You Can't Teach an Old Dog New Tricks

Society would have us believe that, upon reaching a certain age, we will think and act as seniors; happy in retirement with the tricks we know. Surprisingly, after a few years of doing just that, I found I wanted more out of my career life than I had attained. Plainly put ... I wasn't finished.

So, a new life goal was hatched; one that will make use of my life's experiences, education and knowledge: Real Estate.

Over the past weeks, I’ve felt like a racehorse at the starting gate, ready to take off. After eight months of study, exams and real estate transaction simulation exercises, I was ready.

But, turns out, study was just the beginning. First, Century 21 sent in my application for registration as a Realtor®. While we waited for this, there were organizations to join, insurance to get, software to learn and branding to establish.

Finally, the day arrived with news that I am a registered Realtor®. I’m thrilled and more than ready for the joys and challenges of this new career. I will give it my all.

I feel such excitement for the months ahead. The unknown beckons me.

Many of you know I also like to write. I’ll share highlights of my journey here, along with intriguing things I’m learning (because we’re never too old to learn) and whatever else I think might be of interest.

Time Well-lived

So much time has passed but it has been, for the most part, time well-lived.

For two months, I lived with my daughter and grand-girls, acting as extra hands while my son-in-law was away on business. My extra hands, I think, helped keep the wheels on the bus of a busy household which includes a growing home-based business my daughter created and runs.

This was my first lengthy time spent with grandchildren - we have always lived far away and, at most, get two weeks at a time with any of them. During this time, days were full from early morning school prep, helping with housework, cooking and even with the business when extra hands were needed. 

Waiting at the bottom of their long, winding driveway for the school bus, both early morning and end of day, gave structure to each day. We filled the morning wait time with silly talk and observations of nature around us. Some days, a little of life's wisdom crept into our conversations. 

Their excitement for the day ahead was occasionally conflicted with a little regret to be leaving (the littlest would sometimes double back for a second hug). I remained in the driveway as the bus pulled away, waving back to each girl (they sat in different rows). My heart was full as I returned back to the house for whatever the day ahead had in store for me. 

These moments made me feel special for the rarity of this time with them. I believed our experience to be unique because I was the visiting grandmother who was building memories.

One morning my daughter had appointments immediately after bus pick up so she took the girls down in her car. As she pulled out of the driveway after the bus left, she realized she would be following the bus which meant she had to stop each time the bus stopped for more kids. 

As she stopped, she watched the same heart-warming start to the day experienced with our own girls. Parents hugged, kissed and waved to their precious little ones as they boarded.

Rather than feeling exasperated as she might knowing the bus would likely make her late for her appointment, her heart filled with each successive scene playing out.

The feeling remained with her throughout the day and, as she told me about it later, I was reminded of many of my morning drives to work. 

So often, cars would weave in and around my car and others in a desperate attempt to gain speed; not to be late. I remember thinking, "just get up earlier and you might enjoy the peace of the morning before the start to your day".

How often was I guilty of judging the (usually) senior driver puddling along the highway? As a senior myself now I think I understand that age is not the reason for their pace. It's the knowledge that rushing through life robs us of much. We all reach our destinations whether we speed or take our time. 

As you pass a slower driver on the road, respect their choice to take their time. Consider giving them a friendly wave instead of whatever other gesture you had in mind.

Knotty Problems

With the gardens (mostly) put to bed for their long winter sleep, my time turns to indoor pursuits. The months ahead are for knitting, embroidery, jigsaw puzzle solving, cooking, writing, reorganizing and reading.

As I returned something to my jewelry box this morning, the need to reorganize hit me squarely and I realized I had time to deal with it. 

I'm not a big jewelry wearer so I have no method when storing away the pieces others have cared enough to buy for me. I tend to put things in randomly and carelessly, eventually creating a writhing mess of chains interlocked with earrings and other flotsam. Looking at the jumble this morning, I realized I have neglected to give each piece the respect it deserved. 

Undoing the mess took longer than I would have expected as memories of occasions, trips and the thoughtfulness of my family and friends rolled over me. Long-forgotten treasures were revealed. Sorting through the jumbles uncovered matches to earrings long thought lost, a W.W.II pin of my father's and the necklace from Expo '67 that I was thrilled to buy with my own money.

I often wear a necklace, gifted to me by my father-in-law after my husband's mother had passed. Each time I do, I do so deliberately in an effort to channel her. For the brief few years I had her in my life, she stood as a guiding light and, forty years later, I still miss her.

I'm sure by now you can picture the clearing up of the jewelry box. This was one of those tasks that took me far beyond the original purpose, leading to daydreaming and thoughts of my life.

It was while attempting to untangle a fine silver chain that a metaphor for times in my life occurred to me.

The chain was defying my usual love for untangling. I was treating it with delicacy for fear of breaking it but had no success at clearing the knot. As minutes ticked on, my mind eventually wandered and I found myself thinking of completely unrelated things while I continued to play with the chain as one might try to solve a Rubix cube unconsciously.

Surprisingly, as my attention returned to the chain, I realized my inattention to the task at hand had loosened the chain considerably. Enter the metaphor.

How often in life have I desperately sought solutions to issues by giving my total concentration and time to them? Just as often as issues were resolved once I walked away from them, put aside my focus and went on with life.

Whether a knotty chain or a knotty problem, allowing our attention to shift elsewhere often leads us to the answer.

Life Gets in the Way

An old friend of mine was fond of saying "life gets in the way" when discussing how relationship problems arise. Turns out life can get in the way of other things, too.

Since my last post in June, my household has experienced much, from great to good to bad and sad. All of it, 'life'. What I have just realized, with all of it behind us now and the routine back that we know so well, is that 'life' leaves little time for reflection, where ideas take shape.

