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!