In the grand scheme of things I never expected to have those "15 minutes of fame" to deal with. I expected my life to continue on in much the same vein as it has most of my life; occasional drama, highs and lows, normal and everyday stuff or perhaps the excitement of some special occurrence. But sometimes you get caught in a moment you never expected; you end up riding the current and being swept along with nothing to go on and only being able to take one fast paced step after another, literally running in place without seeing what is next just to keep your head above water or be drowned.
On February 28, 2011 it was only the luck of the draw that sent my Mom into the hospital. She had called the ambulance to take her to the hospital with flu-like symptoms. The dizziness she was experiencing made her feel so helpless but she still managed to make the call and have them come to get her. With the help of her niece - my cousin, Lois - the attendants loaded her onto her "granny transport" rolling walker and took her down the elevator to wait in the lobby for the stretcher. When I got the call that she was in the emergency I flew of the house as fast as I could (leaving my debit card, cash, phone charger and snacks at home) to find her waiting, still on the same stretcher, with the ambulance attendants keeping her spirits as high as they could, flattering her, smiling at her, comforting her and never leaving her side. Unable to even supply her with a proper pillow, her head was supported by two flannel sheets tucked into a pillow case. My brother and I had to hold up a sheet to give her privacy while they quickly helped her change into a gown, inserted the IV needle and brought her a warmed blanket. The four of us took turns, held the bag when she vomited, wiped her chin, held her hand, joked with her and tried to keep her comfortable until the medication nurse brought her a dose of anti nausea medication and something to calm her and help her relax.
With no where else to keep her and the emergency filled to overcrowding (I heard later there were rumours of 100 or more travelling through the emergency that night) the personnel running the shifts was quick enough to make a snap decision to take what they thought were less critical patients and place them in more quiet surroundings; the Tim Horton's coffee shop located in the Hospital lobby. I heard the nurses and staff worried about funding cuts, talking about placing patients in otherwise unstaffed areas because they needed care - referred to as "ghost wards" - rather than give them no care at all. I heard them talking about working hard and having to work harder without the staffing needed to supply all the areas needed, and talked to them about the problem of "burn out" with the overload. It was frightening.
The Tim Hortons was quiet, and mom slept in a drug induced doze, snoring gently. I was glad she could get some peace but truly troubled. The cold bled off the windows and I draped her coat over her feet to keep her from chilling too much. I started taking pictures of the situation with my mobile phone, even recorded a short video to make a point, but was not able to upload the video and allow others access to the shots. I did post the photos on my facebook page, and one of the other family members for another patient went outside to speak to television reporters on the conditions our caregivers are forced to work in.
It seemed I was there for a significant amount of time, but after a while they moved my little Mommy from the cold of the Timmies back into a bay in the admitting area; still in emergency and still among the traffic, but quieter than it was closer to the nurses' station. and she and I sat together with me pulling her blankets around her shoulders, wiping her face, comforting her when she was fretful and letting her know that people were sending good wishes and thinking about her. She was truly thrilled by each well wish and giggled over the mentioning of friends and family she has loved for so long. As the medication wore off she began vomiting again and I called the attendant to help her while I held the basin and spoke to her gently. In the wee, small hours of the night they gave her a dose of different medication to calm her and keep her from being sick again. This time it was successful. But by 6:30 when the Tim Horton's opened for business again I had seen myself - front and center - in stills taken by other patients on the Timmies' Triage ward running in a news segment on the televison in the emergency room. "Dbl Dbl Trouble for RCH"... Well, the damn place was shut that night and we couldn't even get a coffee! Mom and I waited until 9 am, with her becoming more worn out as the hours past, until they finally prepped her for a CT scan, and I pointed out to them that one side of her face was "droopy". After that the situation was handled a little more seriously and the staff reacted in a way that showed they were concerned for the prognosis. I went to the lobby to make some calls and inform my family of the state things were in (my poor cell phone had died from lack of power the night before, and my car was under lock and key in a blockaded lot across the street), then managed to move my car to another spot and headed back in to continue waiting. Mom was returned to the Trauma room on the emergency ward - the 4th spot in less than 12 hours - where we waited for the Dr. to give us the news; it was not good. Stroke with atypical symptoms (hence the diagnosis that she suffered from the flu), looking at waiting on a swallowing assesment, a chest xray and stabilizing her. The staff wanted me to go home. I was told the "cavalry" was being mobilized, and there would be people to spell me off, so I went home to grab a few hours sleep, take care of my dogs, feed myself, send out information to those that needed it, field phone calls, and prepare to do it all over again.
Back to the hospital I went, this time carrying my debit card, a recharged phone (no charger), change in my wallet, and parked in a different lot - after calling in work to say I wasn't coming to close the store tonight I arrived to find... no one. Mom was sitting in another bed (the 5th spot in her stay and right next to the noisey nursing station) and on a new oxygen set up. The phlem she was coughing up had thickened and darkend, and was very difficult to move. I talked with the staff who made changed that should have made her more comfortable, but she began struggling and trying to remove the mask, saying she couldn't breath. And then she stopped. She drifted into a semi coma and made no further complaints, just a few incoherent comments.
I suspect she had another stroke at that point. Even though the chest xray showed no infection her lungs had been compromised and were shutting down. The staff did everything in their power to help her, but in the end the last thing they could help with was to give her morphine for the pain and to take away that feeling that she was drowning. She stopped fighting the machines, stopped fighting to breathe, and as they wheeled her down to what would be her 6th and final spot in the hospital she breathed shallower and shallower until she wasn't breathing any more at all. I held her in my arms, kissed her, and as I stroked her arms my brain recognized the shape of my own hands in hers, the lenght of my forearms and the size of the muscle structure, the height of my cheekbones and the depth of my eye sockets in her face. I am my Mother's daughter. And I'm just as stubborn, just as pragmatic, just as strong, and just as weary of the unneeded drama that affects my life from the outside. Come by it honestly, and have no intention of changing it at this time in my life.
