Foraging

As I was writing in my journal this morning, I glanced up out my window to see if the hummingbirds or bees were feeding on flowers in the border. They weren’t there but a doe was. She nibbled daintily on new leaves on the shrubbery. A quick check to my patio saw another doe doing the same to the shrubbery there. I opened the patio door gently, but with enough noise, to have her lightly bound away. I did the same with the window in my writing room, and that doe did the same. I quite enjoy the deer, squirrels and birds in my neighbourhood on this very busy city street. They are not hidden away but quietly defy any citified stuffiness in their instinct to survive.

My personal foraging has been to open boxes, some packed over 20 years ago when I left Texas to return to Canada. Ordinarily, I’ve just opened them, wondered about their contents, closed them again and put them in a corner. This time, and only one of the boxes, I opened the box and took each item out. Taking only a minute or two to decide, the item was sorted into keep, dispose of or disassemble. I didn’t plan on this process, I allowed it to happen naturally, organically, with only the caveat being that the offending box was not returned to the spot I had taken it from. And these boxes, with no intent of their own, are truly offensive by the continual move wherever life has taken me.  Hidden treasures ~ photographs, memorabilia ~ wrapped in yellowed newspaper, waiting patiently for me to begin foraging once again. Foraging for food ~ not for my body but for my soul. Bits and pieces of my life had slowly faded into a background that had seemed dark and empty. And then I found this beautiful needlepoint bit of advice. ‘Quit whining’ was a standing joke between my self and my nursing colleague Coetta Macdonald when we worked together on the Mental Health and Addictions unit in Lubbock, Texas. Each time something or someone was the brunt of our whining the other would remind that whining was not allowed. A rant now and then, but ongoing whining was definitely out of the picture.

I think we all have our many things to whine about. Whether it’s something or someone at work, at home, or just in community. How someone walks, talks, or dresses. For me, I’ve had to learn about solutions to my knee jerk reaction to whine, to get defensive, or rant on just a little too long and loud. Coetta passed away April 14, 2014 of lung cancer. I suspect she did her own share of whining then. 

I’m grateful she left me with this absolutely hysterical message! It was as though the sun had come out and shone on my bright and very full past. Finding that needlework last evening brought some sadness, but mostly joy and gratitude that the silly banter with a good friend has not been lost.

“Stop whining; start enjoying. And when you look 

back at the past, make sure you’re smiling.”

~ Alex Smith

On a Morning Walk ~ Gardens Work

A garden I passed on a walk.

Slippery slopes

sneak up on you

on a spring warm day

in the afternoon

when silence falls

between cars passing

when quiet contentment

jostles on slippery slopes

with uneasy restlessness.

“When I see a slippery slope, my instinct is to build a terrace.”

~ John McCarthy

As For Me and My Taxes

Goals are interesting things. Goals scored in a hockey game. Goals set for a future career. Goals are some thing to be achieved. This is usually accompanied by a couple of feelings ~ ‘OMG! I’ll never be able to do everything in time!’ What is that? Low self-esteem? Lack of belief in oneself? The other feeling is: ‘omg. They’ll be so proud of me if I really do get there. I might be a star hockey player. Or..or..a world famous concert pianist.’ And that feeling? Cautious optimism? Is that a feeling or a projection?

And then there is the goal of keeping, for an entire year, all valid receipts, T4 slips and all other slips from employers ~ anything to do with income and expenditure. Gathering them all together neatly, filling out and filing the necessary tax return on time ~ or paying someone else to do it. Neatness is kind of achieved ~ coloured paper clips and a file folder helps. Whether they’re in the right order for the person that does my taxes, because I certainly don’t do my own taxes, is another issue. That may be a goal for next year…..or not. On time…..has not been one of my strong suits over the past many years. Will retirement aid in that issue? We’ll wait on that til next year, but I do have a file folder for ‘Next Years Taxes’. Creating, and using, this file folder has helped me achieve part of this year's goal to pay for the many benefits I receive because of paying taxes. The most immediate part of this year’s goal? I’m getting my taxes done and filed in the correct month if not the correct deadline date.  

