In The Afterglow

 I am a writer! I am many other things as well and this entry may be about some of those things and it might be about Christmas. But to begin I want to stake my claim on being a writer because I want to get down to the business of writing as January approaches. Writing like  most other things we accomplish takes effort, commitment , focus and passion. We have to want to make it happen. I am proud to say that I did just that to see eleven books reach publication. But 'resting on our laurels ' as they say will not write another book. The finished product is a good goal to aspire to but even more than that I love the process. I love the unfolding, the unravelling, the rethinking and envisioning of how to tell a story. In my writing journal today I jotted down what I call tub thoughts ( one of the many reasons I love a bath) and then asked myself what the story really is in my WIP. Good question to ponder. I think I know but will continue to search out the answer as I craft it. I love that part. So why wouldn't that be motivation enough to get me to my desk every day. That is a good question as well and sometimes being the other things I am such as wife , mother, grandmother, friend and binge TV watcher keep me from the writing. I have a lovely ,quiet solitary writing space these days and I am very thankful for it and will attempt to truly appreciate and use it during the winter months ahead. What better gift to the writer in me and ultimately to all the other roles as well. On this day I bask in the afterglow of previous work as well as the afterglow of another Christmas. For forty four years I made Christmas happen in whatever home we were in. Now I realize I didn't do it single handedly but for the most part the effort, commitment , focus and passion came from me. Each one of those Christmases looked different from the one before and Christmas 2021 certainly did too. I will not even begin to list those differences. Many of the wonderful parts of the celebration remained the same and for that I am so grateful. I won't list those either but I hold them in my heart , my memory and my journal so they will not be forgotten. The afterglow and on we go. We head toward a new year stronger, wiser and richer for the love we shared and the lessons we've learned.

A Cup of Kindness Yet

For  years I have listened to the Harbour Lights show that took place every year at the city market. I always thought some day I'm going to get up early enough and go into the market for that show. Last year and again this year the show did not take place. And this year I live a few blocks away and could have gotten there without much effort. Instead I set my alarm so I could walk two blocks down and one block over to get to Good Fibrations to buy Harbour Lights mugs. I loved my walk down the city streets in the before dawn darkness as lights twinkled on the street and in store fronts. I got into a short line talking to the young father ahead of me ,his baby daughter strapped to his front and the tall man in front of him;  David, a Hickey grandson, a city counselor and an all round lovely  young man. Before long I stood at the counter and bought two beautiful Harbour Lights mugs. I walked back up Princess St and felt the joy and contentment of the day and the season. Last night my friend Kathy gifted me with tickets to see the Barra MacNeil's at the Imperial Theatre. What a pleasure to sit and absorb the beauty of piano, fiddle, guitar, bodran drum and the resonating voices of that talented family. They finished with a resounding rendition of Auld Lang Syne offering hope and kindness in this dark and worrying time. We'll take a cup of kindness yet... I look to the pottery cups, I look to the lights and the waking day and pray for that kindness.

So This Is Christmas

 I saw a post the other day saying something to the effect that once the glue that kept Christmas together was gone Christmases are not the same. I considered that sentiment for awhile and responded with something about new glue and new Christmases. Thinking more on that this morning I realize that Christmas like everything else in life is always in a state of constant change. The Christmases when I was a little girl were very different than the Christmases of when I was a young mother. People talk now of Covid Christmases and lament not being able to gather in large groups. Some traditions changed because of a global Pandemic and some were added. Loss changes Christmas and makes the approaching season challenging for many. What then is the glue, might be the question. Many cling to the 'reason for the season', some concentrate on the gift giving, some the food, some the music and some clutch to the  grinch-ness of the season. I know what my glue is and my intention is to fully embrace it this Christmas. My glue is memory, family, gratitude and adapting. This Christmas is being held in two locations for me. I have a small city space that is offering me comfort and joy and a country home  that  holds past blessings. present gifts and future hope. Another Christmas approaches and will not be exactly like any other. Caleb cut the tree and he and Jenna stood it in the same corner as last year. Jenna and Cody put the lights on it. The rest of us will add ornaments and sit around the twinkling beauty of it together. My beloved Nativity figures are set up in my small city space and I look to the one flickering candle as a clear beacon of hope. I can not even begin to list the multitude of blessings but see a warm winter coat hanging in a cozy safe, space and gaze at a small tree holding some of my winter garden ornaments and feel the blessings of what another Christmas gives us despite the changes and challenges and people who are missing. John Lennon's Christmas song echoes my son's voice and made up lyrics as it always does and a smile accompanies the tears. The glue is us and we make the choice of what another Christmas has to offer. 

Equal Parts Rest, Recovery and Reset

Balance is a good thing. Everything in moderation. I can not off the top of my head think of another cliché to match those two but on Saturday the title of this entry  came to me and I've been considering the three parts ever since. I have always loved snow days. I have always felt the tug of Christmas when the first snow falls. I have also been looking forward to seeing snow and the changing season in my current dwelling feeling the strong conviction that  feeling every season here is important to my own well being. Perhaps I am beginning to sound like a broken record but for me the music of that record is soothing, and comforting. Equal parts, equal attention, fair and deliberate measuring and consistent energy given to the three R's of the title. Rest; sleep, down time, lessened expectations and duty, freeing the mind, the heart and the body. Recovery: healing, making a plan, loving and laughing. Reset; finding a new normal, making careful changes and trusting your ability to make them slowly and surely. On this snowy November day I feel the comfort of the rest, recovery and the reset that has taken place in the last five months. This season is so heavy with emotion, activity and expectation and I feel exactly on target with the management of it in all the ways I can contribute to and letting go of all the things I can't. I will allow it to unfold and I will embrace the gifts and the challenges. 

The Rain Must Fall

 Rain, recovery, rest and realization. I am at my desk on this blustery morning , heavy rain falling outside my street level window and feeling so content and blessed to be here for another writing day. City days and country visits are a part of my November /December plans and for now both places put me exactly where I need and want to be. Recovery has been gradual and steady since my June departure and for those who are walking by our side through this my choices need no explanation. The recovery , rest and realization belong to Burton and me and only us but the people who love us know the progress we are making. Those who don't, don't matter. On this wet day I think of those suffering in British Columbia. I think of the impact of climate change and the toll the pandemic has taken on our world. Personal loss and struggle exist for us all and each day is a gift we are given. On this day I will sit and write new words to make another book take shape.  I do not take that opportunity lightly just as I do not  take for granted the  privileges' of heat, a roof over my head , electricity ,food to eat, good health both physical and mental and family and friends who love and support me. I know how blessed I am. The rain will fall and the sun will shine again. Worry and hardship will bombard us but rest and recovery will  bring healing and joy.

