Linda Hoye's Blog, page 187

Photo Friday

I can’t take credit for the photograph–hubby took it last weekend when we were in Prince George.

But I can take, at least some, credit for the subject since she’s my granddaughter and she carries has my genes! Isn’t she precious?!

 

Looking Ahead: Stories from the Heart

I’m getting ready to head off to Austin, Texas for Story Circle Network’s Stories from the Heart conference where the weather forecast is for the mid-high twenties Celsius (that’s high seventies-low eighties for my American readers). Needless to say I’m breaking out my Capri pants and making plans for a pedi!

This will be the third Stories from the Heart I’ve had the pleasure of attending (they’re held every two years) and I’ve met some incredible women through this group. I’ve been encouraged in my writing, taken a variety of classes, had my work published in the organization’s Journal, been honoured to give back by serving on the board, volunteered in various capacities, and started and currently coordinate the group’s One Woman’s Day blog.

The group inspired me to begin my own Story Circle in Washington state where I was blessed to get to know a great group of women and bear witness to the stories of their lives. I’m making plans to start a similar group here in Kamloops as well as an Older Women’s Legacy (OWL) Circle.  If you’ve an interest in telling the story of your life, no matter where you live (they have an internet chapter) or what you perceive your writing abilities to be, Story Circle Network is a great place to find encouragement and inspiration. Please feel welcome to drop me a note if you would like to learn more about the organization.

I’m pondering what direction to take in my writing life these days. I have some ideas, a couple of projects I’ve started dabbling in, but no clear sense of what to commit to. I’m optimistic that this time away when I can focus on my writing will help me find whatever it is I’m for that will allow me to get my teeth into a new project.

Meanwhile, spring has sprung here in Kamloops. The landscapers are power raking the back lawn (and it’s a tad disconcerting to see them there right outside of my ground-level office window as I’m typing this), my tomato seedlings are under the lights in our sunny library room and are doing well, I’ve spread fresh compost on my community garden plot and even planted some early peas.

Life is good.

Photo Friday

A quiet afternoon in April, my time my own to fill as I desire, I step outside on the deck, listen to the sweet sound of silence, breathe deeply, and drink in the view.

I first moved to Kamloops when I was eighteen-years-old and, except for the past seven years we spent in Washington state, this city has been my home.

I had no idea it was also home to birds like this. It’s funny what you see when you slow down enough to pay attention.

What a joy it is to have the gift of time to slow down and get to know our new neighbours. I am blessed.

Happy Hair Appointment

A stylist who “gets” your hair is priceless and I’ve been dreading the time when I needed to begin the search for a new one. Yesterday, I could procrastinate no longer and made and appointment with one of the senior stylists at the salon I used to go to here in Kamloops.

Technically it’s not really the same salon given that the name has changed, it’s under new ownership, and there are a whole new batch of stylists working there, but still there was something comforting about taking my chances at the same location I went to seven years ago.

This morning I left home early to run a few errands before my appointment at the salon formerly known as The Cutting Lounge that now bears the name of Ra. I’ve learned the hard way that I usually need to come straight home after my hair appointments to restyle my hair in a way that’s more suitable to me so needed to get a few things out of the way first.

I liked the stylist assigned to me right away. We began with a consultation about the style I was looking for (nothing radical, just a trim) and I warned her about the persnickety nature of my tresses and the double crowns that have been the bane of stylists far and wide. I imagine it must be difficult starting with a new client, especially one with stubborn hair, but she seemed up for the challenge.

She’s a relative newcomer to the city and we chatted easily about some of the great things about living here while she combed and snipped, asking questions now and then about my preferences. I liked what I was seeing and was optimistic about the final outcome when she worked product through my freshly shorn hair and and pulled out her blow dryer. This is the point when things often begin to go south.

It was different this time though. Oh the quiet joy I felt as I watched her work. She got it! She was making my hair behave the way we both knew it could if handled correctly. I needn’t have done my errands pre-appointment after all. I could easily have gone shopping and run errands all afternoon with my post-appointment hair.

I tipped her nicely and made a follow-up appointment; I’ve found my new stylist. I was so enamoured by her work that I was even inspired to snap a selfie to illustrate this post!

Now if only finding a family doctor would prove to be this easy. But that’s a story for another day.

