Random thoughts from an older perspective, writing, politics, spirituality, climate change, movies, knitting, writing, reading, acting, activism focussing on aging.
I MUST STAY DRUNK ON WRITING SO REALITY DOES NOT DESTROY ME.
I'll be gone from this spot for a week, travelling very far north from St. John's to St. Anthony. None of the three of us have travelled this far north before so we are excited at the opportunity to do so on Grandgirl's remaining days of vacation out here, the last two weeks of which have been in self-isolation.
Here is a map of the distance we need to travel:
The base of operations will be here and will include a Viking settlement.
If time permits, we may go across to Red Bay, one of the largest whaling stations in the world back in the day. You can read about it here.
See y'all later on - and remember if you can't be good be careful!
So yes, there was so much lovely in my experimental trip. I say experimental because it really was. A testing of the waters for a semi-planned far longer trip involving around 12 hours of travelling each way.
I hesitate to post the negative as many of us bloggers do, but I feel we do a disservice to the aging community by doing so. Life is not a constant bed of roses and we take the chaff with the wheat. And sometimes the chaff can last for days.
I find my tolerance for discomfort has faded with the ages. I would gladly sofa hop and hard floor sleep in the carefree full-body bounce back days. But no more.
Travel is stressful enough.
I can't praise West Jet, my airline, enough, their assistance was timely and helpful and courteous. Wheelchair from the check=in counter to the ramp, priority seating and assistance to leave the aircraft spot on. I felt very safe and cared for.
The challenges of sharing quarters with an elderly other, though, were many.
We stayed in her place for 3 days, moved to the Gaelic College for 3 days and then came back to her place for 3 days.
It put me in mind of George Carlin's great piece on "stuff" - you travel with bags of stuff for a stay someplace and then once you're settled in there you have to move out for a weekend condensing your condensed travel stuff to a micro-level bag of stuff.
Downside:
(1)Try as I might we couldn't co-ordinate our meal times. She's on 2 spontaneous meals a day supplemented by beers and gins.
I'm on 3 regular meals (diabetic)and no alcohol and was forced to endure enormous meal-gaps (trapped in a car)and I felt woozy and ill at ease with massive discomfort.I realized my assertion of these requirements was irritating and distancing.
(2)My room was the size of a closet (murphy bed) with every surface cluttered, no closet space, not even a hanger, so I lived out of my suitcase of wrinkled, un-aired clothes with nowhere to put medications, accessories, toothpaste, etc., and no bedside light to read, no wee table for my laptop which languished in my luggage, neglected. Added to that was a rug upon a rug which heaved itself into high ridges, tripping me often in the middle of the night and unadjustable blinds which hung at half mast throwing unwanted light into the tiny room.
(3)I couldn't use bathtubs or showers in both places as there were no safety bars. I tried the deep tub in her place but gave up as I knew it would take every blasted bit of ingenuity to climb out of it as it was so high and my foot slipped alarmingly on the non-slip bottom as I gripped the glass door to climb high and test it. Sponge baths were de rigeur. I hate prolonged sponge baths.
(4)She was very forgetful of conversations and maybe that is the downside of two elders sharing quarters, who's the one with the memory loss? Maybe it was me? Who knows?
(5)I hated not having my own transportation so I could get supplies. I hated not having my own quiet time. I hated hopping along after her with my walking stick and scoping the enormous distances on the college campus for benches to rest on between buildings.
And maybe all of this is about adaptation. I did this well when younger. But now? I find it stressful and miserable and if I could have flown back earlier, I would have.
I admire elders who go with the flow, roll with the punches.
I am not one of them. More like a grumpy geezer. I embrace it.
Today was one of those days of laundry and catching up with my St. John's Life. And exhaustion.
I've taken on two long road trips this past summer and maybe that wasn't so wise of me. A lot of driving.