Rainy Days and New Books

Grey November days are a thing. Color has just about disappeared in the landscape of deciduous trees and pumpkins and Halloween decorations are gone. The somber days leading up to Remembrance day come before  Christmas lets loose. We have had a couple of gorgeous sunny, warm days but this day seems more in tune with  grey days of November. The rain and dreary afternoon seems to me a perfect time for a nap and I will indulge myself when I finish this entry. Yesterday was a fulfilling and soul enriching day. I set out to accomplish several things and did just that. One of those tasks found me walking  an unfamiliar route with hilly streets and  buildings that I drive by often but had never walked there. Walking is so different than driving quickly by. In the walking I felt the buildings, the people , the sky and the distant sights. My heart swelled with contentment as I walked. I can not even explain the peace I'm feeling this week and the validation I feel in my current choice of where I need to be and when. My new book was delivered to the farm and Burton called right away when the boxes arrived. I was tempted to drive right over so I could open a box, take a book out and hold it in my hands. Jenna sent me a picture and I waited. Meg brought a copy to work today so I went and got it from her after having lunch with a friend. I held it , looked through it and then laid it with  my other ten  books  for pictures. Then I  put the book in the bookends my friend Karen gave me after my first book was published. Eleven books lined up between the boy and girl reading bookends. I love the look of that! Yesterday I sent off the ms for my spring book to my editor and look forward to the process ahead to get it to a book I hold and add to the  other ones . Jasper's Road will be the third in the series  following Ten Thousand Truths and Waiting For Still Water. When I read the last sentence yesterday before sending it along I wondered if another in the series would find it's way to my keyboard. Right now a new novel is in the beginning stage and I hope to write new words tomorrow. But now I nap!

A Change is as Good as a Rest

 I just returned from an invigorating  walk along the city sidewalks. The air was crisp enough for gloves but the sun was still strong and the wind held just  a hint of November. November is here and I feel it. I felt alive, optimistic, happy but yet sad and almost weepy. Weird the mix of emotions I am feeling these days. Actually I think most people are in a turmoil of emotion these days. There is a lot going on around us; pandemic uncertainty being one part of it. In New Brunswick we are now dealing with the upheaval of a CUPE strike. We are inundated with stressors and concerns. My head and heart reel at it all. Personally I am also in upheaval  but it is not all negative . A change is as good as a rest I told myself a few minutes ago. I have been re-charged by this change. I have felt a load lifted and have felt a freedom I haven't felt for a very long time. I have felt lonely and guilty along with it though but I am working through those feelings. I came upon a house on my walk that stopped me in my tracks. I first noticed the fixed up side and it was amazing. I gazed at the structure, the features and woodwork, the amazing beauty of an old house sitting up above  street level in grandeur . It was surrounded by a very old rock wall in state of crumbling disrepair , the original stonework and effort to build it impressive. The iron gates were also compromised and deteriorating. I walked around to the front of the building and was taken aback by the contrast. The front had not received the restoration the side and back had. It was in a very sad state of disrepair. The front steps and front stone wall were also in very bad shape but the original beauty still showed through. Obviously the owner is working away at a total restoration and little by little the daunting task will get done. A work in progress. A labor of love. Not giving up but believing in it's already proven worth and value. This house spoke loudly to me and I appreciate the message it was delivering. I would not have received that message if I'd not been exactly where I was and where I am on this first day of November. Change , challenge, risks and restoration along with some rest thrown in. For that I am grateful!

 

Monday Moments

 Mondays get bad reviews. I understand the Monday dread, the weekend went too fast frustration and  all the negative feelings surrounding Monday . I too have had those same thoughts about the day but like everything else our thoughts depend on our perspective. In my retirement , second career days Mondays are a gift I treasure. Mondays are possibility, privilege of time and  opportunity  that I am able to use to craft words, sentences, paragraphs  that eventually become pages of a book. I always feel a strange excitement and trepidation when I am starting a new book. I have characters, scenes and story lines taking shape but it is like trying to herd chickens. I speak from experience when thinking of herding chickens. They do not go where you want them to go. They balk, crouch down in the dirt stupidly and trip you up.  Turkeys are easier to herd. They  will follow you or follow each other , will come when you call and usually stick together and end up where you want them. So in the quiet of my city small space I sit this morning and hope to herd some words turkey style. Since last sitting at my desk characters have formed  and I feel the story taking shape. Books of course do not write themselves. Authors must sit and wait, must show up and take chances, must take the gift of Mondays and use them wisely. And unlike Sunny I do not pick up chickens!

On This Day

 I am a date remembering kind of person. I journal and read back to previous journals regularly. Dates and anniversary dates are very important to me but somehow this year Oct 9th went unnoticed. I know I felt the season, the coming of October and the feelings fall brings. I certainly felt September 26th and gave tribute to my mother on that day , the day of her passing. Both Mom and Dad have been on my mind and in my heart during these autumn days as always but yesterday I realized I didn't pay specific attention to October 9th. And today as I write this I also remember my dear friend Gladys who left us on this date. The two deaths were so intermingled for me. She knew as she declined that Leverett was passing as well and I wrote his death in her death book shortly after someone entered  hers. She was laid out and her large family milled about in an adjoining room at the funeral parlor as we gathered to receive mourners for Dad.  I have woken in the night several times lately and spoken out loud to both Mom and Dad telling them just how much I miss them. That missing is there every day and is part of the living we do. Today my daughter's dear friend is feeling the deep pain of knowing the grief that separation will cause when her wonderful mother takes her last breath. Not being by her side makes it even more difficult but in the end that bond will always be just as strong and meaningful as it was from the very beginning. The way of things some say; a parent taking their leave before the child. I know the sorrow of the opposite being the case but also know that however long you have been blessed with your parents saying goodbye is no easier. I  wrote in my journal on October 9th, 2019   And this is the day my father dies  We will all be given that day and those left behind will know that day and remember. It is of course the days that came before that truly matter. It is the all the days , the years , the moments we shared and the love we were given that will sustain us. And on this day I  remind myself  to make the  best of those days.  