The damn story has gone viral on the internet now... it's all over the world and so it should be. Our government has allowed the infrastructure that supports our medical system to come perilously close to collapsing. The only problem is, every time I hear them on the news, every time I see my Mother's smiling face on the TV, every time I catch a glimpse of myself in a still shot I am back in the Timmies Triage waiting for them to take care of my Mother.... but they can't anymore, because she's gone. And I cry. And cry....
I know that my role in this is to remember, so remember I will. I need to make sure this NEVER happens to someone else. Spread the word. I didn't want this particular 15 minutes of fame and I would give it back to hold my Mom in my arms one more time. But you don't get a do-over very often, and I don't think there would have been any other outcome, but I would have wanted her to have the dignity she was denied, the comfort they were unable to give, and had a diagnosis sooner through quicker care so she could have had those last moments with more of the family.
More than anything, I would like the world to remember; one day this may be you....
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Oh.... how I wish you were here......
There comes a time in everyone's life when they have to step up. The natural progression of aging; first babies, toddlers, school kids, teenagers... if we're lucky; spouses, parents... grandparents. We all take a step ahead, and bring what we learn with us. In the rush and joy we forget that the progression has an end, and eventually those that were ahead of us in the ladder have disappeared. So, when we get to the front of the line it's time to reflect on a lot of things until the final step into the unknown.
Last night, on the 1st of March just before midnight, my first love made that final step into forever; my Mother, Gloria Rossalind Knowlan, at age 86.
On the afternoon the day before she suffered a sudden and serious stroke. When the call came to let me know where she was (at that time her condition was unknown) I quickly grabbed my things and drove to the hospital. It was simply time to step up. For the next 15 hours I rarely left her side, holding her hand, comforting her, passing her tissues when she coughed, waiting (yes, even in the infamous "Tim Horton's" ward in RCH) for tests and time to pass. We spoke of so many things when she wanted to talk; how much she loved us - her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren - special friends, fun times, things she taught me over the years; we talked quietly between her struggles to rest. She wanted Pink Floyd played at her memorial service and we talked about her favorite music. Mostly I dozed in the chair beside her bed and let her know she was not alone.
When she was finally taken for a CT scan on the morning of the 1st we were unsure of the prognosis, but I saw marks of the seriousness of her condition in the laxness on one side of her face and steeled myself for what was to come. When the Dr. finally had a consult with me following the test the result was pure and simple; there was a serious stroke in her cerebellum; it had not been the first one; she was going to be stabilized and best case scenario was she would stay as she was or heal; worst case scenario was further strokes, compromised respiratory system or heart problems. They told me that sleep was my best option and I checked with family and informed them that in my opinion the situation meant we all needed to step up and change how we were dealing with this. I was hopeful someone else would care for her while I took care of my own responsibilites, phoned in sick at work, slept a few hours, cleaned up and returned... this time with a different parking spot, change in my wallet, a fully recharged phone, and the hope that TONIGHT Tim Horton's was serving tea....
My siblings had taken care of a lot of the important stuff; Mom was still in the emergency by herself after insisting she wanted "no visitors" and that she was just tired. She sent my other siblings off to their lives and didn't want a fuss. My brother and sister had gone to clean her apartment and ease her worry over her personal space. My brother came by with a care package with personal items as I attempted to keep her as comfortable in bed as possible, but a little after 10 pm there was a marked change. She told me she was sad that we were all having to do these things for her now, so I reminded her that she did that and more for us when we were small; stayed by our sides, stroked our hair, held our hands, wiped our faces, and look at how lucky she was that now we were here to do it for her. I reminded her that her life was very, very rich, and that we were the gold that made it so. That comforted her and she giggled a little. But she was drifting away, not so lucid anymore, her breath becoming harder, fretful and struggling for air. The staff made her as comfortable as they could and I asked that they call my family and tell them of her condition. I knew it was close to the end.
One more time to feed the meter, and back I went to wait. I helped the staff gather her belongings and whispered in her ear that the family was coming, hang on just a little longer, but the morphine they gave her for her pain and comfort allowed her to slip away like a firefly, creeping softly from the ground and rising for the first time. I watched the husk of her earthly body wind down quietly like an old fashioned toy, and I held her close and kissed her as she took those last soft breaths. And she healed me. Softly, quietly, and without a lot of fuss or drama, she taught me her last lesson. I'm strong enough to take care of myself. I'm strong enough to do the right thing. I'm strong enough to take the tough stuff on and I don't have to claim the world, I just get to claim my role in it. And for one last time I had her all to myself.
That is the gold I get to share now. Like a chocolate coin, it's shiny on the outside and sweet in the middle, and it tastes better when you share it. And when you share a lot of them you have other people share theirs with you. That is what makes life so very rich and so very sweet.
I always tell people that your immortality lives on in the memories other people have of you. Mom, to me you will always be immortal and I will treasure every precious moment of your life. And although I do have a lot of regrets I am at peace in that this time I have none. I will keep being honest and straightforward with my family and friends, and I will live my life more the way she did; quietly and softly, with compassion and humour, and keep my childlike wonder, until I too go forward. I will continue to do the right thing even when no one else wants me to be right. I'm a bit stubborn that way, but for all of you who really knew Gloria you also know I come by that trait honestly.
