We Were Supposed to Go to Norway

Today is what should have been the 59th birthday of my friend Sheri. We met at age 5, had chicken pox together, were in school together right up through high school, went to the same church, were baptized on the same day. We had sleepovers and illicit cookouts on makeshift stoves in the backyard (I still have bacon-grease scars on my shoulder from that one). We made up plays, hiked, read Archie comics, and threw balls for her poodle. She served at my wedding reception and helped me conquer the ivy at my parents' house.

We remained close even after I moved to Canada. Sheri would come up to visit almost every year, her aim to see Canada in every month of the year. When she came, she would always want to help with a project of some sort---digging up rocks, helping host a book-signing table, whatever---she was always up for an adventure. I took her to Highland Games and Mennonite markets, a cement bunker, and our crazy old church. She took me on adventures to New York City, to Park City. She liked to walk and explore, and we'd pick out which house we'd each buy so we could stay neighbours forever. She was always content to do puzzles or watch old movies or just sit and read, which is a lovely trait in a guest. You never felt you had to entertain her, but could just be yourself. When someone is that low-maintenance, they become an integral part of the mesh of your life. They become a sister more than a friend.

Last April, Sheri came to visit and we stayed at the church, taking long walks along the lake and throwing the ball for my dog Brio. She spent a lot of the week feeding me, teaching me to eat healthier. I'd envisioned going grocery shopping with her, but she arrived with her rental car already stocked with food (so that I couldn't insist on paying for it). She was a night owl and I get up at ridiculous hours before dawn, so she slept in the upstairs vestry, and we could each keep our own hours as we liked. The perfect person, in other words, to hang out with.

Our birthdays are close together, and we were cooking up ideas for a grand adventure for our 60th birthdays next year. We'd landed on the plan of going to Norway. But shortly after she returned home, Sheri was diagnosed with cancer and passed away just a few weeks later. Knowing that her 60th birthday wasn't going to happen, I whipped out a PowerPoint "documenting" our trip to Norway as if we'd gone, with pictures off the internet and stick-figures of me and Sheri drawn into them with Adobe. She reported that she and her husband went through the slides and laughed, especially over the picture of the two of us running amok through the streets of Stavanger. My personal favourite was the one of us doing swan dives off a lookout point into a fjord.

Sheri had the ability to make people feel loved, remembered, and seen. She had the uncanny ability to remember things (whereas I struggle to remember my own name on occasion). She could recall everyone she ever met and what they liked and the names of their grandchildren, and she was generous with the gifts that perfectly matched the recipient. She devoted her life to service, throwing herself into her church callings, taking care of the people around her, making me realize how narrow and self-centred my life sometimes is. Even in her last days, she made sure the quilt she'd started making for her daughter was finished by a friend. She doted on her family, turning every occasion into something memorable and special, and making each person feel treasured.

Sheri has gone on her next great adventure without me, but wherever she is, I'm sure she's serving and laughing (and talking) and putting together fishponds for angels and planting lemongrass and coaxing God into trying kelp in His pancakes. And likely throwing balls for Brio. Happy birthday, my friend. Miss you.

Introducing Detective Inspector Gor Manookian

Well, I'm on a roll now, cleaning up my filing cabinet of manuscripts. I've decided to publish one of my novellas, a Manookian Mystery: Monk with the Steel-Toed Boots, which you can find at the link below.

When a guest is murdered at a meditation retreat in the Canadian forest, Detective Inspector Gor Manookian is on the case.

As if a homicide isn't enough to deal with, he also has to juggle a critical captain, a troublesome brother, a cast of quirky characters, a fat cat named Benzo, and his own growing suspicion that he's in the wrong line of work.

What does the Buddhist monk who runs the retreat know about the murder? Who may be the next victim? And can Manookian hold it all together long enough to catch a killer?

Watch for the next upcoming Manookian Mystery, Tiny Little Murder, out soon!

Monk with the Steel-Toed Boots

Getting Grumpy in My Old Age

So...after shooting off that last post about brotherly love, I spent this morning grumpily writing to my Member of Parliament and a certain Premier to express dissatisfaction with some particular actions and practices. I won't get into the specifics, because this blog isn't meant to be political, but it makes me ponder the dichotomy and the dilemma--- How do you stand for principle and live according to your values in the face of opposition, without becoming, er, oppositional? How do you deal with unpleasantness without becoming unpleasant yourself?

I try to express myself politely. I try to be informed before making statements. I try to be reasonable and find solutions. And yet at some point, I just want to pull my hair out and demand that other people get off my planet. You know? Sometimes things seem like obvious common sense to me, and I struggle to understand how other people can't see my viewpoint (and agree with it). I'm so sure I'm right... And in some instances, I think there's such a thing as absolute truth, and yet I see other people denying it. Ignoring it. Actively stating falsehood. Condoning inarguable evil.

I know evil's a strong word, but I believe it exists, and it's our job to call it out when we see it. To step in when we see people purposely being harmed or cast aside. To speak up and amplify the voice that's being squashed. To use our privilege to invite the forgotten or excluded ones to the table.

