It’s an overcast May 11th. Though it is 20℃, it is not inviting nor enticing me out. I shall procrastinate, linger and grumble a bit before heading out to do some gardening chores. I am hard pressed for inspirations to lift me up and out of my malaise. I did come across Jim Hadfield’s baking story recently. It is pretty inspiring. He learned how to bake in retirement because it was difficult to find bread he could enjoy. Over time his baking menu grew and became a business out of his home in Milestone, Saskatchewan.
Surprisingly, I’ve never heard of Milestone. It is 50 55 km from Regina with a population of 672 – 682 residents. It is 321 km from Saskatoon, a 3 hour drive away. I find it remarkable that he has a thriving business. There’s quite a demand for his Christmas cake. He has orders from across Canada. He started out with 28 cakes the first year. It grew to 724 cakes for 2025 and his Christmas cakes are already sold out for 2026. I think he has an order of 1264 cakes this year! He will be turning 75 later this month. He has a Facebook page.
All this did sparked my brain and heart this morning. It made me think, Why don’t I do something like that? I’m thinking of doing the baking thing, too. Once upon a time, I tried out all kinds of things after I perfected the bread. I tried cinnamon buns, baguettes, Chinese steamed buns, sourdough bread, pie once. I bought 2 new pie pans and have not used them once. I still have a binder full of pastry recipes. Maybe it’s time to experiment and bake again. I can try to be a smaller version of Jim. I will not take any orders.
I could easily become a hermit if left to my own devices. I have no energy and no ambition. So begins another Sunday morning and the second Mother’s Day without my mother. Mothers’ Day will always be a memorable day, not because of its name/label. It is because it is the day before Mothers’ Day in 2024 that my mother fell and broke her hip. I was just preparing to sit down at Pink Candillac restaurant with my friends when my phone rang. It was my father saying my mother fell. Can I come and see.
The rest is history as the saying goes. It’s not good when a senior falls and breaks a hip. My mother survived the surgery and the hip. She spent 6 weeks in the hospital. Her hip was not a problem but the rest of her couldn’t take the trauma. On a beautiful October day we bade her farewell. She saw the sunrise and the sunset as she wished. And so here I am, on the second anniversary of that fateful fall. And perhaps it was fate. She was tired and looking for a way out.
I am solemn and melancholic but also feeling grateful that my mother is not suffering any more. I am comforted that she is at ease in her forever home. I read this post written by Edward Curtin about his mother, Rita Rose: A Mother, an Artist and a Soul Still Speaking. I hope you will enjoy it.
A cloudy May 7th morning and clouds expected for most of the day. At least it is a bit warmer. Things are not greening up fast indoors or out. My instinct not to rush with gardening was correct. I wonder how long. these up and down weather patterns of cool and heat will continue. It very much fits in with our present world political climate. I continue to read the two Heathers every morning. I continued to feel distress with their news. Most of all I am flabbergasted by the corruption and it is all right out in the open. And it is still happening, getting worse day by day.
I have been feeling distressed and flabbergasted by so many things now. I have grown and matured some to handle life better. I am not letting life overwhelmed me. I am not rendered helpless, angry and reactive. Instead I try to stay calm and respond. It’s taken a long time but it is possible to learn different and better ways of being. All my old triggers are still there. They still react but at the same instant I feel my brain clicking, blocking them and coming up with a better response. Our brain is an amazing organ. I love it.
The sun is struggling, trying to get through the clouds. I appreciate whatever light, no matter how small it may be, that can get through. A little can go a long ways in lighting my way through the dark. I need just a glimmer to start the day. That and a cup of tea.
A sunny Tuesday morning. I’m surprised to find that it is -2℃ at 8 o’clock. I’ve had a good sleep. It’s remarkable how good that plus the sun can make me feel. I shall not let that goodness and the day go to waste. I will not haste though, but savour all the minutes at my own pace. I remember the saying, haste makes for waste. So how shall I proceed?
The day is almost over. I surely did not haste today. I enjoyed a leisurely 4 hour brunch with my two dear friends. One of them had just recently lost her mother. I shared my thought that I really had believed that we would never lose our mothers. We had them for so long. It’s really strange now to find ourselves without our mothers. But that is the way with nature. We are losing more people as time goes by. It is this stage in our lives.