Last night, on the 1st of March just before midnight, my first love made that final step into forever; my Mother, Gloria Rossalind Knowlan, at age 86.
On the afternoon the day before she suffered a sudden and serious stroke. When the call came to let me know where she was (at that time her condition was unknown) I quickly grabbed my things and drove to the hospital. It was simply time to step up. For the next 15 hours I rarely left her side, holding her hand, comforting her, passing her tissues when she coughed, waiting (yes, even in the infamous "Tim Horton's" ward in RCH) for tests and time to pass. We spoke of so many things when she wanted to talk; how much she loved us - her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren - special friends, fun times, things she taught me over the years; we talked quietly between her struggles to rest. She wanted Pink Floyd played at her memorial service and we talked about her favorite music. Mostly I dozed in the chair beside her bed and let her know she was not alone.
When she was finally taken for a CT scan on the morning of the 1st we were unsure of the prognosis, but I saw marks of the seriousness of her condition in the laxness on one side of her face and steeled myself for what was to come. When the Dr. finally had a consult with me following the test the result was pure and simple; there was a serious stroke in her cerebellum; it had not been the first one; she was going to be stabilized and best case scenario was she would stay as she was or heal; worst case scenario was further strokes, compromised respiratory system or heart problems. They told me that sleep was my best option and I checked with family and informed them that in my opinion the situation meant we all needed to step up and change how we were dealing with this. I was hopeful someone else would care for her while I took care of my own responsibilites, phoned in sick at work, slept a few hours, cleaned up and returned... this time with a different parking spot, change in my wallet, a fully recharged phone, and the hope that TONIGHT Tim Horton's was serving tea....
My siblings had taken care of a lot of the important stuff; Mom was still in the emergency by herself after insisting she wanted "no visitors" and that she was just tired. She sent my other siblings off to their lives and didn't want a fuss. My brother and sister had gone to clean her apartment and ease her worry over her personal space. My brother came by with a care package with personal items as I attempted to keep her as comfortable in bed as possible, but a little after 10 pm there was a marked change. She told me she was sad that we were all having to do these things for her now, so I reminded her that she did that and more for us when we were small; stayed by our sides, stroked our hair, held our hands, wiped our faces, and look at how lucky she was that now we were here to do it for her. I reminded her that her life was very, very rich, and that we were the gold that made it so. That comforted her and she giggled a little. But she was drifting away, not so lucid anymore, her breath becoming harder, fretful and struggling for air. The staff made her as comfortable as they could and I asked that they call my family and tell them of her condition. I knew it was close to the end.
One more time to feed the meter, and back I went to wait. I helped the staff gather her belongings and whispered in her ear that the family was coming, hang on just a little longer, but the morphine they gave her for her pain and comfort allowed her to slip away like a firefly, creeping softly from the ground and rising for the first time. I watched the husk of her earthly body wind down quietly like an old fashioned toy, and I held her close and kissed her as she took those last soft breaths. And she healed me. Softly, quietly, and without a lot of fuss or drama, she taught me her last lesson. I'm strong enough to take care of myself. I'm strong enough to do the right thing. I'm strong enough to take the tough stuff on and I don't have to claim the world, I just get to claim my role in it. And for one last time I had her all to myself.
That is the gold I get to share now. Like a chocolate coin, it's shiny on the outside and sweet in the middle, and it tastes better when you share it. And when you share a lot of them you have other people share theirs with you. That is what makes life so very rich and so very sweet.
I always tell people that your immortality lives on in the memories other people have of you. Mom, to me you will always be immortal and I will treasure every precious moment of your life. And although I do have a lot of regrets I am at peace in that this time I have none. I will keep being honest and straightforward with my family and friends, and I will live my life more the way she did; quietly and softly, with compassion and humour, and keep my childlike wonder, until I too go forward. I will continue to do the right thing even when no one else wants me to be right. I'm a bit stubborn that way, but for all of you who really knew Gloria you also know I come by that trait honestly.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Learning to say goodbye....
Raising puppies is one of the most rewarding things I have ever done; it's a lot of hard work, a lot of sleepless nights, a lot of cleaning and scrubbing, worrying and watching. From the moment they birth, wet and tiny in my hands as I cut the cord that connects them to their Mothers, to the moment they go out the door in the arms of the special someone who will love them "forever" they are an enormous joy.
I love everything about them, their little cries like seagulls when they first find their voices, the times they suckle on my fingertips and the end of my nose, watching them learn to play with toys, and of course the smell of puppy breath. This last time was chaotic and crazy having two litters at once, but there is not a single moment I would take back in it. Each puppy is special, individual, unique, and much loved. I have fussed over them and fed them with a spoon, watched them toddle through their first steps, and who could forget the photo montages with puppies tucked into a Santa hat? Holding a warm puppy in my arms while I sat alone on Christmas just enjoying the fact that I wasn't really alone with them there.
I'm not the only one who has benefited, though. Daisy - who behaved like a shelter dog from the moment I fell in love and brought her home as a "timing out puppy" from the pet store - has become a more stable and balanced dog after going through the process of being with the first litters of puppies and then becoming a Mother herself. Surprisingly, she is quieter, less prone to be jealous, eager to play and interact with my remaining dogs. Now, when I tell her to "sit" for her treat there is no panic that the other dogs may get her share, just calm acceptance that she will get her turn when she behaves, and I'm glad for her. She has a bounce to her step and has even welcomed the occasional guest that pops by.
