Blue sky soars into infinity.
The river flows into a distant sea.
Spring buds drip from the poplar trees.
I breathe and am restored by nature.

As the world prepares for its emergence from isolation under Covid, I too am preparing for what the ‘new normal’ will be post what some have dubbed, The Great Pause.

Years ago, when I could run and was training for the marathon, a weekly ‘pause’ from training was as essential as getting the miles in. On the pause day my exercise would consist of taking the dog for a walk and baking healthy treats for my family.

Immersed in Covid style isolation, which has felt like a marathon of the ‘getting to know yourself’ kind, other than twice daily walks to the park with the dog where I seldom break a sweat, the pause has consisted of little exercise and too many unhealthy treats for body, mind and soul.

I have been considering rebranding, The Pause, to the Great Investigation – the object – to determine the correlation between over-indulgence of Netflix and decreasing brain mass. Put simply:  How many hours of Netflix does it take to become a vegetable? At least, with such a noble purpose as the cause of my binging, I’ll have a good excuse for the hours piling up on the couch and the lack of progress on my To Do List.

Then again, it does bring up another great question to explore – What is the relationship between hours of Netflix watched and expanding waistbands? Can you solve the equation – [X {hours Netflix} + Y {unhealthy treats} / Z {size of beginning wasitband} / 60 = Total expansion of waistband/minute watched]?

Covid still lurks like an unwelcome visitor who will not leave, but, life must go on. The world is emerging from its forced hibernation. 

One thing I’m pretty sure of in all the ‘let’s get back to normal’ hoopla – hairdressers will be busy, and so will fashion retailers. I mean seriously. Given average anticipated weight gains of 5 – 10 lbs per person, who has any clothes left that fit?

Then again, we could perhaps organize “The Great Clothing Swap” – whereby everyone moves their pre-Covid sized clothing to the person who was one size smaller than them, pre-Covid…

Amd then I wonder. If there are 7.8 billion people (give or take a few) on this planet, and the majority of us have added on 5 – 10 pounds, how much more can Mother Earth take?

We are heavy beings on this planet earth. Our physical mass combined with the mass of structures we create, destroy and dispose of, adds up to a whole lot for Mother Earth to bare.

Maybe it’s time we all decided to not only lighten up but lessen up our impact too.

Maybe, Covid’s big message is to stop treating Mother Earth as our playground and start  treating her as our valued, and vital partner in life here on Earth. Maybe it’s time we begin to put our efforts into creating life that is sustainable, nurturing and supportive of all sentient and non-sentient beings on this planet.

Because seriously, we breathe in nature’s beautiful life-giving air every moment of our days and in return, nature restores us. If all 7.8 billion of us became more conscious of how and what we breathe and put out into the world, we’d be making a whole world of difference.

Now that’s the best reason I’ve ever come upon for losing the extra pounds. I’m not only doing it for me, I’m doing it for the planet – Mother Earth needs me to lighten up and lessen up my load on the delicate balance of nature.

Namaste.

I am sitting at my desk. The sun is shining. Fluffy white clouds dot the sky. A gentle breeze stirs the branches of the trees outside my window. The deck door is open and I can hear birdsong, the rush of the river and the sound of an occasional car travelling across the bridge towards downtown.

It is May Day. Morning has broken and I am crying.

What are these tears saying? I ask my heart.

It is grief.

Yesterday, we learned my cousin Linda succumbed to Covid in a hospital in Paris where she lived.

I haven’t seen her in many, many years and still her passing feels heavy. Like a piece of my history has eased away into the past, floating away into the void like the chunks of ice that drift down the river as spring melt begins in the Rockies.

I wrote a tribute to her on my Facebook page and shared how Linda taught me so much bout overcoming difficulties. She also taught me about grace. Linda had many physical and mental challenges. As a teenager, I spent a lot of time with her and in retrospect, probably wasn’t as kind nor loving as I could have been. The gift in writing out my feelings on her death is that I know that it is only Love she would want to leave behind. I can let my shame and sadness go. What I can’t do, nor can either of my sisters do either, is get on a plane to be with our cousins in France. There will be no gathering of family, no telling of stories. no family celebration of her life.

