Wolf Moon

 

The Wolf Moon howls in the January night

Rising through the sky in the fullness of our sight

And in her howls we hear her voice echoing the pain

Of the fear and isolation that make us feel insane.

 

Time has slowed, the lonely hours now stretching on and on

In the greyness of the days and long darkness between dawns

Soaking in the anger of every news report

Every tweet and posted meme and scathing sharp retort.

 

Comforting hugs and touches, distanced from our thoughts

Hours of planning holiday gatherings sadly spent for naught

Weeks of isolation within our painted walls

Restricting interactions to email and videocalls.

 

And somewhere in the midst, we forget the way to live

The blessing and the gifts that these separate days can give

The chance to reimagine how the world can really be

When the walls of solitude come down and we are finally free

 

The Wolf Moon howls in the January night

Rising through the sky in the fullness of our sight

Let her voice be our reminder that our pain can be our might

If only we remember to look up and see the light.

Of Computers and Sedition

 

Sedition

[ si-dish-uhn ] 

noun

incitement of discontent or rebellion against a government.

any action, especially in speech or writing, promoting such discontent or rebellion.

Archaic. rebellious disorder.

 

I am once again living in computer hell.  My son can't figure out why I can never seem to get more than four years out of a laptop, no matter how expensive it is.  I've been nursing this one along for about a year now.  It started giving me grief a week after my three year service contract expired.  My plan was to buy a new computer and send this one in for repair so I could keep it as a back-up.  I was set to do it as soon as we returned from Australia in March.  I wasn't contemplating a pandemic when I made the plan.  So I find myself limping along with the computer I have. My charging cord is duct taped in.  My system somehow manages to shut it self down several times a day with no help from me. If I'm in the middle of work, it can be a real problem, but I'm limping along.  I know there will come a day when my laptop gasps it's last breath and I won't be able to limp along anymore.  I'm hoping it will come after lockdown has ended.  It's a bad time to be trying to buy a new computer.

 

The truth is, I hate buying new technology.  It will mean I have to relearn how to use everything.  Nothing is ever the same and I am an old lady now, learning new technology doesn't come easy.  But of course every time I get a new computer, I'm also amazed at how much better they are than the last.  Faster speeds, higher resolutions, better sound.  I forget that part as I patch, patch, patch my old phones and laptops until I can patch no more. Things really need to break before I can summon the energy and the courage to get rid of them and replace them.  The good thing about laptops and phones is that when I get new ones, Jacob downloads all the good things from the last devices and puts them into my new devices.  I don't have to get rid of all my history or all of my good work but I get to choose what to move forward and what I am prepared to let go of forever.

 

Yesterday, the world watched in horror as a gang of domestic terrorists attacked the U.S. capitol, rioted and trashed the offices of the congress and invaded the House of Representatives and the Senate floors.  It was a terrorist attack incited by the highest elected official in the country.  Death and mayhem courtesy of Donald Trump.  CNN just reported the fifth death resulting from yesterday's insurrection.  An officer of the capitol police has succumbed to his injuries.

 

For four years, we have watched an ailing U.S. limp along infected with hate, lies and division, run by a pathological, sociopathic, narcissistic conman.  For four long years it has been patch, patch, patch.  Yesterday it broke.  As heartbreaking as it was to watch, I couldn't help but feel that perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing that it happened.  Now that it is broken, our friends to the south have an opportunity to build a new country.  The United States of America 2.0.  They can still take all their history and all the really good parts of the old country and install them in a new one.  They can create a better, fairer system for all their people.  This is their chance to do better and be better.  But if it's going to work, it's time to face some hard truths.  It's time to stop saying "This is not who we are", because it actually is who they are right now, but that doesn't mean it is who they have to continue to be.  If they are honest with themselves they will know better and when they know better, they will do better.  It is time to stop saying that the president of the United States is the leader of the free world.  I am not American.  Their president is not my leader.  The rest of us in the developed world have figured out a few things that might help our American friends - like universal healthcare and decent gun control laws.  If they ask us for our help, I'm sure we will give it.  Canada and the U.S., siblings separated by the longest undefended border in the world, have been closed off from one another for months now, the first time in our history but it didn't have to be that way.  We could have worked together to fight the scourge of this pandemic.  But we didn't because for four years, Donald Trump has been trying to pick a fight with us.  So pathetic and so deadly.

 

But family is family.  We take care of our own.  We are always standing by to provide help, support and refuge if asked and if things get really tough, a butter tart or two.

 

 

Finally Hindsight

 

The last day of 2020 is finally here.  What a year!  There will be few people who won't be happy to see the back end of this one.  Not that it was all bad, at least for me.  It started strong - twenty-five incredible days exploring the other side of the world, the trip of a lifetime.  But by the time we got home in mid-March, the world was already coming unglued.  We went directly from the airport into coronavirus lockdown and though we thought it wouldn't last so long, we are are still there. 

