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.

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.

Baby Shoes (for my Son’s new Son)

Inspired by Jen – Brea’s Air

To MY darling Son!

Today will be one of the hardest and most amazing days of your life. Please remember that although you will never forget how much hurt your beautiful wife will go through today, over time (and you’ll be surprised how quickly) she will forget.

As the two of you go through this day you will feel frustrated, exhausted and at times you will want to even quit and walk away, but it will be then, when they (your wife and new son) will need you the most!

Take a breath, and then another, because today is when you will fall in love together with another human being as you have never before, as unconditionally as any heart can.

Today is the day your lives will change forever. I know this as your mother, because I am your mother.  Today, you will understand this as well. It is the day when you will truly understand love as you have NEVER understood it before.

Today, when you think you can’t, I KNOW you will, because you are my son. I love you, exactly like you will love your son. Today you will understand that gift.

I promise,

Mum.

Not exactly as shown PART 2

6 months later….

D1 (D’s older brother) is my Man of Honour.  He didn’t get to come to pick THE dress so as a follow up, I figured it was only right that he got to come with me to pick up THE dress.  It was important to me that he see me first and add his two-bits.  A male perspective if you will and most certainly, a male perspective that I hoped would reflect his brother’s.

D1 and I walked into the shop together.  They were expecting me and already had THE dress hanging in a change room (still under cover of a garment bag – but ready to go).  “Isn’t it bad luck to have him here?”  The clerk asked.  Both of us were quick to correct her…

“Not the groom!”  We laughed.  It wasn’t the first time.  D1 and I scoped out the reception venues with the same assumptions being made by the sales staff.

It was time.  6 months had passed and I was just a little excited to try on THE dress.  Having it be mine made things that much more real.  It had already been nearly a month since I had put D on the plane to go back East.  I was missing him.

The garment bag was opened and the back of the dress exposed.  Hmmm I thought, THE dress I thought was a bit more tea dyed.  Eh, what do I remember it has been 6 months. The clerk undid the zipper. Ummm did’t THE dress have a row of pearls on the zipper line? I stepped into the change room.  Alone with THE dress.  I fumbled for a moment, not sure what to do.  I looked at the dress.  What could I do?  I pulled out the receipt.  Same number on the tags, same name on the tag, same measurements on the tag.  Obviously I didn’t remember THE dress.  Over the 6 months, my memory had created a completely different dress.  Put the dress on Sam!

Stripped down to underwear and socks, I stepped into the dress.  The form fitted dress.  THE dress was A-line.  This dress was fitted. I fumbled around for a moment trying to do up the zipper.  I looked down and behind me.  This dress had a train. THE dress did NOT have a train.  I was getting married at a country church on the prairie.  THE dress did not have a train! THE dress was country and simple.  It was fun and like me, ready to dance the night away.  THE dress was SAM!

The clerk was now behind me doing up the zipper.  The zipper that fit over the curve of my backside, the small of my back, glided smoothly over my spine and rested exactly where it was designed to rest.  I let out my breath.  It took 6 months for this dress to show up.  This was not THE dress.  It was however a dress.  I didn’t love THE dress, I liked it.  Did it really matter?

The curtain was thrown open. I was expected to walk out, stand on the pedestal, and with damp teary eyes, show D1 the dress.  That is what every bride-to-be does right? Instead, I stood there stunned.  But that’s when the magic happened. I looked at D1 and he looked at me.  His jaw had dropped and he said “Your beautiful.”

It was time to give this dress a chance.  I walked out, stepped up onto the raised circle and looked at the mirror.  This wasn’t THE dress but this was MY dress.

MY dress has sparkle and flatters my curves, MY dress is silver tones and has lace that is…. well…. a little less country and a little more rock and roll SAM. The other Sam.  The Sam that D fell in love with.  The Sam that tried on far too many shoes but found the perfect ones in the end.  The Sam who will wear her Cinderella pale blue Fluevogs that will carry her down the aisle to her Prince and Dragon Slayer.  The man who patiently waited for her a for lifetime.  The one who taught her, it was safe to love again.  This was MY dress.

