The Look of This Christmas

I remember my mom saying " I never get a cold" while she sniffled, coughed and suffered with a cold. This Christmas I have thought of Mom's words often as I sniffle, cough and lay low recovering from a nasty cold. This Christmas also saw a lovely White family gathering at Chapin and Brianne's house a few days before Christmas, an invite to join the Nickersons for their pre Christmas dinner, a stay at home Christmas Eve and a delicious Christmas dinner at Ronnie and Louisa's home surrounded by their kids and grandkids. This Christmas was brown with just a skim of snow followed by heavy rain.This Christmas was warm and cozy and comfortable while we enjoyed the option of doing not much of anything.This Christmas saw our dear friend Paul in the hospital and Alice spending her Christmas by his side. For so many Christmases we gathered together for breakfast and again for supper and our thoughts were with them praying for answers and improved health. This Christmas also holds the dream and anticipation of Meg, Cody and the girls coming home for Christmas next year. This morning in my early waking hours I searched my minds eye for Christmases of the past. I thought of my childhood homes and where the trees were placed. I remembered my mother's Christmas table, the kid's table in the kitchen with Ken's boys and my kids sitting around it. I remembered our Christmas tables in this house and the several tree locations . I remembered the year the tree fell down on Boxing Day and I quickly untrimmed it and threw it out the front door before company arrived. Yesterday I stood and made moocha cakes, a laborious job I always watched my mother do. My youngest son commented on the lateness of such an effort but really better late than never.I read past Christmas entries from several journals this morning. Christmas Eve travel, Christmas day flights, lost luggage with a decaying turkey, power outages, Christmas Eve church services, small and large crowds around our table, phone calls from loved ones. Oh so many Christmases each one looking special and unique.But each one held the same wonderful things that Christmas 2019 has; family, friends, food, fun, memories and reflection,traditions and new beginnings, dreams and hopes, gratitude and contentment.

The Mom I Miss

I have given so much thought lately to the stages of life. I guess that begins to happen as we move through them , moving closer to the end stages. For almost a year I was blessed with weekly visits with Gladys. Each time I came away I was filled with gratitude for my current stage while at the same time so aware of the stages that have passed. In hearing her stories I relived my own. I have been busy getting my home prepared for Christmas and sometimes a fleeting question of why I bother creeps in. I will have some company over the holidays but my home is no longer the bustling center of Christmas for my kids. My across the road grandchildren will be in but my granddaughters out west will not have memories of Monkey's house at Christmastime. So sometimes I wonder why I bother . I woke up this morning knowing exactly why. Each moment of Christmas 2019 holds every other previous Christmas. Each twinkling light fills my heart with the joy of all that has been. I miss my mother and this morning I reflect on the mother I miss. I miss the mother who went to all the trouble to create Christmas for us. I miss her scotch cookies (even though I always picked off the cherry) I miss her mincemeat ( no other mincemeat will do) I miss her dining room table, her dressing, her excitement, her joy(and stress) in doing it all. I miss my father. I miss Red Wrap. I miss him trimming the tree each icicle placed individually and every ornament just so. I miss his generous surprises (like sewing machines and snowmobiles) I miss him carrying our stockings up stairs while we all pile in our parent's bed. I miss arriving at my parent's house with my own kids knowing we would be treated royally and with such love. I miss my Mom with her feet stretched out on the couch finally relaxing after the marathon of making Christmas happen.I miss the mom who surprised me on my 40th birthday (which is Boxing Day) with balloons on the railing and a drop in of friends. I miss the mom who always made me a birthday cake in the midst of all her Christmas cooking.I miss my little kids, each stage and each precious year. I miss the frenzy and the hectic pace and the anticipation. It is for that I spend hours placing each decoration and adding more twinkling lights. It is for the quiet moments in my warm and comfortable home that take me back to each of the stages that have passed and the loved ones I miss. And for Christmas 2019 I give thanks.

Back at Bayside

Yesterday I donned my teacher/author persona and spent the day at Bayside Middle School. That school has welcomed me for the last few years and yesterday's visit held the same quality and warm experience I have always had there. Twenty four bright and beautiful kids came through the door of Lori's room and spent the day with me. Each one was unique and wonderful in their own way and I was given the gift of glimpsing that uniqueness. I hope in some small way I was able to help them see it in themselves. In their writing I saw sorrows, pain, frustration, fear, confusion, insecurity, self criticism, past trauma and I saw hope, joy, strong family bonds,humor,courage and promise. Our lives intersected and the connection was so worth while. My hope for Sarah, MacKenzie, Paula, Layla, Tish,Justine, Izzy, Maddox,Oden, Liam,Emma,Abby, Dora, T ( a beautiful name she kept me from trying to pronounce), Ava, Brooke, Grace, Jasmine, Luke, Riley, Hannah, Isabelle, Reese, Kayley is that they remain exactly who they were born to be and that their spirits soar despite life's challenges. I remember Bayside Middle. I remember tables pushed together to seat twenty four eager kids ready to meet the author of the books they'd read. I remember learning their names getting Jasmine and Justine mixed up , stumbling over two beautiful names and given a shortcut to use instead.I remember Liam and Oden reading passages from the books they'd read and touching this author's heart. I remember questions so thoughtful and deep.I remember vulnerability and eye contact. I remember the 'I remember' pieces written that brought tears and caught me off guard, the humorous and the touching ones. I remember feeling the beauty of hope in the room. I remember coming away and walking out the door of Bayside Middle thankful for the privilege I am given to have days such as that.

I Love Mondays !

Oh boy I love Mondays. I have said this before but it bears repeating. I am a lucky duck! For as long as I can remember I dreamed of being a writer, of writing.I chased other dreams , becoming a teacher and a mother to four and tried to squeeze writing in. Years went by and life happened and for all of it I am grateful but on this day, this Monday I get to write. For ten years I have been a full time writer, putting writing first and fitting other things in.I have the time to write and I appreciate that every time I sit down in my office. I can of course fit in other responsibilities. I can take a long bath, go for a wood road walk or have an afternoon nap. I can take days off and clean my house, visit friends and family, go shopping,or do nothing. I can fit in Writer in the School visits and other writing related engagements. I can write on this blog which might sometimes seem like stalling or avoiding.But with all of that writing gets done. In my bath this morning I was given direction for the next chapter. I discovered more of a character's back story. And in the midst of it all I began to form this entry in my mind. My current work is a story about a writing retreat. Ten writers with dreams and aspirations, with sorrows and yearnings, with different pasts and challenges , but all with a need to write, gather for a writing retreat and a story unfolds. And in them all I recognize myself. So often writers battle with finding time, with claiming their need to write and with the struggle to make the writing happen. So I need to celebrate the fact that I have the privilege of writing. On Monday mornings I show up and the writing happens. Eight published books sit on my shelf and I will soon begin the editing work which will add the ninth to my living room bookends.And in all that I say to every writer out there, no matter where you are in your career, just write and be thankful for the day and the stories you are given.

