Free Floating Fridays

This pen and ink drawing hangs in my bedroom where I see it every morning.

In between stuff like a corporate tax return and rehearsals and the book launch of a friend and social gatherings and working on SOS, the Support Our Seniors mandate we are putting together (fact checking is a job unto itself), I am trying to find time to work on my new card. And design a new afghan (sofa blanket) for a niece who's getting married.

It's all quite wonderful, I feel confident in the stage work and we are having our first cast party tonight so we get to know each other a little better. I try and pay attention to the spoon theory which I wrote about before. When I do, I find my life balances out a lot better. Exceeding my spoons makes me cranky and exhausted and well, useless to myself and others.

I wish I'd arrived at the stage sooner where I didn't give a rat's what anyone thought of me. What causes these insecurities do you think?

I remember being enormously self conscious starting at about 13. I was way taller than my parents and the comments of extended family would crush me. "Where did you get her?" "What are you feeding her?" "She'll be patting your heads soon!" And on. Then the breasts. Men would leer at me, a child, on the streets, so much so I would bind my breasts as these men frightened me in ways I couldn't articulate. I remember being singled out at rehearsal for a school play when I was 14 (I had a great voice and good articulation) when the director shouted at me in front of everyone "Stop walking around as if you're ashamed of your very existence!" My father said to me when I was about 16, with a heartbroken look on his face: "Your brains have been wasted on a girl."

Those words stick and damage and hurt and shame forever. I felt terribly lost, ugly, too intelligent, too introverted, too out of place, too everything.

I hit the age of 19 and suddenly I found the solution to all these insecurities. Alcohol. With a few drinks I could charm the pants off anyone, sing at the drop of a hat, pack up the guitar and throw down the self-consciousness, hang with intellectual friends, not be ashamed of all my reading, my questioning, my stage-work and not feel out of place anywhere.

Alcohol saved my life for about 10 years.

Then it slowly began to turn on me and for the next ten years it owned me, body and soul.

Free Floating Fridays

A darling neighbour from my old life, 92, is currently in hospice. She became world renowned when she disclosed her love of receiving Christmas cards several years ago and was featured in some newspapers and local television shows as a meme surged its way around the world as such things do. Thousands of cards would pour in to her from every corner of the world. To our tiny village in Newfoundland.

She lived in her own home until she was moved into hospice having stayed with her son for a week.

Her son put out word last week she was in hospice so the cards started pouring in to her, including mine. I always sent her one. Today, the load was over 500 and in a message from her son to me, he told me he had read them all to her including mine. And her smile was big and wide.

She was a life long smoker. Seriously. The big joke at hospice was that she finally quit at the age of 92 and was on the patch which made her laugh until she cried. That was the kind of woman she was.

I had her cut the ribbon when we had the grand opening of our community library a few years back. And she was my partner at cards in the community hall many, many times. She was extraordinarily sprightly and if I ever drove her anywhere she would leap out of my car and wait for me, laughing as I unfolded myself.

She lost a daughter to cancer about 3 years ago and it was the only time I saw her cry and cry. And I cried too as I held her.

She told me Ansa was the happiest dog she had ever seen in her life as she always had a smile on her face when she was with me. As if she knew I'd saved her. I told her it was a two way street as Ansa had saved me too. And she nodded. She knew.

She'd look for my light at night and I would look for hers and send a kiss across the meadows to her as she did to me even though we couldn't see each other due to the distance. A nightly ritual for years. Makes me teary now thinking of it.

Here is a picture of her collecting donations on the day we opened the community library. She always had a big smile and a great heart that included everyone. And who could resist donating to her? Look at that face!

Go to the stars, dear Theresa, you were adored by all who knew you.

Free Floating Fridays

It's great to write this when I have so much else screaming for my attention but here goes. A breath of relief in the midst of so many demands on my time today.

The rehearsals for the play are being scheduled, first one on Sunday night and I can't tell you how thrilling it all is to be looking forward to being back on the boards again. Grandgirl put a comment on my page on FB: "coolest grandma ever." High praise indeed but I think she's felt that way for a while, judging by her bragging to her friends when they compare grandparents. I think being open-minded and non-geezerish is the route to a successful grandparent-grandchild relationship. Plus seizing the opportunity to be a child again with a sense of wonder and joy. And avoiding phrases like "in my time" unless asked.

