New landscape

This year has changed the landscape of what we knew to be ours. Neighborhoods became unrecognizable. Shops windows darkened. Empty streets with only a scattering of school children. A division of those named as Essential Workers and those who normally populated the crowded city buses. The odd sensation of knowing everyone is in their homes, unless ordered or needed elsewhere.

How much I am looking forward to the New Year. Vaccines and anti-viral medications here you come! To all scientists, health care workers, and politicians willing to make hard decisions, my deep-felt thanks.

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.   

Early morning

Early morning snow fall. The first this year. The end of the year. What a year! One of stillness and waiting.

Hadley Story Corner: #14 The Buckley Family’s First Home (Lia)

(Buckley family, two brothers missing, Grandpa B back right, sister lower right, mother in the middle)

Grandpa Buckley was a very stern and bitter man. Uncle Peter said he became bitter because he spent his whole life making sure his mother and all his siblings (they were 10 siblings, all boys but the one sister) rose out of the poverty they were born into.

We were told that Grandpa’s family immigrated to Canada during the Potato Famine in Ireland. I am not so sure that it is so since 1845-1849 seems a bit early. He said they came over at the end of the 1800s.

In all likelihood, saying they came over during the Potato Famine, was another way of saying they came over because they were poor. Being poor was a stigma for many Irish immigrants, no matter when they came over and under what circumstances. 

The first house he and his family lived in when they arrived in Montreal was in the countryside. It was only the most rudimentary of houses; no running water, windows without glass, only shutters to keep out the cold, and far away from their neighbours.

As he became older, he glorified those times. He’d asked Pat to drive him and grandma out to the countryside to take a look at the landmarks of his childhood. Pat was always puzzled about this. Grandpa, someone who very rarely had anything positive to say about anyone or anything, would spend his time in the car reminiscing about the good times they had back then.  

Good tidings

Tidings of comfort and joy

Now more than ever welcomed, 

Celebrated, and warmed in the 

Palm of my hand, letting each

Note of wonder gently rub 

Away today's dark morning.

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.   

Long nights, short days

 The winter solstice has come and gone. Each long night a little less so. Each day more day.

To dear friends

Each day a candle, or two,

My thoughts wander in and out

Like my inner inbox, popping up 

Notifying, collecting, prioritizing,

And finding the best folder to 

Place the worries of health,

Memories of Xmas past,

That ever so thin thread of

Yearning for peace and

Kindness amongst all men.

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.   

Artifacts

Numbers and charts and death notices

Those who have become ill

Those who have recovered

Those who never will

Collectively we live each day

Weighted by fear and acceptance 

Each life a leaf pressed between

Pages and pages of living history

An artifact asking us to notice

And treasure, for eternity to come. 

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.   

My life's mottos

 

My three life mottos…

§ there is no excuse for bad behavior (learnt from my parents)

§ beginners are the best teachers (learnt parenting two exceptionally bright kids)

§ get comfortable with discomfort (learnt from life)

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.   

Early morning tea with Bach

It is a dark early winter morning

My weekend sits deep in my

Sleepy limbs and cotton batten brain

Bach winds around the Advent

Candlelight, as I turn my computer on.

Snow falling soundlessly

"Snow falling soundlessly in the middle of the night will always fill my heart with sweet clarity."     

Novala Takemoto

Winter has come. The days are short and so I have hunkered down and I am trying to embrace my inner hygge. 

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.   

Working at home contentedly

the christmas lights across 
the street, lift my spirits
every time I look up from
my monitor of spreadsheets
with numbered columns
and razor precision... I see
a bundle of fairy lights, all
disordered and joyously free

Hadley Story Corner: #13 Us Three Girls In Grenada (Lia)

Grenada is the only place I have know my whole life. It is the place my heart sings to when I think the word home. It makes it all the harder now Dave and Pat’s house is sold. Thankfully, there are friends that anchor me there no matter where I am.

When we were living in Venezuela, Dave was inland for long stretches of time. There was also much political unrest at the end of the 1950s and early 1960s. 

So, Pat would come to Grenada with the three girls to spend time with friends.

 

In my memory, we spent every day playing at Grand Anse Beach.

