Jen Gilroy's Blog, page 15

Hello summer and time to refill my creative well

English Rose wrote her last exam this week so is now off school until September.

My weekly ballet class and choir practice are on hiatus for the summer, and my neighbor’s peonies are blooming in pink profusion.

And ever so slightly, my family’s usual routine has shifted into a slower, summertime mode.

For me, summer is also a time to refill my creative well, and I’m making a concerted effort in the next few months to do things that will rejuvenate me as both a person and writer.

Stop and breathe

Like most of us, my life is busy and often seems bounded by an ever-growing to-do list.

I’m currently working on four books at different stages—including proofreading the galleys for my October release, The Wishing Tree in Irish Falls. 

Along with my writing work and, as many of you know, I’m also the primary caregiver for a teen with several chronic medical conditions and hence complex needs.

In recent weeks, English Rose has had more medical appointments than usual and many days have been a blur of driving here and there, with writing in short bursts snatched in bits of  time as ‘life happened’ around me.

As such, I’m currently making a conscious effort to focus on one task at a time (easier said than done for an habitual multi-tasker like me), be present in the moment, and to stop, breathe, and smell those seasonal peonies.

I might even rip up all but one of the four ‘to-do’ lists currently on my desk and reprioritize. Not everything needs to be done immediately and some things don’t need to be done at all—at least not by me!  

Places and people

After a long, cold winter and late, chilly spring in the Rideau Valley, I’ve had what I now recognize as a dose of cabin fever. Although I love my cozy home and small-town life, being confined to both for months on end is a recipe for an unhappy Jen.

The remedy? A summer and early autumn of travel starting with a trip to the UK next week.

As well as visiting a friend by the sea in Wales, and attending the annual conference of the Romantic Novelists’ Association (RNA) in northern England, Tech Guy, English Rose, and I will have a much-needed family holiday in one of my happy places, the beautiful North Norfolk coast.

I’m also looking forward to several days on my own in London for some book-related research and gallery and theatre visits.

Exploring new places (and revisiting old favourites), and reconnecting with friends I don’t often see re-energizes me in life and writing. 

Reading

This summer, I’m ditching books I think I ‘should’ read (that tome on the business of writing has been shelved, virtually, until September) and focusing instead on reading that brings my soul joy.

I’m delving into historical fiction, some young adult titles, and reading through the backlists of several new-to-me and now favorite authors.

Reading is my part of my ‘job’ as an author, but over the next few months I plan to read for fun—and whatever I learn about writing craft or business will be a bonus, not an end in itself.

Tackling projects that stress me

Although it might seem counter-productive at a time of rest to intentionally choose to tackle stressful tasks, the more I procrastinate doing something unpleasant, the worse I feel.

So, when weather means I can’t be outside this summer, I’m streamlining parts of my life inside—and from clearing out a closet (yay for finding clothes I want to wear when I want to wear them), to tidying a messy drawer, and removing unused items from an overflowing kitchen cupboard—I’m giving myself metaphorical breathing space and, correspondingly, less day-to-day irritation.

While I’m not going full-on Marie Kondo, or culling my cherished book collection, if my house is lighter and more organized, I’m lighter in myself, too.

Time to be

Whether with my family, friends, or in solitude, I’m giving myself ‘time to be’ this summer in ways I don’t often do.

Each day, and in activities large and small, I’m looking for things that inspire, energize, and rejuvenate me.

So by early September, my creative well should be primed for the fall and winter ahead—and having worked a bit less, I’ll be ready to ‘work smarter’ with new ideas, energy, and focus to tackle both writing and family life.

Temporary blog hiatus…

As part of ‘refilling my well’ and because I’ll be travelling over the next month, I’m also taking a short break from regular blogging.

Look for a new post from me in late July and, in the meantime, savour your own summertime joys over these next few weeks.

And be sure to follow my Facebook author page (where I usually post daily) to share in my life and summer travels.