Which I guess circles round to brotherly love again.

You know, some days peopling is too hard. I'm going to go work in my garden. I get along better with plants, and if any of them irritate me, I can yank them out.

Love Your Neighbour: Possibility or Pipe Dream?

My thought for the day: Christians say they believe in the commandment to "love thy neighbour as thyself." People tend to interpret that as "love your neighbour as much as you love yourself" and that leads, of course, to the urge to "love yourself."

I interpret it differently. To me, it's saying "love your neighbour because he/she IS yourself." They are not "other." They are you. We are to see us as one. We are to BE one. If we truly did that, there wouldn't be contention, violence, poverty, or apathy. We'd finally learn to be kind.

Imagine what a different society that would create, if we actually saw no boundary between "us" and "them." Do I hold out any hope that we'll do it? No. But a girl can dream.

(I'm the solemn one on the left.)

Photos, as Promised Last Week

Some snapshots from my walk around the Credit River and Riverwood Conservancy. A lovely start to my morning.

Hawaii - Travels and Observations

This morning's post is a snippet about the cover photo on my latest book, Before You Go. My mother-in-law was a warm, cheerful, energetic, and kind of zany person, always up for a new adventure. She loved having our boys up to her trailer, and they have fond memories of epic summers spent with her. She was more friend than "mother-in-law" and had a knack for making you feel welcomed and loved. She genuinely enjoyed people.

Sadly, she passed much too soon, and she left my husband and his brother her Hawaiian timeshare. We have been there many times, and even though we were never there with her, it invokes good memories of her. The timeshare is in Makaha, on Oahu, right on a beautiful, quiet beach. The kids come out after school to surf, but otherwise the beach is fairly empty. It's a residential area, not touristy, and I enjoy walking around the neighbourhood, appreciating the azaleas and palm trees and listening to the crowing of the ubiquitous roosters. One such walk inspired the setting for Before You Go.

The photo on the cover was snapped from the timeshare's lanai, looking north and showing the neighbourhood I was walking through when the book's plot began to come to me.

With the travel situation with the U.S. right now (not to mention the cost of flying), we won't be returning to Hawaii anytime soon, if ever. I miss that luscious feeling of walking out of the airport (usually in the middle of the night) into warm, humid air. The constant background sound of the waves thundering onto the sand. The bone-deep heat of the hot tub easing my aching joints. The BBQ pork manapua served hot, like little doughy melt-in-your-mouth marshmallows, at the local 7-11. The kind friends we've made there. The delicious feeling of waking up knowing you have nothing to do all day but slather yourself in coconut-scented sunscreen and sit with a book on the balcony. Bliss.

On the other hand, the last time I was there, there was considerably more tension in the air between tourists, natives, and the unhoused population, and I left feeling very much like an unwanted colonial. It made me ponder in ways I hadn't before the role I play and the position I have inadvertently landed in in life. Some uncomfortable consideration of privileges I haven't earned and haven't been properly appreciative of. This new awareness is not necessarily a bad thing.

It was a Busy Friday at the McKendry House

Twenty-five containers and counting...

Our waste collection guys are going to hate us.

Riverwood Conservancy and Erindale Park - a Walk Along the Credit River

I'm tired of being sick in bed, so yesterday I headed out for a long walk. I ended up heading east along Burnhamthorpe Road, admiring the swaths of tulips in the centre islands, noticing Eastern Redbud trees in bloom, until I got to the overpass over the Credit River. There are a couple of lookout points where you can rest your arms on the railing and look down at the gorge. The sound of the river has to compete with the sound of traffic at that height, but if you take the steps down to river level, it's like entering a different world. Stone, soil, filtered sunlight, green growing things---and the hum of traffic is subsumed under the rush of water.

If you turn north, you enter the paths of the Riverwood Conservancy, where you can choose easy or more difficult routes. All lead eventually back up the hill to formal gardens and the art centre. Or, as I did yesterday, you can turn south and walk along the Credit River.

I met a handful of people walking the trail, but for the most part I was by myself. Nothing but peace and beauty and the satisfying feeling of walking on something other than pavement. There are occasional footbridges over branching rills, and they've placed handy benches here and there if you need a pause. I was taking a moment to remove pebbles from my shoes when I looked up and saw two deer placidly walking along the bank directly opposite me. Deer. Smack in the middle of a city of over 700,000. So I sat on the bench a while and watched them. One of the deer was so unthreatened by my presence that she stopped to poop, which I confess I took as a compliment. A few other walkers paused to watch for a while too.

When the deer finally moved on, we all wished each other a nice day, and I resumed my stroll (the path is level and easy enough that it can't be called a hike) and emerged in Erindale Park on Dundas Street, where---happily---there are public washrooms. I'd already been walking for 2 hours, so I caught a handy bus back to South Common, via the University, and then walked home from there. About 2.5 hours in all. 

