Monthly Archives: February 2024

A Masterpiece of Time

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Winter has returned for a visit this week. Temperatures that hovered several degrees over freezing for almost a week dove into Arctic temps over night. Back out came my long heavy down-filled coat, fur-lined boots and warmers for my mittens.

When you’re a human to a dog in northern climes, weather must be weathered, regardless of how cold the winds might blow.

This morning, as I walked along the river, immersed in a world of Mother Nature’s wintry artistry on display, my thoughts drifted back to a quote I included on the vision board I crafted at last night’s ReWrite Journey workshop. “I am going to make everything around me beautiful– and that shall be my life.”

The universe, it seems, is my silent accomplice, generously dusting the landscape with splendour and awe.

This morning, as Beaumont the Sheepadoodle and I meandered through the woods, I paused to marvel at the splendour of a world cloaked in winter’s magic, reminding me of another quote that appeared on my vision board last night. “Seek to see the magic in the moment.”  

Even with the mercury clinging with chilly determination to -18°C, with windchill, – 26C, magic shimmered all around me. Each breath I exhaled danced like white mist before me. And, even though the mistiness of my breath forced me to shed my sunglasses, which had steamed up above the scarf safeguarding my face against the biting cold, I couldn’t deny, the world looked even more beautiful when I saw it through clear-eyed wonder.

Beaumont bounded through the snow, sniffing and snuffling at the base of trees and fallen logs and with every step I took, my thoughts cascaded back to this morning’s meditation and its gentle reminder: “Acknowledge the beauty present in every moment.”

It was all there before me.

A symphony of light playing upon snow-draped branches, two Canada geese skimming the surface of the ice-covered river their wings swooshing in harmonious flight, a squirrel, embodying the spirit of the woods, bounding energetically across the earth before leaping up into a tree with one enthusiastic stretch of his body. And on the strip of river still joyfully flowing free of winter’s icy embrace, sunlight sparkling like the dancing fairies I used to spin stories about when my daughter’s were younger.

Enchanted magic, all of it

Eleanor Roosevelt once remarked, “Beautiful young people are merely accidents of nature, but beautiful old people are works of art.”

In the exquisite and enduring splendour of nature, which has witnessed aeons more than any of us, I breathe deeply into the truth of her words.

Our human nature is to grow older. Mother Nature, in her perpetual cycle, is a masterpiece of time. As am I. As are you.

Grief is Messy

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Four years ago today, my mother drew her last breath, stilled her heart and surrendered to the ever-after.

It has been four years of healing, growth, transforming pain into wisdom, opening to the spiritual nature of life and death and moving deeper into being embodied in this one life I am living now.

I wrote the poem below a year after mom’s death, still in thick of Covid’s thrall, and still aligning to this expected yet, still surprising role as, as a motherless child

At the time, I shared it on my Facebook page and this morning FB Memories brought it forward. I am grateful. In the wake of my sister’s death last November 24, it is a comforting and welcome reminder of grief’s erratic and capricious nature If you are walking within grief’s aura, I hope it brings you comfort too.

Grief is Messy.
by Louise Gallagher

Grief is messy.
It follows no well-known path
travelling to the beat
of its own drum
as it pummels your defences
pushing its way through the boundaries
you desperately put in place
to keep its presence at bay.

Grief is stealthy
It dresses up in familiar clothing
masquerading as your best friend
while it sneaks in through the side door
of memory, stealing into
the broken places
of your heart
you want desperately to avoid touching.

There is no taming grief.
There is only its heavy cloak
of companionship
wearing you down
until one day
you find yourself arriving at that place
where moments spent wrapped
in grief’s company
die away
as softly as the sweet melody
of the voice
of the one who is gone
fading into memory.

