The Dinner Table

When I was a youngster, there were many long Summer days that were spent with a large family who owned a dairy farm.

I don't  remember now how many children there were. But I do recall how I felt there was nothing in the World better than being in the company of so many children in such a warm family.

And so, when I was asked what I wanted to do when I grew up, my pat answer was to have as many children as I could. When I was asked why on Earth I would want a lot of kids, I always said I thought it would be such a lot of fun.


And it would have been. But the Universe had other plans. I was fortunate in that I had two children and yes, they were a lot of fun. I still yearned for more children, though, even when I myself couldn't have them. That's when foster children entered my life.


We did have a  huge lot of enjoyment then...sometimes there were not enough chairs around the dinner table to hold my family and the foster kids. But we managed...

And then life changed again. A marriage broke up, and I moved on with my two children, further along on the path of life. I remarried. My new husband wasn't all that fond of fostering kids...and so, I encouraged my two daughters to bring their friends home, possibly just so I could once again have a full complement of folks around the dinner table.


Again, life's path took a turn. My youngest daughter, Katrina, had a child, Brianna. It was a tumultuous time in the life of a family, even though Bree was the warmest, brightest light we had. Unmarried, Katrina found life difficult...too difficult. And even as I gained a grandchild, I lost a daughter...

Heidi and her husband took Bree and adopted her when, if memory serves, she was around five or six. My second marriage had gone the way of the first by then. And the deeply rooted thought of many children around the dinner table loosened. For a long while, it seemed Bree was the only grandchild I would have.

I met Graham, who also had two children. His son, Scott, lived with us. He was fifteen when I met him, a teenager full of  hormonal angst. Most of my foster kids were boys so I was not totally male ignorant. Coming from a family of girls, having only girls myself, it was still a revelation to me...Scott was very different from my daughters. But he bore out my notion that children brought a lot of fun. 

And then, wonder of wonders!! My daughter and her husband decided to have a baby...and Graydon entered our World. It began to appear, even if my dinner table did not hold only very young children, it was certainly always very entertaining.


Brianna is sixteen now.  Graydon will be turning four. Two children...a girl and a boy...now further graced my family tree. It was enough...it had to be, I thought. Graham and I are too old to have more children, even if I could.


But oh! Once again, the Universe thought it would shake up our now fairly complacent existence. Scott, now almost 25, and his girlfriend Kimeesha announced they were having a baby. Another child to bring fun and joy to our family dinners! How could anything be better than this?


Twins. Twins could be better.


Sometimes...sometimes our wishes and dreams and goals are derailed, along that long and winding road of Life.

All in good time, the Universe told me, all in good time. Having held the dream of being surrounded by children for so long, and for so long, having the dream denied...I had lost hope. I did not hold on to my faith which told me dreams can come true, if one holds onto them tightly enough.

Who would have thought, years ago, of the number of grandchildren...here and on their way...who I now have to nurture and teach, to love and laugh with, to enjoy? I certainly did not. My realization, so many years ago, that my main goal was to be a mother to many children...well, it didn't happen quite the way I thought it would.


But the proverbial dinner table will soon require another leaf. And more chairs.


And in the wings, there is another leaf, another chair. Just waiting. Just in case.

Who knows how many children and adults will find their place around that table in the end?


All I know is...


It's already a lot of fun. With twin girls, the merriment will only grow.


My dream from so long ago is in the process of being filled.

Acquaintance

At a meeting the other day, my friend and I had a short discussion about New Year's resolutions, goals and dreams. She said she doesn't make any promises to herself anymore; those are the ones that always get broken.


She told me any promise she makes to another, she keeps...no ifs, ands or buts. Not the ones she promises to herself, however.  She said she was such an unknown entity to herself, she didn't really know what she wanted, anyway. Before I can find a goal...she said...I have to try and find out who that stranger is inside me...


"One of the greatest moments in anybody’s developing experience is when he no longer tries to hide from himself but determines to get acquainted with himself as he really is." – Norman Vincent Peale

We didn't have a long time to talk; we made a date for lunch. But the short conversation stayed with me. I recall saying to my daughter awhile ago that I didn't know who I really was, what my goals were, when she told me she would like to read more about me.

I've taken many long journeys inside, but they were all taken with the intent to heal, during my time in recovery. Once or twice, I have taken journeys within with the clear intention of learning who I was. How did I get here, why am I here, what am I doing here...what is my purpose?

These are the questions to which I wanted answers. I wanted those answers immediately...I didn't want to have to wait or work hard at all. And of course, with this kind of impatience, I got nowhere. I had some idea, as well, of the kind of courage it takes to go on that long, inner journey and face the nakedness of my own soul. I wasn't really sure I had that special courage...

