A Special Breed

From 1978 Class Reunion

There has been nothing like reconnecting with my nursing classmates ~ Class of 1968 as well as the entire Nursing School. These Regina General Hospital Nursing School reunions have been held annually for decades. The only break was during the Covid 19 Pandemic. Tonight the oldest woman there, graduated from the class of 1949. Classes celebrating their every five year reunions had red roses on tehir tables and were the first to be called for the buffet line. Our early alumnae suppers were when few of us had grey hair, our joints were all still working, and we talked about our little children - first days at school, basketball games and early morning hockey practices. In those years, I had wanted to renew that part of my early adult years. So many new friends, new experiences, laughing over student nursing experiences, boyfriends, young marriages and the gift of finally free of high school, and really being grown up. Tonight was another in a string of our annual Alumnae Luncheons. We changed suppers to luncheons as the work of the ages was catching up on us. Now most of us with white hair, some walkers or canes, a daughter accompanying a mother. Now we talk, just as non stop, about grandchildren, school events for them, driving kids to the practices when parents are too busy. The conversation, non-stop, turns to new experiences, travel, laughing over student nursing experiences, husbands and health conditions only if there are funny anecdotes, concerns for classmates that are unable to attend.

We are a special breed of retired nurses who spanned careers from the bedside to university lecture halls; public health nursing and school nurses and many more that I can’t name tonight. Why are we a special breed? Because few nurses educated since the mid 1970’s will have such glorious reunions of their school alumnae. We lived in a residence, had our classes and trained in the same hospital and were together for three years. When we are together with each passing decade, our numbers grow smaller, but we still sing our school song at the end of the night. We are still connected to our past selves - in fact we almost become our past selves even if for just 2 hours. 

“You’re off to great places, today is your day, 

your mountain is waiting, so get on your way.”

~ Dr. Seuss

Author's note: I used large print for those of us that may prefer it.

Election Day - City of Regina

The line-up spilled out of the old brick building onto the sidewalk. A lovely autumn day, sun shining, a light breeze and patience seemed to be in force. Edging slowly to the front doors of the school house, casual conversations and old friends sprouted from time to time. Once past the front doors, up the ancient stairs, I was astounded! The line-up was not only long, but had snaked around, in at least four rows in front of the auditorium. Still everyone was calm and patient. Gave us a chance to look at the beautiful old architecture that had been restored and honoured. Oak banisters and moldings, high, high ceilings, old photos of children in the gymnasium and class photos from a couple of decades ago - or more - when teachers were still in suits and ties. Today, classes were in and, seeing kids in the halls, I wondered if we made a good impression about elections and voting. Our long snaky lineup was all ages, smooth skinned young people, middle aged, young adults, and a fair amount of gray headed folks. 

In the last month, I voted in a few elections. In the last many years, I have voted in many, many more. I  have not ever been in such a long lineup: 45 minutes! And when I left, the line had spilled out onto the public sidewalk and was half way down the block. Was this an anomaly or an indicator that this group of voters were serious about this municipal election

“Sometimes the wheel turns slowly, but it turns,”

~ Lorne Michaels

One More Year

In 1980 I was fed up with nursing and threw away all my pins. I resigned for a year - of course never to darken a hospital door again - but kept returning.  I also return to our five year class reunion, as often as possible. But today’s luncheon was one more year for the RGH School of Nursing luncheon. The 45th RGH School of Nursing Alumnae luncheon. More than one more class, but classes from 1949 through each year until the School closed in 1972. We were all girls then, many from farming communities throughout the province. Now we are scattered across Canada, the U.S. and even globally. Our careers have taken us to the North, into the military and war zones, at the bedside from birth to old age, public health, and into universities to teach other young people. Today, we were as those girls in the ’60’s. But our numbers grow smaller. We honour those that are no longer with us. Our hair is streaked with white, some more than others. We share about our families and fuss about how nursing has changed in ways that are different. But we are the same and will meet again next September to share a meal, our school song, memories and lots of laughter. 

“True friends are never apart, maybe in distance but never in heart.”

~ Helen Keller

Safety in the Heat

I love being outside with the morning sun 

on the other side of the building letting me take my 

breakfast and my writing onto my shady balcony.

