EARLY MORNING THOUGHTS

Many many years ago, back in the days of the Redvers Optimist, one of the contributors wrote a column called Early Morning Thoughts.  I remember that she blamed her being awake way too early in the day on menopause and what that does to sleep patterns.  Being as I am just a few years younger than she is this gave me something to look forward to.  Thank you Joanne; anticipation always adds to the experience!  

I liked reading what she had to say.  I can’t remember what she talked about now, but it was interesting at the time.  Maybe I acknowledged the situation as “okay, I will get less sleep but potentially I will think interesting thoughts”.  That time in my life came.  And went.  I survived.  All is good.

These days I have moved on to full blown Old Lady Mode.  I don’t know if menopause ruined my sleep patterns forever? Or does this happen to everyone?  Or is my brain so powerful it just can’t shut off?

Yeah, that’s probably it.  How would you power down a super computer?

Anyway, long story short, most of my early mornings feature at least an hour of solitude, coffee, and thinking about stuff.  It’s probably my favourite time of the day.

My mother used to tell me a similar story.  I was a teenager at the time and totally thought she was nuts.  In a perfect (teenaged) world we should be able to stay up till whenever suits us and then sleep in until noon.  She said “no”.  That her walk before 6:00 in the morning to fetch the cows in for milking was her best time of the day.  I dismissed this as the lunatic ramblings of a demented old lady (she would have been in her mid forties at the time).  This is yet another example of how my mother was right.  At this point in my life I could fill a book with the times my mother was right. 

I don’t have cows to bring in for milking (thank goodness, milking is a lot of work).  I have no doubt, though, that I would enjoy an early morning walk.  My version, in the summer time, is to wander around my yard in dew-wet grass to check out my gardens.  The warm sun, the scents of the flowers, the promise of veggies, even the cat following me around complaining about its empty food dish – it’s the perfect way to start the day.

I also have a daily adventure in the winter.  We heat our shop with a wood-burning stove that needs to be stoked on a regular basis.  We call this job ‘feeding the dragon’ and right after pushing the button on the coffee maker and feeding the dog his breakfast I suit up for the frigid walk to the shop to go feed our pet dragon.  No doubt my teenaged self would have considered this cruelty and possibly worth a report to Social Services, but for me (and I suspect my mother) it’s just a refreshing introduction to the day, and beautiful in its own right.

Sometimes the stars are brilliant in the predawn sky.  Sometimes it’s so foggy I can barely see out of the yard.  Sometimes the rime frost gives a breath-taking display of white crystals on dark trees.  Sometimes the wind is blowing at 60 mph and the snow is two feet deep.  I tend to walk faster on those days.

The satisfaction of keeping the dragon fed is just a bonus.  I like that I am doing a necessary job, I like that the fresh air is head-clearing, and I love the smell of wood smoke that follows me back to the house. 

The best part though, is that I will still have about an hour with just me, my mug of coffee, and my dog laying at my feet. 

And on a shelf across the room sits a photo of my mother, a smile on her face and an expression that I can’t help but feel says “See?  Didn’t I tell you so?”

 

WHAT DAY IS IT?

I seem to be lost in the What-the-heck-day-is-it? land of midwinter.  Life is just a series of identical days marching in some kind of a circular pattern passing an endless array of familiar landmarks like we’re trapped inside Fred and Wilma Flintstone’s house with no end in sight. 

Why am I here?  What am I supposed to be doing?  Was I doing something important?  If so, where was I doing it? 

I’ve often joked about being solar powered, but even with the lengthening of sunlit hours to our days my brain remains foggy and unfocussed.  Facebook has studied my algorithms and has suggested everything from vitamin supplements to possible parasite purges.  I used to like 80% of what Facebook had to offer and be annoyed with the other 20%.  Now it’s more like 5% to 95%, and ‘annoyed’ isn’t a strong enough word.

This syndrome happens every winter, I think.  I’m not sure – it’s that fuzzy thinking thing again.  I prefer outside work to inside housework so my aimlessly wandering from window to window looking out at the frozen white landscape in February is a form of slow-motion torture.  I long for grass to mow and weeds to pull and flowers to enjoy, but all there is out there is ice and snow and 40 below temperatures. 

I want to do laundry and hang it out on the line.

At this point I would even take an afternoon of cleaning up dog ‘residue’ over this endless imprisonment.

One would think that since we have a teenager living with us and going to school and hockey there would be a bit more structure to our retirement time.  It is true that we have more social commitments because of this but I still seem to have trouble keeping my days straight.  Tuesdays and Thursdays are hockey practice … except when changes are made.  School days should be pretty predictable … except for days the buses don’t run because it’s 40 below, or there are admin days (I think that’s what they are called).  We’ve also had a fair few sick days. And dentist days.  And storm days.  

