my mother

I AM READY

Sometimes magic happens when you just start – anything. And contrary to popular belief, don’t look at the whole picture. When I do, I’m often overwhelmed with the impossibility of it and I don’t start. I was pushed forward by the fact that every time I look out my sunroom, my view was obscured by dusty windows. I felt disgusted and shameful. I thought I could wash some if not all of them. I ended washing all but 3. Motivated I did the bedroom and bathroom windows the next day. The following day after that, I did the kitchen ones. Each time I marvelled that I can see and smell clean and it felt wonderful.

Now I have just the livingroom left and all the windows in the basement. There’s LOTS of windows down there. That’s why it’s best not to think of the big picture. But it did lead me to think about my mother and her house. My 90 year old parents are still living on their own. We help with the grocery shopping, the lawn and snow shovelling in winter. She didn’t want help with the house. Seeing how much hard it was for myself, I asked her if she needed help with washing the windows and the dusting. Oh, I washed all the windows already, she told me. I do one a day. It takes me a couple of months but they’re done. I use a stick with a cloth to dust those hard to reach things so I’m good.

I’ve always admired my mother but now even more. She has always been my source of inspiration. While I’m still on this motivation high, I tackled putting all the garden stuff away in the garage today. I tried to do it properly by finding a place for everything. It’s a bit of a job but I made a start. It’s been a long time since I worked in the garage. 9 years exactly, the number of years since I’ve retired. I cleared a few shelves of dust, dirt and cobwebs for my plant trays. A few pots were broken that got accidentally knocked down. I pulled out totes to see what they held. I found 2 of Sheba’s beds in one. Even though they had been washed before being stored, they stank. I was ready to let them go now. She has been gone for 2½ years. It is time.

I’m feeling surprised by my get up and go. I have been so languid for so long. I felt as if I have just woke from a deep slumber. I think it is my 90 year old mother jolting me awake. If she can still keep her house spic and span, I could at least try for just spic to start. Being able to still keep her house clean gives her so much pleasure along with walking in her garden and seeing her flowers. I can learn alot from her. I have a long way to go and lots to do. I am ready.

IT IS ALL GOOD

Here it is after 6 pm Monday. It is a write day. What do I have to say? My #100dayproject is done. Now that I have finished 100 little watercolour paintings, I can clear the dining room table and put all the paints, pens and brushes away. It’s a bit of a relief, freeing up my mind and energy to work on yard and garden. After weeks of cool and cloudy weather, the sun smiled on us today. It’s nice to have a little heat. I’ve been busy puttering in the greenhouse and the yard.

I concentrate on not overdoing, being over zealous and doing myself in. I got a little excited yesterday planting some of my many celery seedlings. Then I thought how much celery can we eat? I already have a bunch in the greenhouse and a dozen or 2 in the raised bed. So I stopped and thought I would seed some more lettuce and spinach instead to have successive crops. The only thing was I couldn’t find my seeds. I looked high and low to no avail. That’s what I get for being scatter brained and not putting things back in their place. I made a note to work on that. I made do by seeding some Chinese broccoli and green onions. They’re good alternatives.

It is Tuesday morning. I didn’t quite finish my post yesterday. That’s how it is. I’m giving myself some slack. My plate is small. I can handle only so much and no more. Otherwise I get into such a tizzy. Then I run around in circles like a chicken without a head. Now I try to stop myself and take a deep breath. I tell myself I can stop – if there’s no life or death emergency. And there isn’t. It is all good. I had a visit with my mom yesterday. I took over a few tomato, kohlrabi, cabbage, squash and celery seedlings for my father to plant. My mother is not strong enough for it any more. My father still likes to putter though mom thinks he kills most of what he plants. No matter, if it keeps him occupied, it is all good.

My mother still likes to tend to her flower beds just outside the house. She didn’t want me to start petunias or anything for her this year. Last year’s snapdragons and marigolds self seeds and that is good enough for her. For once I listened. If it is what she wants, it will also be easier for me. I did have a few petunias left over and she let me plant those for her. Her tulips have finished blooming and she had moved some of them around so that there’s some all around the house. She said that she doesn’t know how much time she has left but she looks forward to enjoy them next year.

She and my father used to do their own groceries before Covid. Now my siblings and I have been doing their shopping for them. They visit with their friends on the phone but no meetings for coffees or lunches. They have talked about meeting for coffee when things are better. Mom says she is not bored at tall. She says life is very good. She is still able to go outside and look at her flowers and yard. She is still able to keep her house spic, span and beautiful. It would be better still if she was stronger and able to do more. I can see that she means what she said and not just trying to make me feel better. I can see it in her face that it is all good.

