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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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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…
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Letting go
Last week, I let go of my wedding dress. A few years ago, I wrote a blog about the art of letting go. This was a bit different. In the throes of downsizing, I’ve been decluttering, visiting the dump regularly, selling and giving away excess pieces of furniture. Who knew you could collect so much stuff over 15 years and three children. Finally it was time to box up the contents of my hope chest. Yes, I have a hope chest – a relic from a time gone by when young ladies stitched household linens and stored them away until they married. One… Read more…
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I love you … I love you not – surviving spring
I love spring. Every year I wait for the snow to melt, eager to start lifting up the heavy, wet leftover leaves in my garden to see the beginnings of signs of new life. Slowly the whole world comes to life. Little snowdrops push through, rewarding me with the first glimpses of what’s to come. About the same time I realize that the cold winter air is beginning to fill with the sounds of songbirds. Out come the rakes and we uncover tulip and daffodil leaves. Purple and yellow crocuses follow quickly and then the starry shapes of chianodoxa. It… Read more…
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Taking the slow lane
I’m off on a business trip again. I seem to go a little more than once a month these days, and the insanity of air travel in Canada in the winter is starting to wear thin. Life in general seems to be moving faster and faster every year, with no chance to breathe. I feel this constant hum – a vibration almost – that is the background to everything, and is keeping me on edge. Even yoga, which sadly has been reduced to once-a-week classes – and maybe that’s why – isn’t keeping it at bay. This guy REALLY knows how… Read more…
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One more chance…
Second chances. I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently. It sounds so simple. Of course everyone should given a second chance. But what happens when a second chance turns into a third, a fourth, a fifth? How many chances should someone be given before you simply have to turn away? When do your own needs for peace supplant someone else’s need for another opening? Real-life friends will know my marriage exploded in relatively spectacular form a little more than a decade ago. In early years, I tried to remain very open to my children’s father having a second chance… Read more…
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Pokeman redux
For the past month, I’ve been treated to a rerun of Pokemon, thanks to the youngsters temporarily living in my house. Their father knows just about as much about Pokemon as I do, so we smile and shake our heads as the tales pour out – character names, adventures and evolutions. It’s been a sweet return to the days of young affectionate boys. Mine are long past the age of snuggling and hugging in thanks for simple everyday things, so I’m enjoying the affection. I had the privilege of taking the younger of the two to his first day of… Read more…
