tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20337932040686380712024-02-22T10:57:26.036-08:00Boomers Pot of GoldThe Pot of Gold at the end of your rainbow is filled with your story - giggles, tears, hugs, fears, love, anger, joy, hope - make it full of colour and life. It is what you will leave behind.Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.comBlogger77125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-62438366161408294742019-03-20T12:31:00.001-07:002019-03-20T12:31:27.254-07:00Spiritual Reality: An Oxymoron?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YFKqRnGpb5M/VF7Cylyg_HI/AAAAAAAABAs/iui0bZotQBgs_4SnvKdPvp94aT8loHHkACPcBGAYYCw/s1600/20141104_141033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="113" data-original-width="212" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YFKqRnGpb5M/VF7Cylyg_HI/AAAAAAAABAs/iui0bZotQBgs_4SnvKdPvp94aT8loHHkACPcBGAYYCw/s1600/20141104_141033.jpg" /></a>We all do it sometimes: question our spiritual beliefs. We consider whether they are real or imagined; a crutch or a shoulder to lean on or a pair of hands to lift us up. I did a major confrontation of my spiritual beliefs almost a decade ago. I challenged the source. Did I believe because I was weak and someone told me I could be strong? Or promised me I did not have to walk alone - ever? Was I caught up in a system that perpetuated my neediness? Had I found a new way of life or just a temporary home of acceptance - a tribe that said they loved me - until they didn't.<br />
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As a young woman struggling with motherhood and old demons, I was initially overwhelmed by people who hugged me and told me they cared. Words - my love language - surrounded my initial foray into fundamental Christianity. Messages of unearned love and acceptance filled me with emotions I didn't have the ability to identify. Hope seeped into my heart. Comfort enveloped me at last.<br />
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The acceptance and outward demonstrations of love were amazing until they weren't. Acceptance was not based on my love-ability; but, it did have strings attached. Follow us; live like us; talk like us; dress like us, and, maybe we will invite you into our lives. As a new believer, the reapers of souls supported and encouraged and smiled and included. And then, they didn't.<br />
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I felt I was ripped from the fold when I faced the imminent end of my marriage. When the hidden infidelity of one strangled the relationship of two and the crumbling of marriage vows became public knowledge, I faltered. I blamed. I cried. I fought. I fled. I failed. When the flight from one community into the unknown left me stranded between cliques, I stumbled. Then, I became a divorcee and I no longer openly lived like them; talked like them; dressed like them; and, maybe I wasn't like them at all. I felt alone.<br />
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I am sure there was a lot of the image of divorce in my head that really grew from my own sense of failure and shortcomings. And, I did find solace in true friendships and the genuine outreach of love by people who tried to help, but my bubble was burst, my ability to trust was wounded and I no longer felt the acceptance I envisioned would encompass me no matter what. Perhaps it was unrealistic to expect invitations for dinner or barbecue parties when I was a single with four children. The words remained and yet, I felt that the doors of homes closed. I struggled to find my solid ground, threw myself into self help books and did find comfort in the words. I forgave. I accepted my part in all that had happened. And yet, I did not feel like I belonged.<br />
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I remained connected. I moved from church family to church family pushing to find a place to settle that would meet the needs of my family and myself. Not physical needs. Social needs of acceptance and purpose. I looked outward instead of inward; and then I would look inward instead of outward. It was a battle. I made big mistakes; suffered from my own foolishness and desperation; and, sadly, compromised my base values trying to find acceptance in a foreign land. Had I ever truly belonged? I immersed myself in a church community, accepting responsibility for my own alienation, forcing myself to be willing to serve and connect. I failed - again.<br />
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Years have gifted me with hind sight and forgiveness and a reality check of my own actions and responsibility. I needed a concrete, identifiable foundation. I faced down my belief system and challenged it from my own mountain of contemplation. Did I believe because I was weak and needy and lonely? That would mean that my belief was based on pretty shaky ground and was heading for an end. The big questions came and went. Enlightenment did not march in like the hero that I wanted. I slowly addressed my spiritual self. There was no epiphany of great magnitude. Only this. <i>I must live authentically. </i>My values had to stay intact. My beliefs could change. My actions would follow. And none of this was based on someone else's actions. It was between me and God.<br />
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I no longer followed the same path of traditional choices. I chose to separate myself from all the legalistic rules of the Christian church and then slowly re-build around what I believed - where I would place my faith - and what I would strip away.<br />
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I believe there is a power greater than me. I call this power God.<br />
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I believe I have a spiritual component inside of me that is the essence of who I am. It is that which seeks for joy, peace, love and life. It is not done in isolation but neither is it accomplished in a building of worship. It is me and a love that is personified by God. God is love - most religions teach it, describe it, and struggle to live it. It is when I try to control it and contain it and selfishly refuse to share it that I fall into darkness - a void of one.<br />
