Tuesday

A spore filled endemic.

Dry, itchy hands.

Early sunrise.

A few hours of sleep.

A girl with a story in her head.

A man with a new cancer diagnosis.

A passionate kiss.

Tears.

A ballerina.

Corn on the cob.

A disappointing Argentinian Malbec.

A brilliant translation.

A kindred spirit.

The smell of fresh cut grass.

A little girl in a very big bed.

Clean sheets.

Late sunset.

An unfinished craft project.

Musicals as a solution to the world's problems.

Chili Lime Salsa.


That was my Tuesday. Yours?

I've been lusting after this for a long time

I have an amazing husband. Best partner ever, on so many levels. AND yes, I lust after him still. But this post is not about him or the not so naughty (we ARE married after all) naughty thoughts I have about him. It's a post about my kitchen.

Ten years we have lived in this house and for ten years I have talked about renovating our kitchen. And not just a little paint kind of renovating. Gutted renovating. For ten years it has made me sick to my stomach thinking about not having a kitchen to use while the renovation was being done, it's the number one reason it has taken so long to get to this point. It's not quite done. Counter tops, painting and tiling all in the next week or so. So I'm only posting the GOODBYE TO THE OLD KITCHEN photos. You'll have to pop back next week for the AFTER edition.





This post is part of Momalom's Five for Ten link up series. Pop over to their site to see about one hundred other lusty posts.

The Importance of Memory

I am away on a retreat for the weekend. I brought my laptop thinking there would be WiFi but alas the lodge has forsaken me. Which is a problem on many fronts, cellular service is sketchy here and typing is much slower on my iPhone. If I hadn't committed to Momalom's Five for Ten (you'll have to find the links in my last posts) I wouldn't bother. I'd simply tuck myself into bed and write this post that has been brewing in my head on Monday. But committed I am.

I don't often write about my work. I rarely tell the stories of my patients. There are many reasons but mostly confidentiality and I like my job. Today's topic of memory brought fourth a myriad of emotions. The story which follows is based on a true story. Please note the disclaimer "based", it is a story of many of my patients and a story that needs to be told but in the interest of anonymity it is also fiction.

As a Respiratory Therapist I often think about the breath of life. How important breathing is to our everyday existence. Such a peaceful, calm, natural thing to do: just breathing. Most of the time that is, for some it becomes a daily struggle, hour by hour, minute by minute. These are the people I am called upon to help. My patients make impressions upon me, solid whole life impressions. I think of an elderly frail but still tall man, I think of the family he must have, the careers he may have pursued, the babies he must of held and sometimes I even think of his childhood, the parents who adored him now long gone. I think of the games he must have played and the spirit of his young heart. It makes it easier and harder to do my job, easier to treat my patients as whole people and harder to see them suffer.

In many of my patients, secondary to breathing is memory loss. Some of them are as clear today as they were many years ago and some are lost in their own childhoods, or in the earlier years of their marriage. Many are frightened, some are angry and confused but most are not. Most are simply carrying on living, forgetting every step of the way. Mr. Happy was somewhere in between. When I met him we chatted about his physical health. He was not particularly short of breath but he did require some supplemental oxygen. He was reading the newspaper and soaking up the details. He wanted to talk with me about something he had read. It was of interest to him because it pertained to his line of work. He told me about the business he had started and how it had grown. He told me that his nephew had carried on the business as he had no sons of his own, only daughters. He told me about the size of the company based on the physical space they inhabited and he told me the number of employees that they currently had. And then he told me how he had spent his winters in Arizona since retiring from the business.

He was astute and articulate. I could have stayed all day talking with him. He told me he had no regrets about the life he had lived save one. Here he paused to look at the date on the newspaper. And then he told me about his wife who he adored. His one regret was that back in November they got separated somehow in the city of Phoenix and he ended up back in Edmonton. He was sure she was still in Phoenix and he hoped that she was having a good life. It was the most unusual story for a ninety year old man and so I left him and contacted the social worker. The social worker informed me that his wife had passed away five years ago but that he could never remember and each time they visited him they reminded him that she had passed only to watch him break down, burdened with sudden sadness time and time again.

