Category Archives: family

Balls to the wall

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It lay dormant, nestled in the corner of the family dining room at the cottage.  It listened to every one of our crazy conversations and eventually became the topic of many of those conversations instead of just blending into the background.

Its birth was accidental.  It came to be through a simple act of property maintenance.  The family cottage was built in the early 1900’s and had begun to show its age so, without regard for its final appearance, a spray foam was used to seal a few cracks in the old building.  What resulted in the upper corner of that dining room was eventually named and heralded as a true piece of our family history.

Perhaps this innocuous object was made more grotesque by my family’s depraved sense of humor.  It is even reasonable to say that other families may never look at this simple mass and see what we all saw.  But from the first time it was noticed at a family dinner, it was affectionately dubbed the “shiny ball sack’.

Over the years, this harmless protrusion witnessed our highs and our lows.  It feasted on the sounds of our laughter and it absorbed the collection of our tears.  Somehow that inanimate object became a large part of the traditions of our family meals and I was devastated to find out it was going to be amputated from its place in those family traditions.

I haven’t been able to visit the cottage yet this summer so I was unaware that the surgical removal had taken place – until today.  I came home from work to find a lovely gift bag on my front door step and when I saw what was inside, my heart swelled.  There, gently preserved in a shadow box, was the shiny ball sack that has been a part of our family dinners for decades.  My aunt had painstakingly saved this piece of history and presented it in a way that would allow me to keep this little gem of our family history safe and sound.

ball sack

My mom and I used to laugh endlessly about this mutation of foam and it will now find its place beside a picture of my mother in my living room.  It is a fitting ending to this chapter knowing that two of the things that brought me so much joy will be together again.

 

 

A part of life

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Death is selfish.  It lurks in the shadows.  It hides in a realm of certainty,  somewhere between acceptance and denial, and it feeds on our inability to process its inevitability.  It waits for nobody.  It heeds its own agenda and it gives no signs of compassion.  It simply reaps.

~~

Last week we had a senior’s bus tour at the lodge.  Unlike the previous tours, we had neither mildly concussed nor toppled our guests on top of one other.  The tour had been relatively trauma-free with the exception of a phone call a mere fifteen minutes after the bus arrived and our guests had been shown to their rooms.

Death had been hovering at the precipice and chose to include us in its folly with one phone call for the sister of its intended victim shortly after she arrived at the lodge.  What should have been a glorious adventure for Kathleen suddenly turned into a feeling of helplessness and isolation as she mourned the loss of her sister surrounded by a group of strangers.

But even in the face of sadness, there was no surprise in discovering that the group of strangers had chosen to embrace Kathleen and take on a part of her burden as their own.  As much as death wanted to be the headliner in this performance, the supporting cast was truly the star of the show.

Fellow travelers and staff made every effort to ease Kathleen’s suffering and reunited her with her family before the bus was due to leave the lodge.   It takes a village – and this village had a great deal of empathy and ingenuity.  Kathleen was able to reconnect with her family and attend her sister’s funeral.  And although she was missed on that last day of the bus tour, we knew she was where she needed to be and she knew we all held her in our thoughts and prayers.

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(image credit)

Death is selfish.  And although it may be a part of life, so is love and compassion.

 

I’ll bet you think this blog is about you, don’t you?

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She’s so vain.  I didn’t think it was possible but my dog has begun to show narcissistic tendencies.  She is absolutely one of the sweetest dogs I have ever known and I never thought I would be writing these words about her.

Our routines have changed since she had her second seizure a few weeks ago.  She came through it just fine but I wanted to keep as close an eye on her as I could, so her outdoor adventures became shadowed by my presence and an extendable leash so I could monitor her well-being.

Three or four times a day, we walk to the end of our road and back and she thrills in discovering new smells each time we travel along the same stretch of pavement.  She has been trained to sit down at the side of the road every time a car passes so they are not concerned about getting too close.  But lately after each car has passed, her smile widens and she leaps from her seated position to follow the occupants of the vehicle that she has convinced herself are on the road only to see her.  I am loath to admit that my dog has become a Kardashian.

