Blessed

In many ways, I am blessed. For instance, I never remember being bored. In all my years (83) I have never, ever been bored.

My old school, St. Aloysius School, Cork. Much enhanced and enlarged since my time.

The science lab, in my time. Unheard of in any other girls' school in that era in Cork.

I remember being close to bored with the most appalling math teacher when I was around sixteen. I got myself a small drawing pad and sketched away quietly until one day she caught me and told me I had to stand in the back of the classroom facing the wall for the rest of the term. So, in between wiggling my bum to amuse the other students, I went to the headmistress to complain about the appalling teaching methods of this particular teacher who merely read to us from math books. The headmistress, a brilliant woman, listened carefully and within a week introduced six of us math students to the math teacher at the local boys' school who agreed to teach us outside of school hours.

I had always enjoyed math and under the tutelage of this challenging teacher, the six of us shone. I will never forget her vision for us ("the best," she called us) in an era when girls were educated to be good little housewives and mothers. We all went on to establish professional careers and toasted her memory at our 50th class reunion in 2011.

Maybe I have a rich interior life, but I truly enjoy my own company. I hear so many boredom complaints where I live now and I've observed some, when I pass in daylight hours, sitting staring at the TV screens in the stillness of their apartments.

I knit, I write, I read, I engage online, I limit my activism now, not by choice but by my bodily limits. I write in protest and complaint to the government on many issues. I am enraged at the treatment of seniors who are forgotten and dismissed, mainly by a government hoping they will lie down and just be quiet.

There are never enough hours in my day. I try to incorporate learning something new every day. Today it's my new Fitbit; my old one died a slow and lingering death. I loved it. This one is not user-friendly. At least elder-user friendly. Too many steps to access vital data, too many ads thrown at me about upgrading. All I need are my sleep patterns, my steps, my heart rate (iffy old heart here) and BP (likewise). Simple, right? Not to the new impressive sci-fi looking fitbit. So many steps to reach the info I need. But it's very pretty right?

Grim Reaper Time.

I don't think this is going to be a morbid post. Just merely a reflection of the last few months. As I age, I lose many people I care about or have good memories with.

In the last 4 weeks alone I have lost 3, 2 of my personal friends and one a dear blog friend many of you know.

I have written about the first two and not about the blog friend.

Joanne was known to many of us, she was a creative and an activist. She was brave and committed to family, raising her grandchildren, carefully balancing her budget, and making life decisions which inspired many of us. Particularly when she moved into an assisted senior living apartment with her big loom and her cowardly cat. I remember we wrote to each other about that particular transition when I was faced with a similar conundrum of selling up my beloved property and moving into an independent senior living building.

Her voice was loud when she saw injustice of any kind and she had many health challenges. She bought herself another car but then didn't hesitate to admit the mistake of this and promptly sold it. She continued working that loom and marketing her wonderful towels (I have a few and gifted quite a few) which are everlasting. Her struggles were tough in the last couple of years and blogging became sporadic.

She was blessed, as I am, with a caring daughter who watched out for her and helped when necessary.

These caring daughters should, honestly, get medals. I know her Beth (she always called her "My Beth" ) was a huge comfort to her.

I will miss you dear Joanne. I always looked forward to your posts and your adventures in the markets where you sold your goodies.

A bright star for many of us as you navigated your challenges, your hopes and your dreams.

"Rest Aisy" as we say back home. You were one of a kind.

Is Blogging Dead?

 I wonder about that. I look at my RIP list on my sidebar of bloggers now gone to the great beyond and am staggered at their number.

A few of us oldies are left. Many have also fled to Substack and I am giving that some serious thought. I do subscribe to a few, mainly in the political sphere so I don't feel so alone in this frightening stage of planet earth with AI running amok (rogue they call it) and threatening all human existence. And of course, while ignoring the only crisis that matters: climate change.

I live out here on a remote island which most have forgotten. We're off the beaten track and kinda hard to get to, which is a good thing if you talk to any Newfoundlander. 

I posted a photo of a scene close to my home in St. John's last night on Bluesky, and within a half hour it had 1,000 likes; this morning it was cracking 3,000. I let the photographer know, as I had given him full credit for the photo. Here it is:

This was taken at sunrise by Greg Follett looking out over our gorgeous harbour. The comments were full of longing. And I get it. I made one of the biggest changes in my life when I moved here nearly 25 years ago. And I have never regretted it.

