Category Archives: inspiring

A few drops in the bucket

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Even if you don’t have one of your own, you’ve undoubtedly heard of “The Bucket List” concept.  It’s a list of things you want to accomplish before you leave this world.

Some people, like myself, err on the side of caution and have seemingly mundane ideas like writing a novel or meeting The Tenors (which I was able to cross off my list in December of 2013).  A friend of mine has a few crazier ideas and one of them is to get shot.  She is not seeking a fatal death-blow but she wants to be grazed by a bullet to understand the sensation.  Crazy?  Perhaps.  But regardless of the lunacy of its contents, a Bucket List is a worthwhile thing to have.

Life is short and thinking of the things you want to accomplish or participate in is a very grounding way of keeping motivated.  And it doesn’t have to be something you come up with when faced with the possibility of the end drawing near.  A Bucket List can be created to keep you stimulated to just live your life to the fullest.

Pure-Bliss-Yoga-bucket_list

(image credit: pureblissyoga.com)

That bucket can be a driving force in helping you succeed in the areas that you would never have previously challenged yourself.  You could decide to learn yoga, take a new course to expand your education, sleep under the stars or jump out of a perfectly good airplane. Your Bucket List is your own.  Nobody can tell you what to wish for and they certainly have no authority to coach you on how to achieve those goals.  Some may want to change the world and others just want to alter their own world.  There is no right or wrong.  You make the list, you create the rules, and it is entirely up to you to follow through and slowly cross the items off your list and fulfill the journey you created for yourself.

Whether that list is designed because the end of your life is looming closely or because you simply want to set some goals in your life…..see it through.  That list was created from a desire deep within yourself to see an idea to its conclusion. Just remember to keep filling that bucket and don’t ever let the passion that fueled the driving engine behind those bucket contents ever run out.

What’s in your bucket?