 

Remembering my dad…on Father’s Day and always

I’m about to mark my tenth Father’s Day without my dad. Although time has lessened the raw grief of his death, his absence is still and always will be a “hole” in my life familiar to all “orphaned children” no matter how old.

I thought of Dad especially during the recent D-Day commemorations. Although he was too young to take part, the pictures of elderly veterans were a poignant reminder of those just a bit older than him, and the sacrifices they made for generations like me for whom the Second World War has always been part of history instead of a “real” event.

I think of him on other military occasions too (like Battle of Atlantic Sunday in early May) because as a proud veteran of the Royal Canadian Navy, all things maritime were an important part of his life and how he lived it.

Dad’s love of music is with me when I sing with my choir, and as I walk Floppy Ears I remember the talks I had with him when we walked my childhood dog together.

And when I enjoy pancakes made to his signature recipe, or use something of his in my home, I can almost see him there, just out of sight but never out of mind.

I also think of my dad as I face life challenges, especially advice he might have given at difficult times. Or how he’d have made me laugh, encouraged me with a hug, or taken me on an outing, just the two of us.

For the first few Father’s Days without my dad, and although I celebrated Tech Guy and the wonderful dad he is to English Rose, it was a day to “get through” rather than truly enjoy.

More recently, though, it’s become a day when I make a point of remembering my dad and everything he brought to my life, including shaping the person I am and values I live by.

Although once too painful, I now want to look at the photograph albums he compiled throughout his life which form a record of our family’s story.

I want to talk about him and why he was important to me.

And I want to share memories of him with English Rose so if she someday has children, he’ll be part of her family’s story too. Since she was only five when my dad died, her memories of him are patchy and I have a special responsibility to help make him part of her life—instead of a remote figure in old pictures.

My dad is gone physically, but what I’ll celebrate this Father’s Day is how he’s still part of my life through memories that are green in my heart.

Although he didn’t live to see me become a published author, my new book, The Wishing Tree in Irish Falls, which comes out in October, is about music so it’s dedicated to him.

And amongst all the fathers celebrating, being celebrated, or remembered this weekend, I’m blessed to have the one I did.

A writing update…

German edition of Summer on Firefly Lake 

The German version of the second book in my Firefly Lake series, Summer on Firefly Lake, came out this week as Wenn ich dir nahe bin.

This gorgeous cover by Penguin Verlag captures the feel of my book perfectly, and I’m grateful to continue to be able to share my Firefly Lake stories with German readers. 

 

Ottawa area readers…meet me at an event on June 22, 2019 

If you live in the Ottawa area , I’m one of several local authors speaking about what libraries mean to me at a special benefit “Evening at the Library” at North Grenville Public Library” in Kemptville, Ontario, Canada on Saturday, June 22, 2019.

More details, including ticket information here.

Advice to my younger self

 On social media and elsewhere recently, many people are giving advice to their younger selves.

Some posts are short and pithy (no major accomplishment without significant “butt hurt” is an especially topical one for writers!), but others are longer and thoughtful reflections about the meaning of life.

Long or short, they’ve made me think about what I’d tell my younger self—that girl in her late teens who was still searching for who she was and what she wanted to be.

 

Dear younger Jen,

Right now, you can wear and look good in almost anything. Experiment, have fun, and definitely buy that bikini, as long as you remember a hat and sunscreen, too.  

Ditch all the black clothing, though. You think it makes you look grown-up and sophisticated, but it’s much too harsh for your skin tone. Ditto black eyeliner. Pandas are cute, but you don’t want to look like one.  

Your hair looks much better than you think it does, but that red dye job you want is a mistake you’ll spend years correcting.

Mother knows best

Listen and ask questions about your mother’s life because when she’s gone, a huge chunk of your family’s history and things that have made you who you are will be gone too.

Although you don’t think so, you’ll appreciate your mother’s wisdom most when you’re a mom yourself. 