December Days

What a beautiful December day it is. On this quiet Sunday morning I took the time to read back to these days last December. Oh how quickly the years go by. Standing in the pie line at last night's Kingston Baptist Christmas dinner I had the fleeting feeling that I had been there just a short time ago. My oldest grandson asked last night if the dinner the year before was on a Friday night.I said it had been a Saturday and he quickly relented stating that I would know because I write this stuff down.I love that he knows that about me. This year Skyler was Joseph and looked so adorable in his costume which covered his already adorable shirt and Christmas tie. I loved every second of spending time with those two boys .Bella was further down the table between her Mom and Dad but I got to sit beside and across from the boys. The wonder and thrill of that was written into my journal this morning. I read in last years entries that they came and cut their tree in our field the morning after. The boys told me they have found their tree but haven't cut it yet. What I am getting at with this meandering entry is the beauty and wonder of December days and establishing traditions.I am so thankful for them. This week we found our way through another birthday without Zac. We reflected on so much , cried our tears and looked ahead.This afternoon Kathy and I will go to Elmhurst for the Mike Biggar and Jessica Ray concert. It will feel familiar while being unique in its own way. I will take the time to enjoy these December days. My decorating has been delayed a bit as I wait for some painting to get done but I look forward to digging out the boxes and bringing out each treasured decoration. The time and work involved will be well worth it when I stand back and see my house dressed for the season.For all of this I give thanks this morning .

A Good Way to Start December

This morning I am basking in the sunshine streaming through my office window. I am also basking in some after book club stupor( not quite the right word)and gratitude. December 1st. I have changed the calendar , made my December goal list and now sit and ponder the transition from November to December. December a month so full of joy and sorrow. December a busy month so packed with memory, tradition and high expectation.On Dec 5th Zac would be turning 41. He will now have more birthdays gone than he had while with us.My baby boy, a man only in my dreams and imagination.So December is that. It is also so many wonderful things and I try to always dwell on the wonder and the gratitude of another Christmas . This will be the first Christmas that I have no parents. For years they celebrated Christmas in Florida and were not physically present on Christmas day but always a call, a card, a greeting. Last year Dad took great lengths to make sure he called all his grandchildren on Christmas day. He managed to reach each one of them.Last night I came home from a wonderful evening with women of Zac's age, mothers caught up in the hectic years of working, mothering and nesting, creating the memories and experiences their children will carry away. I was honored to sit in that circle feeling somewhat old but very much connected in that league of womanhood and motherhood with all the worry , sorrow, and joy it brings. Honored too as an author while the women who'd invited me discussed and brought 'Fear of Drowning'to life . They weaved their own family stories and their own feelings in to the observations and insights they shared. I had the privilege of hearing how my words and the work I do impacted them. They considered six generations of women in the book , made comparisons and spoke of the strength of each woman. We were all strengthened by the time together. This is the euphoria I feel when I come away from such meetings.The strength and resilience of women dealing with whatever it is that society throws our way. Some of the challenges they voiced are foreign to me and some so deeply familiar. Gwen who had invited me is the granddaughter of my dear friend Gladys who is now gone from us. I realized again last night just how much of an impact Gladys has had on me. As a woman now at the in between age, a woman younger than Gladys's 96 years and older than the forty year old women I met with I have wisdom to pass on , I have experience and life lived. I, like Gladys, have stories to tell and in all that there is a common bond. I drank my first rum and eggnog when I got home and welcomed the season ahead.

Reflections and Remembering

I had no intention of writing on my blog today. I have a bath run and a morning to get to. I write on Mondays and look forward to taking my WIP further along. But I went to my blog, reading entries from this time last year which I often do. So for the last few minutes I have been reading and crying.Reflection and remembering; time wasted or time well spent? For me it is the latter. For me it gives me hope and happiness remembering the blessings and challenges of the past. I will not get to enter my Aunt Alice's house again, I will not get to talk on the phone with my Mom or visit Gladys again but the essence and value of it all remains deep within my heart and memory. So to read back strengthens me and gives me the momentum for this day, for this approaching Christmas season,and for this season of my life.Maybe this is the exercise and warm up routine a writer needs. Feeling and remembering are fuel for the fire that I attempt to bring to the page.Ok the tears have been cried ,the emotional stretches done and I am ready for this day.

A Sorrow Shared

Yesterday afternoon I sat in a room with many others and let tears flow. We sat and witnessed sorrow, pain and joy and felt our own. For some it might seem like a torturous way to spend a Saturday afternoon but those who came to see Sheree Fitch and hear her read passages from her latest book 'You Won't Always be This Sad' were moved and touched by her honesty and vulnerability.That is not to say that seeing someone else's pain is easy. But carrying your own is no easy task either.Nothing easy about any of it. Sheree looked weary as she gave the last presentation of a grueling tour . She was anxious to get back home but still gave the afternoon her all. I have great admiration for Sheree Fitch.Our lives have intersected in several ways. Firstly we are the same age, both having December birthdays. Many of our experiences are similiar.We have seen the world unfold in the last sixty three years and have witnessed so many changes in society. We both got our degrees from St. Thomas University. Her writing career began years before mine. For me and countless others she was a beacon to follow. I was honored to have her blurb my first book. At the time she was struggling with her brother's illness and the fear of his passing. I was writing about the sorrow of losing Zac and she was so gracious with her support. Both our sons struggled with learning disabilities and we both know the deep pain of not being able to make things easier for our precious boys.The book she supported, The Year Mrs. Montague Cried went on to win the Ann Connor Brimer award which Sheree won in 1995 with Mable Murple. In 2018 we were both shortlisted for the Ann Connor Brimer. I was honored to be in her company. Charis Cotter won with her book The Painting.Another parallel came when Sheree lost her son Dustin and as she said yesterday ,joined a club no one wants to belong to.For three summers we have taken our granddaughter to River John to Sheree's Mabel Murple's bookstore,a delightful dream realized by Sheree and her husband Giles.This dream and her many books have impacted and touched countless people and I am just one of them. Thank you Sheree Fitch!

To Find Solace

I am not sure if I feel strong enough to write this entry this morning but still I write. I often have dreamed filled nights.When I wake up and say "I had a weird dream last night Burton always says"You have weird dreams every night. That may be true but some nights are harder and more emotionally draining than others. I still quite regularly have school dreams . The other night I took my whole class in the wrong direction at the end of the day and walked all the way to Belleisle causing them to miss the bus going home.My principal (Gary Caines) was very upset with me as we frantically called all the parents. Weird.Last night a had a small baby, was taking a bus through mountains to the Wal-Mart to finish my Christmas shopping, and dreamed a whole lot of other jumbled mixed up messes. But the one dream that impacted me the most and gave me the title for today's entry is the one responsible for my melancholy this morning.I seldom get a dream where I actually see Zac. Last night in one of my now fading dreams he stood beside me. He did not talk and when someone introduced him they said he was Solace. In my jumbled waking first moments the scene and his introduction spoke so clearly to me.Solace; a source of comfort and relief.I am weary this morning, I feel weepy and weak but I choose to see a dream with my oldest son standing beside me silently loving and supporting me as a gift, something in which I can find solace, strength and hope.So I wipe my tears and get on with it.

From Failing Hands

To the strains of the Last Post I begin this entry. Listening to 'In Flander's Fields' the line 'from failing hands' hits a mark within me. As Nov 11, 2019 approaches I have heard it mentioned several times of just how few World War Two veterans are still living .I recall the same being said of World War One veterans.My children's grandfather was a World War One veteran and they were often challenged on this fact by people thinking they must be wrong.My father in law became a father in his late fifties when most men become grandfathers. Our family is very proud of William Elias White's military service having fought at Vimy Ridge and Passendale. Remembrance Day has always been observed in our family with pride, reverence and deep emotion. My husband followed the military path and spent 44 years in the Canadian Armed Forces. He served in Afghanistan and stood willing his entire career ready to defend our country . He now stands in Legion dress making sure his comrades are not forgotten.His hair is white, his body and his mind show the strains of service and of duty.Many of his fellow soldiers suffer the effects seen and unseen of serving and struggle to find their way.To you from failing hands we throw the torch; be yours to hold it high.Lest we Forget.

