The Grandma

Many of us remember her from our childhood - that older woman who lived on our street who knew the names of all of the neighborhood kids. She may have baked cookies and handed them out now and then (back in the days before we had to forbid our children to take anything from anyone). She may have taken time to sit and listen to a child rattle on about a whole lot of not very much. Perhaps she had a little dog and would stop so you could pet it when she was out for a walk. She was nice, but she wouldn't hesitate to scold anyone who misbehaved, either.

Remember her? She was the Neighborhood Grandma.

I remember Mrs. Montgomery who lived across the street from us in a brick house. I am not sure how old she was, or if she was a grandma or a mother at all. She was my mom's friend and had known me my whole life. When I was twelve years and we moved away, she gave me a red wallet with the name of my hometown written on it.

Next door to Mrs. Montgomery, lived Mrs. Small. Mrs. Small also lived in a house made of bricks, but it was smaller than Mrs. Montomery's. Oddly enough, in my mind Mrs. Small herself was of a more diminutive stature than her neighbor as well. Hmmm.

It warms me to think of these grandmother-type women who knew me from the time I was born and who, in my mind, assumed the title of Neighborhood Grandma. I am sure that having these woman in the periphery of my life contributed to the sense of security and safety I felt in my neighborhood at all times.

This afternoon after work, I was out in the yard enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. I had geraniums to take out (we winter them), tulip and daffodil bulbs to plant, and winter pansies to put in the ground. They continue to warn us about a harsh winter ahead, but I am not thinking that far ahead. I'm enjoying the here and now.

After I got all of my gardening tools out, I set up the pen for Yorkies so they could enjoy the sunshine with me. No sooner had I deposited the dogs in the pen with a treat and one of their favorite chews, than a batch of children ran over to pet the dogs. One little one in particular caught my attention and made me smile.

Her name is Piper and she lives with her mommy and daddy and older siblings across the street from us. I have known her since she was born too. She's a sweet little one, just a touch older than my grandchildren, with a soft heart for my dogs.

Her mommy followed her across the street and we chatted while I showed Piper how to gently pet the dogs. Eventually, it was time for her to go home and as they walked back across the street I heard snippets of their conversation.

"The grandma let me pet her puppies!" said Piper.

The grandma! Oh I had to smile when I heard her say that!

And I thought, not for the first time, that I think Gerry and I are the oldest couple on the block. We are the neighborhood grandparents!  With this realization comes responsibility. I am going to have to make sure I learn the names of all the children on the street, and which house they belong to. I may even have to start baking cookies again!

The thought that one of these little ones might remember me as their Neighborhood Grandma one day made me smile. Life is like that, isn't it?

Circles within circles like ripples on a pond.

A Ticking Clock

We are heading home today after a wonderful time in Calgary. The "official" reason for our visit this time was to look after our grandson while his parents were away. We are fortunate that our granddaughter and her parents live just twenty minutes away so we have been blessed to have been able to spend time with both of them.

It seems that each time we are hear I hear the faint sound of a ticking clock counting down the minutes until we have to leave. Every day, every hour, every minute, every second we spend here is so precious.

I hear the ticking clock more often these days - even when we are not here.

Perhaps part of the reason is that I will turn fifty-two in a few months and my mom died suddenly at age fifty-five. I can't help but think about her and what dreams and hopes she may have had when she was fifty-two and all that she missed out on.

She adored my children, her grandchildren, as much as I adore my own grandchildren. It breaks my heart that she died so young and did not have the opportunity to see Michael and Laurinda grow up; just as it breaks my heart to consider not having that opportunity with Makiya and Jaxon. It's one of the reasons I started paying more attention to my health, and it's another reason I want to retire early so I can spend more time with them.

Sometimes the sound of the ticking clock is so loud that I forget to stop and enjoy the small, seemingly insignificant, moments that each day brings.

