One Huge Surprise!

Let us not be sad

but grateful, glad and willing to 

step into the night.

Time for tears at home………

That is what I planned to write. But that was Thursday evening, before my huge surprise Friday afternoon. My nursing shift went as usual ~ report, organize my work, plan for an admission to Detox at ten, medications, collaborate with physician, nurses, addictions workers and, of course, patients. Lunch then……oh heavens, I’m supposed to meet with the coordinator at 2:30 and I am so behind and clients need attention. I tried to reschedule but she was insistent and gave me 10 minutes to wrap up and get ready for the next shift. More confusion - ‘Walk with me over here. We’ll meet on the other unit.’ So I followed obediently…………the door opened to a room full of staff, food, laughter and a retirement tea in my honour. I was completely and truly surprised. Staff from the Umbrella Society were also part of the huge surprise, and so very welcome. It was absolutely amazing and lovely and so very unexpected. A small and precious part of the great multi-disciplinary team, both inpatient and outreach teams. I have had the pleasure and honour of serving with them over the past fourteen years. We have shared so many stories, faces and people ~ joys and sorrows ~ it was almost overwhelming.

In the photo is an intriguing basket of cookies ~ somewhat worse for the bus ride home ~ but waiting for me to enjoy. They are shaped and decorated like various symbols of nursing ~ a syringe, a red cross, pills and the letters that spell my name.

Thank you all for a really great ride! See you all in the community. And of course ~ my final shift is today. Sunday begins my next journey.

“Our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly 

kindled by unexpected sparks.”

~ Samuel Johnson, The Idler; Poems

Two Steps Forward

Two seconds for

a tiny pity party

then wash my face and smile.

Two hours to organize

today’s thoughts and plans

that change faster than I can guess.

Two shifts remain to be part 

of an amazing health care team

that flows with any changes in service.

“Some days are like folding fitted sheets…”

~ Nanette L. Avery

Three Years

Three years 

1965 to 1968

Nursing’s adolescence?

Yet our foundation was laid

with policy, procedure and care whittled down to three remaining days but strengthened by

challenges never dreamed of

experiences unknown to exist

caring service spread far and wide with courage to stay the course despite shocks of growing into maturity.

A new foundation poured

settled and ready 

to bear this new weight ~

today and future using 

wonderfully sturdy and well worn tools.

“May you have a strong foundation when the winds of change shift

…and may you be forever young.”

~ Bob Dylan

At the Starting Gate

Now here’s the thing. Three days left to work ~ not just this week, but my career as a registered nurse is coming to an end. Starting tomorrow. And then I have vacation days ~ but I’m not going anywhere. My ‘Registered Nurse’ thing won’t be over until February 28, 2019.

How do I feel? Most of the time I don’t feel much. I get groceries. I do laundry. I pay bills. As any day wears on, little thoughts pop through my mind. Not very effervescent at all. More like a twinge with a different face to each twinge. A person I’ll miss, a situation we’ve dealt with together. Service to an underserved population by an excellent team ~ that I’ll no longer be part of. Often I wake up in the morning brooding over this loss that hasn’t happened quite yet. Once up and tired of my squirrel cage thinking, I wash my face and sit down, write out all of that drama and find the solution is to get groceries, do laundry, pay bills and in general get on with my life. 

Don’t get me wrong. Retirement has been my decision ~ along with a little push from my last birthday. There have been many exciting pops and bright lights for a future without a schedule. Without an alarm clock. Any schedule will be designed by myself. And I’ve heard that I’ll be incredibly busy. Over the years, I’ve developed my own routines for a writing practice that I intend to keep and develop ~ giving meaningful depth to busyness.

So how do I really feel? Unprepared because of my lack of clairvoyance. Prepared. Because of family and friends who listen to my drama, offering hugs and perspective. Pool time gives me additional community while exercising my well worn self. There is the dreaded, sometimes, alone time which can, sometimes, be the tough one ~ definitely not insurmountable. After all I’m seventy one. Grown up. Mature. Right?

“Don’t be satisfied with stories, how things 

have gone with others. Unfold your own myth.”

~ Rumi, The Essential Rumi

Life Sculpture

Early this morning, as I wrote in my journal, I realized I was living in constant apology. That doesn’t do it justice. It has taken me a long time to realize that Victoria is a jewel. I may finally been wooed by this beautiful snowfall into this frame of mind, but never the less Victoria is a jewel. There is a price to pay for being handed this gift. Not the price of dollars and cents, although costs here are high for food and shelter. We live, rather inconveniently sometimes, on an island that does cut us off somewhat when the weather challenges our ferries. Another price to pay. 