Me, myself and I

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“If you’re lonely when you’re alone, you’re in bad company.”
― Jean-Paul Sartre

~~~

It is a terrible thing to have to admit I still have the winter blahs in April.  The ground is still laden with mud-speckled snow, the mercury is still dipping below zero at night and, although the sun is trying to warm the earth, winter still has its death grip on spring.

Perhaps the overwhelming winter weather and extended season has been the cause for my hermit-like habits over the last five months.  Or perhaps with each calendar year that passes I am less excited about dressing in less than comfortable clothing and venturing out to brave the elements.  Regardless of the reason, the majority of my evenings are spent at home enjoying my own company.  Callaway is always there with me, but her conversation skills are still somewhat lacking.

hermit

(image credit: alpinequest.com)

I am a big fan of spending time at home.  I have no trouble passing the endless hours of those cold winter nights because I am comfortable enough in my own skin to enjoy the time alone.  My neighbors are close enough if I ever need help, but at enough of a distance that my sanctuary can still remain tranquil and remote.

In the summer, when the resort is in full swing and there are over 100 people on the property at any given time, it is comforting to know that I will find that same solace within my four walls or ensconced in my gazebo when I go home.  The many leaves that grow create a canopy of shelter so I feel even more hidden than before.  It is true bliss.

Spending that time alone helps me refuel and prepare for the barrage of stimulation I encounter when I leave the sanctity of my shelter.  Sometimes solitude, for me, can be the best companion.

How do you feel about spending time alone?

 

 

 

Night breezes seem to whisper

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Dreams

(image credit: panktimehta.blogspot.com)

I have always been fortunate when it comes to dreaming. Not only do I have very vivid dreams splashed with a vast array of colors but I also retain most of my dreams in my waking moments.  Last night was no exception to those rules.

Last night I dreamed of my mom.  It is not the first time she has been in my dreams since she passed a couple of weeks ago but this dream was the first time that she was the main character in the night-time production of my subconscious.  During the wee hours of my REM sleep we were able to have a conversation.

In the bizarre circumstances of my dream she had already passed away but when I was the only other person in the room she would become magically reanimated and we would talk at great length.  When others entered the room she remained still, not a word escaped from her lips.  When I awoke this morning, rather than feeling perplexed I felt deeply comforted and peaceful.  I don’t recall many of the words she uttered to me in my sleep but I do feel a great sense of warmth and a feeling of relief that she is content on the other side.  She no longer carries the chains of the physical limitations she endured with her illness and, finally, she truly feels fine.

Have you ever received messages in your dreams?

 

 

Is there a right way to write?

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When I began to really delve into writing poetry and short stories I was more comfortable writing in long hand.  It freed my mind to truly compose the ideas, the rhymes and the drama, and felt much more like a natural flow from brain to hand to ink to paper.  The archaic version of computers we had at that point did not lend much ease in the writing experience since it was a behemoth that was no more moveable than my car.

In the bygone days of my youth (I make myself sound 100 years old), when I began to read voraciously, I would always have a pen and paper handy to write down any words I found challenging and words that I was excited to use in my writing.  It went on for pages.  I still have those pages and, although they are now collecting dust in a storage bin, they still remind me of my hunger for words.  My hunger now is much more easily satiated.  With the ease of Google, on-line dictionaries and thesauruses I no longer have to put the word to paper and look it up in a bound, hard-cover dictionary.  I even have a dictionary in my Kindle should the need arise to define a foreign word.

Nowadays, I’m sure a chimpanzee would have much more success with that foreign writing object we call a pen.  I used to have beautiful handwriting and now the things that come out of the pen slightly resemble a modified version of shorthand.  (It would be far more beneficial for me if it were shorthand since I currently have no clue what I’ve written!)

shorthand

(photo courtesy of commons.wikimedia.org)

With the ease of the digital age I use a voice recorder if I am overcome with inspiration.  Random thoughts that used to be scribbled on scraps of paper are now stored in my phone for easy access.  My calendar is on my iPhone and so is my shopping list.  Even with my creative stream, that long steady flow of blue ink has been replaced by the gentle tapping of the keyboard on my laptop.  I have finally been able to train my mind to tune out the incessant clicking and it no longer derails my train of thought.

What do you do?  Do you still give the ink a chance or are you a slave to your keyboard?

Owls and butterflies and long-winded sighs

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There are signs everywhere.  I’m not talking about the three-dimensional signs that guide us to our destination or give us information, but the signs that are sent from spirits to let us know they are still with us to help us on our journey of healing.

My friend Sandra passed away in May of 2003, very suddenly and far too young.  Her knowledge of my likes and dislikes was astounding and each time she would learn a nugget of information about me it was stored in her ever-expanding cranium.  She knew when I needed comfort and when it was okay to push my buttons.  Since the day I received the horrible news of her untimely passing, every so often I hear a strain or two of a particular song, faintly at first but I know the tune and where it came from as the notes are processed in my brain.  I have been in the grocery store or at a restaurant when the unmistakable bars of “The Girl From Ipanema” hover around my head and pillage my ears.  She knew how much I loathed that song and that is her way of letting me know she is still with me.  I release a loud sigh when I hear it to let her know she got me again and I can vaguely hear the sound of her infectious laugh.

My father passed away in 2006.  He and I both loved owls.  My Grade 10 art project was oil on canvas and I chose to paint an owl for him as his Christmas present.  I now have that painting hanging in my kitchen.  Over last few years I have had a Barred Owl perch itself in the tree that hovers over my deck.  It will sit on the same branch for hours at a time and seems quite content to be there and do nothing else.  I have had some lengthy conversations with my dad while that owl holds its spot and it seems to listen to every word I say.

Last summer my mother and my sister-in-law released butterflies in my dad’s memory.  It was something my mom had always wanted to do.  Since my mom’s passing on March 7th of this year the butterfly seems to be emerging from its cocoon in many aspects of my life.  Almost every sympathy card I have received is adorned with a butterfly.  The card attached to an arrangement of flowers I received has a butterfly in the top left corner.  The song “Dog and Butterfly” by Heart came to mind today and I haven’t heard that song in decades.  And today, while typing the phrase “there are signs everywhere” into Google, one website grabbed my attention over every other one listed and I clicked on the link.  The picture below was the one featured on the site.

Butterflyinthesky1