Another Sunday Morning

My blog coach( aka daughter) said my last entry had a negative tone. I do realize that but make no apologies. As stated I do try to stay upbeat. On this rather grey day I do give thanks for the sun of yesterday. I was able to get outside in the lovely afternoon weather and tackle a bit of the mess. I put things away in the garden shed and put the tree stand, windshield scrapers and snowshoes in the front for easy access. I look ahead to the next season. The bare trees and stark landscape looks much different than it did a month ago. Life as we know it is different. Every evening when I walk by the lamp on the small table in the kitchen where the small framed picture of my Dad as a boy sits I recall my nighttime ritual of calling Dad before he went to bed. Our conversations were short. Toward the end his pain and frustration was so evident and I always breathed a prayer for a better day to come for him when I hung up the phone. I catch myself when that fleeting thought of needing to call my father comes. I think back to the days he spent here with us in the spring and hold tightly to each memory. Each meal we shared, each slow walk , each conversation, each game of Five Crowns, each time I came downstairs and saw him sitting in the corner of the living room is a treasure I hold. Funny how last year I was holding on to the minutes I spent with Mom as she laid in the hospital and then in her short nursing home stay. Those memories broaden out of course as far back as I can remember. This morning a line in a song brought me to lines my mother sang to me when I was a little girl.Memories , seasons, time change and change in general; for all this I give thanks on this another Sunday morning.

This Farm is a Mess

I used to read a picture book called This Farm is a Mess to my kids. I don't remember the story exactly but this morning it comes to mind. Often my blog entries are upbeat and positive even when dealing with grief, disappointment or challenges. I do not feel upbeat or glass half full this morning.I advised a friend the other night to journal her days whether good or bad to put words to her feelings and also to be able to look back and see accomplishment and survival on days she wasn't sure she could get through. I expect I'll get through this day but in the heavy rain and dark sky everything seems nasty.I have complained about turkey poop before and turkey poop is still a problem.I know turkey poop is not life threatening, not as terrible as California fires , war torn countrysides or terminal disease but this morning turkey poop represents all that is wrong on this farm.I am often quoted saying" I can't have nice things". Now I do know I have many nice things, I have a loving husband , wonderful kids and grand kids, great family and friends. I have a comfortable home, work I love, food to eat and so on and so on.I can usually put the blessings in the forefront and block out the messiness of my life. But on days like this I am reminded that the mess has to be confronted sometime. Enough is enough. Keep the damn turkeys off my new verandas.

For the Love of Scotland

I am sitting in my office in my home on the Walton Lake Road and am happy to be there. But part of my heart stayed in Craobh Haven, a small village in Scotland. Last night I spent some time looking at the self catering cottages we walked by many times during our time spent at Lunga House. My dream is to return and feel the wonder of that place again. I will reach out to the dear friends we made in those September days and entertain the possibility of going back. We mentioned as we parted the impossibility of truly going back to the exact factors that made those days so magical. But just returning to the place would be a start. Walking again down the winding road to the Lord of the Isles and sitting on the wide cement deck gazing out the the stunning views and serene marina would be a start. Venturing up the hill to visit Ian's gardens, popping over to see the progress Andy is making on the structure built around an ancient water wheel, strolling down to the shore and enjoying the company of good friends could happen if we wanted it to.This beautiful country and country side has now found its way into my heart and it will be hard to ignore that.Today I will go to the work I started there. I will spend time with the characters I discovered while writing in the strong sunshine sitting on a stone bench on the sprawling lawns of Lunga house. I will return and find that magic again.

On This Sunny Day

On this day I will be OK. I will take this day as the gift it is . I will do what I do and it will be enough. I will gaze out the window at the sunny hills their trees ablaze with color. I will cook a turkey that used to roam and flutter and squawk in our yard . I will clean a bit and organize taking pleasure in my home and my blessings. Thanksgiving will carry on from last weekend to this and I will allow thanksgiving to be my mantra. Thankful for family, for strong and steady fathers , for years of family and home, for daughters, granddaughters, grandsons and sons, for friends and community, for elderly friends who gave story and memory and her journal writing to so many, for harvest and good food, for promise and purpose, for time and lists of possibility, for days to be OK after difficult days, for wood road walks to look up at the sky and let it all fall into place. This day I will be OK .

Another Grey Day

Yesterday was a clear, sunny, beautiful Autumn day. From start to finish it was a day that was all about my Dad with my amazing sister in law thrown in,in the company of my kids, grand kids and my loving husband. The funeral service to celebrate the life of Leverett Bradley was lovely from start to finish. Friends and family gathered and paid tribute to a Godly man. I swelled with pride that the man they spoke of was my Dad. I was able to say a few words myself despite my prediction of not being able to put two words together.This morning I feel such relief that yesterday is behind me while knowing the days and months ahead of living without Dad will be the real challenge. I do have confidence though that we will find our way through it. But today , a grey, windy, wet day brings another sorrow. Today we celebrate the life of Gladys Marjorie Titus. Gladys has become a dear friend and I am so grateful for the time we spent together in the last year. I began Wednesdays with Gladys last November and for the most part visited her every week. What a treasure trove of stories she shared with me.She was struggling with her fear of dying , her declining health but her vivid memory of her rich past never faltered. She is the last of her siblings but leaves behind fifty five descendants all of whom she carried in her mind and heart knowing every birth date and every important event in their lives. She kept a death book and made sure Leverett Bradley was added in her last days even as she lay dying herself. The spot she reserved for herself with the instruction to be filled in later will now have her name , her death date and age. It is impossible to say just how huge this woman's influence reaches. Her descendants mourn her and feel the deep effect her life has had on theirs. They will gather today and give her the send off she deserves. I will be on the periphery mourning her loss in my life and saying goodbye to a dear friend ; a friend who was present at six of my book launches and will no doubt be present in most if not all of my future writing. Thank you Gladys Marjorie Titus.

Grey Days Amid Autumn Splendor

It is a weariness like none other ; a bone and brain tiredness that doesn't seem to budge even after a good night's sleep. I look at my eyes in the mirror and see the exhaustion. Tears seep to the surface with no bidding. Today I face the task of going through stacks of photographs and choosing the perfect ones to fill storyboards for the funeral parlor and to be put on a video loop set to selected songs and music. My brothers and I have bandied about ideas of who might do Dad's eulogy. Last year Ken and I both knew right away we wanted to speak at Mom's funeral and our big brother, the minister was doing the service of course. With Dad it felt different for some reason. I think for me part of that is due to this weariness I feel. I somehow doubt I could put one word in front of the other let alone put the effort into finding the right words ahead of time. Now for me the writer , the one so willing to share emotion and sometimes being accused of having diarrhea of the mouth, this seems unusual.But it is how it is this time. I have nothing to say. I have lots to feel though and will always feel deeply the love and support of an amazing father. He is in the core of my being and has shaped who I am. Despite my somewhat rebellious life I lived everyday in the shadow of his approval. He was nonjudgmental, kind and forgiving. He had genuine values and he was a man of integrity. Today I will gaze at pictures of the man who was my Dad . I will file each photo in my heart and allow the thankfulness for his eighty nine years on this earth to strengthen me for the days ahead. I know I will recover from this deep exhaustion and days will look brighter again. But on this grey day I will mourn and rest and remember.

Deep Breaths, Tears and Laughter.

