Will We Stay or Go?

I wonder how I will know, when it is time to sell our home and move to another place, someplace smaller, easier to maintain.

Will it depend upon my health, my energy, my finances, my desire to spend time doing things other than house chores and upkeep? Will it depend upon how many other demands there are for my time, my attention, and upon who else needs help in my family?

I am unsure.

Even though I, that is, we are unsure, we have begun to plan and to discuss the possibilities. We have started to weigh pros and cons of home ownership. To look at what selling means, what it takes away.

We do not consider ourselves elderly, but we are aging. One or the other of us has faced health challenges in the past five years: emergency surgery, long term illness, cancer, mobility problems … problems serious enough to make us stop and take a hard look at our living situation.

We have checked the costs of staying here against the costs of renting or buying a much smaller home. With home ownership, we build equity, but that is leveraged against the dollars needed for ongoing maintenance and keeping the house in good repair.

We know we don’t want to deal with the petty politics of condo associations, or of living in a neighbour's armpit that condos require, so that is an option we won’t consider.

We’ve looked at hiring some help with our enormous yard and its upkeep. We’ve talked about the real estate market; it is not conducive to selling and doing well with a house sale right now. Will that market turn around soon? Can we wait?

How much does it cost to stay put? We’ve had to put on a new roof, a necessity.  It had to be done whether we stay or we go.

These questions feel like they contain nothing but words about loss. And there will be losses: letting go of belongings, notions of what a home should be, letting go of relationships with people, with pets. Some losses will be difficult.

We do love where we live, and enjoy the privacy our big yard and mature trees provide. We like our neighbourhood, appreciate the variety of ages and lifestyles around us. We are attached to our home by emotion and memories and dreams.

But, life and reality are all about change. There will always be changes, and yes, some bring a deep sense of loss but there will also be a sense of something new coming, perhaps something better, easier. A pleasant surprise?

For now, the conversation about how and when we will know it is time to let go continues.

I’ll keep you posted.

Spring and Yellow and Poetry

It’s been a long time; a long time since I’ve written any words in my blog. 

Time has passed, full of worry about my mother and weariness from her care.  Time passed regardless of whether I wrote or whether she grew worse or well.  The months rolled on; time and circumstance changed both our lives.

Mum deals with her new fragility.   She struggles for strength, relishing every day and every accomplishment, pushing her energy forward to healing.   Back in her own home, she manages with help from family and a hired caregiver, a good friend.  She learns to cope with the changes in her body.

I am recovering my own energy and relishing the seasonal changes, the bright places in each day.   My focus on writing, particularly poetry, has returned, and though rusty, is responding to re-writes, polish and hard work.
 

The grey and brown days of spring give way to splotches of fresh green, flashes of colour—the goldfinches at the feeders, the dime-sized yellow crocus, the larger purple ones, the hint of red and gold on a blackbird’s wing. 

I welcome these signs of colour, renewed vigor and fresh life.    It’s been a challenging winter.  I am grateful for the lessons of love and the wisdom hard won, as I move into a transformed thankfulness for each new day.

Spring and yellow and poetry and purple fill the sweet breezes.  I am ready.

Photo and words are ©copyright 2009-2014 Carol Steel

On the Right Track

 

 

On the Right Track

 

Writing is hard, harder than usual.

 

Most of the time, my mind composes lines of poetry and creates fragments of stories no matter what else is happening around me.  I carry a small notepad and a pencil everywhere I go, to capture thoughts, observations, conversations and phrases.  At home, notebooks and pens lie scattered, ready for words.  Most of the time, my mind flows with writing.

But writing is harder than usual because I’ve been ill, had surgery, radiation and an accompanying depression.  These new and nasty experiences are behind me now.  Yet they remain close enough to influence how well my mind works.

This “how well” part isn’t working so well.  I loathe feeling so slow and so stupid, like swimming blind through a river of slush.  My clarity is improving but at the pace of an icicle melting in winter.  I attempt to write each day; the output comes in drips.

To journey through recovery is to wander in a fog of weariness where thoughts and images flicker at a distance, indistinct and muffled.  I reach for them and they retreat.  I can’t bring them to the page.  Some days the fog smothers my way and I am lost.  I can’t write a thing.

I’m told this is normal.  Gosh!  It's not comforting.  I’m finished my treatments, done with the meds and I want to be well.   What my mind wants doesn’t matter; what my body wants does.

I am weary.  I rest.  I sleep.  I am awake and energetic in short bursts, then I am weary again.  Am I improving?  Yes.  Are there longer periods of energy?  Yes.  Will I return to myself?  Yes…eventually.  I am on the right track.

