Category Archives: perspective

A womb with a view

9 Comments

For those about to panic and skip by this blog, this is not a collection of words about childbirth.  This musing is about Magnetic Resonance Imaging or, on an alphabetical scale, an MRI.

I had reason to have an MRI on my knee two years ago after it had swelled to the size of a slightly deflated football.  In hindsight I should have contacted Tom Brady and Bill Belichick, but instead I opted for the less challenging task of calling my doctor.  After  her skillful medical prodding determined I was not a hypochondriac, I was placed on a waiting list for an experience I am hoping to forget but probably never will.

I am not new to hospital procedures.  I have had my fair share of expensive medical equipment scan parts of my body that only a skilled technician should see.  I just regaled a few friends with this tale about how a mammogram and an ultrasound have been the cause of many laughs.  (If you need a good laugh, click on the link.  It’s a really good story).  But having an MRI is an experience like no other when you are prone to enjoy open spaces and breathing normally.

I had done my best to mentally prepare for what I assumed was similar to a Sensory Deprivation Chamber.  I arrived early to undertake the task of filling out reams of paperwork which only made my pulse race faster than it already had been.  I dressed myself in the latest hospital fashion and was led to the room where I would spend the next 45 minutes trapped in a small vessel that made up for its size with its sound.

mri-10

(image credit)

I can only be grateful that I was not fully immersed in the tube-shaped magnet that would send pulses through the layers of my being.  My head was allowed to be free of the cage in which my body was being held hostage.  With headphones blasting horrific music and the thrum of the machine making me wish that I had chosen to be thrown from an airplane, the scan ensued.

I tried my best to close my eyes and concentrate on the disconnected notes playing on the music channel they had chosen for me.  But I am a curious sort of person and that doesn’t always bode well.  After mistakenly hallucinating for the duration of the scan,  I realized, after the torture was over, that the wall to my left was a live-action wall and that birds had been flying across the screen while I lay, coma-like, on the bed of the scanner.  I was relieved to know it was the hospital’s sick sense of humour and I was not having an aneurysm.  At the end of the process, I was birthed from the giant womb that is the MRI machine and sent, in my swaddling clothes, to the change room to retrieve the belongings that represented freedom – my clothes and my car keys.

I have a dear friend who, as of this morning, will have undergone his first of two MRI’s last night and I can only hope he weathered the first of his two storms with as much of a consequent sense of humour as I now have about my encounter.

And although it is an unpleasant experience, I do hope his womb with a view can provide answers that will help him move forward and begin to feel like himself again.

 

 

 

Beyond the open door

4 Comments

IMG_2609

On Friday night, I stared at this painting for a long time.  It hangs in a conspicuous spot in a familiar room but I had never seen it before.  Perhaps it was the shaded lighting of the late evening that made me study every detail in those brush strokes or, quite possibly, it was the collection of components in the painting that intrigued me, but every single item on that canvas made me linger and give it thought.

From the cracked tiled floor to the chance assortment of belongings, each item was distinct and gave me the feeling that any one of those things could feasibly represent a chapter in my life story.  That thought made me stare even more as I tried to piece together the narrative that the artist was trying to communicate.

I got a strong sense of the feeling of wanting to stay connected.  There is great comfort in keeping familiar things close.  But there is also the fascination of what may exist beyond our comfort zone.

That open door is the focal point that grabbed and held my attention.  In a room full of things seemingly collected on purpose, this door opened my curiosity.  What magic or what memory lay beyond that partially opened portal?  What is there to be found if we are brave enough to push it open all the way and take a chance on what is on the other side?

Sometimes being complacent with the things we have become accustomed to blinds us to what may lie just beyond the threshold of our comfort zone.  Maybe the memorabilia in the foreground is meant to alleviate any pain while it draws us towards the next step.

There is a warmth in just having things fit into the right place and having that place feel like home. But maybe the real feeling of home is just a few steps away and we just have to walk through that door to discover the hidden treasures that await us if we are brave enough to explore the possibilities.

 

All of the things I did

17 Comments

toes in the water

I am not here to just put my toes in the water.

I am here to cannonball off a spring-board,

fully plunging into the deep end.

I am not here to simply smell the flowers.

I am here to roll through the meadow,

to give in to careless abandon,

and to saturate myself in their fragrance.

I am not here to be a guest in my own life.

I am here to live purposely,

to breathe deeply the essence of this life,

because I know, all too well, that life is short.

And at the end of my journey through this lifetime,

all of the things I did,

and all of the life I inhaled,

will hopefully served to remind me,

that I lived a deliberate life and that I made a difference.

(image credit)

fiction249

A Sunday well spent

15 Comments

“I cook with wine, sometimes I even add it to the food.”
― W.C. Fields

 freezer meals

For those who have read my recent posts about my passion for cooking and my desire to give back to people in need, this post should come as no shock to you.

I recently stumbled on the genius trend of freezer crockpot meals.  These meals are all prepared ahead, placed uncooked in ziplock bags, laid flat and frozen.  When thawed the night before, they can be dumped into a crockpot the next morning and 6 to 8 hours later, a family has a hot meal waiting for them.

I had one specific friend in mind when I decided to do this but as I told people what I was doing, the list of recipients grew a little longer.  I spent a Sunday afternoon, without watching football, and chopped, poured and bagged until I had completed 16 meals.  At the end of the process, it had taken slightly more than three hours from start to finish – a very encouraging pace.