And for life on ther lighter side, I’ve posted one of Beau’s blogs on Sundays with Beaumont this morning. As always, he wins! 🙂

Radiant Bold Aging

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Sir Beaumont and I were walking with a friend who shared her hesitation about taking a much-anticipated trip. Her husband’s mother is not in the best of health, sparking fears of what might happen if she becomes ill while they’re across the world. It’s a valid concern, yet it cuts both ways. What might happen if they went on the trip? And what if they didn’t?

As I’ve grown in wisdom and life, I’ve learned that dreams wither without action, and with age, the belief in our potential can dim and, even fade away.

Ultimately, facing the question, ‘What might happen if I do, or don’t’ transcends more than just the realities of our day to day living. It brings us to the portal of possibility, opening us up to all that is possible when we choose to live beyond our fears, our comfort zones, and, our limiting beliefs. Ultimately, it asks us to lean into the question – Do we let worry and fear hold us back? Or, do we seize life’s opportunities, whether that’s embarking on a journey, returning to school, or asking someone out.

For me, it’s about overcoming fear to launch the business I’ve dreamt of for so long.

Doing nothing about it was keeping me stuck in that place where my dreams were just that—dreams, withering as I grow older and feeding into the diminishment of my self-confidence and growing doubts about my abilities and capacity to stay Vital. Relevant. Energized.

As an example, last October, despite my reservations, I traveled to Ireland alone. Overcoming the “monkey mind” that wanted me to stay put, ‘be realistic’ – the timing was all wrong. Travelling alone was scary… yada. Yada. Yada. I realized that succumbing to the incessant monkey mind chatter full of fear and doubt, was keeping me mired in inaction. Not stepping out of my comfort zone to travel alone, not giving myself permission to believe in my own capacity to ‘be okay’ whatever happened, which included renting a standard, not automatic, car with the stick shift on the left hand side of the steering and navigating uber-narrow Irish roads on the right hand side, was me buying into the notion, I’m too old.

I am not too old. I’m simply the age I am – and being 70 doesn’t mean I can’t learn new things, try new ways, explore new adventures. Not doing those things because I’m afraid will only teach me how to live a life unfulfilled, draining my vitality, relevance, and sense of contribution.

Aging is an inevitable journey from birth, but how we age is a choice. Our bodies, like roads exposing potholes after winter, accumulate aches and pains. However, with regular maintenance—exercise, nutrition, rest, and check-ups—we can manage or prevent these discomforts.

Living fully means facing fears and embracing life’s opportunities. It’s about proactive maintenance of our physical and emotional well-being, ensuring our life’s roads are navigable and our journey fulfilling.

What about you? Have you faced a moment where you had to choose between safety and growth? How did you decide, and what was the outcome? I’d love it if you shared your stories below. Let’s inspire each other to fill the potholes on our paths and move forward with courage and purpose.

We’re all aging. Let’s do it with passion, purpose and pizzazz! Together.

_____________________________

And… I am holding a free online masterclass to share some of the secrets of aging. It’s March 26, 4 – 5:30pm MDT — click HERE if you’d like to learn more or to sign up! There are limited spaces available and it would be lovely to see you there!

Beautiful Tender Mercy

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Beautiful Tender Mercy

by Louise Gallagher

One day, when you least expect it
you will stand at the threshold of your heart
and hear its pounding insistence
you step across the liminal space between not loving yourself
and loving yourself with all your being awakened to every beat of your heart.

In that moment, you must choose between
staying locked in the darkness of believing your flaws and many imperfections
are too wide and bulky to fit through the doorway to your heart
or
stripping away the heaviness of your belief you do not deserve your love
because you are so imperfect and scarred and scared of loving yourself
you will never be free of the fear of loving yourself.

To choose to stay locked in darkness is easy.
It’s the comfortable shirt you’ve worn forever.
The one you thoughtlessly put through the washing cycle so often
you no longer worry about putting the machine on delicate.
You know this shirt is tough enough to take your abuse.

