Category: Life

Life

I Thought I Knew

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Yesterday, when I went into work at 5 AM and entered the building, I thought I smelled something.

What’s that smell? I thought.

Smells niggle, don’t they — tickling some unreachable place in the brain.

Oh — I knew the smell, or at least thought that I did.

Cannabis.

I shook my head. I certainly was not going to be the one who turned in someone on the night cleaning crew, but sheesh, they should know better. What you do on your time is your business, but what you do when you’re on the clock — not so much.

It was about an hour later that one of my early morning co-workers came by to see me.

“Did you see that this morning?” he asked.

“What?” I replied, somewhat confused. I had seen nothing unusual on the way into work and we both drive the same route.

“Right by the side door,” he said, gesturing with his chin to the door he uses. I actually use a different door when I come in.

I shook my head. “I didn’t see anything,” I said.

“You must have smelled it then,” he said.

I shook my head again.

“That huge skunk?!” he said. “It had obviously just sprayed, but I was worried it might try to get me too! We were that close.” He indicated a spot about 5 yards away.

I shook my head now for a different reason. Do skunk and cannabis smell similar? A quick google search affirmed that they, indeed, DO smell somewhat alike.

I thought I knew what I was smelling.

Guess I was wrong.

Sorry, night guys!

This is in response to Linda Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt: What’s that smell?

I haven’t done SoC writing in a while — too busy, too tired, life too full, all the excuses. When I read her prompt this week, though, I had just had my cannabis-skunk experience so I wrote it out.

Life · photography

Visiting British Columbia

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It even says it on their license plates, Beautiful British Columbia, as if our eyes are deceiving us. Yes, this is a beautiful place.

I had to fight the urge of pulling over on my drive up from Seattle to take some pictures. The mountains are breathtaking. The trees stand tall, erect, pointy and somehow brave.

It’s so very different from the Northeastern US, where the mountains are lovely, but older. The trees are also lovely, but more are deciduous; they seem to go with the flow of life instead of the unmoving strength of those giant pines.

Ah, I know, I’m probably way off base. The oaks and maples have deeper roots, right? And I’ve seen tall pines toppled with their root system, shallow and broad, turned on edge like a wall.

But this is my submission for Stream-of-Consciousness Saturday — a day late — and I’m not going to go back and correct what may need correction. When I saw that the prompt was “Photograph,” I thought, Yup, I’ve taken a few photographs over the past few days.

We’ve gone walking every day. Two days ago, my son and his wife wanted to take me to see some glorious vista — which I’m sure would have led to not a few photographs. However, we started up the logging road and it got steeper and steeper and steeper.

“Are we there yet?” I quipped two minutes into the hike.

Twenty minutes in, after a couple of rests, I asked them to guesstimate if we had gone a quarter of the way yet. He studied the map on his phone. “Umm…. maybe just under a quarter,” he said.

We turned back at my request. I walk A LOT, just not straight uphill.

Instead we walked along the Fraser River which was lovely. The only photograph from that walk was of an immature eagle who stared down on us as we passed.

Yesterday, we walked along the Vedder River, a river which changes its name to Chilliwack once it passes under a bridge, so I saw the Chilliwack River, too. In fact, I only photographed the Chilliwack.

Chilliwack River

But my favorite picture of the day was one I took immediately as we started on the path. It made me laugh — and it still makes me laugh.

I love when people have a sense of humor.

I really want to know who thought of the poop fairy.

In Beautiful British Columbia.

family · Life

Strawberry-Rhubarb Crisp

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Strawberry-rhubarb crisp for breakfast.

I can easily rationalize it. There’s oatmeal in the topping, fruit (strawberries) as a mainstay, and rhubarb — whatever food category that fits into — in there too. Surely it’s healthy, right?

The truth is my appetite has been off. My whole everything has been off. When my son’s girlfriend made peanut butter blossoms — those peanut butter cookies with a Hershey’s kiss pressed in the top — I politely declined. Oh, I eventually ate a few, trust me — later. They are hard to resist. But I didn’t woof down six at a time which I might have done had things been different.

