The Gift of Puttering

I had forgotten how satisfying puttering can be. Why does that happen?! All of us have homes to take care of so that home is really our home. If there are more than one person in a home that can create a bit of a battle about who does what. Territorial arguments can ensue.  ‘I did it last time…..it’s your turn!’ ‘You never load the dishwasher in the right order and I have rearrange everything before anything will get clean!’ ‘Do you ever pick up your socks or hang up your clothes?!’ The list of arguments goes on and so do the arguments. Sometimes these angst ridden dialogues are kept inside just to avoid a verbal battle. And so I segue to those of us that live alone. I love living alone but those arguments just mentioned do not necessarily stay in busy family home. Should anyone be listening ~ maybe the fly on the wall? ~ they may be concerned about my mental health!  Talking myself through these dialogues really only happens when I’ve let my surroundings slide into disarray. Puttering, on the other hand, slows these dialogues to a full stop or maybe to a minor muttering. Soon however, because of the mindlessness of picking up this and rearranging that, my mind moves on to other more interesting things. Things like the music that has been buried in a big box of 8 track tapes from eons ago. Harry Chapin and The Cat’s in the Cradle ~ so much fun. Gathering all my bits of wool from the baby afghans I made in the summer and crocheting a lovely toque for cold weather. The toque I finished last week is toasty warm, a second one is started and promises to be as toasty. (By the way, Rylie Rose'Marie ~ my great granddaughter is three months old today.) A bit more puttering finds supper, waiting to be cooked, in the refrigerator when I do a much needed clean of an inside shelf or drawer. Tonight it will be Foil wrapped salmon on a bed of spinach. Wiping the cupboard shelf, I find garlic cloves from my garden for the salmon, but will pick up a lemon when I go out this afternoon. My long wish to learn Spanish has me opening my Learn Spanish book along the way, doing the lessons for today while Santana plays. 

Puttering is more like a dance. Just taking the steps that will get the many small tasks done, the only order being what is at my finger tips as the dance progresses. Puttering puts the gray, cold rain in its place ~ outside. Although I may get my work raincoat on and finish cleaning up my tiny garden. Another puttering kind of job. At day’s end, a semblance of order as been restored to my satisfaction and pleasure. Home is more than a roof over anyone’s head. As I write those words, I think of all those folk who are desperately in need of any roof. The comforts of home come later. Today’s essay on puttering, when put in perspective, underscores the blessings I have in my home. Forgetting about puttering in this light suggests that I may have taken for granted this very relaxed multitasking that really is housework. Hopefully, when I am resistant to caring for the home beneath my roof, I will remember the gift of puttering.

“Puttering is really a time to be alone, to dream, 

to get in touch with yourself….To putter is to discover.”

~ Alexandra Stoddard

Changing Pace

Really!?

Ideas in my brain, 

huddled in darkened corners

of a mind that was

focused on other things,

stir slowly as I gather home into a stew pot for my supper.

Like impatient thoroughbreds,

they jockey restlessly into the starting gate of a race toward action settling and sorting themselves into interesting 

arrays of pacing not racing.

Ideas in my brain,

when I patiently set them free in

curlicues of word, colour and music,

decorate and fill my life with 

the fascination of creativity.

“That’s the great secret of creativity. You treat 

ideas like cats: you make them follow you.”

~ Ray Bradbury,  Zen in the Art of Writing

Coexistence

To regroup daily with

routines and practices

when the fridge is quite empty

and it’s too late to buy groceries.

To bounce back into home-life

when ‘bouncing’ needs energy

and the sofa is calling 

out loud for attention.

To pick up loose ends

when the laundry needs doing

can only be done if spaces of time 

exist between running about.

Coexistence is needed

between regrouping and fun 

because ~ just for today ~

being home’s where I’ll play.

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes.

You can steer yourself any direction you choose.

