LIFE. AND DEATH. AND SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN

I’ve had a lot of time lately to sit quietly and think.  That’s what you do when visiting a very elderly lady in the hospital.  Sometimes she is awake and up to visiting, but a lot of the time she drifts off to sleep, and I stay a bit longer and think about things.  Like life.  And death.  And where she is … somewhere in between.  Well, in reality we are all somewhere in between, but at almost 102 she is much closer to the end than most of us.

Over the past year or so, as her health and strength went into decline, we have had many conversations.  The ones I liked best were the rare occasions she would tell me stories I hadn’t heard before.  She was born in 1920 and came to this area to teach in the early ‘40’s, marrying my husband’s father in 1945.  I would have loved to hear more about this period of her history but conversations never seemed to go that way, as if that time was so long ago it wasn’t important any more.

Instead, I would get snippets like “I enjoyed raising my family.” Or “Larry was a happy baby.”  Sometimes I could steer her into a few more minutes on the subject, but not often.  Her comments were just little windows into the fleeting memories going through her mind.

One beautiful warm day this spring I offered to take her for a wheel chair ride around the block and for once she actually said ‘yes’.  Her hearing is very poor but her eyesight is phenomenal.  She spotted some lilacs so I took her over and we picked some.  She wondered what on earth all those pink birds were doing in someone’s yard so I explained about the “You’ve been flocked” fundraiser going on in town.  I wasn’t sure, between her poor hearing and the out-of-the-ordinary concept of the fundraiser, whether she understood what I told her but when she spotted another flamingo covered lawn on the next block, she pointed to it and said “There’s some more of those pink birds.  They must be making lots of money!”  She could be sharp as a tack one minute and quite lost the next, though.  We were on the street where she had lived for 30 years yet she didn’t recognize it. Going around that one block was all she was up to even though she was in a wheel chair.

The high point of that adventure was stopping for a few minutes to watch the school kids at their track and field day.  “I used to really like that day.” the former school teacher said, her voice wistful.  Times gone by; another brief window into her soul.

She has been strong and fiercely independent but it’s obvious with this hospitalization the days of living on her own are over, she will be going into respite until a permanent placement is available.  This was not in her plan.  Her most fervent wish is to ‘fall asleep and not wake up’.  She is angry and disappointed that this is not happening for her.

I am reminded, as I sit and watch her sleep, of a time when I railed at the unfairness of Death’s timing.  My first husband died in a car accident on the same day that an elderly gentleman with dementia wandered out into the winter cold in only his pyjamas.  There was no rhyme or reason, no justice, and no sense to a young husband and father dying while a sick old man was found and brought to safety. It wasn’t fair! 

She is experiencing the same frustration from the other side.  She doesn’t want to be here any more.  Why is she stuck in this failing body and now being sent off to unfamiliar surroundings?  This is just as unfair.

Many years ago I read a story that compared our lives to a tapestry … the colors, the textures, the flaws, and the worn bits all signifying the joys and sorrows, the struggles and triumphs, the bad choices and subsequent recoveries - all merging to portray our individual life spans as works of art.  I think of this from time to time and hope that my scene is full of bright colours and worthy texture, and that many of my threads are tied into other’s tapestries connecting me to the people I love.

Today I visited with my mother-in-law and thought about her tapestry.  Our conversation this afternoon was me encouraging her, trying to help her see that her life may just become more interesting because she won’t be isolated in her own home any more.  There will be people around her, she will have her own space for privacy but meals will be a time of community.  That we will come to see her.

 I may have gotten through to her because she gave me a smile as I left.

At almost 102 we all know that her tapestry is almost finished. She can’t have too many threads left to tie off.  I sincerely hope that the ones she has remaining are the color of love and as light as gossamer.

 

 FUN BETWEEN THE RAINS

Being the fickle human being that I am, I want all this rain to go away so that I can mow grass and pull weeds.  Last year I was asking for more rain so that my grass would grow lush and green and the sun wouldn’t bake my garden to brick because that makes pulling weeds too hard.  This year I wander my yard in rubber boots and pull only the weeds closest to the edges of my flower beds because stepping in any farther would mean losing those boots.  Oh, the irony of it all. 

