Love of reading continued

Well I have now finished the fourth book of the mystery series that has recently hooked me. I only have one left although, luckily the author is still very much alive and hopefully working hard at her next one. It will be a long wait and I am almost reluctant to finish this last.

I so wish I could write like that! What satisfaction there must be in being able to immerse one's self into a whole other world when you want to, a world where you can control the characters, the action. I have heard though that some authors say that occasionally the action runs away from them and they end up writing something they never intended to. But that too would be part of the excitement; not knowing where an idea is going to take you.

Every time I read a good book I think "Why can't I do that?" The main reason is that I can't sit myself down for long enough to create a story line, characters, etc. And I admit to being intimidated by reading books that have so much richness to them, so much depth. Is that part of this modern world where so many of us have become observers instead of participants? At least I have a toehold in this "writer's world" though by posting to this blog every so often. Maybe all of these posts will eventually become a novel....

I love libraries!

Dh and I decided at the end of 2009 that we would cut back on our non-essential spending and make 2010 the year we grow our retirement funds. Not that we intend not to enjoy life and only look to the future. People know me better than that. No, it was just a matter of taking a look at where and how we were spending money and making each dollar count.

Now I am a bibliophile. I love books. I used to work in bookstores. Which was like an alcoholic working in a liquor store--not a good idea. I normally cannot walk into a bookstore without leaving with at least 2. Books are expensive though. And sometimes even though the first couple of pages of a book were interesting, the rest was only so-so. (Actually sometimes I've read books that started as ho-hum but then got really interesting. It's hard to tell.)

Anyway, I decided I would start using the library more. So whenever someone told me about an interesting book, I'd look for it in the library. I was amazed at how many times the book was right there or else I could put my name in and I'd get it within the week. It's silly, really for me to say I was amazed. I mean, I've used libraries before. Lots when I did my degrees. But I'd got lazy and impatient. Too used to just going to the bookstore or ordering online.

This is saving me lots of money. I've read 4 books that I might have bought otherwise and enjoyed 3 of them. And now I will finish this blog and go pick up the book I borrowed this morning. Mmmmm!

Rambling

This morning I was musing about family relationships--specifically parents, grandparents and siblings.

My parents were 40 when I was born and my grandparents and aunts were, accordingly, older as well. My sister was 10 years older too. So, as far as taking care of relatives went, that was something I never really did. My grandparents and mother all died by the time I was 16 and my dad was very robust up to his death at 87. He made his own decisions on his care together with my stepmother. I lived in another city, 8 hours' drive away. I was a single parent with responsibilities to a young daughter. I don't regret that I wasn't "there" for my Dad. We had a mutual understanding that I was to stand on my own two feet and so was he. We talked on the phone weekly and my daughter and I visited him every 6 weeks for long weekends. We created a lot of memories over those years, good ones. When he became too feeble for my stepmother to manage at home, he made the decision to go into a lodge but he actually died barely 6 months later. I think he chose that way and, up to the end, he was lucid and made his own decisions. When the docs pressed him to have an operation, he said "I am 87 and I have had a good life. Give me painkillers and let me be." Both my stepmother and I supported him when the docs wanted us to override him. I am glad that we did. He left this world the way that he wanted to.

My sister died at 48 but she lived in another state, had her own family and I was only able to visit her a few times in the final year of her illness. I wish we'd lived closer but it just wasn't feasible. Still, we mended fences in that final year, gave mutual forgiveness for silly things we had said and done to each other over the years. I am thankful that we both faced up to the fact that her time on this earth was over and that letting everything but love go was the best thing to do.

As both Mom and my sister died young of cancer (Mom 56, sis, as I said, 48) I have felt that these last 20 years have put a responsibility on me to live well as they never had a chance to or didn't have the knowledge to. Mom could have taken better care of herself; sis put her career ahead of her health. Dad took very good care of himself; is it coincidence that he lived to be 87 and was healthy right up to the final 6 months? Do I want to live to be 87, as my dad did? I really don't know but I do know that I want to live as he did--independently, making his own decisions, and not require Laurie to bear any kind of burden. I want her and her children to remember me as I do him, lucid to the end, choosing his own path. I would rather that they didn't have the memories I do of my mother and sister, suffering and wasting away.