The biggest price is that of flowers and snow wrapped in fragile grey paper of apology, tied up with the tiniest bit of silver guilt feelings. In the spring and summer, beautiful plants grow early and in abundance. Fall flows through the weeks gradually passing into winter without much notice except for gold and red foliage. Deepening mists settle in Victoria’s parks. In winter, it is usually rain and cloud, often cheered on by winds. And there is a second apology for that hovering darkness and cold wet.

Apologies are to the rest of Canada suffering long cold winters for sharing with information freely. Our cold is uncomfortable for many. Our snow can be slushy dangerous watery snow beneath the pillows and blankets of snow. But I love the snow. I spent this afternoon trudging with a friend in deep snow - only running shoes on my feet. Visiting the park heavily laden with snow, snowmen inhabited the deepest snow, a couple rolled a great ball of snow down a hill and a young man was creating a snow sculpture, one of several he has planned. 

The other apology? To Victorians that grew up in the rain and the dark that love this weather. I am sorry that I do not like rain and grey week after week, when it blots out the sun and gets me cold and wet.We live in service to the weather, wherever we are and wherever we have come from. The weather dictates our lives, even the weather we were born to.

“A change in the weather is sufficient to recreate the world and ourselves.”

~ Marcel Proust, The Guermantes Way

Crunch Time

Snow is drifting down. Fine snow. Pushed along by a bit of wind, while calmly settling on Victoria’s winter greenery. This afternoon I’m warm, cosy and toasty being a couch potato, enjoying movies and snacks. But this morning - I was rebellious!

Mondays are reserved for the walking group I’ve belonged to for the last 14 years. One of our group is in Hawaii, another had an appointment, one more had family visiting……..and so on until it was myself and one other. My rebellion was not a big one, because this morning, although there was snow on the ground, sidewalks and bushes, it was not even snowing. Patchy blue sky framed high clouds, brightened our trees outlined in beautiful white snow. The streets were mushy grey. For many of us, the weather change had not slowed us down. Personally I just wanted to walk in the snow. Hear the crunch of my footsteps. Feel the cold on my cheeks. See my breath fanning out in front of me. This rebellion, in service to winter nostalgia, was absolutely necessary.

The walk only covered about four blocks to the nearest coffee shop. I passed a woman shovelling the driveway of her condo building, another walking slowly up the sidewalk sprinkling salt to keep the path safe and vehicles actually being cautious on their way to wherever they were going. The coffee shop, though not full, was busy serving customers seeking hot coffee or tea. Coats, gloves and toques took up space on tables and chairs. Grand conversations to save the world or chats about mundane errands hovered in the air. A walking group friend joined me from her home just two blocks away. We discussed books and other of life’s heavy topics.

So I was not alone in my rebellion. It was not organized nor did we huddle over tables to plan our next move. It was all business as usual. As I conclude this writing, snow flakes are falling more densely, mounding gently over our Victoria green.

“Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for 

innocence and an appeal to the essence of being.”

~ Albert Camus, The Rebel

The Library - A Story imagined from a book title

This is also from our Writing Group on Friday, February 01, 2019. Writing exercises in our writing group are always entertaining. This month we had choices for our ten minute exercise. The first was to write from the title of a book we are reading - but it couldn’t be about the same premise. The second choice was to write from a picture ~ in this case a framed book cover of five brawny, feline looking aliens in front of a young blond gentleman, apparently the author of the sci-fi book. The stories of the aliens were great. Had the six of us laughing and laughing. I was the only one to choose a book title. The book I chose is The Library by Susan Orlean about the 1986 Los Angeles Public Library fire that destroyed many books and part of the library. A fascinating read and I definitely wrote something completely different. Libraries over history have performed a great service to citizens of all countries. It intrigued me to write about it. I’ve formatted it and fixed a typo here and there, but otherwise it is unchanged. Here is The Library

The Library - long hand in 10 minutes

The library creaked and groaned to a stop beneath an ancient old oak tree. The team of dark grey workhorses snuffled and stomped with much gratitude at the their reprieve. They could smell fresh water and hear a gently flowing river. Manes unfurled as their massive heads tossed in expectation. 

‘Now you boys be patient’ Anabel came down from the drivers seat on the old moving library. Dressed in long gray women skirt and an dusty orange buckskin too big for her, she seemed as old as the library. Getting two buckets from under the library she brought Ben and George their water and fed them the last of the oats. 

‘I’ll get you more when we get to town once the children have had time to get their books. They get almost as impatient as you do but they’re always respectful.’ 

Anabel had been driving her library across the dry plains and through small valleys for fifteen years. She never felt alone as long as she had her faithful grays pulling her wagon and the joyful faces of children. Some of the children had grown and were taking high school classes so she didn’t see them as often. But always one of them would come to her and ask for a book for some project they worked on. Sometimes she was given books in some of the larger towns she went through always keeping her library stocked. It was a journey that Anabel loved.

“The only thing that you absolutely have to know, 

is the location of the library.”

Attributed to Albert Einstein