After time spent with my two friends, it was time to take my father out to the mall for a walk and coffee with my mother’s friends. I don’t have any Chinese friends except these. I don’t have a lot of friends either. I am not a social butterfly. I cannot handle too many people but I am fortunate to have my little groups of caring loving individuals, at the mall, at the YWCA and my retired co-workers. It is enough.
After coffee at the mall, I still had a little time to do a bit of weeding, planting and watering in the greenhouse. My spinach and lettuce are ready for small pickings. I planted 2 sweet one million tomatoes. There’s 2 blossoms on the snow peas. Our days are still a frosty but it was toasty warm in the greenhouse in the afternoon. Now it is late and time for bed. It was a very good day.
spinachlettuceblossoms on snow peassweet 1 million tomato
It feels like winter is reluctant to leave us. When I woke this morning, it was 0℃ and feeling cooler than that. It hasn’t gotten much warmer, sitting at 5℃ and feeling like -5℃ at 2:40 pm. The sky has remained grey. There’s a strong wind blowing though not as bad as yesterday. The planted snow peas and celery in the raised bed remain under covers.
It’s a good day to cosy up with a hot cup of tea. I’m sleepy, tapping and trying to keep up my joie de vivre. I’m finding I can choose how I feel. I choose the brighter side unless I’m too cranky. Sometimes I revert to my childish side and slip over, Then I have to give myself a talk to get my adult self back. It’s all okay to slip, stumble and fall. It keeps me humble.
It’s almost Mother’s Day. How does one celebrate it without a mother? She’s been gone a year and a half now, a short and a long time ago. It’s short but long enough that the pain is not the sharp searing kind. I’ve adjusted to her physical absence. Her essence is, of course, forever in me. I do not need to do anything for Mother’s Day. I no longer have a Mother and I have never been a mother. Anne Lamott speaks so well on the thing about Mother’s Day. Here it is from 2025:
“Here is my annual Mother’s Day post, ONLY for those of you who dread the holiday, dread having strangers, cashiers & waiters exclaim cheerfully, mindlessly, “Happy Mother’s Day!” when it is a day that, for whatever reasons, makes you feel deeply sad. I told Neal last year that I didn’t think I’d run it, because I always get so much hate mail, and he said, “It’s never stopped you before.”
This is for those of you who may feel a kind of sheet metal loneliness on Sunday, who had a sick or abusive mother, or a mother who recently died, or who wanted to have kids but didn’t get to, or had kids who ended up breaking your hearts. If you love the day, and have or had a great mom and happy highly successful kids, skip this piece: I’m begging you.
I did not raise my son, Sam, to celebrate Mother’s Day. I didn’t want him to feel some obligation to buy me pricey lunches or flowers, some obligatory annual display of gratitude. Perhaps Mother’s Day will come to mean something to me as I grow even dottier in my dotage, and I will find myself bitter and distressed when Sam dutifully ignores the holiday. Then he will feel ambushed by my expectations, and he will retaliate by putting me away even at a PlaceForMom.com sooner than he is planning to — which, come to think of it, would be even more reason for me to resist Mother’s Day.
But Mother’s Day celebrates a huge lie about the value of women: that mothers are superior beings, that they have done more with their lives and chosen a more difficult path. Ha! Every woman’s path is difficult, and many mothers were as equipped to raise children as wire monkey mothers. I say that without judgment: It is true. An unhealthy mother’s love is withering.
The illusion is that mothers are automatically more fulfilled and complete. But the craziest, grimmest people this Sunday will be many mothers themselves, stuck herding their own mothers and weeping or sullen children and husbands’ mothers into seats at restaurants. These mothers do not want a box of chocolate. They may have announced for a month that they are trying not to eat sugar. Oh well, eat up or risk ruining the day for everyone.
I hate the way the holiday makes all non-mothers, and the daughters of dead mothers, and the mothers of dead or lost children, feel the deepest kind of grief and failure. The non-mothers must sit in their churches, temples, mosques, recovery rooms and pretend to feel good about the day while they are excluded from a holiday that benefits no one but Hallmark and See’s. There is no refuge — not at the horse races, movies, malls, museums. Even the turn-off-your-cellphone announcer is going to open by saying, “Happy Mother’s Day!”
