Home is Where Our Story Continues

 The first day of Winter, a new season, a new home and the ongoing story. On this day I think of all that. Christmas is such a nostalgic time and we tend to long for days gone by. We pull out the decorations and hang the old ornaments on the tree and we remember. This year we are in a new house. Now I realize for many people changing houses is no big deal. Some have made several moves and find the packing and purging a fairly simple task. I am not one of those people. On December 17th , 1988 Burton and I moved into our not quite finished home. We had been building it for four years and finished or not we were spending Christmas there with our three kids. We'd been living with my parents for five months, the kids sharing a bedroom and Burton and I sleeping next door at my grandparents. The fall had been a challenge and I know I felt it then but when looking back  I remember taking it in my stride just fine. We do tend to remember certain things with rose colored glasses. That fact gives me the assurance that I will look back at the challenges we have faced this fall with the same perspective. Now even with the challenges, I have felt a huge amount of gratitude and joy. But along with those emotions I have felt stress, exhaustion and sadness. A huge change has occurred and a much different chapter in our story is being written. Change is hard and requires a  lot of positive self talk and kindness. The job is not done even though I wake up every day loving our new surroundings. There is still packing and  purging and letting go to do and I find myself a bit envious of those who have done that regularly instead of accumulating thirty four years of stuff. But along with the stuff are the wonderful memories of raising our four children and welcoming our five grandchildren under that roof. We now get to see our youngest son and his fiancé write their own story in the house we built. The rest is just stuff and clutter and  in the end the story will be a victorious one of love and fortitude and those  stories are the best kind!

Still Weary and a Bit Weepy

 I am catching my breath this morning as I sit in gratitude and exhaustion. There is still much to do but much has been done. Lists and motivation seem too much to process today so I will allow some refreshing and rest instead. Yesterday I did my last sale and was pleased to meet return readers and new ones. I have edits coming for my spring book and look forward to January's return to the book I started while in the city. I will wait for it to take shape and find the words to fill the pages when the time is right. I feel overwhelmed with thoughts of Christmas but will give myself permission to let it be whatever is will be this year. Last night  the wind blew and the rain pelted down but today the sun is streaming through my office window. A good cry seems to be waiting as I approach Zac's 44th birthday tomorrow. Yesterday a woman walked by my table and casually mentioned The Year Mrs Montague Cried to her friend. " I taught Zachary White" she said. I let her keep walking. It is not for her to understand the loss I carry every day. The tears are coming now and maybe a good deluge will prevent them from coming later. I remember the first birthday I faced my friends  Marilyn, Alice and Alexandra brought me a cake. The woman at Sobeys had got the wording wrong and we laughed at her mistake. I think it said 'Happy Birthday That' instead of Happy Birthday Zac. Laughter tears, joy and sorrow, memory and  forgetting. Days turning to years and life going on. Dark days becoming light and pain accompanied by hope. Seasons changing and gifts surfacing when we least expect them. I will receive this day as the gift it is and do my best to truly appreciate it. My mind and heart will face tomorrow as well and I will claim happy birthday to that!

When Weary is Wonderful

November is upon us and we are already midway through. I have often proclaimed my love of this deary, chilly and dark month. I see it as a respite , a pause and a preparation month. The vibrant colors of October have vanished leaving naked deciduous trees , green softwoods and dull Tamarac with just a hint of color in our landscapes. Debate swirls over when to turn on Christmas lights, when to put up Christmas tress and when to decorate our homes and storefronts. That of course is a personal choice. Today's entry title came to me as I brought up my new post page. I am indeed weary . Since the end of March we have been caught up in the huge undertaking of passing the torch, downsizing, moving on to our next stage, selling our home to our son and his fiancé and  establishing a new home up the road. It has indeed been a huge task but we are almost done with the main part of it. My journal pages hold the details of each challenge, each hurtle and each victory. The saying" If  only I knew then what I know now..." comes to mind. This journey has not been for the weak or faint of heart. Patience has been tried and  tested  but on all counts I think we have done our best to be positive, kind and hopeful. On this quiet November day I sit with my weariness and take the gifts it offers. Things will ramp up in a few days and the next frenzied lap of this marathon will begin. I am so anxious to settle in to our new home and make it our own. I am also anxious to watch Caleb and Jenna make the house we are leaving, their very own. This will unfold as it will, in time to  celebrate Christmas which will be the icing on the cake. We knew this transition would not be an easy or painless one but oh the blessings it has delivered along the way. This has been a November and a season in our lives that we will remember and treasure. My weary heart, muddled mind and tired body rejoices in the recovery, rest and renewal we have been blessed with. Let the Christmas lights sparkle!

We Travel in Time

 One of my all time favorite movies is About Time.