One of the disadvantages of not having a phone is that I also don't have a lightweight camera. My digital camera weighs too much to want to carry it with me on my walks. But one day I'll see if I can capture some views from the overpass, looking down at the river. 

I'm excited to know that all this loveliness is within walking distance of my house, and I regret that I didn't realize it sooner. I feel like I've wasted the past 25 years, missing out on this beautiful scenery when I could have been walking here every day. But then I remind myself that no, until relatively recently, I was running for the bus to get to work, and I wouldn't have had time to take a leisurely two and a half hour stroll in the morning. Instead of marching along under picturesque white pines, I would have been hunched in a cubicle, wrangling numbers into their little slots in Excel sheets. What a waste of life! How glad I am to be free of it, even if only for a while.

Thankful for Friends

A warm thank you to all my friends and family who have reposted the link to buy my latest book Before You Go For an introvert who's more comfortable with books than with people, I really appreciate the help promoting it!

This week was actually very social for me. Tuesday I had choir practice. Hubby, sons, and I went to see the movie Project Hail Mary on Wednesday. Thursday Son #2 and I helped throw a dinner at the church with the missionaries. Friday I went to The Devil Wore Prada 2 with four women I know (two movies in one week! I know, right??). And Saturday was a Relief Society women's conference in Brampton, with wonderful food and workshops and conversation. I met a new friend and fellow writer there, too.

And then today I stayed in bed with a chest cold and a book and kinda missed Mothers' Day, but that's okay. I had a good people-filled week, and the sun is streaming in the window, and I'm content. This coming week will be filled with restorative activities -- gardening and long walks to the river and a new book called The Reluctant Tuscan: How I discovered my Inner Italian by Phil Doran, which looks promising.

Peace, Sunshine, and Wornout Shoes

For the last two or three weeks, I've been taking long walks every day, sometimes as long as 2-2 1/2 hours. I've discovered that it only takes me 45 minutes to reach the Riverwood Conservancy on the Credit River, which is a wonderful thing. The route takes me across the bridge overlooking the river, where there's a jutting lookout point. It's become my new favourite thing to do, resting my arms on the railing and just drinking in the glorious view. The pointillism of newly-leafing-out trees, the rush of the water down the gorge, the deep layer of old leaves under the trees, lush greenery on the island in the middle of the river, the sun warming my back... it's a perfect boost to my mood and mental health. As I gaze, I can almost block out the sound of the traffic behind me.

Sometimes I turn around and go back home, but a couple of times I've continued on to wander the paths at the Conservancy. There are some small, pretty gardens by the art centre, and a cattail-filled pond with redwing blackbirds and herons. The eastern redbuds are just beginning to turn pink. There's something soul-satisfying about walking through dappled light on a soft path deep with old pine needles. The smell of damp earth. The sound of flowing water and birdsong. Peace.

If you haven't been outside yet today, put down your screen and go out this minute. Breathe the air and move your limbs and feel whatever the weather is doing on your face. Nothing can beat it.

The Contrast is Jarring

 My Facebook feed this morning:

followed immediately by:

and a little further down:

A wee reminder to myself not to take my own home for granted. Not to overlook the beauty and blessings that surround me. I have electricity, running clean water, heat and light, a flushing toilet, an oven. Most importantly, I have community. I never want to lose sight of that.

My Latest Novel is Now Available

After working with traditional publishers for my first eleven books, I've decided to try self-publishing my latest novel. Please give it a look! Thanks!

Plot: The last thing Etta Purcell thought she'd be doing at age eight-seven was writing a food blog. And she never expected the project to connect her with her great-grandson Matt, who finds her online. Before she knows it, Etta is jetting off to Hawaii to visit him...and his grandmother, Etta's daughter Linda, from whom she has been estranged for many years.

Linda already has enough to deal with, having been remarried, relocated, and unexpectedly landed with a teenaged grandson to raise. She no longer feels she fits in her own life, and the last thing she needs is her mother turning up uninvited. For Matt's sake, mother and daughter must establish a truce. But can they find a way to move beyond the pain and misunderstandings that tore their family apart so long ago?

"Before You Go" is the story of reconciliation and forgiveness. Perhaps---even at age eighty-seven---it's never too late to heal.

Link to purchase:

Before You Go

Crazy Weather and Lots to Do

On Monday we had snow on the ground. A few days later, I was mowing the lawn and walking around the backyard in bare feet. The tulips opened. Yesterday I was back to wearing a winter hat and gloves for my daily walk. Nutso weather that's hard to predict. The next three days are supposed to be rainy.

We've been tackling a lot of yardwork that has been neglected over the past year. Cut down two mugo pine trees that were dying from rust, pruned the taller pine that was with them to cut away diseased branches (hoping to save it), and put down mulch. Tore out other damaged bushes and hopeless plants and put down more mulch. Got the two fountains going. Spread some rocks. Hacked the front hedge down to a manageable height. Raked a jillion bags worth of last year's leaves that I'd been using as mulch in the vegetable garden. Started pulling out a jillion baby maple trees, offspring of the maple that gave me all the leaves. Started my tomato seedlings. Mowed said lawn and spread topsoil over some sparse spots. Weed-whacked the perimeter. The yard waste collection truck actually came to our place twice this week to empty our bins -- it was a ridiculous amount of material that took up most of our boulevard.