You could always hide in a nice seedy bar, I suppose. Or an ER.
It should go without saying that I also hate Valentine’s Day, even those years when I’ve had a boyfriend or random husband.
Mothering perpetuates the dangerous idea that all parents are somehow superior to non-parents. Meanwhile, we know that many of the most evil people in the country are politicians who have weaponized parenthood.
Don’t get me wrong: There were a million times I could have literally died of love for my son, and I’ve felt stoned on his rich, desperate love for me. I felt it yesterday when I was in despair. But I bristle at the whispered lie that you can know this level of love and self-sacrifice only if you are a parent. What a crock! We talk about “loving one’s child” as if a child were a mystical prancing unicorn. A majority of American parents secretly feel that if you have not had and raised a child, your capacity for love is somehow diminished. They secretly believe that non-parents cannot possibly know what it is to love unconditionally, to be selfless, to put yourself at risk for the gravest loss. But in my experience, it’s parents who are prone to exhibit terrible self-satisfaction and selfishness, who can raise children as props or adjuncts, like rooms added on in a remodel. Often their children’s value and achievements in the world are reflected glory, necessary for these parents’ self-esteem, and sometimes, for the family’s survival. This is how children’s souls are destroyed.
But my main gripe about Mother’s Day is that it feels incomplete and imprecise. The main thing that ever helped mothers was other people mothering them, including aunties and brothers; a chain of mothering that keeps the whole shebang afloat. I am the woman I grew to be partly in spite of my mother, who unconsciously raised me to self-destruct; and partly because of the extraordinary love of her best friends, my own best friends’ mothers, and from surrogates, many of whom were not women at all but gay men. I have loved them my entire life, including my mom, even after their passing.
The point is, have a beautiful, wonderful Mother’s Day if it is a holiday that brings you joy, but just be conscious that for many, many people, it isn’t. Proceed thoughtfully. Deal?
April is gone. Today is May 3. I meant to show up 2 days ago but I never made it. Some days are easier than others. Today is not one of those. The sky is cloudy. I’m heavy with it. I’m saggy and draggy but I’ve started the day. I still start it reading the two Heathers. I’m also reading Nobody’s Girl now that I got it from the library. It’s no wonder that I’m weighed down.
I wish that I’m not so serious minded. I wish that I am more light hearted. But that is not who I am. Whether it is because of genetics or how life shaped me, it’s hard to know. It is probably both. It is not easy being an immigrant child of immigrant parents. Being the oldest is not a cake walk either. I bear/feel the brunt of the responsibility for helping them navigate in an English speaking country. Life was and has been a serious affair. There was/are good times and laughter but not the uproarious kind. Our lives always seemed to me to be smaller than others.
That’s my feelings growing up. You don’t shed those feelings of inadequacy easily. I haven’t. They’re still there somewhere just underneath my skin. Not that I feel like a failure. I know I have done very well. I am a well informed and educated person. I am financially independent. I am retired with many interestests. I am never bored. I am occasionally melancholy. Who isn’t, especially in these times?
And so I come to this space to tap out my melancholy, my angst and sometimes my joys and excitement. I do get those happy exuberant feelings once in awhile, too. It must have been what I felt yesterday. They carried me through a whole day of gardening. I repotted seedlings, cleaned out 3 raised beds in the back yard. I planted 3 cucumbers in the greenhouse and 7 celery in the raised bed. Hope I wasn’t over eager and too early. Hope is a good antidote for melancholy.
April 30th and the last day of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. I am disappointed with the low participation. It is always more fun with more people. I haven’t shown up every day myself but I am proud that I have pulled up my socks for the last half. When I did a count, I missed 4 days. That is not bad, 4 days out of 30.
What I’ve learned on this round is not to get distracted by the low attendance. I focused on just writing my best each day on something that is important to me. I am inspired to show up by my fellow bloggers who showed up daily to cross the finish line. It is great satisfaction to finish what I’ve started. I was tempted daily to just drop out because of lack of interest. But then I had a second thought. I am interested. That’s all that is needed. The surprising thing is I have had lots of traffic on my site these last few months. Not that I am getting lots of comments or likes. It could be just a computer glitch. Even so, it is still very satisfying.