I have watched it many times and expect to watch it many more times. It has a richness and depth that speaks to me every time I view it. I cry at the same scenes over and over and sometimes I watch it just to do that. It is a delightful ,quirky little movie about time travel and has multiple layers which is why I never tire of loosing myself in it. I love the dad, the mom, the wild little sister, the odd uncle, the love story, the heartbreak and the deep connections it celebrates. We travel in time every day as we like the characters in this movie go back and forth to the times that have shaped us. Each time I watch the father and little boy skipping stones and walking hand in hand back up the hill I remember all those magical moments I had with my kids. I cry and smile at the same time. I try to live one day at a time and stay grounded and grateful for the here and now but my mind and heart go back in time  and leap ahead just as often. The main message of this beautiful little movie is to appreciate it all. I will soon move out of this house we built and have lived in for almost thirty five years. So many memories, so many changes but here we are on this day. We look ahead with hope but can not alter the course of either the past or the future. We must just live it. Twenty three and a half years ago I placed a photograph of Zac that was taken in the pantry on one of the pantry cupboards vowing to never remove it. Now I am removing myself from the pantry and Caleb and Jenna will eventually renovate and remove the cupboard. I am fine with that and with whatever choices they make. Zac goes with me to our new home  even though he will have never stood in the spots we will stand. I can always return to moments when he was with us. That is the beauty of time travel. Perhaps this photograph will be the one Caleb will find a place for in his new kitchen. Either way his big brother held him while stirring  oatmeal and making him breakfast. And those are the times that matter!

I Need a Pep Talk

 Today's blog entry is just for me! Feeling overwhelmed this morning  a memory popped into my head. I am standing in a woodworking shop in Nashwaaksis  holding my nine month old baby waiting to talk to John Brewer about renting his empty farmhouse in Burtt's Corner. I have spent the morning combing the countryside in my father's truck with my easy going Zachary in the car seat, looking for a house to rent. The criteria  of the search has two conditions; we need to be able  burn wood and it has to have a barn for our ten cows. Amid the loud drone of saws and machinery I ask Mr. Brewer if I can rent his house explaining my mission. He is resistant having had bad tenants in the past. I plead and  Zac lays on his charms  until he finally gives in, but says the barn is not safe to use. I can bring in a wood stove though so I agree to rent it. He says $125 a month. I get him down to $100. A week later we use Dad's truck to move in to a house a half an hour away from St. Thomas University where I will  earn my Bachelor of Education. It is Friday and I still have no vehicle  and I start school on Monday. Burton arrives with the  brand new truck he sold the ten cows to buy. I have the weekend to learn how to drive a standard and have no babysitter. My friend Giselle agrees to keep Zac until I find someone and I proceed to learn how to shift gears without stalling. Fast forward to today. I can do this next thing! We can do this next thing!

Happy Book Anniversary!

 Copies of the 10th Anniversary Edition of The Year Mrs. Montague Cried arrived today. My debut novel is seeing a second life, a re-issuing, an anniversary edition. How amazing is that! I think back to the moments in a quiet classroom while my grade four students were busy writing a provincial assessment, when there wasn't  much required of their  teacher except to be present, when I jotted down the seeds of an idea that had been simmering since the first nights of sleeplessness after my son's death the year before . I remember sitting in the quiet stillness of the night after tumultuous days of grieving and preparing for my oldest son's funeral; an act too unimaginable to truly process but unavoidable. My husband and our other three kids slept while I filled page after page attempting to make some sense of the  nightmare we were living through. I knew in those moments a book honoring Zac would someday surface.  So on that day a year later  in that  testing silence I scribbled the framework of how that book would take shape. I knew the title early on and I knew the ending but at that point I knew very little. The most important thing I knew was that I needed to write it. I made a plan which was attainable but not immediate. I would apply for a 4/5 deferred leave and on the fifth year I would write The Year Mrs. Montague Cried. From that first jotting until the moment I held a copy of the book in my hand  there are  more stories than this one blog entry can hold but I remember the journey in detail. It was a journey toward publication of course but more than that it was a journey toward finding a way to live with the ever present sorrow of burying  my first born child. Tonight I celebrate the 10th anniversary of the publication of my first book ( a year late), I acknowledge  twenty-three and a half years of living without Zac, twenty-two and a half years since getting the idea  for the book to honor my son,  sixteen years since taking the year off to write it,  twelve years since the manuscript  won first place in the Atlantic Writing Competition, eleven  years since  Acorn Press published it, ten years since it won the Ann Connor Brimer Excellence in Children's Literature Award. This little debut novel  has now been returned to stores and bookshelves and to reader's hands. I can again offer it up with the eleven books I wrote and saw published after making sure I told the story I needed to tell first.  Happy Book Anniversary !

All Good Things...God Save the King

 ...must come to an end. We know the truth of that saying but that doesn't make it any easier. Endings, changes, saying goodbye and letting go are all hard. This morning I tried to take in every minute, every sound, the slant of the sun , the breathing of our old dog, every breath I took and the feel of the September breeze during what is likely to be my last veranda morning time. I have always been sentimental over last time experiences. As a child I would stand in my classroom on the last day of school and mourn the passing of another year. I always approach  my last lake swim with ceremony and reverence. I tear up thinking of the last time I saw my oldest son alive, the last time I sat by my  mother and father's bedsides, the last time I visited my dear friend Paul. Life is full of last times. News coverage yesterday showed the Queen in her feeble, fragile state extending her hand to the new Prime Minister for the last time. I have no words of wisdom or comfort to offer except this; Enjoy each moment as if it were the last. I did that this morning and now I move on to the rest of my day anticipating my last lake swim later this afternoon.