Last weekend, or maybe it was last Friday, I started feeling achy. My back hurt. I thought I had slept on it wrong. It was my left scapula, and it was weird. Not the ordinary I-slept-on-something-wrong feeling.

Before the crack of dawn on Tuesday morning, I left for a flight to Roanoke. I was picking up one of my daughters from school. As I was getting dressed, I noticed a small rash just below my left breast. That’s weird, I thought.

Got to Roanoke. Got the rental car. Got together with my daughter, but I was exhausted. I left her mid-afternoon to go nap in my hotel room. The rash had grown, too, and was itchy-painful.

Maybe you can see where I’m going with this.

It was either Tuesday night or Wednesday morning that it hit me that I had shingles. No, I hadn’t gotten the vaccine.

I contacted my primary care provider, but, as it turns out, they can’t do a tele-health visit with me if I’m out of state at the time. Ridiculous, right?

Initially, shingles was (were?) just annoying. “I don’t have time for this,” I said more than once to more than one person. I mean, it’s the holidays. Sheesh.

But, by Thursday, I felt like excrement. You know what I mean, right? I did a tele-health appointment, was prescribed an antiviral, and stayed in my room all day. Mostly.

The next day, same thing.

My appetite has been way off with this.

Last night, my son’s girlfriend was making strawberry-rhubarb crisp. “Do you want some?” they both asked.

I politely declined. I didn’t like strawberry-rhubarb crisp on a good day. My mom used to make it and it was not my favorite.

However, this morning when I went down for coffee, there was the baked crisp on the counter. I could see the oatmeal in the topping. Breakfast food, for sure.

I dished out a small bowl, and it was, literally, just what the doctor ordered. (She’s a doctor.)

It was so good that I went back for more.

Maybe rhubarb has healing qualities.

One can always hope, right?

Life

The Color of Peace

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“What are you struggling with?” my friend/spiritual director asked me.

I didn’t have to think hard on that one. “Peace,” I said. “It’s always hard to find peace this time of year.”

She nodded knowingly, then asked, “What does peace look like?”

I stared at the candle’s flame and the assortment of little knick-knacks she had placed on the table. I thought and thought, but couldn’t come up with an answer. One of the things that I love about her is that she allows silence.

What does peace look like? I rolled the words around and around in my head.

She interrupted the silence with another question. “What color is peace?” she asked.

Immediately, I went to watery colors, my absolute favorite. Water is my go-to. For me, water is place that allows me to be supported, and held, and still move and exercise and be me.

What color is peace?

I thought of a night not long ago when I had gone for a walk with a friend. We had walked and walked in the cemetery. Now, there’s a peaceful place for you.

As the sun set, and the temperature dropped, we walked down toward the lake to a bench that overlooked the water.

The water was dark and still, with a crescent moon reflecting on it.

Occasional ripples appeared from who-knows-what. The tiny breath of a breeze? A fish beneath the surface who didn’t know winter was approaching? A night bird I hadn’t noticed?

Suddenly, I knew exactly what color peace is — it’s the color of a moonlight lake. Dark and light at the same time. Calm and rippled at the same time. A friend next to me. Crisp air around me.

Is that a color?

To me it is.

Moon photo reflecting on the road — but not from that night and certainly not the same as the moon reflecting on water:

This is in response to Linda Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Prompt: “To me“

family · Life

Life-Change

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Some years ago — more years than I care to say — my life changed forever on this date. My first child was born.

Some people embark on careers, starting their first job in a profession they have studied long and hard for. They can look back a lifetime later with satisfaction at their accomplishments and accolades.

Me? I fell into a life.

It involved minimal sleep for some periods, cleaning up bodily fluids and/or solids that gushed forth out of bodies in ways I never imagined.

It involved laundry — mountains and mountains of laundry — think Adirondacks in the form of onesies, and t-shirts, and grass-stained pants, and little Osh-Kosh overalls, and socks, many of which lost their life partner in the depths of the dryer, only to find new partners who looked slightly different.

