Monday, October 22, 2018
I remember how delighted I was when I visited the new pond after Dwayne had spent an afternoon there with his tractor and saw what he had done: arranged the large rocks along the shore -- which is, depending on rainfall, sometimes a beach, and sometimes just the shallow end. I call them the sitting stones because that's what I did as soon as I saw them: I sat down. I put my feet in the water. I watched the bugs on the water and the dragonflies in the air. I admired the bullrushes and the sparkling ripples.
Imagine -- there is now a pond in the middle of the field! We haven't done any landscaping -- there's enough work around the yard that takes priority -- but every time I'm there, I can't help but make plans for a teeny tiny writing retreat. A table, a chair, a hammock. It's such a quiet and inviting spot, our pond, would I get any writing done? It's a place for thinking, breathing, letting go. I get my best ideas on the yoga mat and in the bathtub when I'm focused on other things but the pond is a place where even my busy brain rests with a sigh of relief.
The pond is a lovely spot in the afternoon but sitting on those sitting stones, the sun is shining right into my eyes. Now that it's too dark to walk early in the morning, and now that the bugs are gone, it's time to check out the pond, and the sitting stones, in the morning. I'll bring a notebook, just in case those stones turn out to be inspiration rocks.
Sunday, October 21, 2018
Out for a Sunday drive and came across these two. It was so hard to remain in the truck but the ditch was full of water and the bank was steep -- just crying out for me to go ass over apple cart -- but I could have sat there all day at the side of the gravel road and watched them.
Saturday, October 20, 2018
In April 1945, when her two daughters were seven and almost four, Muriel Everest died. She was my maternal grandmother, my mother's mother.
I grew up knowing that she died young, at the age of 33, and that my mother and her older sister did not know what caused her death.
To this day, I can't believe that. Her father, Fred, never spoke of his wife, never told his two daughters about their mother, and none of the aunts or uncles shared their memories about her until after Fred died.
When I ask my mother why she never asked her aunts what happened to her mother, she says, "You didn't talk about that kind of thing. We just carried on."
But no one thought to tell those girls about their mother and why she died, either.
The older I get, the older my mother gets, the longer we live together, the more this bothers me.
A couple of weeks ago, my aunt was here for a visit and she brought with her a large baggie full of old letters. Most of them were written by three of Muriel's four brothers who were posted in England during World War Two (when the three boys finally returned home, all unharmed, they found out both their parents and their sister were dead). Among those letters, however, was one from Muriel's best friend and it answered, albeit with no details, the 73 year old mystery: Muriel had miscarried and was to have an operation as a result.
The only fact my mother had known was that her mother had been pregnant when she died. So even that information was incorrect. And perhaps, to cut the grandfather I never knew some slack, that's the reason he never spoke of his wife. The reason for her death was too personal, his loss too much to bear.
Friday, October 19, 2018
Captured what is likely the last moment of sitting together on the back deck in 2018 with a family selfie! Grateful for a beautiful autumn afternoon, even if the wind is cold enough to make us think seriously about winter.
I have a jump on that; seems like I'm already eating for winter hiberation.
Today was the first day of our annual work of getting the outdoor life put away, cut down, and raked up. Also my annual "Oh no, my bulbs need to be planted" panic.
Thursday, October 18, 2018
It occurred to me while visiting my local Coles Bookstore in the Amherst mall that I should express my gratitude publicly for the staff's ongoing support of Field Notes, the book. Store manager, Cheryl Nickerson (in the centre, pictured with Terry), as well as Myrna and Kelly have been particularly enthusiastic about both the book and this new, local author.
It also helps that they want more books by me to sell so I'm working hard to get something new published.
Wednesday, October 17, 2018
He is the last one.
So I am grateful to have one animal to see, speak to, sometimes even pet on my morning walk.
In my Field Notes essay, "Communion With the Animals", I wrote about the cows and horses and ponies that hung out in the fields along my route, how I befriended them, fed them carrots and apples, watched them run across the grass.
It seemed almost as soon as the book was published, the animals began to disappear. Someone died, moved away, was unable to keep up. One day they were there -- the next the field was empty.
I call this fella, who lives by himself, "Jesse", after the horse in the novel I wrote last winter and is currently waiting to be read by a publisher. Jesse doesn't come to the fence much; he's not interested in being patted. But he watches me as the dog and I walk by, and I talk to him.
"Good morning, handsome boy."
There isn't much else to say.
He is the only one.
Tuesday, October 16, 2018
Two lessons of Alzheimer's disease:
1) Acceptance is key. To deny and resist just causes problems for everyone.
2) It's about the person living with dementia. It's about whatever helps them connect with what they know and who they are in order to keep them calm and content.
When I moved to Nova Scotia from Vancouver in 2002, I learned my father had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. That summer, I took up golfing so that my father could continue to golf with someone who could get him to the golf course, and watch out for him there. We had some good times playing nine holes of golf in the afternoon. That is one of the things I got right when I was taking care of him. It was about him and what he needed, about doing whatever he could still do -- whatever made him happy, made him forget about the disease affecting his brain, and his life.
