My Blog has been a Life-line

“And of course I mind, specially when I’m thinking with my heart.  But life don’t clickety clack down a straight line track, it comes together and it comes apart.” Ferron

Two and half years ago, when I began blogging, I was at a low point in my life. I had been terminated  from my job.  My son had just moved out.  My husband had started a new job that had him travelling to remote communities for weeks at a time.  I had lost my job, my colleagues, my son and my husband all within the same year.  I felt like my life was falling apart.  I felt angry and betrayed; scared and alone; sad and lonely.  It was very dark stage in my life.

In that dark place, this blog became my life-line; a place to express my anger, fear and grief; a place to explore the dark depths of my soul.  It became a place where I could find affirmations from people in a similar places in their lives; a place where I could find compassionate support.  I feel like I have written my way through the darkness.  Over the last two and a half years, I have let go…..of my son, my husband, my job, my friends, my role as mother, and my expectations of life.  I have prepared myself for my daughter’s departure in the fall.  While I am far from settled in my new place in life; I can see the shore.  I feel myself straddling the two realities; savouring the dwindling days with my daughter living under my roof, and longing for the freedom that will come when she moves out.

I have not yet stepped into the new stage in my life, but I can feel the stirrings in my soul; of life beyond hearth and home; of dreams that were put on hold.   It is time to claim the role of the Crone; of the wise woman who is connected but alone.

In Praise of Point Pelee – a Birdwatcher’s Love Song

(I wrote this last year but am re-posting it because I just got back from Point Pelee again and cannot say it any better than I did last year.)

I have just returned from a weekend in Point Pelee National Park.  I have been going to Point Pelee for the spring migration since my university days when I was introduced to bird watching by a Professor in my Environmental Studies program.  My husband and I became an item at Point Pelee and have returned almost every year, on the first weekend in May, for 30 years.  It has become a rite of passage; the way that we celebrate spring and mark our anniversary.

Point Pelee is the most southerly point in Canada with a latitude that is south of northern California. This spit of land, which protrudes into Lake Erie, is the landing strip for thousands of exhausted birds that are migrating across Lake Erie.  Point Pelee is a funnel for  birds migrating from South America, Central America and the United States to central and northern Canada.

When I first came to Point Pelee, it was with very skilled “Birders” who were eager to see as many species as possible.  We got up at dawn, raced around the Park and many outlying areas to cover as many different habitats as possible.  I am eternally grateful to those friends who taught me how to identify birds, where to look for different types of birds, and to appreciate the less flashy rare birds and skulkers as well as the brightly coloured  birds that call from the trees.

Over the years, my birdwatching habits have changed.  We no longer bird 12-hour days when we come to Point Pelee.  We no longer chase every rare bird on the board.  We no longer feel the need to identify every bird we see.  And we no longer camp inside the Park.  We have made compromises over the years to keep our kids engaged.  We stay in a hotel, they get to sleep in for the half the day, they get to bring their computers along, and we go out for dinner at Taco Tony’s each night.

But something else has happened as well.  Our appreciation for birdwatching has changed.  When I come here now, it is more of a meditative experience.  As I walk through the trails, I feel the tension drop out of my body, my mind grows quiet, and I become a stalker, watching for movement in the trees and listening for bird songs.  I stop thinking about work and worries.  I start to think with my all of my senses engaged.  I am processing sights and sounds, markings and colour, bird songs and habitat, body shape and behaviour.  I am enjoying the “hunt”; solving a puzzle that requires all of my senses.  I am totally present in the moment; hearing the waves and the wind; seeing the sun bounce off the leaves; and rewarded with the joy of seeing these beautiful winged creatures that are passing through on their epic journeys.

This is a magnificent Park. There are trails through Carolinian woods where trees, bushes and vines close in all around you.  There are marsh boardwalk that plunge through acres of cattails and grasses.  There are sandy beaches with crashing waves and blue sky.  There are trails that wind through stands of water surrounding majestic old willow trees.  Each of these trails hold their own magic; some are quiet and fragrant; others are windy and refreshing; and some feel old and mystical.

And then there are the birds; small, gem-coloured warblers flitting through the trees; rusty-brown thrushes singing mournfully from deep in the woods;  Bald Eagles, Broad-Winged Hawks. and Sand Hill Cranes soaring overhead; Wild Turkeys strutting through the Savannah; Screech Owls in tree hollows; and Red-Winged Blackbirds and Swamp Sparrows hanging off cattails.

I return home from these weekends feeling sated; physically exhausted and spiritually rejuvenated.  It is like returning home; to some wild place within.

A Woman Divided

I am a woman divided. With the kids leaving home, I have had a hankering to sell our home. I have been thinking that we could get a smaller home with a smaller yard in a more walkable neighbourhood. I have been thinking that I would feel less lonely staying by myself in a small cozy home than rattling around in a big empty house.  It would lessen our ecological footprint.  There would be less house to clean and a smaller yard to maintain.  I have been thinking about this for a few years; thinking that we would do it as soon as my youngest leaves home for university.

But as that time draws near, I feel more ambivalent.  I look around the house and see all of the work we have done on the house.  We renovated the basement; retiled the roof, replaced the air conditioner and the furnace; installed energy-efficient windows, sliding doors and toilets; replaced the bathtubs, the rugs, and the flooring in the kitchen.  My stomach sinks when I think about leaving a home into which we have invested so much time, energy and money.

When I am thinking with my heart, I see all of the living that has gone on inside this house.  I think of family dinners at the kitchen table, thanksgiving meals with extended family, meals shared with friends, birthdays celebrated, Christmas mornings, Easter hunts.  I think of Dan working in the basement and me working upstairs.  I see the four of us crowded into our bed reading each night together. I remember the first day we brought Sam, our dog, home from the pound; the day we introduced Sam to our kitten, Cocoa.

