired, frustrated or depressed. Whatever it was, I couldn’t stop thinking about them. The husband carried the chair out for me, and placed it in my car, thanking me for taking it.
On the drive home I mentioned to my sister (she had come along as my “guardian”, as I don’t trust everyone I meet on FB Marketplace) how this was a good lesson to take care of things while we still can, and not leave our children a mess to clean up. Their parents couldn’t throw things away, since they always expected to either find a use for them, or sell them at a huge profit. Neither day came along for those parents.
My new sturdy, shiny, clean wooden chair with bonus rubber feet sits proudly in front of my computer desk. The hard surface is much easier for my bottom than a soft cushion at this point as it takes pressure off the tender tail-bone.
I don’t know if I totally believe the statement “everything happens for a reason” but I do know that we can learn from everything that does happen to us. That split-second tumble on Monday night is causing me to rethink many priorities, and question some decisions. For example, that fancy office chair belonged to my father, but if it causes me pain I don’t need to keep it around. Yard work can wait until I am no longer in pain. Get things done while I still have the energy and the mental faculty–don’t leave it for the kids!
Although I have picked up and discarded much evidence of the deer roaming in my yard throughout the winter, I haven’t actually seen the deer very often. Yesterday morning this doe stopped to rest for a long moment — at least a couple of hours. Looking weary, she stared into my eyes, almost pleading for me to let her rest.
Normally I would chase her away and encourage her to invade another yard and leave my garden alone, but nothing much is growing yet.
I know what it feels like to need a quiet space where I am comfortable and welcome. Of course, that is easy to find in my own home since I live alone and have plenty of time and space. But lately I have found that the quiet is bothering me, and every empty moment I just turn on the news, or sit down at the piano to practice, or send messages to family and friends. In order to fall asleep I need news or Ted talks playing on my iPad.
The quiet is too quiet; it frees up too much space in my brain and brings too many thoughts into my head.
Starting today I am hoping to stick to my resolve to turn off the news, and take care of those thoughts that swirl around in my head. I know I can’t solve any of the world problems by doom-scrolling and listening to hours of news each day, but maybe a few minutes of silence can help solve some of my own self-doubt and negative thinking.
And then, perhaps, I can make a difference in my own life.
Last week, before the temperature went down to minus 15 C, I was walking along the pathway behind some of the homes in my subdivision. There were ducks swimming and resting in the creek (officially named Munson’s Slough) and along the banks of the creek. All of a sudden one duck started following me; then the whole waddle of ducks started following me for a fair distance. They didn’t scare me, but I didn’t want people to think I was feeding or somehow convincing them to stay close.
For a moment the thought of becoming the “Pied Piper of ducks” brought a smile to my face. Then just as I turned around to take a photo of my following, they stopped, and like children getting caught doing something they shouldn’t be doing, each duck turned slightly and began pecking at the ground.
And that was it for my new career path as a pied piper. The ducks lost interest and I was on my own again.
Foo has been a member of my son’s family for almost 15 years. On Tuesday Foo joined his best friend, Toffee, to whom I said a tearful and painful goodbye almost 4 years ago.
Saying goodbye to a pet was as difficult for me as losing a family member. When asked if I will get another dog, my answer for the past 4 years has been a definite “no”. I don’t want the responsibility of choosing death for another being.
I had a discussion about death of pets with my son and my sister last night. My sister is a farm girl from the prairies, and has even taken care of end-of-life decisions for her pets on her own instead of calling on the vet. It’s not something I could ever understand, unless I had lived her life.
Most of her pets did not live in the house, sleep in her bed, or become her whole focus of living, therefore choosing when they should be “put out of their misery” is very matter-of-fact for her. Toffee lived in my house, slept in my bed and did become a major everyday focus for me for 11 years!
Not long ago I had a good conversation with my friend who has worked at a care home for several decades. We were talking about death and the toll it takes on us. He said that it is easier on him when people are only in his care for a short time — not long enough for him to get attached.
In mom’s ward there are 16 beds; in the past few months at least 6 people have died…some after only a few days and others after several years. Of course mom doesn’t notice or remember these things, so the change has not affected her. And although the care staff continue on with their daily responsibilities like nothing has changed, I can’t imagine the toll that the constant loss must have on their hearts.
Yesterday my friend and colleague called to let me know that she had experienced a mini-stroke, and would need me to help out with some of the work we do together. We have been colleagues for many years, and work well together. We don’t socialize, but we often find time to have deep conversations either before or after rehearsals, or by email.
She told me last night that she was finally starting to get her life in order, exercising regularly, and had decided to start a weight loss program. Then she talked about how angry she was with herself that she didn’t start working on that when she was much younger. Could she have avoided the stroke if she was in better physical shape?
This was a reminder to me that we never know what tomorrow will bring. For now, make the most of each day. Don’t wait for that perfect moment to choose healthy living.
For me most mornings begin sitting in a comfy chair savouring a cup of strong coffee, looking east toward Black Mountain. It is here where I plan my day, and often chat with my children and friends. For the fall and winter months I am always up before sunrise, and love watching the change in the clouds and light as the sun rises. Some mornings the sky is especially beautiful — those mornings give me hope for a good day.
Several weeks ago I tried to write. My plan was to get my life in order and re-establish a routine. My life is not in order, and my plan is still in the pre-planning stage; that stage where I know there needs to be a plan but nothing stays in my mind long enough to figure it out.