I've learned, since then. Facing demons...the ones that stop progress, those embarrassing, hurtful, shameful ones, makes me cringe.  But I've stood in front of these demons and have made my peace. And I think I know myself as well as anyone, finally. But as to what my purpose is...I have yet to form a conclusion.

"The longest journey of any person is the journey inward." – Dag Hammerskjvld


Since I didn't come up with any answers, I did what I normally do when I'm stumped...I stuffed it away and thought, well, eventually I will know why I'm living this life. Eventually, surely, after a few  more revelations from lessons placed in my path by the Powers-That-Be, I will know, well and truly.

Of course, if I believe as strongly as I do the statement that everything is exactly the way it is meant to be right now...then I'm already doing what I'm meant to be.


And then, during a visit to the hospital, I spoke with an elderly man who had been declared palliative. He was of sound mind and of a rather philosophical nature. As I sat with some needlework, he and I spoke about life and what it was all about. He felt it is over-rated, life is. He said he had lived a whole lifetime, and still he didn't know why he was here or who he was. Or what his goals were. And he wondered why he'd ever cared...

And then he laughed rather ruefully. Guess it's too late now...he said...guess I'll just enjoy the ride, what's left of it.


As I drove home, I chuckled to myself, as I wondered why I felt the need to know everything about this...acquaintance...who lived within. Wasn't it enough to know my place in the Universe? To know that I am unique and connected, firmly grounded in my own place?

Why don't I just accept what is present...who I am now, what I do and why I do it? If I am such an unknown to myself that I cannot make goals or intentions because I do not know what I desire or which path I want to follow...I would have to be far younger than I am now.

My friend and I will have a spirited conversation over lunch.


 
And I keep thinking...why not make it easy...leave the whole thing simple?


Why don't I just enjoy the ride...what's left of it?

Scullery

I believe this is about the fourth post I have begun writing since Christmas, but with one distraction after another, I have finished none of them.

We are in the midst of converting a former kitchen and mudroom/entry way/laundry, both separate rooms, into one room. This will be the pantry/laundry room/mudroom. I believe, at one time, or even today...this room might have been called a scullery.

A scullery is defined by the Oxford Dictionary as a back kitchen, a room for washing up dishes, cutting up food, etc. In other words, an overflow kitchen. A scullery would have been where game Birds and Animals were prepared for cooking. The word is close to what our room will be intended for. It has a pantry in it, after all.



But sculleries have a bad name. In speaking with an older English client, I was told sculleries were the worst part of a home, where all the messy, dirty parts of keeping a home were done. I found a site explaining that the scullery maid was the lowest of the low, often found in workhouses and paid a very small sum.

But these days, as I tried to explain to my client, they even sell scullery sinks, which are very like laundry tubs. Our refurbished room has a new laundry tub in a cabinet, not a scullery sink, but I have no problem with imagination. There is also a very small cabinet, which was passed down to me many years ago. It came from an old scullery in Victoria. It will be repainted, leaving the old marks and dents still apparent. Graham will build a new top, out of Maple Wood we brought from the Coast.

The room will also have a linen closet. When we moved into this house, I remember wandering through, with a pile of towels in my arms. I asked...Where's the linen closet?... There was none. Our linens have been stored in one of the bedroom closets. In great disarray, I might add.


We'd taken out the dividing wall a month or so ago. But there was still drywalling and mudding to do. And there was a door to the crawl space which was taken out. There is a floor door now, giving us more space.


Moving the plumbing and electricity for the washer and dryer took some time. Then Graham built the stands for the washer and dryer. They are front loading machines and are meant to be on a stand, in order to reach the farthest points for that errant sock or hand towel.

I am accustomed to renovating...I have been a part of renovating each house I have ever lived in. Or a part of building anew. I'm not sure which one is worse, when it comes to anxiety and stress and just plain exhaustion.


But in only ten days, the scullery is almost done. There will be painting and flooring to do, but these are easy projects. I'm looking forward to moving in. I picture myself  coming in with arm loads of flowers from the garden, and cutting the stems on the long, stone counter to fit the vases which will be stored in one cupboard or another, all in order. It's a great vision!

A completed scullery means the World to me. It will allow me to be much more organized, with regards to homekeeping. There will be an ironing board always at the ready, with hangers and such all prepared to do their duty. There will be the pantry, where large foodstuffs, such as bags of flour and sugar and large boxes of cereal will be kept. The broom closet will finally be used as such, with the vacuum cleaner and all the other items used to clean this home in one place.


Our Dogs will now be able to come in through the garage, instead of through our bedroom. Since the washer/dryer will be moved and in their place, a bench for sitting whilst putting on footwear will be built, there will be ever so much more room for muddy, wet Dogs to come in and be towelled off.