THE TELLING OF A STORY

It’s November 13th, day 13 of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. It’s 3:13 in the afternoon. Not prime time for me to talk about inspiration or to get inspired. I am a little weary after making, consuming and doing lunch dishes. To top that off, I received a phone call from a neighbour. She was inquiring the name of my neighbour right next to me. She was going to file harassment charges against her. It brought back alot of bad memories and feelings. But at least I feel somewhat exonerated – that it was not I who was behaving badly. I’m not the only one who had trouble with her.

I am feeling better now that I’ve let that breath out. Words are powerful. They’ve always helped and inspired me. I’ve written many posts on my relationship with this woman. I am happy to have curtailed the need. I can sing a different song now. Perhaps we shouldn’t be so hard on ourselves when we hang onto things/people/issues for seemingly too long. Perhaps it wasn’t the right time yet. Perhaps there’s a lesson we have to learn first. That is what I tell myself. There’s comfort in that.

Words and stories inspire me. My mother excels in story telling and is great inspiration to me. She doesn’t set out to tell a story but the stories come out just in our every day conversations. Here’s my words on her in a post from 2018:

If there’s anybody that I aspire to be, it would be my mother. She gives me inspiration on how to be, how to live. She teaches me through her story telling. That’s how I’ve learned everything Chinese, the culture, my ancestors, my very being. Don’t get me wrong. I find faults with her, too. Our mother/daughter relationship has had many difficulties like all such relationships. I’ve had my share of ‘I hate my mother’. Growing and maturing has enabled me to understand my mother and see from her point of view. Sometimes, especially in recent times, I feel as if I am my mother.

my mother and sister

Words and pictures speak to me. I see pictures in words and I see stories in pictures. They give me inspiration to tell my stories with ink, paint and thread.

My energy tank is running low. Let me finish by acknowledging that the Ultimate Blog Challenge and Paul Taubman, our digital maestro, also give me inspiration and a platform to tell my stories.

THE RISING AND FALLING OF THE BAROMETER

February 23 and day 23 of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. It is -6℃ outside and -2.1℃ in the greenhouse. It is 9:22 am. The sun is out but it is weak, like tepid tea. I am not feeling my best but hope it gets better than yesterday. That was a tough one – physically. I can’t be clear and coherent on exactly what was the matter. I really hate to blame the weather but it is the culprit. I’m like a barometer, feeling all the changes. I should stop feeling like I’m using that as an excuse. There is evidence that some people are more susceptible to weather changes.

I usually warn people when I’m feeling this way. When I was still working, I tell people when I’m grumpy and that it has nothing to do with them. Seemed like I was like that alot, especially in the mornings. That’s when I have more pain. Yesterday, I told the guy I was not feeling great, that I felt like screaming so he better be careful. I could not assist him in his Swedish bread making, not even in giving advice. Really, how could I when I haven’t made any. Bread is not bread at that moment. But I did give his dough a poke and thought it was fine.

I’ve just come back from my mother’s to drop off the items she had requested and some of Rod’s Swedish thin bread. She likes them and is more complimentary about them than my bread. My mother is pretty easy. She gives me a list of things to get ahead of time, at my convenience. She always says that she doesn’t need them right away. She doesn’t implore “When are you coming to see me?” It doesn’t bother her being ‘locked down’. She stands out on the steps or opens the windows to get some fresh air. I think my father is bothered but is getting used to it. They are both compromised by their age and health. But being almost 90 they are still pretty darned good. We are grateful.

I am moving through the morning. My tomato seedlings are doing splendidly. I’ved seeded a few heirloom cucumbers this morning. The sunroom is getting too much sun and heat, if that is possible. I had to close the blinds a little. It was aggravating my everywhere pain. Cutting down the spruce trees made a big difference. They were just babies when I planted them. I took no notice as they slowly grew and how much shade they provided over the years until they’re gone. Then wow! There is such as too much of a good thing. It’s good that I have built in blinds in the windows. I can see that I will be using them more in the summer. There is good and not so good with change.

DAY 21 UBC – THE EVOLUTION OF THINGS

The Evolution of Things

Here I am again, at the end of the day, trying to find a few words, thoughts worthy of a post for the Ultimate Blog Challenge. There’s a few things I could talk about that could raise some controversy. They could generate interest, heat and possibly more traffic to this site. But that has never been my goal for writing. I don’t have a business, product or service to sell. I write for the beauty of the word. I write as a form of therapy. I write in the hope I can help another having similar experiences, interests and problems. So I won’t talk about the elections, Canadian or American. And I won’t talk about whether we should or shouldn’t celebrate Halloween.