The forecast tells me the sun will be turning up 

the temperature throughout the day. In the morning 

I am safe and happy. Safety is a big deal for me and 

in the afternoon heat, safety is best kept indoors. 

Except I was restless. Walking somewhere, anywhere, is my treat; my absolute joy. In the afternoon, do I stay indoors or do I crazily brave the wilting flowers, the melting pavement, the hot cement under my feet and hope the wind is cool enough? On a good day, I’d be off to the grocery store, the pet store, the hair dresser, or just a walk at the lake. But today, despite a clear blue sky, despite a wind that may or may not be friendly, is not a good day. 

I draw the line at being told I can't go for a walk ~ it's too dangerous, you know, with the heat and your epilepsy. But I've been stable for a couple of decades now; merely faint stirrings in some mornings. No tsunami of seizure activity. But I know to hesitate, to breathe and to make a plan before getting all stubborn and taking a bus to the store. Sure I get my walks in, but at what price? Excessive heat + bossy epilepsy can mean the tsunami wall can get knocked down. And believe you me, the heat today is excessive. So I made a plan: test it out by going for a walk around the block. My test results? Too hot for anything more than around the block! No seizure activity, but my thinking got a little wonky until I cooled off. 

(I did nip into the gas station for a small carton of ice cream before taking my perspiring self into the cool.)

“Epilepsy is something nobody knows much about. It’s just a 

part of me, part of my head, part of what’s happening 

in there. Sometimes something in my brain triggers it off.”

~ Neil Young, musician

The Question of Quality

My theme for the month is quality. What do I mean by quality? Is it goodness, image, presentation? When I think of quality I think of something long lasting, almost perfect - no flaws. But when related to a human being how can that be? We, as a species, seem the most flawed and yet there is a shared belief that, not only are we at the top of the food chain, we deserve to be there. Then we have the audacity to believe we can do anything to the very world that supplies us with everything for our very lives. Where is the quality in that? All our characteristics and qualities are not fully formed at the time of our birth. They are fed to us, honed and developed over the years. From parents, role models, mentors, colleagues, friends and experiences; not to mention this era of social media, truth and disinformation. Children are to develop into quality human beings. They are to make decisions that fit in with their family and community at home and abroad - no black sheep allowed. No wonder our world is so confused. What I do know for sure is that quality feels good, works well and is satisfying. As all who have travelled our path with us through life crumble away, we are alone but never lonely depending on the qualities we have taken into our lives.

“The quality, not the longevity, of one’s life is what is important.”

~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

Chocolate Dreams

The oldest recipe I have: Brownie Pudding Yum!!!!

I’ve had many dreams, most of them too bizarre for words. Occasionally some of them humorous, some frightening. But never one about chocolate cake. However, my dream was creative and compelling, I measured, mixed and tried desperately to remember the recipe for chocolate cake. Keeping on, one measurement at a time, I was coming close but never got it into an oven. I woke up and smiled. 

Always trying to divine my dreams, I thought my recent struggles with my writing project had been translated into a dream. Did I want to write something sweet, something well put together but didn’t know how? Or did I just want the chocolate cake I’d been craving for the last week? Trying to decide was taking far too much time.

The solution: make a Brownie Pudding and try not to eat it all at once. The chocolate sauce is beneath the brownie cake filled with cashews with just a hint of cayenne: both are dark and delicious. Only two pieces have disappeared.

“You just need a little perspective. Warmed chocolate can give you that.”

~ Giada De Laurentiis

Out of the Cold

I was just on my patio clearing frost from the vent for my fireplace. An easy fix so it will burn and add an extra bit of  warmth to my home. My big warm coat, toque, and gloves on, I stood on tiptop for this simple task. A light wind scraped across my face. I shivered and recalled the many patients I’d cared for, their only shelter was hospital, jail or a community shelter with limited bed capacity. On Vancouver Island the temperatures don’t drop out of the frigid north like they do here on the prairies. The folks out here have the same needs: shelter out of the cold.

Tonight I am grateful. Grateful for my home and all that it has brought me. Grateful for the people that man the shelters, hospitals and yes, jails. Families, friend and sometimes strangers that take people in out of the cold. No one can move forward when their world freezes.

“Cold is merciless. It shows you where you are. What you are.”