The Gift of Gratitude?

 I am going to attempt to put my mixed up thoughts into words, perhaps cry a few tears, then get on with it. Gratitude is timely around Thanksgiving and for the most part gratitude is often foremost on my mind and seeps out in most of my blog entries. As those close to me know  during months of holding tightly to gratitude I was masking an internal battle with my own well being. I now find myself struggling a bit with the whole concept of gratitude. Don't get me wrong. I truly believe I have much to be thankful for and strongly advocate for a mindset of gratitude. I  have a lengthy list of things to be thankful for and  I continue to give that voice. I was raised to be thankful and feel blessed by the example my parents and grand parents set for me. I am the classic glass half full girl, the determined optimist always trying to put whatever comes my way in a positive light. There is nothing wrong with that or is there? I have been tossing around the term toxic gratitude in my head for the last week. It seems so counter intuitive, so negative and so contrary to everything I hold dear and  the go to strategy I have engaged for many years. So can being grateful be toxic? That is the question I have been pondering. Now in the pondering I don't have any intention of becoming  so different than I've always been. But I do believe sometimes my positivity and need to always appear grateful has blinded me to the things I put up with and stuffed down so that I could be grateful. Even as I write this and try to unpack some of my feelings around gratitude I am conflicted. I usually want to make everything all right for the people I love. I want to show up and play the part of the  loving wife , mother and grandmother pushing positivity and resolve. That intention seems  the opposite  to living alone and taking great care to look after myself first. I feel guilt, disappointment and confusion and sometimes see  the same in those I love. On this beautiful October, post Thanksgiving day I claim all the  aspects of my gratitude. My heart still beats and each waking moment I carry the  joy and the sorrow of all that life has given me.  I feel the love of family and friends and will continue to do my best to play my part in their lives. But I claim all the rest of it as well and will work toward healing and health in myself  first.

 

The Day is Here

 "Don't do the Math", Paige said each time she asked "guess how many more days before my birthday. "The day is here, the day she was so anxiously waiting for. Today she turns ten and to her it is exciting and a day to celebrate. And of course we will celebrate with her but for us it holds so much more. Double digits is a milestone and Paige is happy to embrace it but for those of us who have spent the last ten years with this lovely little human being we are sad for the turning point. Where has that delightful baby, happy toddler, funny , brave and adventurous four year old , inquisitive seven year old,  the kind and  intuitive nine year old gone when the calendar tells us she's reached the double digits. All those ages are still there of course. Photographs and memories remain and the personality this ten year old possesses is the combination of every year , every age and every day she's already lived. So now we watch the next year unfold and see her continue to grow and evolve. It is the sadness and the joy of living; taking each stage and each season we're given. So today we love and celebrate the ten year old Paige. How very blessed we are!

 

As September Winds Down

 Yesterday's rain has been followed by sunshine and a strong breeze that feels just like September. My September days are so different than usual and I feel such mixed emotion about that. I long for my wood road walks on these crisp days but instead walk city blocks and sit in city parks. I am not busy with harvest or daily batches of pickles but instead have more time to sit at my desk to write. To think that perhaps not a pickle will be made is so strange . I know this September is one of my own making ; my own choice to step away and allow the rest, reprieve and renewal of a quiet, solitary escape to a small space in the city to heal a worn and weary soul. But every previous September makes its way into my head and heart as I sit here alone. So many September moments surface in my thoughts and fill me with joy and sorrow and a melancholy I am feeling on this beautiful September morning. Yesterday was a September day of note. Nineteen years ago yesterday Waylon Zachary was born. I rejoiced in  his birth feeling a connection to my son  through Donnie who survived the accident that took our boy's life. I now see this small boy becoming a man now just one year  younger than Zac was when he left us. Yesterday was also the third anniversary of the day my mother left us. Her presence remains in my memory and the very essence of who I am. I see her hands when I look down at my own and more and more see her face in the mirror. September days will soon end and give way to October and on we will go. I will navigate another month away from my normal, working toward a better way and a brighter hope. It is the one day at a time that is propelling me forward and I see the seasons as the framework for that. 

To Do the Day With Gusto

 Gusto- enjoyment or vigor in doing something. As I sat to contemplate a blog entry the phrase "Do this day with gusto" came to me. I am in the mindset of one day at a time these days. I am in a recovery and renewal mode and every day I try to embrace that. Embracing it takes some determination as I have a long established habit of putting others first . It is a new and challenging task to put my own well being ahead of everything else. My needs are simple though and today I have already had the gift of gusto. I swam with gusto. I love moving my body through deep water. I would prefer it be in my lake with the vast sky above me but for the next while the hotel pool will do. I felt the sunshine, felt the breeze and gazed at the clear blue sky with gusto. I felt the energy of the city and watched young people streaming out of the high school next door feeling their energy. I sat with a friend and enjoyed a tasty lunch. I came back to my small space and sat to write and hope to produce new words with gusto when I finish this entry. Yesterday's sorrows and concerns still exist and tomorrow's challenges and uncertainty are  likely. But gusto is possible too and a choice I make.  The sunflowers and pumpkins in the photo below are from a past season, a past garden, past days lived with gusto. But today's gifts and the season I find myself in, are just as bountiful.