And even though you swear you won’t, before you hit forty you’ll also sound like your mother—especially when you hear her words come out of your mouth when you’re talking to your own daughter. Don’t panic because this ‘echo’ will make you surprisingly happy and be comforting, too. 

Love and marriage

The first (or even second) guy you think you’re in love with isn’t your forever love, but there’s a wonderful man out there for you so listen to that little inner voice you often ignore.

Much to your surprise, your happily-ever-after man won’t look or be anything like you now expect.

He’s very good at math, though, which will be handy because although you swore you’d never again need high school algebra, it will one day make an unwelcome reappearance in your life.

Live in the moment…and be happy with what you have

Most things you’re worrying about will never happen. Things will happen that you could never have planned for, but you’ll somehow cope and survive them. 

Live in the moment and “bloom where you’re planted” because time goes by in the blink of an eye, and you’ll never get those years of your early adulthood back.

And while you’re at it, start a gratitude journal and practice meditation. Your future mental health and stress levels will thank you.

Believe in yourself and be your own best cheerleader

I know you’re questioning who you are and what you want, but I’m here to tell you that self-discovery is a lifelong process.

However, if you truly believe in yourself, most things are possible—except for being a professional ballerina because sadly, you already know you’re too tall and your body isn’t bendy enough.

Yet, don’t be afraid to dream because even when times are dark, good things might be around the corner. Keep going and although persistence is usually a good thing, also don’t be afraid to change direction when you need to.

Last words…

The things that bring you joy and solace now will continue to do so throughout your life

Keep reading, and keep writing your stories because although it seems unlikely, you’ll overcome the doubters to become a published author. Even the most horrendous day jobs and vile bosses will be fodder for your fiction.

Also, tuck away your ballet slippers. Someday you’ll dance again—in a place and as part of a life that despite its challenges, is better than you ever imagined it could be.

Love, future Jen.   

Fantasy to reality: No ‘rules’ for an engagement

This week, Tech Guy and I marked the twenty-fourth anniversary of our engagement.

In some ways, that special day seems like yesterday. In others, it’s a lifetime ago and that young(er) couple are like people we used to know, almost strangers to who we’ve since become.

Tech Guy’s proposal was romantic and his words heartfelt.

He’d chosen a beautiful setting, a scenic lookout in a park in the Canadian province of Québec near the city where we then lived.

Knowing my horror of staged and public displays of love (like restaurant or jumbotron proposals), the spot was private and in a sheltered area off a favourite hiking trail. 

Aware that I wasn’t keen on diamond solitaires, he’d picked a sapphire stone and worked with a jeweler to design an engagement ring especially for me.

And yet, much like the man I fell in love with all those years ago, one of the most wonderful and special moments of my life was far from Hollywood scripted.

In addition to spring flowers, May in Eastern Ontario and Québec signals the start of black fly season when these insidious insects are at their worst.

While Tech Guy is immune to black fly bites, I am not, although he didn’t realize that then.

Thus, just as he uttered those words that would link our lives together, I flapped my arms to ward off a swarm of the north country’s finest.

And also at that propitious moment, all I also could think of was I shouldn’t have had that full bottle of water before our hike as I needed a bathroom break—and the nearest toilet (a pit version or, in North American parlance, an outhouse) was a half mile away.

 Even when Tech Guy produced the gorgeous engagement ring that still gives me a happy glow when I see it on my finger, it was several sizes too large. As such, I immediately put it back into its velvet box for safe-keeping so I didn’t lose it in the thick undergrowth.

Although in my romantic fiction I write hard-earned happily-ever-afters, I rarely include a marriage proposal scene—one exception being in The Wishing Tree in Irish Falls, my new book coming out this October.

That’s possibly because when I look back on Tech Guy’s proposal and, although I said yes, it wasn’t the Instagram-ready moment our now selfie-driven world expects.