I am not sure what I will do here after April. I still have my love of words. I still love to see how the letters, words and sentences marach across the screen. I still need to complain and bitch about my lot. This is still a meditation exercise for me. So in all probability, you will still hear from me.
My second last post for the Ultimate Blog Challenge. I’m taking advantage of Wordless Wednesday for a quick short post. The photo is of a Japanese restaurant in my neighbourhood. I love Japanese food and many things Japanese. I’ve painted many geishas. You would know that if you follow me on Instagram. The YouTube link is of a documentary made by The National Film Board. I found the documentary on Prime while searching for the movie E. T. In these days of the Epstein Files, I thought it was appropriate. For some things, apologies and compensations cannot wholly heal the damage.
“The Apology follows the personal journeys of three former “comfort women” who were among the 200,000 girls and young women kidnapped and forced into military sexual slavery by the Imperial Japanese Army during World War II. Some 70 years after their imprisonment in so-called “comfort stations”, the three “grandmothers—Grandma Gil in South Korea, Grandma Cao in China, and Grandma Adela in the Philippines—face their twilight years in fading health. After decades of living in silence and shame about their past, they know that time is running out to give a first-hand account of the truth and ensure that this horrific chapter of history is not forgotten. Whether they are seeking a formal apology from the Japanese government or summoning the courage to finally share their secret with loved ones, their resolve moves them forward as they seize this last chance to set future generations on a course for reconciliation, healing, and justice.“
It’s a sunshine and lollypops kind of a morning. I feel faint stirrings of wanting to clean the yard of last year’s old growth and debris. I thought better of it. There’s snow on the ground. It’s early and a bit cool for that kind of undertaking. But faint stirring are good. It means I’m still alive and feeling. I saw that my snowdrops are up. They’re a little crushed by the snow but still beautiful to see.
I put in a bit of time in the greenhouse yesterday. I weeded and propped up the snow peas with bamboo sticks. They’re getting gangly and sprawly. It’s not my favourite thing to do. To be honest, I can’t really say I love gardening. It is hard and dirty work. I guess I do get some satisfaction at the end of the chore/season. It is nice to see a neat weed-free bed of greens. In a few weeks, I hope to harvest some lettuce and spinach for a salad or two.
It’s April 28th. Just a couple more days of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. At this moment, I can’t say that I really love writing either. But it is satisfying to see the letters and words march across the screen, forming a sentence and a post. That is the thing, isn’t it? Getting a little satisfaction is worth a little effort.
We’re at the end of April and May is just around the corner. I’m still greeted by the white of the snow when I open my bedroom blinds upon waking. The morning temperature is still in the minus. I’m still starting my mornings reading the two Heathers. I feel it is important to know what’s going on south of our border and the world. It is important for me to know what we as human beings are capable of. It is distressing, frightening and very bad for my mental health. Ignoring it, hiding my head in the sand will not make it go away. It is almost unbelievable what is happening. It is so awful that in a way it is entertaining. I wonder if Donald Trump is laughing away at what he is able to do and getting away with it.
Perhaps I should stop ranting and start taking care of myself. It’s been a difficult journey with the passing of my mother and the caring of my father. Not that my father needs alot of hands on care. At 94 he is still independent with his own physical care of dressing and bathing. He can still look his own meals. My brother does the yard work in summer and shovels the snow in winter. My sister does the vacuuming and laundry. We all do the trips to bloodwork, doctors and ER visits. I’ve been overseeing his social and emotional wellbeing. So I’ve been taking him out for coffee every afternoon for a year. What can I do when he is alone 24/7 for the first time in his life?
Now I’m cutting back to coffee 3 times a week. He has gotten over the acute phase of loss and grief. I need the time to unwind, for I, too have had suffered loss and grief. In the past year and a half I have not lost just my mother but part of my hearing. I have lost time struggling with griefing, caring and restoring my health. I guess every one of us have gone through these stages in our lives. And yesterday I recognized these passages attending an art exhibit with passages as a theme. I was overcome with emotions as the art evoke the memories of passages passing. I felt the loss of no arting for the past year.
onethousandandtwo 