D1 and I headed for dinner, having My dress neatly packaged and in the back of my jeep.  “I must tell you Sam, that isn’t the dress I imagined you in.”

“Me neither,” I laughed and then over a glass of wine, explained “not exactly as shown.”

Not exactly as shown PART 1

Being a part of the real estate industry has had me see a lot of business cards.  Some are better than others whether it be the cute sayings or the glossy finishes but most entertaining are the photos.  I am sure you have seen them. The person hands you their card.  You look from the card to the face of the agent that handed it to you and question with all of your polite composure, “So you’re SAM???” because Sam in the photo is not the Sam handing you the card.  Maybe it is Sam, just 30 years ago, a lot less hair dye ago and way less chocolate ago.  Sigh….

I know who I see in the mirror and who I see in a photo can be drastically different depending on how much self esteem I have that day.  I have looked in the mirror as I walk out the door and thought “huh, not bad…” only to catch a glimpse of myself in the glass door as I enter work and reassess to “what the heck was I thinking?”

D sees something I will never see.  I tell him that mother nature got it right when she reduced his vision as he got older.  It’s her way of ensuring I stay good looking… you know the hazy soft around the edges with less defined wrinkles and certainly no grey glamour photo kinda look.  He laughs when I tell him that and tells me I am beautiful in his opinion.  I’m glad he sees me that way.  I’m also just a wee bit smitten with him!

8 months ago, my gang took me shopping.  I had a few weeks of getting use to being engaged and having already experienced a wedding or two in my life was not sure that this wedding would be traditional.  D wanted guests and dancing.  He wanted to share our happiness he said.  So I agreed, not knowing what that would look like.  I can tell you without a doubt, we both agreed the minute this wasn’t fun anymore, we would not do it.  So, as I was saying, I sent out a group message to my girls that if they wanted to check out a possible church with me I was heading out on Saturday morning.

The girls agreed and that Saturday, hopped in the jeep.  I started driving out of town.  “Where are we going?” one of them asked.

“Morley,” I said.  “I am not sure how far West it is but I need to get a sense of timing. D and I think it looks like the churches at home so it will be a good spot for us.”

“Church? We’re going to a church? Well that makes more sense, I thought we were going to look at a couch.”

“Couch?  Why would you think that?” I was so confused.  So were the gang.  Apparently my message was auto corrected from “church” to “couch”and because I have this amazing group of friends who support me through anything, well, they were on board to go see a couch. Bless them! I love them to pieces.

The church was perfect BTW and 10 days from now (August 13, 2016), I will stand in it with D in front of our guests to promise forever.

After we wandered the grounds we headed back to town, a short stop at a dress shop in Cochrane was unsuccessful so back to Calgary we went.  What I am now understanding, is that you don’t spontaneously go wedding dress shopping.  It really didn’t matter to me, because I was simply indulging the girls.  This was to be fun and fine, I could do dress-up for an hour or two.

The girls however, were on a mission.

We entered the shop to see aisles and aisles of dresses.  Every colour of white and off white you could imagine.  Long, short, funky, a-line, x-rated and mermaid.  Good grief!  I hit the change room.  J was on tie her in and zip her up duty.  K and L started pulling styles.  I think I may have tried on 30 dresses in an hour.  It came down to 2.

I don’t remember the 2nd choice anymore other than it was 3X the cost of the one I chose. My adult head decided this is a day, one day, one day a couple of hours and not worth spending thousands of dollars on a dress.  I was not “in love” with either and after trying on THE dress a second time, I knew I liked it and maybe the girls were right, I did need a wedding dress and so it was ordered.  Delivery would be the middle of June 2016 – 6 months later

To be continued…..

 

 

 

Racoons in the Family

As a young reader I became a fan of Farley Mowett and in particular, 2 of his books inspired me as a child of the prairie – The Dog Who Wouldn’t Be and Owls in the Family.  I grew up in Southern Alberta and as a young child escaped the city with a GREAT Aunt Lucille (my maternal grandmother’s sister) whom I adored.  She transported my younger sister and I to our GREAT grandfather’s home in Saskatchewan.  He lived in a place that was home to a grain elevator, a church and a post office.  There may have been 5 or 6 other homes in the town.  I don’t remember any more.  The youngest grandchildren were in fact younger than me.  They lived about 2 miles west of town, well within walking distance for kids back then.