Yet, when I think about that spring day in 1995, our engagement was, in many ways, good preparation for the ups and down marriage has brought; years of sunshine and shadows, and where “real life” and its associated problems are never far away.

Life is full of black flies, real and metaphorical, and some are more easily brushed off than others. Over the past twenty-four years, though, Tech Guy and I have tried to face challenges together, recognizing that our marriage is, and always will be, a work in progress.

Thanks to regular cleaning, my engagement ring is still almost as sparkly as the day Tech Guy slid it on my finger for the first time. And when I look at it, I remember the promise we made to each other—one that wasn’t about perfection but, like real life, was messy and sometimes uncomfortable.  

As for the proposal scene in The Wishing Tree in Irish Falls? My hero and heroine have their happily ever moment (with nary a black fly in sight), but soon thereafter dark clouds roll in and rain is imminent.

Even in my fiction, it seems I can’t escape some aspects of reality! 

“Death and taxes”

Here in Canada, taxes were due on April 30 this year. As such, the phrase “death and taxes” (usually attributed to a 1789 letter by Benjamin Franklin in which he said they were the only two things certain in life), has been much on my mind. 

Multiple currencies and tax years

As someone who both earns and spends money in three different currencies (American and Canadian dollars, as well as British pounds), my tax return is never straightforward. 

Adding to an already complex situation is that Canada, the US, and UK all have different taxation years. Whilst I now pay taxes solely in Canada, I report income spanning different time periods.  

Expenses

Since I have a home office, certain home and office costs are tax deductible including a proportion of utilities and maintenance. 

Business travel counts too, including my trip to England last summer to attend the annual conference of the Romantic Novelists’ Association (RNA).

And then there are book purchases. Because I’m an author, many of the books I buy qualify as a business expense—yay—although I shudder a bit when I add up those receipts each year.  

Family 

Despite being an excellent “author assistant” and featuring regularly in my social media posts, Floppy Ears isn’t (unfortunately!) a business expense. 

Counting my blessings

The past month or so has been filled with what one of my grandmothers would have called “things sent to try us.” 

A viral infection for the entire family topped off with strep throat for English Rose. 

A broken tooth for me and multiple dental appointments for necessary repairs—including three weeks and counting when I’ve only been able to chew food on one side of my mouth. 

A skin biopsy for Tech Guy to check a suspicious mole, and dental issues for him too that have initiated a year of painful and expensive orthodontic work. 

And not least, surgery for me last Friday from which I’m still recovering. 

Combined with spring snow, freezing rain and frequent “special weather statements,” it’s been more difficult than usual to find silver linings amid what’s often seemed like impenetrable grey clouds. 

Yet, I’ve made a conscious effort to “count my blessings” and, in the context of my word for 2019, “cultivating” gratitude rather than focusing on that which has been grim. 

Caring family and friends

Throughout this recent time of trial, we’ve been blessed with support both immediate and at a distance. 

As I recover from surgery, Tech Guy has been able to work from home to provide the help I need. 

I’ve been both heartened and overwhelmed (in the best possible way) by kind email messages and social media posts from friends and readers sending me good thoughts, healing wishes, and prayers. 

And from offers of help with dog walking to the friend who hosted a book club meeting on my behalf, I’ve felt cared for and supported in ways large and small. 

Laughter…and a dog 

I’ve valued good-humour too. 

Like the sign about “no food or drinks” in a waiting room where patients were fasting prior to surgery, but the television was tuned to the Food Network showing preparation of a mouthwatering breakfast.

Or the conversation about shoes between myself and the all-female surgical team whilst I was in the OR prepped and awaiting the anesthetist. 

And Tech Guy commenting that between an electric toothbrush, WaterPik, and other accessories, he now has an entire “staging area” for his teeth in the bathroom. 

Laughter is indeed good medicine—and dog snuggles make everything better! 

