Staring over is a theme. We walk away from where we were and take another path that leads us to a new beginning. I walked away from writing for a long time. I miss it.… More
Why Can’t I find my Coffee Cup?
I will admit, I can be distracted by shiny things. When I open my eyes, I have a preconceived notion that TODAY, I will accomplish everything I intended to accomplish. I start with a list of all the things I would like to get done, then I review and revise to half of what I thought I would get done, then I revise again to the things that I like and the things I will likely put off.
I always start with good intentions. The best way I figure to do that is begin with one thing I don’t want to do and one thing that I know I will love doing. They become the beginning (what I don’t want to do) and the reward (the thing I want to do) to at least accomplish something on my list.
Today, I began with working on my new business logo (one of two to be announced soon). I have been mulling this in my mind for days and thinking of all the reasons that it won’t be perfect enough and making dinner. Add in there blocking a knitted project, laundry, prepping forms for business #2, dishes, walking Harlee, shower, making the bed, setting goals for the week, formatting a new pattern and getting photos ready for the pattern and well…. you have my list for the day. Did I mention writing a blog and setting up Blog 2 for business #1?
It is nearly 2pm. The dishwasher is open and half emptied. The laundry is finished the wash cycle and needs to be put in the dryer. The bed is made, my shower is done. I set up the new blog and have written posts for today and tomorrow for Blog #1 but only set up draft titles for Blog #2. I have looked up a recipe for dinner and for the life of me can’t remember where I left my coffee cup….AGAIN!
If you see it, would you mind filling it please? I am on my way to empty the dishwasher, for real this time.
6 Years and 30,000 + Views; Goals for 2017
6 years seem like a 100 ago. So much change in my life since I began this blog. What never ceases to amaze me is how many individuals take time in their day, to share a part of mine. Over 30,000 views! Thank you for taking the time in your day to follow me and my journey.
It is the beginning of another year. D and I had a lovely evening out to celebrate the entry of 2017. We noted how others seem to be exuberantly kicking 2016 out the back door. We on the other hand found 2016 to be a year to remember all that is good in our lives. 2016 was another beginning for the two of us that included changes that we wouldn’t have any other way. We have no 2016 regrets.
One of my favourite mantras is that “I am exactly where I should be.” If that is true then all that has occurred has brought me to where I am. Why would I want to change that?
So here is my focus for 2017. Once again, I am exactly where I should be. I will plan to BE every day.
There is however, one improvement that I would like to work on. If I could change one thing, it would be to like myself more. How can I expect others to like me, if I don’t. That begins with acceptance. Don’t confuse that with tolerance. I define the difference as: Tolerance – not liking something but putting up with it because that is what is right to do, versus: Acceptance – embracing without judgement. My definition may not fit yours, but I accept that ;).
I accept that I am exactly where I should be. I accept that it is who I am that brought me here. Now that smell in the back laundry room….not sure I am ready to accept that. These things come in small steps.
Breaking In and Breaking Out
Tools for dinner
It’s the new year and as a married couple we are building “our”family traditions. I made Christmas dinner. I love cooking that meal with all of the trimmings. It was a success in that no one died and tummies were filled. We also filled the freezer with all things scrap turkey.
So yesterday, D asked what our new year’s tradition would be? I suggested sleep. He suggested dinner and so our tradition is born. I cook Christmas and he cooks New Year.
I am stepping into a new world here in the maritimes. I personally have a motto that one should never eat anything that one can not gut. Hence…. shellfish, with the exception of scallops are off my list. Throw in the sea bugs – shrimp, lobster and the spider like crab, and you have my full list of veto foods. D had other ideas. The meal began with searching out crab, with a side of beef and butternut squash. I believe I have been exposed, and eaten my fair share of crab flavoured pollock. I have never – shelled anything, until tonight.
D is breaking me in to the east coast sea food with tools that should not make the kitchen table, but I am glad that they did. I can proudly state, I have broken out of my shell, and successfully, cheering at times, pulled my own meat from the 4 legs that were served to me this evening. And as long as the itching, on my face and arms doesn’t progress to full blown hives, I am willing to try this tradition again.
It’s always easier to drive from the passenger seat.
It is always a slippery slope, whether it is because we saw something on the news, heard something said at the table beside us or read something in the media, we are quick to judge. It is that natural response…”well if it was up to me…” or “if that were my kid…” Fact is, it isn’t up to us or our kid.
I practice (and I say practice because it is exactly what I need to do as it doesn’t come naturally) not judging. It is the hardest thing that I do. There are days, when I don’t keep my ego in check and I judge with the best of them. Yes, I sometimes believe there is an easier path, a stronger discipline or a better colour. I may even, under my breath, find a snarky response to a perceived foolish statement or act. I am not so naive as to think others have not done the same in their review of me.