I want them to have their own friends and their own lives because the normal--hoped-for on my part--course is that children live on past their parents and so they need their own support system after I am gone. I will be only a memory, I won't be able to be there as they encounter more things down the road. I do miss my Dad terribly. The other day I was sorting through a box of old cards and photos and came across a Christmas card he'd written and I felt such an intense longing for his wisdom, his love. But I have him in my heart, I am thankful for that. And I miss my mother and sister and wish I could have had them longer. But it wasn't to be and, again, now the responsibility lies with me to make my own way in life, to create memories that I can hand on to my daughter and family that they can pick and choose from.

One thing I've been realizing as I sort through my memorabilia, and as we sorted through my m-i-l's memorabilia last year: the memories that my family will cherish in the future will be of their own choosing, not mine. The things that meant a lot to me may not mean a lot to them. So it's pointless, sometimes, to hang on to things just because "I am keeping them for my children." Once they are old enough, ask them if they want it, and if not, and if you don't want it, let it go. Sure they may be sorry in the future, but probably only in a passing way. At least that's been my experience.

Nope, we have to live for ourselves, not for our parents, not for our children. Our parents chose their lives and the greatest honor we can accord them is to be the very best that we can be in our own lives; to live our lives to the full. Our parents gave us the gift of life. It is our responsibility to care for that gift wisely and well. Ditto our children.

So in terms of health--I've finally got there--we ought to live according to the healthy principles that we now know, in our generation. So my mother stuffed me full of food when I was a child as a sign of love. That's what SHE knew, but I know better now. And my sister decided that a hectic career, flying hither, thither and yon, skimping on sleep, eating haphazardly, was more important than taking care of her health. She chose that, but I don't have to. Not because I want to live to be 87 or because I fear the future, but because I want to live healthy NOW. I want to take advantage of all the beauties where I live now. I want to run and not be weary and walk and not faint. I want to swing my grandchildren around in the park and play with them and not sit on a park bench waving at them or have them see me lying on the couch--NOW. I want them to hear that Grandma has gone hiking, or have them go hiking with me, NOW and into their teens and 20s I in my 60s, in my 70s, maybe in my 80s. I can prepare for that NOW. I want to sit in front of them and eat healthy foods and them to see that healthy foods are fun and delicious. NOW. That it's the conversation and love and play that's as nourishing as the food.

The future will take care of itself if we take care of the present.

And that's my soapbox for today :) Now if only I can get rid of this cold....

Because I have been given much

There's a hymn that we sing in church that goes:

Because I have been given much, I too must give.
Because of thy great bounty, Lord each day I live.
I shall divide my gifts from thee with every brother that I see,
who has the need of help from me.

Because I have been sheltered, fed by thy good care…
I cannot see another’s lack and I not share-
my glowing fire, my loaf of bread-my roof’s safe shelter over head,
that he too may be comforted.

Because I have been blessed by thy great love dear Lord,
I’ll share thy love again according to thy word.
I shall give love to those in need. I’ll show that love by word and deed,
thus shall my thanks be thanks indeed.

The words were written by Grace Noll Crowell (1877-1969).

As I was thinking about Haiti this morning, feeling guilty that I am so preoccupied with my own very trivial concerns in light of their terrible suffering, I thought of that poem. And I realized that feeling guilty about being so blessed does no one any good. I don't have any answers about why disasters happen. I do know that much suffering in the world comes from ignorance, from want and from greed, from people deliberately choosing to follow evil paths. Natural disasters are just that. Natural. Our earth has its weaknesses, its faults, just as we humans do. And from time to time those weaknesses and faults cause a catastrophe, just as human weaknesses and faults do.

We can help Haiti regardless of whether we have surplus money. If we lack money, we can help them by praying for them in whatever way we believe. If we are healthy enough, we could sacrifice by giving up a meal and sending those funds to whatever relief agency we feel comfortable with.