 

We would take a picnic basket of sandwiches. These always had a certain taste (soggy) and smell (mixture of warm tomatoes and sweaty cheese). To this day, whenever I make a picnic for travel… never sandwiches.

 

Some times we would spend the afternoon at the Silversands Hotel. Even though we didn’t live there, we were allowed to use their pool. I vaguely remember the women drinking cocktails to while the time away.

 

Years later, once we had moved from Venezuela to California and then to Montreal, we would go down every winter to spend some weeks with our Grenadian friends. We would stay at the Ross Point Inn, which was run by the Hopkin family. It is there I learned to love callaloo soup with soft bread rolls and crab meat salad.

The weeks and months we spent in Grenada over the years are precious memories to me.

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.   

Bamboo forest

(bamboo forest)

I worked for many years as a consultant. To work successfully with a client, it was not only necessary to know what their goals were, but also, I needed insight into how they think. If both aspects of our work were clear, the work was fruitful.

There was one client, an entrepreneur, who believed they were a "free spirit". They did not welcome discussions about internet technology or social media presence, financial plans, or setting long term goals requiring rigorous effort. They believed their business would be successful if their approach was holistic, organic, and it should grow out of their creative efforts.

The crazy thing was, they hired me so they could define a new business plan and mission statement. Their current business was not viable in a changing market.

Every suggestion to create a business model or visualise work processes, was swatted aside. It was frustrating. So, I asked them why they initially decided to work with me.

The answer was because I was an engineer. Everyone knows engineers are practical and solution-oriented. They wanted what I knew, but they did not want to loose their creativity. They did not want to deal with complexities and constraints. 

I told them the reason I could help them was not because I was an engineer, but because I was once a ballet dancer. It is through ballet that I learned the freedom of form and expression within formable constrictions. It is like learning to run, jump and fly in a bamboo forest. After this, we managed to progress.

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.        

Going in circles

 

I am often confused these last weeks and months with the numbers going up and lockdown measures not seeming to work... I walk around our neighbourhood, draw mandalas, and daily practice kindness and compassion. Sometimes I still feel as if I am going in circles. Other times, perhaps more rare, I find the comfort I am seeking while travelling in those circles.   

Desensitizing my inner self

The first time we went into lockdown, I avoided any contact with people. Since we live in the city, that meant going grocery shopping at 7 am when the store opened. Going for walks at times or in weather where not many people were around. It wasn't really so difficult. 

What happened after a few months, is that I started to get anxious whenever anyone was near me. Also, I started getting really upset to see people disregarding any or all the social distancing guidelines. Situations when someone would bump me aside so they could reach over my shoulder to get some spaghetti sauce from the shelf in front of me. Or, men not wearing their face mask properly, just resting it on their chins in case some store person came by. I could go on for a long time... what I am trying to say is that I became ultra-vigilant about social distancing practices. 

It became such that I would save these stories of all the dissidents for my return home and then tell them to my husband at length. As you can imagine, this was not healthy. 

Eventually, the numbers started to go down. So, I started going out on the streets when other people were there and "misbehaving". I felt that regular exposure would be a good form of desensitizing myself. The theory being it would be easier to learn to be less anxious when the numbers were down; when there really wasn't such a big risk. 

Thank heavens I did this. The numbers are now unfortunately very high. The hospital IC units are full. The health care personnel tired. Still, I go outdoors every day and move to the side when I see someone not wearing a mask properly, or I am more likely to tell the person crowding me to please wait. I am once again someone who tries to be civil to strangers. I am endeavouring to take care of myself and my fellowman in small ways. 

As my husband says, "This is a social experiment and not a race that any of us can win".   

Embracing your inner hippy

Me: What is a quote you follow for living your life to the fullest?

Friend: Sometimes the dreams that come through are the dreams you never knew you had.

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.

Day-to-day work (venn diagram)

 

Over the years a practice

Of good intentions and 

A belief in a shared purpose

Has bridged 38 years of 

Work at various jobs and with

Different people, but still

Only one belief... carpe diem.

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.   