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So, as a person facing the end of my life in a few decades or even less, I continue to seek and find. I accept the promise of eternal life but cannot define that for you. As of now, I anticipate I will live forever even if it is as a spark of energy carried in the hearts of my loved ones. I cannot prescribe for you what that might be. I feel anticipation when I envision heaven's door opening wide to welcome me or that spark of energy home but my hope is that, heavenly home or not, I will be carried forward within the lives who continue after I am gone - my family and friends who loved me.<br />
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So I come to my question. Is spiritual reality an oxymoron? Can you or I describe it as it really is or is that, because of the very nature of spiritual, impossible? We look for proof, we expound on history, but for each fact I believe there is fiction that clouds. So, I accept my spiritual beliefs by faith, test them without trepidation, practice them how I am lead; and then, I stay true to the basis of the one spiritual epiphany I have fully embraced: ".....but, the greatest of these is love."</div>
Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-36385096551092298992019-03-17T17:30:00.001-07:002019-03-17T17:30:34.567-07:00The Invisible Poor - seeking a roof over their heads.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhcSXKcnIaGpcoE9pigvpFD4GyFg0hqkjTdjjPgyZDHTjifBUeUvJB-YwyrrLZQjxhys5DvzDIRFgyZOKRHDhXXG0x54wSTHso1kflHpzyddlu_ERuP_g11qNB-bPeh-09yxAc4KRzDSs/s1600/stampede+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhcSXKcnIaGpcoE9pigvpFD4GyFg0hqkjTdjjPgyZDHTjifBUeUvJB-YwyrrLZQjxhys5DvzDIRFgyZOKRHDhXXG0x54wSTHso1kflHpzyddlu_ERuP_g11qNB-bPeh-09yxAc4KRzDSs/s320/stampede+004.JPG" width="320" /></a>The headlines say a lot about where we are at as a country, province or city. Sure, crime, fire, infrastructure problems and even park land all vie for priority on social or paper media alike. What is not often on the front page but filling up the opinion columns of small and large media formats: <a href="https://www.huffingtonpost.ca/2018/04/10/affordable-housing-crisis-canada_a_23407878/" target="_blank">the affordable housing crisis</a>.<br />
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Think about it. Beyond the poverty and homelessness that has plagued our cities over the decades, the Baby Boomers have finally retired and not all of them are living off of million dollar investments while complaining bitterly about the taxes they are paying on their RRSP withdrawal's this year. The reality is that more and more of my peers are struggling to keep a roof over their heads as well as food on their table and electricity surging through the wiring. They don't jump out as poor in the eyes of the world. I don't personally know even one who is homeless right now and living on the street - even though there are many. But, I do know many seniors who worry about it every day.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCrtTo04qGc8e23zOH0tDz0hvUdGwFro7xBSrJtkmWIix-iMBqVFrhhupw2Lj4eGHoifEy4nvScQGkpORTwJE_QtxH0JopJWQMDjY2yiphvTkD8ap83Anflza1Nes_92JTx1_ggQ1D0Vo/s1600/2012-07-01+17.07.50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCrtTo04qGc8e23zOH0tDz0hvUdGwFro7xBSrJtkmWIix-iMBqVFrhhupw2Lj4eGHoifEy4nvScQGkpORTwJE_QtxH0JopJWQMDjY2yiphvTkD8ap83Anflza1Nes_92JTx1_ggQ1D0Vo/s200/2012-07-01+17.07.50.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
At the other end of the age spectrum, the newly graduating young adult faces a different world than his or her parents when it comes to <a href="https://www.huffingtonpost.ca/2019/03/17/housing-affordability-poll-canada_a_23694281/" target="_blank">housing affordability</a> for those just starting out.. Jobs are disappearing at road-runner speed levels. These young people - our grandchildren - are facing the same problems as many Baby Boomers only much earlier in their lives. Rents are high and job availability and pay are low. Living at home is a short term solution for fewer as many are forced to chase across the country to land a job. They are quickly morphing into that fringe of invisible poor - not begging on the street corner or sleeping in the alley - yet.<br />
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Hunting for affordable housing is a full time job filled with frustration and stress for all ages. For couples with combined fixed pension incomes hovering near $24,000.00 per year, paying $1200.00 to $1500.00 per month rent and still buying groceries is becoming a bit of a crap shoot. Hardworking people who raised their kids, pursued a career (even though it was considered new-fangled living in the 1960's & 70's when women actually did pursue careers), lived a careful, productive life but never with investments that amounted to millions when they truly became too exhausted or frail to keep working. These invisible poor are hovering on the edge of becoming the visible couch surfers and homeless quickly needing affordable housing.<br />
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So, what is the solution. At the government level, personal choices, charitable support? How do we plan for the roof caving in? I have seen so much talk about experimental housing solutions and celebrate each and every discovery on Facebook. Whether governments get involved or seniors take it into their own hands, every outside-the-box solution is a consideration. Recently there was a post about the re-vitalization of an old mall facing extinction as a robust retail outlet. I love this idea of re-purposing existing structures to incorporate affordable housing. Not luxury loft condos or penthouses - but tiny affordable spaces for the working poor or the retired low income citizens of our communities. A recent one is the <a href="https://mymodernmet.com/arcade-providence-revival?fbclid=IwAR1oMUu7mYErqMBHo9SN6VWOgcJ2cqouKVYFm1MSlMkl3LerjjsND059ReU" target="_blank">Arcade Providence Mall </a>in Rhode Island (no mention of government subsidization). But think about the sprawling Walmarts and empty suburban malls accumulating in cities across Canada. Bricks-and-mortar shopping malls facing extinction in good residential areas begging to be re-purposed and re-vitalized into new neighbourhoods of affordable housing. The aging population would embrace mall living - all of that flat, walking territory would be so amazing. Young people would love the social aspect of life under one roof.<br />
