Slogging away

I'm finding it hard to lift my head at times. I work on my completed memoir from time to time, desperately unhappy with editing attempts.

Other stuff intrudes like daily life tasks and my energy is absent. I do what I can. I started to throw out one item a day - usually into my recycling charity pile unless it's gone past its lifespan completely and lies sobbing in a corner somewhere. I exaggerate. But you know. I have a hard time throwing out stuff and am drowning in old photos, old books, detritus of an old life that no one else will care about. I promised family I would get a negative reader, but WORK. I promised myself ten minutes a day shredding masses of old papers, but WORK. And honestly? Digitized stuff? Does anyone look at it if I do it?

Speaking of the memoir, it is about a time I thought I'd never share with anyone. Ever. But it's haunting me. I need to get it to unhaunt by putting it out there.

And as I say at my writing workshops - most of our stories die within us. Repeat after me: get it out there.

Teacher, listen to yourself. It's time to just sit for at least an hour a day and think about it and restructure sentences and the unfolding of it all. 

Just finished:

This is about the travelling people of island, rarely written about. A little too mythical for my liking. A big book with tiny print too.

Reading:

I'm enjoying every single page. What a delight.

Lie Down and Be Quiet

A glowering sky outside my window the other day which matched my mood.

I wonder if that's the philosophy of governments and health "care" as we age out and hopefully cascade into our graves or incinerators?

Don't get me wrong as I do have a medical team that is par excellence when so many don't. At last count, there were seven all told doing their very best to keep me upright.

But the peripherals are absolutely maddening. An essential drug was unfunded out of the blue eleven days ago by the lords of the health care system. We fought for the coverage nearly a year ago and won. Then it was yanked suddenly with no warning. My clinician was off on hols as was my doctor and the pharmacy was apologetic and said nothing could be done but I could pay for it out of pocket. Knowing how bureaucracy works, I declined as I knew it would be the nail in my coffin and my pocket as it would never get funded again. So I hung on with a few scattered pain relievers until the team got back. It was all sorted and for a year's coverage. How maddeningly unnecessary to put an old woman into such stress.

Secondly there was a $400 supplement allocated to seniors in the province, I applied in January and helped others with the complicated application which involved detailed descriptions of out of pocket medical expenses AND verification of actual addresses via copy of electricity bills. No on line apps permitted and a CHEQUE would be issued, no auto deposit, so copy of a cheque to be sent with the app. Can you believe this absolute nonsense in the year of Our Lord 2025?

So I mailed off a wad of these apps having scanned all the bits and pieces of paper that had to accompany them. This pittance of $400 was used up if I was being paid for services to others in this complicated process.

And here we are, July 2025 and a scattered few have received their cheques and the rest of us are left stewing, all old in various stages of decrepitude. Are the almighty "they" hoping we'll toss off this mortal coil before the cheques (maybe they're handwritten, whut?) are issued.

More work: I sent an email off to our member of parliament (I know him) with a request to find out what had happened in this sporadic issue of cheques to some and none to the majority of us?

Crickets.

All part of a senior's existence, fighting for the scraps, fighting for what's fair and just. 

And hoping there's a sliver of energy left over to suck a bit of joy out of the remains of the day.

Constant Beauty

 I think if one is born to an environment of natural beauty one can be immune to it.

I find this immunity prevalent amongst many of my Newfoundland people.

Yesterday I trotted out to pick up some groceries and asked my friend with dementia if she'd like to come along and she was thrilled. I can't abide shopping and pre-order my groceries on line and then have them all loaded into my car at the pickup.

I stopped outside my home and took this photo of the fog over the Atlantic in the distance and the blues just took my breath away. "Isn't it stunning?" I said to my friend as I snapped away. "I suppose," she answered, a born and bred Newfoundlander.

So this is for Marge, who is a faithful follower and loves fogs as much as I do.

We picked up the groceries and I asked her if she'd like to trot up to Middle Cove, the glorious beach near where we live and she agreed. I said I come up here a lot and she said she would come there a lot as a child and I said never since? And she said no. I was shocked. She took a long walk on the beach. I took some photos. There were many there, kids and dogs and some fishing off the shore.

We sat for a while and she became quite emotional, remembering the picnics and "boil-ups" on the beach as a child. It had never occurred to her to just visit and just be there for an afternoon.

So I talked of the healing effect of sitting by the ocean and all its different moods. And to reflect on how small we all are in the overall scheme of things.

And she agreed and said she had been so agitated about so many different things and her stress had been bad and now she could feel herself relaxing.

Her gratitude quite overwhelmed me, she went on and on about the afternoon and what a mighty gift I had given her.

And I was reminded of something I had learned a long time ago.

Measure wealth not by the stuff you own and hoard, but by the things in life that don't cost a penny.

Time Opening Wide

Our absolutely amazing new greenhouse.

I'm working on finalizing another anthology. It's taking an inordinate amount of time. But good work, just like good trouble, is very gratifying. 

I was fortunate on Sunday with a nearly 5 hour brunch with my daughter. My family are incredible talkers and I am so glad that she and grandgirl have inherited this trait. For example when my siblings were all here we often sat over dinner for 6 or 7 hours with occasional stretches and never ran out of conversation. We cover everything, history, politics, religion, health and circle back again. Our sibling Zooms every Sunday for the last 6 years have us tearing ourselves off after several hours.

I know it's unusual as when I mention this to others their mouths fall open. They're of the gulp and gallop school when it comes to meals. I've often been left baffled in others' homes when everybody gets up after quickly ingesting. 

The wee fledgings wake me up now at 3.30 a.m. There are many nests in the trees outside.

Then the dawn, sometimes drowning in colour even in the west out my window. Or a decent fog which shutters any other noises. I love fog. Always have.

The long summer days are so very good here in the northern hemisphere.

There's a list of us waiting for our spots in the greenhouse (above). 

I am so very grateful to be living in this gorgeous spot.

Holding Firm

 

I am goodly. I am avoiding all the podcasts, all the streaming, all the substacks and all the newspapers.

Politics can be a total addiction and I see that clearly now. I wasn't addressing some real issues in my life like another long term friend with dementia and the resulting void in my life that now exists. She was one of my first friends in Newfoundland and was instrumental in getting me into her building (there was a huge waiting list - still is).

I decided to go back into therapy after my doc expressed some concern (again!) that talking to someone might help me.

She got me in to see one lickety split (the following day) and I am thrilled that there was an immediate click with him. In the past I've had a few really poor ones but was canny enough to dispense with them. I was also fortunate to have excellent wise ones.

I realized when talking with him, that things had really shifted for me emotionally last November when I nearly died and my brother died two days later. I also realized that in Newfoundland I have one close friend (now in dementia) but the rest of the friendships were more transactional. And that I hadn't shared this massive loss and its impact on me with anyone. A few times I tried but in one case the friend walked away.

So my conclusion also was that I used politics to fill that massive emotional void. And I could feel myself slipping away.

So onward into a better emotional outcome for me. 

I feel lighter already.

A few pics

We had a wonderful Canada  Day celebration here where I live. The gardens were magnificent, the barbie was great and the games were mighty and funny. Plus we celebrated the installation a a gorgeous big, fat greenhouse, more on that soon. We have an abundance of truly great gardeners who live here, some who worked on municipal gardens in the past. I must count all the gardens soon, my estimate would be ten. And yes, the property is magnificent.

PS Staying away from Da Nooz one day at a time. But I couldn't miss the posts about the T-shirts for sale celebrating the first concentration camp on US soil. Yeah, Alligator Alcatraz. All profits into the first felon's pocket.