Oh boy! On this beautiful October day I have some breathing to do, some tears to cry and some words that need writing. There is no possible way I could cram the last month into one entry and I am not even sure all of it will be written but it will be processed. I will walk my wood road where I can freely talk to myself. I will reread my journal and in quiet moments I will reflect on all the blessings, the gifts, the challenges and the difficulties this last month provided. I will relish my at home time and breathe in deeply the joy of home, friends and family. I will remember so much and let lots of things go. I will speak words out loud and write words down and feel words inside not always allowing them to escape. On Tuesday I was boiling over with anger , an emotion I don't often have to subdue and I am glad no humans were harmed .That anger lifted when I was able to look into my Dad's blue eyes and see the recognition and love they have always offered me. I was so afraid that my absence would rob me of that gift and even though not many words were exchanged I felt the assurance that all that needed saying had already been said on our brief exchange a week before and in my almost 63 years of being his daughter. Yesterday Dad spoke no words to me and only opened his eyes for a brief moment and the light was gone from them. He had packed his lunch and was ready to go. Just like he had been all his life once the plan was made he put the wheels in motion to carry them out. He had let go of all concerns for the future , he had found comfort in the memories of the past and he accepted his final journey. His strong body shut down and he peacefully took in his last breath . We stood by his bedside and watched him go.So now we take breaths, we carry on, we remember and celebrate and we keep giving and loving until it is our time to leave.

Thursday at Home

Today is a wonderful day to stay home, to enjoy and prepare myself for days of travel and being away from home.I am so thankful for the sun and all that has come together to get me to this day.I believe most of the planning and preparation for our trip has been done.At the same time I have attended to family ,to my work,to household duties and decisions and to summer activities.I do think loose ends are tied up. Long lists have been checked off and only short lists remain. Today I will cook a batch of mustard pickles, go for a wood road walk and go for a swim.I will breath in the September air and take in my beloved home. Hurricanes rage to the south of us and will probably bring heavy rain to our annual corn boil. I pray for the people affected by the devastation and speak words of thankfulness for the security and peace of this day.

And Then it is September Again

I love September. I love the change in the air and the buzz of excitement as school starts up again and the season begins to gradually change. I love returning to my desk and I look forward to the approaching days and weeks. This September brings travel and adventure and I am looking forward to that. At the same time part of me is lamenting leaving the place I love during the month I love. I remember being home on mat leave after Chapin was born and loving the beautiful September days. I expect to get in the lake a few more times but don't think my total of swims will match last years . I was later getting in I guess but didn't miss many days of the wonderful gift my lake is to me.Somehow I will manage without the peace and healing it provides anticipating returning to its waters next year. I will find that peace and comfort on my wood road walks.I will watch the leaves turn on the trees and feel the cooling temperatures. Renovations will be completed and winter's wood will be brought in. I will after returning from my travels get back to the work I love.We will celebrate three family birthdays and acknowledge the first anniversary of Mom's passing. Today on the day that always brought transition from summer to a busy September I will celebrate the wonderful feeling of welcoming whatever will be . Labor day,summer's last holiday, a day to reflect, rally and regroup.Thank you July and August for all you were and bring on September!

The Second Half of Life

I attended a lovely funeral yesterday for an almost 103 year old woman. Her grandson lovingly eulogized her and referred to the two halves of life. He commented on how in looking around the room he deduced most of the crowd was already well into their second half. I spoke to two girls afterward who are 50 and almost 52 and we spoke about their mother who died at the young age of fifty one. I often think about life, death ,young lives and older lives and the wisdom I glean is ongoing. I know at age 62 I am no longer middle age. I am well along the second half and I am grateful for every day. I still as do most of us struggle with making sense of it all but this I do know; the time to be happy is right now. The blessings to be counted are the ones we currently have not the ones we wish for. Waiting to be content with our lives is a waste of the day we are living. That is not to say of course that we should not aspire to goals and dreams for our future but this should not push out the wonderful gifts our life has right this minute.A beating heart,breath, wellness, food, shelter, family, friends, beauty and hope.I could go on but I have a day ahead to live to its fullest.

When the Teachers Go Back

It is chilly. It seems as if the weather took a plunge as an obvious gesture announcing the finish of summer. I am hopeful that the temperature will climb again and we will have many more summer like days and lots more lake swims. But this morning the chill seemed fitting. At 9;00 I made my way to Fullerton's market to met four other retired teachers for coffee celebrating not having to return to our classrooms and the all consuming days of late August and September. No thoughts of setting up classrooms , processing class lists and attending long staff meeting filled our minds as we sat drinking our coffee on the lovely patio at our inviting corner market. Hot coffee, delicious doughnuts and cool air. We draped blankets over our legs feeling the chill for the first time in this hot and beautiful summer of 2019. We discussed many things and mentioned often our freedom and the pleasure and privilege of retirement ( and good health). We welcomed Kathy to our ranks on this her first day of not having to return to school. We thought of the younger teachers now filling the roles we once had.I enjoyed this coffee time but was anxious to get back home and get to my office. For the eleventh time I get to return to my writing on the day the teachers go back. I will have some interruptions this September and am so thankful for our trip to Scotland. I will be participating in another Go and Write Retreat and look forward to the gifts and interactions that will bring. But today I am thrilled to be in my office. The chilly temperature and overcast skies are a welcome break and make it easier to be inside. I still hear pounding and productive activity outside as our renos continue. The siding has moved to the last wall and I see an end in sight. I feel so fortunate to be able to give our beloved home a face lift , a new lease on life and also look forward to the end of building clutter and chaos. To begin I will re-read the manuscript I hope to see released in the spring. I will begin work on the character development of ten characters in my next novel. One came to me this morning forcing her way to the front of my brain and challenging me to get to know her better.So best of luck and good thoughts to all the teachers today and happy writing to me!

As The Fog Lifts

We have had a beautiful summer.I have gazed so many times at the bright blue sky dotted with beautiful fluffy white clouds. I have floated on my back in the refreshing waters of my beloved lake. I have repeatedly mouthed words of thanksgiving and awe at the wonder and magnitude of my blessings. I have had more good days than bad and am so grateful for that.The sun has been balanced with healthy rains and the garden has flourished. My own personal well being has flourished as well but I sometimes find myself bogged down with worry and concern.Sometimes the fog overwhelms me and I search for the brightening sky, the gap in the grey cloud cover. I can usually make my way to the lake and immerse myself in the healing waters it provides. I can often list myself out of the doldrums feeling the checked items lift some of the weight of worry. Last year at this time I was navigating my mother's final days. We did not know she would leave us in one short month but we felt the burden of her decline. As I read the journal entries of those days I feel again the hopelessness , the fear and the sadness . This year under different circumstances I feel the same feelings watching my strong and independent father's decline. Oh how I wish I could make these changes easier for him. One day at a time, one task, one list, accepting my limited ability to steer his course. On this somewhat grey day I wait for the sun and the bright skies. I take comfort in my blessings and in my resources. I am thankful for friends, for family and for a medical system that supports us. I pray for brighter days ahead for my dear dad. I pray that I am able to show the love and patience he needs.