However, the other side of me thinks this is a good thing, to still be semi-active, not as much as I'd like, of course, but savouring the sweetness of life. Particularly beautiful Newfoundland. I never tire of the scenery and here are a few samples:
I spotted this man painting his extraordinary shed, more delicious architecture, again in Trinity, I was desperately trying to get that can of paint on the ground in the picture:
We stayed in Eastport also, the beach was breathtaking, my friend is a speck in the distance in this picture and she's going to enlarge it and put it on her bedroom wall.
I love travelling in a car, where everything I just about own is thrown in, nothing is left behind and the open road is my friend, music going, dog in her car-bed, me and The Travelling Wilburys singing away in tune with each other.
Travelling across the Atlantic is quite nuther matter entirely. What to pack, what not. I'm a good packer, I should add. I rarely, if ever, have packed anything I haven't worn when there. Laundry facilities are usually good. For instance: I pack a cotton kind of nightie as a bathrobe for guest/hotel towels are usually too small and not conducive to galloping around hallways looking remotely decent after showering and your standard bathrobe is out of the question for packing. I will be moving around a bit when there, it is particularly challenging as to where I will land for a day or so as there are more friends and rellies to see than there are days to accommodate everyone. That's where the knapsack comes in.
As I get older, luggage weight can be a challenge. My arms have never been my strong suit though as I was bragging to a friend recently back in the day I could bench press close to 400 lbs with my legs. Seriously. Better than most muscular men. My legs have always been super strong. But they're absolutely useless when it comes to luggage carrying. And it's only me, no sturdy Charles Atlas striding beside me manfully managing all the bags as I hold my pinkie up dangling my lil ol' evening purse. I have to carry it all, switching airports with my big girl knickers on.
Light luggage is the best. And with that in mind I found one of those duffle bags on wheelies, soft-sided, multiple handles for manoeuvering on escalators, etc. and one of those dream knapsacks by Adidas, also very light and long with straps on the outside to hold jacket, whathaveyous and enough room inside for netbook, change of socks, ebook, journal, camera, etc. See photo above. Brand new both of them, found at a thrift store, and the price?? Under $8.00 for the two. Yes, you heard that right. I've been scouring thrift stores for a while. For I knew that the days of my hard-sided and more heavy luggage (though glamorous) were over.
I wish to travel way into old age if possible and this upcoming trip to Ireland is a total trial run for travelling alone with manageable light luggage.
So I'm wondering if you out there who love to travel light have good travel tips for elders. I sure would welcome them!
There are so many highlights of this trip of a lifetime that I can't begin to list them.
But in the blog world it was incredibly wonderful to see Grannymar and her gorgeous daughter Elly in the audience and afterwards at the craic, the caint and the ceol at the pub.
More on all this later when I have time to process all these magical moments.
I tried so hard to get a closeup of this pretty and unusual flower but Ansa kept butting in. OK then.
Dateline: Toronto
I must be wrecked. I am not used to this heat and noise anymore and to land into a heatwave and overhead plane practices for a Labour Day airshow along with all the usual city noises of screaming ambulances, firetrucks and police car sirens batters my psyche intensely until I assimilate once again. And after 2 days, this has not happened yet.
Planning the social (and work) calendar is something else again - fitting the old friends in for catchup time. Daughter says I can use her house as a base and entertain here if I want.
I am hoping the weather will cool down. I can't imagine what the 50C+ weather conditions were here in the height of summer. Now it is over 30C (humidity factor is always calculated into these figures) and it sucks the air out of my lungs. Wuss=me.
Meanwhile I am basking in the air conditioning and barely stick my head outdoors.
A long day's driving from the ferry in Sydney, Cape Breton to Fredericton, New Brunswick this evening to the accompaniment of Grandgirl's playlists and mine, some of which we have melded into a joint list. I got her hooked on Ella Fitzgerald and Nina Simone at an early age and she got me hooked on Dido, Cold Play, Adele and Train. We call ourselves the backup singers these unfortunate stars have missed out on as we add our special savour to the vocals. Makes the time fly.
