Reflections

Khao mun gai

I have been staying at my son’s home with him and his wife since September. In all that time, we enjoyed one meal together — home cooked and eaten at the same time, around the same table, talking to each other. Every married couple goes through tough times, yet I have a strong feeling they won’t be getting through this in one piece. It’s sad, really, but the process has been happening for over two years.

My son has inherited my ability to keep thoughts inside, and keeping silent to avoid conflict. I remind him that “no decision” is in fact a decision, and by delaying any form of communication isn’t going to make the inevitable any easier.

The meal we cooked together was Khao mun gai….tender chicken served with rice that has been cooked in a chicken broth, and a very, very delicious sauce made from ginger, garlic, cilantro, chili peppers, soy beans and more. The sauce (my son took the preparation over from me, knowing that I would not bring it to perfection!) doubled in amount. For some reason it was not tasting as it should, and with each addition of one ingredient another ingredient had to be increased to balance out the flavours. We enjoyed the leftovers for many days.

I have very little good advise to offer my son and my daughter-in-law. My track record isn’t great, with two divorces and currently no relationship. My third marriage was one filled with love and compassion and care for each other. That’s a story for another day. I would wish that kind of marriage for each of my children….I just wish it could have been a longer partnership.

Grandpa

This morning while drinking my desperately needed strong cup of coffee as I sat in the bedroom, looking at several sections of paper towel littering the desk beside me, I was taken back to the days of visiting my grandparents. My maternal grandfather was a large man — I thought he was like Santa Claus, but without the facial or head hair!

Grandpa was a smoker from the age of 13. He was a serious smoker…rolling his next unfiltered cigarette before finishing the current one. He smoked in the house, in his workshop where he raised budgies, in his shed and in his backyard. In the evenings he would move into the living room lay back in his lazy-boy chair and conclude his day smoking a pipe.

The connection with the paper towels that I mentioned is that grandpa would frequently go to the little bathroom three steps from his breakfast nook. The breakfast nook is where he started every morning, listening to the police scanner, drinking strong black coffee waiting for grandma to prepare his breakfast of Italian sausage and two fried eggs. I assume they were eggs…the thick “sprinkling” of ground black pepper made them unrecognizable. We knew that as he entered the bathroom we would hear the disgusting sound of coughing up phlegm. We would try to find excuses to hurry outside before the spitting happened. Out of 10 grandchildren, only one took up smoking — his example kept the rest of us from trying it.

When Grandpa was elderly and in a care home his doctor suggested that he give up smoking and potentially live longer. So he did. Just like that.

Morning hike

I have been house-sitting for friends these past 3 weeks. Unfortunately, I had slipped on the stairs just before moving into this home, and have been working on recovering from the fall. A few steps from my friend’s driveway is the entrance to a large park (580 acres) with pathways, benches and fabulous views of the Okanagan Lake. This morning was my first opportunity to walk in the park. Lacy came with me for her first-ever walk on a leash. She was terrified of noise, people and dogs so ended up being carried whenever we came across any of the above. I had a good workout!

Yesterday afternoon I was thinking seriously about many things, like what would I do if I received some bad news, such as a terminal illness. How would my life change? (I sometimes have no idea where these all-consuming thoughts come from, but they happen).

I started to make mental lists of changes that I would make.

I would no longer agree to jobs, tasks or social engagements just to keep someone else happy.
I would spend more time with family and less time doom-scrolling or watching news late at night.
I would step out and go for walks in nature as often as possible.
I would definitely want to do more cross-country trips!

So why don’t I live like that now? Why do I keep waiting?

Lacy

This is Lacy, smart, playful, energetic 3 month old puppy. She is a mix of border collie, hanging tree dog and blue healer. She showed up a couple of weeks before this photo was taken, while I was recovering from illness. Lacy is my son’s dog, a companion to another 2 year old healer. Both young ones keep their much older (and far slower) Westie brother on edge.

I am just over half way through a 4-month interim position. Staying with my son and his wife as well as house-sitting for others gives me opportunity to experience different surroundings and think about my future retirement plans. In those first two months I have made some important decisions, but there are more to be considered.

Living on an island far away from family for the past 10 years was a good thing (in my opinion) while I was working full-time. I could focus on work and not get too caught up in the family drama. Now that I am almost retired I have been thinking that the isolation of living on an island will quickly become a burden. Travel is difficult with the constantly changing ferry and flight schedules. Just getting off the island can take half a day, then there is the travel inland.