Recently, I attended the last class of my negotiation/mediation designation. We role played for 5 long days. Never has it been more clear to me that it is easier to drive from the passenger seat. My classmates struggled (as did I) with our leadership as mediator. Two more students played the characters of the scenario at intensities that may or may not reflect real life. The rest of us watched and critiqued. Guess who has the easiest task?
Here is the funny thing; as I sit in a room with friends and family, with comments of judgement being made around me by passengers who all know a better path, I CAN (I hope) in a kind and gentle way, state that there is always another side to the story. We need to accept and trust that the drivers (with rare exception) are doing their best and have no intent on killing passengers. Maybe if we judged less, there would be less hurt and a whole pile more kindness in the world.
So that’s my plan. I will be a thankful passenger in this life journey. One that continues to PRACTICE at the very least, less judging. One that helps others, when it is appropriate, by my example, to do the same.
A House is not a Home
A house is not a home until your heart resides there. It can be a shelter, a place to hang your clothes and rest a while, but it takes more to be a home.
The Peppercorn Cottage as D and I have come to call it, is feeling alive inside. I had visited it three times before. D was here. His things were here. But I was not. My head was not here and my heart was not here. I truly thought that it was as I hated leaving but with each visit I opened and closed a suitcase.
I have been here nearly a month now. In some ways it feels like forever and in others I am still a stranger here. I have not wandered far from home. After setting up house, I settled in to finish up some of my courses and to putting my hands to work in pies, breads, muffins and cookies. I am learning to love to cook again. I am filling this house with beautiful smells. The kitchen is still new to me. I am gaining a sense of what it is to bake a sea level.
Once again, I have a dog at my feet. We brought Harlequin or Harlee as we call her (nearly 3 months old now) home 3 weeks ago and as you c
an see my shoes are not suitable for office life anymore. This too has been a learning curve with puppy training and walks in the woods and on the beach.
I have applied for jobs, only to be rejected. I must admit, I am feeling a little hurt by that but at the same time, we planned for me to have some time off so that I could take time to grow some roots here. Friends and family keep assuring me that something will come along when it is time.
Much like my journey through my divorce, I keep thinking that I am good. That I am not homesick. This is exactly where I want to be. I can’t imagine being anywhere else. BUT, there it is, welling up when I least expect it. Waves of loss and grief for the people that I left behind. You see, I am just a small part of each of their lives and although I do not doubt that I am missed, they can move on with little disruption. For me however, all of them are missing.
The people here are lovely. I met a few more yesterday at a tea hosted by one of the neighbours across the road. I suspect in time, they will be part of my people too. But, on days like today, when I listen to this house, in spite of the beautiful smells of peanut butter cookies, loaves of bread, puppy noises under my feet and Sophia nestled somewhere upstairs on our bed, I need just a little more time to have this house feel like home.
Bloom where you are Planted!
There are no more sleeps. I have been here now for 11 days and D and I are working through building our new life together. There is a part of this, that is simply getting to know each other in a way that is forever rather than from a suitcase. The part that comes with sticky pieces.
There is combining of quirks and combining of things or “just stuff” as I tend to call it. There is combining of love, space, kitchen gadgets, memories and hurts. There is a combining that both of us so desperately want, making our house a home. Making us a couple, and making the two a family.
This home takes my breath away each time we return. The age (175 years), the history (as a church rectory), the scenery that must be experienced in person to truly have impact and the potential for a new future. I get a do over. I get to be whomever I wish to be. I get to do that in the presence of a man, who has taken a chance with his heart again and given it to me.
My dear friend Karen tells me to “bloom where I am planted”. It is my mantra these days. When I am afraid by what I have given up to be here, relationships, my home, my job. When I think about how I will fit in here whether that be with new friends or a new job (yet to be found). The transitions have not been easy. There have been tears, moments of “what have I done?” None of these times however are about where I am or who I am with, but rather what is unknown.
Had I thought 5 years ago, when I laid on the floor, exhausted of every emotion I could possibly feel, that this is where I would be, perhaps I would have worried less, cried less, embraced each day more. I can’t imagine now, as I couldn’t then, where I will be in this new life path a year from now, let alone 5. But what I know is if I trust, and I bloom where I am planted, solidly in this home with this amazing man, I will be better. I will trust that this is exactly where I am supposed to be.
Herman
Herman and I have a working relationship….