Two Sisters at the Market

 Every Saturday from May to October I stand behind my table at the Kingston Farmer's Market. Some days offer more book sales than others and I am always happy for the sales. Making my table is the goal and I have always been able to do that. But so much more than the total books sales each week provides, is the gift of the people I meet. Each Saturday I see neighbors, friends and family. I usually get a hug from Alida and Elinor, have a nice chat with Jim, touch base with my sister in law Louisa, wave to folks walking by, glimpse people out in the courtyard and meet lots of new people. I usually sell a few books to those who come by to get the latest or maybe buy a gift for someone. I meet lots of new readers. Yesterday I had a woman and her husband come by who have bought books from the start , one book in particular having a family connection for her. A character in The Sewing Basket was based on her aunt and yesterday she told me of that aunt's passing. I have dedicated readers who wait for each new book. I have readers that come back after reading one book to get more. Always there are meaningful interactions that make the early morning worthwhile. Yesterday among all the others it was meeting two sisters, Alison and Julie. I noticed them at the jewelry table next to me. Attractive ,vibrant women enjoying their time together. A brief stop at my table can go  several ways; polite acknowledgement, a nod or greeting, " Are you Susan White?" gets asked a lot, pickups , some back reading , a question or two. Sometimes the person states some familiarity with my work; they heard an interview or saw my books somewhere. Maybe they have read a book or two. Sometimes students stop and say they remember having read or being  read one of my books in school. Lots of interactions take place in the five hours I stand behind my table. But sometimes those interactions are deep and meaningful , the discussion and sharing is profound and generous. Sometimes tears well up or fall and connection is made. The amazing thing is that every Saturday I am given at least one of those interactions. Alison bought The Year Mrs. Montague Cried after a short, meaningful conversation. She left the  dining room and her sister stayed behind and we continued talking. I will not even attempt to detail the ground that conversation covered except to say it was raw and real and touched us both. Two strangers let their guard down and shared a bit of the sorrow , the joy and the wisdom life has dished up. Julie bought The Year Mrs. Montague Cried even though she could have borrowed it from her sister. But of course it is not the book sale that mattered to me. On this quiet Sunday morning as I absorb and process the day ,sitting  quietly with my inner voice I recall the minutes two sisters and an author were given. This happened because I showed up and they stopped and we spoke and listened to one another going further than a polite hello , allowing another person to see what lies behind the face we present as we move through this world. It is moments like those that will bring me back next Saturday and keep me at the keyboard. 

 

Just Saw my Son

 I took a break from work to go for a walk on this gorgeous afternoon. I walked a couple of blocks to where my boys are working on the Wentworth complex. I scanned the windows looking for them. I was pretty sure I spotted my youngest son so walked back and forth on the sidewalk across the street waiting for another sighting. When I'm sure it's him I stop  and  stare up at the window hoping he will look out. He spots me and gives me a big smile and a wave. My heart fills and I walk away with the joy of the sighting. My work in progress is a story of a mother whose son goes missing and she lives her remaining twenty some years never knowing where he is or what has happened to him. I caught sight of my son for seconds and the happiness I felt speaks loudly to the depth of a mother's love . I get back to a text from my daughter saying she will come for supper and a movie date. How full this mother's heart is. I hold each one of my four children  in my heart and treasure each sighting even when the sighting of one can only be photographs, dreams or memories. Now back to work!

When the Teachers go Back

 I feel this day even though this is the  twelfth  year I have not had to go back. But on this day I feel the end of  August sadness , excitement , challenge and pressure. I remember the marathon of meetings, the creativeness of classroom set up, the catch up  with colleagues, the changes and the giving up of summer. For eleven years I returned to writing on the day the teachers went back and was so happy to do so. This year my summer routine changed drastically and I have been at my desk in July and August but still feel the importance of this day to get myself back to some serious work. I have one ms a third done and have just begun another. I must settle myself today to concentrate on one or the other and possibly taking the time to blog this morning is my way of avoiding this decision. Or maybe it will help me arrive at the decision and I will follow up with some new words being written and a direction being cemented. Going back is on my mind for other reasons and the next few weeks and months will navigate that as well. But for this day August 30, 2021 as teachers go back and a new school year is planned and navigated I will take comfort in exactly where I am. I will stand proud of my past , my present and look with hope to the future. I will relish the words written in the last twelve years and the words yet to write. I will hold all teachers and especially Brianne and Jenna in my thoughts  and remember what it is they are feeling on this day. I will be thankful for the years I was right there with them and thankful for the years since. I will be thankful for the books I read to my students and the books I've written that are in classrooms and in  the hands of today's teachers. I will settle down to write and look forward to some author visits that will take me back  into schools as an author. How very lucky I am !

Out My Small Window

 I love summer. I also love the fall, winter and spring. Seasons are such a gift and carry us year after year. Last night on my city street walk I felt the tug of the next season in the gentle cool breeze. As stated earlier this season is very different and I am daily adjusting, processing and settling myself to my present situation. But in reality of course that is always the case. Life is not a stagnant experience but a constant state of flux. We know not what will come at us next. This morning I look out my small window and it is another day of overcast, misty skies. I have to get to a brand new work only a few paragraphs in and that is both exciting and frightening.  Yesterday I finished the read through of the designers draft of The Wright Retreat and feel the excitement of its final stretch toward publication. A new small window of opportunity is what each season provides. I will embrace the days left of summer, the lake swims I will get , the warm sun and colorful flowers. I will figure out the path I'm on and work toward a healthy road back. The zigs and zags and obstacles are the unknown but the tools I have are there whichever season and whatever comes along.  I will keep my tool box full, pay attention to what  I put in and what I take out. This is the day I will face and for that I am grateful!

Finding Me

 Amid preparation for tomorrow's launch; you know picking an outfit, deciding on glasses vs no glasses, choosing and practicing a reading and settling on what  will be seen in the background I feel the need to write a blog entry. I also feel the desire to start a brand new book from a blank page with only a snippet of an idea but that will wait for another day. Earlier I went out to attend to some errands; vehicle registration, purchase lipstick for my non existent lips , return library books, buy fruit and one cob of corn. On my walk back I felt  excitement and  elation and it occurred to me it felt like when I was a kid or at least a young adult embarking on an adventure. It felt so good. It felt like I had found me. Now some might say I ran away from home, perhaps they would say I left my marriage, some might think I left my kids and grand kids. Others might marvel that I left the home , the farm , the lake and the life I love. There is a shred of truth in all of that perhaps but I would argue that instead of leaving anything I ran toward something and that something or someone is me. I ran to where I find myself right now to find myself. To some that might sound dramatic but I don't particularly care what it sounds like. For now all I care about is what it feels like. I am hurting no one, abandoning or betraying no-one . I am taking care of me.