I look down the live list of bloggers and fewer are posting. I remember even five or six years ago allowing nearly an hour to catch up on all my bloggers and now it's maybe 10 minutes. 

Anyone out there have thoughts on this?

Your giggle of the day👇👇 

And another one of President Connolly of Ireland giving the Felon the smallest desk she could find and having the entire press corps photograph him. 👇👇

An Odd Kind of Romance.

I was in a cafe today and jotted down the outline of this as I sipped on my cappuccino. I often get the writing urge in cafes when I'm by myself, hence I carry this wee blank journal in my bag.

I noticed D long before I actually met him. He was on the periphery of my life, as it were. He was, as my mother would have it, a ladies' man. We've all known them. He was attractive - a Liam Neeson look-alike from the North of Ireland, the "wrong side". A few years younger than I. 

The type of man I have always avoided, but would get snared in by the odd one. Men like that would view me as a challenge, my girlfriends would point out. I tended to believe them. D was a player. Big time. He went through my outer circle of female friends like a dose. 

I watched all this like it was a B movie. Some films you want to turn off but remain riveted. It's so damn awful and so predictable. He dropped women like flies. Their broken hearts kicked to the curb as he moved on to the next victim. I was in my latish fifties, he in his earlyish fifties when in a gentlemanly fashion he asked me to partake of coffee with him. I looked around me, thinking it was someone else he was talking with but no, it was the mere me he was addressing. 

Of course, I was intrigued. He was handsome, well-spoken, a gentleman but I had absolutely no intention of ever being a notch on his belt. 

What followed was two years of the most unusual relationship I have ever had. It turned out he was a secret writer. We began exchanging our writing for discussion and critiquing every week. He had a penchant for these 24/7 seedy old coffee shops, as had I. We would sometimes meet at one of these at 2 or 3 in the morning, fresh writing gripped in our hands and talk and talk. Often inventing lives for those around us. At times, we went for long walks on Toronto's boardwalk in the dead of night, talking, talking. A few times he made a light attempt to hold my hand but I would surreptitiously move it away. We spoke of everything and nothing, sometimes in our native Irish language. Or sing some ancient sean nos old tune with Lake Ontario murmuring in the background. 

We went to parties together, and when asked if we were a couple we each responded with laughter and moved on somewhere else with the conversation. We discussed prior relationships with others and drilled down on the mistakes made, the disappointments, the breakups. He had been married 3 times. All of short duration. He also shared the darknesses in his life, for the first time ever he had spoken of them. 

We made dinner for each other and found little restaurants off the beaten track. I bought little doodads for his cats; he bought treats for my dog. 

I was deeply attracted to him, and I know he felt the same about me. But I knew crossing the line would break my heart and cost me his friendship and respect. And trust me, it was one of the most difficult challenges in my life not to roll into the hay with him. 

Around the end of the two years, over dinner at a Thai place one night, he told me he had re-united with an old girlfriend now that her marriage had broken up. I asked him how this affected our friendship, and he said if he was seeing her, he felt it would be an act of betrayal to see me also. 

I was puzzled and he noticed and reached across the table and held my hands in both of his.

"You're the woman I've been the most intimate with in my whole life."

Our friendship held but not like before. I moved to Newfoundland and he would text and email me and send me prints of his artwork, a new talent of his. One he sent me was of a painting he made of one of my photos. 

He got lung cancer a while back. He linked it to the chemicals he worked with as he had never been a smoker. He also mentioned he had been celibate for a while and viewed it as a miracle and jokingly told me he should now be known as Father D--. 

He died in August, around the time of our birthdays (we shared the date). It took me a while to process it. And today was the day, in the cafe, when I felt the urge to jot down my notes of this strange but beautiful friendship of trust and sharing.

A once-in-a-lifetime kind of connection. I will never forget him. I should add I have no regrets. I would have missed out on something rare and unusual if I had given in to temptation. 

And I hold dear what he said to me at our last intimate dinner. 

Apologies

For the long absence and the lack of reading of your blogs. 

What can I say? Life got in the way. Other writing commitments - one a particularly long piece of the allowed 3000 words, but when it hit 5000 I had to start pruning like a madwoman. A history of my own feminism, starting way back when I was in my late twenties with two small kids and my head exploding with frustration and finding Gloria Steinem's writings. 

Then I started a large knitting project for a godson- ambitious. I knit a few hours a day on it but hell, it's only about 2/3's completed. Whelp. 

