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.
Gia
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
“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.
Reflections 