 

When a New Book Comes

A mix of dark and white fluffy clouds, sunshine streaming through after a day of rain, a truck racing between stop signs on  Sydney Street, folks walking by my windows; a Friday early evening and a good time to write a blog entry. July is winding down quickly and yesterday I opened the first box filled with copies of Skyward. I am always excited to hold a finished book and do not tire of the thrill. I remember opening the first box of The Year Mrs. Montague Cried. I sat in the Shopper's Drug Mart parking lot and sobbed holding the first book as I pulled it out of the box. I still fill with emotion when I really think of the journey that brought that book in to existence. I would have to search my writing journals to determine exactly when the existence of Skyward began but I know the work that took it from the seed of an idea to the book I placed in the book ends last night. I have announced Skyward's arrival, posted proud pictures and had lots of congratulatory comments. Tomorrow I will take it to the market and send it out into the world. So far only Burton and Megan have received copies. I had some copies ordered for a school by a teacher friend and will be pleased to do a follow up visit when school starts. My online launch will be Aug 12th at 7:00. Check out the event on my author Facebook page. I may even at sometime later in the fall have an in person gathering to celebrate book ten. I really want Mitchell Barr to make chocolate cakes with boiled icing so we can eat cake and celebrate. 

A Writing, Healing Residency

 The summer of 2021, a much different summer. A summer in the city. A summer where I walk a different route and rest my head at the end of the day in a different place. I gaze out different windows at a different landscape. Somehow in my weariness, confusion and fear I finally realized that  I needed to take care of myself before I could take care of anyone else. I had reached the end of a taut and fraying rope. I am writing this summer which is not the norm. I usually spend long hours in a garden, make several daily trips to my lake and put writing on hold until a later date. But this summer I am writing, I am resting and allowing myself a reprieve. I am stepping back from the normal and finding my way toward peace and healing. And  I am allowing the people in my life to find their way toward that for themselves without my daily worry and obsession with their well being as if by doing all I did I could fix or prevent their  hurt and struggle. I am on a writing /healing residency of my own choosing. Today I wrote the last lines of a book I'd been running from. Today hopefully Skyward left the printer and is on it's way to my waiting hands and heart. Today I walked on city sidewalks with a friend who'd come in to have lunch with me. Later I walked the same sidewalks to meet Meg and the girls at the library and spent some time in their company. I was a well Monkey, a happy Monkey and what better Monkey do I want for them. I walked back to my small space and sat to write the last chapter of Jasper's Road, the third book following Amelia's story. Walton Lake Road, a road in my heart and the road I drove away from several weeks ago. One healing day at a time is the gift I embrace today and as the street lights come on I am thankful for this day.

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A Walk around the Block

This is a glorious morning. Before I settled down to work I took a quick walk around the block. Except for the blister on my right heel the walk was wonderful. I love the architecture, the color and the feel of the city. I love the trees, the flowers , the people and the mix of old and new. A friend was here yesterday and said 'who knew that my friend Sue would be living in the city?' Who knew indeed? But for me right now it is exactly where I want to be. I am writing this summer and instead of weeding and tending to a large garden I am tending to myself. This does not come easy as a wife, mother and grandmother who has been in the habit of taking care of everyone else. I will walk every day and still look up to the sky. The beautiful sky that was above me on every wood road walk and every time I swam in my beloved lake is still the sky above me . The people , place and purpose that guided me still guides but for now I check my own well being first. My publicist on our Zoom meeting this morning noticed right away I was in a different room. A different room and a much different mind set. But all good I said and for now I do believe it. Let's all look out for our own well being in whatever we are given in this life. And let's all look to the sky.

 

There Will Always be Flowers

 For those of you who read my blog regularly you may have noticed I've been absent. Busy, I might say. Away. I might tell you. All true but so much more. Life has taken a turn I didn't see coming but on some level I always knew it was a possibility. I will not go in to any detail as the upheaval is personal and complex. I have relocated and in the emotional turmoil of decision ,planning and processing I stated that I would always have fresh flowers. On day one I bought myself a bouquet and my wonderful friend who was helping with the move brought me a lovely purple and yellow arrangement. On the morning of the day in which I would actually sleep in my new small space, a kind woman gifted me a sweet bouquet of her garden grown flowers. So on this day when I finally feel able to write a blog entry I am surrounded by fresh flowers as I gaze out at city streets not rolling hills, pasture, cows, chickens and  my country normal. Strange but good when normal isn't working. I am fine, as fine as can be expected. My people will be fine and on this day I cling to love and hope. The challenges ahead will not be easy. Hearts are broken and healing will not come without effort and intention. But there will always be flowers!

What I've Had Enough of!

 Hanging out my laundry a few minutes ago I  thought of a story I was told about an interaction in a retail establishment a few days ago. Asked to put his mask up over his nose  a man lashed out angrily stating he had enough of this ... and threw a drink in the employee's face.Thinking of his over the top, unacceptable  reaction I had a reaction of my own. You know what I've had enough of? Well let me tell you. I have had enough of entitlement, people treating service industry employees as if they are trash, as if they are responsible for the current restrictions. I have had enough of rude, short tempered people who have allowed the stress of these  pandemic days to boil up and come out as attacks  on the workers who are just trying to make a living and conform to strict,  and ever changing  guidelines. I have had enough of the selfishness and  narrow mindedness of  thinking you have a right to be disrespectful and nasty. I have had enough of the lack of common decency and civil behavior. I have had enough of  people believing their  petty concerns are so much bigger than the huge struggles  we are all facing. I have had enough of the belief that because of  a person's job, their race, their religion or the color of their skin  the person is the "other " and does not deserve respect.I have had enough of hatred and blame , of people being gunned down or run over because someone is unable to temper their own fear and insecurity.

What I have not had enough of is compassion, understanding, respect and patience. I have not had enough of gratitude and humbleness, of love and forgiveness.I have not had enough of self introspection that asks ourselves in every situation how it is I would want to be treated. How would we want our children or grandchildren to be treated? I have not had enough of the Golden Rule and more importantly than returning to 'normal ' , a time when we can take off our masks,  I pray when we come out of this we  strive to  truly follow that rule in our lives.