As each puppy left and went to their new families I felt a small part of my heart go with them; Kaya Lou, Painter, Patches, Coco, Prince, Bodie, Katinka, Mercedes, Molly and Dexter eventually found their forever homes after weeks of posting ads, flashing photographs, spreading word of mouth and taking texts and phone calls. Only one - Pixie - has yet to find her "forever home". And in the process of finding those perfect matches for each puppy I realized that the right person always comes for a puppy; no matter how much you worry, post, fuss, panic, no matter how many calls you take at odd hours, no matter the stretch of time, each puppy has someone out there who is waiting for them. You know instantly when that love bonds the right person to the puppy that will be theirs. And although I do love my little puppies and feel responsible for them I still have to let them go and be with the ones who make a choice to take them home.
It made me realize something about myself. No matter how much I fuss and worry, no matter how long I am alone and single, when the time is right - and not until then - there will be someone out there for me. That is the hardest part at the moment as I make the final arrangements to end my 36 year relationship with my Divorce. And I have to remember that although what I had wasn't real I always thought it was, and grieving for a dream is still grieving. It may be a long time until I get past this part of the process. In the meantime I am learning to say goodbye and still embrace the love that I shared. Puppies are good at teaching that. I cry a little as each one leaves, but puppies have no regrets. They are, quite simply, a joy.
I love everything about them, their little cries like seagulls when they first find their voices, the times they suckle on my fingertips and the end of my nose, watching them learn to play with toys, and of course the smell of puppy breath. This last time was chaotic and crazy having two litters at once, but there is not a single moment I would take back in it. Each puppy is special, individual, unique, and much loved. I have fussed over them and fed them with a spoon, watched them toddle through their first steps, and who could forget the photo montages with puppies tucked into a Santa hat? Holding a warm puppy in my arms while I sat alone on Christmas just enjoying the fact that I wasn't really alone with them there.
I'm not the only one who has benefited, though. Daisy - who behaved like a shelter dog from the moment I fell in love and brought her home as a "timing out puppy" from the pet store - has become a more stable and balanced dog after going through the process of being with the first litters of puppies and then becoming a Mother herself. Surprisingly, she is quieter, less prone to be jealous, eager to play and interact with my remaining dogs. Now, when I tell her to "sit" for her treat there is no panic that the other dogs may get her share, just calm acceptance that she will get her turn when she behaves, and I'm glad for her. She has a bounce to her step and has even welcomed the occasional guest that pops by.
As each puppy left and went to their new families I felt a small part of my heart go with them; Kaya Lou, Painter, Patches, Coco, Prince, Bodie, Katinka, Mercedes, Molly and Dexter eventually found their forever homes after weeks of posting ads, flashing photographs, spreading word of mouth and taking texts and phone calls. Only one - Pixie - has yet to find her "forever home". And in the process of finding those perfect matches for each puppy I realized that the right person always comes for a puppy; no matter how much you worry, post, fuss, panic, no matter how many calls you take at odd hours, no matter the stretch of time, each puppy has someone out there who is waiting for them. You know instantly when that love bonds the right person to the puppy that will be theirs. And although I do love my little puppies and feel responsible for them I still have to let them go and be with the ones who make a choice to take them home.
It made me realize something about myself. No matter how much I fuss and worry, no matter how long I am alone and single, when the time is right - and not until then - there will be someone out there for me. That is the hardest part at the moment as I make the final arrangements to end my 36 year relationship with my Divorce. And I have to remember that although what I had wasn't real I always thought it was, and grieving for a dream is still grieving. It may be a long time until I get past this part of the process. In the meantime I am learning to say goodbye and still embrace the love that I shared. Puppies are good at teaching that. I cry a little as each one leaves, but puppies have no regrets. They are, quite simply, a joy.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Spring cleaning.... or not....
Ah... the first breath of spring on the West Coast, and my thoughts turn to the garden. Left untended for much too long, it has taken on a life of it's own over the last two winters, and requires MASSIVE taming! With the thawing of the lily pond I know it's time to get on with it, and a plan is really required to get everything done on schedule, but as I've said " the best laid plans....", and the roly-poly hamsters (aka. Penny's latest puppies) have decided the yard it their "it" spot.
After checking to make sure the fences are still in place and there are no escape routes for creatures that weigh less than three pounds I dug myself into it. My first big job was, of course, removing all the trash and the recycling from the move. Two very smelly trips in my van loaded to the nines to the transfer station, one very loaded trip with a trailer to recycling, and then just the sweep up.... still took a week. I included cleaning the "damper" in the steel stove my Dad built, changing the stove pipe, and piling up some hardwood cuttings for burning. Well, the patio area is covered with dirt, puppy poop, doggie poop, sawdust (from various house improvement projects), the hose has kinked over on itself and will need to be replaced, and I still need to wash everything down as best I can. I continue to find piles of junk in corners, and to top it off my evil cat, Xena, still thinks the living room rug is a good place for a catbox so I keep her captive in the bathroom at night and throw her outside in the day time. However, I am on my second "Rug Doctor" rental... on the first clear day we've had in ages... and it's my day off... and I don't get to put it off as the puppies have "interviews" this week and I certainly don't want THAT smell to put people off.
So, now I am trying vainly to forge ahead on cleaning while the day slips further away; I have misplaced my car keys, torn my finger nails, had a puppy "sneak" into the bathtub to raid the catbox and proceed to "barf" the ill gotten goods onto my bedroom carpet; the Rug Doctor is already late for returning so I'll call them and let them know I have it for another day; there is a load of laundry in the washer, one in the dryer, one on the floor ready to load, and about three on the dining table awaiting sorting and folding, only I haven't figured out where to put the kitchen linen yet and I'm out of drawer space; my African Violets got dumped and now they need repotting; and the gift I so cleverly purchased months ago for my best friend's birthday is probably in the storage locker, and as stated before I have misplaced my keys so you can guess where the key for THAT lock is.... Chaos once more... I sense a pattern here.