Graveyards are another thing our family "does", I was hooked on them at a young age by my father and I in turn got my daughters addicted and now Grandgirl is equally enthralled. The headstone above is from the old Placentia graveyard we traversed yesterday.
I was struck first by all the drownings listed, these were obviously seafaring people. And I also can't imagine the grief of the widow, when having lost her husband, leaving her with a one month old baby, she then loses the baby six months later when he was seven months old. And then four more sons predeceased her - two together in drowning.
The often extremely sad lives of those who went before us depicted on these lonely headstones in far flung graveyards can only be surmised upon (the dashes between the dates). I imagine Mary Kelly's fortitude may have come from the strong religious beliefs of those bygone days: that one day she would be re-united with all she had lost.
Thank you all so much for the lovely wishes and compliments on my birthday. So appreciated. I was a little overwhelmed on this birthday. Grandgirl wrote me a poem which I will frame and hang, wishes and cards and phonecalls kept coming in all day. My cup runneth over mightily, many times. I will treasure each and every single wish. Thank you, fellow bloggers!
We are currently in Trinity Bight staying in a house that is over 100 years old (see picture above but it is now painted dory yellow)and is one of the most beautiful places I have ever stayed in, in my life. I can't find the words. Seriously. I did take pictures but forgot to pack the camera downloady thingamajiggey but hope to share when we get back. The place has got books everywhere. Every corner seems to feature a chaise and throw and there is a wood fireplace in the middle of the parlour surrounded by comfy chairs and a huge sofa. And all the old wood has been exposed. Soft linens and lace blow in the windows, duvets float on the high queen beds, mounded with pillows and soft cotton sheets. Grandgirl has the bedroom with the two windows overlooking the whale (minke and humpback)infested ocean. I just have the one window overlooking the sea, poor Grams.
Grandgirl did a sundance yesterday on a wild windswept beach and swear-ta-gawd didn't the sun come out and it hasn't left us since. Seriously.
The house is on a ledge with a panoramic view. Grandgirl did cartwheels on the meadow on the cliff today in celebration of the weather and our good fortune to be in such a breathtaking spot, surrounded by magnificence, a folk festival, theatre, some possible icebergs approaching and also multi-star restaurants that we are salivating to try!!
Somewhere over the vastness of granite and snow, glaciers and white rivers that is Northern Labrador, I thought to take out my Ipod and listen to Franz Joseph's Haydn's Missa Maria Teresa. We were at 35,000 feet and the day was crystal clear, a blameless iridescence of a sky stretching to infinity.
The music seemed like a perfect accompaniment to the magnificence of the landscape beneath me. Unknown and unknowable. The origin of our species. For surely fire formed this black granite, those inhospitable mountains, the deepest gorges. Fire and ice.
I was moved to tears, the combination of the inpenetrable forbidden landscape that slipped beneath me accompanied by the glorious music of Haydn which has never failed to affect me deeply.
I refused to be frustrated by the idea of flying over my province of Newfoundland and Labrador on my way to New York and then retracing this journey again. A flight that should only take four hours ballooned to 11, plus layovers, plus commutes that tallied to nearly 24 hours of travelling.
The clear azure of the day flooded this incredible panorama: highest mountains and blackest chasms strung with the milky pearls of glaciers and frozen rivers weaving and threading through the tapestry.
The panorama finally slipped away and I took a moment to survey my fellow passengers, hoping to catch the glance of a kindred spirit. All the window blinds on the plane were down apart from mine. Everyone was watching their mini-screens or asleep.
And no one had seen the greatest show on earth beneath their feet: three hours of shattering beauty.
~~~~~~~~click to embiggen~~~~~~~~ I have the most intense desire to travel these past few weeks. Nowhere off this island or involving planes.
I have this overwhelming urge to pack the laptop, abandon here and go there. To be more specific: anywhere.
I contacted a couple of far flung inns to no avail (I suspect the dog being a negative) and now I've made an appointment tomorrow to investigate buying a small wee hardtop trailer (or caravan which was what we called them way back in my murky childhood)to hitch to Strawbella and just beetle around this vast province to my heart's content and at minimum cost. And finish, really polish and finish, one of my novels and send it off.