As soon as I return home in January and have time to clean and pack, the house will go on the market. Any decision beyond that is TBD.

Usually before I can make a decision I try to evaluate how each choice will affect others….and what they’ll think of me once the decision is made. I have been challenged to make the decision this time in my best interests, and that is not easy.

If only I could be like Lacy. Go with the flow, endless energy until I collapse in a dream-filled sleep, no decisions to make beyond “should I obey and receive a treat or disobey and get yelled at?”, loved by all.

Isolation

My first meal in 4 days. It hit the spot — I desparately needed protein. Climbing down one flight of stairs caused me to breathe heavily and climbing slowly back up got my heart racing. My son prepared a plate of rice with chicken tenders and a soft-boiled egg. Mmm…was it good! Or was I just that hungry? The flavour that stood out was salty. The bacon bits in the rice added a nice texture, but no flavour.

This morning as I drove into the office to pick up my computer and books in order to work from home this week I stopped for take-out. Again to try to build up some strength. The orange juice was refreshing; it tasted…cold. The chicken patty was salty and the lettuce was crispy and juicy, yet it was all strangely tasteless. The Tiger Balm which I keep handy in my car door for those moments when I need to stay alert or clear my nostrils, although it cooled the skin below my nose, had no scent. Taking a deep breath through the inhaler was as frustrating as turning on a light switch during a power outage.

A week ago I picked up my mother to take her on a nice ride for tea with my son and other family members. We had a pleasant visit even though mom zoned out frequently and did not participate in much of the conversation. When I dropped her off at her care home she quickly fell into her chair and had a nap. She tested positive for Covid, as did I, last Thursday. After several days fighting high fevers and other symptoms, I am finally able to sit up for more than a few minutes at a time. This is not an illness I hope to encounter again in my life. Mom, thanks to her current state of dementia, doesn’t realize that she is sick. She sleeps an extra 4 hours every night, and won’t eat much at all, but can’t understand why she is stuck in her room.

On the drive this morning I noticed colours that stood out to me. They were ordinary colour, such as the changing of the seasons. Yellow leaves mixed in amongst the green. Bright sunflowers standing along white picket fences. Blue sky peaking through the clouds. These are all things that are visible every day yet today I noticed them. Isolation, even for a short time, changes our perspective.

Lazy day

Foo is an old man Westie, 13 1/2 years old, and needs his rest. Gia, an Australian Cattle Dog (also known as a Blue Heeler) is much younger, having just celebrated her 2nd birthday on Thursday.

My son and I took Gia for a hike up a mountain shortly after I arrived on Wednesday evening. We stopped frequently to photograph the view; or maybe it was because I’m not in as good shape as my son. Gia had a great time running ahead off-leash, then charging back for some praise, then heading off again to chase a coyote, then returning obediently when called.

Today I stayed home from my new temporary job to unpack and relax. The dogs joined me all day, relaxing. They don’t seem to feel any guilt while just sleeping all day…I have a lot to learn from them.

Australian Cattle Dogs are a mix of Collie and Dingo. They are intelligent, energetic, loyal, alert. George Elliot of Queensland bred Dingoes with Collies in the 1840s, in a search for the best cattle dog. Or not. As with any other google-researched fact, there are many contrary “facts”. The one constant in all of the various theories is that this dog is part Dingo and part something else.

Final days

I took this photo yesterday morning to show to my good friend. He loves to walk in gardens and work in gardens, but is stuck in bed on the 5th floor of the hospital. His view from his window looking at the Hospice building. Occasionally he will comment on his blessings….he has a single room, he has a window to look out, he can see the sky when he looks above the concrete structure, but mostly he wonders out loud how long “this” is going to last.

A lot has happened since this photo was taken last Sunday. On Thursday I found out, along with my friend’s family, that he had chosen Friday at 4:00 pm to say goodbye to this life.

We said goodbye on Friday. It wasn’t easy, but seeing the rapid progression of his symptoms we all knew that the timing was right. He spent the day saying goodbye to those who brought special meaning to his life, and left this world surrounded by his family.

As I think back through the past 9-10 years since I first met him, I see him as that soft-spoken, gentle person who attended every recital and concert that I performed in; he was quick to respond to any calls for assistance in instrument repair; he was a fount of knowledge when it came to pipe organs in BC as well as gardens on the Island, and any non-related technical subject; he would send me links to live-streaming of many astronomical events when clouds obscured our view; he had a very unique sense of humour which stayed with him to the end. One of our last discussions was about his promise to haunt any building in which I found myself practicing the organ!