I still dream sometimes that I am in my old bedroom, or coming home to my house with my family, that everything is where I left it the last time; the gift is sitting in the spare bedroom in the dresser drawer; my favorite painting hangs on the wall over my bed; the linen fits in the drawer in the kitchen; the bathtub is wonderfully deep and none of the dogs want to jump in... Funny thing is I'm more fit, more trim, more emotionally balanced, more energetic, and yet I keep myself stuck with lists I'm not staying on track with. I have called my daughter more times in the last week than I did in the previous two months; spent more time with my sons as well; cooked myself more meals and spent less time sleeping. I haven't napped for days and I don't really feel like I need one. But life is completely different in a way that keeps me off balance. I have to keep moving forward so I won't fall flat on my face. I think the real difference is that one thing in me has finally changed; I actually care about things because at last the fight is over; the most important of the paperwork has finally been signed and I get to go on with my life. I can really make something new without feeling as if I am rudderless. From here on in if I fail - and I expect I will a time or two - it is on my own merit. If it doesn't get done it's because I didn't do it! The acceptance of that has made me feel immeasurably younger and I'm ready to take on the next step.... I just have to remember "you can only do one thing at a time, so do it well and ON time, because waiting for someone else to do it for you will make you fail EVERY time..."
So for now it's back to feeling Spring course through my veins, wake up my spirit and put a smile on my face. I'll be cleaning my carpets tonight and taking care of all those other things in an orderly and TIMELY fashion... Perhaps a walk to the storage locker will clear my head and give my doggies a nice break. Who knows; I may even unearth that gift... I may remember where I put it during my exposure to fresh air and sunshine.... but first I have to find my keys..........
After checking to make sure the fences are still in place and there are no escape routes for creatures that weigh less than three pounds I dug myself into it. My first big job was, of course, removing all the trash and the recycling from the move. Two very smelly trips in my van loaded to the nines to the transfer station, one very loaded trip with a trailer to recycling, and then just the sweep up.... still took a week. I included cleaning the "damper" in the steel stove my Dad built, changing the stove pipe, and piling up some hardwood cuttings for burning. Well, the patio area is covered with dirt, puppy poop, doggie poop, sawdust (from various house improvement projects), the hose has kinked over on itself and will need to be replaced, and I still need to wash everything down as best I can. I continue to find piles of junk in corners, and to top it off my evil cat, Xena, still thinks the living room rug is a good place for a catbox so I keep her captive in the bathroom at night and throw her outside in the day time. However, I am on my second "Rug Doctor" rental... on the first clear day we've had in ages... and it's my day off... and I don't get to put it off as the puppies have "interviews" this week and I certainly don't want THAT smell to put people off.
So, now I am trying vainly to forge ahead on cleaning while the day slips further away; I have misplaced my car keys, torn my finger nails, had a puppy "sneak" into the bathtub to raid the catbox and proceed to "barf" the ill gotten goods onto my bedroom carpet; the Rug Doctor is already late for returning so I'll call them and let them know I have it for another day; there is a load of laundry in the washer, one in the dryer, one on the floor ready to load, and about three on the dining table awaiting sorting and folding, only I haven't figured out where to put the kitchen linen yet and I'm out of drawer space; my African Violets got dumped and now they need repotting; and the gift I so cleverly purchased months ago for my best friend's birthday is probably in the storage locker, and as stated before I have misplaced my keys so you can guess where the key for THAT lock is.... Chaos once more... I sense a pattern here.
I still dream sometimes that I am in my old bedroom, or coming home to my house with my family, that everything is where I left it the last time; the gift is sitting in the spare bedroom in the dresser drawer; my favorite painting hangs on the wall over my bed; the linen fits in the drawer in the kitchen; the bathtub is wonderfully deep and none of the dogs want to jump in... Funny thing is I'm more fit, more trim, more emotionally balanced, more energetic, and yet I keep myself stuck with lists I'm not staying on track with. I have called my daughter more times in the last week than I did in the previous two months; spent more time with my sons as well; cooked myself more meals and spent less time sleeping. I haven't napped for days and I don't really feel like I need one. But life is completely different in a way that keeps me off balance. I have to keep moving forward so I won't fall flat on my face. I think the real difference is that one thing in me has finally changed; I actually care about things because at last the fight is over; the most important of the paperwork has finally been signed and I get to go on with my life. I can really make something new without feeling as if I am rudderless. From here on in if I fail - and I expect I will a time or two - it is on my own merit. If it doesn't get done it's because I didn't do it! The acceptance of that has made me feel immeasurably younger and I'm ready to take on the next step.... I just have to remember "you can only do one thing at a time, so do it well and ON time, because waiting for someone else to do it for you will make you fail EVERY time..."
So for now it's back to feeling Spring course through my veins, wake up my spirit and put a smile on my face. I'll be cleaning my carpets tonight and taking care of all those other things in an orderly and TIMELY fashion... Perhaps a walk to the storage locker will clear my head and give my doggies a nice break. Who knows; I may even unearth that gift... I may remember where I put it during my exposure to fresh air and sunshine.... but first I have to find my keys..........
Friday, January 21, 2011
Moving on.... and moving....
Moving sucks. You heard me! I haven't moved in over 20 years and thought the preamble of removing all the stuff from the downstairs before the renovation equaled "moving"... boy, was I ever wrong.