And on With August

Double digits of August. Ponder that a moment. If you are a teacher it looms huge and heralds the return to school. If you are a writer that takes the summer off you look ahead to getting back to your desk. The evenings are a bit shorter, the night and early morning air a bit cooler. The garden is bursting with peas, beans, and small cucumbers hang from the vines. The corn rows are taller, the sunflowers continue to reach toward the sky. Our renovations continue to slowly but surely progress changing our home weekly. The girls are gone leaving a lovely July behind. I face each day with the wonder of choice. Rain soaked the dry ground and gave everything a boost. I will attend to tasks to assist my father in his present stage of life.We approach the first year anniversary of loosing Mom.Burton and I look ahead to our days of travel and adventure in September. But today is August. Today I will swim. I will putter away at household tasks enjoying the sun streaming through new windows. I will pick peas and beans. I will cook a turkey from last year as I watch this year's parading through our fields.We will feast on new vegetables and welcome a friend to our table. The week ahead holds some lunch dates with friends,and an invitation to Denise's camp for the third summer book club. Planning, processing and playing, all the gifts August gives me.

Happy New Brunswick Day

It is packing day. The girls are still sleeping hopefully resting up for the travel ahead. A couple of people have commented that they read between the lines of my last few blog entries and sensed my exhaustion.Today as I scour the house to find everything the girls need to pack I will think of the last five weeks; the fun, the laughter, the road trips ; the memories and I will think of the gift I've had in getting to know my granddaughters at the age and stage they are now living. I will also think of the exhaustion, some of it coming simply from being busy , from keeping up with a ten year old and an almost eight year old. Part of it though is the energy given to being the grandmother I need to be to be, to love, encourage and manage two unique people thrown into a family and into our lives for five weeks. I have often been accused of being a control freak, a bit too strong of an assessment I think but I do know I often have to remind myself that things are not in my control. But as the grandmother I have the job of guiding and directing of managing and defusing when no parent is nearby. This job seems overwhelming sometimes and I think this is what exhausts me the most.No reading between the lines there. I am one tired Monkey. One grandparent told me yesterday that he is exhausted after five hours with grandchildren let alone five weeks. I know all this on this another New Brunswick day when I have to get my girls ready to go back to Alberta. I love this time together and I love getting my quiet life back. I love the things we have done together and the deeper connection we have made having another July together. I love my girls unique personalities and am thrilled I have gotten to know them even better. For all our ups and downs I know the love and attachment is strong. Contrary to Emma's angry declaration I know I will be invited to her wedding and look forward to being her special Monkey on that day. No rush for that day though. No rush for this day to be over either.Today their laughter, their chatter, their presence fills this house and the void they will leave will be felt by Monkey and Toad ; who this year have morphed into Monkco and Grampo. The sun shines , the lake awaits and this day is ours to enjoy. For that I am thankful .

Sixty Three Diapers and other Challenges

Another quiet moment suited for blog writing. One girl still sleeping the other fed , snuggled for a bit and now watching kid's shows.Yesterday I managed to squeeze in a visit to Gladys.It had been over a month since I'd seen her last as the days of July have been busy grand parenting. As always she quickly went in to story telling mode and during my short visit I saw glimpses of a life so fully lived. A trapped mouse scurrying around the bottom of her carry on bag on her cross Canada train trip with Charlotte. And the recollection of a young relative of Eldon's visiting and complaining about how much work there was to do on the farm. After given the task of hanging the laundry Deidre came back inside declaring the fact she had just hung out sixty three diapers.I thought of Gladys washing and putting each of those diapers through the wringer on a hot summer day. I thought of the multitude of tasks and challenges faced in ninety six years of living. I thought of my own collection of experiences and hurtles faced in my almost sixty three years. Those challenges change yearly and daily. My own pile of sixty three diapers different but just as daunting by times. Yesterday's difficulty was telling my seven year old granddaughter that her beloved kitty, Wendy had had to be put down the night before,that the white kitty she asks about in every conversation with her parents would not be at home to greet her when she returns. I held her while she sobbed and felt her deep sense of loss and sorrow.She talked to her mother , called her sister, fell into her uncle's encircling arms, called her Dad, spent time with her beloved 'twin'cousin,got caught up in the White family Game Night and found her way through the first hours of her loss.This day we will welcome a quiet stay at home and do nothing day. We will swim and allow the lake to enfold us. We will rally, re-group and let the day be what we need it to be.Em says she will read a lot. I will straighten up, clean out my fridge, hang out my sixty three diapers so to speak which really just means ,I will do what needs to be done.

Running the Last Lap

The girls are still sleeping and I may be writing this entry as an avoidance tactic but here goes. Our five week marathon of grand parenting is approaching its last lap. As other years I have hit the wall, felt the exhaustion and dragged my weary self through a day hoping that a good night's sleep would energize me to keep going. As some things are easier with the girls getting older some seem more challenging. Part of my fatigue of course is my own aging body and I often experience the same depletion of energy and optimism with or without granddaughters. I am a keeper of lists to help me re-group , to see the light at the end of the tunnel , to motivate and propel me forward. So on this quiet Sunday morning I look to the last lap of the visit of Summer 2019. I look at all the blessings and rewards, the hugs , laughter and wonderful bonding and make a plan to tackle the remaining days mindful of fitting in the things that matter.We need a bonfire, a late night swim, more cousin time ,and lots more laughter.I will put aside the frustration of clutter and mess. I will try not to see the things I do not get done but concentrate on the work that is accomplished and the most important work is spending time with the girls until they leave us for another year. While I run this last lap I have a new novel percolating in my head. A possible title snuck in yesterday and we will see if it sticks. All jobs just like my writing will wait until we are ready to do them. We constantly have to evaluate what needs to be done immediately and what we can put off to another day.When the first granddaughter puts her feet on the floor this morning my most important task will be to be Monkey, to put the time we have together first and make these days count. I will of course sweep floors , do the laundry, pull some weeds and make some meals but the important work is the reading of stories, the playing of games, the jumping in the lake, the snuggling and paying attention to the wonder of these two little girls.

Can You Feel the Love Tonight?, Circle of Life and So On

The girls are now counting sleeps and days until they go home. It was just awhile ago they were counting sleeps to come to Monkey and Toad's. Memories have been made, time has been spent and we have felt the love. Last night we went to see The Lion King. Grampie and Emma sat at the back and Paige and I sat near the front. The beauty,the soundtrack and the story of course touched us all. On the way home Emma asked" When will I go from being Little Toad to Middle Toad?" She thinks she is not little anymore and was negotiating a name change with her grandfather. I suggested Teen Toad when she hits thirteen. The girls discussed this categorizing the teen years. Settling on being Teen Toad from thirteen to nineteen. At that point Grampie said" You won't still be coming when you are nineteen." Both girls shouted" Yes we will " in unison. Although we doubt that, it thrilled us both to hear it. Yesterday Em announced her wedding would take place in New Brunswick.At supper Paige talked about moving here and trying to convince her parents to do so. Our time together is not geared for brainwashing with the end result of getting our daughter to come back home but our granddaughters definitely feel the tug of the East Coast so I guess that is a positive side effect.There are less sleeps before going home than the sleeps they have already had at Monkey and Toad's this summer. Paige told her mother last night that the weeks go by too fast. So do the years by the way. Teen Toad and second Teen Toad will be here before we know it . These days will vanish onto the pages of my journal and into our collective memories. The circle spins and the love is felt and for that this grandmother is filled with gratitude ( a bit of exhaustion ) but so much gratitude.