Actually, any little thing can throw a person off: this year – 2026 – our church’s Shrove Tuesday pancake supper landed on a Thursday.  It’s kinks like that in the time/space continuum that can really mess things up.

If I didn’t have everything written on my old-fashioned wall calendar we would be totally lost.

I sincerely hope I have everything written up on my old-fashioned wall calendar.

Probably the worst component of this mind-numbing mundane-ness is having to come up with a menu for supper.  Every.  Single.  Night.

I’m 70 years old, for Pete’s sake.  When does this ever end? 

But, enough crying already.  As long as winter is, I’m not the only one who has to endure it.  I can’t do anything about it being February 21^st today but I can turn my eyes toward the future.  Spring will surely arrive in all its muddy glory just like it has all the other years.  The sun will shine and wrap me in a big, warm hug of welcome as I work in the yard, and hang out the laundry, and clean up dog ‘residue’.

In the shorter term I have a trip to Europe to look forward to … the tulips in Holland, castles and vineyards along the Rhine.  This is a bucket list item for me in the plans have been in the works for over a year.  I just have to make it through one more month …

 

SO FAR SO GOOD?

Well so far, exactly two weeks into this new year, I’m not so sure I like 2026.

We started out just fine.  Off to Mexico for a week on a beach, in the warn sunshine.  And the best part about an all-inclusive resort – plenty of food, all varieties, all the time – and I didn’t have to menu plan or cook once.

The wedding was pretty.  The party was fun.  The people we were with were a happy bunch; it was all good.

Until our teenager came down with a fever.  We have no idea where it came from but eventually I convinced him to take some Tylenol and the fever broke.  We had insurance, but who really wants to play that game in a foreign country?

Then he broke out in a rash.  Was it an after effect of the fever?  Was it something else?  He said don’t worry about it, but it kept getting worse.  The next morning, as we got ready to head back to the airport, I again offered him some antihistamines just in case it was an allergic reaction (at this point it sure looked like hives).  It took less than ten minutes for the Reactin to kick in and the rash disappeared before our very eyes.  Don’t know what set it off, but an allergy it definitely was.

The trip home went as per usual: wait in a line for the bus to the airport to wait in line to check our luggage to wait in line for airport food to wait in line to board the plane … and then finally that five hour flight we all enjoy so much.  Mission accomplished.

There was even a bit of a bonus – we arrived back in Regina 15 minutes early.  We might get home before midnight after all. 

Except … when you are trying to get three people back through Customs you require three passports.  I kept coming up one short, no matter how many times I checked my purse.  This is not a good thing, believe me.

I don’t know if there is such a thing as a pleasant, patient, or understanding Customs Officer, but if there is he’s not the one we got.  Someone had definitely peed in his cornflakes that morning.  I dug through my purse three times, obvious panic setting in and all he said is “go over there”.  We did, and I dumped the contents out on a bench – passport #3 was not there.  Pockets? No.  Other carry on?  Also no.  It had to have fallen out on the plane!  Which was about to leave for Saskatoon! 

Let me tell you an old lady can sprint up stairs pretty fast when she needs to … only to be stopped by an airport security lady who dashed forward, pointed to the floor, and excitedly insisted I couldn’t cross THE RED LINE.  I hadn’t even seen THE RED LINE ten minutes earlier when I had entered *Canada* and now she was pulling a plastic curtain across to make sure I couldn’t go back.  I told her what my problem was; she wasn’t nearly concerned enough to suit me. 

I said I just wanted to go find it … row 18, middle seat … She said “don’t worry, the plane is here for the night.”  I said “No it’s not!  It’s leaving right away for Saskatoon!”

Realistically the whole double search (they didn’t find it the first time) couldn’t have taken very long, we were picking up our luggage at the same time as our friends, but it sure seemed to take forever.  And, what are the chances? I was joined at the top of the stairs and this side of THE RED LINE by a father/son duo with the same missing passport problem.  The son looking miserable, and the father’s cornflakes had obviously met the same fate as the Customs Officer’s by the looks of things.  I felt sad for the kid – I knew how he felt, and I didn’t have any heavy judgement coming down on my head.  It was Glen’s passport that was missing and he was good-naturedly trying to recall everything that had happened to the guy in the movie Terminal.  He thought maybe he would marry the gal at THE RED LINE if he was stuck there for life.