Hadley Story Corner: #12 Grandpa Hadley A Pioneer (Lia)

Grandpa Hadley cutting a neighbour’s hair in his back garden 

This story is not so much a story, but some ramblings about how Grandpa Hadley was a pioneer or role model for all of us who aspire to reducing our ecological footprint. 

He and grandma lived in such a thoughtful way. Grandpa gardened and grew vegetables. 

Here’s a photo of Auntie Barbara in Oxford Mills in the spring, collecting the tree sap to make maple syrup with Grandpa.

  

He also made furniture such as tables and lamps and, as you can see in the photo, his own garden furniture.

Thank you, (cc) Andy Blackwood for your music. 

Quilt comfort

My grandmother used to sew and crochet quilts. She would make one or two a year. She donated these quilts for her church's yearly Christmas bazaar. Her quilts would often "find" a buyer (usually someone of the Ladies Auxiliary Committee) before the bazaar began. We would tease her about how popular her quilts were even though no one at the bazaars ever saw them.

Hadley Story Corner: #11 Hadley Halloween (Karen)

(Grandpa, Barbara, David, Grandma, Gordon)

The Hadley family used to live in a beautiful house on Lakebreeze Drive in Montreal. Not only did the Hadley family live on this street, but two other houses were own by relatives as well. 

Karen tells a short story of what Dave and his siblings would do for Halloween to scare the children who came trick or treating. 

Thank you, (cc) Andy Blackwood for your music.

Hadley Story Corner #10: Easter Hats (Lia)

(Kim, Lia, (I think my friend) Arlene, and Karen with out Easter hats on)

A spring breeze on Maundy Thursday 

Then the holy palm frond on Sunday

Which I hold with wonder until 

We arrive home for lunch. I bring the

Now brownish dry frond up to my bedroom 

With my children’s bible, whose pages are 

Never worn enough to make me feel holy.

Then another, or is it the next, Sunday

Easter hats that look so very very lovely

When lying on our beds next to our 

Easter dresses, which our mother sewed 

On a machine taken out of her bedroom 

Cupboard to sew wonder and beauty for

The procession down the church aisle

To a pew in the front, though never the first.

How the church smells of everything

Old and new. Mothballs wafting through

the incandescence and washed souls.

Halleluiah, it is the altar boys’ day-to-shine

They start out so bright, swishing the incense

Down on knees, heads bowed, straight backed.

Yet, like our Easter hats that begin to pinch horribly,

No matter how the boys try, the priest loses his

Patience and sends them withering looks

Sometimes, thrillingly, he swats one across 

Their head when he thinks no one is watching.

The poem above is missing the whole point of Easter. Which is, of course, the Easter Egg Hunt. Pat used to make an Easter Egg Hunt that all children in the neighborhood were allowed to participate in.

What I love about the picture above is, first, we are all wearing petticoats under our dresses. Secondly, take close notice our homemade Easter baskets. You can see that they are actually paper lunch bags with some coloured construction paper taped around them and an air balloon hanging from the side.

Tender mercies and HLG

 

A few years ago, I took a course called, The Science of Happiness. It was a wonderful learning experience. There was a lot told about positive psychology and the meaning of daily rituals. My grandmother taught me one of her daily rituals and even though I probably have mention it a few times over the last years I would like to mention it one more time.

Every night before my grandmother went to bed, she counted, what she called, her tender mercies. She would think of three acts of kindness she had given those around her and also three acts of kindness given to her by others.

I also have a daily ritual I do most mornings before starting work, HLG. I write down the one thing (highlight) I really wish to accomplish that day, the one thing in all likelihood I will not be able to do (let go), and finally one thing that at that very moment I am grateful for (gratitude). 

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.  

Feeling grown up

 

A friend answered the question "What experience or moment made you feel like you were finally a grown up?" so....

I would like this answer to be more profound or quirky, but not having to rely on a monthly allowance from my parents felt like I was finally a "real" grown up. I know equating financial independence with growing up is a bit of a tired narrative, but I didn't see it as a "final step of liberation" from them. Rather, previously I saw money (or lack thereof) as a trigger for my anxiety, making this a topic I never wanted to talk or learn about.

Finally having some of my own money coincided with so many other "grown up" developments such as paying rent and bills and student loans, getting my first job, etc. And yet, just being in change of my own money, organizing my budget, saving up and learning about financial intelligence has made me feel more grown up and in-charge of my life.