Last night, I chatted with my daughter in Vancouver. She is 7 months pregnant, caring for her 2-year-old and has hurt her wrist. I want to jump on a plane and be there to help her.

And I can’t.

My granddaughter is due to arrive in late June/early July and I’m not sure I can be there for her.

What will the future look like?

As my fellow blogger friend Bernie says on her lovely post today (her photos alone are worth the visit), “This is not a cry for help. There is no need to check in on me. It just helps me immensely to articulate the thoughts that ramble around inside my head. ” (thanks Bernie)

It seems to be going around. This ennui.

Every social media feed I follow is filled with articles on how tired people feel. How world-weary.

Yesterday, I ran into a friend at the dog park. A former co-worker, she is now Executive Director at an agency that supports people with HIV and addictions. She and her staff have been working from home since the pandemic reared its ugly head and have had to shut down several day programs that supported some of our most vulnerable citizens. It is hard, she acknowledged but this slowdown has given her time to take care of herself, which is a wonderful gift, she said. But she misses ‘normal’ and its opportunities for every day human contact.

Our dogs were happy we saw each other. We did extra rounds of the park, savouring the opportunity to talk with someone, other than our partners at home, in real life – not on a computer screen or phone.

Last night a friend called to check-in. I promptly invited her and her husband over for cocktails on our (newly christened) Wine Deck — the lower patio of our home. In the two years we’ve lived in this house we haven’t used it very often (like never). But, with social distancing rules in place, it’s a perfect gathering place that provides for joyful and Covid-safe connection.

On an aside, I thought of calling it ‘The Quarantino Deck’ but don’t want anything that reminds me of the virus while I’m enjoying time with family and friends!

And see, writing it out works. My tears have dried. My heart does not feel as heavy and my outlook has lifted.

Life in the time of Covid can be challenging. Some days, my emotions ebb and flow with the gentleness of the tide lapping at the shoreline. Other times, they hit me like a tsunami, roaring in on cascading waves that sweep me off my equilibrium.

It’s all okay. It’s all just part of this journey into uncharted territory.

Feelings, emotions, tears… come and go. What remains always, what flows constantly in and out and all around is Love.

May your day be filled with gentle waves of Love washing away any ennui that threatens your sunny days.

And now, Beau and I are off to the park!

Namaste.

Beaumont:  I demand an audience.

Me:  Excuse me?

Beau:  You heard me. I need to be heard. Now.

Me:  Well, aren’t we just the demanding sort this morning.

Beau:  I already said that.

Me:  Ya. Ya. Whatever. What for?

Beau:  Seriously? You’re going to use sloppy English in a time like this?

Me:  (sigh) What is it you’d like to talk to me about in this audience you are demanding Sir Beau?

Beau:  Did you just roll your eyes at me?

To read the rest, please join Beaumont on his blog:  Sundays with Beaumont.

He really hopes you visit.  Click HERE.

A Woman’s Guide To Risk Management In A Time Of Covid.

As I luxuriated in the bath and let the warm water wash over my body, the thought came to me that there are things I need to take care of, just in case…

You know, those thoughts and questions of “What if…” that pop into your head when you’re trying to soak in the pleasure of the moment.

Questions like, “What if I ‘get it’ and have to go to hospital?” To which the answer that immediately rose to the surface was, “I’d better shave my legs and armpits.”

Yeah. I know. Deep.

As a communications professional, I spent a great deal of my career preparing risk management guidelines and responses to be prepared for perceived risks cascading into real events.

Risk management isn’t about lobbying for the worst to happen. It’s about acknowledging what is the worst that could happen and then preparing ‘what if…’ responses. Responses that allow you to focus on supporting the best outcome in a time of crisis when time is limited and measured, calm responses critical.

So, in an effort to ‘be prepared’ I’ve put pen to paper to give you a quick reference guide on how to be prepared for the worst, plan for the best and always have hope of a good outcome.