Love is…

As a child, I had a wall plaque in my bedroom with a picture of a happy yellow sun, colourful flowers, a teddy bear, and “Love is…forever and ever” in curly pink writing. 

I thought of that picture again this week. 

Love isn’t always sunshine, flowers, and teddy bears, but it’s during times when life is hard that the meaning of love is most important, as well as profound. 

Not only “forever and ever,” love is also the caring, kindness, humanity, and laughter that, as in the past weeks, bless my life and give me hope and encouragement when I need it most. 

As for the weather…

Not only is the snow (almost) gone, but despite torrential rain, and thanks to Tech Guy re-engineering drainage by the foundation, our basement floor has stayed dry for one of the few times since we bought this house.

Now that is a blessing indeed! 

For those celebrating this weekend, I wish you a happy and joyous Easter filled with love and many blessings too. 

Writing news…

The first book in my Firefly Lakeseries, The Cottage at Firefly Lake, released in German on 8 April 2019 as Dort wo ich dich finde.

I’m welcoming new readers with a glimpse of my life and writing inspiration in German here and English here. 

Lost and found…

One of my dominant memories of English Rose’s primary (elementary) school years is of a constant search for lost items. 

At that time, she wore a dark-green school uniform, and I spent many minutes before and after my then day job sorting through an almost entirely green pile in her school’s lost property (lost and found) box. 

Stray green socks, tights, gym shorts, cardigans, skirts, and more ended up in that box and, together with other parents, I learned to hold my nose and dig for that elusive item marked with English Rose’s name. 

Even many years later, a search for that which is lost continues to be a recurring theme in my life. This winter, I resorted to affixing a list on the fridge to keep a running tally of missing items. 

Socks are amongst the usual suspects, and I’m convinced that somewhere there is a land of solitary socks longing for their mates. 

Mittens are often lost too, although I recently chalked up a win by reuniting a pair of English Rose’s mittens that had been separated since last October.

I also keep a close eye on Floppy Ears because with four paws (and a little boot for each), one or more of the boots often disappears. And too many times to count, I’ve walked a dog wearing two or three boots instead of the usual four. 

When we returned to Canada from England and integrated various households and storage facilities into one, the missing items scale reached a critical point. 

Indeed, it’s only a month ago that I matched up a set of wine glasses Tech Guy and I received as a wedding present. The white wine glasses moved to England with us but their red wine counterparts stayed behind in Canadian storage. Only when I was sorting glassware in three different cupboards did I realize they were part of the same set and should be stored together. 

Since Tech Guy lives in Toronto for the working week, shuttling between two places increases the potential for loss. When I visit his apartment, I’m always surprised to find things I thought were gone forever. 

Currently on my missing items list is a lap quilt, two paper bank statements, and a USB stick—the latter taken by Tech Guy to print family photos but which also included one of my draft book manuscripts. Although the book file was backed-up online, somewhere someone may be reading an unedited Jen Gilroy story, complete with typos, research notes, deleted scenes, and more.  

Yet, as I’ve discovered most lost items do (eventually) reappear.

Both Tech Guy and English Rose lost their house keys within days of each other in January. 

Weeks after having new keys cut, the old keys surfaced—English Rose’s in a bag she doesn’t use often, and Tech Guy’s on the driveway, exposed (and suitably weathered) when winter snow and ice melted to reveal bare pavement.

Last week was parent-teacher meetings at English Rose’s high school, and one of her teachers has an office outside the gym and that ubiquitous lost and found box. 

The smell—ripe with teenage hormones—reached me from six feet away, but at least on that occasion I didn’t have to explore a crate of stray miscellany. 

Instead, while waiting for my appointment I opened my iPad and turned to tips I’ve bookmarked from organizing guru Marie Kondo.

If we have less ‘stuff,’ it’s logical there’s less to lose—and local charity shops benefit. 

But even as I ‘encourage’ my family to adopt a few ‘simple’ organizing principles and put ‘their stuff’ where it belongs, downsizing my book collection (vintage or modern) is a non-starter.

