Linda Hoye's Blog, page 178

He Is Risen!

On Friday we attended a Good Friday service that was so powerful it brought me to tears. Today, on Easter Sunday, we rejoice that our Saviour who endured the horror of the cross for us . . . for me . . . conquered death and rose from the grave.

Hallelujah! He is risen, indeed!

Finding Relief With Essential Oils

For the past few months I’ve been educating myself about the healing properties of essential oils. I usually turn to books when I want to learn something new and I found Dr. Scott Johnson’s Surviving When Modern Medicine Fails and Valerie Worwood’s The Complete Book of Essential Oils and Aromatherapy (neither of which are affiliated with a specific brand of essential oil) very helpful.

Book learning was a good start, but I also needed to experience the power of essential oils for myself. A friend and former co-worker generously sent me a sampling of Young Living essential oils to try. She also, knowing of the chronic back pain issues I’ve been dealing with for years, sent a cream made with an assortment of essential oils blended together with a coconut oil carrier. I choose to avoid the use of prescribed medicine for this problem unless absolutely necessary so I jumped at the chance to try a natural approach of managing the pain.

I apply this cream a few times a day when I experience a flare up and have found it eases my discomfort measurably. Gerry, impressed with my results, started using it on sore and aching muscles and tendons after some strenuous hikes he’s been enjoying and found it eased his pain too. We’re convinced of its real–and natural–benefits.

Here’s some information about the essential oils in this pain cream.

Valor – a blend of the following oils

Spruce (Black Spruce, Picea mariana) – Antispasmodic, anti-inflammatory, and indicated to relieve muscle soreness and tightness and strengthen the immune system.

Blue Tansy (Tanacetum annum) – Anti-inflammatory, analgesic, and reduces body’s response to irritation and injury

Frankincense (Boswellia carterii) – Muscle relaxing, cell regenerative, and strengthens the immune system and soothes inflamed skin conditions.

 

 

 

Panaway – a blend of the following oils

Wintergreen (Gaultheria procumbens) – Anti-inflammatory and anti-spasmodic. Methyl salicylate, the principal constituent of this oil, is in many liniments and ointments used for musculoskeletal problems.

Clove (Syzygium aromaticum) – Analgesic, anti-inflammatory, and has long been used to relieve dental pain.

Helichrysum – Antispasmodic, anesthetic, and anti-inflammatory.

Peppermint – Anti-inflammatory, antispasmodic, energizing and indicated as a digestive stimulant, for migraine relief and other applications.

 

 

 

Lemongrass (Cymbopagon flexuosus)

Anti-inflammatory, antibacterial, regenerative, and supportive of healthy joint and tendon function.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Peppermint

Anti-inflammatory, antispasmodic, energizing and indicated as a digestive stimulant, for migraine relief and other applications.

 

 

 

 

 

I was so impressed with this cream, and the other oils I sampled, that I chose to sign up as a wholesale member with Young Living. This allows me to purchase oils at a 24% discount off of the retail price and provided an opportunity for me to purchase a starter kit containing eleven different oils, a diffuser, and an assortment of other goodies.

I’ve been using essential oils for things like headaches, indigestion, mood uplifting, and even green cleaning my home. I love that they can give us more control over our individual health issues and general well-being in a natural way.

I’ve created a page with more information about using essential oils and how you can try Young Living essential oils yourself. Please feel welcome to contact me if you have specific questions about Young Living, how I’m finding benefit, or essential oils in general. I’m still learning, but I’m excited about what I’m learning and experiencing, and would be pleased to share this goodness with you. I’ll also be sharing, from time to time, some of the other ways we are incorporating essential oils into our life, and the benefits we’re finding by using them.

Disclaimer: Please note that I am not a doctor and I do not have any medical training. I’m just a woman who has found the use of essential oils beneficial.

Garden Dreaming

I planted a first sowing of peas in my community garden plot this week. Here at home my tomato seedlings are just starting to get their true leaves. I’m spending too much time on Pinterest gathering ideas, planning, and dreaming of gardens. My day and night dreams are filled with all things garden-related.

Part of our assignment for the Be Still – Fifty Two class this week is to print some of the photographs we’ve been taking and then use them in some new photos. I’ve got some ideas, but need to print some photographs before I can try them out. I don’t know about you but I take many photographs but print very few.