Rainbows, Peggy's Cove and Weed Free Corn Rows

I just returned from my second glorious lake swim of the day. I was determined to get the corn rows finished today and I did. As I pulled weeds and hoed I could hear the background noises of sawing and hammering. I had an occasional visit from my granddaughters who kept themselves busy but checked on Monkey now and again. Emma even brought me out a lovely drink of ice cold water.My trusty bug suit kept the bugs away from my upper body while they feasted on my bare legs.Once in awhile I would gaze at the rows I have not gotten to yet and feel a brief twinge of guilt and anguish over the weeds not yet pulled. I would quickly give myself the Rome was not built in a day talk. I thought of the comparison to writing a book and how it can only be completed one word at a time, one sentence, one chapter, one small idea really.I could easily get myself in a state over what doesn't get done, the overwhelming-ness of it all but I do know that mindset does not help one little bit.We did not go to Peggy's Cove but the hammering and sawing was happening as the crew started our siding which is called Peggy's Cove. It is a lovely dark grey wood siding and the windows are being trimmed out in white. As I drove down the driveway to go for my last swim I did not let myself look. I wanted to wait and have the reveal when I drove back up the driveway. The girls made comments; " It's really nice Monkey", "It makes it look more like a farmhouse". The driveway side is only about half done but I already know I love it. We had our reservations about covering the cordwood. Meg said" no one will know it's a cord wood house". I replied "I will know". And of course anyone who has been around in the last thirty years will know as well. But it was time for an update, a makeover , a fresh look and I am pleased with our choice.Last night Grampy,the girls, Aunt Louisa ,Anthony and I had a game night. During our first game lightening flashed, there was a loud bang, a clap of thunder and the flicker of lights. This was followed with a downpour. Grampie went to get Cale who was haying. Shortly after the sky cleared a beautiful rainbow stretched across the sky.We rushed to the front veranda to take in its beauty.So this afternoon as I quickly write this entry before heading downstairs to make supper I ponder the title and give thanks for family, for beauty, for goals and achievements for a home and for my lake of course.

To Reach For the Sky

Just a quick entry in the quiet of an already hot day. My two girls sleep peacefully and I will attempt to spend an hour in the garden. To look at the glass half full, my abundance of blessing and to put aside the worry, the sadness, the self criticism is the goal of this beautiful day. Dreams often take me to the dark places to the underlying tensions I try to avoid. Some of these tensions I know I create myself in my own head and expand them to be larger than they really are. To expand the positive and the wonderful is a more enabling activity and this I will do today. How can my heart not swell with the smiles of grandchildren, the hug of my husband the wag of a big black dog's tail? How can I not be filled with amazement as I dip deep in my beautiful lake and allow the rippling water to cover me? As I look up at the vast sky how can I not fill with hope , with vision and gratitude? To look this morning at the green shoots of sunflowers, of bean plants, of green leaves of the pea plants unfolding, of corn shoots reaching to the sky instead of the weeds,and the thistles attempting to choke out the good. Doubt, failure, insecurity and disappointment can do the choking and it is my choice to not allow it. A dream is just a dream. Morning comes and we have the choice of what we see and what we choose to give our minds and hearts over to.Let the choices I make on this beautiful July day be the better ones.

The Lake is Always on the List

Every month I make a list of goals in my journal. This morning I checked the last couple of things off and the only thing left on June's list is 'go out to get the girls.' Very soon my days will be full of many of the regular things but with two little girls thrown in. This is a privilege we do not take lightly. Each summer we spend with our growing granddaughters adds to the memory bank and repertoire of who we are to them and they to us. How amazing to watch these girls grow with the backdrop of beautiful summer days. Yesterday as I swam alone I envisioned Emma swimming along with me. She will be so excited to hit the water. Paige will too but Emma's attachment to the lake goes further back and is strong. It was her who jumped in with her grandparents on a Thanksgiving weekend years ago and let out a collective holler before we ceremoniously said goodbye to the lake for another season.They both love Grampie's announcements of "Let's go for a late night swim".I have the garden all planted and look forward to my daily inspections of growth and plan to include the girls in the observations of each row as the plants burst through and take on their shape and size.My writing is done for the summer and will take it's place in the back of my mind . Ideas will simmer and wait for my return. I did not bring my WIP as far as my June goal set out but I know it will be there when I return.The work and the goals for July and August will replenish my heart and my soul and will prepare me for going back to my keyboard. The hours spent weeding, hoeing and marveling at the miracle of growth will fill me up. Hearing my girls laugh, tell stories, have fights and fits( hope there are not too many) will echo for months to come while we are separated from each other. Not every grandparent gets that gift year after year and we are so thankful. All our sleepovers are wrapped into the six weeks we have them so spending time with them and the activities we plan will take precedence on my goal list. And of course the lake will always be on those lists.Happy Summer everyone!

In the Lake Again

Two days ago I went for my first lake swim of the 2019 season.I recorded the date after finding the journal where the previous years first swim dates are written down. Not the earliest and not the latest but noteworthy never the less. Noteworthy for me anyway who considers a swim in the lake a spiritual experience. Each year that I am afforded that gift is another year I am given to live this blessed life. Yesterday I dropped the first seeds in this year's garden. I drop them with hopefulness despite last year's failures. I drop the tiny sunflower seed hoping for a towering plant to grow. Today I will devote the whole day to getting all the other seeds in the ground. Burton will devote his time to building a fence around the garden to keep out the roaming farm animals and pecking hens. In a bit more than a week I will bring our girls home for another summer. They arrive older and changed from who they were last year. Hopeful and thankful and believing in the promise of summer. The jump in the lake is always an effort that pays off.It always begins with the debate that goes on on my head as I wade in convincing myself to let go of the fear, the doubt, the discomfort so I can receive the blessing, the refreshment and the joy. Believe in the beauty and the bounty and let the worry go. Maybe we will not get enough rain, maybe animals will break down the fence, maybe we will not weed and hoe as much as we should but still we try.The lake ,the garden, the grandchildren, the wonder of a summer's day all worth believing in.So today do the work needed to start the process, drop those seeds and believe and later go jump in the lake. A garden from a previous summer.Granddaughters from a previous summer.

Summer Reading, Wind Down Writing,Swimming and the Like(and the lake)

It seems Spring has been hiding, Summer only giving us a brief glimpse and June is upon us. But today I see it looming. I see days ahead filled with summer preparation and planning. The garden has been tilled, seeds purchased and the time for tackling the outside has arrived. Instead of sitting at this keyboard I need to get outside. I will only take a few more writing days and getting my WIP to page 50 seems daunting.Finishing up a writing season to make way for the gifts of Summer.Yesterday I saw a Summer Reading Contest launched by the Chronicle Herald. I was thrilled to see Fear of Drowning in the array of book covers. How wonderful to offer it up for summer reading as this writer winds down and gets ready for the all that summer offers her. At the end of the month I will travel out and get the girls bringing them back to NB for another summer. We will take our road trips, enjoy our relaxing at home days, have our bonfires and late night swims. We will jump in the lake , snuggle and laugh; make memories and have adventures.We will plant the garden, weed and harvest. We will do some summer reading of our own. We will visit Mable Murples and choose books from the bountiful shelves. We will look out through brand new windows at the blossoms and greenery that surround us.We will sit on new verandas and breath the morning air.Sometimes the tasks seem overwhelming, the list too long but every other year the jobs get tackled and we do the best we can. Books do get written one page at a time, one word , one sentence growing and becoming the finished work. Today we will begin and see where the Summer of 2019 takes us. And for each minute, each day and each challenge we will be thankful.

