Today I stood beneath this lilac tree and breathed deeply. The scent of the blossoms and the damp woody smell of twigs and branches whisked me, magic carpet-like, from present to past.

The destination today, as it always is when I smell lilacs, lily of the valley, or the sharp, sweet scent of roses growing in the sunshine, was my Granny’s flower garden.

A few years ago, one of my writing courses included a focus on poetry, and when we learned to write sonnets, I composed this one. There are tons of better–written sonnets in the world, but not many better memories. I lost Granny when I was just 10 ½  years old, but it’s incredible how often I still feel her love.

GRANNY’S GARDEN

Her finger tickles Johnny-Jump-Up’s chin,

To Black-Eyed-Sue she smiles and nods her head.

A garden fence surrounds the plants within;

And soft dark earth provides them all a bed.

***

White Easter lilies growing in a pot,

Perfumed lilacs, poppy’s orange-red blaze,

Soft peonies and shy forget-me-nots,

Transport me back: I wish I could remain.

***

I hear her gentle voice, and see her smile,

While showing me a dainty bleeding heart.

This is all I have, and for awhile

I feel again how hard it was to part.

***

But blooming rose, wild violets growing free,

Are all it takes to bring her back to me

 

 

 

Although this post is public, these words come from a private place of profound sadness and loss.

Several years ago, Vaana joined the Emergency Department, where I worked, as a baby nurse. Through the mentorship of established RN preceptors, she became a “grown-up nurse”, capable and competent, and, most of all, kind. Suddenly, tragically, we lost her just a few days ago. Since then, I’ve read dozens of memorial tributes from those who were once my ED family, but this one seems to summarize her best:

I can’t believe we lost this beautiful person who came to us as a baby nurse, who demonstrated such kindness and poise, who cared for others and then went home and cared for her family. She was loving and patient with all of us, she noticed people, she listened to people. She was just plain good. ❤️

Those beautiful, smiling eyes.

“Be kind. You never know what kind of battle someone is fighting.”

The hospital lowered the flags in Vaana’s honour.

At the moment, I have no more to write. I just want this here so I can remember.

Before anyone comes after me, air-playing a little violin with a tune that mimics a self-pitying whine, I will acknowledge that I am preaching to the choir. What I’m about to tell you is a lived experience by millions this year, so this is just my small story.

Continue reading ““When I was young we got real winters.” ❄️” →

Today I heard Leonard Cohen’s Anthem sung by the Bella Nove choir in Uxbridge, Ontario. Later, I looked up the lyrics so I could read them slowly and thoughtfully, and Google led me to this article in QUARTZ. The quote in the article’s title has been used often and in many circumstances, and I have always liked it. I found the words in the article that follows both interesting and moving, so I share them with you.

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“There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in: The story of Leonard Cohen’s “Anthem”

Continue reading ““That’s How the Light Gets In”” →

It is October 31 in southern Ontario, and I mowed the lawn today. Throughout October and into November, we use the lawn tractor every few days to mulch leaves, trying to stay ahead of the autumn deluge.

Every time I mow, no matter the season,  there is a particular place on the far side of the back lawn that conjures a memory as clear as a photograph. Whenever I make a turn in that spot, away from the woods, looking back toward the driveway, I smell dampness and feel a chill.

* * * * *

It’s early evening in the spring of 1998, and my young husband is one horrible year into a brain tumour journey. Our teenage children are away, and for reasons I no longer recall, I have decided to mow the lawn after supper. The grass is long, but the job could wait another day. Looking back, I suspect I need to be alone, and this is the only way I can do it. The day has been beautiful, but it’s turning chilly, so I take my husband outside in a wheelchair, bundled in a cozy comforter and wearing a winter touque on his head. I’m nearly finished with the hour and a half of mowing — having stopped periodically to check on him and move him close to where I’m working – when I make that turn. I’m freezing cold, and there, across the lawn, I see my tall, once-athletic husband, huddled beneath his blanket. He stares into the deepening dusk, seemingly oblivious, when I wave at him. When I get close, I notice that his teeth are chattering despite the puffy comforter.