And oh yes, I was sick in the meantime too. I caught noro-virus again. The thing that hospitalized me the last time I caught it. This strain was milder but still awful for about 4 days. All the things. I lost a whack of weight and note in old age there is no "bouncing back". More like crawling up a steep incline with a shortage of breath and fighting the will to die.

I had a birthday thrown in there too. I completed 83 journeys around the sun. In a world where most of my dear ones are dead and some afflicted with the dreaded dementia, this is an achievement. 

And oh yes, I lost a dear friend too in the last wee while. I met him when he stayed at my B&B around the bay. He stayed for about 10 days (yes, he extended his original booking of 4 days). One of those people you click with immediately. Rare but treasured. We stayed in touch and he visited me in the spring and planned to move here. When wham, he was stricken both with Parkinson's and leukemia, both rapid and opted for MAID (medically assisted dying) last week. A huge loss of a genuinely kind and brilliant man. And handsome to boot.

So that's me, over and out. I will get caught up with all of you over the next few days.

My big project. I do love the colours.

The Theory of Crows was a beautiful read about a father and daughter reconnecting.

Daughter was in Paris for a while and brought me fresh Roquefort, the real Mccoy and it's orgasmic. I dole out little pieces to myself every night.

A bag filled with gifts from my darling sister on my birthday.

A Random Congregation

 At times, even in old age and with certain political leanings, a table of strangers can prove to be one of the most gregarious and warm times we may have.

As one of my advance birthday treats, Daughter took me a dinner theatre. We had never been to this particular one before (but had been to a few others.) This was in downtown St. John's. In a gorgeous old hall.

There were, of course, two of us and we were seated at a table of eight. We knew none of them. Slowly the thaw began, and we all introduced ourselves. Beside me were a thirty-something woman and her teenage son who were from the tiny village of Dildo, Newfoundland (yes, you read that right).

Beside my daughter sat a couple from Buffalo, New York. And next to them was a woman from Tasmania and her sister who was from Melbourne, Australia. A very United Nations representation indeed.

The USians made us all a little nervous, until Buffalo Hubbie said it was their fifth trip to Newfoundland and they felt they were quite Canadian now. You could see the relief around the table. As you just never, ever know. This opening gambit thawed everyone out. 

The conversation soared after that. Tasmania was really interesting in that when I mentioned Richard Flanagan, one of my favourite authors, her face lit up and she told me he was one of her closest friends as they were both activists. Long chat about Richard. Melbourne had actually lived in Newfoundland on a contract for a few years a decade prior, loved it and hauled her sister to see it as she never forgot her experiences there and they were staying a month, touring. Dildo was treating her son, a theatre nut, to his first dinner theatre.

The dinner was served. Daughter and I gave the table a list of things they should see that weren't on the touristy brochures after we ascertained what interested them. Another flood of conversation about the whales and the extraordinary bird and caribou life here.

The musical show was hysterically funny and was a murder mystery in a home for the aged called "Foggy Memories."

Half-time saw a break with dessert (delicious) being served and more conversation. The Buffalos were huge fans of PBS (the US public broadcasting service) after I mentioned I was a supporter since its founding. We all had seen some of the offerings - All Creatures Great and Small, Grantchester, etc. We then sympathized with what was happening in the USA but all agreed that most Americans were not like the horror show that had taken over their government. Buffalos were quite weepy at this outpouring of support and understanding.

At the very end. We all stood along with the cast and sang "Ode to Newfoundland" the provincial anthem.

As we all parted after everyone (audience too!) singing the anthem (see below) it was quite emotional for a bunch of strangers to all be hugging each other as we parted ways to different areas of the province.

And it crossed my mind, if only politicians and governments could sit down and do this, the world would be a far, far better place. We have so much in common and so little dividing us.

Ode to Newfoundland

When sun rays crown thy pine clad hills,
And summer spreads her hand,
When silvern voices tune thy rills,
We love thee, smiling land.

We love thee, we love thee,
We love thee, smiling land.

When spreads thy cloak of shimmering white,
At winter's stern command,
Thro' shortened day, and starlit night,
We love thee, frozen land.

We love thee, we love thee
We love thee, frozen land.

When blinding storm gusts fret thy shore,
And wild waves lash thy strand,
Thro' spindrift swirl, and tempest roar,
We love thee windswept land.

We love thee, we love thee
We love thee windswept land.

As loved our fathers, so we love,
Where once they stood, we stand;
Their prayer we raise to Heaven above,
God guard thee, Newfoundland

God guard thee, God guard thee,
God guard thee, Newfoundland.

