Tag Archives: love

Fascination

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It is a sunny April 4th. I’m always fascinated how the morning and sun changes everything. the world is not quite so dark and I don’t feel quite as bad. I think my cold broke during the night and I am heading towards feeling better and better. Though the world is not better but even worse today, it is fascination that I feel. In Caroline Myss words, we are living in the age of the unthinkable and unimaginable.

Aren’t you just fascinated watching how Donald Trump, the President of the United States and Pete Hegseth, the Secretary of War are behaving and talking? Aren’t you just fascinated that they are running a war? It isn’t a Hollywood movie though it feels much like one. Most of all, I am fascinated that I am so focused on all this whereas before I had no interest in politics. I am really just an artsy fartsy person at heart. Perhaps I am waking up to the world around me. It is time for me to pay some attention and do whatever I can to help.

It is Easter weekend here in the Americas. We’re thinking about turkeys and hams. Then I think about the ‘they’ in the Middle East. I’m thinking of the civilians. Their country is being bombed. In my mind’s eye, I see the rubble falling on the children’s heads. It must be so terrifying. And here I sit, safe and comfortable, in my sunroom. I am not feeling the pain or trauma of life torn apart.

Perhaps I am too serious. Perhaps I shouldn’t be saying all this. But this is who I am. It is hard for me to be silent on things that matter to me. I am often surprised I still keep talking my heart when I get misunderstood and do not get much support. As I’ve often said myself, I am like a dog with a bone. I used to think that as a negative trait. I beat myself up on it. My vision has changed and I quite like that part of me now. Isn’t life fascinating – how it and we can change?

It’s a Difficult Life

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Nowadays I like to start my morning reading the two Heathers. They are strong women. They speak the truth. They educate me to care, to listen and that I can make a difference. I’ve become politically interested and engaged. The Heathers are Heather Cox Richardson and Heather Delaney Reese. I’m always a truth seeker and speaker. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why I find life difficult. Another one is I am a woman of colour and an immigrant. Though I come from a culture where sons are preferred over daughters, my parents weren’t of that mind. My paternal grandmother was though.

She had no influence over how I felt about myself. I grew up feeling I am a person of worth. I’ve never thought I was less because I am female or because I am an Asian. I come from strong stock. My maternal grandfather escaped the clutches of Mao but not my grandmother. She was thrown in jail in his place. She survived and thrived. They had done nothing wrong. My grandfather was a teacher and mayor of their village. My grandmother was a housewife. They were not landowners. They were persecuted because of jealousy and fake stories. That’s been many years ago. Both of them have been gone for many years but their story still lives in me.

It is the 10th of March. We had snow overnight. The sun is shining bright. The thermometer dips and rises unpredictably. One day is spring. The next it is winter. My cold is better but the cough lingers. I feel better and worse at the same time. I am sickened by Donald Trump and his wars. I wonder what all the bombing and destruction are doing to the environment. In this moment, I have no positive bone in my body. It is a difficult life but I must rise and take charge of this one precious one that I have. What will I do? A little this, a little that. It all adds up. What will you do?

Slow Living

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It is March 8th. It rained this morning. It is day 15 of #the100dayproject. I have been working a little on it each day. My cold is still hampering me. I can’t go great guns with anything. However, I am happier with this slower pace of living and sewing. I am enjoying the process more. I have 5 completed logcabin blocks and 2 partial ones. I continued to be my usual disorganized self, not having my fabrics sorted to darks and lights. I don’t have all the strips cut either. I am in continuous state of search for the best strip.

It is a grey dismal day.This world is going nowheres fast except maybe to war. I am astounded by this world we’re in, aren’t you? I feel as if we are in a fake reality show. The only trouble is, it is not fake. It is not a bad idea to stick my head in the sand, ignore all this madness and do the things that nourishes me. Wake me when it is all over.

I had coffee with my 94 year old father this afternoon. We talked about the times from way back. He still has a good memory. The very first house we lived in was behind the cafe. It was owned by the town doctor. The rent was $7/month. It had 2 rooms. The linoleum was peeling. The next house was by the highway, across from the railway station. It was owned by grain elevator company. The rent was $20/month.It was bigger but not really better. My foot went through the floor board in a bedroom.

It was good to have memories to share. We hadn’t shared or conversed much before. We had a laugh over the rent. Who would have thought I could do this with my father?

Working on Joy and Hope

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It’s March 1, a new month and a new day, so they say. I woke up to the same world, full of bad news of Donald Trump and bombing in the Middle East. No overnight transformation of world peace and love. Whatever happened to the age of Aquarius? Where is the humanitarism and collective consciousness? Where has our conscience gone?

As you can see, I still am sick of this world. I am still a bit sick with my cold. It could be affecting my outlook. It doesn’t help that my iMac is not performing at its best. I am still working on improving my mood, trying to find some positivity and joy. I don’t want to add my negativity to the already existing toxic pool. This morning I found 2 inspiring stories. I should say they found me. I had not known or heard of these individuals before.