Gardening season this year appears to be a disaster; germination of vegetable seeds is dismal, germination of weeds seeds exponential.  The trees we planted and watered faithfully last summer are probably now drowned out.  It’s so depressing I don’t even want to go out and check on them anymore.  I would love to mow the lawn but I would need an amphibious mower at this point.

Luckily this past week or so I have had a welcome distraction – a family reunion. 

The decision to have one was made three years ago, but it didn’t come together. Then again two years ago, but you know, Covid.  We came even closer last summer but couldn’t find a campground big enough to let us socially distance.  Finally, right after Christmas I was commissioned to write an invitation e-mail and we set the wheels in motion.  Come July 1^st weekend 2022 we were gathering in the old home town and catching up on a whole pandemic’s worth of family time.

The months rolled along and from time to time there was chatter within our messenger group about who was able to make it and when they would be arriving and leaving.  The excitement began to build.

Then there were only a few weeks to go.  I was put in charge of fine tuning the reservations at the campground.  One would think that the chairman of the Tourism Board would be able to handle this job but, no, there was a mix up and it was all my fault.  Maybe catching Covid was a contributing factor, who knows, but I squeezed that in too, just for the fun of it. 

Thankfully the double-booking dilemma ended up resolving itself, and maybe my family has learned to put someone more qualified in charge of camping reservations next time.

The last week of preparations got more intense each day.  There was firewood to gather and load, house guests to prepare for because not everyone has a camper, and multiple day’s worth of food to get ready ahead of time so I could visit when they arrived.  Also, I had my afore-mentioned side gig of Chairman of Tourism going on … fireworks, kid’s crafts, parade details.  Never a dull moment.

Ready or not Thursday arrived, people started rolling in, and the fun began.

The weekend itself is a blur of too much food, not enough sleep, the right number of cold beverages, more food, lots and lots of visiting, missing the ones who couldn’t make it, not enough sunscreen, snacks and treats between meals, a fair bit of reminiscing about the last time we had all been together, and all kinds of advice for the young couple about to become parents for the first time (no need to thank us, we were glad to help out, lol).  Oh, and did I mention, way too much food?

Some played ball.  Some Played golf.  Some rode their bikes and some went for pie and ice cream.  There were dogs to walk and runs to the grocery store to make sure no one starved to death between snacks.  There was even the redneck run out to the farm to view baby piggies, after all a proper host has to give those city kids the full rural experience … and by ‘kids’ we are talking ages in the 20 to 30 year range.

The weekend is over now and the travellers are all home, safe and sound.  I’ve even managed to use up my leftover food, and if it would ever quit raining I could do laundry and hang all that bedding out on the line.  It was super gracious of Mother Nature not to rain on our parade … or the fireworks … or the ball tournament … or the campers.  I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart.

Now I just wish she could manage another dry spell so I could get some yard work done.

 

 

MY WEEK, SO FAR

I guess my week’s adventure probably started on Saturday night, but I was unaware at the time.  So unaware.

Since it has finally quit blizzarding, and raining, and hailing, I’ve been pretty darned busy out in my yard and gardens.  My bedding plants needed transplanting, the grass needed mowing, the weeds needed to die, plus there were tree replacements to get in the ground at the campground and a yard sale to prepare for.  It’s just been one day after another, getting stuff done - all work and no play. 

So, when I was invited out to a community event on Saturday night I thought “why not?”  I could use a break so I accepted.

Sunday dawned – the day I had vowed I would get my vegetable garden planted.  The soil had been tilled many times but it was so wet that conditions were not good – instead of soft, fluffy dirt I had the equivalent of broken bricks to work with. But, time was ticking by and the seeds had to go into the ground.  It was a long exhausting day but I got the job done.  As I texted to my Farmer …. Halle-le-freaking-lu-yah!  I put my tools away and called it a day.

Monday’s jobs were taking care of some business things in town in the morning and mowing grass in the afternoon.  I had some serious sneezing spells late in the day but blamed it on the poplar fluff.