Also took time, of course, to play games and soccer and go for walks with the grandkids, who both have birthdays this month. Read a book. Went to the dentist. Watched entirely too much Person of Interest. Went to church on Sunday. Did some grocery shopping. Drove to Brampton to pick my son up from a friend's. Finished crocheting a teddy bear for a neighbour's coming baby. Trips to Home Depot and Canadian Tire. Dealt with a broken water heater and had a guy come measure for some new windows we need to install. Took a two-hour walk yesterday just to enjoy the briefly nice weather and blue sky, and to revel in not having to join the traffic inching by. It's a lovely feeling, walking past stuck cars with a smirk on my face.

So it's been a good week, all in all. Still lots to do, but we're getting on top of it. When I look at the list of what we did in one week, I don't feel tired, I feel energized. I'll take long hours in the garden over sitting at a desk any day.

A Poem for Spring

I coddle my seedling diligently

but I can't keep it alive.

I behead a weed a hundred times

and it thrives and thrives and thrives.

Some Honest Musings about Self-Publishing

I've had eleven books published by two different publishers over the past 19 years. My main publisher was recently subsumed under a larger company, and my book that was to be published in January 2026 (already typeset and ready to go) was cancelled. My 21-year contract with them was also terminated, though it only had a short while left to go, and that doesn't bother me.

The trick now is to find another publisher for the three manuscripts I've already completed. Two are novels and one is a non-fiction about simple living. I've shopped them around to various places, but so far I haven't found a home for them. I've also approached several literary agents without success. It's time-consuming and disheartening and makes me question this whole process.

I've been considering self-publishing these three, just to get them out of my hair so I can focus on something new. It seems a shame to give up on them, since I've put so much work into them and they're edited and polished and ready to go. I admit to a bit of bias---somehow self-publishing feels like cheating, you know? After dealing with traditional publishers for so many years, I feel like I'm sneaking around the end post.

At the same time, the publishing world is changing, traditional publishers are moving more toward a preference for e-books (igg), and old-timey practices must adapt or die. So...do I get over my prejudices and take the plunge? Goodness knows I'd stand to earn more per each sale (royalties from traditional publishers are frankly paltry), and the idea of having total control appeals to me. I'm confident in my editing skills. But on the other hand, my old publisher consistently sold 4000-5000 copies of each of my books, and I know if the marketing is left entirely up to me, I won't sell nearly that many. My interest lies in the writing, not the selling. 

I've reached the point in my life where I just want to tell stories, and I'm not overly concerned about how many people read them. The glitz is off seeing my name in print. Money would be handy, but it's not my motivation. But are self-published books legitimate? How is their quality perceived in comparison to traditionally-published ones? I guess that's the question I'm asking. What do you think?

So much going on in the world, and yet this is what has snagged me

Two months yesterday since I lost Brio. It still catches me off guard from time to time. I expect to see him waiting when I come into the room, and the spot on the kitchen floor where his dishes used to be seems stupidly empty. I am going about my normal day and feeling completely fine and then suddenly I'm in tears again without any warning. When people see me walking down the road, do they realize half of me is missing?

I fluctuate between being sad and being irritated with myself. There are so many people hurting in the world. Even as I go through this, I know my sorrows are small compared to many people's. I have lost pets and people before. So why is this one so much more difficult? At some point I will lose patience with myself, but until then, I'm trying to grant myself some grace. It will just have to work itself out in its own time, I guess. 

For all those who have lost loved ones, including pets, those who have lost hopes or dreams, those who have lost opportunities or the future they thought they were going to have, those who may have lost faith in themselves, those who don't even know why they are down, those who feel lost themselves...I see you.

Thunderstorm and Great Minds Thinking Alike

I've been going on 2-3 hour walks every day as spring has approached, enjoying farmfield views and the crunch of gravel under my feet, the cool breeze and much-appreciated sunshine, shaking off the doldrums of winter and depression. But this morning I woke up to thunder and lightning and knew my daily walk likely wouldn't happen.

I was thinking of going upstairs, turning on some music, and dancing for exercise today, but I felt a little silly doing it by myself. Not sure why that is. But anyway, I thought about inviting a friend of mine over with her two girls. They live in a Tiny House and don't have a lot of room for doing cartwheels or dancing or even stretching on days when they have to remain indoors.

I went onto the computer to invite them, and behold, there was a message from my friend, asking if they could come over to play today. So ta da! we're on the same wavelength. A nice way to spend a soggy Tuesday.

Still need some more walking

 

"Your grief has expired.

There is a timeline for loss,

then you must move on."

They say to let go.

I’d be happy to oblige,

but it clings to me.

 

I say I’ll try to

shake it off, but it persists,

melded with my bones.