I am grateful for early diagnosis, for medical care, for survival.  I am thankful for moments when mind-fuddle clears, when I can write, when I glimpse feeling at home within myself.

But, I’ll be delighted as a four-year old in new rubber boots on the first puddle-filled day of spring when my mind sheds this fog and this weariness.

Until I can embrace my writing with all of myself, with every bit of myself...until then, I am on the right track...frustration on one side and patience on the other.

 

Words and photo are copyright © Carol Steel.

 

Changing Seasons

The changing seasons burst with drama in New Brunswick.  One week ago, the leaves were red, orange, yellow, and still on the trees everywhere I looked.  Now half the leaves lie on the ground, edges curling, turning brown and rust; the fragrance of damp earth and leaf compost in the autumn air.

Often autumn means time to mulch the leaves, to mow for the last time, to trim the garden’s dying tops, to bring in the lawn furniture, put away the lawn swing, cover the less hardy roses and wrap the magnolia.  Autumn means completing chores and preparing for winter.

But these last days of fall are full of gifts, not just work.  A sheltered outside corner and one remaining chair make a peaceful break for coffee and time to read, as I sit warmed by the sun. 

The last of October and early November paint a different colour palette, in shades of grey; the stones and rock wall show again, tree trunks come out of hiding.  Stark tree branches display silhouettes of black arches against a blue sky.  Spruce and fir and pine show off myriad tones of green and the larch dances gold in the damper areas.  The rich smell of the earth, the gently decomposing plants, the soon-to-be-resting shrubs all fan a faint musk to the breeze.

The sound of birds is different now from summer bird sound.  The “chick-a-dee-dee-dee” of Black-capped Chickadees, the buzzing rising “zzreeee” of Pine Siskins, the “jay-jay-jay” of Blue Jays and the raspy “ka-squawk” of Ring-Neck Pheasants predominate.  Red squirrels scratch over the pavement and crunch through the dry leaves as they seek and hide their treasures.

 

 

 

Small children walk by our house on their way to the playground or to school. Sometimes I listen to the bubbling voices calling out in astonishment. “Look at this red leaf. Oh, look at this dark orange one. I can use this piece of rock to chalk on the road. Hey, look, a worm. A ladybug. A pheasant. A feather.”   Every small thing is a source of wonder for them. Every puddle is a realm of delight.

How much of the changing seasons do we miss? How many delights do we pass by on our way to complete the chores? How many wonders are right in front of us? How much over-the-top beauty goes unnoticed?

Stop a moment, breathe, see and hear, fill your heart. Don’t miss the show.

The changing seasons burst with drama. 

 

Photos and words are copyright Carol Steel. 

 

 

 



 

 



Today is a Gift

The heat of the sun, like a warm compress, soothes my skin.  Leaves, crisp, dry and turning brown, rustle a meditation.   Random thoughts follow the sound and ripple out on the breeze.  Cars whoosh, whispering by, far away on the road below.  A neighbour is building, hammering on her deck, getting ready for winter. 

A red squirrel climbs the wrought iron pole to the bird feeders, finds nothing appealing and falls off.  Or leaps to search for fallen rowan berries and the last of the grapes hidden beneath the vine's yellowing leaves.

Last night's rain and the sunlight wink and glisten on the leaves of the wisteria vine, the elm hedge and the sugar maple.  The light plays, creates patterns of shade.  Shadow copies of the leaves dance on the grass, deep greys on green.

Hosta leaves, touched with frost, droop now, brown tinged, wilting into the earth, turning themselves into compost for their winter's rest.  The air is cool, smells crisp and fresh, smells like fall.

The sunlight slants through the dark green, waxy leaves of the saucer magnolia, makes it look different; it becomes a glowing, unreal, lime colour.  The magnolia has had a good summer, has recovered from its breakage.  Tender care and the duct-taped splint are a success.

Autumn changes, touches everything.  Each shrub and tree, every vine and berry turns from one form of itself into another; transitions from one stage of its life cycle into another.

Me, too; I am changing, transitioning.  I await the next change in my life, this new transition into another form of myself.

I hope to pass through this cycle of health challenges, perhaps a little browned at the edges, perhaps dry and rattly for a time.  Like the magnolia, I hope to have a good season.  I anticipate my physical self will look different, maybe it will sometimes seem unreal.  But, I hope with tender care, I too will survive and become stronger.

May it be so.

Words and photo are copyright Carol Steel.