Much Ado About Nothing.

 I don't really know what I'm writing about here, I'll just go with my own flow. I could transcribe my hand written journal but I'm afraid you'd completely snore off before reaching the end of a couple of sentences.

I am seeing all these pics of my five siblings in Ireland and feeling quite sad and yes, my old friend The Black Dog lurks in the undergrowth of my mind.

WhatsApp and Zoom keeps us all together and I can see my sick brother being taken out and about to old spots and it was a big thrill to see the photo of my four brothers today. I can't remember the last time a photo was taken of the four of them as they live in three different countries. 

All this to say with incredible heat and humidity and yes, loneliness for family,  I need a fainting couch and some smelling salts. I have always hated heat and time in the tropics has been wasted on me. I have never understood the concept of wintering in the sunnier climes like Florida and Arizona. I thrive in the cold, not the heat. And this 95% humidity does my head in. One of the reasons I moved here was to escape the viciousness of Ontario summers. But climate change has caught up with Newfoundland. An island not equipped for heat.

So I've accomplished nothing in the last ten days. There's a huge cooling porch in my building but I would have to put on a nice face and engage socially which feels like a mountain I can't climb at the moment.

I actually drove down to take a pic of JK Rowling's yacht in the harbour in the fog.

And stopped to catch these ducks in the fog in the lake near my home.

Sporadia

Sporadic indeed. Thank you to all those who emailed me to see what was happening.

I hasten to assure I am still above the sod and not pushing up the daisies. I haven't popped my clogs in other words.

In old age. everything, yes everything, slows right down. 

And the managing of energy and where we throw it becomes almost a full-time job.

I want to do so much, packing everything in, and have yet to come to terms with my own limitations.

In short:

Tax season has entered my life yet again. I embrace my now minimum business which funds a few of my wee luxuries. This year I need a new computer as the one I have, though functioning, is showing her age by screen dimming and being quite nasty in her behavior on my Zoom calls which moved me to use my phone which is not the best solution, especially when I chair some meetings and can't quite see everybody as the gallery is tiny.

I also am restarting my writing workshops.

And I agreed to sit on the tenants' committee in my building as I feel quite passionately about seniors' wellbeing and am a highly vocal advocate of same. 

So there you have it. Meanwhile, I started a lovely sweater for my Parisienne Grandgirl.

A couple of shots taken on Sunday of our beautiful harbour (and sky) in St. John's taken from the south side.

I'll try and behave myself and update more frequently.

And also get caught up on all you lovely fellow blogmates out there.

Slainte!

Sporadia

 

I look upon this photo with horror. It popped up in one of my feeds the other day. 

I drove this sucker every single day for more years than I can count, finally saving enough money to buy a house (on the subway) in the city itself. A friend in LA in the U.S. commented, surely it can't be busier than ours? Googled it and came back at me saying dear gawd Canada wins! Nothing to be proud of, I said. I don't believe I could drive it now having lived on The Edge so long with our always moving four laner.

I was so thrilled to see my birthday (August) gift baby bloom again so soon, such joy and now there are more buds opening up.

I caught this photo out my living room window recently in 'the gloaming" which is a word I never hear any more.

gloaming

noun

gloam·​ing ˈglō-miŋ 

Synonyms of gloaming

: TWILIGHT, DUSK

It was used a lot where I grew up and it happened AFTER twilight. So a different time of day. Dusk would be the synonym alright.

Sporadia

 In the mail:

An annual magazine, published for well over a hundred years sent by my sister every year from my home city of Cork.  150 pages of Cork past and present and cherished by every Corkonian.

An Irish calendar from my now oldest friend still alive (70 years of unbroken friendship), also sent every year, and hung from my kitchen wall.

My hallway of postcards, many now sent by Grandgirl who lives in Paris but treks around Europe most weekends and never fails to buy a postcard everywhere, including art galleries and museums and exquisite old churches.

I was reading up on sleep requirements for eighty year-olds. I am nearly always shy on sleep and feel the lack of it in listlessness, lack of energy and a need for an  inordinate amount of waking up time to feel human. I am way under what's needed, sometimes I only get 4 hours. I was astonished to read I need about 10 hours a day as body is deteriorating and lack of sleep can contribute to "inagility of the brain," a frightening thought.

Grandgirl gifted me a Fitbit when she was here and I am now honouring (or trying to) the sleep I should be getting even if it means crashing on the bed at odd times. The Fitbit is clocking everything, heart rate, quality of sleep, steps, exercise, hydration. An enchanting new toy, offering daily detailed reports and quite unobtrusive on the wrist. It even notifies me of texts and emails.

What a time to be alive!

Sporadia

No worries on the title. I just invented this word to cover sporadic posts, blurts, exclamations. I think it neat. You may not. But whatever, as the young 'uns have it.

I've had far too many medical appointments in the past ten days, sucking the bejaybus out of me. Old age, seriously, is a full time job. Procedures, tests, evaluations, medications adjustments, frequent labwork, one on ones with members of my team, recording all my readings daily, exhaustion recovery and on.

More than ever I appreciate escaping into books and knitting which don't take much energy. I find my writing has slipped by the wayside and that niggles away at me. I celebrate a good night's sleep as an enormous achievement and a day which doesn't need the boost of a pain pill deserving of an Oscar.

I mete out my weeks like a miser hoarding his slivers of gold.

Next week I have the time for a hair appointment. I view it as a luxury now where before I would view it as an unwelcome intrusion into my busy week.

I read about trimming down even further and viewed my kitchen drawers with a discerning eye of merciless evaluation. I cling to stuff like they are mementoes of good times. So I daringly tossed out all the old dishrags and tea towels and hand made pot holders. I have far, far too many of everything. All hidden, grant you, but I know they are there lurking in the cupboards and drawers. Next will be the shame drawer and shelves, you know, the big ones, holding all those plastic containers for leftovers and freezables and give aways. And the twos (or threes) of everything from tongs to serving spoons to spatulas. Mindless collections. 

Between the shredding and the tossing my leftover - ha - life is full. 

I've even recently arranged for the disposal of myself.

My dad had a very tidy ending. 

And I desire the same.