~ Dr. Seuss

Leftovers

When I packed my suitcase for my Thanksgiving weekend trip, I neglected to bring containers for turkey and dressing, or any other goody that seemed to need a trip to my refrigerator. Leftovers are important to me. There is no food that can’t be reused ~ unless of course it’s past it’s expiry date! One day, at a certain workplace, I got my lunch out as always, put what I called my personal TV dinner in the microwave ~ or maybe it was the toaster oven ~ and readied myself to eat a home cooked chicken dinner - or maybe it was a some stew leftover from the chicken dinner. One of my colleagues asked me what I considered a very strange question:  Do you always eat leftovers? I replied that not only do I eat leftovers, but I make a meal big enough so I have leftovers. Cooking a meal ‘just for yourself’ can be really boring and doesn’t quite have the same level of deliciousness that a bubbling chicken stew or turkey soup would have. Lasagna for one? I don’t think so. I must confess, between summertime salads and retirement I am of the cooking habit! I’ll need to fix that issue as it’s now time for soup, stew and any other cooking to fill my kitchen with aromas of home.

Anyway, I did come away from Thanksgiving with my sons with a different sort of leftover ~ little purple and blue paper flowers from the concert I attended with them. These fragile flowers were crumpled in a corner of my purse. Straightening them out, I ironed (and burned) them a bit and arranged them on a favourite lap blanket. I know that those fragile little beauties will not last. Once I have used them in a photo op for this blog post, there will no longer be a use for them, at least that I can think of right now. The memory of them, however is different. I missed a part of the sixties experience, not because of anything other than a whole lot of turmoil, raising kids, nursing school…..but those are other stories that do not belong here. When those beautiful little flowers floated down from the dark heights of the stadium, spotlights playing off of them as they landed on heads and hands while rock and roll music played I had a far away taste of that exciting time. The memory of that evening with my sons, merely tiny humans in the sixties, is the most important to me. Memory is fragile, not something that can be taken out, ironed and arranged neatly on anything. Photos help me when my memory fails me, which happens with a bit more frequency than I want, but could be because I’m not 25 anymore? That issue aside, the memory of the feeling of love and joy stays just like the aromas of baking bread or a bubbling stew from my mom’s kitchen. For that I am truly grateful.

“Once, I was a master at recycling leftovers. Now 

I cultivate the art of simmering memories”

~ Jean-Dominique Bauby

What Can I Say?

What can I say about gratitude at the end of this Thanksgiving weekend? It is not that I can forget about being grateful for the rest of the year now. I’ve ‘done’ being grateful now, have done my job and can go on my way to the rest of my life? No. Definitely not. Thanksgiving weekend, despite its historically engineered roots, has become so much more for many of us. It’s like an ‘awareness weekend’ when, even if it’s spend alone, the focus is on gratitude. That feeling of thankfulness for whatever is in our lives. It can be very tough to be grateful if life situations are, quite frankly, horrible. I do remember a man I cared for many years ago who had severe, end stage ALS. He could only breathe as long as the electric tilt table he was on was teetering his breath in and out. I do not remember his name, only his smile and the welcome that he gave to everyone ~ friends, staff, family ~ each time someone came into his room. He shared his strength and wisdom with us all with gentleness and with gratitude. Gratitude for what he had in the present moment. He is only one of the people that are examples to me in my life that have showed me a daily practice of gratitude. Thanksgiving weekend gives us all an opportunity to gather together to share with each other. Of course, in my sons homes that sharing includes delicious, family favourite foods around a dinner table with friends and family. Although my youngest son is the expert turkey chef, we all in our various ways prepare accompanying foods, set the table, or provide the ambience of family. I say 'ambience of family' because, around the table last evening, we were all family in spirit. 

When we come away from this time of board games, walks with the dogs and delicious food, we are full. Full of turkey and stuffing, gravy and cabbage rolls, Brussel sprouts and Greek salad, breads and tarts, a variety of tasty beverages. More importantly, full of gratitude and the brilliance of human kindness. (All underscored by the patience of our pets, who shared turkey bites and were very grateful.) I’ll not expect that I won’t have days or maybe only moments when I pout or whine, but I have learned to take a deep breath (or more than one deep breath) and be grateful for what is.

“Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember 

that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.”

~ Epicurus

A Thanksgiving Treat with John Fogerty

Stories about cute kittens are fun to write. Stories about how my grand dogs and this new grand kitty are getting along ~  also fun to write. (And the pictures are so much clearer!)  But, trust me, last evening was a real Thanksgiving treat! My sons bought me a ticket to John Fogerty’s 50th Tour at Roger’s Arena here in Vancouver. I haven’t been to a concert for many years, and definitely not a rock concert with my sons and their friends. The stadium was filled with many of us from the boomer population and a throng of younger enthusiasts (anyone under seven decades, I consider younger). John Fogerty, previously well known in Creedence Clearwater Revival and a self-professed proud American celebrated his musicality, his enthusiasm and his patriotism in this amazing evening, transporting us all to another time and place in musical history. Pre-show, a young woman in hippie garb complete with a circlet of flowers, set the mood while she danced up, down and around blowing iridescent bubbles over the audience. I’m having difficulty describing all the songs of the sixties, the history and songs from  CCR’s Woodstock experience, the scenic flower power backdrops or historical footage surrounding the music. The incredible power, versatility and musicality of the keyboardist, drummer, accompanying guitarists, saxophonist and vocalists! Cell phones in the air taking videos and pictures. Hands waving in the air, fingers in the V of peace symbols held high. From the ceiling, pink and purple paper flowers fluttering over the dancing, singing audience (I caught and stuffed some in my purse). John Fogerty gave us a steady, energetic performance flinging his music over, and generously sharing his microphone with a crowd that accompanied him, if not in our own musicality, in enthusiastic voice and number. Special mention of all his band and singers was punctuated by two special musicians ~ both of his sons. His son, Shane Fogerty, a talented and energetic guitarist, plays with his dad John’s band and his son Tyler Fogerty, rocked a singular vocal performance in his dad’s set.

All in all it was a wonderful, dancing, singing, joyful evening. Thank you, thank you my wonderful sons for this excellent experience in living and loving.

“I’m much more energetic now; you might say 

live performance is my mission.”

~ John Fogerty

Group Dynamics II

Now that the rest of us are awake! 

Against my better judgment, I’ve decided to do another Group Dynamics piece. I really didn't think there would be another opportunity so soon. Silly me. One question I left you with yesterday was what would occur when I went to bed last night. I struggled with keeping the kitten - present name Willie or William - with me in one bedroom, door closed and my grand-dogs, Eva and Percy would sleep in the living room area. Somehow that did seem right as Eva and Percy traditionally sleep with me: present pack leader and ‘grandma’.  But would that be a problem to leave Willie in his little play area - which he, with great agility, climbs out of to dash across to the sofa, curtains…..well you get the picture. But then, he would sleep. Wouldn’t he? 

My ultimate solution was to leave my bedroom door open, let my grand dogs assume their usual places on the bed and keep my toes and fingers crossed to allow freedom of movement for all of us. Twelve week old Willie would come with me at the head of the bed and ….sleep? In light of the amount of sleeping done throughout the day, I was not hopeful. I was correct. Consequently, although Eva and Percy slept fairly soundly, I however was awakened by a little velcro tongue licking my arms, my face and at least once inside my left ear. (I really should clean my ears out more often). Kitten naps were taken on my chest, with tail in my face, and loud kitten purring or on top of my head now and then. There was an occasional hiss when a dog raised a sleepy head. Needless to say it was an interesting night. Willie, my very busy little grand kitty, has still been busy but seems to be losing energy. Poor little guy is probably tired!

“But there was a kitten on my pillow, and it was purring in my face 

and vibrating gently with every purr, and very soon, I slept.”

~ Neil Gaiman