1. As already noted – shave those legs and armpits (unless of course you haven’t succumbed to the societal (and the fashion industry’s) pressure to divest legs and armpits of hair – in which case, I tip my razor blade to you. I’m not there yet. This old girl is too inculcated in the lore of smooth legs to let it all grow out. Given my predisposition for hairless appendages, I know it sounds vain, but really, the thought of lying in a hospital bed, fighting for my life while also fighting the critter in my head who wants to remind me, “You shoulda shaved those armpits lady! You look as mangy as a bear coming out of hibernation.”, is just, well, too daunting to think about. And yes.  I know. The critter knows no boundaries.
2. Skip the make-up. Let’s face it. Au naturel is the way to go when facing a pandemic and a bevy of doctors and nurses fighting for your life. Mascara streaks. Lipstick stains. Au naturel lets everyone see your true colour shining!
3. My mother, who was always prepared for the worst that could happen, used to counsel me to, “Always wear clean underwear.”  In her wisdom, accidents were always out there, waiting to happen. In the case of a pandemic, you never know when or if you’ll ‘get it’. So, wear those lacy undies tucked away for a romantic getaway. Wear that flirty bra. While it won’t make a lot of difference to the tired medical teams rushing to your care, it will lift your spirits up knowing that you are showing off your best from the inside out.
4. Make sure you’ve got two or three of your best nighties, pajamas (whatever you wear to sleep in) clean at all times. If you sleep in the buff, consider investing in a couple of nice-looking nighttime ensembles. Nothing too flimsy or flirty, of course. Leaving nothing to the imagination is not good hospital etiquette. Looking your best, even when you’re feeling your worst does a lot for your mental health. And being prepared for recovery keeps you looking on the right side of life.

So, now that we’ve got the frivolous taken care of… if you live alone and have pets, make sure you’ve got a backup plan for their short and longterm care. Yeah. I know. It sounds morbid to plan for longterm housing for your beloved fur babies but that’s why you do it. You love them and want to ensure their well-being no matter what happens to you. Remember – prepare for the worst, plan for the best – and never give up hope.

Some other important and pressing things you need to do in a pandemic are to ensure you have a support team in place. If you live alone, do you have someone you call daily to check-in with?  We humans are designed for contact and connection. We’re herd animals. So keeping your connections alive during this time of social distancing and sequestered solitude is vital.

On a more practical yet essential level, one of the most important items on the list is to ensure your affairs are in order. Like your Will and Personal Directive.  Imagine someone else having to make decisions on your behalf not knowing what your wishes are. Not cool. For those taking care of your interests should you be unable to make your own decisions, your Personal Directive removes the anxiety and stress on what to do to protect your interests and honour your wishes with grace-filled compassion,

In these days of a virus sweeping away the world as we know it, being prepared for the worst that could happen leaves us free to treasure this moment right now in all its exquisite beauty without worry clouding our mind. It creates space for our hearts to beat freely and our imaginations to stretch into possibilities of how we can create better in the world, now and when this virus has passed. It sets us free to never give up on hope.

Namaste.

Iris Marie (nee Dartnell) Gallagher
August 30, 1922 – February 25, 2020

The calls came while I was at the park with Beaumont. I hadn’t heard them. My youngest daughter. My beloved. They called several times. My phone was on silent, as is my habit when out in nature.

For some reason, though we’d been sitting vigil with my mother for over a week, I hadn’t expected it to come so soon. As I told my sisters, “I was expecting some sort of sign, some warning that mum was about to take her last breath.”

Instead, mum did it her way. No fuss. No inconveniencing of others.

At the time of mum’s last breath, I was walking along the river on my way home, the sun warm against my face, the fresh breeze caressing my skin. Later, I was planning on driving out to spend the night with mum.

Jackie, our eldest sister, was drying her hair and getting dressed to go spend the day at mum’s bedside.

Anne, our middle sister, was sitting by mum’s bedside, drinking her second cup of coffee of the morning. We’d been taking turns spending the night and Monday was her night.

And then, without ceremony or fuss, at 10:35 am yesterday morning, my mother took her last inhale.

Anne waited for the exhale.

It never came.

And in that one inhale this tiny, kind woman who travelled far from her motherland of India to the other side of the world to give life to four children. Who no matter how complicated and hard her life, was always kind. Who believed in God with all her being and prayed nightly for her daughters, the souls’ of her lost loved ones, her brothers and sisters, for those who are gone and those who are still here, is gone.

This fiercely protective and often stubborn matriarch for whom the world sometimes seemed too harsh and cruel, has left her earthly body to return to the spirit realm of her deep faith.