Tuesday I woke up aching from head to toe.  What did I expect? Sunday’s gardening had been a long and grueling day.  Ignore it and it will go away.  I had weeding to do in my flower beds.  Keep on trucking, old girl: there’s work to do!

Except that I just couldn’t.  It was warm out but I needed a jacket.  I actually lay down to watch the noon news and fell asleep.  You have no idea how rare this is – like the ‘never’ kind of rare.  When I got back up I decided I would take it easy for the afternoon and just do some computer work.  I had to give that up eventually because I was shivering so bad I couldn’t type.  What the heck was going on?

I decided to check my temperature and dug out the never-been-out-of-the-box digital thermometer I had bought in March of 2020 – you know, in case we needed it, but we never did.  It still didn’t click what I was likely dealing with.  My temperature was only slightly up, but it occurred to me that I did have another test at my disposal.  Why not do a Covid test too? 

I did the test, watched one line appear, congratulated myself on being negative, and lay down for a second nap on the same day!  I awoke to a second line and the truth an hour later.  I had the plague, after all.

I mustered what strength I could, wiped down all the common surfaces I could think of, dug out the masks, moved myself to a different bedroom, and changed pillow cases for the Farmer.  They are not done seeding and he does not have time to be sick (or so I’ve been told).  I went to bed with my new best friend Advill.

Wednesday is a blur.  More Advill.  More naps.  Sleeping fully clothed with extra blankets.  Coughing.  Coughing.  Coughing.

Thursday: I made it to 10:30 before I required Advill and I did manage to vacuum the house, do a load of laundry, and get something into the slow cooker for supper so I’d have to say things were on the upswing. Also, a dear friend delivered soup and buns to my deck table – she probably saved my life.

Even so, it was off to bed with Advill and a new box of Kleenex by 8:30.  When I’m done, I’m done.

Friday dawned clear and bright.  So far I only require a light jacket to keep from shivering.  I haven’t taken an Advill all day (it’s noon).  Not only that, I’ve finally mustered the oomph to bring in two water jugs from the car (coffee is an amazing incentive) and I’ve wandered around my gardens to see which of the weeds pose the biggest threat of taking over my world.  I don’t have the energy to do anything about it so far, but I want to be prepared.

 I do believe I’m going to pull through.

I can’t imagine what It would have been like without being fully vaccinated – oh wait, maybe I can … I would have ended up in the hospital and maybe on a ventilator, if not worse.  As it is I stayed home, required no medical intervention, made a new best friend in Advill, and it only took three bad days. I still have to shake this cough so I’m giving it a few more days before I declare it’s really over, but I think I’ve got this beat.

The jury is still out on if I need a nap today, or not.

 

FORWARD MOMENTUM

I woke up this morning and lay there reluctant to move.  Last week was full of places to be, volunteer missions to accomplish, and consulting and planning to get Tourism’s summer season off to a start so that I could dedicate this week to my own season opener work.  There is so much to do this time of year and the weather conditions have not been making it easy.

But, there is no use wimping about it – if I want to relax in the midst of pretty lawns and gardens during the summer I have to put in the work in the spring.  I had invested heavily (this sounds more responsible that saying ‘went wild and crazy’) at more than just one local greenhouse and all these pretty things needed to get outside where they could grow and flourish or my money would be wasted.  Thursday morning I got up, fortified myself with high octane caffeine wonder liquid, and dug in.  This is not a figurative term – in the past two days there has been a lot of digging going on.

I got a lot done that day.  It’s good to build up momentum while your muscles are unaware of how far you are going to push them.  For starters I finished filling my deck planters – that sounds simple but there is a lot of heavy lifting, soil mixing and walking involved with that job.  When my Fitbit informed me that I had already reached 10,000 steps by 10:00 in the morning I reconsidered my choice that it was wasteful to use the quad for all those little trips.  I didn’t know how many steps I actually had in me.

Besides, by that time I had tripped in a gopher hole while delivering a part to the field across the road – there were no immediate ill effects but at my age I know how that goes.  Walking back to the house I pondered which injury was going to cause me the most pain; the hip/knee fall or where I hit my hand with the hammer driving in a stake to mark my row of tomatoes. So far, it’s a tie.

