It’s the 7th day of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. I am late coming to the keyboard. Life is busy in this time of my life. My father is almost 95 and every day can be unpredictable. He has congestive heart failure and COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease). We spent alot of time at the doctor’s, walk-in clince and ER last year after my mother passed. We were thankful that this year has been much better. Still there are episodes.
Today was a doctor day. We were fortunate that we got an appointment. He has been seen, x-rayed and on medications. He is tough and still interested in life and this world of ours. I think he will be okay. I have accepted that this is what is and that I still have a life to tend to. I will be okay also. It was just a little difficult to manage a wheelchair and doors alone. Lucky for me that there were many friendly hands to help.
After the doctor, we went and renewed our application for wheelchair parking permit for another 3 years. Then it was time for coffee at the mall with our friends. Life is still very good and beautiful. Good friends to have coffee with help. Then there’s my gardens. My front yard is so beautiful. It is hard to described. It is bathed in a certain kind of light in the afternoon. It reminds me of the opening line in the Bee Gees’ To Love Somebody. For all the issues I have with my father, I guess I do love him.
“There’s a light, a certain kind of light, that never shone on me”.
My front yard has been an issue with my neighbour for many years. She objects growing vegetables in the fron yard. She calls my raised beds coffins. She has reported me to the city about my messy yard. The city does not agree with her. Maybe all of this is because she really does not like me. I find that hard to understand because I don’t have a relationship with her. Now in these times I wonder if it is because of the colour of my skin. And I am an immigrant. I feel my yard is breath takingly beautiful in a certain kind of light in the afternoon, weeds and all.
July 1, Canada Day and the first day of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. My goal is to show up every day in July with a new post. I’m not a new comer to this challenge. As usual I have no planned theme for my writing. I have no business or service to promote. I write because I love words. They are powerful and magical. They can make or break you. So I am careful with my words. Once said, you cannot unsay them. Say the wrong word(s), good will and friendships can be severed, sometimes permanently.
I will try to tread lightly and carefully through July. These are scary and unbelievable times in the USA and the world. I’ve been reading Heather Cox Richardson and Heather Delaney Reese on the political scenes every morning for awhile now. I am surprised at how I am captured by politics as I was never that interested before. I am appalled at how out right corrupt our world is. I am ashamed that I haven’t been paying attention. We should all be paying attention. What happens to one, happens to all. We are all interconnected.
I was born in China during the times of Mao. I don’t know too much about the politics of my birth country except that it is communist and it is considered very bad and dreaded here in the West. I left when I was 6 years old. I don’t remember much but I do have some memories. I remember standing in line with my mother at the market with pieces of paper to buy meat, sugar, etc. Everything was rationed. You were allowed so much and you give so much to the government. I remember hearing the sound of the firing squad. People get killed speaking ill of the government. My mother had to be a witness at one. She said she couldn’t look, pretended and looked at the ground.
With what’s happening in the world today, I am reminded that we are back in those times again. I cannot help but feel sad and bad at all the corruption, injustices and killings. I am remembering my maternal grandmother thrown in jail by Mao and his gang. They took her in place of my grandfather who escaped to Hong Kong. She said heaven saved her and she learned to write her name in jail. Seems ironic now that she didn’t know how to write her name. My grandfather was the principal and mayor of their village. But they were not land owners.
I am, in essence, writing these words for my grandmother and mother in heaven. Hallowed be their names.
A cool rainy Sunday, June 21. The moisture is always a welcome. There’s too much cool and clouds this spring and summer. This is the year like no other in so many ways. First, in the unpredictable weather patterns. Second, in world events, mostly in the United States and the Middle East. I feel slightly unhinged. Real life and age are catching up with me. There are no safe harbours and there is no escape. I must face the music. There is no one I want to talk to about this. So here I am, tapping for my health and sanity.
Once upon a time, there was my mother. Her being there was enough. My world now feels a little wobbly without her. It shows that everyone and everything makes a difference in our lives. It’s only after they’re gone that we notice how and what a big difference they make. I am now living in that awareness. It is not an easy thing. Sometimes I like to close my eyes and just drift away. Everything is a huge effort but I do it and not say I will try. Trying is like hoping. It’s like the saying on a hope and a prayer. It conveys a slight chance of succeeding. I don’t like that.
Once upon a time, not too many years ago, I was full of optimism and energy. I was looking forward to the morning the night before so that I could start doing. I was excited about cross country skiing. I was going out every morning all winter, no matter the temperature. It was so invigorating and so much fun even though I wasn’t very good at it. Now my skis are gathering dust. I am not so excited about mornings. This summer they are mostly cool and cloudy. There is no sun rising at 5ish to wake me up.
Once upon a time, I felt young and robust. Now I feel that those times are past. Though my head doesn’t feel ancient, my body begs to be different. My hands are painful, not just stiff, from morning to night. My hips are grumbling, too. I’m not a cry baby, a complainer. Really, I’m not. I’m just remembering how things used to be, mourning loss youth, opportunities and missing my mother. I am working on how to make this life easier and better. It’s a challenge, I know. That makes it interesting and worthwhile. I am not without hope and prayers. I still dream.
After a couple of sunny days, it’s back to clouds again. I am wary that I won’t get swept under them also. Sometimes it is hard to stand your ground. It’s hard to put on a brave face, never mind pasting on a smile. I’m a born melancholy baby. Maybe I don’t need to pretend but I won’t let it all hang out either.
I’m learning to live with my creeping bellflowers. I just did some minor maintenance in the front yard this morning. Keeping up and on top of things can kill you. I’m looking at the big picture and trying not to focus on every little thing. The leaf rollers are a different matter. Last year it was aphids. I don’t know which is worse. These caterpillars are attacking my pepper plants, chewing them up. I’ve been picking them off and squishing them daily. If I don’t, I might have any pepper plants left. This morning I threw a crop cover over them to see if that would help.