 Count how many times "love" is mentioned in this beautiful anthem.

Remiss

So many rabbit holes I went down lately. And had to forego some pleasure (aka this blog) and explore other avenues of creative expression.

I went back to major "big piece creation" in knitting. I started a throw for my godson and his wife. A belated wedding gift. 

I had to make a tough decision about my friend here with Alzheimers/ Dementia. I don't know about other elders out there, but I find I can't tolerate too much stress in my life anymore. And keeping track of her or making arrangements with her were proving to be increasingly challenging. It's a dreadful disease, and I lived beside it a few times, most notably with one of my closest friends, Lana. Written about here.

With Susan (pseudonym) her dementia is different, often hostile, oblivious and defensive about her condition. I tell her I'll text her rather than phone, as she remembers texts better. "Ouch, not true," she says, "I just delete texts!"  Well......I spoke to another friend about the decision to detach and the frisson of guilt I was feeling when she reminded me that Susan would forget about me very quickly. And that is true. I haven't responded to her calls or her texts in the last few days. 

I note HP is no longer supporting my old expensive (at the time) workhorse of a laser printer, so I had to shop around, which took time. I will never deal with HP again. This time I got a scanner too so I could copy valuable documents for my siblings. We are sharing so much these days on Whatsapp. Pooling our mementoes as we all face the grim reaper.

Daughter and Grandgirl treated me big time for my upcoming birthday. Two theatre events (how I miss theatre) and a weekend away in a gorgeous inn by the lake. 

I feel I have a new lease on life after all the sickness and I am so grateful for this. We just never know how long we have and we need to maximise our remaining seconds on this planet.

The planet is in such a sorry state currently. Endless wars, the climate crisis. And a criminal cabal in the country south of us enriching themselves as the citizens get poorer and hungrier and without healthcare. I don't pay it as much mind as I used to, apart from occasional outrage on Bluesky, but I have moved away from all the political screaming and finger-pointing as it truly doesn't make anyone accountable for the myriad of crimes committed daily against the most vulnerable. Something massive died in many of us when concentration camps were normalized (for nearly a century now.)

So yeah, long-winded. I wind up with a picture of my orchids which bloom constantly and are staggeringly beautiful.

May there be more beauty in all of our days and less worry and stress.

 

 

On Aging - Episode 3

 THE HEAD

Eyes

After a procedure which shocked me (I wasn’t allowed anaesthesia) I lost much of the sight in my right eye. Several consultations resulted in none of the experts recommending any kind of surgery or laser, as the bit that had migrated to behind my eye was microscopic.I am awaiting cataract surgery, which may – just may – remove this bit. But my sight in my left eye will improve, which has the worst cataract. I am coming up on 8 months waiting for this cataract surgery. And I am sure all the pre-op measurements are now out of date.

Sigh.

Ears

I had a bad infection many years ago, which resulted in being slightly deaf in one of my ears after I was immune to the antibiotic I was prescribed. I was surprised at the effect it had on my singing. Prior to then, I was a semi-trained singer but I found that I couldn’t determine my tonal register anymore. It was a shock at the time as I was conducting a group of singers in a musical I was directing. There is a slight loss now in old age, and I find I switch on closed captioning on films and series and am seriously annoyed when CC is not available.

Brain

Having witnessed several dear friends come down with dementia, it’s a concern for all of us oldies. But if we have it, we will not be aware of it, which is what I have observed. It’s when other family members take over your personal management. One I have witnessed closely and am upset that her family couldn’t care less about her. Or so it appears. She has fallen several times, set fire to her kitchen, forgets her keys, glasses, phone, etc. And her short-term memory is now completely gone except for the recollection of olden days. My own observation on these unfortunates has been that none of them were readers.

Research – I just checked - shows:

Research indicates that people who regularly read, write, and engage in lifelong learning have nearly a 40% lower risk of developing Alzheimer's disease and dementia compared to those who do not. [1]

40% is quite massive. So note to you oldies out there: read. At least for pleasure.

Interestingly, when I asked my friends in early dementia if they read, the answer was “I can’t concentrate”. So that lack of concentration could also be linked.

Crafting, painting, photography, also slows the progress of this awful disease.

The Nun’s Study has been groundbreaking into what was discovered about Alzheimer’s. I recommend it.