This week I have enjoyed time reading to the grands, playing with them, taking them for walks, and sitting an amazement at how much that have grown and changed in the short time since I saw them last. I have also been blessed to have been able to spend time talking with Laurinda about things that are important to each of us, though those precious moments seem to have been so brief.

I took time to appreciate the beauty of fallen fall leaves, the crunching sound they make when you walk through them, smile at black squirrels running across a yard, laugh as a jack rabbit caught the attention of my grandson, breath in cool morning air, and appreciate the sun on my skin on unseasonably-warm afternoons.

The clock continues to count down; I am filled with gratitude that the moments between each tick-tock are filled with wonder and beauty and family.

Lavender

Yesterday I was in the garden harvesting the lavender. It smelled like sweltering carefree summer afternoons; it smelled like childhood; it smelled like love.

As I knelt beside the flower bed and plucked the scented blossoms, I took a journey in my mind.

The first person I met who was biologically related to me was my aunt Esther. She was a quiet and caring woman who told me many times that "you are a part of this family".

In the years that I knew Esther before she passed away she gave me little things that an aunt might give her niece like freshly baked bread, a ceramic figure she had made, a crocheted afgan, and a little container of lavender.

I am sorry to say that I don't know whatever happened to that container of lavender. Sometime, in one of my moves since then, it has been left behind.

Yesterday afternoon as the hot sun beat down on me as I plucked lavender from my own garden I resolved in my mind that I would do something special with this lavender to honor my aunt and the way she included me in her family without question.

As an adoptee, it means a lot to me to have honor my past as well as my present. Dawn Espelage is blogging on my Arms of Adoption blog today about a special way to honor the past and present of an adopted child. I like the idea so much that I may create a Life Book for myself.

Relaxation Break - Video of Manderley

I think my voice sounds so Canadian on these videos!  Oh wait - I am Canadian - no wonder!

Here is some video I took when we were at Manderley last week.  It was so peaceful despite the wind you can hear at times.  And even though I refer to it as "our property" in the first video it's not ours just yet.

Manderley - Part 3

We stand at the edge of the marsh together, then Gerry suggests a walk toward the high point on the land a short distance away.  Together we step across the stubble left from last years's crop of canola.  Foolishly, I've worn sandals and the short sharp remnants of the canola leave scratches on my legs. Tangible memories of Manderley that I will carry back home when we leave.

As I stand on this little hill and look in all directions I realize that I feel like myself in a way that I had forgotten.  There is a Linda I barely know anymore. 

The eclectic selection of music we've been listening to on our road trip includes a song co-written by Canadian performer Michael Buble called Home.  The music and the lyrics tug at my soul; I too want to go home.  One line in particular speaks of a place I have been often lately.  "And I feel just like I'm living someone else's life."

The pain in my shoulder and arm that I've been dealing has disappeared since we arrived on the prairie.  I felt the stress begin to fall from my body a few days ago when we drove out of the Rocky Mountains and the prairie appeared.  Somehow, my body instinctively knew to breathe deeper.

We walk; we talk; we drive slowly back toward the town and our appointed time to meet with the Realtor.  We're already late but it's okay. 

Manderley - Part 2

We are honored the next morning to go to the home in town where the couple who own Manderley now live.  They welcome us into our home and talking with them feels like talking with old friends.  Gerry has brought questions about Manderley, and we spend a pleasant hour talking about life on the land with the Husband and Wife. 

Later we all meet at Manderley: Gerry and I, the Realtor, the Husband and Wife, and the Young Man who farms the quarter-section of land that makes up part of Manderley. The Wife and I naturally migrate toward the garden.  She shows me the hot bed where she would normally be starting lettuce at this time of year, I can tell that she will miss life on the farm.  

Gerry, the Realtor, the Husband and the Young Man move toward the quonset and the barn discussing, I assume, the land and the farming equipment stored in the massive silver structure.  I wish I could be with them at the same time as I am with the Wife.  I want to know everything about Manderley.

