Is it really working?

Bounty.  That is what summer means to me.  Bountiful sunshine, warmth, time, gardens, fruit, indulgence.  That is what I am experiencing in my life right now which sometimes occurs as truly magical.  And being the small human being that I am, I also observe the shadow thought that follows... is this really working?  And by "this", I mean the amazing unfolding of my life with all of my fondest desires and dreams coming true.  And what is more, the teensy possibility that it is working out there in the rest of the world?!  The Guardian from London has reported that we are entering a post-capitalist era.  I am excited about that, even though my proclivity for online purchasing may come to and end, I am clear that would be a good thing for the planet (although I may need to increase my wardrobe and pairs of shoes before we shut it all down - wait a minute, is buying shoes from Tom's capitalism?  Doesn't it count as doing good?  I digress...).  

In the world that I have imagined, we have found a conscience collectively and are working to make it better for each other and rely upon fun and silliness as a measure of success.  Many times I have been reminded of my kumbaya attitude, which you may be interested to know is actually in the Urban Dictionary, defined as "blandly pious and naively optimistic".  Well, I wouldn't go so far as blandly but I can see why some people could see me that way.  However, I have been toying with, allowing myself to briefly touch upon the thought that life could be this grand always.  What if each day was completely incredible and there was something to smile about at each turn?  It could be that The Universe is right that life is "brimming with adventure, abundance and infinite possibilities" (huge shout out to Mike Dooley who leads the way for so many!).  Is it that easy?  Is it really working?

Now, I know that toilets still need to be scrubbed, gardens weeded and sh*% happens.  I am very conscious that I was blessed to land where I did at birth.  Not everyone grew up without ever being really hungry or fearful.  But it proves to me that it is possible.  The very fact that I do experience this wonderful existence means that others do too.  And we all could.  

I am going to dwell here in this place of contemplation of a turning.  Moreover, I want to look back and see that I lived through this turning, that we will recall the time when the shift did occur and the optimism became reality.  I am responsible for my part.  I actively share my beliefs about a glorious future and I have recently noted my willingness to be disturbed as Margaret Wheatley describes. This relatively new inclination to be pushed out of my comfort zone of thought has opened new avenues and given me a grateful perspective on the non-kumbaya folk, as that is where the new ideas come from. Margaret Wheatley put it perfectly when she said "we don't have to agree with each other to think well together".   

Come and think well with me.

A new contract for life

I always thought that I would write fiction and perhaps that is what this is. It truly is fiction if the words only stay locked in your brain.

Thoughts this week about a contract with yourself/with others/ a different kind of employment contract.  What if we wrote out our terms and conditions with our employers that went beyond the dollars/hour (week, month, year) and the usual blah blah blah about hours and roles and responsibilities.  What if it described how it would feel to have success, recognition and satisfaction?  What if it detailed your long term dreams and ambitions?  What if the opportunity to have a nap on Tuesday afternoons was included?

Now, Google may have already had this brilliant idea and re-written the usual working agreement, but I suspect most of us are still signing work papers that look pretty much how they did 60 years ago.  And yet this document and the implications for how you spend your time govern most of your waking hours for most of your adult life.

We have been told we now have the freedom to have multiple jobs, several careers, pursue our passions and not be stopped by reaching age 65.  60 is the new 30, right?  You can carry on living (working) your dream until you die.  How enlivening is that?  How much does that make your blood pump faster and your breathing increase?  I would bet that if it does, it is because you might feel a little panicked.  Oh sh*^, I have to keep doing “this” for the rest of my days?  Crap, I would like to go back to the fantasy of “Freedom 55” please.

But this idea of a contract or agreement that sets out much more than the bare bones of how you want it to be has expanded in my head.  What if pre-nuptials took a different look at what the expectations are of that partnership?  What if we re-wrote a contract with our children every year of their lives?  What if we revisited our relationship with our elderly parents – reviewing how we want that to look on a regular basis?  And our close friends?  Could we be more clear on how friendship is described and circumvent some of the pitfalls there?

There are many places we fail to describe how we want it to go, especially when time goes by and we gain familiarity with each other.  We live with discontent and sometimes downright anguish without a clear description of what would be perfect.

