Words are Not Enough

 How can I write about this? How can I not write about this? As a mother, a grandmother, a retired Grade 4 teacher, as a mother who has lost a child and as a human being I am shaken to the core. We all are. The very depth of this evil horrific thing is too much for anyone to grasp. Eva,Xavier,Jose,Irma,Nevaeh,Ellie,Tess,Lexi,Jacklyn,Jailah,Jayce,Miranda,Amerie,Makenna,Layla,Maite,Annabell,Eliahana,Rojelio,Alithia,Uziyah.

We will remember them for a few days. Their loss will be referred to and calculated in the terrible statistics surrounding school shootings. Words of  sadness , condolence, regrets, anger , blame and dismissal will be uttered. But for the loved ones and those left behind with the deep wounds of  May 24th, 2022 words will never be enough .

When a House is a Home

 Today I feel led to give tribute to a house that was built  on a hill, on a dirt road by two young people who had no idea what they were doing. The couple walked up the long driveway past an old foundation of a house that had burned down many years before on property the young man's father had gifted him, believing his young son was a farmer at heart. A few years before the two  had dreamed of a life together while on the property, which is another story for another day but a memory that still makes them laugh. Their first  undertaking settling  on that land was to build a small shed with a loft and  move in with their two year old son while the man traveled a lot with the military and the woman began her first teaching job. The little shed had very little in the way of amenities but they moved in with as much excitement as some would into a mansion. They bought sheep and began a farm with faulty fences and half finished outbuildings. The woman became great with their second child and still climbed the ladder to the loft believing a second child would fit into this small space and she would be fine with no running water. A story of an unfinished  macrame crib designed to hang over the older brothers' corner bed is a good one too. A mobile home was bought while the husband was away and the four settled into that, welcoming a third child three years later. The big house was always the dream and one evening the woman saw a piece on the CBC news about a cordwood house and the seed was sown. This was definitely a case of not having a clue what they were doing but they did it anyway. Hole dug one year, footing the next, foundation the next  and cordwood walls constructed laboriously  one full way round at a time,  beginning on July first and laying the last run on November 17th. The next year the top floor and roof were put on and they moved in on December 15th with very little of the interior finished. I am tearing up now as I remember them  standing with  their  three kids in front of  the  Christmas tree with the bare cordwood walls still showing, holding a cake celebrating their house-warming. The house was not that warm the first winter! Eventually the walls were  covered with drywall, crack-filled and painted, flooring and finishing touches were added. A couple of years later  they welcomed their fourth child and improvements were made as they could afford them. Lots of changes, improvements and living  have brought the house on the hill to where it is today. This house has always been a home, as the small shed had been and the mobile home was. For that man and woman the property they walked and dreamed of building a home and a family on has been the only place they have known.  But a next  chapter is being written for this couple. The home they lovingly built  will welcome the next  generation , a new farmer and  the woman he loves and  shares  his vision.  A new family will reside in it's thick, strong walls and the former couple will take their dreams across the road, follow a  new vision and make a new structure into a home. I am really tearing up now , but I am filled with pride, hope , joy and excitement. 

And You Call Yourself a Blogger?

 I call myself many things and others call me lots of things as well. I will start with my list; wife, mother , grandmother, sister, niece, sister in law, friend, author for a few. Burton calls me Mrs. White. My kids call me Mom. Two of my grandkids call me Monkey and three of them call me Grammie. I am called Sue more than Susan. "And you call yourself a blogger" my daughter said today when she asked if I was going to write a blog  this afternoon. Earlier she told me I looked old so maybe I look as tired as I feel today. I just sat down at my desk and made a list of the tasks I hope to tackle. I put blog on the top of the list. Why? Not because I call myself a blogger or because my blog coach told me to. I am writing this entry to process and evaluate who I am on this day and why I do what I do. I could nap instead. Today I held my twelfth book in my hands. Being able to do so does not come without a lot of hard work and concentration. I love being an author and I am thrilled to hold another book but the effort and success of doing

so is just a small part of everything else I do at this stage in my life. It used to be teaching that took up so much energy and space in my every days. I used to juggle raising four kids , keeping a house and farm, maintaining a marriage and friendships, being a daughter to aging parents and so on and so on. Today I had planned on driving to Moncton to see my dear Aunt Ruth but a mis-communication changed my plans. Perhaps things happen for a reason as I believe they often do. Maybe I will have more reserves and be better prepared the next time and I will get to sit and visit with my beloved namesake aunt. I do not call myself a blogger but I call myself a pretty darn resourceful, caring and  resilient woman. An old woman perhaps but I venture to say I pretty tough old cookie never the less. Call me whatever you like but I will keep showing up and doing my best for the people I love. I will also keep counting my blessings, take my rest when I can get it and sometimes I'll even blog about it.