After an early lunch I tackled the lawn.  So far this year it’s not a big job – a good portion of it is under water.  But it did take long enough to prove that sunscreen would have been a really good idea.  I have to relearn that lesson every single year. 

By this time my body started to complain, as I knew it would. I eased off on the physical stuff and instead stood in my greenhouse trying to imagine where all these bedding plants would do the best.  Deciding ‘the plan’ literally takes as much time and effort as planting does, but at least I could do it standing still.  Which, of course, was a mistake – standing still robbed me of any momentum I had left.  If the walk back to the house had been up hill I don’t think I would have made it.

Bravely I turned down the temptation of a glass of wine (the exact opposite of high octane morning go juice) and got supper in the oven.  There were still a few more things I had to do before dark … feed the heifers, pick asparagus, do a little bit of push mowing, and see if my little tiller could stir up the mud in my lower flower bed.  I made the animals happy, gathered asparagus, and prayed that neither the mower or tiller would start.  It’s a cruel world – they did.

The rest of the day is a blur; we ate and went to bed.  The fresh asparagus was delicious.

Day two was all about putting out bedding plants, hand tilling places that can’t be done any other way, kneeling, standing, walking, forgetting what you were going for, remembering when you get back, going again, and being sent off to town for a part again (My apologies for anyone who witnessed me in my gardening attire.  There was a time when I would have changed for a 15 minute town run; this rule no longer stands.)  I didn’t reach 10,000 steps until 1:33, obviously I had slowed down considerably but quitting is not an option.  The rest of the day was spent plodding forward and texting with my sister, comparing gardening progress and making sure we were both still upright.  We both got done what we wanted to before the rain – yay us!

There’s till more to do … veggie garden if it ever dries up enough to get out there, and back to volunteer Tourism stuff … more flowers and trees and painting … but that won’t be today.

As I mentioned, this morning I spent some time assessing aches and pains before actually moving.  My husband tells me that it’s easier to count the things that don’t hurt rather than listing the things that do.  So far today – 10:21 – and I’ve only made 1,072 steps.  Considering that my body has informed me that it’s on strike, I’m doing fine!

 

 

SIGNS OF A DESPERATE WOMAN

To the guy who drove by yesterday and witnessed me shovelling off the trampoline – don’t worry about me.  I’m fine. Really. I realize not everyone shovels off their trampoline but I needed an outside job that was doable. I figured I could handle an approximately 250 square foot surface so I grabbed a shovel and went to work.  At this point I will do anything just to be outside and accomplishing something.

I was wrong, by the way. It wasn’t doable – not in one go, anyway.  That snow weighs a ton and a wet trampoline is pretty slippery.

This time of year I am supposed to be sun burned or wind burned or both, having spent several days out cleaning up the yard and checking for asparagus and other perennials.  On any other year my Fitbit would be patting me on the back for all the steps I had racked up back and forth to my greenhouse and around the yard.  This year I do find myself pacing an indoor circuit, wandering from window to window, staring out at the never-ending winter and sighing in frustration.  My Fitbit languishes on the dresser, having given up the will to live.

By the way, in doing this I have discovered that all of my windows are dirty but I’m not that desperate for something to do.

Today I ventured out to take down the one last Christmas bow Mother Nature couldn’t rip from the house in her last hissy fit, and then went around picking up the ones she did manage to wreck.  From there I went on to annoy the dog and hauled his winter collection of bones over to the Loraas bin.  On my way back I re-opened the river channel that runs through our yard.  Spring runoff #2 is building pressure and the weather gal is promising a fast melt in the coming days.  There is a raft out there somewhere, under a snowbank where it was parked at the end of First Spring.

I’m contemplating filling the hummingbird feeders.  It’s hard to believe that they have shown up this early other years.  On the one hand I can’t picture them here as the same time as we have snow.  On the other hand, if they were to arrive this week they would be in great need of sugar water.  That would be a first – taking down Christmas decorations and putting up the bird feeders on the same day.