Tail wagging, she veers into the middle of the road to catch a whiff of the humans in the metal can on wheels.  If the car is going in the opposite direction, I suddenly find myself the one being walked down the road.  And, much to my dismay, several cars stop to chat only reinforcing her belief that they have stopped just for her.  After her faithful subjects have curtsied and paid their respects, her head swells slightly, I feel moderately deprived of oxygen and we continue our walk until we are securely tucked back into our humble abode (which I’m sure she now feels is beneath her).

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(image: Callaway as a puppy)

As I’m sure it happens in Hollywood, Callaway’s fame happened overnight.  Three or four times a day, I apparently walk a movie star.  I missed the memo explaining my new role in this relationship but as long as I still have that smiling face in my life, I’m okay with it!

Never let me go

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otters

I held you in a dream.

You became a part of me,

as if my body never ended

and you were merely

an extension of me.

And though I felt like I was floating away,

you were there

to pull me back to you,

to hold me in my slumber,

to keep me in your embrace,

to never let me go.

(image credit)

**I saw a video of these otters slowly drifting apart and coming back together.  They inspired this poem.

We’re both shaken up

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“Happiness is a warm puppy.” ~ Charles M Schulz

~~

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I have had the pleasure of sharing my life with this beautiful creature for the past 8 1/2 years.  She has been my companion and my confidant without question.  Last night she had her second seizure in exactly six months to the day.  I must admit I handled this one much better than the first but it is still a very traumatic event.

It is a horrible sensation to feel helpless, unable to control what is happening to the one living thing that has given me unconditional love since we first laid eyes on each other.  The only thing I could offer her in the moment of her worst distress was the return of my unconditional love.

I remembered to remain calm.  I kept her out of harms way as her body remained rigid under the gentle touch of my hand.  Once the sound of my voice could be heard again, she began to relax.

You don’t have to have a child to feel like a mother.  I lay in bed after she finally went to sleep, hyper-vigilant to the point that I remained awake for hours after the event.  I listened for any odd sound in her breathing and for any strange noise similar to the commotion that originally alerted me to the seizure at the beginning.  Once I did drift into slumber, any unfamiliar discord woke me with a slight panic but the puppy continued to snore softly in her bed.

This morning, she is the same puppy in a dog’s body.  She is full of energy, eager for her walk and her treats and acting happily like nothing ever happened.

We see the vet in a few days and fingers crossed we get a relatively clean bill of health.  I’m not ready to imagine my life waking up and not seeing that face.

Time is not linear

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I remember the phone call like it was yesterday.  My brother called from Vancouver in the wee hours of the morning to tell me that I was an aunt and my nephew had safely entered the world.  I was living in Ontario and felt like I was a world away but somehow felt like I was in the room with him at the same time.   That phone call came 16 years ago.

Tonight our family gathered at my nephew’s restaurant of choice to not only celebrate the auspicious occasion of his 16th birthday but also the successful completion of level one of our graduated licensing system for new drivers.  Yes, local friends stay off the sidewalks, my nephew is behind the wheel.

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(image credit)

It was a numbing experience watching their familiar vehicle turn onto the road that led to the restaurant and not see my sister-in-law behind the wheel.  TJ held the very proper pose of hands at 10 and 2 and didn’t even flinch when his dad lobbed a snowball at the car and hit it squarely in the middle of the driver’s door.  You could feel the pride, and some relief, radiating from his 16-year-old face as he crossed the parking lot.

As I write this post, their family has returned home and, at his request, TJ is out driving around our small town taking his dog “Zoey Hot Wheels” for a car ride.  I’m sure it is the first of many trips they will share with him behind the wheel and I couldn’t feel more proud of his smooth transition into the next phase of his life.   Happy birthday Buddy!!

 

 

When the sun shines on June

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I have written many posts about my mom since she passed a little over two years ago.  Some of those stories have been light-hearted and as joyful as she was and some have been wrapped tightly in the veil of loss.

During the past two years, my mother has made it extremely clear that she has been doing her best to keep in touch.  While others may dismiss my belief in her presence, I know in my heart it is not fantasy.  It is not simply an extension of my overactive imagination.  It is not some arc angel named Jingobar trying to earn his wings.  It is my mother – I knew her well enough to know how she operates.