Our Summers were made up of no indoor plumbing, no power, wooden sidewalks, garter snakes, frogs from the pond and endless adventures making ice-cream with a salted crank bucket.  Of course there was church on Sundays and many an hour spent laying on our backs performing great feats of “cloud busting.”  We solved the world’s problems kissed by the sun and the wind of the prairie.  We sang out loud and rescued what ever we imagined needed rescuing.  Those summers, I learned to love the horizon and solitude.

D and I have our new version of heaven.  He has been lucky enough to be there for almost a year now, waiting for Sophia and I to join him.  Almost without exception, every day he sends me a photo of another flower blooming in our garden.

He reminds me how many of them will need to be moved either this Fall or next Spring because they aren’t in the best place right now to thrive.  I love the fact that this is something he cares about.  I love the fact that he shares this.

D is a bird guy.  Not one of the tried and true charting binocular guys, but more of a love the songs, the freedom to fly, appreciate the creatures kind.  Every day he checks the feeders knowing that the hummingbirds need their sugar, the gold finches have a certain seed preference, the wood peckers are hanging precariously from the hummingbird feeder because they are too silly to see the suet feeder across the yard and the crows are simply annoying at dawn.  The bird feeders have created a downstream effect on my preferred 4 feet and fur creatures.

This is Dennis.  He (we think) has been stopping by since last fall to fill up on bird seed.  He has made his home in the garage.  I know this because our formal introduction last fall by D was one neither of us will soon forget.  D asked if I wanted to see where the little guy was living.  Of course I wanted to know the neighbours.  So in the garage we go.  Neatly kept at the back of what was not the brightest corner of the garage, was a perfectly round hole in the pink insulation.  D informed me there was about a kilogram of seed in that pouch.  I suggested he repurpose it back to the bird feeder.  That didn’t go over well.

Dennis was no where to be seen.  I figured I could personally judge the damages by poking the bulge below the opening.  I am not sure who flew out of the garage faster or farther without touching the ground.  D will likely tell you, that once he had recovered from the scream of his wife to be and horror of the of our guest, and of course after he stopped peeing himself from laughter….  I think the squirrel won.

As an update, Dennis and his friend Chipper the chipmunk (also a member of our extended family) have extended family attending the daily feeding.  Good news travels.

Remington has been the roadrunner to my D’s Wile E Coyote.  9pm is D’s missed opportunity to grabbing the newly hung bird feeder before Remington the racoon has once again manipulated the string, branch or height for yet another feast.  I met Remington one evening.  He had formally blown off D’s scolding for once again succeeding in cleaning out the place.  Apparently I personally have foiled any attempt D may have to getting rid of the pest by naming him.  I am convinced this is merely an excuse for D.  He likes the little bugger.

This past couple of weeks have convinced me even more as a purchase of rabbit pellets was made.  It was an attempt to save the bird seed for the birds and keep Remington satisfied with an alternate source of nutrition.  Now, I was of the mindset that this particular food choice being wrong.  Turns out I was wrong!  On two counts…

Remington is Remitina… she has kids.  We will be upping the food order this week.

23-28-97-111

23-28-97-111

It looks like more of a combination code than a run on “sleeps until” countdown.  Perhaps it is a combination of sorts.  Twenty-three days until D arrives. Twenty-eight days until we are married.  Ninety-seven until my last day in the office and One-hundred-eleven until we leave Vancouver, BC for Clementsport, NS. D keeps telling me to focus on the first number, that the rest will come soon enough.  I am not built that way.

Why am I not able to live in the moment?

Yesterday, D went to the beach.  He said that it was a great walk but only missing 2 things.  I teased about the two things being, a rock to throw and a rock to keep,  an apple and an orange, a hat and sunscreen or popcorn and wieners.  

He told me no.  None of the above. He also told me there were no treasures on that beach. I suggested that there were always treasures and that his mind simply needed to be open to receiving them.  Seems like pretty simple logic.  Living in the moment.  Embracing where you are and loving the now rather than waiting for what is next.