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.   

A friend's parents' philosophy for raising children...

 

... Don’t be one of the sheep - think for yourself and don’t be mediocre.

This is how a friend of mine parents raised her. It is strange to think that at one time the idea of "don't be one of the sheep" was a warning parents told their children. How do you measure mediocracy? How to avoid it?  

So many Millennials experience such anxiety and depression. Was this the first seed that started to form their expectations that they had to be perfect and ahead of the crowd?

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.   

What my mom told me...

Me: What did your mom tell you over and over about life?

Friend: Life is no picnic.

Me: What do you tell your son about life?

Friend: Life is a picnic!

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.   

Hadley Story Corner: #9 Pat’s first communion (Lia)

Grandma Buckley went to mass at least once a day, often more than once depending upon the holidays. As such, Pat, uncle John, and uncle Peter were raised in a very strict catholic tradition.

This picture of Pat on her First Communion, is touching in so many ways. She looks so proud, but also so scared, yet really amazing. I wish we had asked her what she felt. Did any of you talk to her about it?

The other touching thing, is her communion dress and veil. They were handmade. The question is whether they were handed down from one generation to another, in the manner it was with baptism attire. Who would have worn it before she did?

Or, did grandma make those clothes for her? How could she afford to do so considering they were still very poor at that time? How important the occasion must have meant? Grandma spent so much time and money on making something for Pat that was only to be worn once.

Lastly, please take notice of the gifts Pat received. Her first piece of jewellery, a gold necklace with a cross on the end. Her own children’s bible and a rosary held in her gloved hands.

This is the only studio photograph I know of with Pat in it. She would have been seven years old at the time. The center of attention. The belle of the ball. A role she continued to embrace throughout her life.  

Hadley Story Corner: #8 Childhood Memories of Venezuela (Karen)

Today’s story is told by Karen about childhood memories in Venezuela. We moved from California to Venezuela in 1956.

I can’t believe I managed to find a photo of Dave and Karen inland traveling in Dave’s VW Beetle!

This was the most favourite car he ever had. He would often tell of how he could take that car over every terrain, even through streams and rivers. I think this is what Karen is referring to when she says they drove through something with water on both sides.

Karen ends her story with us getting robbed. This was a very central experience in our family.

I wonder whether that robbery was the impetus for Dave deciding to move away from Venezuela. 

(Lia, Karen, and Kim, 1951 in Venezuela)

Dave was hired by a telephone company who was installing the first telephone system inland. Not only did he go for extended periods of time inland, he also travelled all over South America and the Caribbean. In particular, he loved the times he spent in Cuba.

Since there was a political coup in 1958, they were very troubled times. For this reason, whenever Dave went out into the field, Pat would take the three girls and go any live for those weeks or months in Grenada.

Thank you, (cc) Andy Blackwood for your music. 

Pretty Princess

 

Some things I no longer feel anymore that I have grown up:

• feel sad that my neighborhood bully doesn't like me
• feel overlooked or bossed around by my older sisters
• feel as if I just might be able to fly if the wind was a bit stronger
• feel like a pretty princess who is waiting to be discovered

The last two feelings, I kinda wish I could experience again.

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.   

Autumn into winter

The autumn leaves, the autumn of life

Bright phosphorescent yellows

Turn Halloween orange then burnt

And ever so frail, these last leaves

Tenaciously hold on to the very

Smallest of brittle branches and

This takes my breath away.

How much we want to live

How precious is this moment

Before winter, when we are

So hopeful that what comes next

Will be gentle and kind, a time to

Faithfully test our ability to survive all.

Though sometimes, I do question

My ability or common sense to hold

Tight to those small brittle branches,

To venture on... one step at a time, 

With love and affection, every single day

Is one more chance to get it right.

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.   

Hadley Story Corner: #7 Our Dog Bonnie (Kim)

  

Kim tells the story of Bonnie, the only dog we ever had. She was a Welsh Corgi and she lived a long and good life.

 

Kim talks about how the sisters rivalled to give Bonnie the most attention possible.