~ Wim Hof, Dutch celebrity

Temperature as I write this at just after 9 p.m.: -33Centigrade

A Grateful Heart

Relying on myself has been a pretty big deal over the last many years. In retrospect I couldn’t have made my sojourn to Texas, my return to Canada, my move to Victoria and my return to Regina without the help, support and love of family, friends and neighbours. These big moves were each so I could move forward. Garage sales, a traveling companion, Trip Tiks from my Uncle, phone calls, meals, encouragement, muscle, a bed for the night and just being there when asked. Sometimes, even when I didn’t ask. With each move, someone helped me find my way around a new city, new job and new friends. 

I’ve made a lot of small moves within each city. I’ve received the same help and support regardless of my reasons. I bow my head to each of you. 

“Always remember people who have helped you along the way, 

and don’t forget to lift someone up.”

~ Roy T. Bennett, The Light in the Heart

Resurrection: Cooking Lessons

Fancy footwork has been needed this last ten days. Christmas preparations, dinners, New Years festivities, but that’s not the only thing that has consumed my life. For years I have talked about wanting to take a Cooking course, but have never pursued it. I actually love being home, and I need to eat. Well, I like to eat. After years of watching cooking shows and gathering cookbooks, I am moving forward with at home, self taught lessons. That would satisfy all three: being at home, cooking lessons, and eating. The danger? I’ll need to buy a new wardrobe. In the last week or so, I have cooked something different each day. Some from google, the rest from my cookbooks, including handwritten recipes I have been given or are from google. One goal is to use my books as much as possible, but online is important to answer many questions - and to get a recipe in a hurry! As life slows down, I’ll get better at using my cook books.

Today: Home made chilli from my freezer - (a google recipe from two years ago)

New Years Day: Norwegian Silver Dollar Pancakes (Scandinavian Gatherings - a Christmas gift.

New Years Eve: Pan boiled potatoes (Jacque Pépin - Facebook) - a happy accident as I was scrolling.

Before that:

Potato Scones: from Cooking with Potatoes by Jenny Stacy

Bread pudding from Better Homes and Gardens new Cookbook, from the late 1960’s

Muffins: (google)

Christmas Coleslaw - another google recipe in a hurry

Devilled Eggs - another google recipe in a hurry

My very loose schedule: 

Writing projects in the morning

Cooking ‘lesson’ in the afternoon/evening

Writing in the evening

The fancy footwork?

Family, friends, living and reading in-between - ‘cause I’m not giving any of those up!!

“No one who cooks, cooks alone. Even at her most solitary, 

a cook in the kitchen is surrounded by generations 

of cooks past, the advice and menus of cooks present, 

the wisdom of cookbook writers.”

~ Laurie Colwin

On an Afternoon Walk ~ Back Alley Poetry

Back Alley art is garish, harsh, beautiful or sensitive. I’m sure there are many adjectives that describe the graffiti splashed in such brilliant colours in the greyness of alleys. Shock value when all around is filled with windblown trash, garbage bins, recycling bins across from dusty parking spaces for tenants of square, utilitarian apartment buildings. These marvellous paintings are on fences, railway cars, buildings, and anywhere there is a flat surface that begs to be a canvas for an artist. I’ve been down this particular alley a time or two in bright daylight because it offers a shortcut and a brilliant art tour. They’ve changed since my last sojourn last summer. Stopped in my tracks, I read the poet's words and was comforted.

“A poem begins as a lump in the throat, 

a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.”

~ Robert Frost

Before and After ~ 2

Have I ever made a pizza? If I have that’s in the Forgotten File. But I do have a pizza pan, so I must have…..a long time ago. But a couple of days ago, I made up my mind to cook something different every day. Today is was to be pizza. I hesitated, but I had all the fixings. My considered opinion at the time was that I’d better try it first before I serve it to someone else.

Disclaimer: I didn’t make my own pizza dough. Bought one of those tubes of pizza dough in the refrigerator section of the grocery store. I wanted to work with it first, see what pizza dough felt like. The other ingredients purchased were: onions that I caramelized, tomato sauce in a jar, mushrooms, feta cheese, marble cheddar cheese, pepperoni and cherry tomatoes. I sprinkled it with oregano and black pepper. 

