Reflections

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.

Contrasts

I took this photo two weeks ago while on a walk in the park. It wasn’t until I posted it on social media that I noticed the contrasts found within the photo.

The curves of the scooping Sequoia trunks; the sharp edges of the rock. The iridescent blue and green of the peacock; the brown soil and dead sequoia needles. The bright green moss on top of the dark branches. The still and quiet ground in the forefront; the branches grasping toward in the distance.

There are straight lines, curved lines and crooked lines, thinness and roundness; permanence of the old-growth trees and large rocks against the youthfulness of the peacock.

When I took the photo, I snapped 3 quick ones hoping that one would turn out to be clear and somewhat interesting. At the time I had no idea how much I had captured in that split second.

Fishbowl

Lately I have gone on several long walks each week. My neighbour’s mother moved to Canada over a year ago and has made very few friends. Speaking English is definitely a challenge for her, and we have now schedule walks on Sunday morning when we are both available. I am learning a lot about her experience working as a doctor in her native country, and she is learning how to communicate more easily in English. Next week I will take her to Fisherman’s Wharf.

This photo was taken the day before while on a walk with a close friend who has found the isolation of living in a pandemic quite difficult. We try to go for walks regularly, and when the weather is warmer, will sit outside on restaurant patios enjoying a meal or a beverage, and talking about our very different lives.

As we walked at Fisherman’s Wharf we talked about how living on a float home was at one point quite appealing to each of us, but we quickly came up with reasons why it would be quite horrible! The wharf is located about 10 minutes walk from the cruise ship terminal. During cruising months, April to October, hundreds, or maybe thousands of people walk into the wharf area each day. There are several places to eat seafood, ice cream. There are whale tours, kayak rentals and boat taxis, gift shops and buskers.

The signs in front of several of the homes gives an indication of what the owners deal with from some of the tourists. “This is not a museum, please don’t enter”, is one example. Many of the windows are now tinted, others have the blinds pulled.

I think that living in such a cute little neighbourhood, perfect for gawking tourists, and a place where locals love to come for fresh seafood, would quickly feel like I was living in a fishbowl.

Kyrie

I took this photo while on a walk several days ago. Later, while I was listening to some music, I noticed that I had left this photo up on my iPad. The music seemed to fit it perfectly. Normally I don’t connect photos with specific sounds or songs, but this time was different.

The lines, the curves, the colours and light, clouds, ship, grass and rocks, all brought more to life as I listened to the Kyrie from Palestrina’s Missa Benedicta es.

The Shape of Goodbye

The Isolation Journals prompt for this week is to “write a goodbye you wish you’d said, or need to say.”

Over 34 years ago my little brother was lying in hospital, dying from cancer. I was living and working overseas, with 3 young children and a 4th on its way. My husband knew how much I needed to spend time with my brother and sold his prized possession, a Kawasaki motorbike, in order to finance the trip.

I stayed in Canada for 3 weeks, taking the night-shift vigil at the hospital. Most of the days were also spent at Ron’s bedside, along with our other siblings and regular visitors.

Still in my 20’s I had very little experience saying goodbye to loved ones who were dying. I didn’t have the words to say, and could not express my feelings by showing physical affection.

Those three weeks went by quickly, and the time came to say goodbye and return to my family in Thailand. The “goodbye” was just that. Goodbye. I wish I could stay longer. No tears, no hugs, no loving words. Just goodbye.

If I could go back in time I would tell him much I admired his kindness, his brilliance, his gentle spirit. I would thank Ron for all the great memories of our hikes and adventures together. I would tell him how much we would all miss him. I would make sure to give him the biggest hug possible—one that would gently surround him without adding to the pain of his tumours. And I would squeeze his hand one last time before whispering goodbye.

The Moss Lady

On Christmas Day I walked though Beacon Hill Park with a friend to feed the ducks, and chat. That day was very quiet in the park so we could take our time and wander, looking in areas we seldom walk. I showed my friend the “Hands of Time” sculpture at the top of the hill near the look-out, then we walked past this.

My first impression of The Moss Lady was that the face was similar to some of the thinner Buddha statures and photos that I have seen. And I felt that she looked like she was emerging from the earth. This morning I researched the history of this artwork, and now I see it differently. In the spring, the moss which covers her body will be green again, and flowers will once again surround her head. The peaceful look on her face as she sleeps reflects her surroundings.

Artist, Dale Doebert along with city staff built the 35-foot long woman in 2015. He had seen photos of the Mud Maid in the Lost Gardens of Heligan, in Cornwall, England. This is her twin.

Over the years I have learned to not trust my first impressions. I misread people so easily. Those I don’t like on first meeting have often become close friends; others I trusted immediately upon meeting took advantage of my trust and later betrayed it.

Just as in my misinterpretation (or alternate interpretation) of The Moss Lady, I know I misjudge intentions of people I meet. I need to continue to do my research and give people time before I make a judgement.

If only people were as easy to read as the ducks in the park. Their only intention was to come scrambling for food. No love, no betrayal, just food!

Letter writing

Dad was a very organized person. He kept files in a filing cabinet in the laundry room. Each file was neatly labeled “insurance”, “appliances”, “house”, etc. He had files for interesting things from his life, and another for mom, and of course one for each of us. One of my goals on this recent trip to visit mom was to sort through some of the files and take home anything that might be important.

Last weekend I discovered several letters that mom had written in 1993 and 1994 to her local MP, Revenue Canada and the federal Minister of Finance, along with the responses from the men in those positions.

She was not pleased that the government was charging GST on brassieres for women who have had mastectomies. The CRA reasoning was that women could buy one with a doctor’s prescription. Mastectomy bras are included in the list of medical devices which are exempt from GST under certain conditions, e.g. doctor’s prescription.

Mom’s argument was clear and simple—this is not an item people without surgical removal of one or both breast would purchase, therefore it’s obvious that they would not be taking advantage of any unnecessary tax relief.

By September, 1994, mastectomy brassieres could be purchased in Canada without added GST, even without a doctor’s prescription. This was one of my mother’s accomplishments!

Back again

I am once again heading back to mom’s home. This time I am flying in order to avoid snowy mountain roads and potential blizzards.

The cloud formations are mesmerizing, with the sun peaking through between various layers of cloud types. The …. Straight reflect the sun, and in the distance I can see snow no longer only in the mountain peaks.

I chose not to bring a book to read on this flight, hoping to doze off. That’s not happening! Even small turbulence is scary in these small 21-seater airplanes; 23 if you include the pilot and copilot/flight attendant. Every seat, except the middle of the back row is a window seat.

The past several weeks have been a whirlwind of activity for me—seasonal performances, meetings, a creative writing course, seemingly endless emails with my brother trying to sort out mom’s finances, and the usual workload. I am looking forward to a more relaxed couple of weeks coming up.