Reflections

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.

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!