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So the questions:<br />
Would you consider renting or even purchasing a small condo in a refurbished mall? Would a mixture of rentals and owned units turn you off as a poor investment? or would you love to be able to live in a community of multi-socioeconomic diversity where the local cafe, park and mega-lounge were within a short stroll in your own building?<br />
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Your comments, as always are welcome!!</div>
Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-19867964889781177952019-03-15T11:36:00.002-07:002019-03-15T11:36:46.150-07:00What will be my legacy?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc2Fre2EyWkjpoeYdEzoXDiRIZXHozf48G7Wskzq6VpJDCHXyS8v_rkyWm1sKXATJGH9srYJ9rloPG1AUfMFQ1ZtcVcq6C7D-Qpwp13QFDQvqhSfYuLIeP6FMzWsN5Ud2lCeXonvUpTgw/s1600/Eileen+Relaxes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="896" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc2Fre2EyWkjpoeYdEzoXDiRIZXHozf48G7Wskzq6VpJDCHXyS8v_rkyWm1sKXATJGH9srYJ9rloPG1AUfMFQ1ZtcVcq6C7D-Qpwp13QFDQvqhSfYuLIeP6FMzWsN5Ud2lCeXonvUpTgw/s320/Eileen+Relaxes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Facebook is glutted with reports of amazing seniors riding for the support of research for the latest disease, building homes for the homeless, spending hours at the local school or hospital reading to children and so many other outstanding gifts of their time and energy to society. You don't go a day on Facebook without hearing about someone who published their first book or painted their first painting at 80 or 90 years of age. It is all commendable and exciting and .... a high bar to meet. <br />
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I read an obituary in the local paper recently of a man my age who had been full of life and love and a memorable sense of humour.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> In the end, his "</span><span style="color: #0a0a0a;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">earthsuit was cremated in
his standard garb of a t-shirt, shorts and flip flops accompanied by a picture
of his sweetheart, a burger and onion rings, an assortment of licorice, some
heartfelt reading material and a butter tart." I had to raise my arm and say "Yes!" and then the air whooshed out of me. Love and a </span></span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;">sense</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> of humour are an amazing legacy - but what will mine look like?</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-size: 11pt;">I have given some thought to what my legacy might be. What of myself will I leave behind when I exit this earthly body? I smile as I think about who I would ask. I believe my kids </span><span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-size: 14.6667px;">or my grandchildren </span><span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-size: 11pt;">would say something different than my friends? And which friends? My childhood friends saw a different person than my adult friends see today - or did they? And who really is going to embrace a legacy of an ordinary woman living an ordinary life in an average ordinary place? Does it have to be spectacular or is ordinary where most of us tread on this life walk?</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt;">It occurred to me that positive legacies are the hope of those facing death on the not-too-distant horizon; mediocre or sad or empty legacies are the fear. My generation, now facing their seventies, no longer look at an untimely death filled with trepidation.We are closer to accepting the inevitable (timely?) and can talk and joke about it without the tears and fears we experienced when looking forward to our future of finding love or a career or both and raising families or connecting with others and living a purposeful life - a life that stretched out in decades. It is not, however, only the elderly who consider this question. I remember hearing the testimony of a close friend and her dying daughter and even at the young age of forty, her daughter's fear was: Will I be remembered? It is a significant question. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt;">Some of us believe in an after life and living forever; some of us don't. I choose to believe that I will live forever even if it is as a vibrating chunk of energy that my "earthsuit" releases at death. It will be contained in the hearts of those who knew me and loved me and invited me in. The rest will be unwittingly connected through the heirs of my heart-estate: my family and close friends. So, in my opinion, the world is stuck with me forever!! </span><br />
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<span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt;">This blog has raised more questions than answers really. My answers are ever changing and could teeter between me collapsing in a maudlin pool of emotional tears on the floor or rushing out the door to publish the book I never finished! </span><br />
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<span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt;">And, now, the big question after a period of introspection: Can you assess your life and change your legacy when you are 70? or 80? Is it even worth a thought? </span><span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt;">And would you change it if you could? (well, that was more than one BIG question!)</span><br />