Not that all of the Christmas lights are down, but access to some of them is through water higher than my rubber boots.  They can wait.

I did take in the reflective markers off the edge of the driveway.  Surely there won’t be another storm where the guy clearing the snow needs to know where the road ends and the lawn starts? 

I know.  I know.  I probably jinxed it.

I just thought of another outside job that needs done.  I’m going to wash the windows on my car.  Just the windows though.  I literally can’t see out the side windows when I come to a corner. Given the mud situation out there to wash the whole vehicle is pointless, but it would be nice not to die at an intersection.

Maybe the guy who saw me shovelling the trampoline will spot me doing something a little more sensible today and take me off his Crazy Lady list.

 IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?

 

I sit here, the morning of April 22, 2022, awaiting yet another winter storm.  This has been going on for so long that my sense of reality is starting to slip.  I know that people around the world perceive Canada as the land of perpetual winter, but up until recently I thought I knew better.  We DO have distinct other seasons!  We DO have spring!  We DO have summer!  And we DO have my very favourite, autumn!  Winter is just one of four.

This year though, it seems that Mother Nature has other ideas. 

Did she just realize that all those prayers to fill up the dugouts were on back order and needed to be taken care of?  Is green not the ‘in’ colour for 2022?  Is she testing the survival instincts of all the poor birds who flew north expecting warm temperatures and available food?  Was the internet running short of stuck tractor pictures? Did Old Man Winter dare her to do it one more time?  Is she off her meds?

 I’m not sure that this eternal winter would be so painful if my Facebook memories weren’t full of years when April actually featured spring-like conditions.  Apparently six years ago I was installing a rock pathway/border around a flower bed and we were putting metal roofing on the quonset.   On numerous years the snow banks – even the ones in the trees – were gone.  Regular spring jobs were getting done: the lawnmower was being serviced, gardens were being tilled, outdoor Christmas decorations were being put away.

So far in 2022 none of these things have happened.  Not only are the snow banks still here, but they are being refurbished on a regular basis.  There was a short period of time when some of my gardens were visible, but only in the form of frozen mud.  The driveway has had to be cleared twice since we thought winter was over – and in all probability it will need it again once Mother Nature is over this next hissy fit.

I know this is slightly out of character for me, but I’m crying “uncle” here.  I want this nonsense to stop.  This is me saying ‘enough already!’

Prairie people are a little weather crazy.  We are not ones to shy away from the forces of nature.  We know our skies are big, our spaces immense, our weather extreme.  We bond over weather stories.  It’s the first topic of conversation when we meet each other.  I would wager that we possess, consult, and rely on more weather apps than anyone else on the planet.  Our whole mentality is to know how to survive (and then brag about) all weather adversity.  We are the ones who shake our fists at the sky after a hail storm flattens our crops and gardens and yell “Is that all you got?”  (I did mention we were crazy, didn’t I?)

This time though, Mother Nature seems to be using a new tactic.  We have proved we can handle the flash-in-the-pan power of summer storms, the crazy trampoline-wrecking winds, the baseball sized hail, and the stay-off-the-roads blizzards, so she has decided to wear us down with boring repetition.  How many spring blizzards is this in a row?  I’ve lost count.

I’ve even noticed that the weather forecasters, people known for their enthusiasm and hype of storm systems, are down-playing this next one.  Except for slightly warmer temperatures and therefore a higher potential for rain in some areas, this storm is every bit as bad as the last one – worse considering the winds are supposed to be higher – and yet instead of billing it as the once-in-30-years storm their comments are all low key.  It’s like they’ve heard what happens to the messenger and are trying to distance themselves.

But, the storm is headed this way all the same, and there’s really nothing to do.  We can’t stop it and all the preparations we did last week are all still in place. 

We are left with a “Bring it on!” attitude and the sincere hope that this one will get winter out of her system.