Then I over cooked it! Good thing I was the only one I was serving pizza to tonight. The crust was, well, crusty. Very crusty. I did have a timer set, but the aroma from my kitchen told me it was past done while there were still over two minutes on the timer. It did taste quite good regardless of the crusty crust.

How many of us get tired of our own cooking? I never thought I would say that, but recently my meals have become rote and boring. I have delicious meals in the freezer that no longer taste so delicious anymore. Ordering out is just too costly, and I want to learn more about different meals. Pizza may not be considered a healthy meal - or even a meal, but my stomach is full and I did get my veggies! This pizza is too overcooked to be stored in the freezer but that is my goal for pizza making. I’ve stored it in the refrigerator for a breakfast bite and for a snack when I want one. Should be gone by tomorrow night? Freezer pizza meals will come later.

“The only real stumbling block is fear of failure. 

In cooking, you’ve got to have a what-the-hell attitude.”

~ Julia Child

Christmas Baking

I love watching the Christmas baking contests. They are fun and pique my creative muscles. In my kitchen, Christmas baking hasn’t seen much of such baking for a long time. I did get banana muffins baked today though. 

In most of the shows that I watch, contestants have everything they may need for their product. There’s always a twist half way through. So I decided to twist myself a challenge. There was a part of me that just didn’t want to take the time to walk to the grocery store. But my fridge has needed a good cull, starting with some rather black bananas. I also wanted to make muffins - haven’t made muffins for probably 20 years or more. My next preference was using whole wheat flour and oatmeal. With those parameters in mind, I turned my attention to Google and found the perfect recipe. Their list of ingredients required ‘3 extra ripe bananas’. So my black bananas found a home - there were only two but I had one other that was merely over ripe. Spices: I doubled the amounts of cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla. Nuts: the recipe asked for crushed walnuts. Don’t have any but I have cashews and almonds. Out came the food processor to chop and mix a balance of the nuts. At the last minute I threw into the batter a good handful of dried cranberries! Digging in my cupboard I found my long unused muffin tin and a little container of muffin cups. The recipe said it made a dozen muffins, but I got a dozen muffins + a little loaf.

They are delicious. True statement: I sampled a muffin and a slice from the little loaf. One never knows - a different pan may change the taste! Just doing my duty as official taster. The only thing missing would have been a cream cheese frosting with a dusting of cinnamon - or maybe some crushed candy canes. When my challenge is to use what I have, I’ll have to make sure I have those ingredients. 

All the muffins are safely and readily accessible in the freezer. So the frosting could be for another day?

“The more you know, the more you can create. 

There’s no end to imagination in the kitchen.”

~ Julia Child

Feeling the Years

I don’t know if I’ve ever been afraid of my age ~ all because of an invisible and mighty virus. The fearful ideas in my head clung to the virus as if it were a life raft. I’ve had numerous bouts of upper respiratory illnesses over the years, but with each decade, they seem more vicious. I’ve been taking this one personally. After all, I don’t have time to be laid low for over a week wondering if I will ever recover. 

Imagining myself incapacitated and trapped in infirmity. My writing practice has suffered; the order in my home has suffered. My habit of putting one foot in front of the other has stood me in good stead. Listening to my body telling me to stand still slowly to get past this bump in the road has eased my fears. 

Having watched a lot of news programs, I reminded myself of those without a home, without finances, without access to a family physician, without family or friends, without food………until I could rest and be grateful.

“Because there is no glory in illness. 

There is no meaning to it. 

There is no honor in dying of.”

 ~ John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

On an Afternoon Walk - Corner Conversation

I was on my way home with groceries. I’d actually been to my writers group at Penny University Bookstore. Oh, and I’d gone for lunch at the 13th Ave Coffee shop before getting the groceries. It was a rather grey day, but no wind so I was just strolling along, loving all the crunchy gold leaves under my feet. A tall slender woman, about my age, was coming towards me. As we met, we greeted each other with a smile and hello. It seemed normal to stop on the corner for a chat even though we had never met. We discussed the beautiful fall weather, no wind, cool day. She commented “The rabbits aren’t turning. Only their tails are white.” She pointed back down the street. “I’ve just seen another little rabbit about two blocks back.” I was excited - not everyone would find that exciting but I love hearing about nature’s little forecasters. The turning of the leaves, the cooling of the air, and rabbits that aren’t turning. We chatted a bit more then went our separate ways.