 

I confess I fear

if I release this sorrow,

you’ll truly be gone.

Walking My Feelings

This month I'm staying up at the church we're renovating, where I'm trying to establish better habits around eating and exercising. Part of the new routine is going on epic walks for 2-2 1/2 hours each morning, and shorter walks in the afternoon. It gives me a chance to explore gravel roads that I couldn't walk before with Brio, whose feet would have suffered on the stones. It's practice for me, getting used to walking without my faithful little dog, who accompanied me on almost every walk for the past 13 years. It's also a useful thing when my sorrow starts to get the better of me, because everything feels better when you're striding out in the fresh air.

My travels have taken me through beautiful farmland, just waking up from winter, with widely-spaced lovely yellow-brick homes with enticing porches that must be lovely shady spots to sit in summer. Yesterday I saw a pickup truck slowly driving down the road with three or four sheepdogs running before it, just a guy out exercising his dogs. On Easter Sunday, I saw a house with eleven cars parked in front of it, six of which were almost identical pickup trucks, plus one jeep and the rest were crossovers. The genes run strong in that family.

Yesterday, as I walked, I noticed gray clouds gathering on the sunny blue horizon, and a storm swiftly swept toward me. I figured a little rain was no big deal -- I could throw everything in the dryer when I got home -- but then it dawned on me that I was the tallest thing out there, surrounded by flat fields. Not a good scenario if there was lightning. I'd need to get low to the ground... I started eyeing the shallow ditches on each side of the road, wondering whether lying in a wet ditch was any smarter than standing up in a lightning storm. And we've had flooding lately... Was there an open barn within running distance?

But then the storm hit, and it was snow, not rain, and immediately I felt better about the situation. You rarely get lightning with snowstorms. So with hard little pellets pinging my face, I strode along, enjoying myself, and got home half an hour later with no harm done.

Refreshing, invigorating, lovely.

Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosh

I just reread this book, which is a zany but perceptive commentary on life, and the section on "Thoughts and Feelings" hit me particularly hard. I don't often laugh aloud over a book, but it was hilarious because it's so true. I especially liked these comments: 

"...a majority of the feelings I feel are simply a reaction to reality not complying with my arbitrary set of rules"; 

"I am incensed that reality has the audacity to do some of the things when I CLEARLY don't want those things to happen"; 

"It feels unfair when the other things in the world refuse to be governed by my justice system"; 

"I don't like when I can't control what reality is doing."

That just about nails it.

Holy Week

I try not to get political in this blog, but at some point, you just have to call out evil for what it is.  As we approach Easter, the time when we celebrate the Atonement of Christ, Hegseth is directing there to be no quarter shown, which is a war crime. He is publicly praying for U.S. troops to be violent against those who "don't deserve" mercy...in the name of Jesus Christ. The One who taught "blessed are the merciful." The U.S. has threatened to target desalination stations in Iran, actually considering attacking a country's drinking water. This would also be a war crime. They're intentionally cutting Cuba off from vital resources, knowing full well that innocent civilians will die. I have heard it called a genocide. The only oil tanker that has been allowed through was Russian.

Those who "just follow orders" to carry out illegal acts are not immune to prosecution. They will be held just as accountable as their leaders. That is because we expect them to know the law and abide by it, to discern when an order is illegal. I am bewildered, dismayed, horrified by what is being allowed to happen. I would remind elected officials that, in the face of obvious crime, inaction can be considered just as culpable as action.

The Ad for Tai Chi Walking Made Me Laugh

My Facebook feed has lately included several ads for Tai Chi walking for people of a "certain age," and one of the phrases they keep repeating is that I'll be unrecognizable by next month. As if I have a need to go incognito or something.

Do you think if it really works, I could slip out the back door and make a run for it without anyone noticing?

Rising Storm

The wind woke me at three a.m.,

squeezing the house until its joints creaked,

stripping the yard of last year's leaves, scraping it clean.

I wanted to run out into it, stand with face upturned and arms out,

to let its buffeting scour me too, blast away my melancholy, anxiety,

to remind me how puny the world's worries are, compared to its glorious might.

I yearned for the wind to strip away all but hope, leave me fresh and clean, empowered.

But it was dark and cold, and everyone else slept, so I retreated

back under the blanket, curled, clenched like a fist,

and just listened to its roar.

Another successful concert with the Burlington Welsh Ladies Chorus

On the weekend, I performed with the Welsh choir I joined, as guests of the Burlington Welsh Male Chorus. It was held in a beautiful United Church with amazing stained glass windows. We took turns singing (shuffling on and off the stage), and did three songs with both choirs together. 

It's a wonderful thing to sing with the men, those wonderful Welsh tenors, plus the sternum-shaking organ and the multi-coloured light streaming in the windows. So satisfying to be able to use the language again and to sing the Welsh national anthem at full volume with other people.

I'd been practising diligently since Christmas to get ready, since we have to sing "off book" (no sheet music to cheat from). I'm pleased to say I remembered everything, it all went well, and we got a standing ovation at the end.