And then, of course, there are the puppies; cute little balls of fur, total distractions, I would be packing up dishware and suddenly I have to pick them up, or quiet them down, or send the big dogs out for a pee break, or feed them, or clean up the mess... and so on. Photographs to post on the internet, trying to manhandle boxes and trunks past them without disrupting their "cage", trying to not wake them up late at night so the neighbours weren't disturbed... and fielding calls and emails, reposting ads, making sure the people who take them home are the kind of people I want them to be with.
I thought I was being so prepared and so clever by renting a storage locker to hold my stuff in before the big day, and happily packed and sorted my things, starting with all the Christmas decorations and crafting supplies, taking them down the block to the storage facility and stacking them neatly. I could even stack those big rough totes, one on top of the other, all the way to the ceiling! That fantasy didn't last long. Two hours to load the car - up and down the stairs, packing the vehicle, making sure I was down before 10 pm to unload... and it only took 10 minutes to unload each trip. There was ample space - or so I thought. I even removed and stored the back seat from the mini van so I could take more in each load. But I forgot to factor in the fact that I'm not 30 anymore.. not even 40 anymore... and that I still have to work 5 days a week, so even if the car is loaded up I may not get to the facility until after shift!
Filling boxes too full meant they were too heavy for me to carry, and lack of sleep gave me a bad case of "mush for brains", I lost the tape gun somewhere and kept forgetting what I was doing and getting distracted by a larger mess or a bigger list, so I was reduced to using clear plastic bags for all my clothes and linens and tossing them into the back of the locker on top of whatever would hold them, making a final mad dash down the block on the Friday night with my neighbour following closely behind, both vehicles filled as full as we could with small items of furniture, and stacking them like Tetris pieces into what can only be described as a disorganized mish mash of home items. Organization out the window, time to panic! On the final day I was running on four hours sleep and hadn't even made a DENT in the upstairs living spaces, but the storage locker is STILL filled to the ceiling in places as I write the a week later with boxes, bags, containers, chairs, baskets, shelves and even my Ikea coffee table.
Thanks to the help of my young tenants and their friends and family - for which I am truly and endlessly grateful - all the "stuff" was removed from the entire house and switched, with help from my oldest son and one of his friends on top of it! Thank you, Steve; and thank you, Kai; I forgot how much work this is. My son, his buddy and I enjoyed a lovely dinner of "take away Chinese food" together while the electronics were hooked up so I could watch my TV, surf the internet, or plug in a movie.
So here I am, in my new living space, up to my neck in unpacked "stuff"; sorting, removing, putting away what I will keep, boxing what I don't need, can't use and don't have room for. Some for charity, some for family, some for the trash. I'm in my first REAL apartment, on my own for the very first time, with my own things around me, and in a place with just enough room for me, the stuff I really need, and my little animals. I have finally moved away from "home". No longer living in my father's house, no longer living in my husband's house, now I start fresh. I still have to clean the carpets, wash the floors, organize my closet, decide where to put the cleaning supplies, the bathroom things and the toilet paper, but I have my lovely water bed, I have my computer (the true necessity of modern life), I have a little peace and a nice place to park my car in my own driveway. I'm still at the same address and I still have the same phone number, but I am proud to say I am living in a space that I actually created with my own hands, my own ideas and my own time. I love it. And I love knowing that I can do what needs to be done to get by.
Now... just have to wait for my hands to stop hurting and the bruises to fade. Should take another week or so.... Did I say moving sucks?
And then, of course, there are the puppies; cute little balls of fur, total distractions, I would be packing up dishware and suddenly I have to pick them up, or quiet them down, or send the big dogs out for a pee break, or feed them, or clean up the mess... and so on. Photographs to post on the internet, trying to manhandle boxes and trunks past them without disrupting their "cage", trying to not wake them up late at night so the neighbours weren't disturbed... and fielding calls and emails, reposting ads, making sure the people who take them home are the kind of people I want them to be with.
I thought I was being so prepared and so clever by renting a storage locker to hold my stuff in before the big day, and happily packed and sorted my things, starting with all the Christmas decorations and crafting supplies, taking them down the block to the storage facility and stacking them neatly. I could even stack those big rough totes, one on top of the other, all the way to the ceiling! That fantasy didn't last long. Two hours to load the car - up and down the stairs, packing the vehicle, making sure I was down before 10 pm to unload... and it only took 10 minutes to unload each trip. There was ample space - or so I thought. I even removed and stored the back seat from the mini van so I could take more in each load. But I forgot to factor in the fact that I'm not 30 anymore.. not even 40 anymore... and that I still have to work 5 days a week, so even if the car is loaded up I may not get to the facility until after shift!
Filling boxes too full meant they were too heavy for me to carry, and lack of sleep gave me a bad case of "mush for brains", I lost the tape gun somewhere and kept forgetting what I was doing and getting distracted by a larger mess or a bigger list, so I was reduced to using clear plastic bags for all my clothes and linens and tossing them into the back of the locker on top of whatever would hold them, making a final mad dash down the block on the Friday night with my neighbour following closely behind, both vehicles filled as full as we could with small items of furniture, and stacking them like Tetris pieces into what can only be described as a disorganized mish mash of home items. Organization out the window, time to panic! On the final day I was running on four hours sleep and hadn't even made a DENT in the upstairs living spaces, but the storage locker is STILL filled to the ceiling in places as I write the a week later with boxes, bags, containers, chairs, baskets, shelves and even my Ikea coffee table.