Who am I kidding???? Working relationship???? Not bloody likely! Herman (a brown recluse or hobo spider) are in an noncooperative arrangement that includes me being horrified to step on the floor and based on his speed last night, his misnomer that I am prepared to do anything about it.
I swear on my son’s life, my perception of Herman is anything but cordial. He has the sufficient where with all to bring down a house rat. Now, I personally have not witnessed this event, nor am I prepared to test my theory. You will simply have to trust me on this.
I met Herman the first evening I arrived at my AirBandB in Vancouver at the end of September. It was an unexpected happenstance as I sat on the couch, engaged in some waste of time happiness (aka solitaire). From my position, feet up, reclined and comfortable, I noted a brown creature racing from what was to be my bedroom, straight towards me in the living room. Although well protected from the attack, I believe I secured my position by leaping to attention, only to smash my head on the ceiling. You see, I occupy the basement. It is a lovely suite with all the comforts of home and I was thrilled knowing that I would be returning in a month to spend 2 weeks here. But then I met Herman.
I found myself having three dilemmas:
- My head had sustained a good crack on the ceiling. I would need to deal with that at some point and the lack of blood suggested there was no immediate danger of death, at least not from the sustained injury.
- Herman had disappeared. The only thing worse than meeting Herman, was loosing track of Herman. He could be anywhere and based on his size, I was pretty sure anywhere was wherever he damn well pleased.
- I was not in a place that I could remain, sequestered indefinitely. Call it like it was…. I needed to pee.
Over the next few days, travel in the apartment was akin to a modern dance routine. A hop a skip, leaps of great grace. And then I left, thankful for the lack of Herman.
I am here again attending the last on campus course for my Family Mediation Certificate. I arrive on the 23rd. I left Calgary with mixed emotions. This was my goodbye. The last of my belongings were shipped to Nova Scotia. I had said goodbye to work and see you soon to friends. I had 2 more weeks to study and then it would be time for D and I to begin our life journey in the same postal code. I was content in my space knowing the ins and outs. My hosts made it feel like I was arriving a welcome friend. Content, I unpacked, made a cup of tea and then my world was once again rocked. Herman was still in residence.
D has laughed each time we FaceTime. I peak around the computer screen sure that Herman will walk by carrying some version of snack which may very well include species of great concern. You know the type. We have all imagined them in our dark dreams. A stray dog, feral cat or rabid racoon. Herman has shown up, larger than ever seen before and I know he is making a mockery of me and my fears. I know he is living in my shoes despite my having them up on the bed instead of the floor. I know Herman has checked out my carry on bag, determining if the journey would be advantageous to him. Just ask me, when I feel the urge to use the bathroom at night and I lay in bed for the longest amount of time possible, sure that Herman is patiently lying in wait for my feet to touch the floor. I’ve seen this game before.
Herman and I are not in a working relationship. I am pretty sure, I am the one that will need to go as Herman has stayed his ground. 4 more sleeps Herman. 4 more sleeps and the apartment will once again be yours.
Grandmotherhood and the Evolution of Family
Inspired by: Michelle Kapler (step-daughter extraordinary) – http://mulifertility.com
We live in a very different time and place than our grandparents, or even our parents for that matter. We are also North American societally influenced. One might label this as core-family centric. I personally considered (up until recently) my son, his wife and I my only family even though I have extended family, I have not spent time, or been influenced by them for many years.
Now I have been blessed with a grandson, and recently married into an amazing extended family, my interpretation of family has expanded.
My grandmothers were very different ladies. I had the good fortune of growing to be an adult with both my maternal and paternal grandmothers. My paternal grandmother was someone that we visited on Sunday afternoons. We (the grandchildren) were to be seen and not heard. Unless we were asked a question, one didn’t even suggest that one might have an opinion on anything! If we were fortunate enough to speak, we darn well better also know when to shut up. If we were good, we were allowed to serve the cake to the guests.
My maternal grandmother was an enigma to me until I reached adulthood. Grandma G. came to live with me when I was in my 30’s and she was in her 80’s. It was the best of times and the worst. The two of us learned we were peas in a pod but not in a good way. We also learned to love each other. I wouldn’t trade that time for anything. Unfortunately, with a generation between us, the living arrangement was not meant to endure time. Grandma G choose to leave my home after 7 months to live with people her own age. At the time I was hurt by her decision, but have come to understand it.
My Son’s grandmothers were another generation. My mother and his father’s mother could not be more different. My Mother was order. His paternal grandmother was chaos. Both, without doubt adored their first grandchild. As a child, my son spent a great deal of time with his grandparents. They are the ones that taught him to play Kanasta, bake cookies, build blanket forts and to fish. These are things that he still loves today. TJ benefitted greatly from open and honest relationships with his grandmothers. These were the first women, besides myself that he fell in love with. Don’t get me wrong, he was and did adore his grandfathers as well, but it was his grandmothers who melted his heart.