The first one was Margaret Anne Cargill. She was an heir to millions. Yet she lived a simple life and donated everything to charities anonymously. The 2nd person was Hamzah Jihad Furquani. He made 13 cents an hour as a prison janitor. He donated $17.74 of his earnings to relief efforts in Gaza. Their backgrounds were totally different but their hearts were the same, big and generous. Their stories are fascinating reads for me. They are real and not fake news. It gives me hope and inspiration in these dark times. I try a little harder to find and feel joy. I try a little harder to have a good day. The world is still full of good people. But we still need to acknowledge the evil, too.

I’m 8 days into the #100dayproject of sewing logcabin quilt blocks. My pace is slower, making a ½ block a day. The slower pace is more enjoyable. Here’s square #3 and #4.

Handing it out every day

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February 14th, a sunny Valentine’s Day. Will you be mine? For some reason I am remembering years back, in grade school. We used to cut out valentines and give them out to each other. It seemed like such a lovely and innocent idea, handing out love. I wonder if it is still done in schools. I wonder why we can’t do that every day, hand out love. There are so many ways. They don’t have to be elaborate and it doesn’t have to be restricted to February 14. We could do it any day or even every day. Wouldn’t that be something? What would the world be like? What would I be like?

Why don’t I try it and see what happens? I am tired of being the tired old me. It isn’t easy as pie to change. One tiny change changes everything and it isn’t always a comfortable fit. I quickly slip back into my well worn comfortable boots. I sigh with relief and ask myself, why try to fight it? Days pass. The comfortable boots no longer bring relief and I scold myself. I need to break in new boots. I need patience. I need to keep trying. The fight continues.

I need to think different thoughts. I need to speak different words. I need to see different visions. I want different outcomes. I want to have different feelings. I will hand out a valentine a day.

On Sadness

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I’m feeling incredibly sad in the moment. I am going to sink into it and use it for a rest. I am not going to berate myself for not being a better person and rise above it. True, it is a beautiful day. The sun is shining and the temperature is way above normal for February. I can appreciate all that. At the same time, I know what it tells us about climate change and global warming. It depresses me to no end that some people still think that it is a hoax while I feel our world is ending.

I know, I know, I am way too glum and serious. I acknowledge that but some people are way too glib. I am also a bit under the weather because of all the melting snow. Whether it is too early or not for snow molds, I’ve been experiencing watery eyes, runny nose and fits of dry harsh coughing. I’ve been worried about getting sick like the previous year. I’ve been crossing my fingers and toes. So far, so good. I’m over the worse of it and recovering. Sad as I am, I can still appreciate life and this morning’s beautiful sunrise.

Did I tell you that change is hard? If I hadn’t, I am telling you now. It is very hard and uncomfortable. But it is a whole lot better for me to consciously change than to leave the change to everything and everyone around me. I want to be the director and the captain of my ship. I take responsibility and can’t blame anyone except myself.

I have never found it much help talking to another about feelings. Most people, instead of just listening and accepting, tend to want to explain and fix. It doesn’t work for me because it makes me feel unheard, that there’s something wrong with my feelings. Therefore it makes me feel worse. However, now that I’ve wrestled with and discovered how it makes me feel, I’m feeling better. I am not as sad. There’s light at the end of the keyboard.

Having Faith

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February 8th. Cloudy, 0℃, freezing rain warning and snow forecasted. For far, so good. No rain nor snow. I’m still recovering from my cold or whatever I’m afflicted with. My cough is less and looser. So my self ministering works. I’ve been drinking almost nonstop for a couple of days – tea, decaf, herbal tea, hot water. So much sometimes I don’t quite make it to the bathroom in time. Then there’s the tylenol and neti pot saline rinses. I tried to stop this cold but even when I felt it coming, I couldn’t stop it. It had to have its day. It was like trying to stop a charging bull, a speeding train or a tsumani. Though I couldn’t stop it, I’ve lessened the impact.

Now that I have the momentum, I’m still tapping on the keyboard. It keeps me sane. It’s enough reason to keep going. I feel like I have someone to talk to, someone who understands, doesn’t judge and doesn’t talk back. There’s nothing that could make me feel worse than someone trying to make me see sense, see ‘the other side’. It’s something that I need to do for myself. What I need is to have the faith, trust in my feelings and intuition, lay low, stay quiet and let things be.

Though technically we are connected 24/7, I don’t feel we are connected emotionally at all. There’s this distance and emptiness. It’s difficult to have the faith. I’m working on it. I’m lonely without it. I miss my mother. I miss how things used to be. I can’t understand anything any more. Perhaps I shouldn’t try so hard to understand but it is surprising to find Dr. Phil showing up at ICE Raids. And why all the fury on immigrants? Aren’t we all immigrants here in North America except for the aboriginals? Aren’t we all human inhabitants of the planet? Doesn’t it belong to all of us?

Why are we killing each other? It’s making me furious. I feel like we’re experiencing a global autoimmune disorder. We are attacking each other. We are each other’s enemy. For this, I need to find and keep the faith that we can do better. I am tired. I need to just shut up and believe and be strong.