As I begin the journey of post graduate education – really at the early steps right now, application in, first on-line course, a recommended pre-requisite, started 2 weeks ago – I have come face to face with how little of my life has been described in sufficient detail to increase the likelihood of success.  Even at this late stage (let’s just say the “Freedom 55” boat has left the harbour), I am extremely challenged by the necessity of a structured business plan for the next 15 years of life.

I am in the situation that at least some of my peers are in.  We didn’t pursue careers, or in my case, even higher education.  We just kept working the next job that came along, sometimes moving up the ladder, sometimes not lasting that long.  Kids and all the endless hours of commitment to raising a family were along the way, as well as supporting a spouse in their pursuit of success or advancement.  Speaking for myself, I came up for air at about 50, realized that I had no plans for retirement, no funds set aside for my golden years, no mortgage that was just about paid off to secure a home for the future and no idea what to do about all that.  In fact, at that time, I was working with a group of fabulous people who averaged 15 – 20 years younger than me so I just kept working my fanny off to keep up.

When that job ended, another not quite 5 year engagement (pretty much the maximum time I spent in any one place), I had a patchwork resume, a little bit of self-directed education which thankfully left me with a certificate in professional coaching and some vague thoughts about a loosely described future doing what I loved, coaching others.

Not sure what else to do, I high tailed it into college, jumping into a 2 year program in Human Resource Management.  It was fantastic and I adored the challenge of post-secondary education.  For the first time, I was directed to think in a different way, dive deeply into a program that offered many pieces of education which I was interested in.  Being a generalist course, it didn’t really prepare me for much and as I found out part way through, I couldn’t even join the professional HR organization because I didn’t hold an undergrad degree.  Not well thought out.  However, the love of higher learning was sparked and I committed to completing a Master’s program, eventually.

Fast forward a couple more years of scraps of part time work, occasional contracts, facilitating coach training and time to ponder a future that seems to be gaining speed in becoming the present.  A friend’s recent death from cancer, three months after diagnosis -  not the first friend I have lost, impacted me differently this time.  The trite expression of realizing how precious life is and how little control we have over the eventual end of it actually stuck this time. 

During a long awaited holiday with my husband in Mexico, I began to notice my resistance to saying yes to my dreams.  How hop-scotching through the stages of my life without fully landing on any square has habituated me to a life that will be fulfilled one day – maybe, possibly, if the stars line up, if my kids or mother don’t need me to rescue them, if I can justify the money, or, or, or….  In other words, never.

I don’t have a terrible life, don’t get me wrong.  I have few regrets and maintain a happy, optimistic view on the world.  I am loved and deeply love others.  I practice gratitude and appreciation every day and reap the rich rewards of that perspective on the world. The question remains about kicking it up a notch as our old friend Emeril would say.  And that is going to take an elaborate, explicit blueprint; a new contract, if you will.

As I prepare to write the Personal Statement required for the application to the Master’s program, I am finally preparing to write the Personal Contract for me for the balance of my life.  The focus entering this program has created is the opportunity to articulate exactly how I want this to go.  I will keep you posted.

A postcard from the way to kindergarten

I began a practice of sending my mom postcards from a wonderful Canada Post app on my phone, which transformed a photo on the phone to a printed postcard with the space for a message on the back.  Every month or so, I would send her one with an update on the family, a photo of my garden or a funny picture of one of us.  It allowed her to be connected with us so far away.  Now that she is close by, I found that I miss the regular opportunity to share what is new or silly that way.  

Writing on a regular basis seems to be a challenge and yet I am so very present to the value of pausing to reflect.  So marking the landmark of the first day of school for precious grandson number one is a perfect chance to write a postcard about the event.

As we walked together with his mom and baby brother in the stroller, my sweet grandson would alter between running ahead of us and lagging behind, holding my hand as the pace slowed when we got nearer to the school.  I watched his clear brown eyes widen when we got on the grounds with the children filing back in after lunch.  They all seemed really big compared to him.  The little "kindies" were there for their first time in the classroom, only 90 minutes to meet their kindergarten teachers and stay with their grown-ups to try on a mini session before the first full day.  