My ideas for writing arrive in many ways. Some are fully formed and require just moments to get them down. Most of these blog posts are the results of such thinking.

Others develop as I take long walks or putter in the garden. These pictures represent my current efforts; converting a previously weed-filled area of grass to planting space. Doing so required layering compost over the grass (lazy way to kill grass). 

The irony wasn't lost on me that I spend every fall clearing the leaves away only to empty my leaf bin of the same (now composted) leaves to lay over that same area. 

Back to writing. 

With a return to routine and fall approaching, my mind is also returning to the next book that I've been working on for a year or two. This writing never arrives fully formed but, rather, grows from a thread. This thread gets developed as I begin to own the characters and build their personalities and lives.

Because I grew up with a mother who quilted, my mind pictures creating a patchwork quilt from fabric scraps when I think of writing. Take a main fabric, or two, that you want to play starring roles. This fabric represents the main character(s). Pull in other scraps around it to build the body of the quilt (the plot). Scraps might coordinate with the main fabric, pulling on the best features of the main resulting in a pleasant read. But every good story must have fabric scraps that clash horribly with the main fabric, creating conflict, chaos, even tragedy to the overall picture.

Which brings me back to 'life': great, good, bad and sad. The elements of all good stories and fulfilling lives.

Snidely Whiplash

For the past weeks, I've been held captive in our house.

Extreme heat and gypsy moth caterpillars (I'm talking millions of the little beggars) have made it extremely unpleasant to be outside, never mind digging in the dirt. Gardening has become simply the ongoing plucking of caterpillars off my shrubs.

Hence, my preference for staying indoors. The time spent in the sunroom has turned my perspective to just what is visible from that room but what a world of life goes on out there.

Is it my imagination or are the squirrels healthier this year? Whatever has brought on this year of plenty makes their coats lustrous and created a visible playfulness amongst them. They aren't skittish this year, remaining above me on tree trunks or fences as I water, rather than running away. As I type, one is sitting on the fence looking me square in the eyes, as though he (she) would like to have a word with me.

In this heat, the bird bath plays a key role. All creatures visit throughout the day either stopping for a quick drink or standing right in for an all-out bath experience. I particularly like watching the robins bathing routine. They are thorough in their ablutions with feathers flapping in an orderly fashion until they deem themselves clean.

One day, as I watched, a starling appeared, bullying the robin from the bath. The starlings have also sent our finches elsewhere by their bullying behaviour at the feeders. 

Watching that black, shiny bird with its beady little eyes use whatever power it exerts (it is no larger than a robin) to send the robin off reminded me of a character from my childhood. The starling turned into Snidely Whiplash, pulling on his mustache below his beady eyes after kidnapping beautiful Nell for no other reason than to be evil.

Better watch out starlings. Dudley is on his way.

It's been a while.

I have to thank the garden for hours of joyous work throughout the past weeks. Everything else has been neglected in my desire to get my hands in the dirt each morning. My exercise routine has become spotty. Walks have all but disappeared from daily life. Housework? What's that? Meals are planned for their easy preparation. The gardens trump all. 

So, today, with the last of my seedlings now in the ground and the temperature cool, I was pretty pleased with myself with the decision to head down for my waterfront walk. As physical as my gardening has been, my muscles weren't overly happy to walk this distance.

When I arrived at the third pier, I decided to sit on the old iron post that ships would once have tied their lines to (I preferred to think of this as my reflection time instead of a rest). I assume I have the seagulls to thank for the mess on the top of the post but saw enough clear space for my toosh and settled down for my ruminations.

A random wipe of my rear as I rose again brought a rude awakening. I unwittingly sat on some of the poop.

My first thought was curiosity: 'Does sitting on it bring as much luck as we are said to receive when it lands on us directly from the sky?'

My next thought was 'Oh, no. Apparently, the old toosh takes up more space than it once did!' This walk had better be the first of many more.

I soon forgot my widening rear though as, returning along the path, I frightened a mother duck. Out of the corner of my eye, I sensed more than saw as she swept a smaller duck off the path back to the water. I watched as Mother led the way, swimming in and around a myriad of stones, steering a surprising seven babies through this circuitous route out to safety in the water. 

It was a delightful scene. Like all toddlers, they dipsy-doodled after Mother, around these same stones, butting into each other, eventually making it out to clear water. As I watched, the last baby, clearly impatient and fearless, took a different approach. It jumped onto a stone and twaddled atop each one until it reached the last  stone where it jumped into the water and joined the family.

What would a family be without a little rebellion?

Mothers

"Her mama's no more than a little bitty story in her life now, something from way, way back when, and that's the way my mama is for me. You can tell the story in five minutes flat. You can blink and miss it.

But you can't make it go away. Your mama's inside you. You can feel her moving and breathing and sometimes you can hear her talking to you, saying the same things over and over, like watch out now, be careful, be good, now don't get yourself hurt."

Cora-Mae (p. 257)

The Stone Diaries

Carol Shields

I've just finished re-reading this book. My children gave the book to me as a Mother's Day gift in 1993 and reading it began my pleasurable journey into this Canadian author's work. 

Mother's Day again this Sunday. While I long ago thankfully ceded whatever control I might once have thought I had in my children's' lives, I know I continue to be more than just a cautionary voice in their heads. The years, though, have afforded me the luxury of sitting back; watching and admiring each of them as they apply their own personalities to parenting.

My own mother lives across the country, inaccessible to me (during COVID) but, thankfully, close to my sisters. My conversations with her often make me feel like I'm grabbing for fireflies but the memories of her voice in my ear throughout my life are as strong as ever. 

On this Mother's Day, I acknowledge all of the matriarchs in my life. Whatever my age, I have much to learn from their wisdom.