I do have some good news. Two of my bitter melons have a bloom each. The garden is doing well despite our strange weather this year. The lettuce is finished in the greenhouse but I am harvesting the new crop in the raised bed outside. The French Breakfast radishes are a beautiful and delicious addition for our salads. Things are not growing as they used to but they’re still growing and providing food for the table. It’s a reminder for myself to adjust and adapt to what is here as best as I can. And never lose hope and belief that everything still matters.
Everything still matters and even more so than ever. I can’t afford to get distracted by all the corruption that is happening down south by Donald Trump and his merry crew. It bothers me so much because it reminds me of what helplessness feels like. I’ve been in that place a few times in this life. It feels very bad when you know things are not correct but you can’t do anything about it. It is the worst kind of helplessness. Even so, it is the best time and opportunity to put your best foot forward. I have to remember what Lao Tzu said. A journey of a thousand mile starts with a single step.
May 18th. No rain or snow today. But there is a yellow advisory – frost from Environment Canada. How strange! Going to the site, it says severity is moderate. Possible threat to life or property. Freezing temperatures with frost are expected tonight. I would say it is a little over the top. I’ve uncovered the 2 raised beds this morning. I am not sure I have the energy to cover them up again. I will live precariously and take my chances. Right now at 4:20 pm it is sunny at 11℃. In the greenhouse, it is 26.3℃. The vents are opened. I will open the door. Ventilation is good.
It’s hard to go out and do just one thing. I opened the greenhouse door. Then I put the green cart out for curbside pick up in the morning. The rain had left a pile of elm seeds on the walk. I spent some time sweeping them up to put in the green bin. I didn’t think I had the energy so I’m feeling good that I did it and not feeling done in. On the other hand, I’m not feeling terrific either. I don’t feel quite right. I wonder if it is the topsy turvy weather we’re having. I wonder how it affects us physically and emotionally.
I ask Google the question of how does wonky weather affect us physically and emotionally. It answers back with:
“Wonky weather shifts your body and mind out of equilibrium by forcing your biology to constantly adapt to sudden environmental changes. When barometric pressure drops, temperatures skyrocket, or sunlight vanishes, your nervous system, hormone levels, and cardiovascular system react directly.”
So it is not my fault and I am not just weird. Sudden weather changes can trigger bodily symptoms like joint pain and stiffness, headaches and migraines, respiratory issues, fatigue and lethargy. I have the joint pain and stiffness, fatigue and lethargy. Emotionally it can cause irritability and aggression, anxiety and restlessness, depressed mood and SAD, disturbed sleep. I have all of that. Aren’t I lucky? It is good to have confirmation that weather can affect us in these ways. I don’t have to blame myself, feeling deficient and weird.
May 17th. I woke to another snowy morning which turned into a rainy day. It’s hard to feel any hope for anything these days. But the moisture is welcomed. The garlic is loving it. The windows are getting washed without me doing anything. So never say there’s no hope. There is always hope. We just have to work to make it happen.
This morning reading the 2 Heathers, I almost cried over what is happening down south in the USA. One Heather reported on Kash Patel taking a VIP snorkel at USSA Arizona, a Pearl Harbour military cemetry. Both writes of the Selma march for black voting rights. Heather Cox Richardson gives a very detailed history account of the fight for voting rights for the blacks. The fight still has to go on in 2026. This is the part that makes me cry. We are still defined by the colour of our skin.
This is where I am on this rainy/snowy day. I am sleepy and lethargic. I feel discouraged with my weight loss effort though it is barely a week. I almost gave up with the black tea/coffee. I longed for a cup with cream and honey. I said almost. I didn’t give in. I feel small, small results. I’m not feeling as bloated. I’m ok with 1/2 cup cooked rice with my meals and smaller meat portions. I’m doing the veggies. I will hang in for another week and then see.
I’m not making huge progress in other areas either. I’ve long abandoned #the100dayproject of sewing log cabin quilt blocks. My Bernina sewing machine sits idle on the table with my mess of fabric scraps. I’ve been meaning to tidy all that and more but somehow it hasn’t happen. That could be my 100dayproject. I will start it today. I am going to start it today.
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.
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.
We’re almost at the end of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. Perhaps it’s a good time to see how I have done. Though I haven’t shown up every day, I have been here most days lately. My big goal was to have fun. I am not sure if I am having fun or not. It has been challenging to motivate myself to come to the keyboard. I worked to get here each day. It is good discipline.
I am melancholic by nature. I work to not let it kill the joy in life. Melancholy is not a bad thing. It is restful if I don’t fight it. And so I let go of forcing myself to be bubbling over with joy and excitement. I let myself feel sad but I try not to sit with it. I get up and move. I try to use the time to do the things I’ve been putting off. Things that require no thinking, like cleaning the humidifier, putting in a load of laundry, vacuuming the floor, taking out the trash, writing a post for the Ultimate Blog Challenge.
So, I have a head start on my post this morning, having started it last night. I have a head start on my day. It’s nice to start the day with a clean house/slate. I am not behind. As usual I started the morning reading Heather Delaney Reese and Heather Cox Richardson on what’s going on politically in the U.S. It’s not very uplifting and probably not good for my mental health. I feel I have to stay informed on what’s happening in the world. And I am fascinated by Trump and his people and how they could operate the way they do. Their corruption is sickening. It is important people see it. And so I read every morning.
It is another morning in April. My world is still white but there’s no fresh snow. The greenhouse went down to 2.8℃ last night. It’s up to 3.8℃ now. Hoping for some sunshine soon. Looks like we have to wait till tomorrow.
onethousandandtwo 