He is used to group activity, having been in organized daycare pretty much full time since he was two years old so some of the process was familiar.  I could see his nervousness though, as he sucked on his sleeve and his finger and stuck pretty close to his mama.  I stood back with the wee-est one to let his mom share this experience.  I remember the importance of being there for the firsts.

I know he will be fine, he is a strong, resilient dandelion kind of kid, cheerful, happy, funny and bright.  He will make friends easily and weather the storms well because he knows he is deeply loved by many people.  So, why are there tears as I type this?  When I think about the letting go of my own children and how flippin' fast those years went by, I want to freeze frame this tender little being.  I want him to be able to keep the soft, loving way he is with the people in his circle.  This is a kid who hugged all his friends every day before he left daycare. Insisted upon it, wanted to make sure that his buddies knew he loved them and was going to miss them overnight.  

Is there room for that in public school?  In the world of boys growing up and comparing themselves with their peers?  How do I support him growing up, strong and resilient and yet preserving that sparkling essence that is so bright and visible in him right now?  Will it still be okay to hang out with his Grammy and pretend to be space pilots on missions to Pluto? 

The grace of grandparenthood is the perspective of having done this before and yet that is also the challenge.  I know, like really get it, how soon it will be that he is graduating from high school - a blink of an eye.  The brilliant piece of all of this is knowing that the foundation we have built, the rock solid relationship we have will continue and we will talk. We will converse about the crummy teachers and the ones he loves, the rotten kids and the new best friends, the stupid girls and the ones that capture his heart.  

When his mom called me this morning just after 9 am in tears, I knew she had just dropped him off for his first full day.  I assured her that he will be totally okay, but I know what she was feeling, watching his sturdy little body, in his new school clothes, backpack on and lunchkit in hand, entering a whole new world.  Be safe out there, little one.  We won't let you forget who you are. 

Letting go and passages of life

I was going through the dresser in my mama's bedroom, preparing the few things that will accompany her to the Long Term Care community that is her new home.  At least, I certainly hope it will be, the final answer has not been determined, but like one of my wise friends advised, I am moving ahead as if what I want has already happened. I will only be able to bring a few suitcases of her belongings on the first part of this journey and need to organize what other pieces will be shipped in the coming weeks.  

The top drawer was stuck and I could barely get my fingers in to feel what was preventing it from opening.  After a number of frustrating moments with a wooden spoon, I pulled out the drawer beside it and reached in to push an old picture frame down to free the drawer.  The contents are many old photographs, documents and keepsakes from my father, my grandparents and my mom.  The photo that was stuck was a portrait of my mom at about 20 years old, a beautiful sepia toned black and white of this gorgeous, vibrant young woman, her curly thick hair pulled back from her face and her full lips are in a welcoming smile.  She is wearing rhinestone earrings that I recognize from a set she has since given to me and a matching brooch.  Her eyes capture you with their pure determination and her flawless, smooth skin glows.  She is a stunning woman and at once I understood why this photo stopped me from opening the drawer.

My mom is 89 almost 90 years old and is at the end of her life.  She nearly accomplished her wish to die in her home and would have, had the Health Care aide not found her collapsed by the side of the bed with a nearly fatal low blood oxygen level.  I flew to be by her side, not knowing what to expect when I arrived and she has now spent over two weeks in the geriatric unit of a local hospital.  In her typically stubborn manner, she has rallied, sufficiently to be ready to be discharged next week, but has been assessed incapable of being in her home alone, due to dementia and incapacity to be mobile without assistance. The opportunity to move her to the retirement community where I work part time came up and most of the paperwork is complete to set the wheels in motion.  

It is a huge move, away from the city that has been her home for 85 years and the house that she has lived in for the past 56 of them.  She and my father raised my brother and I here but my mom was the glue, the backbone of the family.  My father's life was an interesting one, fodder for many other blogs. He died at the young age of 67.  Mom has been here on her own for almost 28 years.  Being in her home has been the single driving force for her life in the past decade and up to 3 weeks ago, I would have bet money on her not ever leaving it.  Now, given the choice of living in a Long Term Care home here in Calgary with none of her family nearby, or a move to Victoria where we all are (me, my brother, my husband, her two grandchildren and two great-grandchildren), she chose to trust me to move her to somewhere safe.  She has also entrusted me with emptying her home and selling it to finance the steep monthly care fees to keep her going.