Back in 2020 when I started this blog, the purpose was to provide myself with a daily distraction during the pandemic lockdown. Partly because I was lonely, and also as a way to not lose my mind. The writing gave me a focus. Each day I would go out walking and take some photos to choose from for the next day’s writing where I would reflect on the whatever the photo brought to mind. Times have changed and I have lost focus again.
I live in a small community within a larger city. There are 390 homes in here, and every occupant must be over the age of 45. I predict that the median age is about 88. Every month there are a few who pass on, and a few more who move away to their nursing home. I wonder if this will be my final home before the nursing home, although I hope that won’t be for another 30 years! I bought this lovely home from a couple who are now in retirement home where they no longer have to worry about yard work, cooking, dishes, etc.
We have mule deer. They like my back yard because I choose not to chase them away unless I am trying to grow flowers….then I watch out for the deer and make loud noises when I see them. During the cold winter months I have no edible flowers in my gardens and the deer are allowed to rest in the peace and quiet. The only vegetation this time of year is patchy grass, and evergreens, besides a few herbs which the deer won’t eat.
Yesterday there were 4 of them — the doe, one female yearling with a broken leg, one male yearling or young adult with a deformed antler, and one buck. The photo above is of the one with the broken leg. She rests for many hours while the others explore, and eat what they can find. The injured deer is resilient. She hasn’t given up and although the injury looks awful to us, and she rests more than the others, she keeps on surviving.
Four years ago I was excited to write every day, or at least a lot more often than once a month! Maybe that enthusiasm will come back when I have more to say and fewer distractions. Or maybe I’ll just rest a while longer.
Sunday morning I had the privilege to stay home and look after my son’s two dogs. It took a while for them to feel comfortable in my home, and I had to bribe them with early Christmas presents. Here, Gia is showing off her new toy to the little dog that just walked past. She spent quite a bit of time looking out at her new world!
That is the window where I spend time each morning looking out to watch the sun rise. I see geese flying, deer nibbling, coyotes hunting and dog-owners dutifully walking their dogs. There is one elderly gentleman who walks past daily, as fast as he can move, leaning forward and steadying himself with a cane. Another man walks briskly to and from his gym hour. There is a squirrel that scampers across the street between its two homes.
Monday morning I played the piano for a memorial service. The man who was being remembered was well-known in the community, so the place was packed. Over the years I have provided music, either piano or organ, for several hundred funerals and memorial services. One of the first services I played for at the age of 18 was an open casket funeral. Not only was the casket open, but they lifted the top part of the body so everyone could see his head. I glanced up at it mid-selection and felt myself starting to pass out. I remember taking some deep, slow breaths, and never looking up from my music again until it was over.
Sometimes I know the deceased; often they are strangers to me. I feel strongly that everyone, no matter what kind of life they lived, or what kind of eulogy is given, has had an impact on those around them. Every person deserves a grand send-off, and it has been my goal to help ensure that their wishes and their loved ones’ wishes are acknowledged as far as the choice of music is concerned.
Often while I am listening to the eulogies and reflections I think about my own life and the legacies I might leave behind. How will I be remembered? Beyond that, I know I have learned so much about life and living each day, yet I still struggle to keep sight of the most important things in life….until the next memorial service or funeral where I am again challenged to re-evaluate my priorities. It could quite easily become a struggle with ego — “that person was more perfect than I could ever be”.
When my father passed away 3 years ago I didn’t play. I couldn’t play. But, one of the hymns that was chosen was “How Great Thou Art”. My dad’s name is Art (Arthur). Do you have any idea how many times we sang his name??? 17 times to be exact. Is that why someone thought it was his favourite hymn? By the end of the hymn most of the family were giggling. Dad lived a long, very fulling and rewarding life, having a positive impact on all who crossed paths with him.
Dad’s life, and the lives of so many others I have helped to honour is something I often contemplate in the mornings while watching my world wake up outside my window.
I bought a plant. It’s very much like me. When the leaflets are touched they fold inward; when the branches are touched they droop. It is hypersensitive to touch and movement.
This past Sunday afternoon two young men came to the house to rehearse for an upcoming concert. It was a wonderful afternoon, with hard work and laughter and beautiful music. On Monday morning I was very surprised to see the purple flower blooming on the mimosa. I believe it was in response to the atmosphere on Sunday.
Of course I could be wrong, but I have heard that plants respond well when spoken to, so perhaps they also like to be sung to. I think I could bloom as well of I am not touched, but am surrounded by music. (just maybe not purple!)
Fifteen years ago yesterday I married a man who loved me more than I could ever ask for. He had total trust in me, and loved me unconditionally. I doubt if that opportunity would ever come again. At his memorial service his best friend quoted in the eulogy:
‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam
At the time I didn’t agree, and I think that that lack of faith or trust is still with me. I would have rather not experienced the pain of losing someone whom I loved so much.
Yesterday I bought myself some roses to commemorate our anniversary. Michael was over-the-moon happy that day 15 years ago–we were both happy! Only a few days later we found out that his brain tumour had tripled in size, and 3 1/2 months later he passed away. And now as I get older I realize that even if I allow myself to fall in love again, there will never be a chance for a long term relationship; there just simply aren’t enough years left.
Reflections 