That's All I'll Ever Become

 I just heard a moving interview with William Prince and listened to his song That's all I'll Ever Become. I quickly went to the You Tube video of the song and listened to it again. I closed my eyes and cried at the emotion and truth of those words. Living to the second last day of my children's lives was not something I was given with my oldest son and I expect not something I'll be given with the other three. It was not granted to my mother or father either.But of course even when a parent buries a child or a child buries a parent who they are so largely depends on what's been given them in the time they have together.My daughter teased me the other night when I was so proudly showing Caleb my cleaned out porch closets stating " That's not your greatest accomplishment Mom." Not even close, my four kids despite mistakes and failings  were and will be my greatest accomplishment and the treasure  I hold above all else. So to question the depth of the loss reflected in the discussion of mass graves and sanctioned kidnapping of children seems unfathomable. Our children and grandchildren are all we'll ever become.God help us all.

215 Lives not Lived

I have no words but yet the deep and dreadful ache of this horror can not be ignored Surely we as a people can not ignore the shame of our past that has shaped the indifference and acceptance of our present. These 215 children were loved and had futures that were taken from them. In taking their young lives the lives of their children,grandchildren and great grandchildren were also extinquished. Their families and communities were devastated. Generations were changed and impacted and a scar so deeply left. How can we not be raging with disgust and shout from the rooftops the injustice and disregard for human life that occured in this country? I guess I found some words but words are not enough. For the love of God think of your own children and grandchildren and imagine them ripped from your arms and treated in such inhumane ways.Imagine them dying alone crying for  you. Imagine them buried in mass graves.This is the only way we can truly understand and realize the magnitude of  the pain our indigenous people have endured.

Home Sweet Home

 Among my daily thankfuls I always include my home.Just like everything in our lives my home has flaws and shortcomings but so many wonderful aspects . It has evolved and changed and adapted but has been home since 1989. I look ahead  a few years and invision leaving this house and moving into a smaller one. But in this dream I see someone else loving it and building  a life within its thick cordwood walls and under its green tin roof and that makes leaving it all right. But for now and in this present season I will take comfort in the home we've created. I am thankful this morning for the chance Meg has been given to move into a house and settle after several moves since coming in August. Yesterday we went to see a house that could become a home and the relief I feel is huge. Boxes need unpacked, pictures hung, familiar items retrieved and seasons lived within the same walls. The future will unfold but for now a home can be enjoyed. For this I have prayed on my daily walks. Oh the lesson we need to keep learning to believe  blessings will come in their time. So today I take joy in my home and my place in this family. I breathe a huge sigh of relief and carry on.

  

What's in Your Garden

 Double digits of May and time to start thinking  GARDEN. The seeds are purchased, the tilling will happen soon and seeds will be dropped. Optimism reigns as I look to another gardening season. Yesterday I bought the fuchsias to make up my hanging baskets for the front veranda. It is quite hard to believe that it's that time again. Hard to believe but welcome. Meg and Caleb gave me a hanging swing chair for Mother's Day and I sit out there looking over at the hills where buds are bursting and color is returning. Hope abounds and fills my thoughts. I dream of my first plunge into my beloved lake and look ahead to summer. Seasons and the cycle they provide speak loudly to me about the cycle of life . Dark seasons of cold and hibernation give way to seasons of heat and growth and seasons of harvest and thanksgiving.Seasons in our own lives; young love and dreaming, middle years of nuturing and building, older years of  reflecting and  regretting. We are excited to see Caleb and Jenna begin  their dreaming and acting on their vision of a future.We enjoy the fruit of our labors with a twinge of regret at what didn't come to be or what we've lost. But in all this we get to be the grandparents who love and guide , who spoil and indulge, who watch and worry. The seeds were planted so many years ago and so many factors determined the crop. But still we plant, we believe, we hope and we tend to the garden. The garden is beautiful,miraculous and a gift beyond measure. 

Even in Our Sleep

Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until in our own despair , against our will comes wisdom through the awful grace of God. Aeschylus

Sleep is my welcome escape and yesterday was one of those days I retreated to it; two naps and an anticipated bedtime.But sleep does not always grant me the escape I desire.A few weeks ago Frank on Blue Bloods recited this Aeschylus quote. Oh how true I find this to be. I have nights where the pain shows up drop by drop somethimes in a flood that nearly overwhelms me. Last night was one such night. My dear friend Ruth who so lovingly attended to my early pain(water closet office, red cross slippers,and so much more) was in my dream administering her wisdom and compassion. Ruth walks her own grief path these days and I hold her in my heart this morning. I struggled a bit with the processing of my dream and considered not getting up. I have another entire thread for an entry about the not getting up , not returning from my wood road walks , never getting out of my morning bath but maybe I'll tackle that another day. I got up and in scrolling FB I came upon wisdom from another trusted and respected source; author, friend Sheree Fitch. She stated that  gratitude  saves us from despair.Despair, our own despair; a condition we all find ourselves and must  repeatedly pull ourselves out of.Against our will comes wisdom. So the snippet of wisdom I was given in last night's dream will add to the snippets  I've received in the past. Much of that wisdom is relearned daily through that awful but powerful grace of God. So my grateful heart takes in the sunshine, gazes at the budding trees and the beautiful yellow of my blossoming forsythia, marvels at this another day  

I'

ve been given, quiets the fear and sorrow of last night's pain and puts both feet firmly on the floor.

On the Periphery

 Heidi, Heather, Lisa, Jolene, Aaron, Emily,Kristen, Sean, Alanna, Tom, Joey,Greg,Jamie, John,  Joanne, Lillian,Dawn, Frank, Gina,Corrie, Joy, Peter. On this day of our loss we remember and circle the periphery of a deep and unfathomable pain knowing the depth of it is more than anyone can truly grasp.We love you and miss you Zac. And Paige got her bunnies.

Familiar Grief

 I wake this morning so thankful for the sunshine I see streaming through the window. I wake so thankful for the day ahead , a day I can stay home and a day I hope to write many new words. I woke from a dream that left me with the title of today's blog. In the dream I realized I had become familar with grief , used to a loss that was like a constant companion. In the dream I was told that Gladys was in a trailer in the parking lot of the nursing home where she lived her last couple of years. I was told I should be visiting her there and that she was alone and never saw anyone. I wondered why she was there and hadn't been allowed to stay in her room at the nursing home so she would have people around. In the same jumbled dream it became Zac in the trailer and I felt so guilty that I hadn't regularly gone to see him thinking if I had I might have been able to get him back home. Strange dream leaving me with the question of familiar grief. I have been thinking a lot in the last few days of the families who are approaching the first anniversary of the horrendous Nova Scotia shootings of last April. I can only imagine the pain and suffering the loved ones left behind have endured this past year. I hold each one in my prayers.I  can extract no profound  wisdom from my dream but I do understand how grief becomes a part of who we are and I still marvel at the fact we can stumble our way through it. No choice really except the choice to see the sunshine, allow joy to accompany sorrow and keep putting our feet on the floor each morning and carrying on. 