I had a good start to the day, sleeping in to almost 8:45 am. My first reaction was, Oh God! I have to cancel my exercise class. Then I thought, How stupid. I don’t have to be there till 9:30. I even have time for breakfast. I was really glad that I showed up because exercise is the best medicine. It cleared my brain fog after retirement. A couple of weeks after I started the AM Energizer class at the YWCA, I felt so much better. I was so excited, I talked about it alot. I talked about it so much, the guy decided he wanted to go, too. I am sure it’s the reason why we are as healthy and active as we are.

It certainly helped resetting my mood and circadian rhythm. I am sure they are interrelated. I know I have my days, but overall I have a pretty grip on life. I am optimissic and happy even in this Covid time. That is not saying I haven’t had my difficult days – seeing my mother through her shingles and losing Sheba. They occurred during the pandemic but not because of it. I cannot really say I suffered. I was still able to move about freely. I was still able to take my mother to her medical appointments. I was still taking Sheba to the dog park and let her run. The pandemic made it a little harder going to the medical appointments. It made it not possible to be with her at the moment of Sheba’s passing. But the vetinary people were kind. They brought her out so that we could say goodbye.

Those two experiences were life changing and helpful for me. I would say that this pandemic is life changing and could be helpful for all of us. We have to be open to change. And when it is forced upon us, we should be grateful that there is in time for us to make the changes. We don’t have to cry and lament about what we have lost. We could look at what we could gain. I’m speaking from a very safe space. I am retired. I haven’t lost employment or income. I don’t have children or other dependents. I do feel very grateful and privileged. I am in this very moment very happy. It’s a light bulb moment for me.

TO INSPIRE AND BE INSPIRED

I think it is better for me to use my time to inspire or to be inspired. These last while I have lost my mind and energy in stress over the pettiness of nothingness of someone else – not a friend or a relation. So in effect it was a nobody. How foolish is that? It is the foolishness of being a human, susceptible to trickery and evil. I’m over that, at least for the time being.

Who inspires me?

  • Anne Lamott and her Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. I admire her honesty and frankness. I am inspired by her advice on witing in a one-inch picture frame and as far as you can see in the length of a headlight’s beam. When you get there, you start again. That is how you can travel the distance, inch by inch, beam by beam.
  • Laurie Wagner of 27 Wild Days. Her 27 video poetry prompts, one each day inspired me to write from my heart. She reads a poem twice. Then it was up to me to write without censorship for how many minutes – 15-30? It doesn’t matter.
  • It works much like Julie Cameron’s Morning Pages.
  • Then there are all those creative souls in my Instagram Community. There’s too many to name. I’ve learned and been inspired so much by them – the textile and other medium artists. They share their ideas and methods   freely. They are generous in their praises and encouragement.
  • My mother is most inspiring of all. I don’t even know how to begin. Perhaps that could another post.

This is enough for today. I’m learning to write in a one-inch picture frame. Tomorrow is another day and another inch. I’m learning to let go of what does not serve me. I’m going towards people who inspire instead of destroy.

 

FAITH AND RESILIENCE

The world has stopped. I have, too. My priorities these days are rest and sleep. I do the must do(s). Then I add on a thing or two if I comfortably can. I haven’t been a very restful person, always striving for improvement. I’ve never strived for more stuff, money, status but I work hard at being a better person, being more productive, etc. I haven’t been a very quiet person either. It’s a funny thing to say, when as a child my adults complain that I don’t talk enough. But being a nurse and working with the public, I picked up the gift of gab. Retirement hasn’t changed that. Talking is exhausting sometimes.

It’s good to stop, dropping all that stuff on my shoulders. Good enough is good enough. Rest and sleep are musts for my immune system. I can’t afford to fall into anxiety and/or depression. I’ve given up my  one Wonder Woman act and golden lasso. I get help wherever and whenever offered.

It’s Good Friday. I wish I could say I feel the holiness of it, but I can only sense the eeriness. God feels absent. We have to work through this ourselves, together. I see Jesus on the cross. I see him hanging on the wall. Did God sent his only begotten son down on earth to guide us? Does He love us that much? Can we be saved? Do I have enough faith?

I have learned not to ask the why of things. I try not to take anything personally. It is hard though. The whys of what is happening to me and to the world. They play their tunes in my head. It is exhausting, adding to the stress and anxiety of the everyday life. Locked down, in quarantine, social distancing, whatever mode we are in – life still has to be lived. Yesterday was hard. Another checkup for my mother at the Eye Center in the hospital. 3 months of shingles and its complications.

