just this time

Please,  just this time.  

Someone take out my garbage and green bins for me. 

I  know it's the correct day because I heard my neighbour wheel theirs out.                  

It's dark.

And I'm tired and feeling sad.

It feels odd that tears are gathering beneath my eye lids, that preparing for garbage day has sent an arrow into my heart. 

No longer saying "sleep well sweetie" each night and setting a single place at the dining table, hasn't so far brought tears.

It's odd how that works: the one-too-many-things.

It seems like my tears were gathered, just waiting to fall.

Waiting for this moment.

 It's 2:45 pm

51/2 hours until I can go to bed.

What can I do to fill the hours?

I've just eaten the remaining bit of a lemon current scone, so I won't need dinner.  Or, if I do, I have a plate in the fridge with a piece of lasagne left over from a couple of days ago.

Brian, my sweet and dear husband, left this earth one week ago.  His funeral was last Friday. Shiva was Sunday evening.

We married 43 years ago in the "round building", the government building in Duncan that issued drivers licenses and occasionally preformed marriages, needing only one witness.

I learned later that the woman who wrote our information down noted that I was Guwish.  

43 years: more than 1/2 my lifetime.

My heart hurts.

The care-giver role I have worn has lost the cared-for. 

Time and space seem to have no reason to be-  to exist at all.

Our wonderful cat Oliver tells me he wants to eat, so I check the clock. 

I see that it's only three o'clock so I urge him to wait a little.

Whole days haven't been 'seen' by my head.  

I think it's the opioid meds I took for a recent injury, though someone more knowledgeable than I, says it is grief that has erased memory. 

Grief so great that as we sat Shiva, a time to share stories about Brian, I have absolutely no recollection of words that were spoken, or of people who were gathered together.

I'm being told to be kind to myself: suggestions welcomed.

you live forever in the sky, the water and the air I breathe

what are you saving that for?

 "What are you saving that for?"

I'm not sure where that refrain came from in my family, but it sounds familiar.

It seems an expression, a question, that I need to pay attention to.

I've been closing the living room blinds mid-day for as long as I remember, keeping a portion of the carpet from fading because of the sunlight. The back of our couch, with its beautiful pattern, has also been protected.

It was just yesterday, after years of caution, that I asked myself what the hell I was doing!

Would it matter if one bit of the carpet was faded?  

It is way too large for one daughter's home and I don't plan on shipping it to Israel, where my other daughter lives!

And, I'm not planning on selling it.

The refrain  "What are you saving that for?" almost screamed as I thought of the wonderful wines I had bought or the fine wines gifted to me over the years. 

They lie in a cabinet with wine glasses nearby.

My stomach feels a bit queasy, unsure if I have the courage to do this.  I mean, why is this such a big deal?!

What am I saving them for?

And once I'm at it, I'll move the special olive oil that I was given a few years ago from the back corner of a kitchen shelf 

and start using it.

(But maybe not for every day!)

I think also of my neighbour and friend who does special foldings with lovely paper napkins and often gifts some to us.

I save them.

For when? 

Tomorrow, when I open a wonderful bottle of wine, and dress a tomato salad with special olive oil, I will use a beautiful napkin.

I am worth it.

Absolutely!

it's about love

My world right now belongs to Brian, my dear husband of 43 years.

It belongs to him, rather, to both of us, as we walk along a wooded area, through the forest searching for a grassy meadow, a glade.

The changing terrain reflects the map we run our fingers along, to see where we are going.  

But there is no route that is marked, no guidance displayed on my Apple phone.

We know only that he is struggling with his health.

But this isn't just about Brian -- only he can tell his story. 

It's about me, no rather, about both of us together.

It's about our serendipitous meeting in Duncan. 

About his asking me what my "sign" was before committing to "spend time" with me. And my response, asking what "a sign" was, quickly uncovering his love of astrology.

It's about my proposing marriage to him at the immigration office in Nanaimo.

                      after our marriage at the Duncan government building

About creating a huge garden together, with raised beds built by Brian.

in our herb garden with my dad

It's about returning to my art and transforming a carport into a beautiful studio for both of us.

And about having art shows together.

It's about my feeling the wondrous gift of Brian's deep love for me, even when I screw up or lose my temper. 

It's about love.

Period.

Do you get it?

"Do you get it?"          

"Do you get it?

"

"DO YOU GET IT!!!"

Another brain-flash, speeding-heart,

deep-breathing moment.

My friend and printing partner P left a message on my Facebook page yesterday 

commenting on the 3 photographs of magnolia flowers I had posted 

writing:

"Sublime! 