It all ended well for us.  The passport was found.  We did round two with the Customs agent, his mood had not improved but we all checked out fine so he had to let us go.  Truth to tell, it must have been when I got my pen out to fill out the customs form that the passport fell out of my purse, so it was Customs’ fault in the first place!

(I do want to apologise to Bev, seated across the aisle from me, trying to keep her toddler asleep while the Regina passengers were deplaning.  I’m betting that two searches of the seat next to you wasn’t the best thing that could happen.  I’m so sorry if he woke up!)

And, that was only week #1.  Since we’ve been home we’ve all been sharing some kind of nasty and persistent stomach bug.  I don’t know if Montezuma is to blame, but I’m not enjoying it.

Sure hope 2026 gets better from here.

 

BLIZZARD BLISS

I went to bed last night listening to the roaring prairie wind blasting its way through our shelterbelt trees and throwing loose snow against the side of the house with all its might.  It made me snuggle further under the covers and smile.  I love nights like this.

Now, before you call up the nice people with straight jackets and have me hauled away, hear me out.  Don’t question my sanity just for a silly little thing like enjoying a good, old-fashioned blizzard every once in a while.  I’m prairie, born and raised.  We’re kind of an extreme life form.

First of all, please note that my embracing of the storm was done from the inside of my house.  A house with central heating and excellent insulation.  Furthermore, I was tucked into my toasty warm bed and under a down-filled duvet.  And, most important of all, I knew that everyone I loved was home, safe, and warm, as well.  I didn’t need to worry about a single person or thing.  I could relax and listen to the wind howl its one, long song, feeling its power pushing against the walls but trusting that my shelter was up to the task of protecting me and those I care about.  The louder the wind, the cozier I feel.

 This morning dawned with bright blue skies, dazzling fresh white snow and the wind still blowing, it kind of looks like a Christmas card picture out there – very pretty, but nasty cold.  We were at the southern edge of the storm so we got a major part of our precipitation in freezing rain throughout the day yesterday.  Although the videos of kids skating on city streets and other people throwing curling rocks down stretches of pebbled highway are fun for the novelty of it all, the potential for concussions and broken hips are important factors to consider before a person ventures outside.  So far today I’ve made it across the yard once, sticking to where the snow is deep so that if I do slip on the ice underneath there will be that fresh powder to cushion my fall.  You gotta think ahead, you know.

At the moment we haven’t tried to leave the yard yet.  The man says he figures the 4X4 with the studded tires could probably make it but he also is planning on spending the next few hours clearing the driveway out.  There’s lots of light, fluffy snow to push around but the lack of traction underneath might make the job a little more challenging than usual.  This is not my problem; it’s a man thing.  I stay in the house and make soup; that’s my job.

As much as I enjoy the fierceness of prairie weather; the wondering of ‘how bad will it get?’, the photographing the aftermath, a blizzard also likes to rearrange schedules.  School buses don’t run, hockey practises and games are juggled to new times, Christmas concerts are cancelled.  Hair appointments are rescheduled (thank the Lord, and halleluiah!  No one wants to go through the holidays looking like a haystack).  It looks like the two Australians’ flight will be landing in Regina this afternoon as has been planned for weeks.  Sure glad their reservations weren’t for yesterday.  I’m pretty sure they would rather witness the Northern Lights than participate in a blizzard although both have a bragging rights quality to them, don’t they?

The next week is going to be full of company and food and visiting and family gatherings and a hockey game or two.  I have several lists of jobs to do and groceries to buy on the go.  Most of my baking is done, all of my cards and letters are sent, by tonight the guest beds will all be made up.  Once I’m completely ready Mother Nature can send another storm our way.  As long as everyone is safe and inside I really do love a good blizzard.

 

ONLY ONE DOWN, BUT IT’S A START

It’s the end of November people.  There is less that a month until the big day when Santa does his thing and we all eat turkey and chocolates until we nearly explode.  There is SO MUCH TO DO before then!  And I haven’t even started.

Well, actually, that’s a lie.  I have started.  Recently I woke up to my usual let’s-worry-about-things-I-can’t-control time of just after 3:00 in the morning and selected as my ‘worry de jour’ the fact that I hadn’t even begun my Christmas letter yet.  I know that this is an antiquated custom, but it’s a really nice one where folks keep in touch and share their family’s news with a Christmas card and letter every year.  I know I’m an oddity in 2025 to keep this up but I have a small fan club who look forward to my annual news and season’s greetings.  I don’t want to disappoint.  Realizing that I wasn’t even started this letter in the last week of November sparked a tiny flame of momentum.  I would get right on that in the morning.