Thanks to the help of my young tenants and their friends and family - for which I am truly and endlessly grateful - all the "stuff" was removed from the entire house and switched, with help from my oldest son and one of his friends on top of it! Thank you, Steve; and thank you, Kai; I forgot how much work this is. My son, his buddy and I enjoyed a lovely dinner of "take away Chinese food" together while the electronics were hooked up so I could watch my TV, surf the internet, or plug in a movie.
So here I am, in my new living space, up to my neck in unpacked "stuff"; sorting, removing, putting away what I will keep, boxing what I don't need, can't use and don't have room for. Some for charity, some for family, some for the trash. I'm in my first REAL apartment, on my own for the very first time, with my own things around me, and in a place with just enough room for me, the stuff I really need, and my little animals. I have finally moved away from "home". No longer living in my father's house, no longer living in my husband's house, now I start fresh. I still have to clean the carpets, wash the floors, organize my closet, decide where to put the cleaning supplies, the bathroom things and the toilet paper, but I have my lovely water bed, I have my computer (the true necessity of modern life), I have a little peace and a nice place to park my car in my own driveway. I'm still at the same address and I still have the same phone number, but I am proud to say I am living in a space that I actually created with my own hands, my own ideas and my own time. I love it. And I love knowing that I can do what needs to be done to get by.
Now... just have to wait for my hands to stop hurting and the bruises to fade. Should take another week or so.... Did I say moving sucks?
Friday, December 24, 2010
Holidays for one....
My biggest regret these days is that the old traditions don’t apply any more. No more kids in costumes on Hallowe’en, and fireworks are banned in my community; no more Easter Bunny with spring clothes, comic books and chocolate; no more pictures on Santa’s knee (that one always brought a tear to my eye) or knowing the stockings are hung and waiting to be filled... With the advent of DVDs and downloading, awaiting the airing of “Rudolf” or “Frosty the Snowman” is a thing of the past, and I can watch the Grinch at any time, with Boris Karloff or Jim Carey. The yearly countdown to holidays is no more; no kids in school, no Christmas break, just working for the month of December, shopping 24 hours a day for the three weeks leading up to the one day of the year they close the doors. Now is when I learn about myself; now I get to find out what traditions I did for everyone else, and which ones were really mine.
Dad loved the holidays and every tradition that went with it. The music, the food, singing carols together while we made our Christmas pudding - Silent Night” sung with three part harmony and woven together with his perfect Irish tenor - wrapping gifts and stacking them under the tree, and the family all together sharing a meal, warm with affection and good whiskey. There was always room at the table to fit one more plate, always a pair of arms to hold my children when they were small while I helped my Mother put the final finishes on the meal – placing olives and pickles on a tray and stirring the gravy in Granny’s turkey roaster. I have that roaster in my cupboard now, and it holds the auras of the “ghosts of a hundred turkeys” in its’ cast iron and enamel body. Last year I barely had the energy to put up my tree; I still went to the field, cut it down with my own hands the way my Father did when I was small, stood it upright in the heavy cast iron stand, hung on the lights, the baubles, the garlands, and placed St. Nicholas on the top of the tree where my children had taken turns (under duress sometimes) every year.
I have spent the last year asleep and dreaming, waiting to wake up from the long nightmare of grief and loneliness, but I didn’t get to have that luxury – if it is a luxury. There were times I felt like the stuffing has been kicked out of me once too many times and I didn’t have enough fight left to do more than get back up and step back in. But I am not numb. I just hadn’t mustered the strength to fight back yet. And while I was dreaming the rest of the world had left me behind. When there is no one to share them with I really have no interest in celebrating those things; celebrating them alone seems hypocritical to me because a special day is only special when your loved ones share it with you. You can cook a turkey or roast a ham any day of the week, but without those you love it really doesn’t mean anything.
But something changed in me over the last year. This time Christmas Eve wasn't an ordeal watching happy couples walk together through the doors, and knowing my family was celebrating without me. Somehow over the last 12 months I grew up. This is really MY first Christmas. One I should have had over 30 years ago, with no responsibilities other than being a guest in the home of someone I love. I am not making a meal, there has been very little baking, the lights are up on the front of the house, and the tree stands in it's place - for the last time in this home, as it happens. I have learned to let go, and to let things be. I have finally found the peace I had been waiting for. And from that place of peace comes new strength, and hopefully a new focus.
The truth is, the world doesn't treat you any worse than you let it, and just as Eleanor Roosevelt said "no one can make you feel inferior without your permission." Well, I no longer have the time to give anyone permission to make me feel inferior. I have been down a long and difficult path, but I discovered that, just for now, I have everything I could ever want; self respect, courage, strength, joy, independence, and love for my family. Anything else is just "stuff". I can get my own stuff, but knowing that I am worth all the things I have fought for over the last while is the most important part of my future. Now I get to go forward into the next part of my life with peace at last. Hard won, hard earned, and willing to let things be.
Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me....
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Where is the "housework fairy".....
I hate housework. I don't think there is a single person on EARTH who enjoys the constant upkeep it takes to make sure your house is clean, sanitary and organized; a necessary evil at best, at worst it's just evil!
I grew up not really understanding what housework was, because I don't remember Mom doing much! I remember a couple of times when my sisters stripped the fir flooring of the house with turpentine! I remember trying to keep my stuff contained in my room - without much luck, I may add! I remember sweeping the kitchen floor before dinner, doing dishes every night, and "bucket brigades" when Mom used a ringer washer to do laundry and hung the clothes to dry on a rack over the stove in winter... but I really don't remember housework as anything I noticed happening. It was a terrible shock (really!) when I moved away from home and realize the oven actually has to be cleaned once in a while, that toilets need scrubbing every day, that sheets get changed and laundry gets done more than once a week!