In her passing, I envision the endless ribbon of prayers she offered up to God in a constant entreaty for good-tidings, peace and health for all, entwining the earth and all of humankind in Love.

It was my mother’s insistence she would pray for me that used to drive me crazy. In days long past, I’d hear those words and want to tell her to keep her prayers for herself. I’d take care of myself.

Age and time, not to mention a whole lot of therapy, helped me understand and appreciate her prayers as what they truly were, and still are –  A gift of Love. Her way of saying, “I love you. Even when you make it difficult.”

Because my mother did. Love all of us. Even when we made it difficult.

And in these difficult days following her passing, it is her Love we carry. Her Love that remains. Her Love that fills each of our hearts and memories with gratitude.

My mother crossed over the Rainbow Bridge yesterday.

She took her final breath quietly. It was imbued with the grace by which she lived her life.

She is home.

This morning, I watch the sky bruised pink and violet by the rising sun and imagine my mother dancing with her brothers, sharing a smile and a cup of tea with my father and embracing the son she lost before his time.

I imagine her holding a rosary in her no longer crippled fingers, counting off the tiny round beads as she prays each decade. And as she did every night of her life, she prays for her children, her family and all those left behind on this earthly realm. Gently, she places her rosary into the folds of the ethereal gown that floats and flows around her body like angel’s wings, turns back into the circle of Love to which she has been eternally enjoined to dance like the whole world is watching. Sing like the whole world is listening. And Love like the whole world is beating as one with her heart.

That is what I believe my mother is doing now in the eternity of her life ever-after.

Namaste.

_______________________________

I had no intention of writing this morning and then, I heard my mother’s voice whispering how much my words meant to her.

There was a time, I never thought they mattered.

Now I know.

And so, I wrote.

Several years ago, my beloved lived in another city for a while. Our relationship was still relatively new and the distance a challenge.

One Valentine’s Day, when he had sent me beautiful flowers and I realized I had done nothing, I decided to send him a gift of a “Love Poem a Day” (via email) for two weeks.

I was pretty excited thinking that he too will welcome my gift in the same exuberant way it was given.

Ah yes, as the saying goes, “Expectations are premeditated disappointments.”

He was very busy working on a project and didn’t get to opening my emails until much later in the day.

On the first day I was okay with what I deemed his ‘tardy’ opening.

The second day, seriously? He hadn’t opened it by 2pm even though it had arrived in his Inbox by 6am?

Harrumph.

That evening on our daily Skype call, I asked him about his tardiness. “Louise,” he said, “I don’t open my personal emails first thing in the morning. I’ve got too much to do and just don’t have the bandwidth.”

But… and then I gave him all the reasons why his response to my poems was all wrong.

Needless to say, the call did not go well and we hung up without having achieved the one thing I wanted my gift of words to do – bring us closer over the miles.

Of course, I told myself all sorts of stories about his response and why he was all wrong, but finally, after much rumination (along with a whole bunch of inner chatter criticizing him and our relationship and how ‘fine. If he didn’t want my poems I wouldn’t write them…’) I awoke to the truth — If my intention was to create intimacy over the distance, why was I insisting on having it all my way? What was in it for me to berate him when I wasn’t behaving in a way that was not very kind nor loving. The fact was, I was not creating safe and courageous space for intimacy to grow.

I wrote him an apology poem and acknowledged that in wanting my expectations met, I had created a ‘me versus you’ situation and he acknowledged that in my expectations, he had gone on the defensive.

I started to again write a love poem a day for 14 days and started including a photo from my day that went along with the poem.

One year later, I was still writing him a love poem a day.

It had become woven into the fabric of our day, with me eagerly awakening each morning to write a love poem about love, and him expressing his gratitude for my poem — whenever he got to reading it — which was often the first thing he did each morning.

Originally, my intent had been to close the distance with my words of Love.

What happened was even more profound. In writing about Love every single morning for a year, my understanding, my ‘knowing’ of love deepened, as did our relationship.

An unexpected gift was that I also realized how my expectations often set up barriers to our being able to be real and present with each others.

Those poems and photos did achieve what I set out to do, and then, they gave me even greater gifts.

Happy Valentine’s Day. May your world be filled with Love and all its mysterious, magic and wonder.