Often misunderstood by our colleagues, Douglas and I found it easy to spend time together. He really didn’t say much but preferred to walk or drink tea.

I will miss my friend.

Wandering

My cross country journey is over. I made it home a few days ago. This photo was taken while on the ferry to Vancouver Island. It took me 7 days to drive to the east coast, and over two months to drive home…with adventures along the way.

I experienced amazing hospitality, incredible rainstorms, floods and wildfires, hellos and goodbyes. I got to know some of my adult children so much better and helped with potty training my granddaughter, uncovered parts of a magical garden, learned about threshing.

And now I’m home, packing up my belongings to get my house ready for the house-sitter. I’ll be relocating for the rest of the year, in the city in the middle of one of the worst-hit areas of the wildfires. After a week of evacuation my son was just given notice that he could return home, although still on “evacuation alert”. Strange how news like that can be so exciting, yet devastating at the same time. But, it also means I now have a comfortable place to live for the next 4 months.

If I was born in a different century would I have been a nomad? My current home has felt more like “home” than anywhere else I have lived yet I am just as happy to be heading off again. Maybe I was meant to wander.

The Journey

My life journey began on August 10 many decades ago, but my latest journey began June 8, just over two months ago. June 8 was my official retirement date….and by early August I had already signed a 4 month contract for part-time work in another city. I had planned to spend a couple of months there with my son and daughter-in-law, so it wasn’t too much of a change of plans to double that time and get paid for it, but it wasn’t in my original plan. In fact, there really was no original plan, only that I would retire and make decisions sometime in the future.

On June 8th I started out on a trip across Canada from Victoria to Halifax. My intention was to drive between 9 and 12 hours each day then write about my day before heading to bed. I soon realized that I was far too exhausted to think of anything interesting to write. This is the fourth post in over two months.

Now I am on my journey back to the west coast, and half-way through a 2-week stay in the prairies to look after my granddaughter. The front porch is the best part of this home — it’s my sanctuary early in the morning, throughout the day, and into the evenings. I spend a few minutes at a time until I get either too hot or too cold (the weather is all over the map!!), between babysitting duties and between times when I need to be downstairs and out of the chaos of this small family.

The journey this summer was supposed to be a chance for me to decide what I want to do next. Options are numerous, yet each choice will potentially have a huge impact on those I love, and on my future. I added many new songs to my road-trip playlist, including this one sung by H.E.R. The lyrics seem to express what I’m feeling most days.

All the times you thought you’d never make it through
Felt just like the world just turned its back on you
Didn’t stop you
All the times you could’ve given in, and given up
Times you didn’t know if you were strong enough
Still you got through

Somehow it’s all part of the plan…..

It’s the journey
It’s the getting there to where you’re going to
Going through hell, but still, you’re gonna make it through
It’s the fire that they can’t put out

All the times they thought that they could hold you back
But you’ve always known there was no chance of that
You’re made too strong
And when you’re going with your heart, you can go
Further than you’d ever thought possible
Prove them all wrong

It’s a part of the bigger plan
The journey…
from The Journey, sung by H.E.R. (songwriter Diane Eve Warren)

In a week from now I will resume my journey back to my current home. It’s the Journey that takes me places and teaches me, makes me stronger and more confident. With every temporary destination along the way this summer I find myself thinking about the next part of the journey, and the next destination. I wonder if I will ever feel like I have arrived.

Reveal

We arrived at our destination. This is where I will be for the next few weeks. My daughter bought the acreage last year, and when we came last August to “start a garden” we realized there was much more work involved than anticipated.

Some work was accomplished last year, and my daughter and son-in-law have been working at it, a manageable amount at a time. What looked like a jungle of tangled mess of overgrown weeds is now revealing a beautiful collection of shrubs, flowers and trees that was once cared for by a creative gardener.

Their home is located in a very small community outside a small town so it didn’t take long at all to learn of the history of this place. A hairdresser lived here with her strict and grumpy husband. She had a vision for a paradise on the area around the house and planted what the neighbours describe as “the most beautiful garden”. After she died 13 years ago it was ignored and left to be overrun by the grass, docks, and many other weeds and wild plants.

Bit by bit we are cutting back the overgrowth, revealing a glimpse of the hairdresser’s vision of paradise.