 TO SOOTHE MY FRAZZLED NERVES

Sooooo, the last time we talked I was waiting for my new computer to arrive.  As you might recall I was mourning having to lay the old girl to rest and feeling some trepidation about my future.  At the time I anticipated the transition was going to take place the very next day but it was a full week later before it arrived and I had the time to make the big change over.  First it didn’t get delivered when and how I expected, and then I had grandkids here all weekend.  I’m a one-thing-at-a-time kind of girl.  The ten-year-old grandson sure wanted to get right down to business and set everything up for me; in retrospect maybe I should have gone that route.

But, I didn’t.  I waited until Monday morning, and armed with an extra strong mug of coffee, made my way to my office to do one final check through what I had saved to external drives to make sure I had everything ready to move over from the old gal to the shiny new one.  It was a ‘go’.

I’m going to take a moment here to speak of my ancestral heritage.  I’m mostly Scottish.  The many things that this entails are: I have fair skin and blue eyes, I’m comfortable in a cooler climate, I love the sound of bagpipes, and I’m not one to throw my money around willy-nilly.  On the one hand, I will buy what I need and not scrimp on the basics; on the other hand, I’m pretty particulars what these basics are.

Hence, I purchased only the tower, mouse, and keyboard.  I didn’t need a new monitor.  My old one was just fine, thank you very much.

Except, when I hooked the new 2022 computer to the 2010 (or earlier, who knows?) monitor they would say “hi” to each other and then shut down.  No matter how many times I wiggled the plugs and double checked the ports it kept happening. Call #1 to someone who knows more than me resulted in the advice to “go buy a new monitor Jocelyn”.  So I did.

You know what?  They really don’t cost that much.  Their price is really minor … and I found out that the new ones are much easier on the eyes.  I wish I would have known that last year; I could have saved myself some serious eyestrain.  Maybe I don’t need new glasses after all.

Home I went with my new piece of the computer puzzle and hooked it up … to have the same thing happen all over again.  The computer and the monitor would acknowledge each other and shut down.  What did this mean?  Was my new computer a dud?  Time to place call #2 to someone else who knows more than me.  Luckily he was on a day off and happily said “Do you want me to come out to the farm, Mom?” His father (who knows zero about computers) just laughed when he saw the car pull into the yard and said “You had to call in the big guns, eh?”  No matter, he works for food.

And he was barely here long enough to rate a plain hamburger.  He took one look at the power bar, asked me what century it was from, plugged the computer into a different circuit than the monitor and we were instantly in business.  They would actually converse with each other … but the power bar still seemed to disapprove of what it was being asked to do.  It sounded like there was a switch that kept trying to flip.  I was told “Turn that sucker off and go get a new one!”  So I did.

I wish I could say that this cured all my woes, but no, it only solved that problem.

Once I had that new piece of the puzzle installed everything worked perfectly … until I tried to get my email.  The computer struggled to find Sasktel and dragged its feet to retrieve anything for me.  Of course everything about this computer looks different so I’m not even sure I’m doing things right.  Is it me?  Is it the computer?  Or, is it the Internet? Call #3 goes to yet another person who knows more than me – Sasktel troubleshooting.  I feel kind of sheepish about this one.  Somewhere in the past I have been given the same instructions: “Unplug your modem and wait 5 minutes, then plug it back in again.”  He tells me that a person should do this maybe twice per year … some kind of reset … maybe now that I’ve written it down I will remember.

So, that’s it, right?  Nothing else can go wrong, right?  Not so fast.

Remember when I said I had everything I wanted saved to memory sticks?  Well, I thought I did.  All my pictures are there.  Two large single files are there.  But, two other multiple files show up as empty.  I need them.  I want them on this computer.  I know where they are – they are on the old computer.  I merely have to unhook the new computer/mouse/keyboard and hook up the old computer/mouse/keyboard and retrieve them … and then reverse the hook up again.  Minor inconvenience, right?  I don’t even have to call anyone, I can do this on my own.

But, to tell you the truth, I’m feeling a bit stressed.  All I want to do is something relaxing.  Something that just feels natural to me, so I’m writing.  The keyboard feels different, the screen is doing strange new things, and I have no idea how I’m going to save this to copy and paste on my blog page, but that is my next challenge.

If you’re reading this it all turned out fine.  If you’re not I’ve got a date with a wine bottle