Since I didn’t have any of my printed photographs available this afternoon–my self-proclaimed Photography Practice Day–I decided to do something a bit different. Taking inspiration from my teacher Kim Klassen, and other talented photographers I’ve been following on Flickr and Instagram, I captured some simple images that reflect what I’m focusing on these days. I tried a square crop for a change–it does give a different feel, doesn’t it?

Nothing fancy, just simple photographs reflecting my simple garden dreams.

Light Lesson

I’m behind.

It started with having to compile information to provide to our accountant in preparation for tax time. Our returns are complicated as we had a foot in two countries last year. I’ve got a handle on it now but it took a few days of sequestering myself in my office to get my head above water.

Our home is quiet today in contrast to the busyness of the past few days as we enjoyed a visit from my daughter and granddaughter. A house is never so silent as it is after a grandchild leaves. I’m still adjusting to the quiet again.

As a result of the extra time I needed to devote to tax preparation, and the special time spent with family, I fell behind in my weekly lessons from the Be Still – Fifty Two class. I’m not sweating it . . . looking forward to catching up though.

This morning I grabbed a couple of simple things from the kitchen to play with light sources per the current lesson. I’m fascinated by how the mood of a photograph can change depending on where the light is coming from.

Here are three simple photographs where the light is coming from three different directions that illustrate the lesson. There’s no right or wrong, just a subtle difference.

This got me thinking about how we, as individuals, can perceive the same circumstance in completely different ways. It kind of does depend on where we see the light coming from, doesn’t it? We can choose to see the positive or the negative in any circumstance and, in making that choice, change how we experience it and impact potential lessons we may learn by going through it.

Interesting, isn’t it? I love how there are lessons for us everywhere if we slow down long enough to see them and, more importantly, learn from them.

Surviving Winter At The Worm Hotel

It was a beautiful day here in the ‘Loops and we took advantage of the afternoon to head down to our community garden plot to do a bit of prep for the season ahead. I’m anticipating putting peas in the ground before the end of the month.

When we returned to Canada last year I was looking forward to our first winter back in the homeland. I’m done with it now. I was done with it a couple of months ago truth be told, and I’m ready for spring and warmer weather.

It was warm enough this afternoon that I dragged the worm hotel out of its winter abode in the garage and did some maintenance. I had to abandon my worm herd (Flock? Brood? Swarm? I’ve no idea what a big bunch of worms is called.) before we left Washington and started with a fresh Canadian batch last spring.

Last fall, I tucked the worm hotel into the corner of the garage and hoped for the best. There were only a couple of cold spells that prompted us to bring the worm hotel into the house for a few days until it warmed up outside. The red wigglers slowed down production during the cold winter months but they’ve survived quite nicely in the garage.

This afternoon I harvested (?) a big bucket of vermicompost, moved the sluggish worms into a single tray, and served them a fresh batch of kitchen scraps. They seemed happy enough.

I’ll start feeding them more now that the weather is warming up and they’ll oblige by increasing in number, consuming more, and creating even more great compost for my garden.

So, with the official start to Spring just a few days away, I’m declaring victory over winter. Gerry and I have survived our first winter back in Canada as have the red wigglers. Bring on spring!

Retirement – One Year In

As I write this it’s early on a quiet Sunday morning in January. Gerry is away for the weekend spending time with his parents who, in their nineties, need some extra attention now and then.

My home is quiet, save for the comforting hum of the furnace and the tap-tap of Maya’s toenails as she scurries across the floor toward her favourite chair in which to curl up and take a nap in.

I woke later than usual this morning. In these winter months we have been sleeping later than we did in the summer when we’d often rise before 5:00am to greet the sunrise. When I looked at the clock this morning I had a momentary twinge of guilt for sleeping so late. I suppose I’m still getting used to the fact that my time is my own to spend as I wish.

The opportunities are many and sometimes it’s tempting to over-schedule. I’ve noticed that I begin to feel resentful if my calendar gets too full and I don’t have enough time at home so I take note of that before committing to new things.