“This is a question too difficult for a mathematician. It should be asked of 

a philosopher” (when asked about completing his income tax form.)”

~ Albert Einstein

Soul Music

Photo taken April 22, 2019.
One of the many blossoming trees lining our streets.

Tiny steps into the daunting task of the surround of sparkles waiting to be discovered, waiting to be transformed or disposed of gently and with gratitude.

Tiny steps ~ like sweeping the patio of delicate pink ‘snow’ shaken by the wind from tree-blossoms faded and ready for flight, or the replanting of narcissus bulbs laid bare by a most mischievous squirrel.

Tiny steps - like changing

a lovely lamp’s light socket 

but struggling to put it back together ~

a discordant note in the music of piecing 

together beauty and light in my home.

“I long to accomplish a great and noble task; but it is my chief duty 

to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble.”

~ Helen Keller

Revisionary

Butterfly Haus, Texas April 2005

Reading through old journals slides past the tick-tick of clock hands as silently as flipping through old photo albums and random pictures. Much of it is as ordinary, and boring, as housework accomplished, how happy or worried I was, or just doodling and spinning a story or poem. (By the way, all this reading of journals and looking through photos really and truly are acts of decluttering the mounds of stuff facing me.)

Today, reading in Feb. 2007 I found a list. Not a grocery list, or list of chores but a fantasy list. “Let’s see. What are all the things I would like to do - fly a helicopter or a plane, in that order, cross country ski in a quiet plain, ride a bike down a country road, ride in a hot air balloon around the world ~ a rainbow coloured balloon, Where are all the places I’d like to go ~ to the sands and pyramids, walk across Ireland and Wales, do a pilgrimage across Europe in Uncle Horace’s footsteps in WWII…..”

Reading of these long forgotten dreams this morning, my first thought ~ and second thought ~ was ‘Impossible!’  And, truthfully, some of them may be, at face value are impossible. But creatively, there are ways to at least modify them to fit. I have flown in a plane but have yet to fly in a helicopter. Cross country ski ~ I’d have to plan a winter trip to the prairies for that one. May be possible. May not. Riding a bike down a country lane ~ not likely so I’ll have to think about it. There is a hot air balloon festival in New Mexico every year. That would be a great trip to plan. As far as the places I’d like to go ~ reading, watching documentaries and maybe even planning trips in the future will aid me in my quests.

Our dreams and fantasies, tucked in the background of our pasts, when unearthed and revised, are still alive renewing a long forgotten desire to travel. 

“The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.”

~ Eleanor Roosevelt

Author's note: Edited April 04, 2024

Before and After ~1

Before the end of my career

I could see nothing

but dark blankness ~

my anchors cut away

cruelly setting me

adrift into an uncertain sea.

By the end of employment

I saw many doors

to be opened by 

my trembling hand,

cheered on by others

already in mid voyage.

My early journey

has found joy in

cautiously hoisting my sails

riding the winds

confident in the strength 

of my fragile ship.

“The way through the world is more difficult 

to find than the way beyond it.”

 Wallace Stevens, American modernist poet

(October 2, 1879 - August 2, 1955)

Projection

It’s never about me

when I try

to project my thoughts

into other people’s heads.

It is all about me

when I turn

the projector inward

to light my mind’s dark corners.

Inside my own head

I am connected

to my heart and soul

where jostling emotions lie.

When I listen to

them all, I hear

the love and worries

that are truly all about me.

“We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.”

~ Anais Nin

A Second Childhood?

I’m curious. Authors and writing educators say ‘Write what you know.’ Thus my curiosity. I am often asked the question: ‘how do you like retirement?’ Or how’s retirement going? Probably daily I hear some version of these questions. Sometimes I have an answer. Sometimes I have a faint distant headache from trying to think of an answer. Because I don’t know retirement. I only know that I’ve retired from being employed as a nurse. I’ve let go of my nursing registration. My question is: who was I before I was a nurse. Before I was married. Before I was raising my two sons. In essence: Before. I only remember that person as a child, an adolescent… and then life changed, 

Thus my curiosity, because I haven’t retired from life. Or from being me. I could say that I retired from being me just after high school, giving my self over to the world of adulthood, and all that came with it. So am I now in a second childhood? Not one of senility or being in my dotage. But having the ability to play and learn. To read interesting books. To explore. These things and more along with the life experience of an adult. There are more things to play at ~ going to plays, movies and musical events of my choosing and on my own should I decide to. To have a library and book stores within walking distance. To wander through the city and the park to find out what is there for me to enjoy. To learn. To learn my style of home decor after years of just putting things together. What time should I set the bread to rise.