We are getting ready for press release event for the media for launching our Seniors Advocacy Group. Advocacy is a nice word. We are actually demanding rectification to the injustices and forcing accountability from these wealthy out of touch politicians. Such events are all about the "stories" and that's the part we are working on.

Obituaries: I've seen so many "sweet" ones here when it comes to women. How giving and uncomplaining and loving everyone they ever met and devoting themselves to family and baking. I'd rather die outrageous, unconventional and opinionated, thanks. I often think it's a matter of exposure to more choices as children, more opportunities to explore all aspects of ourselves rather than being confined to a narrow box of service to families. But if they're happy (are they, truly?) so be it. I know I chafe against "normal."

Now that I have physical challenges I find one of the hidden mental "jobs" I perform is accessing every place new for accessibility from the parking to the walking once I get there. I am astonished at how many places are off limits due to distance. Something one never notices when galloping around in optimum health.

I bought a lovely handmade cane when I was away recently, I think it adds a bit of class to the meandering me. I don't use it all the time but there are occasions when I've used up all my spoons in the previous 2 days and need it.

Free-Floating Fridays

I believe we become closer to the core of our beings as we grow older. If we haven't done something about our bad habits, unhelpful behaviours and upsetting peculiarities they intensify. I am an impatient person by nature and I find I have to reign this in more, this mental drumming of the fingers, the intolerance of others' lack of grasp of fundamental principles.

I don't have time to waste in other words, stop holding me up with your stupidz. Awful I know, but there it is. I also find I need more alone time than I used to. I relish my own company and am terribly fussy about my social engagements. And perversely I can be so wrong in my quick assessment of whether I will engage further or not.

I was hesitant about one such meet-up yesterday evening. It was a pretty packed social encounters day and the last coffee meetup was going to be quick. Instead it turned out to be one of the most fulfilling and interesting long chats of all with a young person who is going to work behind the scenes in so many capacities in our Senior Women Activist Group. She is media savvy and has done this type of work for quite a while. Gobsmacked doesn't quite cover my reaction and it shows me not to make rash and speedy judgement on the abilities and personalities of others. Most carry their lanterns unlit until another holds a match and I need to remember that.
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I was struck by this wee appliance of mine this morning. It started out as a gift from a friend close on fifty years ago now. One of the first domestic coffee grinders I would think. Made in France. And it has been grinding my beans every morning for half century now and continues to do so. Incredible in this disposable-built-in-obsolescence world of ours, right?
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Does everyone have a kind of lunar cycle? Women? I find I can plot out my moods by this cycle. Just like when I menstruated (I had 40 years of that). I find it fascinating. I can tell when my energy falls below what is normal for me, when I get more irritable and when is the best time to complete tasks I've been putting off and when I can accomplish onerous tasks. You?
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I did finish this beauty of a wrap {"Iceberg Season") and she slumbers along the back of my long couch waiting for some chilly evenings outdoors on the patio. She is very long and very warm and I am absolutely thrilled with her.

Free-floating Fridays

A spark of light
In the grey of the day
Seeking tiny delights
Often hidden away.

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"Inglenook" used by Michael Harris in his book "The End of Absence."

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"Vehemently" used by Grandgirl in a conversation - I know, impressive, yeah?

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We agreed to 'master the art of doing nothing' beautifully at the beach together. Grandgirl is sauntering away in the distance while I break briefly from nothing and snap the picture.

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In the mail: A tiny care package from my sister in Ireland: handmade soap, Irish chocolate and a book festival brochure.

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A request from a young woman to meet her for coffee and chat as she really admires how contented (!!) I am. We did. And she sent me a text afterwards:

Just feeling overjoyed ever since our meeting I’m so grateful to you for making my night!

She made my night too. Some young uns really want to hear our life-stories and how we surmounted challenges and tragedy and know that contentment often comes at a huge price.

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My doctor thanks ME for everything. Yesterday it was for the copy of my daily BP readings which, he said, are far more relevant than the readings in his clinic due to white coat syndrome. He also thanked me for being on time always. And asks me stuff about our Senior Women Activist Group. I look forward to our interactions and I am delighted I lucked out in getting him when my old doctor moved to another province.