I have spent the past two and half weeks in my childhood home, sleeping in it alone for the first time.  It has been a period of letting go and saying goodbye.  My mom's memory, gracefully has already faded many of the details of the house and she seems quite accepting, if a little frightened, of the change.  For me, it represents a huge task, but one that I have found can be paid for with a service that will clear the entire house in 4 days.  My brother wants some time to be here but I am leaning towards the fee for freedom method!

Today, I am celebrating the magnificent young woman who smiles at me as I type this from her dining room table.  I honour you, Mama, and promise I will take very good care of you and all that you have collected over the years.  In my heart, I understand why that drawer wouldn't open, she doesn't want to leave, any more than she wants to be in that creaky, painful old body.  I am absolutely certain that the spirit of this being is alive and well inside my mama.  

There will undoubtedly be more reflection as the final days here wind down, along with a whirlwind of tasks to be completed.  I felt it important to pause today, Easter Sunday, to love and let go of this piece of my mom and to move swiftly to the place where we are now, with joy and anticipation of the time to come.

It works... love grows to fill the space!

Well, it happened again.  This incredible, everyday, happens all over the world, ordinary,

miracle that is the birth of a baby.  I was honoured to be present to the happening with my darling daughter, this time for a home birth and the memories of that 24 hours are warm and fresh.
    -  The quiet house in the dark, lit only by the streetlights, daughter in a rocking chair, flanked by me and a dear friend with another at her feet and another snoozing on the couch.  Whispered conversation between contractions about love and life and children and relationships.  
    -  The energy that flows when a baby is on the way - running effortlessly on an hour and half's sleep into the next day.
    -  Bringing my four year old grandson home from daycare so he can be part of the birth at home - playing in his room for a time - coming out to be with his mom - sitting with me, his hand on top of hers as she is seated in the birthing pool, going through the contractions - his love and concern for her with no fear and no hesitation.
    -  The skilled and calm midwives - the celebration when we heard my daughter was at 8 centimeters - she thought she still had a long way to go.
    -  The authority of the midwife who has caught hundreds and hundreds of babies, to get my daughter out of the pool for the final delivery - babe's shoulders were stuck - we just all reacted instantly and instinctively - she was out and onto the couch, which was prepared with the plastic sheets and bedding - Torin was out in one more push.
    -  The moments afterwards with my son-in-law and my grandson gathered around the couch, touching my daughter, hands on the new babe, with the daylight streaming through the window and the beautiful green plants all around - the warm intimacy of being at home with this new life just being brought into the world.

All my doubts about how to share my Grammy-ness with this new one vanished.  I knew as I held him a little later, when he opened his eyes and looked up at me as I sang to him, that we will have our own special way with each other.  He is unique and different and not-his-brother.  We already have our connection and it will grow as we get to know each other.  My heart, like the Grinch's, grew three sizes that day.  

As our community gathered last night, sharing food and passing the baby, I was present to the wonder that a fresh new little one brings to us all.  We are reminded of the poignant possibility that exists in each of us when we are brand new and how we can access that again and again.  

The fate of the second child

Oh, child number two (or in this case, grandchild numero dos) - yours is the fate of being dragged around by your big brother, the subject of blurry photos and recipient of hand me down clothes.  The wonder, the magic, the mystery of that first baby is done, not to be repeated and regardless of how incredible you will be, you will never be first.

I realize that this time round, with my darling daughter experiencing a very different pregnancy from the beginning - more nausea, deep in the bone tiredness and battling more than one nasty infection and exhaustion - the romance of being a mom-in-waiting has lost a little of its appeal.  While we were all eagerly anticipating the arrival of baby number one with her, marveling over each little change in her and the growing belly, just getting the house clean and the mountain of laundry folded with an active 3 1/2 year old around is daunting.