It involved reading the same books over and over and over, and making up voices for the characters, and then forgetting the voice and being corrected by a small child — “Wait — I thought that was Toad talking, not Frog.”

It involved kissing boo-boos, and seeing that mother’s kisses really do have magical healing power. It also involved band-aids and ice packs and doctor’s visits and bearing witness to stitches and casts, when mother’s kisses couldn’t heal alone. It involved Chicken Pox — because that was thing then — and strep throat and maladies without names and bedside throw-up buckets and vast amounts of kleenex.

It involved baking cookies. Lots and lots of cookies — some for family consumption and some to sell to help with special purchases. Our first computer — a Gateway 2000 — was purchased with cookie money.

I daresay that there are times I miss the respectability of a “real” profession — but I would never exchange it for any of this past lifetime.

When I held my oldest son for the first time and studied his face, I had no idea what I was in for. I marveled that little person had been inside my body just a short time before — but I had no idea what a gift he was to me.

My oldest daughter is now expecting her first child (my 5th grandchild). I keep thinking what life-changing treat she is in for.

Life

Kick the Tires

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Walk about Zion, go around her,
number her towers,
Consider well her ramparts,
go through her citadels,
that you may tell the next generation
that this is God,
our God forever and ever.
He will guide us forever.

Psalm 48:12-14 (ESV)

I read three Psalms every morning. Since there are 150 Psalms, I read through them all every 50 days — then I start again. I’ve been doing this for years so the words are more and more like old friends.

This Psalm, however — Psalm 48 — is one of my favorites. I arrive at it, and my mind immediately says, “It’s the ‘kick the tires’ Psalm!” I read it, and I picture the people walking around Zion, looking at critically, like someone would if they were buying a used car.

It’s that go-ahead-and-check-it-out mindset that I love.

Walk around her.
Count her towers.
Consider her ramparts.
Walk through her citadels.
Kick the tires.

Anything that’s true stands up to scrutiny.

And even if scrutiny reveals flaws, it’s all good. I’ve done that walk around a rental car before and after taking it out — noting scratches and dings. Yep, let’s be aware. Let’s take note.

It’s true of God. It’s true of other relationships. It’s true of life itself.

Take note of strengths and appreciate them.

Take note of weaknesses, and make a mental note to keep an eye on that.

Go ahead. Kick the tires. Find out what’s really there.

family · Life

Life Choices

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“There’s an awful lot of sighing going on over there,” said my pew-mate at church yesterday.

She was right.

I carry my cares in my shoulders and my breathing. Multiple times during the worship service I had realized my shoulders were tight and that I was holding my breath. I would force my shoulders down in faux-relaxation and exhale slowly. Apparently it didn’t go unnoticed.

We talked for a few minutes afterwards and her words were so helpful. To have the right person with the right words show up at the right moment is truly a gift.

Then I made a great life choice — carve pumpkins with my granddaughter.

Sometimes a life choice is something big — where to go to college, who to spend my life with, where to settle down and live.

More often it’s something small — what do I do this month, this week, this day, this moment.

Carving pumpkins, eating roasted pumpkins — sometimes that is the very best life choice.

Life

The Water Softener

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Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “last thing that broke/you had to fix.” Think about the word that best describes the last thing that stopped working for you and use that word any way you’d like. Enjoy!

Linda G. Hill, The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Oct. 14, 2023

One of my children mentioned that the water smelled: sulfur-y, iron-y, not good. “Have you been adding salt to the water softener?” he asked.

I had, but the last time I had added salt, I was surprised to see salt still in the tank. “I’m not sure it’s working,” I said, and went down to our damp, dirt-floor basement to check.

Verdict: the water softener is not working.

The water softening system has always been a bit of a mystery to me. I don’t understand how it works. I dump salt in. It disappears, but I don’t hear anything that tells me something is kicking on and actually doing something.

Like the furnace, which did kick on this week as the temperatures dropped.