In my life, books are both essential and joyous—and each has its own special place on a shelf and in my heart.  

Sightseeing, shopping snacking and more: Celebrating a mini vacation

English Rose had a school holiday earlier this month so we spent a long weekend in Ottawa, Canada’s capital city, forty-five minutes by car from where we live. 

Although we visit Ottawa every few months, it’s usually for medical appointments, brunch with family, or to visit a specific store.

And then we go home again, rarely venturing into the city centre or experiencing the myriad of attractions that draw visitors from both within Canada and beyond to Ottawa year-round. 

This time, though, we decided to play tourist, close to home but still ‘away’ thanks to booking a hotel and sending Floppy Ears to dog boarding for a few days. 

Sightseeing

After a long, harsh winter when I stuck close to home, it was a treat to go somewhere else and see new things. 

We walked around Canada’s Parliament Hill (still reassuringly familiar since I worked near there almost twenty years ago) and enjoyed street art commemorating notable Canadians. 

A family favourite? A sculpture of jazz pianist and composer Oscar Peterson, complete with music.

We also explored the Byward Market, a a shopping and dining destination where Tech Guy and I went on our long ago first date. 

And by serendipity, our visit coincided with Ottawa’s St. Patrick’s Day parade where even dogs ‘got their Irish on.’ 

Shopping 

While I love many things about my small-town life, shopping is limited and both English Rose and I were keen to check out spring city style.

We walked and we shopped—and we shopped and we walked…almost five miles in one day! 

We came home with a few new spring fashions, although not in the yellow hues we saw everywhere.

And as someone for whom bra shopping is both frustrating and traumatic, I’m now the owner of two new and well-fitting undergarments. Oh, the joy of not having wire digging into my rib cage, or flesh spilling over a too tight band like cream bursting from a profiterole!

I also discovered a small Asian shop similar to those I remember in Hong Kong (cue a new tea coaster for my writing desk), and browsed in a large branch of Chapters-Indigo, Canada’s biggest bookstore. 

Snacking

Starting with the hotel’s buffet breakfast, one of the best parts of a vacation for me is food. 

From ice cream to a French patisserie, and from seasonal cookies to Beavertails, that most Canadian of treats, a type of fried dough made to look like a beaver’s tail, we had several days of sweet snacking indulgence. 

For main meals, we were also spoilt for choice, settling upon a wonderful Italian restaurant one night and local landmark Zak’s Diner (where I’d last gone when I was a student) another. 

And luckily, even though I and the world have changed, the diner’s milkshakes are as good now as they were back then. 

And more…

The true benefits of our mini vacation, though, weren’t in the sights we saw, the stores we visited or the food we ate. 

Rather, it was having unstructured time together as a family and hitting ‘pause’ on our everyday lives to simply ‘be.’ 

English Rose is growing up and, when I looked around that diner and saw young women like I’d been—and who English Rose will soon be—I realized that in the years to come these almost-taken-for-granted family times will be increasingly fleeting. 

So, as we made memories, I reminded myself to stop and appreciate where I was and who I was with—and to celebrate both that mini vacation and the family I hold dear. 

As for Floppy Ears? She had a wonderful time at dog boarding and came home tired enough to sleep for the next two days, freshly bathed, and a bit lighter in weight after channeling her inner greyhound and running almost non-stop around fenced woods with the wind at her back—and through her ears! 

Celebrating grandmothers

Earlier this week, English Rose bounced into the house with the kind of teenage excitement usually reserved for a meme, ‘tea’ (gossip between friends), or afternoon at the mall. 

“Look what Grandma J gave me,” she said, gesturing to the colourful bracelet on her wrist. “It’s from her trip. She brought back presents for all her grandchildren.” 

As I admired the pretty and thoughtful gift, my heart squeezed. Because although English Rose calls her “Grandma,” J is a dear family friend and neighbour, not a grandmother by blood. 

