A Year to File Under "Made It"

 

It's been a year. One like no other. A year of epic proportions navigating a global pandemic. 

We sent our staff home and I collected my essentials, preparing for what I expected to be a few weeks working from home. Who knew it would morph into a year parked in front of my laptop watching the seasons come and go from my kitchen window. 

It was life changing on all fronts. And while many boasted their creative endeavors on social media, I wrote nothing. In a time that will be one for the history books; one that was brimming with firsts and new experiences and testing my mental and physical stamina; I had nothing. I couldn't write a word about it, nor did I have any desire to do so.

And a quick scan of my hefty collection of journals confirms it. When life is tough, I don't write about it. My journals are flush with three year gaps. Divorces. Sickness. Deaths. Stress. I lived all of it but I didn't record it. Maybe it is because my mother taught us that thoughts materialize; that the power of positive thinking works just as strongly the other way. Think it and so it shall be. Expect the worst and you will surely get it. She helped wire me to expect the best possible outcome. It's a reflex. I have a medical test and I expect things to be just fine. If they aren't, I am truly surprised. 

For many, writing about their woes is therapeutic and cathartic. No so for me. Writing gives "it" form. It gives those times a permanent home that I really don't feel the need to revisit. That doesn't mean I deny them or rewrite history. I proudly own each and every choice in my life - positive and otherwise. They have brought me to this very moment.  Teaching. Shaping. Empowering. Me. The journey of my evolution.

During the pandemic I turned 60, became a grandma for the second time, resurrected some relationships after a 20 year hiatus, missed celebrating milestone birthdays, mourning losses and cancelled famjams. My hunger and appreciation for my family and loved ones has deepened. I miss them.

It's been a year and over time, I won't remember the details and every complaint, and worry. I will however always remember the love and longing I felt. Just like the books on my shelf that I can't remember the name of a single character or plot, but I remember how I felt about the read. 

This past year gave us space to learn how creative and resilient we are; how kind, supportive and caring we can be; and what community looks like. 

It was a year like no other. And we made it, a luxury denied millions.

I Am Thinking Of

Today's 10 minute writing prompt: I am thinking of...

I am thinking of so many things at this exact moment in time. The arrival of spring is upon up us – or so she would have us think. For the first time this morning I heard the squirrels having a turf war with the crows. Dogs barked incessantly in the background and a flock of geese flew noisily overhead. The ground was spongy, and snow covered most of the ground. I stepped in dog poop that was disguised as earth. That’ll be a pick-up job for another day. 

I marveled and how quickly the seasons change. They lure us in with promise of warmer weather and springtime just long enough to hammer us with a final dose of winter. Our taxes are due in a week. Springtime surprise, I thought as I see the recycle bin roll by. 

My to do list is infinite, even in this pandemic. How is that possible? I have to see my dad soon. It’s been too long. And my grandkids are probably not going to know me. I am feeling busy and tired but in a strange way satisfied. Daily writing has been a blessing. A reminder that there is something in every day of living worth writing about. It is easy to forget that. My pile of half read books beckon – don’t forget about us. And my puppy whines at my feet, also asking me to not forget about him. Just to make sure I don't, he snatches my rubber book and makes off across the kitchen. 

Fridays seem to be that day when we finally allow ourselves to let down, and let it all hit us. My mind overflows with memories, reminders, faces, ideas – genius ones at that – wishes and dreams. I am thinking that maybe I need to take a break from thinking for a bit. I wander down the hallowed pathways of my memories, excavating, those that I have left undisturbed for so many years. I do this when I am thinking about my mother. It always comes back to her. I miss her. But if I let myself, I can conjure up the warmth of her neck, her kind voice and her loving embrace.

And how is your Friday?

Numbers

The dog was whining but the coffee was made and daughter was on the phone to deliver the day's writing prompt. Our puppy senses that this time spent with daughter writing is precious, more precious than playing fetch or wrangling his chew toy in a game of tug of war. He demands to be heard and it lands him in his crate, if only for ten minutes. And then, poised, ready and waiting over my keyboard, she tells me the prompt -- numbers. My fingers hit the keys, bringing form to threads, notions and incomplete thoughts, resurrecting memories filed in the farthest corners of my archive. Here we go.

Numbers. Measuring, quantifying, assigning value. They can be simple as an age or as complicated as a variable mortgage. 

Numbers were my friend, and then they weren’t. In grade school I shone brightly with sums and multiplications but we started to part ways with the introduction of long division.

And then there was algebra – a mix of x’s and y’s and unknowns. Mrs. Gurney passed me with 51% to ensure I would not be a repeat customer.

And years later, I became a sales manager with commission and reward tied to goals – numbers! Calculating, estimating and ultimately putting a dollar sign in front of those numbers and suddenly they all made sense. 

I don’t have a favourite number. But apparently the devil does. I lived at 666 Moffat Street and I enjoyed the attention that it got whenever I cited my address. The devil’s house! 

I remember the anticipation of turning ten – double digits – as if somehow it heralded to the world that I was no longer a skinny little kid. The extra candles didn’t change that. 

And now I no longer race towards the next age, the next marker of time lived. Those numbers are not my friend but we have come to an understanding. The age I am at this very moment is my favourite – my favourite number. Because it is the only thing of which I am certain. I am. Now. 

And there is no number to quantity my gratitude, for it is infinite.