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<span style="color: #0a0a0a; font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt;">I would love to hear from you!! </span></div>
Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-16311004265483573322019-03-08T20:08:00.002-08:002019-03-08T20:08:42.638-08:00A Fashion Fit!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I just read a great article <a href="https://www.cbc.ca/passionateeye/features/our-fast-fashion-habit-is-killing-the-planet?fbclid=IwAR2EoRPYOHQxD4-81DE_uPOsUv20guEjuuuXHpnP5wVeqR_r-SqZ5gCbBVA" target="_blank">CBC's Passionate Eye titled Fashion's Dirty Secrets: Our fast fashion habit is killing the planet</a> which references a documentary to be available March 9, 2019</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBroyf6WxzeKopq0IG5n-eo25GxKzJHaY4gYnO45oqOb6FXn4U2t3smLYROvBdJaAjSIScfoonTOYcuo9Ob9WFcGRfIkEnYd43rH2Fg-HpKjqfniVy7UjUoJeltJmlm1YvnCoL9Kyz8Y/s1600/PICT0012+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpQu5WJChiRHocyYTfAB7d5AAtWy-_3PN9kMkfdtKHC8ifypvTnlhVGyf7spYQnePKlS7AGTY044zA9ycHieyI6581pDd6dx6jKRSpmEXFkRH7JPHMBAIWo4OiQW6wUDuu3GInu8Q2aFY/s1600/PICT0016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijO1bNrN1sKYkFbwI2ztGVKrTs8YChKALXKm2ptpWCAU-7pmhh9U8z03ru27ZkJVoPz4dbwactc26-sJBgS2SlGUYDu8lHM4MqQwOHjU11P8MhWUN2vZPmgPtnSJmIVSaGWnzzXdRA4gw/s1600/Sarah_L._-_Buyerarchy_of_Needs2b.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">The article refers to the poor working conditions in third world countries that were exposed in the <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"> R</span>ana Plaza collapse<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;"> in 2013. Six years ago, we were all abhorred by the media pictures and the brands that were using these sources to provide the lines of clothing many of us championed. Joe Fresh, The Gap and others rushed to try and figure out how to address the problem and their own image and made efforts to introduce ways to control their supply chain. </span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;">It also references </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Sarah Lazarovic's </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">“The Buyerarchy of Needs” and her book <a href="https://storyofstuff.org/blog/a-bunch-of-pretty-things-i-did-not-buy/" target="_blank">A Bunch of Pretty Things I Did Not Buy.</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">I was introduced to the term "fast fashion" for the first time back in 2012 when preparing for a class I was teaching at SAIT about consumerism. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;">Fast fashion - multiple seasonal changes of cheaply made clothes manufactured at the expense of the workers and then offered to me, the average consumer. I questioned what I was doing to contribute to this problem. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">In coming to terms with this overload of guilt, I flashed back to other times - and other generations. My shopping habits were dramatically different from my mother's generation and my grandmother's, too. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBroyf6WxzeKopq0IG5n-eo25GxKzJHaY4gYnO45oqOb6FXn4U2t3smLYROvBdJaAjSIScfoonTOYcuo9Ob9WFcGRfIkEnYd43rH2Fg-HpKjqfniVy7UjUoJeltJmlm1YvnCoL9Kyz8Y/s1600/PICT0012+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="1600" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBroyf6WxzeKopq0IG5n-eo25GxKzJHaY4gYnO45oqOb6FXn4U2t3smLYROvBdJaAjSIScfoonTOYcuo9Ob9WFcGRfIkEnYd43rH2Fg-HpKjqfniVy7UjUoJeltJmlm1YvnCoL9Kyz8Y/s200/PICT0012+%25283%2529.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">My British paternal grandmother would buy quality clothing from a dressmaker and specialty shop but she wore these items until she died. Her hats were amazing concoctions that must have been searched out by her British-born heart! My mother, on the other hand, had Mennonite roots and lived through the Great Depression. agriculture poverty and the shortages experienced through World War 2. She sewed her own clothes, made cheap cotton house dresses and shorts and tops and pajamas for me and my sisters. The scraps were crafted into quilts by both of my grandmothers with a few awesome doll clothes at Christmas time. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpQu5WJChiRHocyYTfAB7d5AAtWy-_3PN9kMkfdtKHC8ifypvTnlhVGyf7spYQnePKlS7AGTY044zA9ycHieyI6581pDd6dx6jKRSpmEXFkRH7JPHMBAIWo4OiQW6wUDuu3GInu8Q2aFY/s1600/PICT0016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1248" data-original-width="1600" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpQu5WJChiRHocyYTfAB7d5AAtWy-_3PN9kMkfdtKHC8ifypvTnlhVGyf7spYQnePKlS7AGTY044zA9ycHieyI6581pDd6dx6jKRSpmEXFkRH7JPHMBAIWo4OiQW6wUDuu3GInu8Q2aFY/s200/PICT0016.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpQu5WJChiRHocyYTfAB7d5AAtWy-_3PN9kMkfdtKHC8ifypvTnlhVGyf7spYQnePKlS7AGTY044zA9ycHieyI6581pDd6dx6jKRSpmEXFkRH7JPHMBAIWo4OiQW6wUDuu3GInu8Q2aFY/s1600/PICT0016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">From the age of fifteen, I was fascinated with the Sears catalogue offerings and ordered my first store bought dress with my own money - a shockingly-priced $15 sweater dress. I morphed into city living eventually and invested in a wardrobe of well made coats, dresses and, yes, pant suits. I still held on to my homemade versions but enjoyed my newly acquired purchases each time I hopped on the bus dressed in a real leather mini length coat over my polyester pant suit. But that had to end. I couldn't continue to shop that way as a stay-at-home mom in the 70's. I discovered Walmart and all of the fast and soon to be faster fashion that hit the malls. Never once did I look back. Buying higher end didn't seem reasonable - particularly with children swarming over me all day. And, buying lower end didn't seem irresponsible or unsustainable - then.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I did not research the social basis of the manufacturers in the 1970's or future decades. Perhaps back then, some were still made in North America. The revelation shocked me. It made me question my buying habits. It added guilt to my shopping. But I didn't change much. Budget versus social responsibility - what choices did I have?