The Wife tells me about early life on the farm; she points out to me the location of the original house that has long since been torn down.  She tells me of the early years after she had married the Husband and come to live on the farm.  The history is almost palpable as I listen and drink in the prairie with my eyes.

Eventually the men join us and arrangements are made.  Gerry and I will stay at Manderley for a time longer, while everyone else returns to their day.  We want to walk the land; we need to talk and pray.

Manderley - Part 1

I feel at home when we arrive at Manderley.  Armed with a rough description of where the land is, and our memories of our last visit, Gerry and I set out to see if we can find it again.  We want some time to walk the land alone before we call the realtor.

The last time we were there the land was covered in snow and it was dead quiet.  This time, the snow is all gone and we are delighted to find that there is a marsh behind the garden area. 

The marsh and the trees nearby are alive with the sounds of birds, frogs, and ducks.  The quiet of the winter is a distant memory but the sounds of nature equally feed a part of my soul that has been hungering for something more than city life. 

The garden still bears subtle evidence of last year's harvest.  It waits -the promise of spring planting and a new bounty of produce ahead.

The weathered outbuildings still stand proud and speak of past generations; past years of toil on this land we are calling Manderley.  There is history here; we look forward to meeting the older couple who have retired from farming this land and moved into town.

I look out across the prairie to the trees that mark the edge of the property and I am reminded once again of something Gerry had said.  This is not property we are considering purchasing; this is land.  And more, for us it is a lifestyle.

The pace of city life has lost it's charm for me; things that once seemed to define success no longer seem important.  I am restless and feel a call toward home. 

The night before, I underlined a passage in a book by Sharon Butala called The Perfection of the Morning.  The book is a memoir of her own return to the Saskatchewan prairie.  "What I could remember about that natural world from which our family had been separated by so little was a combination of smells, the feel of the air, a sense of the presence of Nature as a living entity all around me.  All of that had been deeply imprinted in me, but more in the blood and bone and muscles - an instinctive memory - than a precise memory of events or people.  I remembered it with my body, or maybe I remembered it with another sense for which we have no name but is no less real for that."  (highlight mine).

Having walked the property we return to our vehicle.  I stand for a moment before climbing into the passenger seat and breathe deeply, feeding my soul. 

We set off across the dusty road toward town.

Leisure

I was going through some old papers this morning and found an old notebook that I used to use to copy down favorite quotes that I stumbled upon.  About thirty-five years ago there was something in this poem written by W. H. Davies that touched me enough that I felt compelled to write it out. It speaks to me today even more than it did back then. 

Leisure

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare? --

No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
Adn watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

Is there anything in this verse that inspires you as well?

Message from Nature

Once again I find myself taking cues from nature.  Well, nature as portrayed in a modern neighborhood anyway.

In our neighborood in the summertime the yards are, for the most part, beautiful.  (Don't get me started on those occasional few who choose not to mow the grass and to let the weeds run rampant.  That's a tale for another day.)  Saturday mornings find the yards filled with homeowners cutting grass, deadheading flowers, pruning bushes, and other tasks that make a yard look cared for.  I enjoy taking walks and drives to look at what others are doing in their yards to get ideas for my own.  It's a busy time.

Around mid to late September, the activitiy begins to slow down.  Leaves begin to turn and before you know it, the same yards that were perfectly kept in the summer become littered with leaves and other autumn debris.  It is kind of comforting.  It is a message that it's okay to relax a bit, we don't have to be perfect in our yard care.  It's okay to go out every week or so and rake up the leaves.  It's even okay to wait until the trees have all finished shedding their leaves before going out and tidying up the yard.  In sort, it's a time to chill out.

I'm enjoying autumn this year.  Each windy blustery day is an opportunity to enjoy the blessing of a home that I love, the huge windows in my new office, an afternoon browsing in the mall, or other indoor activities like knitting!

What autumn activities are you enjoying right now?