 

Just Like Food and Medicine

 It is a rather dreary Easter Monday. My morning has been slow and demands are low. I have provided room service to my two sleepover granddaughters, I've washed eggs, written in my journal of course and looked back at Easter last year and the year before. Regular morning things that make up so many of my days. It occured to me the other day on my wood road walk how predictable my walk regime is. I begin with petitions, prayers and requests of sorts that mirror the concerns of the day. I begin that lineup with thoughts of putting my oxygen mask on first, breathing and believing that I must be all right before I can do anything else.  I thought how repetitive my petitions are. I thought perhaps saying them over and over and going through the same motions every day might be undermining any belief I have in a higher power that hears my prayers. The words 'pray without ceasing' came to mind. I thought of young children asking for something and how it seems more effective if they ask over and over. Then I thought of food and how it is required daily  and medicine that is taken repeatedly until it is no longer necessary.So why not prayers and petitions and the very routine that feeds my soul day in and day out; waiting for answer to prayer , for respite, for a calm acceptance and for the deep assurance that whatever I am given strength and grace will accompany it. Several days ago my eyes were somehow cast on a  particular tree in the foreground of hundreds of trees . In the white oval  patch on the  trunk of that tree I saw my son's name.I do not know if it was carved there.Perhaps he himself took a  tool and  etched  his name  twenty some years ago, or someone else on this same walk stopped and  holding him in their heart scratched the letters of his name. Or maybe nature, time and the tree's natural growth split the bark in the exact configuration of the three letters spelling my oldest son's name. It doesn't really matter. What matters is that I came upon it excactly when I did and for me it was a gift , a connection and a place to  stop and ponder on my daily walks. And these wood road walks are as nuturing as food and as healing as medicine. 

 

The Perils of the Path

 Wood road walking is not for the faint of heart these days. It requires attention, caution and planning. It also requires a good pair of rubber boots and a trusty walking stick.One can not walk with her eyes gazing toward the sky and not take care for the challenges underfoot. The ground is slowly thawing, frost is creating deep holes and streams of water run and pool. Navigating is the key. Choosing a direction, predicting  a best case scenario, taking chances. Walking on a treacherous wood road is very much like living life. This week brought a devastating loss to a family very dear to me. This family has been intertwined with mine for many years. Many hours were spent together and we attempted to find our way through our son's childhood and teenage years together. Many laughs and long talks were shared. Years and life sent us off in different directions and we lost touch but always had the bond created over those  years. This week my friend Cindy died and her  family is reeling from the shock and the deep gulf of grief. No easy way through what they have been given. Strength and resilience will guide and direct them as they must forge ahead. Two precious granddaughters need to be cared for and nutured. Stories of their wonderful grandmother will be shared and they will see a family altered but not defeated by the terrible turn  life has taken. Last night in a jumble of dreams Zac showed up . He was sitting at a table in a room I entered in my mixed up dream and he rose to embrace me and tell me everything would be OK.This morning as I face another day I am so thankful for the tools we have , the boots and walking sticks, the loved ones living and dead that carry us along ,all the things that help get us over the  most difficult sections of this path called life.

 

First Budge Wilson

 It is Monday morning and here I am, happy, grateful ,with a full list and lots of motivation. My bath has been run, I have checked off three items on my Monday morning list and it is coming on to lunchtime. But first before I go any further I will stop and spend some time with Budge Wilson. Budge Wilson passed away  on Friday at age 93. What a treasure on this lovely spring day to sit with Budge and just listen. She talks about six long years of rejections and a teacher named Freda Pike being her motivator and whose words she held on to during rejection and doubt. She then moves on to family dsyfunction and I hang off her wise words. No perfect family. Problems with families when other factors enter the scene. No tidy resolutions. She regards the greatest compliment to her work is someone finding themselves in her books. 'Merciful in their judgements' being one of her writing goals. Oh Budge you will be missed and we are thankful for the body of work you have left behind. Time well spent as I attempt to deal with family , with writing, with  healing and

with living this life I  have been  blessed with.

Weekends , Time Change and Winning

We are a game playing family. It isn't many meals we have that we don't clear the table afterwards and ask which game we're playing. Sunday suppers continue but  have changed over the years and with Covid are reduced to our smaller family bubble. Meg, Cody and the girls have been with us since August , Jenna is now a part of our family circle and Alice joins us every week. On this another Monday morning I find myself reflecting , rallying and regrouping or at least trying to. I woke with today's title in my head. I had a busy night of dreaming that seemed to have me frantically trying to put someone's house in order. Cleaning , purging, rearranging a house that at one point seemd to be my mother in laws and another seemed to be Megan's and then mine.My house in order. Jenna laughed at me Friday as I paniced about the dirt and dog hair I could see billowing on the floor in the late afternoon sun. Taking up my broom as if it were a lifeline,  something  to hang on to to save my life, I swept and took back a smidge of control. Oh boy a therapist could have a field day with me.I have mentioned before how I say " Ok Everyone" out of the blue and my family makes great fun of that. But in writing those words my eyes well up and I don't find it quite as funny. Ok we are Ok, everyone is OK. I looked after the girls all weekend , I prepared and served a Sunday supper, I turned the clocks whichever way they needed to go, except for the one in the kitchen that seems to have a mind of it's own even with a new battery.And I won a couple of games this weekend. Funny how lately I have put the winners in my journal as if it matters at all or will matter in years to come who won Wizard on March 14th,2021.As if my journals will matter in years to come. What matters right now is that we fight the good fight. We use our Mondays to gird our strength  for our Sundays. We play our games and have our time together. We accept change and challenge and play the hand we're dealt. We win and lose with grace and humor. 

