Reflections

Simple things

My trip started June 8th. It took me 8 full days to drive from the west coast to the east coast, arriving in plenty of time for my daughter’s wedding.

Along the way I spent a lot of time listening to music. I stopped frequently for gas, bathroom breaks, food and photos. The scenery changed quickly from one province and region to the next. From the desert conditions of the Okanagan, to the snow-covered mountain tops of the Rockies, endless flat prairies with fields of crops, to the rolling hills of eastern Manitoba, endless lakes of northern Ontario, leaping deer of Quebec. Arriving in the Maritimes felt like going back in time — like I was almost home. I don’t know why that is, since my home is in the west.

Normally I don’t engage in conversation with strangers. Sometimes I don’t even say much to people I already know, but I found that while traveling in the maritimes provinces the conversations seem to happen easily for me. What began with a simple statement about the weather, resulted in a 10-minute conversation where an older gentleman told me all about his 3 sons and how one lived in Fort MacMurray and he had not seen him in 12 years. He missed him, but was happy that the other 2 sons lived close by. That short and meaningful conversation stayed with me the rest of the day, and made the driving somehow easier. I was on my way to my daughter’s place, and I knew that I would be seeing my children this summer…and not waiting 12 years!

Between weddings I am spending time with another daughter and my granddaughter. We are learning to appreciate the small things in life — blowing bubbles in the backyard, coaxing a chipmunk out from the shrubs (bribing with hands full of nuts), progress on the potty training, bravery to slide down the slide, learning to play nicely with other kids.

The simple things in life are valuable.

Embarking on a journey

My journey begins today! I left home early this morning to catch the ferry and begin the road trip.

There is a smoky haze on the horizon with blue sky above. Forest fires are burning on the island, with one causing closure on the route to a very popular tourist destination. In fact wild fires are causing havoc across the country, and sending smoke south to pollute the air of many American states.

Each day I will head out as planned, knowing that plans can change quickly. I hope to remain positive and flexible enough to adapt to those changes. Right now I am smiling and happy.

ROAD TRIP!!! 😃

Options

This is the view that greets me each morning as I open my front door. The Rhododendrons have been full and lush this spring, and in my dark, back corner they bloom relatively late in the season. When I look outside in the morning, and when I go for walks in the neighbourhood I am reminded how fortunate I am to live here.

I am writing lists in my head, going over my options for the future. Trying to sort through the pros and cons of each of my three main possible paths. If I move away I am giving up a beautiful corner of the world. If I stay I will continue to be semi-isolated from family, on an island that seems such a chore to leave when necessary. And do I sell and never be able to afford to return, or do I rent out my place?

Although I would never want to return to the way I was, there was a strange comfort in just being obedient–first to my parents, then to my partners, then to my children. So now, I have to accept all the responsibility for my decisions, and can no longer blame others. But isn’t that what I have always wanted–to make my own decisions?

Lessons from an Onion

Therapy can often feel like peeling back the layers of an onion, but if we keep peeling there might eventually be nothing left. What if we look at it like we are bursting forth from the layers and the rot and messiness of the onion, and blooming…bursting forth in a beautiful collection of small flowers? Like each little flower that helps form the bright ball of colour is one of our new discoveries.

I had a rough couple of days and over-reacted to some strong, emotional triggers. It felt like instead of carefully peeling back any layers, someone had just come and stomped on the onion with his big, heavy boots. All that growing was just squashed, and I couldn’t seem to access any of the strength or resolve that I needed.

I really don’t know much about healing trauma, and equally don’t understand what I’m trying to say. But, maybe the peeling of the onion and tears that it produces are necessary for growth. So I’ll have to think of two onions…one that gets peeled, and the other that grows and blossoms.

Watering cans and blueberries

“What does excitement feel like in you?” “What does excitement look like for you?” Those were two questions posed to me last week, by two different people in very different contexts. I could not answer either of them.

What is excitement? When did I lose the ability to feel excited?

I started thinking about occasions where I felt excitement as opposed to nervousness. I had to search a long way back in my life to come up with anything that resembled joyful excitement.

How did I lose the ability to express or even notice that emotion? Or have I worked so hard to suppress it that I can’t get it back. I suppose in my youth I felt excitement before a date, and sometimes felt it early in a relationship. Those days are long gone. I can’t recall being excited about Christmas, and birthdays were just another day in the calendar.

I know I am looking forward to seeing this little Angel next month…it has been almost a year since I have been able to watch her get very excited over so many little discoveries such watering cans, sticks, roses, blueberries, alphabet blocks and music. And then the excitement can turn immediately to screams and tantrums.

Perhaps I can assume that my extreme positive emotions have been balanced out by the extreme negative, and I’m floating somewhere in the middle.

For a New Beginning

Dear Rita….
I enjoy my weekly walks with your mother on Sunday mornings. It gives me a chance to focus on someone else, and take my thoughts away from my own issues. We have interesting conversations, even if we don’t always understand each other. The translation apps are helpful!