This morning as I padded into the kitchen to switch on the coffee maker I was struck with the vignette on my kitchen counter. Never, in my pre-retirement days, would I have envisioned such a counter-top: a loaf of bread that I baked yesterday on the cutting board, a half-eaten cherry pie made with cherries I canned last summer, an almost-empty jar of banana chips (Gerry’s special treat that he makes for the grandkids), a jar of preserved lemons I prepared a few months ago that I’ve been using in some new recipes, and a jar of fermenting cabbage that will turn into sauerkraut in a few days.

Simple. Homemade. That’s the life I am living today and I find a sense fulfillment that I never dreamed of in it. My turning toward a simple life began gradually, around the time I planted my first vegetable garden perhaps. It intensified to the point that we seriously considered purchasing a farm in Saskatchewan to retire to. Practical considerations changed our mind but I still long for the peace of the farm I called Manderley. Here is a link to a post where I posted some video taken when we were at the farm. I still watch these videos every now and then and think about what might have been.

Instead of a farm in Saskatchewan we ultimately elected to return to the city we called home for so many years. Instead of a farm we live in a 55+ community with a view that brings peace to our souls. I garden in a community garden down the hill, though this year I have plans to put in some raised beds up here too. We eat fresh, local food, I preserve what we don’t eat from my garden, and we buy more produce from local farmers that I can, freeze, and dehydrate. Now, it is the middle of winter and we are still eating from my garden, in a sense, though my canning jars are emptying faster than I’d like and I have plans to put up even more this summer. In my mind I am living on a farm–an urban farm, but a farm nonetheless.

I am writing too. I have a comprehensive outline for a novel on my desk that I worked on last year, I’ve just been published in Story Circle Network’s annual anthology, I’m currently filling the role of guest editor for the upcoming issue of a Canadian adoption publication, and there’s this blog of course.

I am about to embark on a year-long photography course with Canadian photographer, Kim Klassen, called Be Still – Fifty-Two that I’m looking forward to very much. I love Kim’s style of photography; it’s simple and quiet, exactly what I’m drawn to. Check out her website for some inspiration.

Today, in this silence and solitude that feeds my soul, I find myself with a day in which to call my own and fill how I choose. The possibilities are almost limitless. I commented to Gerry a few days ago that now, even in retirement, I have more projects and things I want to work on than I have time for. It’s not a bad problem to have.

We’re a little over a month away from the official date that marks one year since I retired and I’ll save this post to mark that date. By then–by the time you read this–the days will be growing longer, I’ll be drawing plans for my 2015 garden, cooking up new recipes, trying to finish my winter knitting project before spring arrives and I have no desire to work on it, and refining my writing plan for the year.

For now, today, on this quiet Sunday morning in January I’m basking in gratitude for this life and considering possibilities for tomorrow. It’s a good life.

Love Is Like A Buttercup

No matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t find my photography mojo last week. Kim Klassen’s assignment for our Be Still – Fifty Two class came to me mid-week and I dabbled with this and that over the next couple of days taking many photographs but nothing that really spoke to me. Frustrated, and in vain, I continued to seek my elusive photography muse. 

On Saturday Gerry headed out for a hike and I hunkered down in my woman cave to try again. He arrived home a few hours later with a gift for me–a single yellow buttercup. It was, he told me, the first one he’s seen this season. As I looked at the pretty little flower he held out to me I felt the stress fall from my shoulders and a smile come to my lips.

Seventeen years ago, at about this time of year, Gerry and I were just getting to know each other better. On one of our many afternoon walks he plucked a single buttercup for me and ever since then that simple early springtime flower has been special to us. Inspired? Oh yes I was!

I was also reminded about the name of the class–Be Still–and the advice Kim gave when the class first began to be still and find that place of quiet and peace before attempting to capture the kind of still life images I love with my camera.

Focus and blur was the topic of the week. For me, it also turned into a simple reminder of springtime love. 

My Thursday

I look forward to Thursdays all week because, even in retirement, life can be busy. I schedule nothing on Thursday that I need to leave the house for. I protect the day. It’s mine.

On Wednesday I receive the latest lesson from the Be Still – Fifty Two class I’m taking from Kim Klassen. I usually give it a quick perusal when it arrives in my email on Wednesday afternoon and allow the inspiration to percolate overnight until Thursday. My day.