As I maintain, adapting is the key to accepting the limitations of old age. I recently had a bad fall, saw the stars, did not have my cell phone on me, panicked. But I did some breathing exercises and told myself to relax. I knew where the phone was and it was going to be painful and slow but I could reach it and with a large utensil could hook it and call the building manager. It took a while, with many breaks, but all is well. He and his wife came and got me on my feet and checked my eyes, etc., for concussion or broken limbs but all was well. It took me days to recover as I was sore and bruised but it was a great lesson on not panicking but thinking slowly and carefully about a solution to my dilemma.

Now my family are talking about a Garmin watch to replace my Fitbit as it will detect a fall and call my emergency contacts automatically.

Adapt. And feel free to share your experiences.

Sunday Selections

 Joining with many others in this feast of forgotten, overlooked and meaningful photos. Here are some participants: River is one, Andrew is one.  Messymimi is one. Kylie  is another. Drop in to their blogs and have a look.

Daughter spoils me utterly. Anytime she's here, she drops off wee goodies for my pleasure.

I loved knitting covers for furniture. Here's one I knitted for Daughter's stool.

One of my favourite photos of Ansa and me at Point Lance golden beach. We often ran together on it.

A random photo of someone's delicious garden. I love how the door picks up the flower's colour.

Yesterday at Middle Cove Beach where it was freezing. I hoped to catch a photo of the waves bouncing 6 feet in the air at the cliffs but missed so many times I gave up.

Capppucinos and healthy (ha!) muffins afterwards at our favourite cafe. The Jumping Bean.

On Aging - Episode 2

 Physical Changes

One of the greatest optical illusions of all time. What do you see here, an old woman or a young woman?

I don't think much about the physical appearance changes until I see an old photo of myself. I have a daughter pushing 60 next birthday and she recently sent me a shot of herself at 15 with someone really beautiful hugging her. And I blinked, who was that woman with her? On closer look, it turned out to be me!! I wasn't much older than my granddaughter when it was taken, which was another shake to the head, as I was young when I had my children. Don't get me wrong, I never thought I was beautiful, attractive, yes, but I never believed anyone when they said I was beautiful. Does it take age, looking back, to see what we never saw in ourselves? What a shame!

HAIR

There are a whole slew of changes as we age. I never colour my hair, I just let it go the way of all old people. I'd like mine to be white but no, I'm a piebald pony. Many colours under the sun on my head. The biggest shock is to see it thin out. I had enough hair for two heads - as my aunts would say - but now I probably have enough for 1/2 a head spread out. My maternal grandfather had a full head of black hair when he died in his eighties. Out of my four brothers, only one has that glorious hair, and he'll be 80 this year. The rest have balded like our father. And new hair on the face for us women - chin, neck. I find a razor periodically takes care of that for me but others shave every day. Or get electrolysis. Other hair on my body vanished for me which others find weird when I share it.

TUMMY AND ASSORTED HANGING BITS

Gee, the changes can be classified as DROOPS. Everything goes south, right? Even for the men (I mentioned 4 brothers, we all over-share with each other). I was a road racer/runner so I was tightened up quite a bit. All that stuff has migrated now (though perky was NEVER my appearance) and it has taken some adjustment, most notably in the underwear purchases. Sports bras are now the norm. Begone to the high on the hips panties. The chin I can do nothing about and I did notice my upper lids hang lower too. 

NAILS

They break more easily. Toenails thicken. I was never a polish-polly either. Au naturel is me. But I've been having a podiatrist take care of my toenails since I was in my late forties. Essential for a runner, even more now for an aging senior with health challenges. I completely recommend to all.

MOBILITY

Most of you know I had a bad fall on the ice about 10 years ago which completely changed my life. Wound up in an ambulance with a concussion and a serious, lingering problem with my spine. The latest X-rays are not the best. And I've had all the usual, physical therapy, etc. Sleeping with a heating pad has helped a bit. But I've had very rough days with the wheelchair and then some days where I can manage without the cane. All very unpredictable, and I try not to get obsessed with it. Take each day as it comes. If I'm very ill - which I was for about 3 months this year - it affects my back as well so I become fairly crippled. And the pain is always there, even though I am on heavy-duty painkillers, which I monitor closely. I don't wish to zombie myself as I have seen some seniors do. No judgment at all, pain is unique in its affliction. 

