And a PS to the Etc

 Dear Joared and DKZ

Your blogs kick me out after I comment which is very frustrating. Can't figure out why this is so. Can you figure it out? Other blogs do not do this, much to my relief as I could become quite paranoid.

I've been tossing books lately with a DNF* note in my book journal. I resent the time I spend on them before this act as I could have been reading a good book. Know what I mean?

I'm into fiction in a big way. I like the escapism provided by a good author. Good in my estimation, maybe not in yours.

I persist sometimes when the books are both gifts and best sellers as these last two were.

But finally I just threw in the towel on both and picked up my emergency Michael Connolly who never lets me down when Bosch is involved. And PS I can't abide the actor portraying him in the Bosch series on Prime.

I will update my 2021 Books Read Page soonest as I have enjoyed some smashing reads this year.

And I will mention now, albeit with connection to reading, that my right eye, one day after the hospital procedures has gone semi-blind. A grey fog has descended. What next, I think, sitting on my pity pot. I have an appointment with my eye guy first thing Tuesday and we'll take it from there. 

But at least the left eye is behaving itself. And there have been no alarming calls after two biopsies on last Tuesday.

And, I always think, and I pass this on, who would trade places with me right now? So many worse off, so many in desperation and pain. So many, and I know one dear one, who are facing their own mortality.

*Did Not Finish.

Etc.

I was encouraged today by a friend, a best selling author, who wrote of the mundane in his Facebook post.

There is always something to say.

I spent two days both prepping and undergoing some pretty brutal hospital testing procedures, under partial sedation and with minor surgery, Grandgirl never left my side and I am still in awe at her courage, competence, determination and organizational skills, down to sitting in on the post-op consultation with my specialist and handing me my bagged post event safe snack. There are two cat scans yet to come, as some diagnostics were inconclusive and need further analysis. I could never in a million years have foreseen her in such a role and frankly, it moves me to tears.

I offer you a glimpse into a budget journal former husband and I maintained to track every single income and expenditure in 1969, no matter how small. We emigrated from Ireland in January 1967 and bought our 1st house near the Beaches in Toronto exactly 3 years later.

Hair bow and pack of gum        $1.07

Lunch                                         $0.70

Groceries                                    $0.39

Present for Marion (?)                $1.00

Cigarettes                                    $1.45

K-Mart book & record                $1.76

Booze for party                            $3.00

Outfit for Daughter                       $1.29

Bell Telephone                            $10.00

2 Theatre tickets                          $8.00

Baby sitter                                    $3.00 

Seems almost prehistoric, doesn't it?

Daughter is exploring her inner artist and I am the beneficiary of some of her work.

This is an exquisite rendition of a whale. She lives where the whales roll in every year much to the delight of so many tourists who come in from around the world to see the spectacle. The whales ride in very close to the shore as the sea drops dramatically there, affording an up close and personal look at the breeching and spouting.

A Picture is Worth.......

I'm focused on photos.

Sharing them.

Grandgirl was over last night with all these ingredients for dinner, her go-to recipe. It's tortellini, this time she found a sundried tomato with mozzarella variety. She adds fresh kale (our fave veggie) garlic, a splash of cider vinegar, loads of butter and tops the lot with a good French goat's cheese, crumbled. I can't tell you how good it is. We thought we might had a tossing of walnuts to it next time. I remembered to take a pic tonight of the leftover I had of the leftovers. It's a challenge not to inhale it.

An up to date pic of the sofa blanket/afghan which I've called Stone and Sand and Sea and Sky after the song of that name. The couple it is destined for are mad about the sea.  It has about a foot more to go.

Niece and I had breakfast today which then evolved into lunch as we chatted non-stop for nearly 5 hours where we sorted out the world. She always brings knitting. I do if I have a small piece. But I was struck by how her bag matched her yarn and found the image quite beautiful.

It was marvelous to have fairly normal social interactions outside and in coffee shops. But there has been a new cluster way north of here. Remote workers coming home. So still vigilant and masked.

Confined to Barracks

 It's Day 5

A gradual sliding down the scale of energy to multiple unending naps and barest participation in a life much restricted.

Grandgirl and partner are out of quarantine and I am unable to participate in the celebration. Two (yeah two) interviews with CBC on two different topics had to be cancelled. As my computer also crashed and I need the large screen I've had to cancel tax clients too. And my podiatry. And other stuff. Life cancelled. There's a title.

Life is brutal sometimes. I tried to get hold of my doctor today but being Monday lines are constantly busy.

My big tests are on Tuesday 25th coming.

I'm  not worth much, I don't wish to see anyone. I finally consented to Grandgirl dropping by and then agreed to Daughter. They cheered me up a bit. They've booked a weekend away for all of us next weekend. Fingers crossed. It will probably mean just changing beds for me. *Hollow Laughter*

Mentally I'm a bit of a mess. Crying at the drop of a hat. Finding passive distractions when I'm awake. Knowing that I've been fighting depression for a while. Understandably.

Should we/I write about such challenges and downward spirals?

