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. 

Life Changes

It's difficult to deny the many small ways our lives have changed over the past year. Some of these will remain with us forever, I suspect. Others, I hope, will disappear the minute our vaccines free up our lives a little more.

I was reminded of these changes while recently trying to FaceTime with my six-year old granddaughter. We were experiencing some connection issues and I thought it was hilarious when she said "You're glitching - I'll call you back." This is an example of one change that is here to stay. The very youngest amongst us has become far too familiar with technology and the terminology to describe its inherent frustrations.

During our next FaceTime date, this same granddaughter said, "I have a new friend. Would you like to meet her?" She waltzed the phone outside to introduce me to this newest friend. Kneeling down to grass level, she pointed the camera at a single dandelion in full bloom and said, "Meet Jamie". As you can imagine, I was surprised but I've learned not to react with this creative girl. My immediate response was "Dandelions tend to have larger families." She then marched over to show me a stack of dandelions inside a bucket explaining she had rescued Jamie from the same fate as all of her brothers and sisters. 

While I welcome this granddaughter's creative thinking, I'm praying this change (creating friends from plants) will disappear the minute real children are once again routinely welcomed over to play.

Today, I realized when glancing at my shopping list that changes have happened in my own household as well.

Pinning down exactly when whipping cream crept onto my shopping list as a staple would be difficult. Yet, as I glance at the current list on the fridge, there it is - top of the dairy list. Since I have no pending recipes planned needing whipping cream (and no memory of writing it), it seems to have just taken its place naturally amongst the other staples.

I'm sure it began innocently enough. One recipe called for 1 cup so I sent Hubby out for a small package. The next time I needed more than one cup so asked for the larger size but, in the end, needed less than the 2 cups it contained.

None of us likes to waste food. Knowing that a container with 1/2 cup of whipping cream sat idly in the fridge would have increased my anxiety to mitigate wastage. I don't remember that first fateful step to use up the excess; I may have used it in making a cream soup when short on the half and half variety.

It's a slippery slope once you begin to look for ways to use whipping cream. I discovered a recipe for scones made with whipping cream in the mix and then using it to brush on top after baking. 

There really is no doubt that mashed potatoes are truly delectable with whipping cream rather than boring old milk.

No cream fraiche! No problem. Whisk a little whipping cream with a bit of buttermilk and - voila.

Goes without saying that cream sauces are superior when whipping cream is used. Tarragon sauce over chicken is raised up many levels with the natural thickening whipping cream brings to the dish. Move over plain old white sauce - your days are numbered.

I could go on and on envisioning each and every dish I've enhanced with the magic of whipping cream. But I won't. This is definitely one change that will soon disappear from our household. I'm going to show inner strength and suggest it might even occur before our vaccines take hold. That gives me four months to think this through ...

Big Sister's Role in the time of Big Brother

I may be a luddite (see earlier post) but I'm conscious enough of technology to understand that my online searches will result in ads, pinterest posts, etc. directly related to previous searches. Whether I use a search engine or Pinterest directly, I know that for the next day or two (and randomly forever after), I will see pop up ads or posts that fit that search.

This has annoyed me in the past, making me resent Big Brother. Who created Big Brother, by the way?  As the youngest of three girls, I only experienced the oversight of Big Sisters (sometimes with not the nicest intentions but generally looking out for my best interests). 

I begin to think of Big Sister's role in all of this. Where is she? Doesn't she have a role in technology, too?

I've never been one to buy into conspiracy theories but, today, in all honesty, my Spidey senses were humming. 

Yesterday I was thinking - I stress thinking - about asking a friend to make some scrunchies for my new COVID-long hair. 

There really is no reason on earth for me to search for scrunchies. I mean, come on, they're pretty basic hair items. Elastic wrapped in fabric! I don't even know if there is a way to jazz them up but why would I need to? They serve a purpose. If I am being really fussy, I might choose one that coordinates with my outfit of the day. Otherwise, a scrunchie is just a functional hair accessory. 