Now,  more than ever, I know the spirits of our loved ones stay with us.  It gives me great comfort to know my mom is sending me the message that she is okay on the other side.  It doesn’t diminish the pain of losing her presence from my every day but it does help to know that she is able to talk to me in a way we both understand.  And when summer finally arrives, clawing its way to the surface through the snow and frost-laden ground, I will be waiting for those butterflies to emerge from their cocoons and remind me that life, even after a beautiful creature disappears, does morph into something just as beautiful and ethereal.

 

Forget Me Not

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After my first breath I was placed in her loving arms and it was there I would always find the most comfort.  She was the first one to hold my tiny hand in hers and the first one to calm me as I cried.  She gave me life and now the only thing I can do is celebrate her life.  My mom passed away on March 7th, 2014.  I thought words would flood my brain to help release the pain of losing her but none would come until now.

forgetmenot

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 someday.

~

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

Questions that beg the question

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People are nosy.  No, let me rephrase in a more eloquent way – people are inquisitive by nature.  No, I was right the first time, people are nosy.

I’m sure every single person on this revolving planet has a few people in their life who ask the most unprovoked and personal questions that are really none of their business.  It takes us off guard when it happens, but we do our best to maintain some composure before responding.  It never ceases to amaze me that people feel so compelled to ask for information that is quite obviously not for public consumption.  If it were, we would not repress the desire to shout it from the nearest rooftop.

What aberration of human nature makes people so interested in obtaining information that has no relevance to them whatsoever?  It is reminiscent of being back in school and being able to boast “I know something you don’t know”.  Clearly, if they were supposed to know,  they would.

My friends and I have had the same discussion on several occasions and it is a subject that we deliberate on at great length.  I’m sure I’ve been guilty of being nosy as well, I’m not presenting myself as unblemished, but I’ve also learned to recognize that part of myself and stop asking questions that are quite obviously beyond my security clearance.

I have also experienced the opposite side of that fence and had people impose questions on me that were outwardly challenging and highly personal.  Before gaining the upper hand that I now possess I would stumble, quite inarticulately, searching for a response.  Now, without losing the eye contact they seem so boldly willing to hold, I simply ask “Why do you want to know?”.    Color drains from their face more rapidly than a sun sinks into the horizon.  They are suddenly and unwittingly speechless.   They feverishly work to find a suitable retort that will explain their abandonment of common decency and their attempt to invade my personal privacy.  Most times my question abruptly ends the interrogation.

A phrase so simple, yet so effective will put them on the defence and put you back on the offence.  Stand your ground – you don’t have to tell them any more than you want them to know.

Feeling that warm Canadian glow

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canada

Our love for our country runs deep.  We, as a nation, bleed red and white and this morning I felt the vibration of a country celebrating in unity as the Canadian Men’s Hockey team took Olympic Gold.  The West coast rose at 3:30 am (or stayed up) to watch the puck drop at 4:00 am PST and the wave of Canadian spirit undulated across the nation.

During these winter games we battled and we fell.  We picked ourselves up and congratulated those who bested us.  We honored those who carved the way for new Olympic challenges.  We watched the families and friends of our Olympians cheer on our Canadian athletes in Sochi while we cheered from home.

We did not just celebrate our victories.  We celebrated our efforts in every sport and paid tribute to those willing to represent the best our country has to offer.  We felt the pain of those who came up short of their goals but we also felt their Canadian pride in their attempt to be the best.

We battled with the world, we won with pride and we lost with dignity and grace.  We leave Sochi with the same sense of self and the same Canadian values we had when we arrived.

An entire country will go to bed tonight proud of our Canadian athletes, their coaches and their support staff.  We will appreciate the thankless hours parents spend teaching these children to learn from defeat, to lose and to win graciously and keep striving to be the best they can be.

(image credit: karenfron.com)

You better run – 100 word song

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You came unannounced.  You stealthily crept into my head and strategically built your wall in the darkest confines where I couldn’t see you.  Like a thief, you stole my ideas.  You banished any character from entering my thought process and you murdered my will to write.

But I’m on to you.  I’ve seen the ugliness in your soul.  Your darkness is no match for the light that words provide.  My will to create is much stronger than your effort to suppress my creativity.

I enter each day more prepared than the next.  If I see you again, you better run.

~~

Written for the 100-Word-Song challenge at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog.   This week’s song – You Better Run by Pat Benatar.

From the Horse’s Mouth, literally

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Today was a creatively inspiring day.  Today I went from not having any neurons firing in my brain to a cosmic overload of things I want to talk about.

On Friday I wrote a post about my first crush.  It was a Daily Prompt that inspired me to write a cute, truth-based story in response to the idea.  I haven’t thought about that adorable, freckled-faced red-head for many years but writing that post made me smile thinking about him.  The story also encouraged me to check the vast world-wide web to see if he would appear in real form instead of just the memory of a six-year-old.  The result of my search was successful and way beyond my expectations.  It also took me in a few directions I had not anticipated.

I had reached out to him on LinkedIn and found that he graciously accepted my invitation, perhaps out of morbid curiosity, but he accepted nonetheless.  We exchanged a few words and he inquired about the blog post that led me to him.  I acquiesced and sent him the link.  His initial response after reading it was more favorable that I imagined and I was curious to see where his life had led him after our brief time together in school so many years ago.

The object of my youthful affection is a now a documentary filmmaker in Toronto.  He has won several awards for his talent, including two Juno awards, and is now working on a project that is far closer to my life than I would have thought possible.  His company is called Regular Horse Productions (he was formerly with Horse’s Mouth Media) and he is currently making a film about Massey Hall, a significant Canadian structure, a piece of history that MY ancestors donated to the city of Toronto in 1894.  My middle name is that same family name and carries on the tradition of the historic family that is etched into the arts and entertainment district of one of the most popular cities in the world.

I have yet to discover the direction that his documentary will follow but I will be waiting with bated breath to see how my family history will come to life.  I have three original Chatelaine magazines from June to August of 1964 that document and detail the pilgrimage and the ancestral tree of the Massey family dating back to 1531.  Perhaps one day Andy and I will share a coffee and some conversation about my ancestors that will help shed some light on how that beloved plot of land was donated so many years ago and still thrives in Toronto today.

And to think, this random connection almost forty years later began with a school-girl crush and a lost bunny……who knew?