I made a long journal entry yesterday but haven't read it.

I note many bloggers don't write when they are suspended in illness and pain and mental disruption. And then they fade away. And I wonder.

I'm going to continue writing as much as I am able, I've decided.

I am grateful for the small things. A couple of texts from friends who care. My daughter and granddaughter who respect my boundaries (I  have difficulty asking anyone for help but they have found a balance that seems to respect that and not be intrusive or demanding). And I truly hate being "seen" when so low.

Any words of support would be lovely and feel free to talk about your own challenges and concerns about personal health, aging, and well being.

And the last time I was "out" in my neighborhood I took this pic of the rowers out practicing for the coming regatta. You might have to embiggen.

Worry

 I was thinking about worry recently. I like this time of my life when I can let my mind drift where it may and ponder ideas and thoughts that I never had time for in the Before Times of job and bills and social activity and routines.

I'm not a worrier by nature anymore. I realized a long time ago now that it was a huge waste of time and that things had a way of righting themselves.

I had a life lesson in the form of an experience I had when I was in my late forties.

I lost a good position due to an enormous clash I had with my boss, the vice-president of an American Corporation. It was an ugly exit. He was an ex-marine and ran the Canadian division with military precision, making outrageous demands on the staff which resulted in him being a hero for maximizing  profits based on unpaid labour. I was the Canadian controller of the firm. We did not see eye to eye on just about anything.

The month before I had sold my townhouse in the suburbs and moved into a detached home in Toronto - small, but my dream home, right on the subway line with a good sized mortgage.

My exit was handled by our lawyers - that will tell you how acrimonious it was.

The relief I felt on leaving was enormous and my exit package was enough to carry me and expenses for about 4 months. But after some 5 or so years with this company, I knew good references would not be forthcoming.

So I sat in my new-to-me house, my dream home, and stewed and fretted, envisioning the foreclosure, wondering where I was going to live, maybe a rat-infested dingy basement apartment, as I slaved away somewhere equally dismal on minimum wage.

Six weeks into this enforced idleness, with very little responses to my resume sent hither and yon, worry and fear consuming me, I had a call out of the blue from the president of a Toronto company, right around the corner, saying he was shutting down his manufacturing facility within the year and he needed a controller to manage it for him, staff, finances, diplomacy.

I met him and he hired me immediately. So for a year I had this lovely position, my confidence was restored, there were two incomes coming in for a while and in meditation one morning, I resolved never to worry again. 

Everything works out as it should. And the waste of that six weeks taught me a huge lesson in the uselessness of the word.

Right now, this minute, I could give you a list of things I could worry about health wise. Tests coming up, loss of appetite, skin troubles, and on and on I could go. But what's the point? It's not going to "fix" me at all and just make me sicker.

Often, we just need a kick in the old keister to wake us up and smell the coffee and turn around our own dyed in the wool behaviours.

If you worry, what do you worry about?

If not, have you ever and how did you change?

Wednesday Whispers From the Past

 

I offer you this.

I am curious about the man behind the camera. He's far from being a man of means.. He is the husband of the woman shown and the father of the child.  They live in a small flat above a chemist's on the main street of a small town. He's the town clerk.

He feels it important to capture the moments in his family's life so (I imagine) he bought the camera at a discount from the chemist shop downstairs, where he gets his photos developed. It's a Kodak Brownie.

The threesome have cycled a good distance today for he has had a special cast-iron seat installed on the crossbar of his bike to accommodate the child.

Their picnic is in the basket of his wife's bicycle. She doesn't want the child sitting on the bare cast iron seat so she uses the child's baby blanket on top of it to make sure she's comfortable. And they then sit on this for the picnic.

They're all a little tousled after the cycling. The mother has rigorously curled her own hair and that of the child the night before. And as the father readies the lens on the Brownie, she takes out a comb and fixes her own hair but devotes more time to the child who squirms as she reties the bow in her hair. 

The father jokes with the child to make her laugh and as she does, the mother smiles, holding her daughter's hand. 

He snaps the perfect picture, beautifully framed.

Monday Melange

 Life seems to have returned to normal here out on The Edge. Stores, restaurants and pubs along with theatres are open. Downtown is brisk with shoppers and walkers, new restaurants have opened along with beer gardens and art galleries.

Still.

A ship is anchored in the harbour with 11 cases of Covid aboard (at last count) and one case was boated off to hospital. The ship is in quarantine.

Any new cases on the island have been identified and isolated so there is no community transmission.

Still.

I realize we are all leaning on the trust of our fellow humans.

Grandgirl and partner arrived here safely and were interrogated thoroughly at the Newfoundland border. Which is a relief. They are now in quarantine. I saw them at a distance yesterday when I was dropping off some supplies. The desire to hug was so strong it brought tears to my eyes. But we didn't. I have now more relatives on this island than I ever dreamed possible.

I took this picture on Signal Hill the other evening. A slight fog. You can barely make out the ships in the harbour.

This gave me pause:

And this made me laugh so hard.

Peace out.