I am more stressed and anxious over my mother’s illness than the Coronavirus. I’ve lived and worked through the HIV and SARS crises. Though stressful and scary, I did have some control by wearing protective equipment and being cautious. With my mother’s illness, I have no control. I take her for medical attention and being with her. I wonder often if I’ve done a good job though I did the best I could. The rest was all on her. I cannot take over any of her pain and suffering. I cannot take over anyone else’s pain and suffering. We must each carry our own.

If there are any answeres to the many whys floating in my head, it is to teach me resilence and boundaries. It is to teach me I am not all powerful. I cannot fix everything. In these days, I am learning to survive. I am my own life raft. I need to throw off everything except what I need to stay afloat. Faith is my oar. I will light my candles again tonight.

 

THE GRACE OF ENDURANCE

Difficult times can bring out the best in people but in cases like myself, it brings out the worse. I’m full of anger and resentment. I would like to be in a demolition derby. I would like to crash and destroy anything and everything that comes into my path. I thought it would be best it I release that energy here. My vehicle is the keyboard, my weapons only words.

According to my muse, Caroline Myss, words are powerful. I shall pay heed and not search and destroy. I shall try not to burn all the bridges behind me. This is my crossing the Rubicon moment. I breathe, raise my sword and tap, tap, tap on the keyboard. “Alea iacta est”! The die is cast. What is said cannot be unsaid. What is done cannot be undone. What has lived cannot be unlived. But regrets and disappointments I have many. My soul cries in agony over them.

But what is suffering without a voice? Whoever made that rule that we must do it in silence? And how do we know we will be rewarded in heaven for doing so? Who will know and give us comfort if we don’t show and tell? The world is amuck, wouldn’t you agree. We are all in lockdown. We did it to ourselves. We are behaving like the animals that we are – panicing and hoarding toilet paper over the coronavirus pandemic. Then we need politicians to warn us not to take advantage of vulnerable and senior citizens in these times. Then there’s the opposite side where people are not taking the coronavirus thing seriously. They are still gathering in large groups. I guess they haven’t heard of what happened in Wuhan, Italy or Spain. How do we really know it’s for real? Maybe it’s just a movie on TV. Maybe we’re all on Netflix in the movie Contagion.

I think I’m suffering what is called depression. I’m sounding like Alex Trebek on Jeopardy.  No,I’m not depressed. I’m really just stressed and mad as hell. I’m venting my anger in a place where it will cause the least damage. And I’m as sad as can be. The tears are dammed behind my throat. I’m letting things hang out now. I’m not trying to be positive. I’m not sugar coating myself. I am not myself. I cannot pretend to be Wonder Woman anymore with her golden lasso. I cannot fix anything.

Do not worry over the state of my mental health. I am venting, releasing steam. I do not want to blow a gasket. This is my safety valve. I know we are now all in this space together. This is just the beginning and not the end. I am not in fear or distress over the COVID -19 pandemic at this moment. Rather I am in my own private fear and anxiety over my mother’s ordeal with shingles – her pain, vision and enduring the side effects of her medications. It is as if we are still connected by the umbilical cord. I feel all her sufferings.

Things started innocent enough on Feb. 8th. You get the diagnosis. You get the treatment. But it is not that simple. One thing leads to another. Pain persists through out relieved somewhat by meds. Now it is March 26th and eye complication.  Another week of her antivirals 3times/day to endure before she can cut down to smaller dose once/day for another month. The good news is she has recovered most of her vision in her eye.

I’m calling out for prayers to help her endure and tolerate another week of her medications. I’m asking for prayers for myself to be strong and endure to help her through this. Maybe after this, I can afford to panic over the pandemic. Praying for all of us. May we be safe. May we be strong. May we have compassion and love for each other.

TO BE OR NOT TO BE

It is almost April. How and when did we get here? I have not had a moment of peace since I don’t know when. We had all that trouble with the neighbour next door in the fall. When did I not have trouble with her since she’s moved in 10 plus years ago? But this time, it was enough to call the Police Liason for help. After that I had a small corridor of peace. In December Sheba had her ear hematoma and infection. It was to doggy ER twice and a total of 5 visits in 2 weeks and a bill of $600 plus. The money was the least of it. It was watching Sheba suffering with discomfort and anxiety. It was 2 weeks of little sleep and worry. But she did come out of it with a tiny crimp at the tip of her floppy ear.

Christmas was peaceful and January uneventful. I don’t have a clear memory of it. But came February, my mother came down with shingles on her left forehead. We caught it soon enough but it has been hellish. It’s one thing to watch your dog suffer, it is another to watch your mother. Every time I think it will ease up, it’s just a tease. So I should learn not to expect it to. Maybe then things will get better if I have no expectations and keep quiet. Though I have been accompanying her to her appointments and been vigiliant about possible complications to her eye, it has happened.