Tonight is our next practice, and I have 8 new songs to learn, in addition to a handful of familiar warm-ups. Whee! This choir will be a test of my memory skills, I see.

Admitting Even an Introvert Needs Friends

Three friends to the rescue the other night. I was invited over to someone's house to play a card game and eat muffins and cookies and fruit smoothies, and it was just an evening of laughter and good-natured ribbing and constant interruptions of the game to discuss cooking soup and sprouting seeds and setting goals for the new year. I managed to get through the whole evening without curling up in a soggy mess over Brio, which is an improvement. Reminded me that the world is still turning, and people are kind.

Tonight is the Lunar New Year celebration at church, where there's always heaps of good food and a musical program. Another thing to draw me out of myself and force me back into the flow of life. I'm trying to go work out my grief at the gym and remembering to go for walks (weird to walk without him!), but also reminding myself that it's been less than a week and there's no timetable to any of this.

Poignant but Also Hilarious

I mentioned that I was feeling very disoriented, not having Brio following my every move. Son #1 offered to sit and stare forlornly at the bathroom door while I'm showering, if it would make me feel any better.

Somehow, actually, it does.

Planning the Garden

 A friend asked me today what my plans are for the vegetable garden this year. I suspect she probably meant it as a distraction from my sorrow over Brio. I've been trying to reconcile myself to not having him here, but it's hard. He was so entwined with everything I did! I can't open a can, slice cheese, put on my shoes to go out, come back indoors, go upstairs...without expecting him to appear, to stand on his hind legs trying to see on the counter, to come running at the sound of the can opener, to curl up against the backs of my knees on the bed. I sit on the couch and have nowhere to put my hand, because it always used to rest on his head.

Anyway, I grabbed hold of my friend's question as a gentle reminder that life does indeed have to go on. And here is my list of what I'm planting this year: various tomatoes, three kinds of cucumbers, zucchini, kale, lettuce, spinach, onions, sweet potatoes, Shishito peppers, basil, parsley, garlic, and chia (and raspberries, strawberries, and rhubarb). Every year I also like to try new things, and this year there are three: black lentils ordered from Nova Scotia, Delicata squash, which is sort of like butternut, and Good King Henry, which is a perennial green.

I'm planning to build some frames to fit over my raised beds to make it easier to toss insect netting or shade cloth over them. I anticipate this summer will be extremely hot, which seems to be the norm, so shade will probably be necessary.

The End of an Era -- Saying Goodbye to an Old Friend

If you have been following this blog for any length of time, you're familiar with my dog Brio. He's been a faithful companion, a cheerful and loving presence, in our lives for 13 1/2 years. Recently his health started to decline, especially the last two weeks, and today he wasn't able to eat or drink at all. He was trembling and wobbly and in obvious distress.

I phoned our lovely vet (also a family friend and fellow bagpiper) at home, and she very kindly met us at the closed clinic (on the Sunday of a long weekend). Brio was in full heart failure, and the end was inevitable, so we asked her to help him go. It was very gentle and quick, and I held him in my arms as it happened. Stroking that soft little heart-shaped spot on his head. Whispering praise and reassurance in his ear. Feeling his panting and trembling ease and his head grow heavy in my palm. A quiet release from suffering, and now I've lost two best friends in the past year.

Thank you, Brio, for your steady devotion and the joy you have brought my family. I'm sure Sheri will happily take care of you on the other side until I join you.

On Beth Brower and Immersing Oneself in Words

My mother sent me a Christmas gift of the first two in a series of eight novels, The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion, and I'm so glad she did! I'm afraid Richard Osman will have to take a step back -- Beth Brower is my new favourite author. I broke two of my self-imposed rules and ordered the volumes 3-5 off Amazon (the first rule being to only buy secondhand books and the second rule being to boycott Amazon, which I've successfully done for over a year). But Amazon was apparently the only option to acquire these books, and I couldn't stand the thought of not continuing with the series. And Amazon would deliver to the church, where I was staying for five weeks, ostensibly on a writing retreat. An internal struggle ensued, a dose of guilt, a load of rationalization. Could I justify buying them off Amazon after forcing my family to do without American-grown sweet potatoes for Christmas dinner? Wasn't I the person who did without celery for months until I could grow my own, because no Canadian celery was to be had?

I threw caution to the wind and placed the order.

I gobbled vols 3-5 in just a few days, and then broke the rules again ordering the final three volumes in the series, because, well...Because. Adrenalin up, I manically read 7 other books while waiting for them to arrive, including Hazel Prior's excellent Penguins and Veronica series, lent by a friend. As soon as the last three Brower books arrived, I abandoned everything else I was supposed to be doing, including cooking, walking, writing, cleaning, and sleeping, and dove in again. This morning I've finished volume 8. I'm saturated with lovely words.

When you find a character with a humorous voice, carefully crafted development, fiery personality, and poetic phrasing, you start to think of them as real. You want them to be real. I expect to look up from my book and see Emma dancing past the doorway. I'm genuinely sad I won't be able to meet Islington face to face.