 

We suffered the disappointment of no Easter celebrations.  The Australian-themed dinner I had planned for our annual Good Friday gathering got re-imagined as an Australian-themed Christmas Eve. It seems naive in retrospect.  There was no Mother's Day visit from my son though by the time Father's Day arrived, the warm weather had arrived in time for a Father's Day golf game and dinner on the deck.  The summer days were easier.  I turned sixty-five in July.  My sister hosted an outdoor gathering.  There were afternoons spent around the neighbour's pool and visits on the deck from friends we had been unable to see. A much anticipated wedding of some dear young friends went ahead in a significantly altered form.  I wasn't able to be there but I still got to help with some of the details and there were wonderful pictures to enjoy.  Less than two months later, we lost our dear friend, father of the groom.  The normal rituals of mourning went out the window in favor of a socially-distanced, restricted gathering that provided little comfort or solace. I thought my heart would never mend but I did the best I could to support his family and kept my tears to myself to be sobbed out over morning coffee and soaks in the tub. 

 

But there was hope amidst the weariness of continuing restrictions.The numbers were flattening.  The vaccine was coming.  Restrictions would be lifted. Maybe we just got too complacent or maybe it was just an inevitable part of the cycle, but the numbers worsened, restrictions tightened and my Australian-themed Christmas plans went to hell.  

 

Christmas Eve dinner became a scaled-down event broken into individual portions.  Trifles and charcuterie plates delivered to different houses along with green tomato relish, jars of goodies from my canning shelves and bags of Hershey's Hugs and Kisses as a substitute for the table gifts I ordered on Black Friday that still haven't arrived.  There was a Christmas Eve toast on Zoom, not the usual festivities but the best we could do in lockdown.  Jacob came home for a week so rather than sit around our usually noisy Christmas Eve table, we ate downstairs, chatted and watched It's A Wonderful Life. Different but still sweet.  We have never had a Christmas Eve where it was just the three of us.  Gifts of experiences normally given to share in the coming year were exchanged for small thoughtful offerings, painstakingly considered by their givers - excellent and meaningful books, local honey and hand-painted chocolates, a photo compilation from our trip. Best of all, a Christmas note of love from my son that is destined to be my finest treasure from the year.  

 

And now we have reached the end of the year.  Jacob has gone home.  The house feels quiet and cavernous.  We are locked down tighter than a drum, back to days of no socializing, no bubbles, no hugs or coffee afternoons.  It feels bleak.  We have decided to leave the Christmas decorations up longer.  We'll leave the lights in the trees and on the deck, the bannister boughed and lit, and the angels watching over us that fill the foyer and living room.  Let there be light in these dark days.  Chances that we will be vaccinated before the end of summer are looking like they are slim to none but there is at least a vaccine.  We know there is light at the end of the tunnel.  Our challenge is to create the light in the darkness along the way until we can finally step into the sun again.

 

Happy New Year Everyone!  May 2021 treat us kindly.

 

Fragile

 

"We are fragile, everyone. We all long for something more. Things are said and things are done and the pieces hit the floor. See how fragile." -  Ralston Bowle

 

 

I like to think I'm pretty tough.  I've been through a lot in my 65 years.  Tomorrow will mark the 15th anniversary of the day I became cancer-free.  It was a hard year of treatment.  Two surgeries, months of chemo and radiation every morning for a month.  And through it all, I barely missed a day of work.  Cancer is tough.  I am tougher.

 

In the last four years, I have twice been in heart failure.  I've had surgery twice, both times under failed anesthetics.  Heart failure is tough.  I am tougher.

 

2020 started out as a promising year. My husband and I spent 25 days exploring Australia - the trip of a lifetime. I was apprehensive about the trip before we left.  Twelve flights.  Thirteen different hotel rooms, twelve of them on twelve consecutive nights.  I walked hundreds of miles, sometimes in blistering heat in a nearly sixty-five year old body, with three herniated lumbar discs and a too-large pacemaker/defibrillator implanted in my chest. For weeks, I didn't have the therapy that keeps me upright.  As wonderful as the adventure was, there were times when my body screamed at me for a chance to rest, but we didn't waste a moment.  I kept telling myself I will have lots of time to sleep when I am dead.  I am tough.

 

We came back from our adventure and went straight into lock down. It wasn't ideal but there was no choice.  I dealt with it because I had to, just like everyone else.  I found the silver linings and carried on.  I started taking classes by Zoom.  I baked more, painted more, read more, knitted more and canned more.  I meditated through the pain that came with six months of no access to therapy.  I figured out how I could help others in my community.  I painted pretty rocks to leave for others to find, left jam and pickles on doorsteps and loaves of homemade bread at the homes of friends who were struggling.  But I am tough so I did okay.  

 

Life went on and things started to get better. The warmer days gave us new options.  Poolside gatherings with neighbours, even a couple of patio lunches with friends and some socially distanced visits on the back deck. 