I’ve been thinking about a few writing projects I want to turn my attention to as well. A couple of situations I’ve found myself in recently sparked ideas. Thursdays are the perfect day to sequester myself away in my woman cave and write.

Gerry leaves the house early on Thursday morning for a men’s meeting. I wake to a sometimes-cool cup of coffee on my bedside table, smile, and settle in to read for a while. Other times, like today, I wake early and he personally delivers said cup of morning coffee to me in bed. Life is good.

This morning he handed me a second cup of coffee and kissed me goodbye. As I sat sipping and reading in bed I heard a few bangs and crashes coming from the direction of the foyer. I tried to ignore the activity in the kitchen and foyer as cupboard doors opened and closed, water was turned on, and hubby padded back and forth between kitchen and foyer. Finally I could stand it no longer.

“Gerry? What are you doing?” I called from the comfort of my bed where I tried to maintain the sense of serenity morning coffee in bed evokes.

He poked his head around the corner.

“You don’t want to know.”

Now maybe I’m alone in this but I don’t do well with not knowing what’s happening in my home. There was no way I could let this go. I probed until he told me he had banged into the side of the doorway and spilled the cup of coffee he was taking with him to men’s meeting.

“It’s just coffee. I’m almost finished wiping it all up.”

Alrighty.

Later, after I had showered, made the bed, and was thinking ahead to my plans for the day, I took a pile of dirty clothes to the laundry room and noticed that the floor was a bit sticky. I’ll have to wash that before I head down to my woman cave, I told myself. I noticed a few splashes of coffee on the door frame that I’d need to wipe up at the same time.

I put the laundry in the washer and grabbed a rag and spray bottle of vinegar, water, and lemon essential oil and began wiping down the door frame. And the closet door. And the wall. I crouched down on the floor and wiped up the sticky spots (Did I mention that Gerry uses sugar in his coffee? Sticky? Yes.)

Now the other thing about Thursday is that I wear my glasses at home. Translation: I see things I sometimes otherwise miss. So, as I wiped the coffee splatters from the floor and the baseboards I couldn’t help but notice that they needed cleaning in general. It seemed that the more I wiped the more I saw things I need to tend to.

I really need to wipe down all of the closet doors and door frames and all the base boards need dusting. I never did get the pantry cleaned out last week like I intended to. We were away for the weekend and this week has been busy I’m behind on almost everything.

But it’s Thursday. My day. Sigh.

I waffled for a few minutes. Should I just give in and spend the morning doing housework? I could get to that photography lesson this afternoon.

But it’s Thursday. (Cue the whiny voice.)

If you come to my house today don’t look too closely at my baseboards because I’ll tell you right now that they’re dusty and in need of cleaning. It’s entirely possible that there me be some rogue coffee splatters on the wall in the foyer too because I chose to stay the course and do Thursday the way I had planned: photography, writing, and other creative endeavors will be my focus on this Thursday. My day.

Housework? Well tomorrow’s another day.

Family Threads

This piece was original published by the Forget Me Not Family Society in the Winter 2015 edition of the Adoption Circles newsletter.

My husband gave me an antique stove for Christmas. It now sits in my office and every time I enter the room I‘m reminded of a time when life was perhaps less complicated, but certainly harsher, than the life I live today.

There are two heavy old irons on it—irons I rescued from my Grandma Sellsted‘s attic; irons she once used when she was raising three children by herself on the harsh Saskatchewan prairie during the years of the Great Depression. A stack of roughly sewn quilt blocks also sit on the stove—hand-stitched nine patch squares that I imagine her piecing as she sat in a chair by the drafty front window to get the last rays of winter light. I love that I can display the heavy old irons and quilt blocks with the stove. There is history there. My history.

I share no DNA with Grandma Sellsted but she is my family, my heritage, and a woman whose life inspires me to the extent that I‘ve been dabbling at writing a book about her life. Persnickety, unlovable to me as a child, a woman who chose not to record my birth in her family bible, but my grandma nonetheless. I share an unbreakable connection with her, the choices she made, the tears she shed, the joys she experienced, and the mother she was. Pieces of her were passed on to my mom who, in turn, passed them down to me.