In Our Mother’s Closets

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January 30th, 2nd last day of the month and of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. It is the end of the day. I am tired. A busy productive day consisting of my sister and I taking our father to see the internal medicine doctor early in the morning.This past year has been many office, walkin-in and ER visits since our mother passed. We are all so vulnerable the first year after a significant death. And more so when the person is 94 and it is a spousal death.

We’ve all worked hard taking care of our father. The doctors commended our efforts. Our father is doing well now. They wouldn’t change a thing. They gave suggestions for possible things to do if such and such arise. And they will set up a follow up appointment in a month’s time. We are pleased that there will be a follow up and hope that it will hold up. Less doctor visits would be good.

There was still a lot of morning left after the appointment. We had planned to work on clearing more of our mother’s clothes before taking dad out for lunch. We hadn’t realized how much more there still was. This time wasn’t as emotionally difficult as the first closet we did last year. I even dare to say it was fun. We had alot of giggles and Oh my gods! as we pull out each item and tried them on. Our mother kept everything in very good condition. She must have kept all the things we had given her for Christmases and Mother’s Days. We never celebrate hers or dad’s birthdays either. We celebrated the kids’, her grandkids’ birthdays.

We got ambitious and went to the downstairs closets after lunch. Wow! There’s no need to go shopping. We could just shop at mom’s. She even kept some of our clothes for us. I pulled out the dress I sewed for my sister for her high school graduation. I had forgotten what it looked like. I couldn’t believe that it was me that sewed that dress. And I did it on my simple Kenmore from Sears. My sister couldn’t quite believe she could still get into the dress. Unfortunately she couldn’t quite zip it up in the back. Just one size too small.

I dropped 2 bags off at the clothing donation place. I have plans of using the cotton blouses to make another logcabin quilt. This one will be for my sister.

Tripping Around the Sun

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I completed another trip around the sun yesterday. The best gift was falling into sleep slumber after my head hit the pillow. I had a few nodding off during the evening movie. Though it was an Oscar Winner, I couldn’t make much sense of it with my little naps here and there. Nothing makes sense to me nowadays. The world is not orderly without my mother as an anchor. Sometimes I feel I’m behaving madly and very badly. I hope my night of sleep have reset me to the best operational mode.

I am not one for birthdays or parties. I don’t like alot of fuss. I can’t explain that myself. Who doesn’t want the celebration of the self? I’m all for that but fuss and attention not so much. Maybe I never had much of that growing up. I’m not used to it. I was born in China. I remembered getting a boiled egg on a birthday. It symbolizes new life, renewal and good fortune. And a chicken drumstick symbolizes a blessing for prosperity and a promise that the person will never go hungry in the symbolizes a blessing for prosperity and a promise that the person will never go hungry in the future. I remember getting both on birthdays in China. No birthday cakes or gifts.

I left China at age 8. I don’t remember getting anything for birthdays in Canada. Our whole applecart was upset being in a new country and culture. I got invited to some birthday parties. Then there was Christmas and Easter. We didn’t celebrate like the rest of the town. We did get Christmas trees after awhile. My mother made us new clothes for the new year. We didn’t do birthday cakes or Thanksgiving and Christmas turkeys. I felt our foreigness and of looking in from the outside.

Now, I have grown out of all that. We don’t all have to do the same, dress the same, think the same, celebrate the same…Or maybe we do have to do the same and be the same. Look at what is happening south of the border, in Minneapolis. Listen to the witness describing the Alex Pretti killing. It’s like I’m watching a horrible movie. It is not a movie we can step out of. But I have to step out, shut out, and turn off the world now and then. It’s time for a birthday lunch. We’re doing Japanese.

Much About Nothing

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A cloudy cool Saturday morning. I’ve been doing what I do the best, ruminating, accomplishing nothing. I seemed to have lost my words or else I’ve fallen out of love with them. How does one fall in love again? Life seems to have gone to hell in a handbasket. I am perhaps being overly dramatic and morose. So how does one get out of it? How can I fall in love with life and my words again?

I look out window at the grey drab January landscape. The only bright spot is the pink garage door. I am still surrounded by my paper clutter. At least I’ve taken care to comb and put up my hair. I drew in some eyebrows and put in some earrings. I’m not looking like hell. I’m wearing something bright, a blue mohair sweater knitted long ago. I feel a tug of desire to pick up my knitting needles again. They are sitting in a basket next to my chair. There’s also a pattern book of 6 patterns. The book cost $2.50 so you can guess how old it is.

My thoughts go round and round. I wonder what life is and how did I get here. It’s been a slippery slope since my mother passed. Her presence made me feel safe. There was order and purpose. She was our glue and our traffic director. Nobody seems to want the job she vacated. But one cannot just let everything fall apart. And so I try. Not doing great but at least I’ve picked up the reins. I couldn’t very well just say, ho hum and that was it. Well, I could but what would happen if we all did that?

So, I am trying again on the keyboard. I am trying to find the words to inspire and whisk me out of the hell handbasket. Something is better than nothing. Silence can be deadening as I well know. I might as well raise some hell. There’s still a few days left in January Ultimate Blog Challenge. I’ve made a beginning. There’s a bit of a middle. I need to finish what I’ve started. And that’s all there is to it.