You are a fabulous gardener & photographer as we have all known!"

Breathe in breathe out.

It's embarrassing to read, really.

And the photographs were taken with my Apple 16 phone,

having given away my "real camera", 

which I most often used on the "auto" setting

because I felt unable and unwilling to learn the technical things that my camera could do. 

My response to compliments on my photographs has always been "I have a good eye",

often/usually said in a self-deprecating way.

And yesterday,  at a woman's group meeting, each person was asked what she does for self-care.

I responded "having a massage and working in the garden". 

The coordinator of the group looked at me, asking  "and what about your art?"

Oh yeah, right.

And what about writing my blog?

And what about picking a small bouquet of sweet peas every day to put on our dining room table? 

And giving a cluster of these scented beauties to neighbours and friends?

And finally, when Brian told me yesterday how beautiful our garden looks, I replied: 

 "There aren't very many interesting plants in the garden right now,

but rather just self-seeding poppies and nigella

and while they look great now, the August garden won't be very nice."

Geeez.....

Okay 

enough!

So

Today I get it 

Today I get it!

I mean I get it, period.

And the garden IS beautiful

And I capture its beauty in my photographs

caring

      I'm

 stressed -

 Period.

 Berry season is glorious.

 And, for me, it's doing, making and freezing berries and jam.

One of my favourites is what I call breakfast strawberries: several cups of berries cut in half and put into a big pot with only a couple of spoonfuls of sugar, and simmering just until the berries release their juice.  I write  "breakfast strawberries" on the recycle paper containers and then freeze them.

However, getting four flats of raspberries has made the joy of fresh berries questionable

Freezing them on multiple trays over two days, bagging them and filling containers, has taken a lot of work. 

Do I cancel my order marked in my day timer for Friday for a fifth flat? 

This isn't about "should" but rather about "will I?"

 Now that I am the sole driver,  I realize how much Brian has driven in past years. 

 To Michell's, to Tofino and to pick up corn.

 Taking me to the ballet and then picking me up afterwards.

This week, I see that our previous summertime doings need updating

 Okay, now the interesting part:

This morning I'm going to defrost the Outreach freezer in the basement of the synagogue.  

 This old freezer holds soups and meals made to be delivered to members of Congregation Emanu-El who need food support.

It looks like it hasn't been defrosted in several years.

I volunteered to do this and my friend M is coming with me to make this an interfaith endeavour

On Saturday, I'm going to delivery a huge pot of my chicken soup, filled with chicken, carrots, celery and barley, to someone returning home after surgery.

Me, who is tired of cooking for Brian and myself, finds time to cook for a woman I've never met!?

I would ask a friend who might do similar things: "hold on...what about you?” 

Self-care is a term being tossed around these days....It is defined in many different ways in the dozens of sites I visited.

"Self-care refers to anything that you do to keep yourself mentally, emotionally, physically socially and spiritually healthy. If you don't practice self-care regularly, you're risking your well-being and inviting burnout. "(Southern New Hampshire University) 

"Set goals and priorities. Decide what must get done now and what can wait. Learn to say “no” to new tasks if you start to feel like you’re taking on too much. Try to appreciate what you have accomplished at the end of the day. "(National Institute of Mental Health)  

The second explanation is the one I choose, and particularly the final sentence, which reminds me to appreciate what I have accomplished.

 I remind friends and family of what they have accomplished, but  I don’t do the same for me.

Rather, I remind myself of when I've messed up or lost my temper or had that extra glass of wine.

But I forget to smile remembering the lovely meal I created.

At noon, on our way home from the exhausting freezer job, M gave me a directive.  “Take no more jobs on. “ 

Hmmm... I just realized that "ON" reversed spells "NO”!

 I'm not sure where this sentence fits into this blog post, so it will sit alone:

 I recognize how not caring for myself affects others whom I care about!

 When I'm overtired,  I'm short tempered and my dear Brian gets the brunt of it. And it's not about him at all...it's about me.

                                 

                              Zara is in cat heaven now...she will be missed forever

barely hangin' in

 barely hangin' in today

The signs are clear: 

Yesterday I went to the bank to deposit a cheque into my daughter's account and only realized, after waiting outside the locked door for 10 minutes, that it was Sunday!

I went back today and again found the bank closed.  

Who knew that VanCity is closed on Mondays.

Leaving the parking area, and then getting in the wrong turn lane, I needed to go a few blocks out of my way in order to head home.

My emails are in a mixup and I can't find the most recent ones.  I know my wonderful techie will set it right but meanwhile I can't look up some information that I need.

That's what stress is doing today as my dear husband's health is bouncing up and down. 