That is where the memory ends, and perhaps I have selectively chosen not to recall the work that follows: putting the tractor away, getting him into the house and perhaps into a warm shower, then ready for bed, all while longing for my own steaming shower, and some comfortable PJs.

* * * * *

When I get to the front yard, a happier memory is waiting for me. Continue reading “Mowing / Mulching / Kindness” →

“Old age is like a plane flying through a storm. Once you’re aboard, there’s nothing you can do.”

Golda Meir

My father was the only boy in a family of girls, smack-dab in the middle, with two older sisters and two who were younger.

I grew up surrounded by these aunties, taking for granted the warmth of their presence as the young usually do. Like everyone else raising families and supporting them, Dad and his sisters were busy, but when children left home, and careers wound down, a wonderful thing happened. They moved from being siblings who got along well and turned into fast friends.

Three lived in one area, and two were a couple of hours away, so regular get-togethers were doable. They seemed to lunch often, and those of you who knew them will not be surprised by this.

I suspect they were on a first-name basis with the wait staff at Anna Mae’s Restaurant.

Continue reading “And Then There Was One” →

OCTOBER 2007

A pressing need to get away? Check. A friend in Richmond, Virginia, who’d have me for a few days? Check. A supportive husband, a cheap flight out of Buffalo, and an unexpected adventure? Check, check, and . . . whaaat?

 Autumn-blue skies and bright sunshine made the drive from my home, north of Toronto, to the airport in Buffalo, NY, pleasant, and security clearance went without a hitch. While waiting to board my flight to Detroit, where I’d get a connecting flight to Richmond, I settled in to read and relax, but the luxury lasted less than ten minutes. A flight delay was announced, and my shoulders tightened with each subsequent announcement. When we boarded more than an hour late, I knew catching the connecting flight would be a challenge.

Sure enough, upon landing, there were only ten minutes to spare, and Gate C14, where I needed to be, could have been anywhere.

“Go to Gate 40,” said a helpful employee, pointing into the distance. “When you get there, turn right, and Gate C14 is just down that hall.”

Good directions? For sure. Achievable in the allotted time? Doubtful. I was at Gate 12, and Gate 40 may as well have been in the next state. I had no choice but to run my first marathon.

Continue reading “The Plans Looked So Easy on Paper” →

Today is my birthday — the Sunday of a Thanksgiving weekend. As I write, the day is nearly over. I’ve had a nice warm bath, the tea kettle is heating, and I’m reliving what is probably my most memorable birthday.

I come from a family of five girls. Four of us live in Ontario, and one of us lives in Ohio. Like most families, it used to be far easier to have full family get-togethers when there were just our parents, us, a couple of spouses, and maybe a grandchild or two.

Now, there are four generations, and the ages range from a nice crop of one to three-year-olds, right up to Dad, who is about to turn ninety.

A few months ago, my American sister pitched the idea of having her whole family — fifteen in all — come for a visit over Canadian Thanksgiving. Our children and grandchildren were told of the plan, and it was an instant hit. Text messages shot back and forth, and accommodations were researched, but nothing quite suited. Then, one of my sisters had a stroke of brilliance. Long story short, we rented a small camp near Stouffville, Ontario, for the weekend.

Accommodations nailed down, it was time for the three of us who live closest to start planning. If you think I’m a take-charge planner, you haven’t met the two sisters I was working with. Meal plans and grocery lists took shape, and a myriad of details followed. We each kept a running list of the extras.

A couple of days before the event, a Costco run was undertaken in the company of about a thousand other people, also eager to get their Thanksgiving goodies. While I navigated the grocery list, my intrepid younger sister pushed the giant cartful of food. There were three cases of pop, a bag of milk, and several frozen pizzas wedged onto the bottom shelf alone, and with that weight, she should have been wearing a “Caution: Wide Turns” sign.

Thanksgiving weekend finally came, and the Ohio relatives arrived on Friday afternoon. They planned to stay at the camp while the locals went home for the night.

Some folks came and went according to travel time and distance, but on Saturday, over forty of us spent a glorious fall day together, culminating in a full turkey dinner.

Continue reading “When Celebrations Combine” →