I was reminded, though, of the importance of grandmothers (and women like grandmothers) in our lives—and how blessed I’ve been to have multiple grandmas both ‘real’ and ‘adopted.’ 

Family history 

My two grandmothers by birth were part of my life until my twenties so I have special memories of both. 

My dad’s mother lived nearby and since we shared an interest in music, reading, and writing, that grandma had an especially important influence on my life.

Indeed, my first published story, a piece in the local newspaper when I was eleven, was inspired by Grandma’s small-town childhood.

My mom’s mother lived in another part of Canada (over a thousand miles away) so visits with her were limited to Christmas and summer holidays.

Yet, and although she was less ‘present,’ she influenced me too and her home, an old Ontario yellow brick house, was, at least to my childish eyes, magical. 

From its chilly stone cellar to dusty, shadowed attic, that house held clues to the long-ago world of my nineteenth century Irish ancestors. And thanks to that house and Grandma’s stories, houses play a special role in my fiction. 

Unconditional love and acceptance 

As I both experienced and saw through my mother’s bond with English Rose, a grandmother’s love is different than that of a mother. 

Without the immediate necessity to set (and enforce) rules and expectations, a grandmother can be more easygoing—and spontaneous.

My grandmothers were a source of candy in church (and why, in my mind, peppermints are indelibly linked with tedious sermons), tablecloths to dress up in, and were the only ones to truly appreciate why bannisters were made to slide down, preferably at speed.  

Most importantly, and even when my relationship with my own mother was tense , I always knew my grandmas loved and accepted me for exactly who I was.

New experiences and learning

My grandmothers by family, and the three I acquired by informal ‘adoption,’ helped open my world to new experiences and learning. 

From formal concerts to impromptu sing-alongs, picnics at a lake to afternoon tea by the sea, and from the best way to groom a Pekingese dog (continually), and wear pearl jewelry (anytime as long as you wear it with flair), the grandmothers in my life were wise teachers—but always with a generous dose of fun. 

Inspiring women 

In many parts of the world, March is Women’s History Month, a time to remember and celebrate the impact women who came before have on our lives today. 

Although I’m grateful for the ‘named’ women in history—those who fought for women’s suffrage, campaigned for human rights, or made a mark in politics, the arts, or scientific endeavour, I’m also mindful of the ‘unsung’ heroines. 

These are the women who quietly go about their everyday lives, making a difference in their families and communities without fanfare or wider recognition, but whose influence, like those of grandmothers, helps make us the adults we become. 

With the death of my mom, her beloved Nana, and with Tech Guy’s mom ‘lost’ in the heartbreaking wilderness of advanced dementia, English Rose is sadly lacking in the ‘official’ grandmother department. However, other women, like sweet Grandma J, play an important role in her life. 

As my daughter and I navigate the tumultuous teenage years—that complex (and often conflicted) dance between attachment and separation—I’m grateful for the accepting, loving, and understanding ‘grandmothers’ who support English Rose in ways I can’t.

And as a now ‘motherless’ daughter, women like Grandma J play a role in my life too—still teaching, still offering new experiences, and helping me in ways large and small. 

Although I’ll likely never again spend hours grooming a Pekingese dog (as I did the summer I was ten), I still wear pearls with flair, think of one of my adopted English grannies whenever there is rain before seven (because, of course, it will be fine by eleven), and draw on some aspect of my family history for every story I write. 

So, thank you to all the ‘grandmothers’ who do what you do for the younger women in your lives. Today and every day, I’m celebrating you! 

New book news

Because sometimes happy endings are only a wish away…

In case you missed the announcement on social media, the title of my new book coming out later this year (release date to be confirmed) is The Wishing Tree in Irish Falls.

This story also features the wisdom of grandmothers, and I’m excited about sharing it with you. 