But, to risk stripping away the shirt and tearing it to shreds.
To risk standing exposed with all your scars and scared self naked
to the prying eyes of imperfection.
Ah, well that is the penultimate act of courage you will ever commit.

One day, you will stand at the threshold of your heart
and be asked to commit to loving yourself in all your wounded, flawed beauty.

On that day you will know the sound of freedom is not a song
sung by those with the courage to climb every mountain and ford every sea.
It is the sound of your heart falling
deeply in love
with the perfection of the beautiful tender mercy of being held
in the loving embrace of your arms wrapping themselves around your heart
as you whisper joyfully, I Love You.

#dareboldly #dareboldlypoetry #dareboldlyart #poetryofinstagram #poetrycommunity #poemsoflove #selflovepoetry #selfloveisgoodlove #selfloveisgoodforthesoul #mydailydoseofcalm #loveyourselfpoem #beyourbestfriend #instagood

The Perfect Time is Family Time

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After a delightful two-week visit with my daughter and her family, I am once again at the airport, awaiting my flight’s boarding call.

On this morning’s drive to the SeaBus terminal at Lonsdale Quay in North Vancouver, courtesy of my daughter, I mentioned what a lovely time I’d had, as always.

“Even though we mostly did nothing?” she queried.

Yes. Even as the Norovirus swept through the household, afflicting each of us in turn, I still had, the best of times. Not the worst.

The unexpected guest, Norovirus, paradoxically, became the backdrop against which precious moments unfolded. Its presence meant our world shrank to mostly staying home, to the exclusion of time spent with the children’s friends and other social activities. Fortunately, before its arrival, I was able to watch my grandson’s dedication in his Karate class and was awed by his focus and attention throughout the session. When I told him how much I admired his focus he replied confidently, “Yes. I’m very focused in Karate.”

And here’s the thing, once the virus began to roam through the house, it didn’t dampen our spirits. It instead curated moments of simple joys—building sandcastles at the beach, exploring playgrounds, wandering through forests, and strolling along North Vancouver’s scenic seawall. Together, we baked bread, made pancakes (my grandchildren are expert Chocolate Chip Testers) and laughed and played games together where it was never quite clear who actually won.

And though my grandson’s sixth birthday bash was postponed, our small celebration, complete with cake, candles, and the Happy Birthday anthem, was no less heartwarming. His excitement over new toys—a Minecraft Lego set, Air Nerf guns, and a vintage Foosball table—brought laughter and competitive spirit into our days, even as my three-year-old granddaughter amusingly disrupted the game with her innocent chaos.

These instances of togetherness, of fun and laughter, underscored the essence of family.

One memorable evening, with my son-in-law away and my granddaughter under the weather, I had the pure joy of reading bedtime stories—an unexpected, yet profoundly cherished, bonus.

And, added bonus! My daughter and I did fit in our traditional dinner at the Arm’s Reach Bistro in Deep Cover!

Could our time together have unfolded differently? Perhaps.

But the essence of its perfection lies not in the activities we did or didn’t do, but in the love, connection, and quality family time that characterized my visit. It was, in every sense, a perfect encapsulation of the joy and bond of family.

The Art of Ageless Living

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There comes a time when the silence of complacency becomes too loud, when the ordinary hues of life demand the extraordinary — a spectrum that defies age, transcends time, and shatters the monochrome barriers of convention.

This is not a whisper of hope, but a war-cry of resolve. The path ahead is not littered with question marks, beckoning uncertainties and doubt. It unfurls before me as a boundless canvas, aching for the stroke of my wild heart’s palette. It’s not the years that define the artistry of living, but the living that defines the years.

With every dawn, I stand at the threshold of the unknown, armed with the audacity to dream and the paintbrush of my soul, dipped in the vivid inks of passion, courage, and unbridled zest. I am here to declare, not just to the world but to the very essence of my being, that my journey is not a timid tread but a stride of a maverick spirit.