Everyone knows -- even the bureaucrats and administrators -- that person-centered care is the only way to offer dementia care that is compassionate, non-harming and life-sustaining. But we are TOO slow, too concerned with budgets, to adapt our care models and our facilities to this new way (which isn't new, the UK is light years ahead of us when it comes to person-centered dementia care). When people living with dementia are calm and content, they are less likely to be volatile and violent, which leads to fewer drugs and fewer injuries for both the person and staff, which means fewer hospital visits. All of that reduces the costs, which is what matters to bureaucrats and administrators.
So I'm grateful to learn about this program (out of the UK) called "The Butterfly Model" that is making its way into care facilities here in Canada:
Monday, October 15, 2018
My morning walk. As it appears right now on this perfect October day.
In June, this walk happens at 5:45. This morning, we started out at 7:15. While I do prefer the earlier start to my day, I love starting my day with a walk so I'm trying to get out on the road as often as I can before the Morning Walk Season comes to an end.
This is my favourite part of the walk, on my way back home, when I come over the hill by Claude's house and I can see the Cobequid Mountains in the distance. Fields, sky and mountains. And no traffic. I can't help but take a deep breath at this moment, a breath full of gratefulness and contentment.
Sunday, October 14, 2018
The chicken toque, which I picked up yesterday, was crocheted by my friend Lisa, who I met through my dog blog back in 2002 when I first arrived (seasonally) in Nova Scotia.
The painting was done by Pugwash artist Archan Knotz (not pictured is my other painting of hers, of three hens).
My friend Bruce made the barn board frames.
So a cornucopia of creative things to be grateful for today.
Or as Dwayne would say, "You're spoiled." No, honey, I'm not spoiled; I'm rotten with gratitude.
Saturday, October 13, 2018
Grateful for a great day with my mother in Halifax as we attended a food writing workshop hosted by Simon Thibault, author of "Pantry and Palate: Remembering and Discovering Acadian Food".
Mum and I are working on a cookbook together -- her recipes, my stories -- and along with my three pages of notes, Simon's gentle questions about my writing sample helped me figure out how to rewrite the introduction and how to better define the focus of our cookbook.
Friday, October 12, 2018
By the end of a day of substitute teaching, I'm grateful to see my husband's truck parked at the curb. I'm grateful to see his face, his smile, and hear his voice. I'm grateful to sink so soon into my resting place -- which is always alongside him. Even at night, if I'm having trouble sleeping, I just have to reach over and touch him, and I fall back to sleep.
"Your relaxation starts now," he said as he put the truck into gear.
It was lovely to drive home with the vibrant fall colours not yet stripped off the trees by wind, and feel cocooned inside the truck as we headed home for post-subbing sustenance of tea and toast. Dwayne went off to nap and after a second cup of green tea, I slipped upstairs to my office, where it is quiet and cozy on this (lovely) grey and rainy day.
"You're supposed to be relaxing," he scolded from my doorway at four thirty.
"This is relaxing," I said as I nodded towards the cookbook proposal I was tweaking. Oh, yes, after a day of noise and crowd control, hugs and action songs (filling in for the music teacher again), sitting in stillness, hearing nothing but the tapping of my fingers on the keyboard, THAT is my relaxation.
Thursday, October 11, 2018
Twenty-five years ago, I took guitar lessons during the two years I lived in Oakville, Ontario, after graduating from teachers' college and not ready yet to teach high school.
Now, that's part of the lengthy story about why I have returned to substitute teaching at the elementary level after seven years, and it's a story I'll share at another time BUT for now, let me just say
I AM SO GRATEFUL I TOOK THOSE GUITAR LESSONS!
Just as I'm grateful I was actually good at French even though I didn't pursue it as a "teachable" (that, too, is another story -- September was a season of epiphanies, let me tell you). The teacher I've done my first days of subbing for teaches both French and music, and because of my latent French and guitar skills (I also read music because I played piano for ten years), I've been able to hold my own.
With a little help from my unicorn friend. Trust me, when it came time to get the attention of 20 students practicing their chords on ukuleles, I was glad to have that squeaky toy with me.
Wednesday, October 10, 2018
Grateful today, so very grateful, for the trees still standing, still reaching upwards, still whispering their ancient stories, after another round of logging this spring and summer.
Yesterday, the dog and I took our first walk this autumn season back the old road through the woods.
Only there is less woods than before. More acres clear cut, more trees gone, more habitat destroyed.
Imagine a world without trees.
How will we hear the wind if there are no trees?
How will we hear the birds if there are no trees?
How will we hear our own breath if there are no trees?
I stood and listened.
Will there come a day when I can no longer say I'm going for a walk in the woods?
Tuesday, October 09, 2018
I know how lucky I am to be able to start my mornings like this: yoga when the house is dark and quiet; several cups of coffee in a favourite mug; and a couple of chapters in a book because there is time.
Easing into the day is a luxury not everyone gets so I'm very grateful for this morning ritual. It also includes time with my mother and my husband, and even though we live together and no one but me works regularly outside the home so we spend a lot of time together, I don't take our morning coffee gathering for granted. Life is always changing, even if it's just our moods and our books, and sometimes those changes can happen swiftly and without warning. On mornings when I get to be calm, balanced, and filled with gratitude, I enjoy them.