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I retired, changed my lifestyle, and started researching information for a story <a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Childhood-Regained-Stories-Asian-Workers/dp/0995297037/ref=sr_1_8?keywords=Eileen+hopkins&qid=1552101896&s=gateway&sr=8-8" target="_blank">(in the book, Childhood Regained)</a> I was writing about the children sent to the cotton fields in India who work longer hours than the adults for less money while suffering from the hard physical labour and frequent chemical poisoning. Again, I asked: What is the alternative to buying the cheap, fast clothing that many average consumers purchase?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It is a difficult thing to stop buying cheap cotton from Walmart and Joe Fresh and switch to more sustainable (and more expensive) products. Of course, once retired, my need for new is diminished and I know quite a few seniors who shop thrift stores and consignment for their fashion purchases. There are some good ideas in this documentary that warrant exploration: buy clothing made from hemp; search out used clothing (websites as well a shops); and, thrift or share clothing with others. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyone out there have some tips or know of an innovative business/website? I would be so interested in hearing from you.</span></span></div>
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-25388219531802609052017-04-03T10:22:00.002-07:002017-04-03T15:11:36.898-07:00Whiter Shades of Pale - or Pizzazz<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Well, I took the plunge. After much discussion over coffee and online and anywhere else I could corner someone, I quit coloring my hair! YES, you heard me!! I went full on into white with a little residual blond in the ends in one cut. Why, you ask?<br />
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Well, thanks to my father's genes, I have been turning white since I was 32 years old. Yes, pregnant and turning white. I started coloring my hair when people started asking me about my cute little granddaughter when it was my two year old daughter in my arms. DONE!<br />
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Over the decades, with my colored hair in place, I have often been mistaken for being ten years younger than I am due mostly to my mother's genetics and her relatively wrinkle free aging gene. When I retired at the age of 64, many colleagues across campus assumed I was retiring VERY young - like in my fifties. I thanked them profusely but proclaimed that I was only a year early and had figured out I had just enough vim and vigour left to travel and explore a life without children and job, and, the release from the demands of hundreds of energetic college students.<br />
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In retirement, I set out to find ME - re-branding into a retiree with a passion for ....writing, painting, and living the good life. Much of this was new for me and I stayed in the rut of colored hair and ultra short cuts fearing to venture forth. Last year I looked back on all the amazing things that had permeated my life at this stage - my first published stories, my first painting sold, and my initiation into a more political realm. I had made a foray into trying to find a new style of dressing about a year into retirement considering I no longer went to an office each day and segued into t-shirts and capris for 9 months of the year. I didn't even bother with trendy jeans as I sat back, sipped our home brew and watched the sunset over the mountains and lake. I was a time bomb waiting to erupt. This was not me! Not yet.<br />
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With a little writing under my belt and a lot of painting sitting on my shelves (not yet selling like a pro!) I decided I needed a new look. I also needed to start saving some money to fit the new retiree budget and it was obvious that colouring my hair was a feasible place to start - right? This isn't necessarily for everyone but for me....it made sense. I took a few pictures into the hair salon, told her I was going to let my hair grow out but asked her to transform the cut into something a little more funky so I didn't turn into a 70 or 80 year old before my time. I didn't want granny curls with purple rinse - unless, of course, it was purple stripes tastefully sweeping across my bangs! She introduced me to an asymmetrical, swing-y cut that almost took all of the final blonde ends off leaving only a light dusting across the front. Over the months that has been slowly eroded and I think the next cut will eliminate even that faint golden glow of things past.<br />
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It is a fact - the NOW of me has started to emerge. I implore you to wear your age with a pizzazz that reflects the real you - colored or not! The you that you are now, not ten years ago.<br />
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Now, I need help with my makeup and wardrobe and...well, I will be trolling the internet for ideas on that!</div>
Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-3402749662510992602016-05-07T14:04:00.002-07:002016-05-07T14:04:25.709-07:00Four Days in My Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzEU12twy_riKiQD3pl46hXmkOMEn3L3hr40NEeCnTyy8dcgkzuegSYvTu0wP8Y1L3BV3bvNWl_2_oYVzQBEtFs_lEENxTkKG-QvHy97wy-vSr7s6vePKkH-UCuerZ69sEOgvncWxUgWI/s1600/053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzEU12twy_riKiQD3pl46hXmkOMEn3L3hr40NEeCnTyy8dcgkzuegSYvTu0wP8Y1L3BV3bvNWl_2_oYVzQBEtFs_lEENxTkKG-QvHy97wy-vSr7s6vePKkH-UCuerZ69sEOgvncWxUgWI/s320/053.JPG" width="320" /></a>The days stream by in a steady blur in retirement with little to mark one from the other. Occasional appointments and events dot my calendar and I am amazed at what month it is already - every single time! It feels a little like a vacation, I suppose, but without the impending end that looms in the near future. Day after day I enjoy this time, letting the minutes and hours flow together much like my breath - inhale/exhale, inhale/exhale. There are four days. however, that still stand out in my mind more than any others in my life - four amazing days each with its own miracle.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdzb2C4ufE_B6gWUhbqSyR4igAXQVPE6fyqMiUujrbWlnFujtI1ipcDYu-4I9fSuKGflMb-jAUn2iW5olWsjG83SzAuFm7Bj-udYwhn4AX_p1n67HLkUxDrOuYkF1q89rADQGdgGEVUU/s1600/Lisa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdzb2C4ufE_B6gWUhbqSyR4igAXQVPE6fyqMiUujrbWlnFujtI1ipcDYu-4I9fSuKGflMb-jAUn2iW5olWsjG83SzAuFm7Bj-udYwhn4AX_p1n67HLkUxDrOuYkF1q89rADQGdgGEVUU/s200/Lisa.jpg" width="162" /></a>Day #1 - June 22, 1972 <br />
Labour pains woke me as I tried to sleep in the still strange bed at my in-laws' home. In a transition to our new home in Brandon, Manitoba I missed the comfort of my own "stuff", of being in control of my own environment and certainly having my own personal space without someone commenting on my food or sleep or degree of exhaustion as the birthdate for my firstborn came ever closer. At 5 AM I waddled to the bathroom and sploosh - yep, amniotic fluid everywhere. The whispers and activity woke my mother-in-law, dear soul, and she waved her son and me off to the hospital with a smile and reassurances all would be OK. Five hours later, in a drug-induced stupor, I held my first baby girl in my arms and fell in love - deeply, over the top, 100% all in kind of love! Lisa Michelle captured my heart in a way only a mother could describe. Her spiky hair, her tiny little cries, more like a kitten than a wailing baby, her perfect little mouth - I took it all in and held her as she curled up into a tiny little ball on my chest. The wails became louder as the days went on and the exhaustion kicked in as I wobbled my way through my first year as a Mom, but I will never forget how it felt to feel the warmth of my own child against my chest and experience her newborn smell as I kissed her head.<br />
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Day #2 - April 30, 1975<br />
The Calgary sun shone brightly that April and my three-year-old, Lisa had the scraped knees to prove it. Labour set in with intensity in the wee hours of the morning. With Lisa cared for, off we drove to the Grace Hospital to welcome our next child. False alarm but due to my size and the size of the baby, they decided to keep me. I walked the halls of the maternity wing, gazing dreamily at the nursery and talking to fellow patients as I made my laps. My doctor induced me at dinner time and went home not expecting to see me until the next morning. Our little Vanessa saw otherwise, assessed the situation, and decided to take on the world outside the womb, on her own time, of course. She had a little entanglement with the umbilical cord but thankfully, slipped through with the doctor's help and greeted the world with blinking eyes, wide awake, just after midnight. I noticed how much longer she was than her sister, with downy hair instead of the dark spikes, and, above all, I how wide awake she was, and I swear, how she even smiled at me and some of her dad's colleagues who had stopped at the hospital after their evening shift at the Calgary Tower. A sweet, happy, embracing, engaged child - my little bit of sunshine. Rarely cranky, always up for any challenge, and ready to take on anything her sister could do, Vanessa owned her Mama's heart from Day One. Never fear, young moms - there is indeed enough room in your heart for each and every child - a special place and the only time 100% can happen over and over again.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZtNniLpI7h7fY4dhtHf6BMnSaOfVGnC_AOA38aVFvlloUwyiDvm3WGdZAD9GgaikIQQT0lrSk697MbmsvLcJcGcGlDJPCSXuKPgf2ugRdznQk2vhsoRq3xsT_sZ9k4PNpRfCiGCaYvY/s1600/Christy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZtNniLpI7h7fY4dhtHf6BMnSaOfVGnC_AOA38aVFvlloUwyiDvm3WGdZAD9GgaikIQQT0lrSk697MbmsvLcJcGcGlDJPCSXuKPgf2ugRdznQk2vhsoRq3xsT_sZ9k4PNpRfCiGCaYvY/s200/Christy.jpg" width="158" /></a>Day #3 - May 14, 1978<br />
Living near the small town of Sundre, I waddled my way around our rural home, excited about the impending birth of our third child. As the due date came and went and the baby continued to grow, the doctor became concerned and decided to induce my labour once again. This ensured an easy transition with Grandma already on her way to take care of the other two children, bags packed, the car full of gas - list fully checked. It was Mother's Day and, truly, my most memorable Mother's Day ever. Christy Jo-Leen was born just after dinner time with a church full of people praying for her safe delivery. Good timing, little one. I loved holding this little chubby sweet thing - she was cuddly and turned towards me with abandonment. With many tense hours of concern over jaundice that turned my sweet darling into a very yellow baby, I cuddled this little one endlessly when I was allowed to take her out of the incubator and never let her leave my sight. She was sleepy and adorable with big blue eyes, dark, curly eyelashes and more dark hair than any baby I had seen. I often told her she would be the baby of the family forever. Sorry Christy. That isn't quite the way it turned out, but you made a wonderful big sister!<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DsMN0CmJkmo/Vy5Vdb0iFEI/AAAAAAAABf8/BeYr1r4tIx4VPvNBUA3kobHEvMWCkcvSwCLcB/s1600/Laurel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DsMN0CmJkmo/Vy5Vdb0iFEI/AAAAAAAABf8/BeYr1r4tIx4VPvNBUA3kobHEvMWCkcvSwCLcB/s200/Laurel.jpg" width="163" /></a><br />
Day #4 - July 20, 1982<br />