So my thoughts as I sat with Hubby this morning enjoying morning coffee and ready to begin my online meandering were far from scrunchies. 

This may be my favourite time of day; absolute quiet (one of the only times of the day without tv or news streaming); sun shining in the window; nothing but time ahead of us. On days when I feel bored by the online offerings, I bring out my current read and enjoy a book for a while.

Today, though, I was searching with purpose. My Pinterest travels this morning included a search for a chocolate mocha whipped ganache for a cake I plan to bake. In amongst the many delicious offerings, I began to see multiple postings with scrunchies!

Remember, I thought about asking my friend to make the scrunchies. I never typed it, wrote it or discussed it with anyone.

This, I think, is where Big Sister comes in. While Big Brother may be watching and tracking our online movements with a view to directing us to their paying advertisers, Big Sister is using her feminine intuition to guide us toward our wants and needs almost before we have thought of them ourselves. 

She understands our hair appointments over the past year have been few and far between. She is aware we need new ways to manage this hair length. It's almost as though she's saying ... "Here, I recommend scrunchies. They're easy to use, inexpensive and can match your outfit." 

Thank you Big Sister. I appreciate you looking out for me.

The only other explanation is that our technology is now capable of reading our minds.

Not going there.

Rain - Glorious Rain

Sounds like the beginning of a Broadway hit. Appropriate maybe since my recent gardening efforts make me feel akin to a Broadway producer.

The greenhouse was completed two weeks ago and, with the warming weather, I moved in the seedlings planted earlier. Managing them had been work as I moved them around the house following sunlight at different times of day. Once they were placed in the greenhouse, they were set. 

Over the last two weeks, I've planted all of the remaining flowers and vegetables in their trays and moved them out to join the seniors already established.

It was while planting the remaining seeds that the image of Broadway came to mind. 

You might think a seed is a seed is a seed... Not so. Each player in this year's garden has its own requirements in order to germinate and then bring out its best performance. It might sound overwhelming to the non-Broadway producer but I like to think I'm getting the hang of this.

Forget-me-nots want complete darkness, Zinnias - extra warmth. Peppers are not great germinators so it's sometimes necessary to call in the stand-ins. Celery seeds do best in cool, damp conditions. Lazy Peas like to lie down between damp paper towels to speed germination before going directly into the ground. Beans like an overnight soak (picturing the star in the bubble bath here). Some stars need extra time to learn their lines and more space to move about (tomatoes) before they take their places on stage.

But, at last, the cast is in place. The dressing room (greenhouse) is monitored frequently to make sure their continuing needs are met as they develop in their roles - misting water on hot days, covers for warmth on cool nights.

The stage itself has been swept and set with needed props. Additional soil and compost have been added to ensure this year's cast is well fed. A new prop for this year's production is an arbour for the cucumbers to grow up, leaving room for other players to be planted beneath, maximizing the number of cast members the stage can accommodate.

As in Broadway (I imagine), it's only the stars who get the dressing-room. The walk-ons must start from the ground up with no rehearsal and no demands leading up to the production. Some walk-ons remained from last fall's production (carrots and garlic and, of course, the ever-reliable perennial flowers), returning to carry on with little prep and no script. They know their lines. 

The newest walk-on hires (beets, lettuce, chard, spinach) take their places quietly, looking for direction from the sun while leaving plenty of room for each star to arrive as their scene is called.

Back to why rain is glorious. The house is screaming "thank you" to the skies for sending me indoors with nothing but time for all of the chores put off while Broadway was calling my name.

Preparing for New Life

My husband was recently doing some minor work on our eavestrough. I say recently but that word is relative in retirement. There is a casualness to the 'To Do' list once you retire. Schedules go out the window. What doesn't get done today ... well, there's always tomorrow (or next week or month).

Knowing the job wasn't complete, he left the ladder leaning against the wall of the house to be there once he decides to complete the repairs.

