Small Stuff

I'd like to post more here but a dearth of any kind of originality discourages me. I struggle with the acceptance of aging and not being able to do all the things I did. Spontaneity is missing. I have to weigh my energy carefully and limit myself to what my energy allows me.

Fitbit update: I find tracking my sleep is helpful as I am then prepared for what I can do in a day and not beat myself up because EVERYTHING. Everything doesn't happen anymore. Iffy health plays a part in this too and I try and focus on gratitude for all I can do, not what I can't. Most of the elder blogs I followed are now RIP. I looked down the list the other day and was shocked at how all those dear ones have now returned to stardust. 

A friend in my building dropped off these roses the other day and they made my day.

I'm not into knitting big projects at the moment so contented myself with knitting a little pile of these dish/face cloths which I give away individually as gifts in a little gauze bag with a small soap and a magnet. Let me know if any of you out there would like one.

We've had an ongoing blizzard here and I took this photo from my living room window at midnight last night after the snow plow had been. I love the effects of the lights.

In my more active days I took a series of photos and named them #40shadesofblue and this one popped up in my memories today from five years ago. I love this shot.

And finally a picture of something that is affecting us all, especially those of us on a fixed income.

A Nugget

Reflecting on so much this morning.

Many, many blogmates have such challenges at the moment. One wrote her last blog post. Heart-breaking. We had exchanged much over the years, she would send me Tennessee handmade soap Another, a pillar of elder-blogging, is facing a very finite life now after many treatments. Another's wife has been diagnosed with a serious cancer. I won't link to any of them for if you've been following them at all you'll know. And I respect their privacy at this time. I know that many of my long term blog-mates follow the same blogs as I.

All of this to say, I've lost a few dear blog mates over the years. One develops quite a history when you read each other's words. Often daily. And it focuses my mind very sharply as I head in that same direction myself. I am under no illusion of eternal life. Unless you count stardust which may not be as inanimate as we think. To dust we shall return has massive truth.

So the nugget?

Take absolutely nothing for granted.

Maybe that's the secret of life?

I look around within my own radius and even the tiniest things bring me joy. I don't take any of them for granted. In spite of whatever ails me - you know what I mean.
An African Violet that won't stop blooming

A chair seat cover that I just knitted - it needs to be blocked and finished but I totally love its Mexican flavour, it cheers my heart.

A turquoise wall panel that I managed to hang (it's in an awkward spot behind my immovable bed) and attach some meaningful cards to. I love how I can change the art around as the mood takes me.

And last but not least a shawlette I knitted for a friend in New York, a friend of nearly 52 years, we met on the last emigration liner leaving Ireland back in the distant days.

It really does fill the heart to look around - what do you see from where you're sitting, standing, lying? And do you take it/them for granted?

Gratitude

I had this box from Daughter. A big huge serious box.

Stuffed. With books. And bookmarks. Great books. And a chair cover that said "Happy Birthday" and old photos that made me smile including a gorgeous one of my dad I thought I'd lost forever, and a little owl (my totem). And a beautiful card that made me cry. And a card from Grandgirl that started me up again. And an official knitting notebook for my projects. And two huge packages of my favourite vermicelli made from sweet potatoes which I can't get here - it was a treasure trove. The thought and care that went into this harvest makes me feel so special and loved.

And in the past wee while I had the most ridiculous urge to jog again. It's like my feet have a life of their own. This was completely irresistible in the last few weeks so jog I did, I'd look ahead and mentally note a tree and jog towards it. And it feels free and easy and connected to the mantra I would recite in the old days when I jogged every morning for an hour or so. "I am a strong capable woman." So I said that a few times. And believed it.

And then I get a private message on Facebook tonight from a young woman (anyone younger than my daughters are young to me, younger than Grandgirl? - infants)in which she said: "I couldn't believe that was you I saw on the road tonight running. Running! It was only when I was passed you that I recognised you. Could I start running with you do you think? You are so inspiring!"

It's in the tiny things of how we live our lives that are the most observed and the most validating to our existence, I find.

Gasoline Alley

You can see Ansa in the back, begging the question what fresh hell has ol' Two Legs wrought?

 

I'm one who lets the small stuff get to her. The big stuff can go fly a kite. But the small stuff drives me around the twist as it slowly masses itself into global proportions.

I felt like an idiot today. Trouble with my second car (Strawbella) which I should never, ever, have kept. I got into the habit of ignoring her in spite of my good friend B's advice to drive her every third day or so.

So today B starts her for me, after inflating one of her tires, and then I go drive her off and next thing I'm without any kind of power at the crossroads with no winter gear on and the leashless dog in the back of it. And no cell phone with me. (You're beginning to see I should never be let out without a minder, right?).

So nice young man stops, and sits with me and sympathizes and says he doesn't know a piston from a battery but would drive me home. Sans dog, as he was driving girlfriend's car, he had taken her car and had snow tires put on it. My dream man.  So Ansa, my dog, watches me pitifully from the back of my car as I drive off with a stranger and leave her at the crossroads.

My friend B comes to the rescue again, picks me up, we drive to the crossroads and he charges up the car and we drive in tandem to my house. I let the car run for 30 minutes, and then shut her off and try and start her again. Fizzle. Nothing.