Yesterday morning, after our conversation, I walked home feeling like I had been dishonest with you. Not totally dishonest, just more like not telling you the whole truth. I said that I would continue to teach your children as long as I could. But, I left out the fact that I plan to retire in June.

My turning point was in the summer of 2021 when Toffee died. After that I took on more work since I had the time. I no longer had to be concerned about how many hours a day I was away from the house. I had no more responsibilities. And I was desperately lonely without him. Students helped filled the void.

Then my father died. I knew I was working too much, but I didn’t want to let anyone down. I worked, and continued to agree to new projects, but within a few months I burned out. I dropped many of my commitments, keeping only those that I felt effective doing, such as teaching and leading the children’s choirs.

And, I kept teaching some students, including your children. I have learned so much from teaching A and S. They are curious about music even if they don’t follow the usual plan. It has been fun letting each of them take the lead along the path that they want to take. I understand that finding a new teacher that they can connect with might be a challenge, considering their unique neurodiversities, but I am committed to helping with that search.

Two weeks ago I received some bad news, starting with my neighbours’ announcement that they would be moving. They were my closest allies in this largely dysfunctional strata. That was followed by a call from the hospital requesting an appointment for me to come in for further imaging. My family history of cancer once again slapped me wide awake, and put my brain into doomsday overdrive. Then word that a close friend was just diagnosed with a brain tumour.

My constant thought throughout the past two weeks has been “I don’t want my life to end before I spend time with my children and grand-kids”. My retirement was already in the planning stage, but it has been suddenly moved forward three years.

FOR A NEW BEGINNING
In out-of-the-way places of the heart,
Where your thoughts never think to wander,
This beginning has been quietly forming,
Waiting until you were ready to emerge.

For a long time it has watched your desire,
Feeling the emptiness growing inside you,
Noticing how you willed yourself on,
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.

It watched you play with the seduction of safety
And the gray promises that sameness whispered,
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent,
Wondered would you always live like this.

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,
Your eyes young again with energy and dream,
A path of plenitude opening before you.

Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is at one with your life’s desire.

Awaken your spirit to adventure;
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;
Soon you will home in a new rhythm,
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.
John O’Donohue

Serenity

Yesterday brought plenty of bad news, adding to some negative news from a few days before. I must seriously consider my future options and perhaps start to plan yet another escape from life as I know it.

The photo above was taken on my way home from a medical appointment on Monday. It’s a reminder of the beauty that surrounds me every day. I don’t have to travel anywhere to find it….I just have to slow down, open my eyes and take time to see it.

This Rhododendron in my back yard is like a secret treasure that only a few people know about. Another reminder of peaceful beauty right under my nose.

When bad news hits like a ton of bricks it so difficult to focus on the treasures that surround me everyday. My mind goes immediately to “woe is me”, forgetting all the blessings that are mine.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference, living one day at a time; enjoying one moment at a time; taking this world as it is and not as I would have it….
-Reinhold Niebuhr

Childhood

This beautiful photo is of my mother and her maternal grandfather, taken around 1938.

Mom moved into a care home two days ago. We are sorting through her home, deciding what to keep in the family, what to give away and what to throw away.

I have spent the past two nights in her empty house, still being as quiet as possible when I awake during the night. I have to keep reminding myself that mom is not going to notice if I move anything, or rummage through her drawers.

My sister and I have found so many treasures that provide a glimpse into mom’s past. There are photo albums that I have never seen before, as mom always put things away in their proper places. So many things.

I wonder why precious photos like this were kept “away” and not put up on her wall. I wonder what secrets I may never uncover.

Mom can remember her childhood home, but very little past that. Today will most likely be my last chance to learn more about her childhood.

Scenic detour

On the drive home from a rehearsal yesterday I took a wrong turn. I had deliberately taken a less-familiar route, deciding to take my time. When I noticed that I was heading north instead of west, I had to turn down a side road to head in the right direction.

Then I saw what appeared to be a street lined in pink. Of course I had to pull over and stop in order to take this photo, but when driving it appeared like a tunnel of pink welcoming the car.

Spring is here!

My children know that when I speak of taking a scenic detour that it is my way of explaining getting lost, or taking a wrong turn. For me a scenic detour, caused by a wrong turn, is a very blessed way to discover beautiful things.

Listening

Over twenty years ago, while working with a singing group, I met a man who I thought was an almost perfect match for me. Through the years we have remained friends, and at times lost touch entirely until our paths crossed again, randomly and briefly. We continued to rehearse and perform together for several years. He became a close friend to my husband; later he cared for my husband during his final months.

Then we lost touch again, our lives moving in different directions. Our lives intersected again over a year ago.

Because he spends his days and nights caring for special needs men, his chance for real, meaningful conversation is minimal, so when we do chat, it’s mostly him talking–making up for days or weeks of no-one listening. I was convinced that he didn’t ever hear what I had to say. When this lovely flower arrangement arrived unexpectedly, from him, I realized that even though he seems to be the one doing most of the talking, he is listening. Listening to my one-word responses, the fear and sadness in my voice, and all the words that I can’t express.

His empathy and compassion is what once drew me to him, and is now what keeps me wanting to have this friend in my life.