But, as one news commentator pointed out, this catastrophe is only one more item in Haiti's long litany of suffering through the decades and centuries. From time to time countries come up on people's radar through disasters or war and great humanitarian efforts are mounted. And then another disaster comes along.... When I think of Haiti, I think of Scrooge's exchange with the Ghost of Christmas Present. As his time with the ghost was almost finished, the ghost revealed to Scrooge two emaciated children shivering beneath his robes, and said that the boy was called Ignorance and the girl Want. The spirit warns Scrooge, "Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased." Scrooge shudders and asks the ghost whether the children have "no refuge, no resource," and the spirit retorts with Scrooge's same words, "Are there no prisons, no workhouses?" And Scrooge realizes how smug and oblivious to the suffering around him he has been; he has himself been ignorant and because of his ignorance, those who could have been helped by his great wealth went wanting.

Ignorance does indeed spell doom in so many ways. For those in poverty stricken countries, it means that they lack the knowledge and means to create sustainable communities, to build safe housing and sanitary conditions of life. For others in wealthier communities, ignorance can lull them (us?) into thinking that what happens to others doesn't affect them and, more tellingly, that it can't happen "here." Or that danger can somehow be kept at bay by walls or by weapons or by someone else's expertise. But it can't as we have seen time and time again over the last few decades.

We are all responsible for our own and other's safety. We have been given much indeed here in the so-called "western world." Knowledge at our fingertips, choices, choices, choices.

May we choose well in our daily lives so that we can bless ourselves and others.

One more day left in 2009

And I still have my last few days in England in September to complete. I hope to do that tomorrow. For now, though, I will just post a photo from Halloween in AZ with my grandchildren. Somehow I skipped posting at the end of October.

I decided to dress as Elphiba (sp?) from Wicked because I'd enjoyed the show so much and I took one of the songs she sang "Defying Gravity," as my mantra during my trip to England this summer. So, here I am with my beautiful granddaughter. After seeing myself with black hair, I was tempted to hit the hair dye, thinking that it made me look younger. Then I realized the amount of maintenance that would involve as well as having to keep painting my face green and all the heavy makeup. So I will remain grey :)

At the beginning of December I was back in AZ enjoying my granddaughter's first ballet performance in The Nutcracker. She played two parts--one of the children at the party at Clara's house and then one of the bonbons who emerges from Mother Ginger's skirts. She did very well at both performances and was so happy. Here's her big grin after the first performance.

We had a very quiet Christmas this year. Moved out of Flame's house on December 24th and we both collapsed on Christmas Eve. I gave dh a box of chocolates and he gave me one too. Plus I received a box of Walkers shortbread biscuits from Sheila in England. I will need to do some serious hiking and healthy eating next week to regain my girlish figure! I did have my annual view of "Scrooge, A Christmas Carol" with Alistair Sim. I think I have watched that film over 40 times as I have seen it almost every year since I was 10. I never tire of it though. Didn't watch Miracle on 34th Street this year though nor It's a Wonderful Life.

And, the next to last day of the year, we have finally stopped living in other people's houses, among other people's stuff and are settling into a condo. Here is a photo of our fireplace and the chair in which, just prior to my getting up to take this photo, I was sitting and typing out this blog on my laptop. I took the photo with my Blackberry and somehow it's come out quite grainy. But it still reflects the feeling of warmth and contentment that I have right now. We don't have much more furniture than this at present--it's still in Las Vegas--but I am so very grateful for what we do have. And I am glad that I put up my Christmas trees. I bought the taller one last week on sale just before Christmas and the small one in the photo is a wooden "Advent tree" that I bought in Vancouver several years ago. It has 24 small wooden figures and miraculously I haven't lost any of them in all the moves. The boat that is sailing in front of the fire is one that I bought for dh in Cornwall--I have yet to post my blog for the three days I spent in Cornwall in December; that is what I hope to do tomorrow but I will put the blog in chronological order so look for it labeled "September 15-17."

For now, though, I reflect on all of my Christmases past, and my Christmas present. I hope, like Scrooge that I have more Christmases to come and that, like him, I will keep Christmas in my heart. And, to end tonight's post, a photo of some special people with whom I shared many Christmases

Christmas 1994. From left to right, my late stepmother, late father, my honorary sister in law, my late honorary grandma Dooley, me (yep, brown hair), my stepsister in law, my daughter, my niece and my stepbrother. What wonderful Christmases we had in Ottawa!