I do not have self blame for not doing a good enough job. But I am feeling a lot stressed and stretched now going into the 7th week. Even with the Coronavirus pandemic going on and the state of emergency declared in this province, I’ve managed to do a phone call appointment with her doctor. Then with my mother, an in person appointment at the office because by now her vision in her left eye is very blurry. She could see a tree but not its branches. She can see my face but not my features. She could not do the eye chart at all. It was the first time I saw her face crumble.

The good news inspite of all this is we got in to see someone the next morning at the Eye Centre at City Hospital. We were reassured that this is treatable. It will be reversed. But there’s always a but. She has to be on antiviral drug 3x/daily for 2 weeks and then a smaller dose once/day for a month. Plus a steroid eye drop 4 times a day for a month. If you know my mother, pills are a big problem. She has so much sensitivity to everything, even tylenol if she takes more than 2/day. She always makes it sound the side effects are worse than death. And who am I to argue? She’s the one feeling them. Maybe it’s just the Chinese way. So what do I do when she complains she’s having side effects and should she keep taking the pills – on a Saturday evening during a pandemic?

Well, I did the *!#^fk twirl around the kitchen island a few times. Then I called the pharmacy at Safeway. The pharmacists there are my best friends now. He looked everything up and said those side effects are really not for that drug. Then he advised maybe I called 8-1-1 and report it. I phoned my mother to check her symptons again. She was adamant her symptoms were drug related and not virus related. Next move, page the doctor on call. She was prompt in answering and helpful with advice. Which was more important – my mother’s eyesight or the side effects? And with those symptoms it doesn’t sound like the coronavirus. It was not necessary to call 8-1-1.

That was the question I put to my mother. She is taking her pills. We got into a squabble. I lost my temper. She said I over reacted. I needed not have gone all to that length. She was just asking my opinion what to do. I reminded her that I am not a doctor. Any answer I give her could be the wrong one. She has to make a judgement about how bad those ‘side effect’ are and her vision. The good news is her vision is a little better and the pain is a little better with the antiviral. I reminded her that she could also call her other daughter, who is a pharmacist even though she is busy and there’s a pandemic.

So, I’ve laid out my anguish here. I was really feeling squeezed between a rock and a hard place. I probably shouldn’t have lost it with my mother. I’m stressed and stretched. She’s in pain and probably anxiety which she denies it. She said she is not worried and very calm. But she did yelled at me and I yelled back. But I’m still the one looking out and after her. This morning Hamlet’s ‘to be or not to be soliloquy’ was playing in my head. My wish at the moment was to be extinquished and disappear without drama and fanfare – like a firefly. It is painful to be in this world. I feel as if I’m everyone’s keeper and have no self. I guess I am a bit of a drama queen. It is not the Chinese way but it feels good to get it off my chest. I’ve never claim to be a good Chinese. I’m just flipping sad.

To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th’oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th’unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovere’d country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.

 

 

 

MY MOTHER, MYSELF

Another day bites the dust. I am sitting here in early evening. I’m  trying for some profound thoughts but there are none. Some days are like that. If I’m not careful, I might fall asleep at the keyboard. Daylight is muted. A bit of sunshine glimmers above the rooftops, lighting up the yellow of the leaves.

The rain came this morning along with rolls of thunder. I welcomed both. They gave me excuses, if I need some, just sit back, relax and finish my book. I still have those feelings of getting on with the day. It’s healthy to have a dose of both. Otherwise, I could turn into a slouch. I could spend my whole life on the couch. I need those needling feelings to get back on my feet again and ‘accomplish’ stuff.

Not much accomplishments today. I took my parents out to the library and to the mall for coffee after. There’s not much that I could give them other than some time. Every few weeks, I take them to the library. It’s wonderful that it has a small section of Chinese books. My mother loves to read. She still interested to read and learn new things. My father not so much but enjoys the outing.

If there’s anybody that I aspire to be, it would be my mother. She gives me inspiration on how to be, how to live. She teaches me through her story telling. That’s how I’ve learned everything Chinese, the culture, my ancestors, my very being. Don’t get me wrong. I find faults with her, too. Our mother/daughter relationship has had many difficulties like all such relationships. I’ve had my share of ‘I hate my mother’. Growing and maturing has enabled me to understand my mother and see from her point of view. Sometimes, especially in recent times, I feel as if I am my mother.

I never expected to arrive to this space of contentment . But I have. In this very moment I am very at peace with where I am and what I have done with my life. It is very sweet.