I don't know where this sense of urgency is coming from. Or how long it will last. Or why I feel just getting away is the push I need to do this. But it pulses away underneath every task I'm doing at the moment, every tree I plant, every file I handle.
And the little trailer? B'y, she do be right cute altogether. I'm hoping she'll feel the same about me.
(Picture is taken from a boat on the Seine last week.)
It seems like forever since I’ve been here, and I’ve missed reading my blog-buds’ posts which I will get caught up on over the next few days.
First up: Dublin
My time there was awesome, met with all I had planned to meet (with one regrettable exception) and the weather was totally accommodating. I completed the Dublin Women's Marathon and was duly medalled. My family came up from Cork to spend a couple of days sans spouses (thanks, in-laws!) so that the four (the other two are far flung at opposite ends of the earth) of us who got together felt like kids again and celebrated at midnight by taking a horse and buggy through the streets of Dublin, clip-clop, clip-clop resounding off the cobblestones and buildings as we tipped our virtual hats to the ghosts of all the more famous and patriotic who had gone before us on similar conveyances.
I don’t think we ever stopped laughing. We’ve planned a major re-union in 2011, back on the land of our mother’s ancestors on the Beara Peninsula. Guess who’s in charge of the newsletter and the T-shirts?
Dublin is a little more humbled, a little more down-to-earth and I found it refreshing. A combination of the demise of the Celtic Tiger, government corruption and the Ryan Report. Reality checks are filtering through but people are optimistic and actually looking forward to a saner time more in keeping with old values. Both of the brothers are planting, one has even gone so far as to acquire a flock of sheep (he’s an accountant, like me!) and we discussed cows and chicken coops to our heart’s content. My sister was seeking advice on tilling her urban garden and starting her self-sustaining lifestyle. We were all on the same page, as the saying goes.
One of the many highlights was a niece, sending a 3D picture of her unborn child to my brother’s mobile as we were having lunch, with the caption: “Hello, Grandad!” It will be his first and it was an emotional moment for all of us but more so for him seeing the little face and hands. Isn’t modern technology a marvel, we all said.
A major change for me since last time was the accessibility and sophistication of public transportation. I seriously think Dublin has to be on the cutting age of transit between Dart, Luas and Aircoach which brought some of my friends up from Cork in a matter of hours. My family chose the train and Luas as their methodology. When the oil crisis hits, Dublin will be just grand, thank you very much. Other cities take note.
There is so much more to write about but for now I’ll end this first episode. I’m delighted to be home back on my little corner of my little universe. It took me a solid 24 hours of travel to get back here from Paris. 24 Hours! But I napped so much on route that jet lag was deleted completely.
So what have you all been up to while my back was turned?
My daughter finally arrived on December 28th and in one of those Monty Python moments, I wasn't at the airport to greet her so she had to call me as she stood forlornly outside Moncton airport. The airline website, which I had been consistently checking for ETA had posted an arrival time of an hour later (still on Toronto time, I guess!). However, all was well and it was so good to see her after all the delays, flight cancellations and returns to Toronto.
We got caught in a bad snowstorm in Quebec, so bad that the winter tires of the car kept sliding backwards down the many steep hills and we found a delightful 1814 B&B in a small village. The husband and wife owners didn't have a word of English so our rusty high school French was dragged out and aired and we had an amazing conversation around the fire. His French was impeccable (le francais vieux, he called it) and he was one of 15 children raised in the old place all of whom are still alive. He hauled out his incredible wood carvings to show us.
Morning dejeuner was crepes along with bacon and eggs. Bonus were the four pots of different homemade jam, one of which still held the taste and scent of their summer roses.
Today we are in a Cornwall, Ontario, hotel that offers delightful food, swims, etc and a most delicious festive dinner last night.
Today we will finally reach our destination of Toronto - a total of 3000 km for me from start to finish.