At this point my knickers are in a knot and the real fretting starts. I would be the neighbour from hell if I troubled B again. The CAA would come but it could be all hours by the time they got here and I didn't like their rep. the last time, a shyster. My brain rambles all around me, picking up fluff here, dropping it there. So I direct message B on FB, confessing to moronic/imbecilic/cretinous status for stopping the car and could he boost me again tomorrow?

B calls. Tells me he is on his way. He will keep my car overnight in his shed and charge up the battery over 14 hours. Then we will know if the battery needs replacing. Or not. No problem. No big deal. Nothing.

But an absolutely staggeringly big deal to me. I was about to be crushed by this one tiny piece of small stuff.

Worries, like I said before, never happen.

Noticing the Wee, Tiny, Dooshy Things.

It's too soon to say if He is gone but I began to notice the wee things today. How lovely were two phonecalls, one completely out of the blue as she had a 'vibe': my fellow sufferer of these occasional devastating depressions. I had wanted to call her too, as I knew she'd understand but I figured my 10.30 a.m. and her 9.00 a.m. might not mesh for alertness only to have her call me at 11.30. Synchronicity as always. The other call was first thing this morning from a dear friend who had been with me yesterday through cast rehearsals and planning for the play opening (shortly, shortly!) but there was no time for a private conversational check-up. She also suffers from periodic depression. It is so wonderful to have understanding and non-judgement and tolerance of this and I am so grateful to blogfriends as well who take the time to leave a little note of support.

I also have the loan of a good piano keyboard (gawd, I miss my piano!) and played a few old Irish melodies on it today. All symptoms of the black fog clearing. I would think. How lovely to create music even for the self.

I am not taking anything for granted. I really, really want my normal joie de vivre back and be rid of the Hound from Hell who never speaks with kindness but only to berate, condemn and isolate.

I walked around the meadow and noted the mint I thought had not overwintered is pushing its way up in the old sink it nestles in and my basil is smiling and the multiple pots of flowers I scattered under a tree are nodding gracefully.

I thought to remove the little gate I have on my front deck to keep the dog in. She is so well trained now that she won't go down any steps without my explicit permission, thought I. I hadn't realized she merely thought her goodly behaviour performance art.

As I watch Ansa from my office, she stays on the deck for quite a while and then paces by all the windows looking up intently. She doesn't see me with the sun reflecting off the window. With one final sly glance she scoots down the steps. "Excuse me, Madame" I run to the front door and catch her heading off down the driveway, she skulks back up the steps, silently, avoiding my eyes and heads for her bed. Foiled. By Old Two Legs. Damn.

She did made me laugh, though. And that is a very good thing.

Faraway Spirits Touching My Daily Life.

In response to my good blog-buddy Twilight, I am endeavouring to offset my sometimes bleak and heavy posts with something lighter.

And I should add that even though I comment on the dismal aspect of this ever-changing new world we have wrought, I am not a pessimist by nature.

There are only two outcomes to the current condition we are in:

(1) Most of us are shaken off by Gaia in one huge shrug of her shoulders

(2) We regroup and reform a kinder, gentler world of equality in an image more befitting to Ghandi’s exhortation: “Let me be the change I want to see in the world”.

Meanwhile, to get back to this post’s topic.

This was my second home for a while, now it is my primary. Even so, I am continually touched by the little gifts that have been given to me over the years that I have painstakingly transported, sometimes unconsciously, and see or use on a daily basis, bringing those who are no longer of this plane or those distant, close to me.

My mother was a fabulous embroiderist. She would sit on the strand in the summer, surrounded by her friends, me playing with sandcastles or reading books or in and out of the water swimming while she diligently embroidered maybe a square inch of a tablecloth. Even at a young age, I was appalled at how little she accomplished in an afternoon. What an effort for so small a result, I thought. But before she died at far too young an age, she had embroidered a tablecloth each for her six children. Mine is in the living room here, on a table in the corner. Reminding me daily of her patience and love and incredible artistry.

I have an ancient electric coffee grinder, it must have been one of the first invented, given to me by an old and dear friend, Toddy, one long forgotten birthday over thirty years ago that I still use every day to grind my beans. It has never needed servicing and I think of her every morning as I reach for it.

On my dining room wall are four canvases created by my granddaughter filled with poetry, each running into the next, meaningful to her and to me, spinning in wonderful rhythms and patterns and colours. A labour of talent and love.

Hanging on a hook is a bag with a picture of my previous, now deceased, dog, her back and her front on each side, now used by my current dog for her ‘gear’. Having a dog and travelling a lot with her is like having a toddler, lots of ‘stuff’ to pack. This was given to me by a dear friend, Judy, who died very suddenly, five years ago. The bag is getting the worse for wear but I will never throw it out.

Hanging from my wooden clock is a smooth stone with my name carved in druidic symbols on it given to me by a dear Irish friend, exiled, like me, to another country.

On my couch is a wild multi-coloured afghan, given to me by a new friend last year, concerned I would get cold in my car in the long journey across Canada. I will now take it in the car with me on all my long trips.


There are more of these mementoes but you get the idea, I am touched and strengthened every day by these beautiful and priceless objets d’art.