Today I looked out to find two doves diligently building a nest on the top of the ladder. I will assume they had scoped out this location for some time and, seeing no movement to this unusual roost, decided it was a prime perch for their homestead.

It is a good spot, in a corner of the house, just under the eaves. They will have privacy and perfect sight lines to any threats that may appear.

The biggest challenge seems to be filling the three holes on the flat top of the ladder. Eggs could easily drop through those holes so they fly in and out carrying and depositing sticks in a manner (I'm sure) they hope will fill them. I've checked in several times over the past two hours and they're still at it but I see one hole remains open.

As I watch them puttering about the gardens, choosing what they hope will be perfect pieces of flotsam, I realize I, too, shouldn't be hasty in my spring cleanup. In my anxiousness to get soil raked and cleaned up and ready to plant, I may be removing ideal pieces for nest building. I think I'll apply a little of the retirement schedule to the task and go a little slower. My back will thank me so it's all good.

As I said, they are diligent in their efforts. Pieces are continually falling through the holes but they just fly out to find replacements. They are nothing if not determined. Watching them reminds me of the squirrel nests built high in our trees. Throughout the winter, I've watched these frail-looking nests sway dramatically in some pretty vigorous winds and, yet, stay in tact. The builders seem to understand the challenges nature can inflict and compensate in their home construction. Makes me wonder if there are lessons here for we humans in our nest-building.

The doves (and their impending family) remind me of the news we received recently. My husband and I have another grandchild on the way but they live far away. Until we are both vaccinated, visiting is not possible. 

I try not to dwell on the many events and experiences we've missed out on because of COVID. While usually it might bring comfort to remember that others are in the same boat as you, in this case, I just feel sadness for all of us. There is a magnitude present in all that everyone is missing that makes complaining about our situation weak. Complaining rarely helps anyway.

Back to the doves. For now, I'll watch the progress of new life outside my window and settle with checking in with family on FaceTime.

Living in the Moment

I began this post with the idea of writing about spring coming - my favourite season in the year. Spring is the awakening of the outside world again after months of slow, indoor living. During spring, I walk my gardens daily, marveling at the changes each day brings.

Definitely my favourite time of the year. But wait. If asked in July which season was my favourite, I would say Summer! If you ask in September, I’ll say it’s Fall.

How it is that I can think of several seasons (let's leave winter out of this discussion) as my favourite. Am I shallow? Fickle? Incapable of having an opinion?

The more I consider this, the clearer it becomes. I’m not fickle: I'm living in the moment. I love the growth that takes place in spring but summer is such a ripe and relaxing time. Autumn brings the cooler temps, sweaters and candles I love just as I am ready for them.

I remember other 'living in the moment' times.

Many years ago, one of my employers had a tradition of sharing a cake to celebrate birthdays and leavings. It wasn’t until we were enjoying the chocolate cake for my final day in the office that I was told I had said with each and every one: “This is the best cake we've had.”

Luckily my co-workers didn’t think me a flake. They seemed to grasp that, to me, each and every cake truly was the best. I enjoyed every one as though none had measured up until that moment. Of course, each and every best cake experience likely had more to do with the employees we were celebrating or what we were sharing in that moment than the quality of the cake.

But I wasn’t born living in the moment.

As a child, I remember excitedly building up in my mind what was to come. So much in fact that I often felt disappointed when what was to come came and went. All those weeks of waiting and, bam, it was over (whatever ‘it’ was).

I was in my teens before I realized that the expectation I had for each and every ‘something’ was taking away any joy that might have accompanied the moments that led up to it. I literally lost that time before each highly anticipated something in my excitement for the future. I began to understand that I was creating the disappointment I felt when something came and went. What could possibly measure up to such anticipation?

I began to put each thing I was excited about into its place; to await its time. In doing so (taking each day as it came), I discovered that the time before presented much to be enjoyed as well. When the something does arrive, I’m certain I don’t enjoy it any less than I would have had it been on my mind for days or weeks leading up to it. 