And I have had my niggling doubts about how to be a Grammy times two. Having a second child didn't seem so tough (darling daughter being that baby) and I don't recall ever wondering how I would have enough love to go around, but this time, after falling so hard for my wondrous grandson, I do consider what it will be like for him to share me and how I could ever love a little person as much as I adore him.  Now, I am sure that I will step into that role too; I did have fears about how to be a Grammy 4 years ago, but I do have a great deal of compassion for the second child.

Again, I have the blessing of distance and can see how the dynamics change with two kids.  I came from a family of two children, where the arrival of my little brother was not a grand event for me.  I was quite nicely ensconced as the Princess and I did not appreciate his intrusion into my life.  My brother and I have struggled with our relationship all of our lives and easily fall into the tug-of-war of sibling power unless we are being conscious and aware.

I made enormous efforts with my two so they did not experience their childhood as a battleground of who has the upper hand and attention of the parents. From what they share with me, I was successful - they are close and love and support each other.  Still there are echoes of "but you loved him best" in my daughter's conversation and she looks for evidence that we always held her brother as the favoured one.  

Number One Grandson has been the apple of my eye, the entire focus of attention when I am with him and I have carefully cultivated a space where he knows he is special and very much loved.  Last summer, when talk of having another became serious, I actually wasn't sure that I was ready to share my time with another wee one.  Fortunately, both Grandson and I have grown up a little.  He is more independent and I am more ready to let go (a little) of our time together.  We will work our way through it.  

Timeless as Cain and Abel, siblings need to learn how to be with each other or risk dire consequences.  Nowhere is it more evident that we are each individuals and despite being raised by the same parents, in the same house, we turn out very differently.  I will need to be conscious and mindful of how I be Grammy for two.  This will cause me to grow my heart even bigger.  That is a good thing!

Some pondering on the nature of miracles

This last few days I have had cause to consider the nature of miracles and angels.  Through the magic of this remarkable contraption that sits in front of me, I was informed about a friend, who I know only online, and a catastrophic health situation that occurred for her in a shockingly short period of time.  Saturday, she was fine, celebrating a birthday, thanking people for their wishes on Facebook and on Tuesday morning I found an urgent message (I can tell because my polite FB friends only use CAPITALS in case of emergency) to view her page to get important information about this friend.  Laura was in hospital in critical condition, having lost most of the blood in her body and the doctors were saying there was little hope that she would survive the day.

I recall saying "Holy Sh*$" out loud and trying to find out as much as I could given that I live thousands of miles away and have only this tenuous connection of "friend" on Facebook and another blog writing site.  Over a period of hours, more and more people got the word and joined a virtual vigil on her FB page.  Prayers, thoughts, remembered times with Laura were shared and updates from the family at the hospital trickled in.  The news kept getting worse and after surgery, she was not expected to live through the night.  One marvelous woman who had been able to see Laura at the hospital shared that she felt Laura was not sure about whether to re-join us on this earth and may choose to cross over that night.  We were asked to love her and bless her decision whatever it may be.

It did seem that a miracle was the only option available as the medical professionals had done all they could to patch up her body and fill her back up with a stunning 88 units of blood.  I checked in the next morning to find that Laura made it through the night and was facing another surgery.  She survived that one and in the following morning's posts I  learned that she had a little colour in her face, that her kidneys were working and while more operations were scheduled to to clean up and repair as much as possible and found out that she had her pancreas and some of her liver removed.  

Day after day, more and more people joined the watch over Laura, virtually and physically.  Friends joined family at the hospital, unable to see her in her critical state but just being there lending support, bringing food, hugs and love.  Slowly, slowly, she is coming back. She is now back to consciousness, responding, anxious to communicate and very much in this world.

There is no reasonable explanation for why Laura is alive right now.  The doctors had given her a 10% chance of living through the first 48 hours.  I believe I have witnessed and been part of a miracle; the combined energies and prayers, thoughts and belief that transcended distance and time and gently held Laura while her soul chose to stay with us.

I don't pretend to understand how any of this works.  I can only say that I am humbled by the power of the outpouring of  love and in awe of how words on a screen can transform a life.  Blessed be Laura and all those around you!