 

But, in the past two months, things have changed.  Both of my sisters had surgery.  My oldest sister came to live with us for a time, and I came to learn that she has a greater need for support in daily living than I was aware. It is a hard time and while I don't see it as a burden, it is a weighty responsibility.  After several months with little activity, my business took off at a speed it is hard to keep up.  My every day for five weeks was filled with care giving and work.  I woke up one morning to the devastating news of the sudden death of a dear friend.  I flew into helper mode, trying to figure out how to support his family.  I barely shed a tear.  I stopped sleeping.  Somewhere in the darkness of that week, I decided that if I was going to survive this time, I would have to find a way to build some joy back into my life.  I started getting up an hour or two earlier in the morning so I could paint before I got my sister out of bed.  It is how I connect to my emotions.  Painting soothes me.  A few days later, Dora, the little dog that I loved and often cared for, died.  The dam broke.  I couldn't stop crying.  The U.S. election finally took place and after four sleepless nights, I met the news of the Biden/Harris win with tears of relief.  It was a happy afternoon.  I set up a new canvas and started painting.

 

Last night I happened on a Facebook post, showing the comments of a friend on the public Facebook page of a professional artist.  I know my friend did not intend for me to ever see his comments.  I don't know what he was thinking when he made them.  But the comments, in which I was named, were flattering of the professional artist, and disparaging about my artistic efforts.  I felt crushed.  I've never pretended to be a great artist, I just paint for the joy of creation.  The very thing that brings me such joy was suddenly turned on it's head.  For an hour or so, I contemplated taking down the photos of my paintings from my own (not public) Facebook page which is the only place I share them.  I started feeling concerned, wondering if I was embarrassing myself by posting pictures of my amateurish efforts.  After a time, I remembered a conversation I had with an old friend last week.  I hadn't spoken with her in a very long time but as we were signing off on our call, she told me how much she enjoys seeing pictures of my paintings.  She said they make her happy because she could see the joy in every piece.  I didn't take down the photos but I did get some insights into myself.  The comments stung me far more than they should have.  Why do I care if someone thinks I'm a lousy artist?  I don't put a price tag on my paintings or ask anyone to buy them.  They either hang in my foyer or in the homes of my friends and when I hand them over I always tell people that if they really don't like them, they can hang them in their closets.  I will never know the difference.  Perhaps the real insight is that I'm not so tough
after all.  Right now, I'm actually feeling quite fragile.

 

Today, I went to my favourite art store.  They were having a sale on oils and I was running low on paint.  I bought a whole array of colours, four of them in different shades of blue.

The Woman in the Mirror

"To me - old age is always ten years older than I am." - Bernard Baruch

I don't know how it was decided that 65 would be the official age for becoming a senior citizen, but here I am.  It is officially my old age birthday and I couldn't be happier about it.  Aging is the greatest liberator of all time.  I have become more of myself, less concerned about what others think, happier in my own skin, happy in my own company.

For most of my life, I've felt like a misfit.  Don't misunderstand me, I can shape myself to fit in anywhere I need to but I've always sensed that I'm not quite like other people.  When I look back at pictures of myself as a young woman, I see that I was actually quite pretty but I never felt I was pretty in the right way.  I was smart, but spent a lot of years hiding my intellect under a bushel so as not to upset anyone with it.  I was different at a time I didn't want to be different.  I remember a performance appraisal I received early in my career.  I got ranked at the highest performance level.  I did my job exceptionally well but there was criticism.  The comment on the " needs improvement" side of the scorecard was that I needed to try to not be so different.  I asked what that meant but the answer was vague and a bit upsetting.  Essentially I was asked to tone myself down, try not to be so fashionable, so passionate, so enthusiastic, so creative, so hard-working, so me.  It made the other women in my department feel uncomfortable that they couldn't out-best me in a competition I didn't know we were in. I bought a few gray suits and tried to keep my head low.  They didn't like that either.  I moved on.

I've had a wonderful career, but even at the peak of my success, there was criticism - not of my performance but of me.  My boss at the bank didn't like that I was too soft.  My boss at the entertainment company didn't like that I was too hard.  I was the same me at both places.  I stopped trying to adjust my sails to suit the winds I could not control and I went into business for myself.  I've done okay.  I don't make the kind of money I used to but I am always me, even if at times, I am my own harshest critic.  I kept my professional edge - makeup on, hair coloured and styled and nails polished. I ditched my suits for the dresses I've always preferred and when my back could no longer withstand it, I traded in my four inch heels for flats. I took a number of health hits through the years, lost some parts, gained some too.  I am plump and getting shorter.  My body is a myriad of scars from multiple surgeries and four months into Covid19, with my business in a coma, my now gray hair is cascading down my back.

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about who I am.  Things that seemed important before, barely make it to my radar screen these days.  There are no mornings of checking my roots to see when I need a touch up, no careful applications of cover-up to camouflage the circles under my eyes. Beyond brushing my hair and my teeth, there is seldom even a glance in the mirror.  I don't remember the last time I painted my nails.  I've stopped trying to fit.

A couple of days ago, just having risen from bed in the early morning, I walked into my bathroom and out of the corner of my eye, caught my reflection in the mirror. It startled me for a moment.  I wondered who the gray haired, unvarnished, older lady who stared back at me was.  She almost looked feral, her face brown from the sun, her hair untamed.  I moved in a little closer and looked straight into her eyes.  A moment later, I smiled with the joy of recognition.  Oh, that's my old friend, Jackie.  I think I like her.