The extra benefit of dealing with life this way is that I have space for unexpected pleasure in little things that were not anticipated.

Funny thing is, during my middle years, I bought into the talk about the need to live in the moment and how essential it is to cultivate to help us truly get the most from our busy lives. It didn't occur to me at the time that I was already doing it.

In my attempt to adopt the practice du jour, I practised yoga; attempted meditation; read self-help books; and listened to many wizards with advice on how to live in the moment. None of it stuck, I thought. 

Now I see clearly. Putting a title to it and making it something we all should strive for made it seem more elusive, and more complicated, than it is. We all live in the moment when we use our senses to appreciate the world around us, the people in it and the sensations our body is feeling.

I (and you) live in the moment.

Makes me feel like Dorothy. Excuse me while I click my heels together. “There’s no time like this moment.”

Family Stories: Fact or Fiction

For those following this blog, you may remember an earlier post that spoke about writing our family stories. As I said then, our families have untold situations, secrets, fascinating characters and events that others would truly be interested in.

This was made clear to me as I finished a new book "The Operator" (by Gretchen Berg). 

I thoroughly enjoyed this novel (clearly labeled as such on the cover). The author's development reinforced my like/dislike of certain characters. The story takes place in the early 1950s and my knowledge of that time is that we were still somewhat limited as a society by what was seen and heard on tv and radio and what newspapers published. The story unfolds in a way that makes sense when we consider the time it is placed in. As I got to know each of the characters in greater detail, their actions also made sense, however misguided I thought they might be.

My subconscious, as I read, understood this was an imaginary story told in an entertaining way.

I always complete a book with the Author's Notes and Acknowledgements. Doing so helps me understand much about both the author and their story.

Spoiler Alert:

I was surprised to learn on reading her notes that the story is 'loosely' based on her grandmother's story. Berg doesn't elaborate on what parts of this tale of characters in a small community are true. Even so, I could picture her finding the (real) newspaper article and spinning it into this unique tale.

Well done, Gretchen Berg. Your first book and a home run!

The Baker's Secret

One morning this past week, out of the blue, my husband asked "Why don't you make bagels?"

I happen to love making bread. The entire process from adding yeast to flour, kneading, rising, baking and then listening to the crackling sound after it comes out of the oven is delightful to me.

And what can I say about eating it - who doesn't love fresh bread right from the oven?

So his suggestion wasn't completely out of left field but I haven't attempted bagels in the past. 

He caught me at the right time, on the right day, and I was soon looking up a recipe I remembered seeing. Turns out bagel making is fun and the finished goodies were ready by lunch time and very much traditional chewy bagels.

Coincidentally, I was reading The Baker's Secret last week. This is not a cookbook but rather a novel about a young baker in occupied France during WWII who is tasked with baking twelve baguettes every day for the German officers. She managed, through ingenuity, to stretch her output to fourteen loaves and shared the hidden extra two with individuals in her community to help stave off starvation.

I don't want to give too much away about this wonderful story but the premise is that members of her community began to ask her for items not available: an egg, extra gasoline, tobacco, even a light bulb. She gave thought to each request and, in recognizing that some people have things they don't want or need, she met everyone's' request.

Of course, there is a war going on. Her town (and her own home) is occupied by the Germans so her efforts require stealth and cooperation from others. There is danger and ugliness in war but this book reminded me of what human beings are capable of.

As I read, I couldn't help but draw a parallel from her actions to today's COVID. Life has simplified for most of us (ie I now make greeting cards by hand and Christmas gifts were largely hand made or passed down) and we've learned to share rather than make unnecessary trips to stores. This reminds me that I have much around my house that I don't want or need but there are others in my community who may want or need these things. 

Reading this book has opened my mind in new ways. A new refrain runs in the back of my mind: Do I have something, or can I do something, that might help?

From the darkness of COVID, I see light breaking through.