I feel my own language use is sadly lacking, now, and need to up my game...er, improve my articulation. 😁 My writing plods from A to B in predictable, efficient ways. Beth Brower sings.

Haiku for a Winter's Night

 1.

Night's peaceful duet

owls playing the recorder

gently in the dark.

2. 

Cloud's smudge residue

random scattershot of stars

missed the target moon.

Snow Storm!

Twenty-eight inches of snow so far in one day, and more coming. The city plows can't keep up and the side roads aren't getting cleared. My husband reports he can't get out our back door.

Meanwhile, I'm hunkered down at the church we're renovating, eating peanut butter cookies and reading a novel, because we only got 3-4 inches of snow here and it was no bother clearing it. Possibly a twinge of guilt I'm not there to help out...

My husband sent me this photo. He took it 30 minutes AFTER having cleared the car and driveway.

This is out the back door.

Wisdom from Sue Bender's Plain and Simple: A Woman's Journey to the Amish

A line jumped out at me as I was reading Sue Bender's book this morning: "...I didn't have to choose between one part of me over another..."

That's a simple statement, but it hit me particularly hard. I realized I've been puzzling over how to reconcile different aspects of myself. I'm an introvert, but I want to serve and be helpful to others. I'm a writer who often doesn't feel like writing. I love playing games with my kids and grandkids, and I also love solitude. I'm a gardener and sometimes I'm tired of gardening. I'm a conservative religiously and a raging liberal politically. I've written before how I'm always torn, wanting to be at home when I'm at the church, and wanting to be at the church when I'm at home. I crave adventure, and I love curling up with a book and not moving for two days.

I can be all of those contradictions. I don't have to choose. My galloping mind can exist in a silently meditating body, both working together and existing simultaneously. Each serving a function. When I'm at home, I can be content at home, and when I'm at the church, I can be content at the church. I can be a traveler and a homebody. I can be every aspect of myself, abiding together.

Somehow that idea seems both ridiculously profound and startlingly simple. Could peace of mind be as basic as self-acceptance? Is "being in the moment" really just enjoying what and who I am at that moment?

Snowed In

It snowed for the past 30 hours or so, finally stopping late last night. We had high winds with it, so we have the phenomenon of three feet of snow on one side of the building and bare grass on the other. I kept venturing out to shovel periodically, brushing the snow off the windows, tunnelling out to the yard so Brio would have a place to go. A kind neighbour cleared my driveway mid-day with his plow, and I've been trying to keep on top of the snow ever since so he won't have to come dig me out again.

The snow is light and fluffy, sticking to everything, caking my boots. It's so cold it instantly freezes to whatever it touches. The light turns it into a glittering fondant rounding out everything.

I love this sort of weather. There's nowhere I have to go, I have a stack of books and puzzles, and the kitchen is well stocked. Today's tasks are checking how much propane I have left and trying to shovel the snow out of the back stairwell, so that when it all eventually melts, we don't end up with a minor flood. Fortunately I have my fancy-dancy flood door installed.

Hazel Prior's Penguin and Veronica books. Homemade pizza. Hot cake with black currant yogurt on top. Brio curled beside me. Hurdy-gurdy music playing on the laptop. What Sue Bender calls "splendid isolation." It doesn't get better than this.

Wendell Berry to the Rescue

"...with forethought of grief."

That's a line from Wendell Berry's poem "The Peace of Wild Things." And it punched me in the face today, because that's exactly what I got caught up in yesterday -- the anticipation of grief. All the things I am mourning haven't actually happened yet. I'm looking ahead at the loss, but I haven't yet lost those things today.

Today, I have a warm home with a strong roof. I have food on the shelf. I have my dog curled beside me. My grandchildren are safe and healthy. My country still stands. I need to savour and be grateful for those things today. Whatever tomorrow brings, I can still have joy today.

A timely reminder. Thank you, Mr. Berry.

Mourning

How quickly one's mood and outlook can change from one day to the next! The deluge of things happening in the news recently -- despite my attempts to keep it all from leaking through my filters -- has altered my tone. My tiny little local community may be holding together, but the world around us is shattering. People may think I'm over-reacting or being hyperbolic, but this post is going to be as honest as I can make it. I don't want to hurt feelings or stir up trouble. I just feel the need to express what I'm truly feeling. How I truly see the world as it is right now. And writing has always been the way I do that.

I believe it's only a matter of time before the online war and hurled remarks bloom into actual armed conflict for Canada. On the current trajectory, I don't see how it can end up anywhere else. I'm not the only one who sees this coming. Whether the alliances we've built with other countries will come to our aid, I don't know. The conflict is spread over too much of the planet to allow focus or effective response. I no longer feel that hope is a realistic option. I can measure the depths of my love for my chosen country by the amount of ferocity I feel about the whole situation.