Monday, October 08, 2018
It's the season of the free range chickens!
Even though they have a roomy coop and a large outdoor pen, it's just not the same as having no walls or fences around them. I'm grateful that for a couple of months in spring and fall, our chickens get to stretch their legs, eat grass and bugs, and actually run as fast as they want for as far as they want.
Need a laugh? Come watch a chicken run.
I love the first day of letting the hens and rooster out of their pen to roam around our one acre yard. They are so excited and happy to be free, they hardly know where to go. There's a lot of running around and flapping of wings and squawking as they try to hit all the hot spots: corn patch, cucumber patch, the front deck (alas, no tray feeder on the deck railing this year), and the ditch.
For some reason, our chickens love the ditch that divides our yard from the field. Oh, and they love the field, too. (Who doesn't love the field?!)
Sunday, October 07, 2018
These two. Thankful for these two. Through thick and thin. Hot and cold. Up and down. In sickness and in health.
Till death do us part.
It was my pleasure to prepare a meal of thanksgiving -- gratitude grub -- for my husband and my mother.
Not a great picture because I was rushing -- "the food is getting cold". Yeesh.
Saturday, October 06, 2018
On this day, two years ago, I saw my first book for the first time. No better moment than this!
While I remain grateful for this moment when I officially became an author, I am even more grateful that two years later, I still receive emails from women telling me how much they enjoyed my book.
Yesterday, an email arrived from a woman who lives in Ottawa but longs to be back in Nova Scotia. My book seems to stir up a lot of yearnings for the East Coast.
Thank you for buying Field Notes, thank you for liking it, thank you for telling me! Being a writer can be a lonely life full of self-doubt and uncertainty, so authors really do appreciate hearing from people who've read their book.
Friday, October 05, 2018
It wasn't until the three sisters in this book reached Vancouver that I realized - remembered - that I've driven across Canada by myself. That's how I got away from the West Coast and back to the East Coast.
Vancouver to Pugwash.
Me and Maggie, my faithful, wonderful friend. Returning home.
I don't think of that trip much anymore but really, it's pretty something. I'm grateful to have had that experience. All that way, on my own -- Mags and I dubbed it the "Warrior Princess Road Trip". Despite what I was driving away from (an unhappy marriage), and driving towards (uncertainty -- although I wished I'd considered 'freedom'), and not knowing what I was driving towards (my father's dementia diagnosis), I really enjoyed that trip. I enjoyed it with that dog, the best dog I've ever had.
I remember stopping at some pit stop kind of place in Alberta and Maggie's big pumpkin head was hanging out the window as I walked away from the car. A guy who'd come out of a transport truck said to me, "No one's going to bother you with that face in your car."
She was such a good dog. I miss her. Grateful for the memory of that trip with her.
**Written by a Nova Scotia author, the book is a great read, a YA that resonated with this adult, with captivating characters dealing with real problems in believable ways.
Thursday, October 04, 2018
I mailed out a book proposal for a collection of essays this week. The book's audience is women, aged 35 to 55. I don't have an "in" with the publisher to whom it's been sent, so I have to hope my writing is engaging enough to interest the Submissions Coordinator.
That's the terrible unknown of a writer's life.
As long as the book is home with me, and I'm working on it, there is an abundance of hope. As soon as it's gone, out of my hands, its future in someone else's hands, there is an abundance of anxiety. Hope and anxiety in their usual awkward, jerky dance -- one leading for awhile, the other taking over, depending on the mood of the music on any given day.
Okay, I stretched that metaphor far enough.
This is the life of a writer. Persistence. Hope. Anxiety. Dread. Anticipation.
Sometimes I wish I'd never started down this rocky, windy path, but most days, I'm truly grateful to have this talent and to be using it every day.
Wednesday, October 03, 2018
My mother had a week-long visit with her sister, Gail. They didn't do many road trips; they were content to hang out in Mother's room, talking and reading and napping.
Aunt Gail quickly learned that at our exclusive B&B, you make your own breakfast. So really, we're more of a B&C -- bed and coffee.
I'm grateful these two are lifelong friends, and at 77 and 80, are healthy, vibrant and full of laughter. And not overly annoying.
Tuesday, October 02, 2018
How could one not be absolutely filled with wonder and awe and gratitude when this happens??
And it happens over and over. For some reason, we have two nuthatches who are willing to take peanuts from our hands. One even pecks at the window if no one is outside during "feeding time".
The blue jays gobble up all the peanuts but are skittish.
The chickadees flit around but won't yet land.
The nuthatches, however, are quite happy to spend a moment on your fingers, tickling your skin with their tiny, delicate toes.
Monday, October 01, 2018
But after everything that's happened in the last couple of years, I'd say "my thing" is also GRATITUDE.
So, when I saw a post on Facebook this morning about a Thirty Days of Gratitude, I decided to forgo the challenge part -- where you have to post about something specific -- and just share something every for which I'm grateful. I won't have any trouble coming up with ideas!
Since our thankful month in Canada is October, I thought I would simply start with this simple but very true statement from our beloved Anne of Green Gables.