You can add more to that now. Now that I am on my own and there is no one else making messes I have only my own "organized chaos" to deal with. At the moment it is TOTAL chaos! My little "Daisy Mae" chihuahua has given me 5 delightful puppies! I adore them, play with them, feed them, clean them and keep their beds clean and piddle free! But I am up most nights three or four times to quiet "Daisy" when she has to have a drink, or some food, or feed them, or go outside to pee or poop in the middle of the night so she doesn't make messes in the house... so with Christmas on the way, and my attempting to whittle down my household goods while using up my time with puppies (and blogs... lol...) I am finding that the Chaos is a bit overwhelming.
And now my dear little "Penny" Shih Tzu has given me 6 totally sweet puppies as well.... As of today I have a three year old dog, a 2 and a half year old dog, a one year old dog, five "almost one month old" pups and six "almost one week old" pups... and two cats... and a huge Christmas tree in the living room.... and between you and me....
I WANT TO KNOW WHERE THE DAMN HOUSEWORK FAIRY IS AND WHAT DO I HAVE TO BRIBE HER WITH??????????
I have piles of newspaper ready to use in the playpen; mountains of puppy laundry that gets constantly used, washed, stacked and used again; I still manage to keep myself and my uniform clean for work, but mealtime is getting to be on the fly; more than likely I eat at work, or grab some yogurt and fresh vegies, washing everything down with lots of hot tea... But every day the floors need to be disinfected! The pens get wiped down with alcohol soaked cloths to clean them, the couches are looking worse for wear (and desperately needing another washing), and the area rug has suffered the final insult and been rolled up for the trash. And I still need to scrub the toilets, clean the dishes, do the regular laundry, change the sheets, sweep the floors, and stay on top of the regular chores that make up housework.
None of that matters really, though. In just a few short weeks my little puppies will go to their "forever families" with a piece of my heart in each one. They will be clean, cared for, well fed, cuddled constantly and played with before then. They will know that humans are the source of all good things. They will have manners, know how to eat their dinners, enjoy the "rough and tumble" of playing with toys, and will make someone else very happy. And I know I will cry like a baby when they go. For now I listen to their tiny voices and savour each and every moment. If the dishes go a little longer in the sink or the laundry pile sits an extra day I don't really worry.
So, who wants to come and play with a basket full of puppies? It will certainly be heartwarming, and it will give me immeasurable pleasure to share them while I have them...In the meantime, if housework is a necessary evil I guess I'll be evil for a while. And will someone PLEASE give that housework fairy my address?
I grew up not really understanding what housework was, because I don't remember Mom doing much! I remember a couple of times when my sisters stripped the fir flooring of the house with turpentine! I remember trying to keep my stuff contained in my room - without much luck, I may add! I remember sweeping the kitchen floor before dinner, doing dishes every night, and "bucket brigades" when Mom used a ringer washer to do laundry and hung the clothes to dry on a rack over the stove in winter... but I really don't remember housework as anything I noticed happening. It was a terrible shock (really!) when I moved away from home and realize the oven actually has to be cleaned once in a while, that toilets need scrubbing every day, that sheets get changed and laundry gets done more than once a week!
You can add more to that now. Now that I am on my own and there is no one else making messes I have only my own "organized chaos" to deal with. At the moment it is TOTAL chaos! My little "Daisy Mae" chihuahua has given me 5 delightful puppies! I adore them, play with them, feed them, clean them and keep their beds clean and piddle free! But I am up most nights three or four times to quiet "Daisy" when she has to have a drink, or some food, or feed them, or go outside to pee or poop in the middle of the night so she doesn't make messes in the house... so with Christmas on the way, and my attempting to whittle down my household goods while using up my time with puppies (and blogs... lol...) I am finding that the Chaos is a bit overwhelming.
And now my dear little "Penny" Shih Tzu has given me 6 totally sweet puppies as well.... As of today I have a three year old dog, a 2 and a half year old dog, a one year old dog, five "almost one month old" pups and six "almost one week old" pups... and two cats... and a huge Christmas tree in the living room.... and between you and me....
I WANT TO KNOW WHERE THE DAMN HOUSEWORK FAIRY IS AND WHAT DO I HAVE TO BRIBE HER WITH??????????
I have piles of newspaper ready to use in the playpen; mountains of puppy laundry that gets constantly used, washed, stacked and used again; I still manage to keep myself and my uniform clean for work, but mealtime is getting to be on the fly; more than likely I eat at work, or grab some yogurt and fresh vegies, washing everything down with lots of hot tea... But every day the floors need to be disinfected! The pens get wiped down with alcohol soaked cloths to clean them, the couches are looking worse for wear (and desperately needing another washing), and the area rug has suffered the final insult and been rolled up for the trash. And I still need to scrub the toilets, clean the dishes, do the regular laundry, change the sheets, sweep the floors, and stay on top of the regular chores that make up housework.
None of that matters really, though. In just a few short weeks my little puppies will go to their "forever families" with a piece of my heart in each one. They will be clean, cared for, well fed, cuddled constantly and played with before then. They will know that humans are the source of all good things. They will have manners, know how to eat their dinners, enjoy the "rough and tumble" of playing with toys, and will make someone else very happy. And I know I will cry like a baby when they go. For now I listen to their tiny voices and savour each and every moment. If the dishes go a little longer in the sink or the laundry pile sits an extra day I don't really worry.
So, who wants to come and play with a basket full of puppies? It will certainly be heartwarming, and it will give me immeasurable pleasure to share them while I have them...In the meantime, if housework is a necessary evil I guess I'll be evil for a while. And will someone PLEASE give that housework fairy my address?
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