SURGERY

Several friends have had various tightenings and tuckings. Apparently, if they are to be believed, it becomes an addiction. Do one part, you see the defects in others. One friend is becoming more and more unrecognizable. Apart from the financial weight (it's all terribly expensive) I don't see the benefit unless the self-esteem is low. My jury is still out. Admittedly, I can be horrified by the Mar-A-Lago faces on celebrities and female politicians. I think of them lying under the surgeon's knife and the recovery - my friends tell me it's all worth it though. And, I believe, some have gone horribly wrong. 

SUMMARY

My motto would be that self-acceptance is a wonderful thing if we could all work on that. I have found, at my advanced age, that men can still be attracted to females for their personalities. And speaking for myself, I was never, ever, attracted to men who placed appearance at the top of their laundry lists. Amazing how handsome a man (or woman) can appear when (s)he is interested and interesting. The importance of appearance can be thrown out the window.

On Aging. Episode 1.

The Wallpaper Era

I thought this to be a good series to start here. I remember Ronni, on As Times Goes By, a brilliant blog on aging, was such a help to many of us (many of us still in our sixties and seventies back then) telling us what to expect and not to expect. Sadly, she died about six years ago. Cancer.

This brought to light for me a conversation with the brother who is nearest in age to me. He turns 80 this November and has just survived major surgery to remove a large tumour from his lung. It appears to be benign, but his team is keeping a close eye on it.

On our family Zoom (siblings only) last Sunday, he shared this new, to him, phenomenon, from his hospital bed. He has had more visitors to his hospital room than he has had in all of last year. His sons, their spouses, their children, As they gathered in his hospital room, he noticed that all the conversations took place around him, not with him. If he voiced any kind of opinion, he was thrown a benign look, and the conversation carried on, ignoring whatever he had injected into their talk.

I laughed. I said to him "You are now in the Wallpaper Era of your life." "What?" he said, and I told him. The Wallpaper Era, a time period I may have invented, but I stand to be corrected, is when the youngers around you pretend to listen to you, discount what you are saying, and carry on chatting with each other as if you are the simpleton in the room, indulged, but basically ignored. "That's it exactly!" he said and cracked up too. Note: this brother has lived all over the world, worked with the famous and well-known, designed buildings, became an expert on renovating historic buildings, etc. He's still as sharp as a tack.

I noticed this again last Christmas at a huge family gathering. So many youngers, who are delightful, and I love their conversations and intelligence. But there was this ignoring of the only elder in the gathering, moi. No matter what I said, there's this look of indulgence on their faces, unconscious, I am sure. And I know whatever I say will be tolerated. But what the hell would I know? I'm ancient and live in some yesterday they only read about in history books. Imagine, no smart phones, no TV, maybe a radio, no Spotify? What on earth would I have to offer that's in any way interesting? And I don't blame them. I don't show them my Spotify, the fact that I add new songs all the time that take my fancy, that I keep current on many topics. That I write published articles. 

For I am guilty of the same with my elders when I was young. Found them quaint, found them laughable when they looked in horror at my mini-skirts, found their hobbies amusing but, bless them, time-filling for them. I put in brief appearances when they were gathered, these oldies who distrusted planes and motor-bikes and independence for women.

What goes around comes around. 

And we only learn through our own experiences. 

Unfortunately. 

We are unprepared.

We are, suddenly, wallpaper.

 

Sunday Selections

Joining with many others in this feast of forgotten, overlooked and meaningful photos. Here are some participants: River is one, Andrew is one.  Messymimi is one. Kylie  is another. Drop in to their blogs and have a look.

I've hit a bit of a slump as I await the complete evaluation of those concerning bits on my lungs. I stopped smoking about 38 years ago. And never picked up again. Of the four of my brothers who were/are affected with lung cancer (two different types) two went back to smoking after multiple years abstaining and both quit again. One has now died. One just survived a very serious operation to remove a tumour in the lung which was attached to the spine.

So naturally, the mind goes there. I wish I could know more. My doctor has pleaded with the technicians to evaluate my X-rays. Crickets. Though brilliantly, she calls me every day to ask how I'm doing. My appointment with the internist was deferred to the 22nd.

Anyway, these are a few delights from my indoor garden.

Their colours lift my spirits so much. I find myself talking to them. Encouraging them, praising them. 

 

Lunacy can be a good thing in this troubled world. As a wise old shaman once said to me over a wonderful outdoor fire on a starlit night in the middle of nowhere:

"Always stay where your hands are."

I'm trying.

Gratitude

I titled this post appropriately. Because honestly? Even through the worst of times we can seek out the little things that make life a journey of gratitude if we seek out the slivers like slashes of sunshine seeping into a cloudy day. Always look for them. They are there. 

