A Good Day

A sun shiny May 19th. It’s 11:30 and 11℃ out. The greenhouse is 26.6℃ with vents and door opened. It goes to show how powerful the sun is. It has powered me to trim the grass in the back and part of the front yard by 10:00. The battery on the trimmer ran out so I must wait for it to recharge before I can finish. It might be tomorrow. I hope to plant the kohlrabi in the front raised bed later on in the day.

I could not bear to read the two Heathers posts this morning. The corruption that is coming from Trump and his merry men are too horrifying. You may wonder why I am so taken up with all this since the U.S. is not my country. I wonder myself. It took awhile for me to recognize that it reminds me of the times I’ve felt completely, devastatingly helpless. And this is not just a U.S. problem. It touches us all. We are all connected.

Helplessness does not serve me. Neither does anger. And so I tap on the keyboard, plant my kohlrabi and take my father out for coffee. Neither of those things are easy but I flex my fingers and move them across the keyboard. I dig 14 holes in the raised bed and plop a kohlrabi in each one and fill with dirt. Then collar each with a bottom cut out yogurt container. After that I loaded my father and his wheelchair in the car and headed out to the mall for our coffee. A friend joined us after and we shared a meaningful conversation.

It is a good day. There’s dark clouds overhead. Heaven is trying to rain again.

Rainy, Snowy May Day

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.

Passages and Self Care

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.