My life in laundry

As you may have seen on Twitter, Tech Guy and I got a new washing machine last week.

Not only did it mark a milestone in my complicated relationship with laundry but, and in a clear indication of advancing middle age, few things in recent years have brought me so much excitement.

The wringer washer 

One of my earliest childhood memories is watching my mother and her mother labouring with my grandmother’s ancient wringer washer.

On a hot and humid July morning, I was sent outside to sit on a sun-warmed step and told to stay there, far away from the machine that clanked in a corner of the back shed, steam rising from its galvanized tub like the cauldron of some evil witch.

Although my mother soon got an automatic washer, I’d already formed the indelible impression that laundry was not only labor intensive but dangerous—as the horrific tales of wringer washing machine injuries whispered about by Grandma and her friends attested.  

Communal washing days

When I left home for university, I was catapulted into an era of stockpiling coins to feed communal washing machines—always in short supply unless I had nothing better than laundry to do on Friday and Saturday nights. 

Sadly, and unlike what is often depicted in movies, no cute guys did their laundry at the same time as me.

And when I came face-to-face with a bat in the gloomy laundry area of a student rental house, I was on my own, awaiting the arrival of the animal protection officer who’d “helpfully” advised me to “stay put” on the other side of a flimsy wooden door and not approach the animal “in case it was rabid.”

Happily ever after…

After Tech Guy and I got married, I moved into the house he’d bought several years before, a fossilized shrine to 1970’s décor including orange shag carpet, metallic avocado green wallpaper and, in the basement, a matching harvest gold washing machine and tumble dryer. 

While we updated the rest of the house to reflect late 1990’s chic, their (to me) atrocious color didn’t impede function so the harvest gold appliances stayed, still going strong almost thirty years after their purchase by a previous owner.

Laundry goes international

Our move to England, though, ushered in a new era of laundry adventures.

In one flat (apartment), a trendy new build in a newly trendy part of London, I discovered the dubious joys of the “combined” washer/dryer. 

Whilst some such models may work brilliantly, ours did not and since the flat didn’t feature an airing cupboard (an essential attribute of the British home), we became accustomed to sodden washing festooned 24/7 not only from a collapsible drying rack but from every available doorknob and rail. 

After Tech Guy got a new job and we moved west of London to a “maisonette” in a pretty Berkshire village, our washing machine woes continued.

Not only did the new machine break at regular intervals, but the repair technician, with whom I was soon on a first-name, cup of tea sharing basis, proclaimed our model to be “absolutely the worst” then on the consumer market. 

When we left the maisonette for a terraced house on the other side of the village, we gained another new washing machine and, with a new baby English Rose, I was filled with hope for a happier laundry future.

Yet, that machine was also plagued with problems . When it finally reached the spin cycle (over an hour in), the noise escalated to such a crescendo that my visiting dad likened the sound to an aircraft thundering down a runway at London Heathrow, twenty miles away.

In addition, the front-loading door often fell off. On one memorable occasion, I sat in our galley kitchen with my back propped against a cupboard and my feet holding the door in place until the wash cycle finished—so English Rose had the clean school uniform she needed for the following day.

Home is where the washer is

Once back in Canada, we bought a house with a ground floor laundry room. For the first time in my life I had a separate and efficient laundry space. 

But soon, the malicious laundry fairy struck again. The washing machine (which came with the house) not only cleaned clothes but was what Tech Guy dubbed a “combination washer-shredder,” ripping seams, pulling necklines out of shape, and tearing delicate items from zippered mesh laundry bags. 

Deciding enough was enough, and after due research and saving of money, we finally settled on a new machine, supposed to be the most durable model on the market, (lasting twenty years or more), easy to repair, with superior but gentle washing function, and low noise.

Delivery day, the day after Valentine’s Day, was the best Valentine present ever and, as I write, I trust a new, less stressful era of domestic life beckons. 

Now if only the dishwasher hadn’t started making a grinding sound…