My Windows on the World

Today is window day. Major renovations have begun, firstly with the replacement of all the downstairs windows. Most of the upstairs ones have been replaced gradually in the last few years. It seems strange that time has passed and the windows coming out are so old. I remember clearly the excitement of a new build, a long dreamed of and worked toward house that rose on top of this hill;the wonder and thrill each time I turned onto the driveway and could see the house I was coming home to.I remember the family we raised within these walls, the life we lived and the memories we made.So here we are thirty years later replacing weathered windows and covering our cord wood walls with insulation and siding. Change, adaptation, renovation, keeping up and making improvements.For some reason this fills me with emotion and my eyes fill with tears as I write this.I feel so thankful to be able to make these changes, to update and improve the home I love.But I feel a bit overwhelmed. Perhaps the deary weather, my weariness and a headache is making me emotional.I will get back to my writing. I will take this upheaval in my stride and refrain from delving any further into the sentimental side.New , clean , airtight windows. What's not to like about that?

Take a Deep Breath

Oh the gift of this day. The gift of my comfortable home (and bed). The gift of my loving husband. The gift of my two loyal dogs.The gift of my bathtub and scalding hot water.The gift of time and silence and clearing my head.My last entry spoke of the chaos and the demands of the days ahead. A former student responded to that entry and gave me assurance that the blessings of home would be waiting for me . Her words gave me such comfort . I know this to be true . I have on so many occasions felt the wonder of arriving home after busy and chaotic days away so it should not surprise me. Today I take a deep breath, I process all that has been and all the blessings the last few days afforded me. My daughter and granddaughter were among the best of those blessings. Our time seemed rushed, brief and sporadic but so meaningful. Emma's smile as she walked through the airport gate with such joy in surprising her Monkey will hold a special place in my memories of these days. My beautiful daughter's quiet presence interspersed with wit and wisdom while she worked through her physical pain to be a part of my celebration was so appreciated. They were blessed with safe travel back home to their life and the challenges they face in the next few weeks.Years ago when Caleb was just a little boy I attended a Maritime Writer's Workshop. They were held at UNB and I was lucky enough to attend two of them. Thinking back it was Burton who made that first one happen for me. He heard about it on CBC and pushed me to register. At the time the $300 plus entry fee seemed extravagant and impossible but he made it happen . Leaving four kids seemed impossible too but we worked it out. I remember writing five year old Caleb a letter that week explaining to him where I was , why I was away and that I was a writer and being a writer would take me away, sometimes for a few minutes , a few hours, days or weeks at a time. I acknowledged that in my time away changes would take place. He would be a little browner, a little taller and a little closer to leaving me and becoming a man. I reminded him of the day he climbed on my lap and hugged me when he found me crying in front of the words I'd written on the computer screen.He'd said. "Read it to me Mommy". After I read the passage his reply was " That's you isn't it Mommy." Last night it occurred to me as I looked at my son ,now a tall handsome man that he still watches as I write the words , cry the tears and take those words out to the wider world. He knows his mother is a writer and he like his sister, his brothers and his father have been with me every step of the journey.That loving support ,deep breaths, a grateful heart, and rejuvenating days will keep this writer going.

The Calm Before the Chaos

Compared to the quiet, steady, predictable pace of my weeks this week will be controlled and welcome chaos. I will be able to begin the days with my journal writing breakfast time but will need to quickly get myself in gear to rise to the expected tasks of each day. Those tasks are pleasant and welcome and planned . They have been on lists for months as I got myself prepared and did the preparations needed to bring them about. I booked the flight that will bring Meg home for her mother's eighth book launch.I bought a dress, ordered a cake ,we booked the Legion and did whatever else needed done. Meg made the comment the other night how launch day is all about me. She might be correct on that account but a part of me would rather retreat and stay home alone knitting dish cloths and choosing shows to watch on the PVR. But I write books. I sit for long, quiet hours crafting stories and then I send them to my publisher and then my editor and I work at perfecting them and then the process results in a book. I then have to launch or send that book out into the world.So I take the books to a local venue where I am supported by friends and family.I have many wonderful memories of my previous launch nights. Driving into the farmer's market parking lot and seeing the many cars already parked there. Former students milling about celebrating the work their teacher shared with them over the years. Friends and family members lovingly introducing me.Nervousness,laughter tears. Milk being left in the car defeating the purpose of all my careful planning. Glenda's gift of chocolate chip cookies. Hugs and tears. Emma and Lilah tending to the technical details of the musical interludes .Chunky babies and curly haired toddlers in their mother's arms. Getting to see Headliner for the first time when I entered the Legion already filling with people. Calvin and Robbie providing music and an atmosphere that was perfect. Butter tarts and cake, ice cream,sprinkles and toppings.Graduations, weddings, birthdays and anniversaries sharing the week with the book launch.Busy , hectic wonderful moments of exhaustion and second guessing.So today I will check my lists and make new ones. I will choose my outfit, I will clean and wash bedding. I will read aloud the selections I have chosen. I will write a bit enjoying the real reason I put myself through this. I will let this day unfold and get myself ready for the week ahead. This launch as some before will be followed by another writing event that will require me to step up and participate. In 2015 I left shortly after for the week long TD BOOK tour in Ontario. One year I went on a Hackmatack tour to Nova Scotia.Last year I traveled to Halifax to attend the Atlantic Book awards as The Memory Chair was shortlisted for the Ann Connor Brimer. WFNB's Word Spring event takes place around book launch time. This year WordSpring takes place the day after the launch , and on Saturday night I have the honor of attending the NB Book Awards Gala with Headliner shortlisted for the Mrs. Dunster Fiction prize. Controlled and welcome chaos forcing me to leave the quiet comfort of my home and my happy solitude.The moments that seem to be all about me are so far from being all about me. They are about the people I love and who love me, the friends who carry me, the support of my publisher and editor ,the healing gifts of my wood road and of the vast sky above me, the sleepy dogs sprawled out on my office floor whose gentle breathing reminds me to breath and treasure each day.

This is Our Daughter

My heart is bursting on this beautiful sunny Sunday/Mother's Day.My mind is full too and I will attempt to unload some of the heartfelt thoughts percolating in my brain. First thing I saw out the window this morning when I came downstairs to put the coffee on was one of our cows laboring to give birth in the pasture. She appeared to be flailing and struggling while the entire herd circled around her. The two young calves frolicked nearby sometimes getting too close and being 'spoken to' by one of the elders.It was a frightening, exciting scene.But it unfolded in a natural and beautiful manner. Mama got to her feet and with a final push the calf was delivered. The aunts and father continued to circle giving support.Mama licked baby calf and forced it to its wobbly feet. Now a few hours later the calf suckles and frolics near Mama's side. Every now and then the two big cousins get too rambunctious and too close for Mama's liking and she puts the run to them. Amazing and so like human motherhood and family.Burton and I just returned from the Legion where we had brunch with Chapin, Brianne and the kids. My heart rejoices in the miracle of that family. The 'cousin family' Paige named them last summer and the name stuck. The Young White's was how Chapin signed my Mother's Day card. Motherhood, family: the wonderful plan to nurture children. I had Dad to the cardiologist on Thursday and he introduced me to the doctor as 'Our daughter.' It warmed my heart . Even though one half of the our is now missing and I celebrate this first Mother's Day without my mother my Dad's words honor her part in who I am. My heart is full and I see this day as an opportunity to just allow the wonder of motherhood to surround me. I acknowledge the fact it is the twentieth year of missing my oldest son. I pray for the four mothers in Miramichi who are feeling that loss today on their first Mother's Day after their sons and daughter's deaths. I pray for motherless children, fathers who must carry on . I give thanks for the privilege I was given to mother four children ,and continue to hold my children in my heart , to be grandmother to five children and Nanny Sue to four others,to be like a loving mother in my classroom for 29 years and to now write books with stories of mothers, of families, of imperfection and of love.