So how is retirement going? To-day is a good day with my unlimited imagination only reined in by the oven timer going off ~ Bread’s done! By the phone ringing and a good chat with my sister. By going out this afternoon to slip into the sparkling pool for fun and exercise. In between all of these things, it is doing nothing, or paying bills, exploring through old pictures and journals. In short, I have a choice between retiring from life or retiring into a very interesting life. Even shorter: I’m curious.

“The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own 

reason for existence. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates 

the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvellous structure of reality. It is 

enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery each day.”

~ Albert Einstein, “Old Man’s Advice to Youth: ‘Never Lose a Holy Curiosity.’” (LIFE Magazine (2May1955) p.64

Over and Under

pink tree-blossoms under grey skies

green foliage over spring lawns 

colours shine in the dampness

leaves edged in pearled droplets

fences streaked and soaked with wet

moist flags nod and droop in silence

“The world is quiet here.”

~ Lemony Snicket

Now and Then

Creating my own Easter

complete with 

cabbage rolls and chocolate eggs

scalloped potatoes and apple crisp

baked ham and jellied salad

brings precious spirits of family 

wafting from my kitchen

throughout my home til ~

hands deep in soapy dish water

I think I hear fragments of family stories

above the whistle of the tea kettle.

“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.”

~ William Faulkner, Requiem for a Nun

Feeling Saturday

On my way home from the park

Today is Saturday

The calendar says so.

Even my computer says so.

Shifts have shifted 

Dad didn’t work Sundays ~

except seeding and harvest times

I did

Saturdays, Sundays, holidays

Shifts have shifted

Now I can feel Saturday

Quiet release

Walking in the sunshine to the park where Monday to Friday 

a quiet green lawn is marked by chalk-lines and crows ~

Saturday and Sunday

the soccer pitch is busy 

orange shirts against green shirts

directions, cheers, groans

calling over songbirds and traffic.

Sitting on a green bench

pencil-sketching an imagined daisy?

I’m feeling Saturday.

“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen 

or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.”

~ Helen Keller

Imposters

March 2019 - John Hendry Park, Vancouver

Empty spaces filled with memories hold notes in the music of song, string words for a necklace of story,

flit and wave between winded flowers and branches

define each raindrop that falls in spring and summer showers, ease the ebb and flow of love, distance and laughter between you and I 

Empty spaces are frauds ~

ghosts of what has been

whispers of what could be 

until someone spices them

sprinkling new and memorable experience,

filling them with wonder and curiosity.

Empty spaces 

like the path I walk upon

between grass and garden 

carry me into mystery and magic ~

thin lines between curved puzzle pieces 

disappearing as pictures unfold in front of me.

“We are aware only of the empty space in the forest, 

which only yesterday was filled with trees.”

~ Anna Freud, Austrian Psychologist (Dec.3, 1895- Oct. 9,1982)

Heart-fill

‘Braving the Void’ ~

the title of a book read long before these many days with silent emptiness pooling around me.

A void that can only be felt

as I pass through rooms

filled with my furnishings,

precious writings,

overflowing book shelves.

A void that can only be felt

when my cupboards stagnate

from the busyness of creating 

tasty work lunches, routine 

abruptly altering even grocery shopping.

A void that can only be felt

when my personally scheduled turn 

at the laundry room is no longer

timed to a work schedule,

but merely when the basket is full.

Filling the void cannot be merely 

the tasks of daily busy work ~

unless my choices of nuanced

colours, music, aromas and light

bravely reshape my heart’s emptiness.

“It is not yet a feeling that points her in a direction. 

It is just the feeling of a vacuum, a void waiting to be filled.”

~ Eleanor Catton, The Rehearsal