Her daughter, my mom, was the woman who raised me, loved me, and instilled so much of herself within me. She died too young at age fifty-five, yet I can almost hear her whisper in my ear when I‘m basting a turkey, sewing a seam, or laughing with my daughter and granddaughter.

An invisible, yet unbreakable, thread connects us all together. We three are family.

There‘s a trunk tucked away in the back of our storage room that once belonged to a woman named Mary—the woman who gave birth to me. It contains ephemera of a life that is foreign to me—papers, letters, her wedding dress, and some of her handwork. The first time I opened the trunk and saw the pieces of embroidered cloth I closed my eyes and rested my hands on the fabric knowing her hands had touched the same place—trying to reach back in time and connect with the woman who gave me life, gave me away, and died before I could find my way back to her.

I have photographs of Mary‘s mother too, my grandmother, a woman I never met and who I feel little connection to. We share the same DNA but the stories of the lives of these women were not instilled in me like those of Grandma Sellsted and my mom. By the time I learned about my connection to these women it was too late; their stories died with them.

Yet there is an invisible—once very secret and shame-filled—thread connecting us together. We three are also family.

These women who came before me are my family; there is a piece of each one of them in me. The woman I am is, in part, who they were collectively. Through me, they live on, and the thread that comes down through the ages connects us all together—women who were not connected in life but who now are in death.

When I consider the concept of family it is the future that seems clearer to me. My daughter, my son, my granddaughter—these three who carry the same genes as mine—and my husband, step-children, and their children—those who do not share my DNA but who occupy precious places in my heart.

When I am in the company of my children and granddaughter and experience the wonder of being with other human beings who look like me, who share some of the same mannerisms and character traits, yet who are distinct human beings in their own right, I can‘t help but marvel at the genetic connection we share. Perhaps only those who were raised apart from their family of origin can appreciate the sense of the miraculous I experience when I look into the face of these dear ones and catch a glimpse of myself.

We are family. Shared experiences. Shared stories. Shared DNA.

As an adoptee I find the concept of family to be a complicated one. It goes beyond heritage, blood, or genes. Those I call family are a motley crew made up of children, step-children, grandchildren, a spouse and his extended family, and an assortment of half-siblings.

The way I see it, one of the great tragedies of closed adoption is the ruthless snapping of the thread that connects us with our mothers, sisters, grandmothers, aunts, great-grandmothers, and all of those we came from. The stories of those women who lived, gave birth, laughed, cried, and dreamed, are our stories and the severing of connection with our people impacts the generations that will come after us. We are all influenced by our ancestors and we must know the truth in order to be whole.

I feel a sense of urgency at times to speak and write these stories so the connecting thread will be reattached for my children, grandchildren, and their children—so that the severing that was done when I was adopted will be repaired for future generations.

I envision a red thread entwining around Grandma Sellsted and my mom, wrapping around Mary and her mother, connecting me to them and them to one another. The thread reaches into the past and two families with nothing in common, except me, are joined forever. It loops around my children and grandchildren and the legacy that I was denied becomes theirs.

We are all family. It complicated, messy, and tragic. It‘s joyous, grievous, and confusing. We are all different and yet we are all one: one family joined together by adoption.

 

Weekend Reading – February 19

It has been a busy week but I found a bit if time to play around with some darker images with my photography.

It seems that the warm spring-like weather that we’ve been enjoying was a temporary respite. The skies may be cloudy, the valley foggy, the temperature cooler, but I’ve still got garden fever.

I spent some time laying out the plan for this year’s garden using the Mother Earth News garden planner this week and took a trip to the local nursery to pick up a few packets of seeds for things I needed to add to my stash. Oh what a sense of promise the simple act of browsing through seed packets brings! In the next week or so I’ll get my tomato and pepper seeds started and before you know it I’ll be planting peas in the ground.

We’re looking forward to a grand weekend. I hope yours is equally as wonderful whatever your plans may be. Here are a few things I came across in cyberspace this week. I hope you find them as interesting as I did.

A webcam where you can watch baby hummingbirds grow.
A list of some professions that, while impacted by changing technology, likely won’t be going away any time soon.
Seven simple things you can do to help ease your mind when you get caught up in a cycle of worry.

Happy weekend!