The future beckons with open arms and a dare — to splash, to swirl, to blend the unexpected into a masterpiece of my own making. I answer with a resolute heart and a vision unclouded by the ‘coulds’ and ‘shoulds’. My every step carves a unique path, my every breath fuels the fire of creation.

This is not just living; this is living agelessly, where every moment is a bold brushstroke on the canvas of time. Watch out world, for here I come — not as a fleeting shadow, but as an indelible mark upon the tapestry of tomorrow.

The future is mine to paint, with all the shades of audacity and the contours of a dream realized. The question mark has been erased, and in its place, a declaration — to live boldly, wildly, and utterly agelessly!

______________________________

I am in Vancouver visiting my daughter and family. I’m loving the time and also, taking time to craft my manifesto, my path forward as I carve space to welcome into being.. The me I’ve been waiting for.

I don’t have my paint supplies so have been playing with AI to generate images for my Dare Boldly: The Art of Ageless Living progam.

It’s been a fascinating exploration of AI and its capabilities to be a medium for creative expression. 

The image in both quotes – the one at the heading of this post and the one below — were both generated by AI — it took much prompting and clarifying — and while I continue to be committed to my artmaking, it sure was a lot of fun!

All’s Quiet on a Midday Flight: A journey through Memory and Legacy

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I’ve always found a unique serenity in choosing midday flights. Unlike the bustling mornings or the weary evenings, airports during these hours whisper tales of transient calm. This time, the terminal, usually a stage for the hurried footsteps of countless travelers, offered a rare pause in its daily rhythm. Such moments of tranquility amidst the chaos of departures and arrivals are fleeting, yet profoundly appreciated.

However, adhering to the conventional wisdom of arriving two hours early for a domestic flight often seems excessive. Today, just ten minutes sufficed to navigate through check-in and security, even with a suitcase that needed checking-in. The efficiency was a welcome surprise, especially considering my departure from the newly renovated B gates. This change significantly shortened my walk, a small yet significant mercy for someone who, out of convenience or necessity, checks their luggage.

The renovation, aside from logistical benefits, hinted at a broader theme of travel: the blend of wonder and ordeal. For many, including myself, the journey to the gate is the least appealing part of travel. Yet, it’s an integral step in the dance of departure and arrival, a necessary prelude to the adventures that await.

On this occasion, my luggage carried more than just essentials. It bore fragments of my sister Jackie’s life—items destined for my daughter, granddaughter, and sister Anne. In sifting through Jackie’s belongings, we distributed much to charity, but some pieces were too imbued with memories, too rich in sentimental value, to part with. They represented not just personal history, but a tangible connection to Jackie, a way to keep her spirit alive in our daily lives.

I sit and watch passengers walk past the cafe bar where I type and wonder about my own possessions: the artifacts of travels and life events that compose the mosaic of my existence. From the shawl I picked up in Ireland to the earrings from Barbados, each item carries a story, a piece of a place, or a moment shared with loved ones. These are not mere objects but the threads from which the tapestry of my life is woven, each adding colour, texture, and depth to my personal narrative.

I ponder the future of these threads, the fate of these tangible memories when I am no longer here to hold them. Will they serve as cherished reminders for my loved ones, or will they become burdensome relics of a past no longer connected to the present?

In my carry-on, two bags of jewellery—one for Anne and one for my daughter in Vancouver—serve as a testament to these reflections. They are heavy, laden not just with their physical weight but with the emotional gravity of the memories they represent.

As I navigate through the quietude of the airport, I am reminded that our journeys, both literal and metaphorical, are interwoven with the lives of those we touch. What we carry, what we leave behind, and the memories we cherish are part of a larger narrative. It’s a narrative that transcends the individual, connecting us through the shared experience of love, loss, and the enduring question of legacy.

Who will treasure the memory of us? It’s a poignant question that echoes in the silent corridors of my midday flight, a reminder of the indelible marks we leave on the hearts and lives of those we love.