I remember hosting a dear friend who was older than me, who stayed with me at my lovely home around the bay. She brought her daughter with her. Her only child who was approximately fifty to her seventy-five. What blew me away was the tenderness exhibited by her daughter towards her mother. Daughter treated her like a precious jewel without being nauseatingly solicitous or patronizing in any way. I thought to myself - oh to have such a relationship with my own daughter.

Moving on approximately fifteen years. And here I am facing many health challenges and my daughter has quietly stepped up to the plate and she is exactly the same as Shirley, the daughter of my dear friend, Laura, who passed away a few years ago in her eighties. Daughter is with me through all the tests, the lab work, the X-rays, the consults. Asking questions, reporting symptoms I have forgotten or thought inconsequential. Officially, there is no real prognosis apart from an enlarged heart and some shadowy bits on lungs, which could be congestion, but no one, has as yet,identified, as my internist is unexpectedly away and moved my appointment to May 22nd.

Meanwhile, true friends have stepped up to the plate and check-in and remind me to reach out for help any time of day or night. Support by digital means from afar is never, ever taken for granted, either. 

All in all, it remains up to me to reach out to others (always a challenge for me - eldest of 6 and the one in charge, so asking for help is an alien concept.

After a day fraught with challenges, Daughter drove us up in the wind and sun to Signal Hill and this sky just captivated me. 

Gorgeous, isn't it?

You can also see the whitecaps which were far and wide on the windy sea and I couldn't capture a wandering iceberg on the far left of this photo.

What are your slivers?

Whatcha been up to b'y?

 Well, not much, as a matter of fact.

Some of you may know my overall health was deteriorating slowly but surely. I didn't know what was going on. Now I have the diagnosis. I've had all these symptoms for what seems like months.

From the Mayo Clinic.

Hyponatremia signs and symptoms may include:

• Nausea and vomiting.
• Headache.
• Confusion.
• Loss of energy, drowsiness and fatigue.
• Restlessness and irritability.
• Muscle weakness, spasms or cramps.
• Seizures.
• Coma.

The condition is extremely low sodium for those interested. A very dangerous condition. I've had lab work today and yesterday. And more on Monday. A slight betterment today. I'll be seeing doctor on Tuesday for moving forward (it could be my drugs needing adjustment, it could be the tons of water I drink because of my kidney disease). She will consult with my other specialists.

Needless to mention, she warned me to call an ambulance if another bad bout of any symptom is evident.

None of us ever want the ambulance and emergency rooms. I wrote about my last experience here.

Still, it could be worse. 

I thought all of the above was curtains for me.

I'm truly grateful and amazed that I'm still this side of the daisies.

On a lighter note, this is close to where I live here in St. John's.

The village of Quidi Vidi *  is within the city of St. John's. Breathtaking, beautiful and still an active fishing village.

Photo at sunset by Ray Mackey. A friend and superb photographer.

*Pronounced Kiddy Viddy but some old timers call it Kida Vida, which I love.

Rant and delayed Sunday Selections.

Apologies for the graphic nature but seriously - it's one of the best depictions of his TACOs*.

For any sentient being, the last few days have been a wallop. To see the USA stand by and not incarcerate, commit or remove this lunatic from one of the most prestigious positions of authority and responsibility in the world is, frankly, unbelievable. Every department of government and his cabinet are all compromised in some way, and his Supreme Court gave him a free pass to crime all he wants with no repercussions.

I don't know about you, but when he threatened to annihilate one of the oldest civilizations in the world (7,000 years), I was chilled to the bone. We all knew what he meant, of course. And I thought of the only country that ever used nuclear weapons WAS the USA, bombing Hiroshima and Nagasaki, causing countless deaths and illnesses for generations. So that is the country we all need to fear, and ironically, we're not demanding a dismantling of their nuclear arms when their threat was nearly activated by the lunatic.

So yeah, no matter the end result, the tension of living under the whims of a monster is enormously stressful for all of us. Us elders worry more about our kids and grandkids living under the malignant eye of a man without scruples, morals, ethics, or empathy.

And if you think there's going to be free and fair elections in November, I want a share of what you're smoking. 

The USA has totally lost its way, and I have a sinking feeling it's never coming back. 

Citizens are streaming across the border into Canada for all sorts of jobs, the top being medical and secondly academic. The best of brains. Other countries are benefiting too.