I confess, it wasn’t the very next morning, but I did get it done.  All I need to do is proof read it and hit SEND and I can cross that job off the list.  Except for a few elderly folks who get hard copy letters they all go by email.  I know I am eating into my Canada Post pension by not buying stamps but my ‘fan club’ membership is over 100.  I have to be frugal.

That’s one job down, about a thousand to go.

The next one better be getting gifts in order.  I was inspired back in August and found something that I think the youngest grandkids will enjoy.  I bought them.  They are only a partial gift so I can’t even wrap them, let alone send them, but they sit in a box of my inertia awaiting lord only knows what … divine inspiration, I suppose?  It better happen pretty soon.  A lot of my family lives on other continents and I’m already late. (See? Canada Post still gets a sizable chunk of my pension back!)

My outdoor decorating has been sizing itself down over the past decade.  As strings of lights die I haven’t been replacing them.  I’m down to two deer and a pole Christmas tree.  I have them out in place on the front lawn and will march across the yard to plug them in on December 1^st.  That will be job #2.

Baking.  Ah!  That baking thing I do every year.  Gingersnaps and puff pastry/lemon cheese tarts, mincemeat cookies and butter tarts – some with raisins and some with pecans. Other cookies with macadamia nuts and cranberries and some with white chocolate chips.  How we can go through that many crazy calories in such a short time makes my head spin, but I’ll make them again this year and they will all disappear like they do every other time.  Best not to start that too early though – a person wants some of them to still be around to serve guests on the big day.  Meanwhile I will probably make at least three batches of poppycock.

This lots-of-baking thing is especially important this year because I believe it’s my turn to host the feast.  I haven’t done a potential head count yet but except for the Covid years a gathering of our clan tends to number at least 20 and quite often almost double that.  We have a decent sized house but the term ‘bursting at the seams’ applies.  It’s noisy and happy and fun to be together and I’m always glad when it’s not my turn for another few years.

The one thing I am looking forward to is decorating the tree.  I love to do this all by myself, with Christmas music playing softly in the background.  Sorting through the ornaments and memories of all the other trees I’ve decorated in my life.  In 70 years that’s a lot of memories … of my mom and dad, my siblings and our intense excitement over what gifts we might be getting. And later of having my own young family and seeing the ancient magic through their eyes, and now being the grandmother carrying these moments forward to share with the next generation.  The most magical moments in December are sipping my early morning coffee, bathed in the twinkle and glow of Christmas lights – just me and the tree.

The glass of wine to celebrate finishing decorating it is a close second.

There are the other periphery treats too: twinkle tours around town  to enjoy the pretty lights, phone calls from people who don’t write letters but like to stay in touch anyway, and ridiculously saccharine Christmas movies with their happily-ever-after story lines to name a few.  It’s all part and parcel of this festival time of year.

May we all find the peace and promise we are seeking.  For me it begins on December 21^st when our wobble back towards longer daylight hours begin.

 

 

DEJA-VU, ALL OVER AGAIN

You know that feeling that you’ve been here before?  That, somehow, when you walk into a building that you already have your bearings?  You know where you’re going to go sit?  And who you are liable to meet there?  And where the kitchen is?  The memories are a little fuzzy around the edges but you just know that you’ve been there before.

It looks like we will be hanging out at the Redvers Rec Center a lot this winter.  Except for social functions on the curling side and the swimming pool on super hot days in the summer we haven’t been there much since the end of our previous minor hockey days at the end of the last century (that’s about how long ago it seems).  But, as of the beginning of October 2025 we are once again lining up equipment, scheduling in practice days, paying ice fees, and doing fundraising.  This morning I’m washing a game jersey because team pictures are tomorrow night.  I never imagined this to come up on my bingo card but here we are, and it’s a good thing.

The Rec Center isn’t exactly the same as it used to be.  The main lobby has had a facelift, the inside seating has had an upgrade, the menu has evolved and the washrooms have migrated across to where the little mini-ice surface used to be – remember that?  That’s how old I am; I remember that. 

Lord help me but the first hockey player I drove to practices was my little brother in 1971.  I can’t even recall if there was a kitchen then, probably because I didn’t have any money to spend there.  The addition to the lobby decor I like the best are pictures and posters honouring the people - the athletes who put Redvers on the map, and the local hometown heroes being recognized for their contribution to recreation in our community.  This is an excellent idea and I like it a lot.