I hate photocopiers

I always approach photocopiers with fear. From my very first experience as a young, 50 dollar-a-week typist, who snarled up the office photocopier so badly that the technician had to be called, to my most recent this week as a substitute teacher, they have humiliated me. They have spat back at me, resisted my efforts to coax mangled bits of important documents out of their jaws, and sat in stony silence when I was rushing to meet deadlines. Yes I hate them and, like a dog who senses fear from a stranger, they seem to bristle at my approach.

My worst experience with that infernal invention was when I was beautifully dressed for a presentation at a large college store I managed. The dress was a particular favorite; my sister had willed it to me. As she was dying she had said, “Look, I just spent $1,000 on new clothes before I got ill. I really would rather have you wear the duds than have them donated to Goodwill and have some bimbo wearing them.” My sister was practical and opinionated, even in her waning days. So I picked through her closet and this dress immediately caught my eye. A soft pearl grey cotton with tiny white dots. Big puffy sleeves, a narrow self-belted waist and gored skirt. When I put it on I felt a little of my sister’s fairy princess magic; she had always been the blonde Cinderella while I had clumped along behind her like one of the ugly stepsisters.

So there I was that morning in my Cinderella mode, about to go and wow them (I hoped) at a motivational breakfast. First, however, I had to copy my speech notes; Cinderella still had chores to do before she could go to the ball. I hurried into the copy room. This was not going to be a difficult encounter, I told myself. No single sided to double sided, no collating or stapling. Just three little pages. I loaded the feeder and pressed the button. Silence. No whirring, no papers moving. I looked at the display message, “Put toner in.” Toner, oh great. I looked at the sheets; was there a way I could get around this? But, no, to give a professional presentation, I needed handouts. So I reached for the bottle of black dust, opened the drawer and uncapped the bottle. Whether the machine really did have a malevolent spirit, I don’t know. I don’t really know what happened in the next few moments. All that I do know is that the bottle tipped forward and the black dust scattered all over the front of my lovely dress, all over my hands. And, like Cinderella in front of the fireplace, I was no longer ready for the ball. I looked every inch the scullery maid and my dress was ruined. And the photocopier settled back, satisfied that it had once again put me in my place.

It isn't very often that my hiking group has a Saturday hike; they mostly hike on Sundays and as we go to church on Sundays and then try to spend the day quietly, we don't go. But this week Dave arranged a Saturday hike as we hadn't had a gentle midweek one. And I was pleased that dh agreed that he'd go. Dh hasn't hiked with me in a long time; he says that I am in too good a shape for him and he normally doesn't like hiking with other people. So I half expected him yesterday morning to say that he'd changed his mind but, no, he did come along and here's the

photo to prove it: The hike attracted a large group, larger than Dave had expected I think. In all, we had 27 people spread over 5 cars. As the parking lot at the trailhead was already full, it was quite the process to unload the cars and then have the drivers drive back along the narrow dirt road looking for a place where they could pull off the side. But it was actually accomplished with a minimum of fuss and off we went antlike along the trail. It was a gorgeous day: blue, blue sky, temp aroud 65º until we got down close to the stream and the actual waterfall where, as you can see from the snow in the next photo, it was still cold.

There were even smatterings of snow along the path and by the waterfall. It took us about an hour of leisurely hiking along a fairly level path--with occasional stepping back and forth across the stream--to arrive at the waterfall. Dave said it was about 2.5 miles to the waterfall; some of the group elected to continue along farther but that was going to mean some uphill climbing so 11 of us decided that we'd had enough for the day. So after a 20-minute break, we turned around and retraced our path through the woods. I got to be the "tail"--meaning I stayed at the back ensuring we didn't lose anyone. That enabled dh and I to amble along at our own pace although Claire, a young woman I'd met on a previous hike, dropped back and walked along with me, chatting about what she was thinking of doing with her life now that she'd graduated and had arrived in Santa Fe from Maryland. It was fun sharing ideas with her. I was also glad to be working my legs and glutes; I seem to have acquired two extra pounds these past couple of weeks. If they're going to stick around, I'd rather they did so as muscle.