There was a 3rd grandmother that my son didn’t get to know as well and that was his step-grandmother. Distance, not desire became a barrier in that relationship, but I was able to watch and be influenced by this amazing women and how she lived as a grandmother with the others who lived closer. She taught her grandchildren the value of time, good manners, taking a bus and reading a book. She taught us, the parents, that grandmothers were a treat to be savoured and respected. The grandchildren knew this instinctively.
I am the next generation of grandmother. I am not “stay at home” as were the 2 generations before. I am a career corporate executive grandmother. I will be a long distance grandmother. The challenge is not insurmountable, especially with the cooperation of my grandson’s parents. I am a younger woman (although not in age) than either of the grandmothers my son came to know. There is truth to 50 being the new 35 (except when I loose my glasses). This too will influence my relationship with him. This past weekend, I was given the gift of time alone with my grandson. I fell in love once again.
CJ is tiny. Tinier than any human I have ever held, including his father.
This past weekend his parents trusted me, his grandmother (Nana) to be solely responsible for his care. It was perfect. He was perfect. We got to know each other. I learned he purrs when he sleeps. He learned that I was a soft place to land for a nap.
To be a grandmother in today’s world means opening your heart to brief moments of quiet time. To hold and breath in a new life. To appreciate that our relationship will be different and yet just as meaningful as those generations before. It is my hope to be a positive influence in some meaningful way, as I watched the grandmothers before. I have been influenced by the 5 grandmothers before me. Family dynamics have changed in the evolution of family but what hasn’t changed is the fact that they are women who influence our children. CJ will have 3 grandmothers influencing his life and each of us will play our parts.
Nana, Nana K and Nana W. Move over Papa D, Bumpa and Pops
P.S. Yes, I did make the Pooh Bear Hat…. Gotta love knitting 😉
You’re not 49 anymore…
It’s a saying that has become familiar between D and I. We laugh at it knowing that it is true and yet deep inside I think the two of us resent the fact that we aren’t “spring chickens”anymore. We resent our bodies for the aches and pains that once, we either didn’t feel or we more easily pushed through. We resent that our stamina isn’t what we remember.
We remember when we could push through the night finishing a project without feeling like we lost our edge the next day. When it didn’t take three days to recover from one extra glass of rum. When slipping on the ice, didn’t insight fear that we may not stand up again.
When I say to D, “you’re not 49 anymore,” I say it with concern that he is pushing himself. That playing soccer like he is 25 or field hockey, like every goal matters, goes beyond the point of no return, because his bones hurt, his muscles ache or his big toe, well, simply doesn’t heal like it use to.
When D tells me to take it easy, I think he thinks, I can’t. This makes me want to do what ever it is that he wants me to stop, more. I pay for it, but would rather do than not and admit.
WE are NOT 49 any more. With few exceptions, as I have mentioned above, I am ok with that. I am an adult who mostly knows who I am. I am mostly done, trying to be what anyone, other than me, thinks I should be. I like the way I dress, the way I sing out loud, the way I can more than I can’t. I mostly like me. I like the fact that I can laugh at myself. I need to remind myself of this once in a while. Tonight was one of those reminders.
For 30 minutes, I got up, searched, researched, replayed the last place I saw them and then did it all again, only to realize they were there all along. Glasses, top of my head, right where I left them 30 minutes before.
Yup, I am not 49 any more.
One step aside from you
Here I am. Happily married for what is now 9 days. D leaves the city on Thursday evening, when once again the count down begins. This time, it will be about 75 days. What I am told is not to count but rather suggest to my less than co-operating heart that in fact each day is one less. It will be the last count down before we are finally together in the same postal code for good.
Our wedding day was everything and more than what the two of us could have imagined. We have been blessed with so many wonderful people around us and as one family member wrote in his card to us, friends became family and family became friends.
For those of you who follow the blog, the dress was well received. The bouquet was perfect, the shawl extraordinary and the shoes…. well the shoes were the hit! Even better was a beautiful day with all.
My fondest memory is seeing D waiting for me at the front of the church. All the concerns that he would change his mind melted away in that moment. Once again we learned how much we think alike with the reading of our vows, discovering that it was the same promise but different words. Standing in front, when the other needs to be shielded, behind when the other needs to shine and standing together, one step aside, we are extraordinary.
Photos: Lindsay Sullivan
https://www.facebook.com/LindsaySullivanPhotography/
The Other Side of Counting to Ten 