Our surprise bundle was on the way. I have to admit I was not prepared for this little one. There was no nursery and no crib but there was certainly going to be a baby - a big baby. Having had a late ultrasound to check for twins, I was pretty certain we were having a little girl. I went into labour late in the evening and stayed at home until my contractions were long and close. The hospital was minutes away in our small town and I was in no rush to wait around there. I called the hospital finally, reported the data, and was instructed to get to the hospital immediately. Whoops. Two hours later, with some complication, I delivered a wonderful baby girl. My first sight of her was a grey, lifeless-looking body as they whisked her away to pure oxygen and an isolette. Time stood still as we waited for this little darling to breathe. Four very long minutes ticked off on the big clock as I held my breath, willing my new little daughter to take her first one. Four minutes on the dot she inhaled and cried. Her body went from blue to pink as her lungs drew in the much-needed oxygen. I did not get to hold her right away. My arms ached for her as the doctor and nurses in the small town hospital checked her thoroughly and monitored her vitals. Finally, they brought her to my waiting arms, all wrapped up in a blanket, sleepy from her ordeal. The delivery injured her brachial plexis which paralyzed her left arm. My sleepy baby endured, and grew, and became the joy that can melt every heart in her range. Her big blue eyes and ready smile, her arms that sought cuddles and kisses, her early connection with those around her - all these things made her a walking, talking miracle.<br />
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So, if you have made it this far into my post, you are truly a mother yourself - by birth or adoption or ache to be one. You have your own stories to treasure. And, if you are blessed with grandchildren, you will be able to add to these stories as each new little one takes a place in your heart - even at a distance.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Miss you Mom!!</td></tr>
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Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers who have their own miracles to hold close, but especially Happy Mother's Day to all my grown up angels!!</h3>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">XXXXXXXXXXOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!</td></tr>
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-87921454361662620692016-04-09T11:48:00.000-07:002016-04-09T11:48:32.369-07:00Help - I Need Your Help! What is Driving You Crazy?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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What is it that is at the top of your list - that one thing about retirement or aging that frustrates you to no end? What is your biggest frustration with aging right now? Last year I struggled to keep myself busy, often (well,maybe not "often" but...) vacuuming or dusting ad nauseum just to give myself a purpose to get up and get moving. This year I am actually having to write things down on a calendar to keep it all straight (and the dust bunnies are partying under my dining room table!).<br />
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I am so curious what you are facing now in your ongoing journey into your "new old age" that is driving you crazy?<br />
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-43571349745788377662016-03-20T15:06:00.000-07:002016-03-21T02:40:51.202-07:00More Paintings; More Fun<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
With a year of experience under my belt, I am amazed at how much I still enjoying playing with pots of paint. Art is a somewhat cultured statement when I often see the results as a child might view their fingerpainting picture - wonderful in the eyes of Mom but MINE, all mine!! Well, now that I have been at it for over a year, I am finally ready to let some go. For sale - as in, for you if you are interested! See some paintings below. Many can be made into art cards for your pleasure as well. So fun you stopped by! Please feel free to return often!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZPcKanjPknoL7J_2rM7zSLdQFWNeKe7K6o2daqBi9kz6CNp3OOAyK0_v0olp5oNeCBQLgAYIT9g6AzXDGm0lSd9b5Z3jVyNZzJGvFkN0E8xVJ9hed6sIPEpqI5HyWND0e_8uEnsbxQP8/s1600/Bicycle+in+Vineyard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZPcKanjPknoL7J_2rM7zSLdQFWNeKe7K6o2daqBi9kz6CNp3OOAyK0_v0olp5oNeCBQLgAYIT9g6AzXDGm0lSd9b5Z3jVyNZzJGvFkN0E8xVJ9hed6sIPEpqI5HyWND0e_8uEnsbxQP8/s320/Bicycle+in+Vineyard.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Weekend in the Vineyard<br />
9.5 X 6.5 inches<br />
Watercolour SOLD<br />
5 X 7 Art Cards available $5</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrmFbTQcYkZI37wONRU7pgwRRRnXEauQfWFPsigWaJuA6Y3wxOZkzF0s4ZSuE1-UhG3iDeuW82JtdQQSU6Dq9vSadcn20mVRwecgfl4qGFwZhAPBV8D1w107KLH5MUtx86ZmgggXdcXyQ/s1600/P1050351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrmFbTQcYkZI37wONRU7pgwRRRnXEauQfWFPsigWaJuA6Y3wxOZkzF0s4ZSuE1-UhG3iDeuW82JtdQQSU6Dq9vSadcn20mVRwecgfl4qGFwZhAPBV8D1w107KLH5MUtx86ZmgggXdcXyQ/s320/P1050351.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vineyard by the Lake<br />
10 X 12.5 inches<br />
Watercolour on Arches 140 lb paper<br />
$75</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy25csXprqJaaAZ7Aic54WSvfr6RTDlJOxVPowgBJtpaXnDfFlZ5G4SoOAYkcUInXIi6LwPyRF7o4SHQwHWYrbNPGXZCC1gGf21NLC5HCBOkcjO1QI3jDYf2FbItjCEjB5zj0lraZO05U/s1600/Wine+Bottle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy25csXprqJaaAZ7Aic54WSvfr6RTDlJOxVPowgBJtpaXnDfFlZ5G4SoOAYkcUInXIi6LwPyRF7o4SHQwHWYrbNPGXZCC1gGf21NLC5HCBOkcjO1QI3jDYf2FbItjCEjB5zj0lraZO05U/s320/Wine+Bottle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Glass of Sunshine<br />
8.5 X 11.5<br />
Watercolour $50</td></tr>
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-89593776341856900172016-01-27T13:36:00.000-08:002016-01-27T13:36:18.888-08:00Free-fall Writing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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As a blogger, there are times when I write and delete and write and delete, thinking I have said it all! Done! Nothing new! I am reminded of an exercise in a writing class a few years ago when the instructor introduced me to free-fall writing - writing whatever came into your mind. Granted this was a fiction class and writing about the crack on the wall was witty and deep at the same time! Blogging is different. It is a glance into my world, my day, my head and that can be a boring place some days. So, I put on some country music with Shania Twain blasting Up in the background, sat down at my keyboard, and decided I would freefall through my life today. You are welcome to join me.<br />