The Rhythm of Our Days

Rhythm as a musical term refers to movement, repetition of a beat,a pattern produced by the combination of accent,metre and tempo. The rhythm of our lives, of our day to day , week to week and season to season often takes on a musical quality . Consider the variety of rhythms in the many types of music. The slow waltz, the disco beat, the frenzied staccato, a country ballad and on and on. I just returned from a nice slow and steady paced walk with my 89 year old Dad. We sat for awhile on a bench by our brook and talked some but also took in the sounds of the babbling brook and the rustling leaves. Two busy black dogs ran in and out of the water retrieving sticks. I have thought a lot lately about the stages of our lives. I clearly recall the busy life of a mother and full time teacher raising four children. Many days were like a whirlwind and one extra thing thrown in could topple the equilibrium. It often seemed that things came all at once. The more you were juggling the more got thrown your way. Some days the music seemed too loud, too crazy , too ear splitting and mind bending. It seemed if one more thing came at you the rhythm of your carefully orchestrated day would implode. I have fewer of those days at this stage of my life. Safe to say I seldom deviate from the well established predictable cadence of my days. I treasure this predictability and use days like this one to build up the strength needed for the more demanding days. I am watching my Dad who is unable to do many of the things that gave meaning to his days and feel his sorrow and frustration. I watch my children caught up in those frenzied days of working and raising kids and facing life's challenges. I sometimes want things to slow down for them , the music to get calmer. I want to give support , offer wisdom and solutions to those younger and those older. I do know stuff and have some experience and lessons to share. I have compassion and understanding and I will continue to give what I can . The truth of it is though that each must find their own way to adapt to their current situation.The tools that will empower them come from within and from embracing the rhythm of the days they find themselves living. That's all I've got today and I have to get supper on the table for my father who likes the steady rhythm of predictable mealtimes.

You'll Know When you Get There

Last night I indulged myself in a movie marathon, watching four movies in a row. Burton had gone to Moncton for a dart party and I had the luxury of time. That is not to say I could not watch non stop TV with Burton at home but there is something about being able to watch whatever you please in private and allow your emotions to run untethered. The first movie I chose was Life Itself. I had heard it mentioned but had no expectations. An unexpected treat was when a few minutes in one of my favorite actors (Mandy Patinkin) showed up. He didn't stay quite long enough but played a pivotal part in the unfolding story.Then I watched Special Correspondents and enjoyed Ricky Gervais and his understated hilarity. The next movie had a long name I don't quite remember but had performances by Dustin Hoffman , Emma Thompson and Adam Sandler that were memorable.I chose the last movie, 'The Hollars' when I probably should have been heading up to bed, thinking I would just watch a bit of it. I watched the whole thing and was sad for it to end. The wisdom and beauty I was given gave me the title of this morning's entry. Oh what a rich and rewarding life we live when each day offers morsels of wisdom and truth.I am so grateful that each day I am shown something that strengthens me and fills my emotional toolbox. Last night it was a mother facing a life threatening illness telling her son who was overwhelmed with the challenges facing him, that he'll know when he gets there that he is OK. Anyone who knows me well knows my two mantras "everybody's Ok,and I'm Ok. " Burton always counters with " Yes everyone's OK" or "yes you are OK".Yesterday I made a list ( another thing I do ) I listed a few things that if they were to come to be instantly by some genie in the bottle magic, my worry would subside. Reflecting on the list and discussing it with my daughter later I realized that even if some magic made the list materialize there would be worry and concern still. You'll know when you get there that you will be OK. Oh boy that is huge and what it really means of course is that you already possess all you need to be OK ;each other, love, hope, strength ,compassion and past proof that you were OK when you could not imagine you could be.Tears run down my cheeks as I wrap this up. My THERE is today and today I am OK. I chose this picture just because I like it.A wise man sits astride a big pig to entertain his granddaughters.No pigs were harmed.

Funereal Flooding

In an attempt to find a word starting with F ( not a four letter word) to put with flooding I came upon the word funereal. Sad , gloomy, dismal; the definition of funereal seems right on for the feelings surrounding these days of flooding and the deep sadness of the past week. A father and young son taken in a canoe mishap, four young lives taken as the vehicle they were in careened off the road into deep water, bombings in Sri Lanka killings hundreds on Easter Sunday.Dark and dismal days accompanied by constant updates of damaging flood waters.Where to find hope in the midst of such devastation is the challenge. I remember struggling with the same feelings last year watching friends , neighbors and communities going through record flooding. I know I am not alone in this. I do constantly remind myself of my blessings and can not even imagine all of what some are facing .We wait for the sun to shine knowing it will not change the sorrow only make it more bearable. We must keep our compassion, cling to our humanity and rise above the funereal and the flooding to carry on. As I write I sense a brightness coming over my shoulder through my office window. Not bright, warm sunshine but a glow of sunlight nevertheless reminding me of better days. Hope is the lifeline we cling to and on this day I pray for hope to abound in the lives of all those affected by the losses and devastation of the past days. I take comfort in the hope that abounds in my own heart and home.

And on We Go

I laid in bed awhile this morning remembering the morning after twenty years ago. I did not allow myself to stay there , to get stuck in the deep sadness of it but got myself out of bed and into this day. That is the beauty, the gift and the challenge. One day, one foot in front of the other. The only way we have come this far and the only way blessings have unfolded amidst the pain. So today I look to the rest of April's days and the coming of May. I look ahead to many exciting and happy things that will surface and move us along. I await book number eight and am so thankful for my work. May has many writing related events and I look forward to participating and being present in them. June will bring summer and our girls. Trees will bud and blossoms will bloom. Flood waters will peak and wane. The force of all life brings will continue and we will flow along with it.

To Call Witness

I am a strong believer in speaking our truth, in sharing our journey and of bearing witness to our experiences.As a writer I get the opportunity to fulfill this in fiction, in the crafting of story and character and for that I am truly grateful. On this platform I share in other ways and often feel the need as I sit to write to give voice to the stirrings of my heart. As this week begins and I am given another beautiful Sunday morning to ponder my thoughts I am mindful of the approaching anniversary. The date April 18th resounds so loudly in my being. I remember other years that date boring a hole in my pain. I would hear it weeks before as something would always be advertised as taking place on April 18th.I would see it on signs and TV ads and each time I would feel the jab.The torture of that has subsided somewhat but I am always mindful of the date as it approaches. This year it seems huge in the fact it will be the twentieth anniversary. The same inner reminders like April sunshine, melting snow the smell of the air,and seasonal anticipation are present this year but the glaring part is that we have now been without Zac for as long as we had him. I know the next few days will hold so many recollections and I have never shied away from processing them.Each memory however difficult is a treasure I hold on to just as each memory of his twenty years on earth are mine to keep. But the reality is having put in twenty years does not lessen the pain of it one little bit. I do not state this looking for pity or understanding I simply say it to bear witness to what is the reality of living with loss. Living with loss is something we are all called to do and escaping it is not possible . Not talking about it is not a remedy for the hurt . And talking about it does not make it linger as it never leaves. It settles somewhat as most pain does. We become used to it ,find a way to survive it but calling witness to the truth of it is not a selfish act but an honest one. Thursday morning the sun will rise and Thursday evening the sun will set. When the dawn of the first day of the twenty first year comes I will carry on, no weaker , no stronger but just as determined to bear witness to the love I have for my first born son and the sorrow that came the moment I lost him.