Oh, and I also learned how to make bagels.

Traffic Congestion

As the weeks of this shut down continue, walking can accomplish much. Rather than my solitary walks, I'm enjoying walks with a friend now and again to hear how her life is going. We try to walk on little-used routes to avoid the new phenomenon I call 'the Sidewalk Dance'. This is the to'ing and fro'ing that happens as you encounter people coming in the opposite direction.  

I actually feel anxiety when I see people coming. In our winter, with three feet of snow on the ground,  a long stretch of sidewalk without driveways or access to the road can make it problematic on how to avoid each other. The anxiety is heightened by the knowledge that we are within miles of many cases of the more highly transmitted variant of COVID. Since many are not routinely wearing masks while out walking, coming within two feet of someone adds way too much tension to what should be a healthy activity.

Today was a different day. As I walked around my neighbourhood, everyone approaching the roads I walked on turned left, walking ahead of me in the same direction I was. I didn't have to do the avoidance tactic once and maintained my place on the sidewalk throughout my walk.

That was when a brainstorm hit me.

How much more pleasant walking would be if we had pedestrian traffic patterns similar to one way streets for our cars. If, for example, every other street running in parallel directions allowed pedestrians to head east and the in between streets had walkers heading west. We might even have times applied to this pattern with the direction changing at busy times (think of multi lane bridges that have middle lanes that change direction depending on time of day).

I understand there are drawbacks to this plan depending on where your house lies in a block. But weren't these the very issues that the earliest city planners had to deal with when planning streets, intersections, crosswalks, streetlights ... Society accepted all of it with only a few quibblers.

This plan might say quite a bit about me. I am an innovative thinker? I enjoy complex problems? I need to live out in the country away from other people?

I'll just put it down to COVID fatigue and stay indoors (at least until the snow melts).

Ok - not really.

Connections

My father, at the age of 86, said to me that he thought he would be far more adept at living life 100 years ago than he felt living in the 21st century.  Even before dementia stole his mind, so much of life we know today was becoming beyond his understanding. 

Something as simple as television had become technical, complicated by a series of remotes and channel options that require a course of instruction. Even I find it confusing and yearn for the simple ‘Off’ and ‘On’ buttons on old televisions. (OK - I don’t miss the tv of my childhood. My sisters and I had to take turns sitting behind it to press a reset button when it went on the fritz!)

It was unthinkable to imagine him using a computer.

I am like my father in many ways. I might best be described as a 'Luddite', preferring old ways to communicate instead of using technology exclusively. I crave the simplicity we knew before computers.

I admit blogging allows me to practice writing and, like everyone, I use my iPad and laptop to suit my needs. Our family stays in touch through messages that help us all feel a part of each other’s day. And how could I not be grateful for FaceTime during these months at home?

Beyond that I do not venture. Tweeting and FaceBook tempt me not at all. I have always doubted that anyone would find my activities of interest and I’m not pining to learn what others are up to. Those in my circle of family and friends I manage to keep up with through email, telephone calls and letters.

It’s this last option that is my true realm.

Running out of writing paper recently brought a sense of panic. How was I to stay in touch with friends? Letter writing is my ‘thing’.

Writing with a fountain pen releases my creativity and the words I write become a journal entry just for the person I’m writing to. I don’t expect letters in return. A letter allows me to let someone know I’m thinking of them.

Whatever manner we use to stay connected, any 'connecting' we do is a poor imitation of the real thing: sitting side by side with another. Enjoying a cup of tea and a belly laugh (or occasional cry) with a friend deepens relationships. Sleepovers with our family allow opportunities, after grandchildren are tucked in bed, to really learn about their lives and support and celebrate them.

When we are physically together with others, words spoken are given the space to be truly listened to, understood and appreciated.

Remember the “plays well with others” box on our elementary school report cards. Even then, our social interaction with classmates was recognized as essential to our wellbeing and was developed through our classroom play.

So looking forward to playing well with others once again!