So how important is memory? Was my patient better of believing that he had lost his wife in Arizona or finding out she had died again and again. I don't know the answer. Some of my most demented patients are the happiest people, reliving their childhoods or the days after the birth of their first child. Do we need to remember? Do we need to remember the life that has passed us by? And is our happiness dependant on it? I may never know.

And before I leave you, a reminder that I wrote this post on my iPhone with no 3G network. I imagine it will take forever to upload and I apologize in advance for the lack of spellcheck.

Happiest Place on Earth

Today I had intended to write a post about choosing happiness. About embracing one's life and making it the best it can be. I got waylaided. I have been awake now for more than 24 hours. It happens a couple of times a month and sometimes for 36 hours as a result of my work situation, Steve's work situation and our utter lack of childcare. I'm not complaining. Quite the opposite in many ways. I am happy to be able to participate in our household income, I love my job and I love my kids. It's a small sacrifice for the quality of our lives. For clarity, I am not the only one in our house who makes that sacrifice, Steve and the kids have to go out of their way to be gentle with me when I am so sleep deprived. My current state of forgetfulness and nausea makes things moderately uncomfortable for all of us.

For example, today I forgot to pick up Zoe from school. She is the only one who went to school, the others have not been feeling well. Thursday is early day, the kids are done at 2:27 instead of 3:32. I plumb forgot that it was early day, the school secretary phoned me at 3:00 to find out if Steve or I were on our way. On the way home, when I apologized to Zoe, she replied, "it's okay, I know how tired you are and besides I was having fun with my new friend. Did you know she came from India? We've lived HERE our whole lives."

Dinner tonight? Not in the works. Sometimes I think to plan dinner ahead for these nights so that I only have to pop something in the oven but our kitchen renovation has made planning impossible. I'd order pizza for the fourth time in the past two weeks except that the kids complained last time I did that and quite frankly I think that may be the source of their current upset stomachs. So toast it will be. And honeydew melon.

I'm happy, I really am. I am just too tired to appreciate it today. So I'll end this post with my five favourite people in the happiest place on earth.

Without Borders

Jen and Sarah over at Momalom are sharing the blogland love in their own way with FIVE FOR TEN. Head here to find out more about the details.

I have been absent more or less for the last several months on my blog, since Steve and I faced further attack back in January from people we thought had made an exit from our lives I moved my blog. Just to make it harder for them to harass us but I kept it public and if they are really looking they will likely have no problem finding me. Last month my blog had approximately eleven people looking at it, two of them were Sarah and Jen. Sad in that I had developed a nice, loving and supportive Internet community and now I am in the position of starting over or giving it up.

It has been a mind numbing dilemma for me. I love documenting bits of our lives in this fashion. I love sharing with other moms, other women, other dads, other people with lives rich and interesting. I love passing around and receiving a little understanding. But I am also not so brave. I am feeling gun shy, courage is not a strength I possess. So linking up this week is a big step for me.

I have moments of courage. I protect my children. I fight for the best for my patients and their families. But even those things are conditional. I am so careful to be gentle with the other side to approach without attacking. My intentions are always good but sometimes they are not received that way. As people, human beings, we all have different ways of communicating: different languages, different expressions, different volumes, different ways of touching people. People are affected by so many things in their lives: money, sleep, food, love, anger, disappointment, hope, jealousy, experience. These different forms of expression can create barriers, walls which separate people into us and them, we and they. Those barriers so quickly become the basis for hate.

I need to believe that people are good. First of all good, that their hearts are full of love and possibility and most of all full of hope. Believing that leaves me hopeful to believe that we can overcome the differences in our ability to communicate which results in misunderstanding.

I believe that we can coexist, even when we don't understand each other. But it will take courage from all of us, to stand up with love in our hearts and approach each other with love and openness in our hearts, to let go of judgement and open up to caring and protecting one another. It takes courage to live without fear, it takes courage to love in the face of hate. It takes courage to forget about who is right, and accept that my story is different than yours.

I want to give you anecdotal evidence which will allow you to recognize this courage but today I don't have it in me, today I am not as able to share my story. But tomorrow, tomorrow I will find that courage to speak, to share, to open my heart again.

Today, today I will read and read and read some more for all the bloggers who have linked into five for ten and their posts about courage. From them I know I will find strength, from them I will see the possibilities of tomorrow. I feel so lucky to be a part of this community. Thank you Momalom, for bringing us together.