Life is so Daily

Out of Boxes

Posted on by Joy / 6 Comments

 

You know those forms you have to fill out where you check the box in front of your age?

[ ]  20-30

[ ]   31-44

[ ]   45-54

[ ]   55+

 

Today I am checking the last box.

I’m out of boxes.

 

My thoughts progress from mild surprise, to contemplation, to downright rage:

Huh. No more boxes. I wonder what this means? Is life as I know it now over? Do I really have nothing to look forward to anymore? Who the heck decided this would be the last box, anyway? What is wrong with people? Don’t they know there’s life after 55?

 And why am I getting lumped in with the 90-year-olds!!!?

 

I take a deep breath, wipe the frown lines from my forehead. (Because, after all, now that I’m old I don’t need to encourage any more wrinkles up there)

I look at that checklist again. I have always had a kind of love-hate relationship with checklists.

I love making them.

We will do this and then we will do this and this, and when all the things are done, life will be grand. Falalalala lala   LA.   LA!

 

Once the checklists are made, however, my life has a certain stress until everything on the list is checked off. Many times I’ve made a list for the day, only to come to the realization (as I work like a mad scientist, trying to get it all done) that the list I’ve made for the day will actually take me a week, maybe more, to complete.

Because, I can make the list, but I can’t always predict how the list will go.

One of the things on my list could be as simple as

[ ]  Wash the dishes

Only, I didn’t know that the cat would throw up all over my new couch; that the dryer would conk out, forcing me to hang the laundry outside; and that chatty old Aunt Marg would drop over for tea.

I LOVE chatting with chatty old Aunt Marg. But you see, I have a list.

 

Over the years, through my

[x] 20-30’s

[x] 31-44’s

[x] 45-54’s

I’ve had to learn that lists aren’t the be-all and the end-all.

Sometimes you have to make room between the lines.

 

I look at the list and mentally check the box,

[x] 55+

Then the AHA moment comes …

Hey, the list is done! All checked off. Stress over!

And look at all the time I have left to do the fun things. Let’s see …

 Bucket List

  1. Sky diving …

 

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Oh Canada

Posted on by Joy / 6 Comments

 

 

We camped.

That’s what we did every summer when I was growing up.

My birthday is at the end of July and I don’t remember many birthdays at home. Our temporary home was a used tent trailer.

 

I didn’t know it at the time, but my parents were giving my brothers and me a priceless treasure. We traveled from coast to coast. And as I look back on it now, I understand where my love of this great country – Canada – comes from. It comes from those summers of traveling with my family.

 

Every year, Dad would plot our trips. He usually started a month in advance. I remember him at the kitchen table with maps in front of him, and that camping reference book – I think it was from CAA. It listed campgrounds, how many sites they had, how much they charged, whether or not they had flush toilets and showers, etc.

 

Back in those days we couldn’t go online to check it out or to register. We didn’t call ahead. We just showed up, expecting a good spot. And we usually got it. I remember only one time when we arrived to a completely full campground, and we set up in a gravel pit instead. I also remember many times that Dad would leave our cash payment (anywhere from $6 – $12 over the years) in an unlocked wooden box when we left. I doubt if you could do that nowadays. (Mom tells me that our first year of camping we bought a National Park sticker for $7 and the total camping fee we had all summer was $20.)

 

Mom didn’t relish getting ready for camping. When we got older, my brothers and I had to pack our own clothing, and entertainment for car travel, but she had her same lists from year to year … everybody’s clothing, toiletries, kitchen gadgets, linens, bedding, pots and pans, games, first aid, food. And she spent about a week shopping, gathering, and packing. But she did enjoy the camping once all of that was taken care of.

 

I am so grateful they took the time for this because as I look back now, I understand. I understand it was a great undertaking, but also a great privilege to experience my country. I understand now that not everybody has this chance. When you’re a kid you just assume everybody does what you do. But I’ve learned that not everyone grew up with the amazing opportunity I had to absorb my own vast country. Thanks, Mom & Dad.

 

What wonderful memories we made:

Barkerville, BC

 

Panning for gold in Barkerville, BC

Drumheller, AB

Riding a dinosaur in Drumheller, AB

Visiting the RCMP training grounds in Regina, SK

Touring the International Peace Gardens in Boissevain, MB

Feeling the spray of Niagara Falls, ON

Roaming the halls of the Parliament Buildings in Ottawa, ON

Exploring Old Quebec City and the Plains of Abraham, QC

 

International Peace Gardens

Watching the Reversing Falls Rapids in Saint John, NB

Climbing Citadel Hill in Halifax, NS

Marching at the Fortress of Louisbourg on Cape Breton Island, NS

Pretending at Green Gables, PEI

 

These were fun tourist attractions full of history and fascination. But more than that, I learned to appreciate the geography of this wonder-inspiring country.

Columbia Ice Fields, AB/BC

I’ve clambered over the smooth stoned Pacific coast and listened to waves lapping the shore. I’ve wandered the red sand beaches of Prince Edward Island and breathed in healing salty air. I’ve played in cool lakes that were so clear I could see the bottom through four feet of water. I’ve run screaming through long grassy fields, scaring up grasshoppers, squinted across sun-skimmed ice fields, and splashed in hot springs surrounded by mountains whose crowns disappeared into clouds.

All before I grew up and left home.

What a gift!

Rushing River Provincial Park, ON

 

And what a treasure, this country.