Things Are Going Swimmingly

 I pondered the title for today's blog entry. I wanted it to have something to do with swimming. I considered Swimming Against the Tide. I really had no desire to blog but as often happens my daughter(aka blog coach)asked for one.The use of aka reminds me of my granddaughter Paige's repeat of one of her 3 positives at every suppertime. She has a couple she repeats and one of them is " I'm sitting beside my wonderful Grampie(aka the keeper of fun )". So perhaps this entry will just be a rambling of sorts. I will begin with swimming. What does going swimmingly even mean? Good question.I love to swim and today my friend Kathy and I went back to the pool. We haven't done our Wednesday thing since November 12th. It felt great to swim again and makes me anxious for the lake. I do not want to rush the seasons though. For now I will walk and snowshoe and enjoy my woods. I am also busy with the first round of edits for The Wright Retreat. I am about half done and really shouldn't linger long on this entry. I love the editing process and am looking forward to re-working the ending which Penelope felt wasn't working. What a gift to have such a caring and intuitive editor  who pushes me to do better. My edits are going swimmingly. Life for the most part on this beautiful March day is going swimmingly. I am thankful and anxious to get back to the ten writers who have gathered at the Wright Retreat. And there is swimming; even skinny dipping ,so all is good.

One Day in the Sun

 The days are getting longer and the sun is getting stronger.The seasons of our lives have predicability along with surprise. I love February. I have points of reference for each month and season and feel an internal clock and calendar from the sum of all my experiences. Even though this is the twelth year away from the classroom I feel the tug of March Break. I understand the fatigue and weariness of fighting the good fight from January to March and looking forward to the rest March Break provides. I can only imagine how with all the challenges Covid has brought just how much more intense that exhaustion feels. Now people who don't quite get it would say that storm days and shortened weeks should be respite enough but teachers know the truth of the demands they face every day and a break is welcome. This year of course is different. Can't imagine there are many people looking forward to trips south or trips anywhere. We will probably have two of our grandchildren most days and most nights. So my trips into the woods are necessary. I need to stand under  the canopy of trees gazing up at the sky to clear my head and tune in to my internal calendar.Each day a checkmark on the days we are given and each one a treasure in itself. Two days ago Megan and the girls made a snowman. The snow was just right the sun and temperature perfect for being outside.Grampie posed with the girls even though he'd had no part in building the snowman. Meg said to get in the picture because he had a part in the girls being  in New Brunswick (escaping Alberta). He stood happily between Little Toad and Tiny Toad , a moment  frozen in time and recorded in a photograph. The next day the snowman had tumbled, his head and middle ball nearly gone, his carrot nose lying in the snow and his buttons strewn about. His day in the Sun was over. Snowmen don't last and days can't be re-lived. Seasons come and go and each day is a gift. 

 

She Loved to Snowshoe

 Yesterday on my trek to the woods I had the passing thought of a line that could be written someday in my obituary. She loved to Snowshoe. I often stop up in the woods and take in the beauty and the overwhelming feeling of happiness I feel there. Pondering that line I thought 'What is it I love about snowshoeing?' My mind began unravelling that . Through the woods to Grandma's house, the fairy tale element of a winding path taking us somewhere familiar, somewhere amazing,somewhere we are recieved and loved. The winding paths are a source of joy to me. The exploration, the adventure , the challenge. The familiar and the unknown. Yesterday I weaved my way through an already established trail finding my way back through the woods I had a few days ago forged unknowingly. I love both situations. I love heading out on untouched snow but I also love following a path. I will be sorry if today's weather covers my snowshoe trail but will be willing to head out and make a new one. The snow was perfect the last few days. It was deep enough to cover obstacles and the going was great. I sometimes spend two hours up there and it never quite seems like enough. If I go a day or two without going I feel an emptiness and longing. Sometimes I wake in the night and transport my self back there in my imagination. I thought yesterday of the day when I may not be able to snowshoe or walk up the wood road. I hope that day is far away. Grampie and I make Emma and Paige put on snowshoes and head up the hill. They reluctantly follow and possibly have a little bit of fun. They head back with Grampie knowing Monkey needs more. Monkey needs the woods. It occurs to me to make the comparison to my need to write and can see some parallels. I thought of many on my sojourn yesterday and maybe someday I'll write them down. Who knows if the girls will ever love snowshoeing the way I do. Perhaps for them it will be something else entirely that fills their souls and brings such joy. For me strapping on my snowshoes and heading into the woods is a gift and I'll keep doing it until I can't. Other things will probably be written and remembered about me but hopefully ' she loved to Snowshoe' will be right up there and the people who love me will understand just why.

Zoom, Zoom, Zoom

 Who would have thought it? I remember a time I thought figuring out how to set up a Zoom meeting, interview or launch was way too difficult for me and my limited technical abilities. My first real attempt was last year for the NB Book awards and it didn't come easy. But little by little, through trial and error I found my way . I am still quite excited when it does come together and apart from the intial shock  everytime  I see my face  on the screen I am adapting to it.If this is the norm for now until we can actually meet together, I will continue to do my best with it. Last night I had a lovely interview with Molly from Digitally Lit. Molly is an enthusiastic , confident and personable grade nine student from Newfoundland. She prepared a great interview, sharing her love for the Sewing Basket. I was thrilled to hear her kind and encouraging comments and answer her thoughtful questions. The first couple of minutes were edited out as Disco, my son's adorable dog who was unhappily put out of my office reacted to someone coming to the back door. Before shutting my office door I told my two  granddaughters they had to come off their Ipads so the WiFi would be stronger. I shut out my life and for a few minutes became just an author answering questions. Molly asked some great questions and for the most part I was able to answer with some clarity. I do tend to ramble and get off track and often forget the original question . But right away we seemed to form a back and forth connection that was genuine. How can an author not love hearing how much a book she wrote meant to a reader ( and her grandmother)? I remember having so much fun at the NB Book awards and really enjoying my Zoom book launch for When the Hill Came Down. I loved the fact  that when it was over I was already in my comfortable , warm  home. I could just go downstairs where I was   welcomed back by my family and my loyal granddog. I am all these things, a wife, a mother, a dog lover, a grandmother , the cheif cook and bottle washer, and an author who is always happy to talk about her work and her process. I am thankful that I get to do it all.