Earlier this week I stood idly waiting for a bus at a riverside stop. My mind wandered. The sun was warm, the sky clear blue, and then with a sudden breeze clouds of fluff dancing around me.
Fairies! my delighted inner child exclaimed as blizzard like, I was engulfed in mists of fluff.
Dandelion (1967)
Friday, June 8, 2012
Saturday, June 2, 2012
People
People 45-64 years of age account for 25% of the Canadian population. Women 55-59 6.2% in 2005
In 2008 someone in America turned 62 every 7 seconds
I found these stats in my draft folder. I'm not sure if I ever published them but they are still true. There was a time, a few years back, when I was yet again unemployed when I asked myself "where the people like me," were. Eventually I decided not to care as there really are no people like me just stats.
In 2008 someone in America turned 62 every 7 seconds
I found these stats in my draft folder. I'm not sure if I ever published them but they are still true. There was a time, a few years back, when I was yet again unemployed when I asked myself "where the people like me," were. Eventually I decided not to care as there really are no people like me just stats.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Small Things
I don't really want to get into the whole Boomerang Kids discussion or debate. This is just how it is today, this week, this month; for now .
I have two kids, men actually. One has been out on his own for close to 10 years and the other has not. I love my guys and more than that, I like my guys. I think they are wonderful men. I admire the people they have become. They are generous and helpful and funny. Recently they have both left town-literally. The younger one has bounced in and out of our home for the last 3 years working in other communities and then returning home as the season geared down, travelling, returning home, and setting off to work out of town again. The last time he arrived home he said,
" This is the last time I am doing this. When I leave next time, I leave for good"
As the season for him to leave approached there was a flurry of activity as he sorted, filed, packed and disposed of a decade of the un-disposed detritus of life. I was pressed into service. It was bittersweet because while there was almost a decade when my mantra was "I will miss him when he's gone" the fact hit me squarely in the face. I no longer felt that way. We had moved on from that parent-child gulley of tension to an easy rhythm of respect. Still I am no fool, and it was past time for him to be gone.
Interspersed with his preparation was his older brother's preparation to relocate after a "world tour." We went to his soccer games -"this could be the last time" we said to each other. His Dad shared sports with him on the little screen at home and the big screen in the bar. (Small mercies- *I* am NOT a sports fan!) We shared breakfast, lunch, and dinner with him -
"Who knows when we'll do this again?" we said to each other.
Life has been a whirlwind of activity-not chosen activity but truly a whirlwind where you are picked up and swept along in our case by the energy of two whirlwinds.
Before the scheduled date, a call came and our younger son was on a plane heading out . Left behind were partially filled boxes, full hangers, unfiled taxes, tools, records and a car. Mom - that's me stepped in. I am delighted to say the taxes are filed , the car is sold and a very few of the boxes have been closed.
Elder son left a few weeks after his brother. His father and I helped him get his home ready to rent, sell his car and we ate, reminised and just plain hung out together. "We may never do this again" we said to each other.
It's been three weeks since the last plane left. My husband has taken to leaving the laundry basket right outside our son's door when he comes up from our basement laundry room.
"I know no one is going to come barrelling through there" he said to me one day by way of an explanation I hadn't asked for. I nodded. I notice he has taken to parking his truck in the middle of the drive way. It is the only vehicle. None of our friends would expect to park on the rear driveway. As I leave the house I grab my purse and go I notice. There is no shuffling of coats to find where my things have been buried. From time to time I find myself glancing towards the back of the house surprised to find there are no large shoes askew on the floor by the door.
I DO miss them now they are gone, and so does he. We are though, alone together at last.
I have two kids, men actually. One has been out on his own for close to 10 years and the other has not. I love my guys and more than that, I like my guys. I think they are wonderful men. I admire the people they have become. They are generous and helpful and funny. Recently they have both left town-literally. The younger one has bounced in and out of our home for the last 3 years working in other communities and then returning home as the season geared down, travelling, returning home, and setting off to work out of town again. The last time he arrived home he said,
" This is the last time I am doing this. When I leave next time, I leave for good"
As the season for him to leave approached there was a flurry of activity as he sorted, filed, packed and disposed of a decade of the un-disposed detritus of life. I was pressed into service. It was bittersweet because while there was almost a decade when my mantra was "I will miss him when he's gone" the fact hit me squarely in the face. I no longer felt that way. We had moved on from that parent-child gulley of tension to an easy rhythm of respect. Still I am no fool, and it was past time for him to be gone.