Oh Canada! I am so blessed to call it my home and native land.

 

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Reflections

Posted on by Joy / 10 Comments

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I was inserting a pacifier into my newborn grandson’s mouth, I caught my mother’s hand doing the same in the reflection of the mirror opposite him.

Myriads of thoughts happened in that instant.

But the first one, as I glanced down at my hands, was, Are these my mother’s hands?

Then, Yes they are, in more ways than one.

Hands that were once smooth and unfurrowed, now show creases and blue-veined rumples. Delicate fragility hides the strength they represent, and the hard things they have encountered. From the feather-light stroke on a newborn’s cheek, to the unyielding grip on a defiant teenage girl’s wrist, to the lively bustle of caring for the grown girl’s children.

By the time I leave my daughter’s home in this quaint Manitoba lake-town, I will have been here five weeks. Five weeks of cradling, changing, pacifying, and getting to know newborn twins. Five weeks of cuddling and entertaining their beyond-energetic three-year-old brother. Five weeks of filling in the gaps – those things newborn moms & dads need help with or don’t have time for. Doubly so when the baby is twins. Things like emptying the dishwasher, filling the dishwasher, folding laundry, sterilizing bottles, wiping counters, dressing the preschooler, or running back to the living room to quickly tidy up as we’re all walking out the door for an outing.

Besides the busy-hands type of help, there’s the being alert kind of help. Like understanding the half spoken sentences that trail off into nothingness from a foggy, sleep deprived mom or reminding her that her coffee cup is still on top of the vehicle.

All these things my mother did for me when I was the sleep deprived mom of newborns.

Life has come full circle.

These are the thoughts that flitted across my mind as I caught my mother’s hand reflected in the mirror opposite my grandson.

 

I am my mother’s reflection

Reflecting back at me

My hand reflecting hers

In the reflection that I see,

Causing me to reflect

On reflections.

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Life is so Daily

Sensible Shoes

Posted on by Joy / 8 Comments

 

Dr. T looks at me seriously and says, “You should start wearing hi-tops.”

It takes a few seconds for this “pretty-shoes” loving girl to grasp the concept. I imagine Converse basketball shoes (vintage 1970’s) on my feet. The kind I have never, in my entire life, even thought about wearing.

 

 

I never hung out with the high school jocks. I was always on the music end of the school. The only time I even entered the gym was for enforced – excuse me – mandatory Phys. Ed., or when the school band had to play for an event.

 

And once, for the Tea & Fashion Show, where we modeled our projects from sewing class for mothers, grandmothers, and boyfriends.

 

 

I remember it now …

Silver tea service, dainties, serviettes – not napkins.

Striding to the end of the runway, slipping off the jacket of my sky blue 3-piece suit and swinging it over my shoulder just before doing a pivot turn.

I remember clearly the shoes I wore that day: Sandal wedges, strappy leather that buckled around my ankle. That fit my feet perfectly.

I loved those shoes …

 

But I digress.

 

I watch Dr. T lift the cuff of his pant leg to display his own dull brown hi-tops, and I feel my vanity take a nose-dive.

 

Shoes have always been a passion of mine.

 

And weak ankles have always been an impediment lurking around the corner.

 

Now, I’ve twisted my ankle one time too many and Dr. T, foot specialist, sits in front of me speaking quietly and matter-of-factly. Telling me that, besides the orthotics and the ankle wrap I’ve become accustomed to, and short of the surgery that is not very successful anyway, hi-tops are a great way to support weak ankles and combat the pain.

 

On the drive home I feel like Snoopy sitting on top of his doghouse in aviator cap, red scarf, and goggles. Fist pumping the air.

 

“Curse you, weak ankles!”

 

Against my wishes, I have been relegated to the world of sensible shoes.**

 

Some are born to sensible shoes, some achieve sensible shoes, and some have sensible shoes thrust upon them.

 

So this is it then. The end of an era.

No more 3-inch stilettos (seriously, when was the last time I even tried on stilettos? 20 years ago?).

No more wedges, or pumps, or cute open-toed with bows on top.

 

 

No more brand-new-Broadway-dance-type-shoes-in-my-closet, still unworn.

Sigh. I don’t even know who to be now. I know I won’t recognize this new hi-top wearing chick.

 

 

In the only time I have for shopping before I leave for a week’s frolic with Little Man, I resign myself to a certain pair of hi-tops because … pink racing stripes.

Then, because it’s buy one get one 50% off, I choose another pair. Suede. Mint green, with matching laces.

 

As the weeks of wearing hi-tops go by I catch myself looking down at my shoes many times a day thinking, who is this person?

 

But my ankle feels better when I’m wearing them and so I concede to Dr. T’s professional advice. He was right.

 

Still, I walk by shoe stores longingly, trying not to let my gaze waft over to the pretty shoe section. Until one day when something in the window catches my eye.

What’s this? Tucked among fur lined wedge boots, chunky combat boots, high-heeled fashion boots … there they are.

Low heeled. Lace-ups. Leather.

And Red.

Could I possibly follow Doctor’s orders AND soothe my vanity?

 

I duck into the shoe store to look for a salesperson.

 

Take THAT, Red Baron!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

** For the purposes of this blog post, the term sensible shoes should be understood to mean low-heeled (or no-heeled) lace-up shoes.

 

All shoe photos credited to Pixabay.com

Pattern: rustyzipper.com

Snoopy: my own photo of a comic.