Today it's down.

It's interesting to note how stress is affecting me, and to fathom how I can lessen  it.

I've been gardening like a mad woman.

I'm in bed at nine and up at five, drinking my first coffee.   

Yesterday I went for a walk before six and while it was peaceful, I didn't repeat it this morning. Instead, I watered a few pots and then had my second coffee....half decaf and half caffeinated beans, ground together.

In about two hours I have a book club meeting and the author will be at the gathering. 

AND I haven't read the book! I can't seem to concentrate.

We always have a great time, with lots of laughter, so I am pushing myself to attend.

Because really, if I didn't go, I'd just be in the garden and it really doesn't need me now.

on a wall in Fernwood

Yesterday, when I was feeling sad, I texted a friend and suggested we sit in the garden and drink Prosecco. 

And, hurrah, we did!

Until now, I haven't talked about the news. 

About the war and its all-encompassing horror

And about my daughter who lives in Israel and who is afraid.

In the midst of "this" I keep returning to ask myself  "What can I do? "What can I do?" "What can I do?"  

How can I help to make the world a more just and kind place?

a bouquet from a friend's garden

These questions seem to be a recurring theme in recent blog posts.

I'm tired of saying that we need do positive things within our own communities. And if everyone did that......blah blah blah.

Today I am adding that we need to stop our negative words, our words of blame and anger.   

Words of division and fault.

For today,  just words of compassion and connection.

And this again for the tomorrows that follow. 

with a cup of tea

Early this morning, looking up from digging in my garden, I shared a greeting with a couple walking by, and commented on the beautiful sunny day.

I added: "I don't know what I'd do without my garden."

"And I bet your beautiful garden wouldn't know what to do without you!" was the woman's response.

I immediately recalled a letter poem I had created for my first book.  The poem I had placed first.

It reads: "I don't know who I touch walking on this earth ... who gathers my smile and slips it in their pocket to savour with a cup of tea."

The woman walking by gave me a gift.    

To savour. 

And, writing this blog will allow me to experience the moment again and again.

Last week, as a friend and I were walking in Fernwood,  a woman, perhaps in her mid 80's came towards us.  She was wearing wild multi-coloured leggings. 

I stopped and said that I loved what she was wearing!

She confessed that she hadn't been sure how they would be received, and admitted that she had bought a second, equally fun pair as well.  

On sale. 

Just $10 each.

I wonder if she is still feeling that moment of recognition and delight.

When I walk on the golf course trail behind the Cedar Hill Community Centre, I nearly always say "Good morning" to people coming towards me. 

Occasionally, it's become a bit of a game, wondering who won't respond, but it's been more fun seeing a rather gloomy-looking solo walker light up and send good wishes back to me.

I haven't listened to the news for nearly five months, usually just skimming headlines on my computer.

I haven't watched news on television for a great many years.

Still, I know enough about what's going on in the world, and that's ENOUGH!

I wish I could wrap my daughter, who lives in Israel, with layers of protective gauze. 

I can visualize it.  

And that is what I can do.

I look at the "cats with personality" website she has created and see the joy she gets from her rotating family of cats. 

              And, I can look at people as I move through my day, and really see them.

And that is what I can do.

And, in some way, let some of these people know that they are being seen.

 

dust or no dust

With the intention of cleaning up and clearing out, I have been terribly sidetracked.

Or, maybe "fortunately sidetracked" is more accurate.

I felt that passing books along was an easy place to start, 

that the spaces on the shelves would prove to me that I was making progress. 

I didn't count on finding notebooks filled with poems and bits of prose written around 2010.

Some I wrote during a poetry workshop given by my friend Barbara Pelman, poet extraordinaire!

 Others I wrote afterwards.

One poem I wrote, dated November 2009, seems now to address my desire to keep some bits of myself back, 

holding tight until I feel safe

and keeping my vulnerable self hidden.

The first line was written by Rick Bragg in his memoir, The Prince of Frogs:

                  "So he put the dream in a box to keep it clean" 

Using this line to begin, I wrote:

"So he put the dream in a box to keep it clean 

removed from the wind that carried

dust and debris from the narrow lanes

to keep it clear from the soil of memories

the grime of family despair

and the fingerprints of time.

He put the dream in the box

with the lid closed tight

against peering eyes 

and probing fingers

where his son would find it

after he was gone."

Rereading my poem again and again I hear a deep sadness, even a cruelty within it.

Rather than a box with a lid closed tight, 

as in this poem, I hope instead to give precious shelter to my dreams,

and to risk sharing them with my family and close friends....dust or no dust!