“Nature is the source of all true knowledge.”

~ Leonardo da Vinci

Artifacts

Shards of pottery will be scattered all through this earth when dedicated archeologists sift through sand or soil a million trillion years from now. What can be decomposed will have vanished leaving no trace of their presence, unless some scientific technology can trace a distant past. In a vain hope, all the plastic bags, bright coloured plastic toys, plastic forks and knives, plastic anything will have been compressed by the weight of our refuse to the oil they came from. Our emails and text messages and videos and music and films and electronics and television ~ where will they be? Will the world we left behind still vibrate with the brilliance of them all. Where will the brilliant art of Picasso and Monet and our grandchildren, the fantastic symphonies of Mozart and Beethoven and Chopin be stored? In some kind of a technological array worthy of StarTrek fame? I think of all these things as I look around my home or when I am wandering through a museum. In the moment, what surrounds my bones is my precious home. Is that what the archeologists will discover and put back together? Pieces of ourselves and our homes?

“Anyone who has lived 

Is an historian & an artifact, 

For they hold all their time within them.”

~ Amanda Gorman, Call Us What We Carry: Poems

Any Flat Surface

Book shelves are not necessary, books will stack up where ever they land. On the dining room table, the top of the fridge, any flat surface will do. In a pinch the floor will even work. Books aren’t even really necessary with everything now digital and on line. Removing all the books from my home just seems wrong. I do know that most of them I have read just once. There are a few I’ve read many times. Some of my cookbooks have travelled with me for over fifty years. I have a book from high school English that two of my sisters used. It's battered, the cover barely hanging on, the content is not acceptable today, but was for its time. There is a certain dedication owning books. Could be just a habit from so many Christmas and birthday gifts. I do love the feel of holding a book as I read. I have tried audible books, digital books but I always return to the real solid paper and ink books. Two covers, a story, an autobiography, some form of non-fiction that holds my interest and feeds my curiosity. Beautiful artistry on book covers, a blurb on the back and the jacket cover. Quotations from other authors, friends or newspapers. There is more to a book than the flat surface it sits on.

“She is too fond of books and it has turned her brain.”

~ Louisa May Alcott

A Spot of Colour

Attention to the details of colour draws my eye every time. This orphaned set of fuzzy leaves on a long drying stem needed a place to rest. Getting them home, I really didn’t know whether I could keep them alive or not. I just put the long stem in an unused spice bottle full of water to see what would happen. I just about forgot it!

Two days ago, when I did give it my attention, that spot of beautiful colour surprised me. A tiny perfectly formed flower bud! I have since transferred that charming greenery to some soil to see if I really have saved it. I’ve supported it with rocks and am keeping moist. The little bud  doesn’t look too healthy, but I can only keep my fingers crossed.

“I grow plants for many reasons: to please my eye or to please my soul, 

to challenge the elements or to challenge my patience for novelty or 

for nostalgia, but mostly for the joy in seeing them grow.”

~ David Hobson, Garden writer

Author's note: sadly this stem with its beautiful bud, did not survive.

Permission Granted ~ 3

Dedication to a project is always hard won. Throughout life, any project must have a purpose. That may only be my opinion, however I’ve learned it to be true for me. The purpose must also be something that fits with society, community, family. Something or someone outside of myself. I do get caught up in trying to see where a project fits, thinking too much about the why’s. Or maybe, I just don’t want to do the work. Writing is a good example of both permission for a purpose or permission to do anything else but write. My present, and very long time, writing project is about my experience with having very stable epilepsy. Writing down all the thousands of words over many years has been easy, but recently was becoming boring. Nothing more to say. Nothing to see here. 

Yet I joined two more writing groups, began to drop some social activities, replaced those with reading and wondered what I was doing. I write both in a journal and on my laptop. The only injuries I receive from this sedentary sport of the pen is stiffness from sitting too long! Dedication to this next part of my project is a tough one. Clarifying, organizing, and putting all those words to bed. It’s like herding cats! However, I work at putting aside all the excuses to re-write one more page, revise one more sentence, cut one more paragraph without waiting for permission.

“Write. Rewrite.When not writing or rewriting, read. I know of no shortcuts.”

~ Larry L. King, author

January 1929 - December 2012