A Disturbing Trend

I don’t remember how old I was the first time someone in a store called me ma’am. I do know that I was young enough to be horrified as I didn’t feel anywhere near old enough to be deserving of that moniker. Funny, isn’t it, how we can’t wait to get older and then at some point it happens and we long for our youth?

A few years I noticed that young store clerks began calling me by my first name as in: “Thank you very much, Linda” and “Have a good day, Linda”. I didn’t know these people; we weren’t friends or even acquaintances. They’d just look at my store reward card that had my name (my full name) on it and call me by my first name.

I bristled at the familiarity. My parents had taught me that the way to address people older than me was Mr. or Mrs. My last name was printed on the card so they could have chosen a different, more respectful, salutation. I left the grocery store with a bit of a chip on my curmudgeonly shoulder every time.

A year or so ago I picked up my coffee at a Starbucks drive-through and the barista chirped: “Here you go, hon.”

Hon? Really?

When the young woman said the same thing the next time I got coffee I thought perhaps she had a form of Tourette syndrome so I gave her the benefit of the doubt. (I had a hairdresser many years ago who addressed everyone, myself included, as dear. She told me that she had been told by a doctor that it was a manifestation of a form of Tourette syndrome.) I could excuse that.

But recently it’s gotten worse. Much worse.

Store clerks have started calling me sweetie and dear.

Kids. (Is it just me, or does anyone else find that store clerks have gotten much younger in recent years?) Calling me sweetie. With a straight face.

I find myself checking my reflection in mirrors when I walk past. Am I wearing a worn black overcoat? Am I bent over? Is my hair blue? Am I wearing black, sensible shoes?

Okay, some of these thing might be true on any given day but still, I’m only fifty-five. I don’t feel old (most of the time) so why are these young whippersnappers talking to me like I’m an old lady?

I don’t get it.

I don’t like it.

Why can’t they just call me ma’am?

The Unfamiliar Becoming Familiar Again

It’s been a banner day today.

After three trips to the insurance broker I finally have BC insurance and plates on my car. Cha-ching! (We insured two vehicles in Washington for the cost of one vehicle here in BC, but that’s a story for another day.)

It only took two trips to Service BC to get my BC driver’s license. Cha-ching!

Gerry and I now have BC cell phones. Cha-ching! (But it turned out that they weren’t as pricey as I had feared AND we got two free tablets as part of the deal!) This was an interesting transaction as, in conversation with the most-helpful salesman, we learned he had gone to elementary school with one of our sons and we know his grandparents. Gotta love coming back home again.

I enjoyed a coffee visit with a friend this morning at a new place I hadn’t been before. It’s such a treat to catch up with friends again.

I’m getting used to the pay parking meters and learned today that you’re actually not paying for a parking space but for the time so you can move your vehicle if you’re going to more than one place downtown. Nice feature.

Starting to remember to take a quarter or a loonie with me when I go to the grocery store so I can get a grocery cart. Had totally forgotten about this when we got back to Canada.

It’s a sunny first day of spring today. Life is good.

I’m off to get our new phones set up now. Two brand new devices to configure (four if you count the free tablets). It’s a dream come true for a techie like me.

Beautiful Sunday

We woke early this morning as we usually do; some habits from our pre-retirement life remain. I’ve been an early-riser for much of my life and don’t expect that to change. The sun wasn’t even up as I rolled over toward the big picture window in our bedroom and looked out at the view that has captivated us since we moved in. Fog, winding its way through the valley like a leviathan, made for an interesting first glance at the day.

Gerry took Maya out for her morning constitutional and returned to the bedroom with two cups of coffee. A lazy Sunday morning, fresh coffee, a good book, a pretty nice way to ease into the day I’d say. Just as the sun was rising I grabbed my smart phone and went to the window to snap this photograph of the foggy serpent snaking it’s way toward the city.

It’s mid-afternoon as I write this. We spent a good morning in church, followed by a trip to Art Knapp’s Garden Centre where I enjoyed a pleasant half hour or so browsing, dreaming, and selecting seeds while Gerry sauntered over to the building supply place to look around.

I’ve secured a plot in one of the city’s community gardens and that was our next stop so I could measure the dimensions of my plot. It’s time to begin planning what to do with the seeds I saved from last year’s garden in Washington as well as the new batch that came home with us today. I’m so excited to start digging in the dirt and I can already envision how beautiful that community garden will look in a few months time.