If I ever had any doubt, even one moment’s hesitation that she was working her magic from another realm, she made it perfectly clear last Wednesday night.  Without going into intricate detail, a great deal of my past culminated into a very emotional evening and, where I felt I had failed in the past, I encountered an overwhelming rush of emotion by feeling like I had finally made a difference.

After sharing a very touching conversation with a dear friend and wiping the remaining tears from my face, I walked back in to my living room.  The early evening sun was still streaming through my window as I sat down on my couch.  To my left, my grandfather’s writing desk was cast in half-shadow and half-sun.  When I took a moment to absorb the tableau in front of me, the tears returned.

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The candle on my desk, the one with my mother’s picture, was one of the few things bathed in the sunlight and that light, perhaps my mother’s light, projected a halo onto the wall behind it.  In the two years that her candle has sat innocently atop my desk, this anomaly has never occurred.  A brief twenty seconds later the image, and the sunlight, were gone.

My mom, June as we came to call after this story (click on the link), sent her message in her way and I got that message loud and clear.  There will never be a doubt that she is always with me when the sun shines on June.

 

Seventeen thousand, five hundred and forty four hours

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Butterflyinthesky1

You left us in the early hours,

so peacefully your spirit would roam.

Through a gentle wind and the rising sun,

He called to take you home.

A ladder was built for your journey to light,

each rung meant to make you content.

While bathed in the glowing light of rebirth,

you gracefully began your ascent.

Loving arms awaited  you there,

curling you into their embrace.

Heaven welcomed an angel back home,

 rejoicing her love and her grace.

You leave behind your spirit and joy,

in those who loved you each day.

While our days will be saddened by the emptiness we feel,

we know we will see you again someday.

~

Jane Eleanore Nairn – May 21, 1940 – March 7, 2014

They usually mean well…..

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People do strange things when they are under stress.  In the worst case scenario, their judgement is clouded and their choices are made without the benefit of having time to weigh the pros and cons to be able to formulate an informed decision.

On the odd occasion, people have very good intentions but they have terrible execution.  Although they may have a reasonable amount of time to assess a situation, their emotions cloud their abilities to think clearly and they make bad choices.  Their objective becomes distorted and they lose sight of the most important part of the predicament with which they are faced.  It is a simple human error and one that could be so easily avoided.

Conversation is the backbone of any relationship and honesty is the tissue that protects that backbone.  With neither of those things, human affinities will never have the strength to stand on their own.  There is much to be said for direct communication.  And, even if the exchange of information is uncomfortable, it is a necessary tool to build a strong foundation of trust and understanding.

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For the most part, people do mean well.  There are moments when they lose themselves in trying desperately to find a solution without first understanding the entirety of the situation.  Their concern impairs their objectivity and they believe that they are acting in the best way possible.  But sometimes, they just need to take a moment to breathe – to step back and think to themselves “how would I want  someone to react if I were in that situation?”.   And just maybe that one small step backwards will take them leaps and bounds ahead of where they were.

 

 

 

 

 

When you don’t have to think twice

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I am fortunate to have some truly great friends in my life who just get me.  I never have to worry about saying the wrong thing or having a joke hang in the air like a deflating cartoon balloon.  My sense of humor falls squarely on their ears and is met with an understanding laugh as opposed to the chirping of crickets in an otherwise silent room.

And the same can be said for their comprehension of the range of my emotional scale.  I have never been afraid to cry in front of, or with, those same people.  To me those tears are not a weakness but a genuine representation of my character and I admire that same quality in those with whom I choose to surround myself.  In an ocean as big as this life, it is nice to find another fish from the same school of thought.

There is a great sense of comfort knowing that, when you are with the right people, there is no need to feel guarded.  There is no reason to quell words or feelings because you sense they will be out of place.  There is no second guessing when it comes to telling it like it is because those people expect and appreciate your honesty and your compassion.

With those same friends, I never feel embarrassed if I am not at my best.  They know my good days and my bad days by the timber in my voice and they are just there, with no judgement and no unsolicited advice.  There is only concern and a touching way to express that concern.  Whether it is a solid embrace, a well-timed “I love you” or a simple touch of a hand to a shoulder, they seem to know the solution before I have had a chance to diagnose the problem.

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Those friends, those souls who are so connected to my soul, never make me think twice about being myself.  They cushion my fall.  They wipe my tears.  And they really do take up the biggest part of my heart.