Yet, you can see why. Bonnie was very cute.

Here is Daniel and Dave giving Bonnie more attention years later after they had moved to Grenada. Dave’s way of doing petting Bonnie was scratching her sides with his toe.

Thank you, (cc) Andy Blackwood for your music.

Loneliness and Aloneness

Having left home at 14 and lived on my own until 32 (when my son was born), I have experienced many of the nuanced feelings of loneliness and aloneness single-hood provides. The full gambit... despairing that I would never belong anywhere or to anyone... to sitting on the bow of a boat crossing an ocean and blissfully, joyously, knowing how large the world is and insignificant my concerns. 

What a journey those nearly 20 years of single-hood were. Looking back on them, I am thankful for them. They taught me much, in particular, the valuable lesson about the balance between self-sufficiency and vulnerability. Sometimes I wonder what past life I must have had to come to this world with this lesson to learn.

I am not lonely. I am alone in my being. All the while, forever connected to my family and friends.

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.  

Hadley Story Corner: #6 Dave and his boats (Kim)

 

Dave fell in love with sailing at a very young age. He lived on a street that ended at the shore of Lac St. Louis, in Quebec. He and his siblings spent many a day playing in and on those waters.

Kim tells a wonderful story about all the boats he captained over the years. I wish Dave knew about Kim living on her boat in Gibson. I think he would have gotten a kick out of knowing this. 

Here is the boat Dave and Gordon built. He told me once that it was one of the first “kits” that you could buy. Grandpa Hadley was a carpenter and engineer, so he probably did a lot of the work in building something that stayed afloat.

 

I love this photo for two reasons. The first is the relaxed no-care-in-the-world pose Dave has. It didn’t matter if this was a sunny Sunday afternoon sail or in the middle of a regatta… he was always in his element. Secondly, it looks as though someone told him to put on some sunscreen and instead of doing it properly, he just slathers on a generous amount around is forehead and cheeks.

 

Babs and Uncle Norris with Pat and Dave on their first Tiempo. Dave and Norris are obviously looking for something, but what can it be?

The Nestucca. It was owned by someone Dave knew (not sure how). Dave would go down to Seattle early summer and help the owner bring it up to Vancouver.

Their deal was that the owner and his family would have to boat for June and July. Dave and Pat would then go up to where the owner left the boat and take the boat for August and a bit of September. They were to return the boat to Vancouver and then the owner would take it back to Seattle for winter.

The owner and Dave shared the costs of the upkeep. Dave thought this was a great deal.

 

Dave teaching (maybe) David how to use one of his navigation devises.

 

Dave at the helm. Lia at the bow ready to drop the anchor. Not sure who is on the winch, might be Kim or Chris Mast. What a lovely lovely boat that was!

 

The wonderful Otter One. Dylan catching a fish. Notice the absence of life vest. Notice Dave’s foot resting on the door fame. He is obviously sleeping or reading, but not really overlooking what was going-on on deck.

Thank you, (cc) Andy Blackwood for your music.

Sunshine coast

 

Certain amount of irony in today's title. If any of you have visited northern Germany in autumn and winter (sometimes spring and summer too), you will have probably noticed the prevalence of grey stormy skies and cold winds.

If you ask someone "How are you doing?", they will often answer with their opinion of the weather. Which puzzles me. It is as if you can or cannot be happy only if the weather is in sync with you.

One of my now best friends, who moved 10 years ago to Germany from Cameroon, first question to me when we first met was "What's this about the weather?". I told her that it was a German's way of doing small talk. Her response, "That is so stupid. What good conversation can come out of talking about weather?". 

It is true that all good conversations usually start with a good dose of small talk. Yet, in Germany, small talk is considered a superficial, and thus not useful, form of communication. So, in the end, many are left with only the weather to fill up the void.  

Another quilt

Another quilt... I think drawing them taps into my engineering soul. Piece by piece. Patter upon Pattern.

 

I am starting another project today, "Growing Up & Growing Old" (gugo for short). Like the Hadley Story Corner, the end date is undetermined. Even the level of progress is questionable. One thing, is that whatever finds its way here, is only a first draft. Eventually, I would like to make it into some sort of visual book.

* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.