Interspersed with his preparation was his older brother's preparation to relocate after a "world tour." We went to his soccer games -"this could be the last time" we said to each other. His Dad shared sports with him on the little screen at home and the big screen in the bar. (Small mercies- *I* am NOT a sports fan!) We shared breakfast, lunch, and dinner with him -
"Who knows when we'll do this again?" we said to each other.
Life has been a whirlwind of activity-not chosen activity but truly a whirlwind where you are picked up and swept along in our case by the energy of two whirlwinds.
Before the scheduled date, a call came and our younger son was on a plane heading out . Left behind were partially filled boxes, full hangers, unfiled taxes, tools, records and a car. Mom - that's me stepped in. I am delighted to say the taxes are filed , the car is sold and a very few of the boxes have been closed.
Elder son left a few weeks after his brother. His father and I helped him get his home ready to rent, sell his car and we ate, reminised and just plain hung out together. "We may never do this again" we said to each other.
It's been three weeks since the last plane left. My husband has taken to leaving the laundry basket right outside our son's door when he comes up from our basement laundry room.
"I know no one is going to come barrelling through there" he said to me one day by way of an explanation I hadn't asked for. I nodded. I notice he has taken to parking his truck in the middle of the drive way. It is the only vehicle. None of our friends would expect to park on the rear driveway. As I leave the house I grab my purse and go I notice. There is no shuffling of coats to find where my things have been buried. From time to time I find myself glancing towards the back of the house surprised to find there are no large shoes askew on the floor by the door.
I DO miss them now they are gone, and so does he. We are though, alone together at last.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
You Don't Have to Be stupid to Sit Here. .
but it helps.
I had occasion to sit in the waiting room of and automotive repair shope today . I was waiting for a flat tire to be fixed on my sons car. The television was on . A movie was playing on the 42" television. An odd movie, a very odd movie. I left and circulated the store as the movie played on.I returned. I left and paced the floor outside the service desk.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0482603/
I had occasion to sit in the waiting room of and automotive repair shope today . I was waiting for a flat tire to be fixed on my sons car. The television was on . A movie was playing on the 42" television. An odd movie, a very odd movie. I left and circulated the store as the movie played on.I returned. I left and paced the floor outside the service desk.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0482603/
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Well Hello!
Blogger has this wonderful dashboard that lets me see what time you arrived , how long you stayed, what posts you looked at and, what country you accessed the blog from. It's a lot of information but really not very satisfying . I would be ever so grateful if you answered my poll or perhaps left me a comment. Of course if you don't want to I 'll be fine but it would be very nice to hear from you.
Come and play!
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Ugly Week
For days I have been thinking about ugly week. I was 23 before I knew there was such a thing. Growing up on the wonderful Wet Coast I was oblivious to this blight. My first real winter was in the Interior but far, far out in the country so again - I didn't have a clue about ugly week.
One winter in the city in Ontario and I awakend to ugly week. To me it seemed like a month but it couldn't have been. All that lovely fluffy white snow accumulates over the winter. Grit is sprinkled on the roadways, litter is dropped, trash is spilled, garbage buried, pets eliminate and the streets elucidate tales of misdemeanors of a public and personal nature. It lays in wait layered on the roadsides and walks. Nasty, nasty, nasty! Sometimes a timely rain shifts the dust into shoals and leaves beds of sand in the gutters and at the road sides but other years it is fetid and dank and it lingers, slippery and sticky, to cling to rubber boots and grease the path of pedestrians.
One winter in the city in Ontario and I awakend to ugly week. To me it seemed like a month but it couldn't have been. All that lovely fluffy white snow accumulates over the winter. Grit is sprinkled on the roadways, litter is dropped, trash is spilled, garbage buried, pets eliminate and the streets elucidate tales of misdemeanors of a public and personal nature. It lays in wait layered on the roadsides and walks. Nasty, nasty, nasty! Sometimes a timely rain shifts the dust into shoals and leaves beds of sand in the gutters and at the road sides but other years it is fetid and dank and it lingers, slippery and sticky, to cling to rubber boots and grease the path of pedestrians.
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