Finally home, we enjoyed a light lunch and Gerry headed outside to wash the cars (I had forgotten how dirty everything looks at this time of year as it snows and then turns slushy before spring finally lays claim to the land). I pulled out all of the organic veggies I purchased at the green grocer a few days ago and spent a meditative time chopping and reflecting on how happy and content I was feeling and how blessed we are to be home.

I just came down to my office to place an order for a fresh batch of red wigglers so I can get my worm hotel going again–it breaks my heart to have to throw vegetable scraps in the garbage instead of composting them–when I decided to post a quick update here.

It’s turning out to be a beautiful Sunday afternoon, indeed. And that “Sunday evening feeling” I experienced so often over the past twenty-five years? I almost forget what it even felt like.

Time Warp or Call Me Marty McFly

We’ve officially been Canadian residents again now for a little over a week. We’re relatively settled in our new home and we’ve had occasion to connect with a few old friends. For whatever reason, I’ve slept better in the past week than I have for months–maybe years.

We’ve settled in Kamloops, British Columbia–the city we called home for thirty years before we moved to Washington State seven years ago–for our retirement. It feels like a homecoming yet still a bit surreal. It’s almost like waking up from a seven-year-nap or time traveling like Marty McFly in the Back to the Future movies.

This afternoon I ventured out on familiar roads to do a bit of shopping. At the mall, some of the big box stores I shopped in for many years look slightly different than they did seven years ago as departments have changed location and renovations have changed the footprint of the store. There are some new arrivals too; I was delighted to find a Bath & Body Works.  Guess there was no need to stock up on my favourite lotions before we left the US after all!

It seemed odd to see people walking through the mall with their faces turned down toward their smartphones. When we left seven years ago I felt pretty cool because I had a brand new flip phone; I don’t think that smartphones as we know them today even existed back then. (I did a bit of research and discovered that the first iPhone was introduced in 2007 and the first phone to use the Android OS came along the following year.)

I made a small purchase in one store and was confused when the clerk said I could use the checkout device to either swipe my debit card, insert the chip end, or tap it to use Paypass. I learned about the chip technology a couple of years ago when we were visiting Canada but Paypass was new to me. Turns out that with the right card you need only tap it on the device to pay for your purchase.

I went to the grocery store next–the same store I used to shop at before we moved. The cool thing about Safeway (Costco, Home Depot, and Lowes too for that matter) is that no matter where you are–in US or Canada–all of the stores look pretty much the same. Seven years ago when I was overwhelmed with all of the change I used to take comfort in going to Safeway to shop because it felt a little bit like being at home.

Today, I recognized the faces of a handful of people in the store and was momentarily startled to see how much they’ve changed. I had to remind myself that I’ve changed, and aged, in the past seven years too.

Since our arrival we’ve started collecting various reward cards from local businesses too. It seems like everyone has a reward card of some sort these days. The landscape in my wallet is changing as my Fred Meyer card is replaced with the Save On More card, and my US debit and credit cards are migrating to the back to make room for my Canadian cards.

As I was driving home I tuned my car radio to the local station and the announcer was talking about Twitter, Facebook, and You-Tube. These are  all commonplace social networking places in 2014 but were just in their infancy when we left–YouTube – 2005, Facebook – 2004, Twitter – 2006–and I felt my world shift slightly again.

Much in the world has changed in the past seven years since we left but one thing remains the same: this place is home.

And it’s so good to be here.

Washing Dishes

I spent this morning unpacking, washing, and putting away my mother’s American Beauty china. It was a meditative time as I stood at the kitchen sink gently washing, rinsing, and drying each dish. Remembering.

Mom kept her treasured china in a cabinet and brought it out only for special occasions like birthdays, Thanksgiving, and Christmas or when friends came to visit and she served tiny triangular-shaped egg salad sandwiches, homemade cookies and squares, and Red Rose Orange Pekoe tea.

When our family moved from Saskatchewan to a brand new house in British Columbia she bought a special corner cabinet to store her dishes in. For a time, after her unexpected death at age fifty-five, that cabinet had a place of honour in my home, as did her beautiful American Beauty china that I arranged exactly the same way she had.