I Forgot

I was on point this morning - ready at the computer for my next writing prompt with my daughter. She answered sheepishly, "I'm running late Mom. Give me a few minutes."

I thought I would putter while I waited: 

Late
This, that, the other. Don’t forget. Where is that… What did you say? Don’t forget.
Rush, frenzy, discombobulation.
Remember.
Don’t forget.

Then she called to tell me today's writing prompt is "I forgot". I laughed. There are no coincidences. We're connected. Then I "shushed" the dog one more time and hit the keyboard.

I forgot

What? I just forgot. I can’t remember what I forgot, but I know that I forgot.

My dreams are filled with me forgetting… 

forgetting to get my grad gown for high school commencement

forgetting to invite my family to my wedding

forgetting to wear pants to my first day on the job

But those were just dreams.

We were dying to get out of our apartment, take in a movie.

We said “why not? My gut told me there was a reason.

We threw on coats. We locked door and headed down the hall laughing, happy, light.

The elevator opened and we got in. My apprehension followed close behind.

The doors closed.

Then I remembered what I forgot.

We have a baby!

Water

 

"Do you want to do some writing with me, Mom?" she asked. "Only ten minutes a day... with a writing prompt".

It's been a long time since I've properly exercised this writing muscle of mine so I was eager to accept, and just a little intimidated. Daughter is a gifted writer but the rules say that at the end of the ten minutes we read our writing to one another - and listen without judgement and comment. Of course I couldn't contain myself and burst out a compliment when she finished... 

She called me just before seven and stayed on the line as we wrote for ten minutes. Writing in harmony. I think I'm going to like this new ritual.

And now I am renewing my commitment to writing, just a little, if not daily, then as often as I can. 

Today's prompt was "water".

Water

Slipping down my cheek.
Bubbling, welling, until there is no other option but to release and roll.

Pelting waves down my back.
Soothing, scalding ribbons of bliss to awaken me to a new day.

Rhythmic tapping on the roof.
Staccato pellets of comfort reminding me how warm and safe I am.

Washing over with every plunge.
Immersing and then surrendering back to the surface with every stroke.

It draws me in and pulls me closer.
The ebbs and flows inviting, teasing, reminding me that the sea is a part of me.

My place of peace.
The river hears me without judgement. It harbours my secrets and welcomes me home.

Staring Down Sixty

Me wearing sixty - freshly washed hair and a scrubbed, au natural face. 

Today is my birthday. I turned sixty.

Months ago the rumblings started about what I wanted to do to celebrate my sixtieth birthday. Sixty is a milestone birthday after all, and deserves to be celebrated. The advice I would give to others. And funny enough, I wasn't really feeling it. Not like I did when I was turning fifty. Then I wanted adventure; to push myself outside of my comfort zone; to travel to distant lands; and then to celebrate the day by cooking a feast for all of my beloved friends and family. I had clear desires and intentions around that special birthday and I realized them all.

I had landed on a family dinner with just the kids, sibs and our parents. And then the pandemic was declared and our world as we knew it was no more. We were sent home to roost in our respective nests to isolate and I was left to ponder and reflect.

I have come to realize that as the years pass, it takes less to satisfy me, to make me happy. I am contented. I have traveled and explored wild and wonderful places and loved and lived deeply. I have raised a brood of kidlets and enjoyed the riches and responsibilities of a large loving family. I have been blessed with rewarding work and curiosity that of a life long learner.

And now at sixty my heart yearns for connection, time spent, more moments shared with those I care about. And so for all of what I have experienced and the textures and colours that make up my life, I am truly grateful. And for all that we will learn from the pandemic and the famjams that will follow this quarantine, I am brimming with anticipation.

I am staring down sixty and the view is spectacular.

Reconnection

Reconnection. That is the word for the "now". International Women's Day has me reflecting on the many women who provided the texture and substance for my life. My mother and grandmothers from whose hardship, breast and bone I was borne.  Their resilience, strength and resolve that I can only pray is packed into my DNA.

My father used to tell me that I didn't need alot of friends; I needed a few good friends. And he was right. And over my lifetime I had had the privilege of having deep friendships - from school, college, and my workplaces. Some have come and gone, fulfilling their reason and season but I have a small group of friends that have been a constant, doing life with me.

A few weeks ago I had the urge to look up someone who had been very special to me and who I hadn't spoken to in over twenty years. The reasons are a little complicated but in a nutshell, our lives took us in very different directions. I had tried  to find her ten years ago to no avail. But my recent efforts paid off. She popped up on Facebook and I direct messaged her. I was nervous, wondering if she would want to reach out. Within days I received a pleasant reply. She was interested in catching up and promised to call me when she gets back into the country. It filled my heart and I was happy that I had listened to, and acted on my intuition.

Tonight I caught up with my forever friend Jilly and we covered the gamut of topics - Trump, Dems, Co-Vid 19, parents, kids, community, LGBTQ2, Pride, plans --- you get the picture. It was the kind of conversation one has if you lived next door, and she anywhere but. We share a universal connection not based on frequency or intensity. It just is - as sure as life itself. And after I speak with her I feel content and grateful. She is a changemaker and she is my hero.

I wrapped up my weekend with texts with my soul sisters to make plans to spend time together. We're trying to make our visits more frequent this year and it is a struggle but our commitment extends over 25 years now... longer than any of my marriages!

Reconnection is food for my soul, and tonight, this soul is full to overflowing.