This house has been well used; each space holds a story.  When we moved here 13 years ago, there were eight kids on the street in the same age range; six kids from three other homes and our two. These kids have painted pictures in our kitchen, built go-carts in our garage, made whirlpools in our above-ground pool, played school under our basement stairs, made chalk pictures on our driveway, played road hockey on the street in front of our house. These kids, who once required feeding, hugs and bandages have grown into young men and women who tower over me; people who drive; young adults who are heading out into the world.

As the spring unfolds, and the yard comes back to life, I think about all of the hours I have spent in the garden; weeding, moving and trimming bushes, planting and transplanting flowers, spreading mulch, watering flowers, and mowing the lawn. I think about how peaceful and beautiful our yard is.  I think about mornings sitting by our water garden and summer evenings swinging in the hammock.

I have been in such as rush to leave this house, this yard, this neighbourhood.  In my desire to control the fall that is coming, I have not thought about what I would be sacrificing.  Do I really think the loss of our child-rearing years could be softened by leaving the house in which we were a family?  Would it be so much easier to start a new phase of our lives in a new home?  Or would I mourn the loss of this home into which we have put so much of ourselves; a home that evokes so many memories?  A wise friend once told me that if I don’t know what to do, maybe it is not time to decide.

Food, Inner Demons, and Mother Love

A week ago, my daughter and I made a commitment to eat healthy foods only.  We have been eating fruit, vegetables and protein only; we are trying to avoid sugar altogether and grains as much as possible.  For a week, we have done a pretty good job.  We went off the wagon yesterday but have agreed to climb back aboard once more today.

As a rule, I eat healthy foods, but I have a sweet tooth and cravings for sweets, usually at the end of day.  Since having children 22 years ago, my weight has crept up until now it is totally out of hand.  I am not ready to own how much extra weight I am carrying but it shocks me.  I don’t know how it happened.  I look in a mirror and wonder when it happened, which sounds funny.  It did not happen overnight; it happened with 300 extra calories a day over 22 years; 2-5 pounds per year.

On the surface, I am a pretty together person.  I have worked full-time for most of the last 29 years; I maintain a home; I have raised two children; I have been with the same partner for 31 years; I am friendly with my neighbours, cashiers and people at work.  But, when I stop my night-time nibbling, negative feelings and memories float to the surface.  Feelings of shame about my temper; times when I have gotten angry with people in a work context.  Feelings of shame about my weight; feeling that I want to  just disappear; feeling that I don’t want to go out into public where people can see how fat I am.  Feelings of loneliness; feeling that I don’t have any friends; feeling all alone in the world; feeling like there is something wrong with me because I don’t have any friends; feeling like it would be easier to just check-out.

I realize that these are the feelings I keep down, repress, swallow with food; feelings that are overwhelming, dark and dangerous; feelings that I don’t want to have.  I know that these feelings stem from my mother.  She was not well when we were young.  She left when I was a teenager.  So, I finished high school, went to university, moved out of home, got into my first serious relationships, gave birth to two children, and raised my children without a mother in my life.

My mother moved to Barbados to work, live with her lover, and party.  She phoned about once a year; she came back to visit for a week or two once per year.  But even when she came back to Canada, she did not come back for us.  She came back to shop for things she needed for her business in Barbados.  At some level, my sisters and I were happy to see her go because she had been so angry and so depressed for so many years before she left.  But at some level, we have all been harmed by her abandonment.  Afterall, if our own mother cannot be bothered with us, why would anyone else want to know us, be friends with us, love us??

Most of the time, I like myself.  When I go through my days, when I am working,  gardening, hanging with my family, or walking in nature, I am not thinking about me.  I just feel good about life and myself.  But there are moments when the demons float to the surface; when I can not find clothes that fit in a store; when I put on a bathing suit in the summer; when I get ready for a get together with my extended family; when I am alone in my house on a Saturday night; when I am not allowed to have food for comfort; when the self hatred floats to the surface and consumes me.

For too long, I have used distractions — food, TV, movies, the internet — to avoid these feelings.  But what, l wonder, would happen if I just allowed them to come to the surface??

The Magic of Spring

One warm day this week flipped the switch for Spring.  By 4:00 that afternoon, it seemed that all of the trees on the street had burst into bloom; big showy pink flowers on the Magnolia tree down the street; big white flowers on the Apple tree next door; dark pink blooms on the Cherry tree across the street; and tiny yellow pedals on the Forsythia bush in the corner of my back yard.

My perennial gardens have come alive.  Over the course of 10 days, these naked beds of  hard soil have filled with foliage.  The Daffodils are in full bloom.  The leaves of Irises and Lilies stand tall in round bunches. The Geranium create mounds of shapely green leaves.  The Wild Ginger and Blood Root are in full bloom in a dark corner of my yard.  The Hostus are poking through the soil.  It is magical!!

The world seems full of wild life once again.  The Robins have returned with their mournful songs at dusk.  The Tiny Chipping Sparrows with rusty red caps have set up home in our front yard once more.  A bunny seems to be living in our backyard.  Chickadees and Juncos have been visiting our little backyard water garden.  We saw a Beaver on the river two evenings last week and a Great Blue Heron and a Green Heron this week.

After a long cold winter with hard ground, bare branches, and quiet skies, the world is alive with colour, scents and sound.  Each time I look out the window, there is some new treat for the soul.  It is like a miracle unfolding in slow motion.  Would Spring be as sweet without the Winter?  If it were Spring all year long, would we notice the new flowers?  Without the long dark nights of winter, would we appreciate the glory of Spring?  I don’t think so.