For years, I set my Christmas table with those dishes and, when the meal was over and everyone was full of turkey and dressing, I shooed them from the kitchen so I could wash and dry the dishes myself. I trusted no one to take the same special care of the dishes as I did. If any piece got broken, I said, I’d rather break it myself than have someone else do it.

In time I found myself moving into a new home and with the means to buy a new china cabinet of my own. I was pleased to give the American Beauty china a place of prominence in my larger cabinet and continued to bring it out for Christmas dinner every year.

In recent years the treasured dishes have languished in the cabinet though, relegated to the role of being decoration only. Occasionally, thought not nearly often enough, I’ve lifted the pieces gingerly from the cabinet to wash them but, for the most part, they’ve rested on the shelves, observing as live moved on.

I wonder, now and then, what will ultimately happen to the china. As we prepared for our recent move I even considered leaving the carefully-packed china in boxes and storing them downstairs when we got here. China like this is generally not as popular with people as it once was–certainly, my children aren’t interested in having it.

This morning as I washed, rinsed, and dried the dishes I pictured the Christmas table of my childhood: bowls filled with fluffy whipped potatoes, yellow mashed turnip, overcooked green peas dotted with butter and salt and pepper. I imagined the gravy boat filled with perfect turkey gravy with not a lump to be found. I remembered the sterling silver cutlery we used at Christmas–shining and freshly polished for the occasion.

I recalled homemade peanut butter cookies, matrimonial squares, and whipped shortbread cookies. I could almost taste warm Christmas plum pudding in dishes drizzled with brown sugar sauce, and feel the agony in my belly as I swallowed just one more bite, full though I still was from Christmas dinner.

For a time, as the sun shone though the kitchen window and my hands washed the dishes she had once treasured it was as if my mom was with me. I imagined her laughter, I almost heard her whisper in my year. On the mover’s inventory the dishes were listed as “high value items” because of their monetary value but “high value” doesn’t begin to describe how feel about them. pepper shaker is priceless to me.

This afternoon, I’m pondering tea parties with my granddaughters–tiny sandwiches and herbal tea served on American Beauty china. Making memories. Perhaps, the appreciation for fine china will skip a generation and one day they’ll stand at their own kitchen sink washing, rinsing, and drying the dishes with the same reverence I felt this morning.

Last Friday

Fist bump. It’s our last Friday.

I kiss Gerry goodbye and head out into the unexpectedly snowy morning on my way to work for the final Friday I’ll spend in the office. Next week will be a short one bracketed with a retirement lunch for Gerry on Monday and a retirement celebration for me on Thursday. On Friday the movers will load the moving truck and we’ll begin our next chapter.

The past twelve months have been a time of lasts in my mind. A year ago I was planning my last garden in this place, we enjoyed our last summer on our patio, I cooked my last turkey in this house. More recently we’ve been taking note of the last time the housekeeper will come and planning for the last time we have to make dog food before we head out.

I’ve marked the days by what’s to come: one hundred days until we retire, one more month until we’re home, two weeks and the movers will be here packing. Today: one week until the movers are here to load the truck.

Anticipation. Looking ahead. That’s been the underlying theme over the past year as we’ve made plans and crossed things off of our list and prepared to step into the next phase of our lives. The planner in me has found comfort in marking these milestones, checking them off the list, and seeing progress being made.

But as we prepare to cross over the threshold into the transition I’m looking forward to not looking forward. It’s time to focus more on enjoying and appreciating every moment in this life God has blessed me with.

Since my birthday a couple of weeks ago I’m acutely aware that I’m now the same age my mom was when she died suddenly and that’s an odd feeling. None of us can know the exact number of hours we have been given for this life, and I know I’ve spent too long racing through every day and letting precious and simple moments that will never come again slip by.

Author Shirley Showalter shared her personal goal with readers recently and it struck a strong chord with me. Her life’s mission is to “prepare for the hour of my death by living one good day at a time and to help others do the same.”

In these past couple of weeks as things on my list have been crossed off, as we’ve seen our plans come together, as I’ve started to relax, I’ve sensed a slowing down within me, a desire to “live one good day at a time”.

In a little over a week when we move into our new home I’m sure there will be moments of “our first (fill in the blank) in our new home” but my fervent desire is that I learn to slow down and more fully appreciate every simple moment I’ve been gifted to have in this life.