I want to stay true to my values no matter the circumstances. I've always been a pacifist, but these days, defense of my home, community, way of life, and country may not allow me to be. I've written to my local armoury to see what someone my age could contribute. I'm looking at my emergency preparations with a new eye. I've started reaching out to key people I want in my circle. All the physical stuff, I can handle. Deprivation doesn't bother me. I can be creative and tough and solve problems. I know how I act under pressure or fear. Others have gone through conflict and come out the other side, and I know we can too. I try to be realistic and reason through my options.

It's the emotional part that's difficult.

Accepting that the peaceful old age I'd imagined for myself, contentedly puttering with my books and plants and yarn, may look very different. Recognizing that the financial foundation I've built for that future may dissolve, and the social supports I rely on might disappear. Fearing that I may not see my beautiful parents and siblings for a long time, if ever again. Letting go of hopes of ever again gazing at the wonderful mountains of my childhood. Dropping the dreams of travel and further education. Looking at my sweet little one-month-old granddaughter and worrying what her future will hold. Wondering if my children's plans and hopes for themselves, that they've worked so hard for, will ever happen.

It isn't fair. It isn't right. I'm furious to the point of blind rage that someone else has chosen to ruin all of this for us. I am gaining a growing appreciation for those who have dealt with war -- who are currently dealing with it -- and who have somehow learned to move forward. It isn't the path they planned or wanted. But it's the one before them, and they're taking action in the best ways they know how. How did they let go of all that anticipating and dreaming and find the strength to deal with the present moment?

I've always had a sense that global warming and dwindling resources would impact my hopes for the future. The earth is on its own trajectory, and at some point I knew there would be a bill to pay. That life would grow increasingly tougher. But I've been blindsided by how rapidly everything has disintegrated, and it's not because of our long-suffering planet, as I presumed. It's because some people have chosen to rip apart other people's lives, out of greed and a puffed-up sense of entitlement. I hear myself muttering "It isn't fair," and realize how much I've always depended on fairness and justice prevailing. It isn't going to this time. That's a difficult pill to swallow. It's hard to get to the point where you actually acknowledge you have to let go of hope for a solution and just focus on response.

Over everything, pervading everything, I'm just sad. It didn't have to end up this way.

Celebrating Abundance and Community

I'm currently reading a beautiful little book called The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World, by Robin Wall Kimmerer. She's also the author of Braiding Sweetgrass.

The theme of the book is the gifting economy and how natural systems share abundance and cooperate for mutual benefit. In contrast, financially-based economies are all about scarcity and competition, as that's what drives up prices.

I read a post this morning by someone who clearly thinks the goal of life is to accumulate wealth, and there is no other more important value or principle to live by. He stated right out that he's willing to give up everything else in his life, including his country, for monetary benefit. While I understand that someone without financial security may feel that way in the moment, I don't think this person was coming from a position of extreme poverty. The contrast between these two mindsets was jarring. I know which appeals to me most. I'd far rather live with a mindset of abundance and cooperation.

If you agree with me, I think we can each have a role in combatting the idea that wealth is everything by doing simple things: Invite neighbours to dinner. Put some books in a little free library. Hold a swap meet or join a freecycling group. Set usable items at the curb for people to help themselves. Give of your time and labour to help someone else. Take your surplus to a donation centre. All these little daily actions remind us of what's really important to us. Celebrate community and kindness. Money really can't buy happiness, especially not if you've given up more important things to acquire it.

Starting the New Year with a ChatGPT Conversation...

I just watched a short video on Youtube where a man had a "discussion" with ChatGPT about, essentially, how to keep AI from overtaking our lives. ChatGPT suggested that people should "do the hard thing." Write the first draft themselves. Take the less optimal path. Stop correcting and feeding AI, because when we do those things, the quicker it will replace us. It said AI is sold to us as a convenience, but the goal of it is compliance, complacency, acquiescence. Mediocrity. (my words. I can't recall the exact ones, but that's the gist). It summarized by saying the system's route is the path of least resistance. Don't walk it.

This rang true to me, to tell the truth. AI may be developing rapidly, but it's human choice to use it. If it replaces us, it's because employers choose to let it. Because consumers support it with their purchasing power or by giving it attention.

That phrase "Don't walk it" excites me. I seem to be all about resistance these days. I want to live differently, authentically. Up close and personal, with my hands in the middle of it. To weave, to sew, to garden, to have tactile experiences, to grow food and cook it, to walk instead of drive, to let technology into my life only so far and not past that. It just feels better to me, lighter, happier. I think it's important to see the tangible produce of your own hands, to have a part (even if just a small one) in providing the essentials for your life. A nicely-woven towel or a hand-carved wooden crochet hook gives me so much more pleasure than purchased plastic or random 1s and 0s on a computer. I want to revive the Arts and Crafts movement, the Slow Food movement.

I guess it's what Thoreau had in mind when he said he wanted to live life deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life. It's to peel things down to the basic core, with nothing extraneous, to get to the real value inherent in them. If, as he says, the price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it, then the slow-crafted things are of great value.

This year is going to be about seeking light, fresh air, and authenticity. To let go of the goals and just focus on a joyful journey.