Doesn't all this sound like a scullery? Without the scullery maid, unfortunately. I suppose I will fill those shoes!


This was a great project to do over Christmas and New Year's this year. With no travelling in the forecast, it was easy to concentrate on getting this room done, almost the final renovation we'll be doing in this house. The bathrooms will be next.


And after that, we will have finished what we set out to do when we bought this home. We've changed it completely...building a kitchen in a totally different spot in the house, painting each room, installing new lighting fixtures, changing the flooring throughout...and not to be forgotten, also building a woodworking shop for Graham.

Outside, we have built raised beds for flowers and vegetables. I discovered early on there was no point in digging the Earth where we live. There are far too many Rocks and Boulders. And we have gravelled a large portion of the front garden as well as the driveway, all the way to the Shop.


Only refurbishments to the bathrooms and changing the fence line to include the Shop are left to be done.


It is a good feeling, going into 2011 with most of the goals we set for our home met.


Even if there is no scullery maid...


Happy Belated New Year, everyone!!

The Christmas Stone

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening? In the lane, Snow is glistening...

The song called Winter Wonderland drifts through my mind on an almost constant basis these days. It truly is a wonderland outside...everything has a lovely skim of fresh, powdery Snow. The Christmas lights decorating the front entrance, along with all the Snow, should put me in a Christmassy state of mind.


So far, though, the Spirit of Christmas has passed me by.


It may be because a viral bug has found me. My nose is running and my bones ache, my mind is cloudy and my eyes are red and sore. But today....ahh, today I will put the bug in his place!...I have presents to wrap and send.


No matter how I feel, when I get down to actually wrapping all those bags and bags of gifts Santa just plunked down on the guest room bed, there is an insidious feeling that takes over. 


The Christmas Spirit is stealthy and cunning like this. I find myself wrapping a gift, in a rather resentful manner, because I'd far rather be lying on the couch...and suddenly, sneakily, the Spirit tickles my mind. I begin to think about the recipient of the gift, how surprised they might be, and how happiness will bubble over when they receive it.


Love makes itself known along with the Spirit, of course. I will miss my family over Christmas...they have travelled to Mexico...but Love still overflows when their gifts are wrapped, with a special bow here and there. And yet, still, it feels bittersweet, this wrapping of gifts...


My grandson asked me yesterday if I was going to be there at his special place in Mexico. I almost lost it then, when I told him I wouldn't be,  that I would see him very soon after his return. I will miss my granddaughter's sixteenth birthday celebration as well. And so, you see...the Christmas Spirit, as sneaky as he is, still can have a difficult time with me.


It is always thus, every year, really, whether I see my family or not. Thirteen years ago, my daughter died on December 30. Even yet, it feels as if a Stone has been placed on my chest, more so at this time of year. And many of us feel so, if an anniversary of a death should happen around the time of Christmas and the New Year.


I wish I knew how to remove the Stone.

The Spirit of Christmas, however, does not let all these sad events hold him back. He insists on arriving, whether or not I am remembering a tragic time. And with his arrival, even if the Stone is hampering my breathing, things become easier.


Why not, after all?...I ask myself. There is nothing I can do about the past...why should the past now have the power to tell me how to feel today?


A beautiful sight...we're happy tonight...
  
Last week, a dear friend said to me...Can you even begin to imagine what Katrina's first Christmas in Heaven was like? Can you imagine what Earth would look like from Heaven, with all the lights and good cheer? The young children's voices in all the school choirs would float upwards...she said... and for Katrina,  for whom Christmas was her favourite season,  wouldn't she love it so?


Yes, she would...I said...She would, indeed!

And with that, the Stone becomes a little bit lighter.


Because my daughter loved Christmas, most years I remember that. With the rest of the family gone this year, I  have allowed myself to sink into Grinchiness.


But with Christmas music playing, with all the gifts only half wrapped, I think it is time to join in on the joy of the Season. Sadness has no place amongst all those gaily wrapped gifts.


I recall, when my granddaughter Brianna was about a year old, how Katrina and I and Bree went to a very beautifully decorated home. As we wandered through the garden Katrina said...Isn't this just the most beautiful  and happy place on Earth?... I looked at her own enormous beauty, with her eyes shining with love for her baby...and I thought, yes, right now, this moment, there is nothing lovelier.

And at Christmas, this is the memory which takes over. And I still think there can be nothing lovelier than that extraordinarily clear remembrance of my daughter.


Gone away is the bluebird, here to stay is a new bird....


Years ago, I told my daughters, when we went for a walk, that they could each hold one of my arms. Heidi always took my right and Katrina always took the left arm.


And today, even though a cold bug found me, even though the Stone still finds its spot over my heart, I will go for a walk.


