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Birds, blossoms and cages: A sad spring study in contrasts
There’s a clutch of baby grackles being given flying lessons across the road from my house. They noisily greet their parents as they hover nervously close at hand. One of the little one managed to get up to the hanger for a plant basket yesterday. And got stuck. Or scared, I suppose as he didn’t move for the good hour that I watched, but mom – or dad – kept coming back, encouraging the little one to flap his wings. A sibling in a nearby shrub is a little less boisterous. And up above me, in my own tree, I’ve discovered… Read more…
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And the last one starts to leave…
Friday was my daughter’s senior prom. She looked so grown up in her simple, yet elegant floor-length black dress, with hair piled atop her head. Like her friends, she traded in her sneakers for the the highest heels imaginable, as they attended the formal event. It was a strange combination of pride and sadness I felt, watching these almost unrecognizable young women go off together. Earlier this month, she had her final choral performance with an amazing group she’s sung with for the past ten years. She’s landed a summer job away from home and exams are right around the… Read more…
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Language lightbulb
I was at a leadership conference a few weeks ago. It was specifically for women in the energy industry, but the nuggets of wisdom I took away are far wider-reaching. I was actually presenting at this conference. I wasn’t meant to be; I had originally signed on to moderate a panel, but when the panelist from my industry had to back out at the last minute, the organizer and I decided I could take that on. Now let’s just say that I dropped sciences and math as quickly as I could in high school. And while I did take one grade 13… Read more…
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Muscle memory
It’s what happens when you strap on the water skis after years of letting them gather dust in the boat house. It’s how you always remember how ride a bike. It’s what Olympic athletes rely on to nail performances and win races. And it’s what happened to me a couple of weeks ago when muscle memory took over and I started singing the alto part in an anthem I knew well, instead of the soprano part I’d just learned. Muscle memory. Through repetition, our muscles can be trained to encode, retain and repeat movements and eventually make those movements without… Read more…
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Is it a habit, or something more?
My middle child is stubborn. Really stubborn. When he was young, I wanted to throttle him regularly. I often joked that one of us would not make it to his adulthood. As he got a bit older, I started to see this stubbornness as a positive sign. He had a “stick-to-it” quality that would surely serve him well. That mental strength was key to his success last summer as a tree planter – and why he’s going back again this summer. I was slightly horrified to hear from my other two kids that they figured he’d inherited this quality from… Read more…
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Eek…a mouse!
Hickory Dickory Dock….Angelina Ballerina…Mickey…Three Blind Mice. Mice are abundant and as children, we look at their cute fuzzy faces and quivering whiskers with delight. I remember more than one spring, at my family’s cottage in South-western Ontario, where we found nests of baby mice in the engine of our garden tractor. As we cleaned them out, separating babies from parents, my brother and I took great delight in trying to keep those little mice alive. We fed them with milk from bottle droppers and stroked them lovingly. We were never successful, but boy did we try. Living out in the… Read more…
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I can do it – really!
I was born of practical people. If we could do it ourselves, we did. And my parents could – and still can – do just about everything! I guess I’ve inherited that sense of independence, and dare I suggest it, passed it on to a certain extent. My Dad sent me off to university with the basics of a tool kit. Hammer, a variety of screw drivers (even the trusty Canadian Robertson!), pliers, socket wrenches and more. It meant I could – and did – fix simple things without needing assistance. In fact, when I married, I was the one…
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Bidding adieu
Tomorrow morning, bright and early, the moving truck will arrive. It will trundle up to my driveway after having made its way along the torn up streets in my neighbourhood, ready to whisk me away to the next chapter of my life. But today, I’m wandering through empty rooms; my life is packed up in box upon box stacked in my kitchen, my living room, my bedroom, my study. As I stand in the entry to my daughter’s room, I can almost smell the scent of nail polish and hear the giggles of long-haired beauties as they choose a new… Read more…