I offer you all my New Year's wish:
May the road ahead lead your tread To vistas both small and grand. May your wonder never cease And your health always please While contentment stays close at hand.
And yes, in case you're asking, I am so a huge fan of "Topsy Turvy" the movie. Life's like this at the moment: Calls from friends in Newfoundland telling me they can hardly wait till I get home. Friends and family here telling me they are so sad I'm leaving home. I finally decided that home is where the heart is, like the song says. so wherever my gypsy heart lands is my home.
And I get a few very sad emails from my dear friend R as his girlfriend had broken up with him, for the final time in the space of a few short months. She had tried to break up with him a few times, but he had been persistent in trying to make it work. I've met her and wondered privately at their partnership. Not a flicker of a spark that I could determine. And this is what she told him when she dearjohnned him, the spark was never there for her. I feel so sad for him, he had great hopes of this working out and had confided in me last week that the relationship had relieved his chronic loneliness. We can never run from ourselves though, can we?
And two of my brothers, both grandfathers, have been expecting babies - their partners are, I should add. One of the babies was born yesterday, emergency, but doing well now, praise be. The other is due in a week or so. This baby will be uncle to a fifteen year old. Rather them than me. I can't even imagine such a situation.
My mantra of late has been: I'm too old for this shite. Pays off handsomely in difficult situations. And a new baby in your sixties is a challenge, n'est pas?
And I'm all in upheaval here, thinking to myself I had thought my life simplified but when parking yourself elsewhere for four months, it is amazing the detritus that has to go with you when you pry up the tent pegs once more. I am leaving on Tuesday for Newfoundland with a tightly packed car but with a bonus of my dog riding shotgun (she adores road trips).
And yeah, I should be working and not blogging, but every good woman deserves a break.
I'm a little bit at sixes and sevens at the moment. Can't you tell?
And here I am in what is the closest thing to paradise, in my book anyway, Newfoundland. Foggy in this part, but I drove 900 KM of it today and the weather varied between snowy mountains, a tropical Gander region and now fog.
I had the oddest sensation today, walking out of the restaurant after breakfast. I was surrounded on three sides by mountains and on the third by the majestic ocean. I looked up at the mountains, still speckled with the winter snows, and down at a gorge gushing over the granite and crashing into the sea. I felt really, really tiny, insignificant. I never get this feeling in the madding hoards of the city. Never. But today, walking in solitary splendour across the parking lot, I was merely a pin prick on some huge sprawling canvas.
Driving from Toronto to Sydney, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia is quite the hike even with another driver. Solo (with apologies to my faithful dog)it is a challenge. Although I love driving and playing my collection of CDs and staying at sundry motels. This time it was different. I was outnumbered by couples of my age, in cars, in restaurants, walking, checking in. It made sense, we are all sans children, semi-retired or retired, free to come and go. I felt very much the odd one out. The misfit, the reject. I'm not foolish enough to think that these relationships are all perfect, in fact, some of them were rather snappish, some were silent, others superficial and some involved holding hands and/or touching. And that is what I miss the most. The touching, the light stroke of the hand on the arm. The sheer contentedness of companionship, the shared experience.
Travelling alone I get the opportunity to think, sometimes saddening up, reflecting on the loves no longer here, or gone on to other relationships, or the ones that did not work out at all. Even though I wish some had. I am surprised at the intensity of my sexual desire at times. I consulted with my "shaman-guru-in locus mater" who is ninety and she tells me it never leaves, this sensual, sensuous, sexual yearning. Oh my.
I think of my dear friend who lost his wife last year and fire up a needle of hope. Would it be possible? Who can tell? We e-mail/call each other daily. We are the best of friends but lovers? A bit of a head spin that. Is it because I am lonely for the physical, lonely for the touch, that I place him front and centre in my brain as a possibility?
Spending so much time with myself has loosened all the bats in my belfry obviously. This is to be continued, if you're up for it.
Picture is of St. Bride's, Newfoundland, taken by www.