I can be so good at telling others.  I suck at living it myself.

I really need a kick in the pants.  23-28-97-111

With permission

David and I have learned that one of the things that the two of us enjoy is writing.  His style is different than mine with the exception of our poetry.  Both of us come from a place of emotion.  We prefer the free style of non-rhyme but appreciate the pattern that the words follow.

This morning I found this in my inbox.  It was sent to me 7 months ago but today D agreed I could share it.  So with that permission, this is part of the reason I love this man.

My Samantha,

  When the love of my life is in pain,
  I share her pain.
  When she is sad, I share her sadness.
  When her feelings have been hurt,
  I share those hurt feelings.

  When the love of my life is happy,
  I rejoice.
  When she is successful,
  I am proud of her.
  When she is feeling strong,
  I stand behind her.

  The love of my life,
  Is the keeper of my heart.
  She is the strength,
  to go another day,
  And the courage I need,
  to make the day smile !

  Her name is Samantha, my Samantha,
  And I love her deeply …

  Your david …

LDR? – It Must be Hard!

When people learn that D and I are in a LDR (Long Distance Relationship) we are told over and over again “It must be hard”.  Our audience is sure that it isn’t a real relationship or that once we are together in the “same air space” it must be different.  So here are a few points from my prospective:

1. Yes! It is hard and we have to work at it EVERY SINGLE DAY!
2. Yes! It can be awkward the moment that we meet again, especially when we have’t seen each other.  Sometimes all we have is 2D on FaceTime for weeks if not months. D is thinner in real life – I really hope that I am too.
3. Yes! The awkward disappears almost instantly when he kisses me and holds me in his arms, and yes in public, so it is mostly G-rated.
4. No, I am NOT happy to see the back of him.  It gets harder and harder each time to either get on the plane or send him on the plane. We refer to it as Leaving Day and Leaving Day sucks!
5. Yes, we fight. Well not really fight, let’s call it being pissy.  When all you have is the computer or text, it is really easy to be tempted to hang up, and give up.  The statement yesterday by a co-worker was “well of course it would be harder because how do you follow him when he walks out and you aren’t done talking.” I laughed and let her know that all I needed to do was text (or he needed to do was text). You see, we continue to be attached to the phone so escape is actually harder.  Now, I have been known to get even pissier with the phone, knowing he can’t hear me, swearing at it, gesturing at it, even rolling my eyes at it, but then he sends a heart or some silly emoji and I’m hooped.  I suspect D does the same.
6. Yes, we have to work harder on communication.  There is no body language. When we text nor is there tone.  We try very hard to make sure that the other knows exactly what we mean.  D is learning to be patient with me on this one because apparently even after he “gets it” I need to tell him one more time.
7. Yes, there is a time difference and with work shifts, it can be very difficult to be in the same mind frame.  D is a morning person already thinking about lunch when I am waking up.  I am a night person and he is well into the night ready for bed when I am ready to have great philosophical discussions or make major decisions.  We, have made a reasonable compromise with this however as I get up a little earlier than I once did and he stays up a little later.
8. Yes, we have date night.  Crazy date nights sometimes.  There have been movies and popcorn, ukulele challenges, reading and dinners.  Yes, there are date nights.
9. Yes there are surprises.  One of my favourite things to do is surprise those I love.  I call it my “Better than a Bill” moment.  I have found random cards that I know are perfect and without a word, I send them in the post.  I like the idea of receiving something other than a bill.
10. No, we are not always on our best behaviour.  As with any relationship, being honest and true to who we are, is part of the package.

The longest time period that we have been together is 25 days.  The shortest is 3.  The shortest we have been apart is 18 days.  The longest since the initial 8 months at the beginning of our relationship is this time,  78 and the next will be 71.  Too long but when I am impatient, D becomes the patient one and the reverse is true as well, but I think I am the worst of the two of us on this matter.  Especially now, when we are pushing to the end.

I think that I have covered most of the questions here, at least the ones that I am asked. But if you have another, please feel free to put them in the comment section below.  We promise to answer.