It's kind of weird/strange/funny, but it appears we have been away from the Redvers hockey scene for exactly one generation.  I know this a small town and we are going to know the people we meet at the games, but in a super focused delivery of Deja-vu some of the people at these 2025 practices and games are exactly the same folks who attended the games in 2000.  Only now, the players that were are the parents today, and the parents of before are the grandparents.  This should not be so confusing.  After all, we are the grandparents this time too, but I keep forgetting which generation I’m in.  It’s like the intervening 25 years never happened because we weren’t there for them.  The coach today was Mitchell’s team mate back then.  Everything is a little out of whack in the time/space continuum.

People tease us that ‘this will keep us young’.  For sure I will have to renew my ever-sketchy knowledge of hockey rules and learn a whole roster of players by how they skate and their style of play.  I must say that jumping in at the U15 level with a roster of kids you’ve never met is challenging.

It will also keep us on the road.

And probably broke buying rink burgers (that part will be just like the good old days).

In the meanwhile, if you happen to run into me at the rink and we strike up a conversation be prewarned I may wander in my time line orientation, and almost inevitably I will refer to my player by his uncle’s name (a sad/happy occurrence that happens regardless of hockey). 

At our ages these slip-ups could be blamed on senility but I’m going to lean towards it being a simple case of Deja-vu overdose.  Be patient with us; we’ll get it all worked out by spring.

 

BE THE REASON

I have been reading a book.  Well, actually, I have several books on the go.  There is a whole stack of them on my bedside table, all with bookmarks carefully placed so that I can pick up where I left off weeks, months, and possibly even more than a year ago.  Maybe my life needs to be a little less busy or maybe I just need a better light to read by, but I just seem to stall out in a book these days.  Luckily, I own them all so I don’t have to deal with library return dates.

But, back to the one that inspired me to write this.

Written by Rhonda Byrne, the same author who wrote The Secret, and The Power, her new book The Magic expands on her life themes of ‘sunny side up’ and ‘cup half full’ philosophies.  It gets a bit sugary at times but I’m not going to say she is wrong – optimism beats pessimism any day of the week.

I have to say that this kind of inspirational book is not my normal pick.  I like stories.  Well written stories with believable characters and a strong story line.  The Magic is not that kind of book so who knows why I picked it up and spent my money on it, but I did.

When The Secret came out (and spent 190 weeks on the New York Times best seller’s list) a friend of mine sang its praises and told of how much it had impacted her life.  So much so that my curiosity got the best of me and I read it and was introduced to the idea of the law of attraction.  That we can and do attract what comes into our lives; if you believe that good things will come, they do.  And likewise, by expecting bad you will attract bad.  Of course, that is an over simplification of the book but it’s an uplifting read and opens a person up to a new way of looking at things.

I’ve never read any of her other books but something must have caught my interest on The Magic.  Everyone needs a little magic in their lives, maybe I was looking for some in mine.

The premise of this book is even simpler that the first.  Basically gratitude – being grateful – has immense magical power.  Somehow, she stretches this theme out to fill 254 pages but the bottom line is “if you are thankful your life will be blessed”.

She looks at ancient scripts and finds references to happiness and gratitude.  She quotes famous philosophers.  Teachings of several different religions are used to show this universal truth as well, her point being that humanity’s most potent survival tactic was just to be thankful for what we have, and that showing gratitude to others is a powerful form of magic.

The book is set out like a exercise book with a chapter to read and then an assignment of sorts to help the reader apply what they have read to their own lives.  I admit that I didn’t stick with the homework assignments I fell off the wagon but that’s not to say I didn’t get anything out of the book, because I did.

Did you know that you can’t feel anxiety or sadness or disillusionment if you are feeling grateful?  Gratefulness takes up all the emotional space you have if you let it in.  And there is always something to be grateful for.  That was one of the assignments – to spend the last few minutes of your day before you went to sleep naming ten things you were grateful for.  Even writing them down and then saying them aloud because repetition gave them more power.  Or you could simply go over your day and pick the best thing that had happened all day – another way to identify what you were grateful for.

The lesson that stuck with me the strongest though was the advice to show gratitude to others.  I think I’ve always been pretty good at saying “thank you” but after reading this book I make a point of making my words more meaningful.  Whether someone has held a door open for me or taken the time to help me in a store, or given me advice, I try to let them know how much I appreciate their time, effort, or kindness.  It makes us both feel like something wonderful has happened.  You should try it.

There are days when it seems like the world has gone sour and we are left feeling that there is nothing we can do to fight the darkness.  But we can. 

Be grateful.  Express gratitude.  Treat friends and strangers alike with the feeling that they are appreciated.  Be the source of warmth and kind-heartedness.

Set out to be the reason someone has a good day, and in doing so your day will be better as well.

Simple magic.