I weep for my friends living there, most too old to emigrate elsewhere. Just know you are not alone. There are more of you than there are of the blithering eejits who put the terrorist and his criminal cabal in office.

No Kings marches were reflected around the world. 8 million of you rising up every state.

Well done, more please. Maybe a general strike?

Some recent photos:

A Spring bouquet from my daughter.

A close-up of one of my orchids. I was gobsmacked by its beauty.

Sometimes a simple dinner of samosas with chutney and Brussels sprouts with grated parmesan does the trick.

*TACO: T**** Always Chickens Out.

Life, Etc.

I spent 2 hours at the hospital getting an infusion. My ancient blood needed fixing. Too little iron, too little energy. Luckily, this clinic in the hospital is like a spa. Comfy recliner or bed, warmed blankets, and engaging staff who all seem to be delighted to work there. Daughter came with me.

Not that I've been idle. Between unplanned bouts of sleep, I am editing. Interestingly, the only writer in the anthology who has, seriously, the worst writing, is the one nagging me to get my arse in gear and finish the damn thing. I finally broke and told her her work doesn't demand editing, but a total re-write of all her work. Needless to mention, she was annoyed. I am always truly amazed at how oblivious some are. I farmed out two of her pieces to two other writers as I was slowly losing my mind at the rewrites - painstaking, and also, I was slowly losing my will to live.

I was disappointed in the Oscars. One Battle After Another was a ho-hum thing, characters way underdrawn, more like caricatures, but if you're into lots of bangs and violence without purpose, go for it. Sinners was another flop in my mind. The first 2/3 engaged me, but the last moved into the vampire realm, which has never appealed. Suspending disbelief is never my forte, and I felt that the writers felt rushed and had to finish the whole thing in a hurry. I did like the soundtrack.

My favourite movie last year was "Train Dreams". I'm old-fashioned, perhaps, in my lifelong love of film. But this film hooked me from beginning to end. In all aspects. The cinematography is breathtaking, the acting and script superb.

A couple of pics for Sunday Selections:

The Indoor Garden.

I'm in love with this writer. Truly.

My local beach, 40 shades of blue, sparkling in winter.

The Madness

You'd have to be mad not to understand that we are on the brink of another world war. There are a bunch of megalomaniacs in the US (and elsewhere) driving these forces of world domination. Trump has been the useful idiot. All of this feeds into his narcissistic sociopathic personality. He has no empathy or compassion; he is the tool, the face. Some report he gets all his information and biases from Fox News (or as I like to call it Faux Nooz). And to add to his disdain, he wore a cheap Trump baseball hat to the reception of the dead military returning to the US a couple of days ago. He promises there will be loads more. But *shrug* that's the cost of war, ya know. But that's not a war, he contradicts himself. 

Iran is not going to take this endless provocation and deaths (now at least 30,000, including countless children). They have better military equipment than the US and can hold out far, far longer. 

Meanwhile, the world pays for this folly, with skyrocketing energy costs affecting everything, food, travel, and survival.

Today's headlines cover men getting cheap hair transplants in Turkey and Americans overloading therapists' offices for sessions dealing with Trump anxiety.

Canada is under threat too, and we are very aware of it. Every mouthful of venom he spurts brings us closer.

Cuba is next on his menu. Followed by possibly Ecuador. Then Canada.

Here's the full list:

• Greenland: Frequently mentioned for acquisition due to its natural resources and strategic location.
• Canada: Cited as a target for absorption as the "51st state" through economic pressure.
• Venezuela: Following proposed invasion, the administration claimed it would "run" the country.
• Mexico: Mentioned in the context of territorial acquisition in the Western Hemisphere.
• Panama: Specifically, control of the Panama Canal Zone.
• Gaza Strip: Referred to as "property" for potential redevelopment.

Also known as the "Donroe Doctrine" after the Monroe Doctrine of Annexation.

We are in dark, unknown territory in these nuclear times. Netanyahu and Trump are busy keeping themselves out of jail on criminal and war crime charges. They don't care who gets in the way as the bodies mount to horrifying levels.

We can't shut our eyes to it. Many in Canada are buying guns for the first time. Daughter is a good shot. I was not bad in my time. But neither of us ever felt the need to own a gun.

Overreacting you might say? Realistic, I'd respond.

Maybe now is the time. In all my born days, I never thought I'd be writing about defending Canada. The most polite nation on the face of this earth. Except when we're threatened. 

Elbows Up!