This Sunday, and most likely the following Sunday, I am going to gather with a group of women to do it all over again, with one major difference.  Although many of the women will take some meals home for their families, we will be donating at least one meal per person to a young couple who lost their home and all of their belongings in a fire.  And though the fire is tragic enough in itself, they were at the hospital giving birth to their first children, twins, as their home was slowly destroyed.

It breaks my heart to think of this couple, worried enough about being parents for the first time, now starting their life as a family with absolutely nothing.  It overwhelms me with emotion to think of all the joy they had setting up the nursery, all of the meals prepared by family waiting in a freezer to ease their first days parenting – all of it, gone.

It is through tears I write this last paragraph.  Currently there are about 16 women wanting to help this family by packing freezer meals for them, as well as some dear friends who have donated cash to the grocery bills.  We shall divide and conquer.  We shall chop, bag and provide, not only food but, our support and concern for a family who could really use a helping hand.

There is nothing to fear but……TV commercials and junk mail

11 Comments

Beginning a new year is difficult.  There is a tremendous amount of pressure to join the mainstream of people who have made numerous resolutions for the impending 362 days, considering the leap year.  And if it were not bad enough to be compelled by friends and family to make a list of the things we would like to accomplish, the media shoves the most popular of those resolutions down our throat with each television commercial they can fit into an amiable time slot.

50-s-tv-commercial-5840580

(image credit)

The start of a new calendar year should give us hope but those writers, those advertising gurus that tax their brains to come up with stunning ads, somehow make us feel like the earnest promises we make for ourselves are slightly off the mark.

I was feeling excited.  I was entering 2016 on my terms and, although I had not made them public, I had made a small set of goals I would like to accomplish this year.  I wanted to embrace my skills and I was looking forward to a year filled with prose and literary triumph.  And then I made the mistake of turning on my television.

Thankfully I have the fortitude to block out the nonsense that is broadcast to us, in what they think is a subliminal missive.   If I heed the message in those commercials, I would look at my humble goals and feel nothing but fat, undervalued and, as Bridget Jones’ Diary would describe it, like a spinster who would eventually end up being eaten by wild dogs.

The rubbish I receive by email can be just as bad.  Countless emails for weight loss, dating sites and plausible scenarios to make me my best self accumulate in my junk box.  Those messages are ignored just as quickly as they were downloaded.

I find great value in myself as well as my sincere goals for the new year.  Screw the advertising monsters who want to make me feel less than I am.  My worth cannot be described in a commercial.  My life cannot be depicted by a summation of what presumed reality sees as my shortcomings.

I am me.  I have worth because I care about people and I respect myself.  I treasure my strengths, I acknowledge my weaknesses and I spend each day trying to have a positive effect on those around me.

Now, if they can write a commercial for something like that, maybe next time I’ll leave the television on.

 

 

 

 

It’s not just about the big picture

10 Comments

As I am uncharacteristically sitting in my office on a Sunday morning, dog asleep at my feet, it occurred to me that I don’t have very much to say today.  I am enjoying the quiet moments of looking after the lodge while the owners enjoy some much-needed down time after a busy season and the other employees are busy shopping for the holidays and on their way to spend time with loved ones.

I saw this quote and it seemed to sum up what I was trying to say.  Enjoy your Sunday and make sure to enjoy all the little things.

the little things

(image credit)

I remember you!

8 Comments

A little over a year ago my mom did something that I thought was impossible.  What was most impressive about it was that she did it from beyond the grave.

Butterflyinthesky1

I wrote this post marveling at how things seem to happen in random ways.  After searching for a friend for an extended period of time, I had all but given up.  It seems like just last month his email showed up in my inbox at work and it made me believe that my mother had pulled some major strings in Heaven to make that happen.

Remarkably, the calendar has moved forward by a year.  We have been in constant contact since then and have developed a wonderful friendship.  I hadn’t realized by rekindling our relationship twenty-five years later we would become such close friends.

In August he had asked me to write a blog post – I can’t remember if he said for him or about him – and this post is what came out.

It’s been a pleasure getting to know him all over again and I thank my mom for all the fairy dust she must have bartered for to be able to make our reunion happen.

 

 

It doesn’t really get easier with time

25 Comments

teardrop

I read a post on Facebook today from a friend of mine who is at the one year anniversary of his father’s passing.  I would like to tell him that it gets easier with time, but I can’t.  So many people offer those words as an attempt to comfort those who have lost a loved one.  Since I have lost both of my parents, and many other loved ones for that matter, I am well versed at saying ‘thank you, I hope so’ when those words were spoken to me.

But I have learned a great truth about loss.  It doesn’t get easier.  The pain of loss is never really assuaged by time.  The polite phrase spoken by so many holds a great sentiment but very little truth.

What I have learned, however, is that the pain is slowly muted by the memories.  That pain still burns like a lingering flame, concealed far below the surface, and it can be turned into a raging inferno with a single spark.  But that pain is much less visceral than it once was and shouldering their absence seems much more bearable.

With each passing year I recognize a growing trend in my patterns.  Habits that I picked up subconsciously from those loved ones who are gone seem to emerge inexplicably but they are familiar and comforting traits.  Idioms used by my dad tumble out of my mouth before I even have a chance to realize what I am saying.  My arm in the window of my car as I drive, elbow on the bottom and only two fingers hooked in the top, is exactly how my mother used to position herself driving up to the cottage when we were young.

It doesn’t make the loss any easier but it is those little things that make us know that their life lives on through our lives.  We get to keep some of the best parts of them alive because mimicking their characteristics keeps their spirit close.  The pain will always reside in us as proof that the love we had for them was fierce.  It doesn’t get easier,  it just gets manageable.

(image credit)