During that walk, I will feel my daughters' hands clinging to their preferred arm. They may not be here with me, but their energy is. Just as my grandchildrens' loving thoughts will surround me, as well.

The Stone will become almost non-existent.

And then, later on, I'll conspire...


To face unafraid, the plans that we made, walking in a Winter wonderland!

Telephobia

The Christmas season has certainly arrived in my grocery store. It has been decorated to the nth degree, it is stocked to the ceiling and songs calling out for joy and wonderment play over and over.

It quite put me in a daze. I wandered the aisles, listening to all the old Christmas carols. The decorations were over the top, but done with class and care. I realized the whole idea was to make things look so good, sound so good...the consumer would buy items or gifts, without thinking twice. I proved them right.


I was in the baking section. I'd baked all the previous week and needed reinforcements. I was completely engrossed in picking out dark chocolate when I heard a musical sound that wasn't part of the song about Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer presently playing over the loudspeaker.

The sound came at intervals, over and over. I raised my head, wondering, looking around. It took a bit before I realized it was a cell phone.

It was coming from the hands of a woman, who was looking at the black object helplessly...a little fearfully, even...

She looked over at me...I don't know how to answer this phone...said she.


I am no expert on cell phones. I don't know how to use them, either, as a matter of fact. I have a black one that I forget to charge, probably on purpose since the day when I found myself in this lady's position.


She continued...This is a new thing for me...I got this as a present from my son. But I don't know how to answer it or shut it off. And it keeps ringing!!!...


She was becoming undone. I smiled with sympathy and said...I think you flip the lid...

She looked at me and then at her phone, still in her hand. She shoved the phone at me and with great anxiety said...Can you do it?


The phone stopped ringing. I smiled and was beginning to tell her my own stories about cell phones when the phone rang again. This time, she almost threw the thing at me.


I hoped this phone I was now holding was like mine...and it was. I flipped the lid up and handed it to her...You can talk now...I said.


But she backed away, waving her hands in front of her.


...No, no...she said...you answer it!


I looked at her in disbelief. She wanted me to answer her phone?

I looked around. We had drawn a crowd; they were lined up and down the aisle looking at items like flour and the different kinds of maraschino Cherries with intense concentration.


I knew they were all listening.


By this time, I hoped the person who was trying to contact this fine lady had disconnected. I said a tentative Hello into the phone...


...Where is my mother?! What's happened to her?...a frenzied male voice asked frantically...I've left messages, a lot of them. What's wrong?

I have trouble talking on phones. It's a thing of mine...my throat closes up, I stumble over words, say things that aren't meant...


I tried to hand the phone over to the lady who had backed herself right up against the chocolate display, looking at me as if the 'divil' himself was crouching in my hand. She shook her head.


I was becoming exasperated, just a bit. I heard her son's shouts coming from the phone...Hello? Hello? Hello?...


I put the phone to my ear...Your mother's alright. She's right here...um, she just doesn't want to talk on this phone...


I tried to reassure the caller, but he was a chip off the old block and had let his anxiety get the best of him.The lady had been standing there with her ringing phone for awhile before I arrived, apparently. He insisted on speaking with her.


In turn, I insisted she take the phone. With my eyes steady on hers, I placed the phone in her hand and said...Talk.


She did.


I let go of the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. I glanced around at the sympathetic faces around us, some wreathed with hilarity.


I felt a huge giggle waiting to burst out of me, as well. I looked at the lady, who was now talking in Italian to her son, with great gesticulations punctuating her speech.

It was time to move on. I smiled at the shoppers lined against the displays and received quite a few wide grins, in return, as I trundled off with my cart.

I smiled at myself as I found I had walked straight to the florist's department. I find Plants when I am anxious...even cut Flowers still have enough energy left in them to calm me.

As I stood there, I wondered what had caused this lady to be so frightened of her cell phone.

But the music, the bonhomie, the general energy there in the store, that day, made me shrug my shoulders and continue shopping. I bought Spiderman gifts for my grandson, lovely girly things for my granddaughter, and enough baking supplies to last me well into the middle of next year.

I didn't see the lady again; it was the cashier, who had seen the whole hullabaloo from her vantage point, who reminded me once more. We discussed the fear of talking on phones. Neither of us knew the name of a condition like this.

It wasn't until I googled the fear of speaking on cell phones that I found it was called telephobia.


Especially since many of the signs of telephobia apply to me, I felt especially sad that I had let exasperation get the better of me in the store with the lady.


One never knows another's story until one has walked many miles in another's shoes.


I know that.


And it is the Christmas season...goodwill to all.


I can only hope I will have more patience with my next encounter which might disturb me when I am intent on something...

And that I have learned a lesson about myself and my own fear of cell phones.


Christmas shopping. 

I guess it's true.

It does bring out the best and the worst in us...