Everyone that walked through the door where I worked commented on the cold weather like it was a surprise. Seriously, this happens every year. Every. Single. Year. It’s hot in the summer, cold in the winter. This is not something new.

But I digress — the plague of Stream-of-Consciousness writing.

Water softener. I have no idea how old the system is, but it has worked its magic for many years.

I poked around at the mysterious water softener. Cobwebs. Corrosion. Dirt. They were all present. Probably not good for it. Tank with water and salt.

To be honest, I avoid the basement. It’s creepy.

I open the door once a year to let the furnace guy down to service the furnace — an appliance that makes far more sense to me. I go down periodically with bags of salt for the water softener. That’s about it.

One time I heard a noise in the basement and there were woodchucks. Seriously.

I can clean the dirt and the cobwebs, but the corrosion looks pretty unpromising. I think I need a whole new system.

Of course, I have to make a metaphor out this and ask the question(s) — where in my life do I have dirt and cobwebs that need to be cleaned? and, where is there so much corrosion that I just need to start new?

Blather · Life

When I Grow Up (a blathery post)

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Truth: I am 63. In the prime of my life, right?

I think most people my age are not doing what I do almost daily which is to ponder the question, what do I want to be when I grow up?

For crying out loud, I AM grown up! I have grown-up children. I have grandchildren marching towards grown-upness. (Well, at least marching towards double-digits, which is just a hop-skip-and -jump away from teenager years which are pretty darn close to being grown-up.)

Most of my peers are pondering how to spend the retirement years. I struggle to relate.

I have a love-hate relationship with my job. I moved from part-time to full-time two years ago. The last full time job I held before that was 1984.

I took a whole bunch of years off to bake cookies and have teas, as Hilary Clinton once said. Except I didn’t have teas. I played with Lego, read aloud, changed diapers, did laundry, read aloud some more, and went for walks to the library. We went for family swims, had skunk watches (just what it sounds like — watching a skunk make a daily trek outside our sliding door), played with math manipulatives, raked leaves, painted Christmas cookies, colored Easter eggs, hid birthday presents, etc. etc. etc.

Now, at work, I struggle with having a boss. I struggle with the politics of the work-place, with the certain amount of fakeness that is expected required, and I just can’t do it.

I love planning things. I love when an idea comes to fruition. That happened with events twice this week.

I hate any sort of spotlight.

I love listening to people. I love stories. I love making people feel welcome. I now know how to say “Good morning” in at least 6 languages — which I really do use to greet people. The Russian lady, especially, always smiles and laughs when I do. Sometimes the “r” rolls in dubro utro and sometimes my tongue gets stuck. Either way, we both laugh about it.

I hate pettiness. I hate micromanaging. These aspects of my job come from on high and drive me crazy. I want to scream,”Just let me do my job!”

Sometimes I think back to my horse riding days. Some horses needed a tight rein, but most were much happier and cooperative with a little slack. I rode bareback most of time, and could feel the horse, which is kind of strange to explain to someone who has never experienced it. Horses and I got along well.

I LOVE having a counterweight to my idea-ness. I have such a person in my life right now who can see the potential in my ideas and can either point out the flaws or move them forward. Idea people need that someone else. They don’t micromanage; they work alongside.

All this is to get to the concept of Ikigai which I stumbled upon yesterday in my struggle to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. I found a Venn diagram — and I love Venn diagrams — that illustrated it:

The more I read, though, about Ikigai — defined by Wikipedia as “a Japanese concept referring to something that gives a person a sense of purpose, a reason for living.” — I realized that this is one of those foreign words that doesn’t translate well. Even the Venn diagram — and I DO love Venn diagrams — sort of makes it formulaic, and it isn’t.

So — prime of life or not, I’ll still ponder what to be when I grow up. Maybe someday I’ll figure it.

But can someone just get rid of these darn micromanagers??!

This way-too-wordy post is brought to you by Linda Hill’s Stream of Conscious Saturday prompt: prime