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Morning came early with the ring of the phone. Another crisis in the lives of the Syrian family who joined us just a week ago. A small crisis at school, tiny really, until you remove English from the equation. Enter, The Interpreter, with his super cool invisible cape to save the day. I am lucky enough to live with a real life hero, a little crusty on the outside, who rolls his r's better than any French-speaking person I ever met in Canada, speaks Italian with a sparkle in his eyes, and sports curly, grey hair tickling the back of his collar until, of course, he gets those curls cut off and then walks around like he has just exited some strange military camp for seniors. He has a heart of gold and calloused hands to prove it!<br />
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My kitchen is starting to smell like home baked bread because I am - baking bread! Gluten free bread so I can savour an egg salad sandwich for lunch tomorrow and maybe toasted with my homemade soup today. Yeah, I am grinning a little as I swagger across the kitchen floor to peak in the oven at MY bread. I was born a baker's daughter and never ever was able to successfully bake bread until NOW! That's because once you have a star-quality recipe for gluten free bread, it is a snap to make. No specialized knowledge required because - drum roll please - you don't have to knead it until it feels right. Whoever came up with that description? Feels right? Like, I always bend down and ask my dough, "Are you feeling OK? Too hot? Too cold? Enough sugar or yeast? Are you rested? Are you ready?" Sheesh! I would take a keyboard over a bread board any day! But now, today, my mouth is watering just thinking about those little loaves baking away in the oven.<br />
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No sun today - or yesterday - or tomorrow. Welcome to our BC winter. Foggy, cloudy, but rarely below zero. I was told this week that our cloudy is the white or light grey kind - so much better than Vancouver's dark, Prussian Blue skies. Why is it that people who live in different cities across our land MUST compare the colour of their skies? <i>Oh, you have never lived until you have seen a vivid pink prairie sunset!</i> or <i>The sky in the Okanagan is constantly shifting colours from Ultramarine to Horizon Blue.</i> Whoops, the artist in me slipped out there. Sky is sky and I find it is glorious and blue everywhere unless it is overcast and grey! And sunsets and sunrises the world over are gob-smacking beautiful no matter where you encounter them. Of course, who you encounter them with does seem to up the ante just a little. Guilty!<br />
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Our children are children forever. I snort with derision at the thought that my children are independent adults with amazing careers and families - what? They were just fighting over the car - like a few years ago - right? Wrong! They are amazing individuals who are taking on life on their terms and making it into this amazing kaleidoscope of colour and emotion and influence. Well, I can't help but be proud of my four amazing daughters. Each one is so unique and yet they all care about people, share their hearts with others and smile back at the world.<br />
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So, have you had enough about freefall writing? That was so fun! Now, I need to go back to the real reason I launched into this blog about not much at all! I must get back to writing a speech I agreed to deliver a few months back. OMG! What was I thinking!<br />
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-25092945750661915532016-01-05T20:38:00.000-08:002016-01-07T13:08:35.538-08:00Voices from the Valleys on SALE!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhnP3rhwgBv_R7KwjACl3zPEhM9pVbdlJW1W9wjBtw5BU-m0p2oQTrh2tCWTWtZnmKd2-Du8-Spyvl9wkzIjSjoEyAY3l1u72vlHi0zlhG4PcB1IV8tIq4OoQzJAwKBo4f0JiQFLK2GN0/s1600/20141104_141033+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhnP3rhwgBv_R7KwjACl3zPEhM9pVbdlJW1W9wjBtw5BU-m0p2oQTrh2tCWTWtZnmKd2-Du8-Spyvl9wkzIjSjoEyAY3l1u72vlHi0zlhG4PcB1IV8tIq4OoQzJAwKBo4f0JiQFLK2GN0/s200/20141104_141033+%25282%2529.jpg" width="150" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Roboto Slab', Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 30.6px;">You are never going to find such an amazing mix of stories written by BC writers about BC places anywhere else. If you want to learn more or just re-visit some favorite places, pick up the e-book while it is on sale on Amazon for $0.99 US or $1.37 CAD</span><br />
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<b style="font-size: 18px;">Snowbird Melting</b><span style="font-size: 18px;"> is my short story in Voices From the Valleys. I’ve included an excerpt below if you’d like to try it before you buy it!! <b>AND, for my friends' information (you all seem to ask!), it is purely fiction but based on my initial take on Osoyoos</b> as a community, my involvement with the Art Gallery, and, the many unique, wonderful people that populate this small town. The visual pictures painted with my words can only ripple the surface of the pure loveliness of the place! </span></div>
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<em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><strong style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Voices-Valleys-Stories-Poems-Interior-ebook/dp/B016C8YLFS/" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c7c7c; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out; vertical-align: baseline;">VOICES FROM THE VALLEYS – Stories & Poems about Life in BC’s Interior</a></strong></em></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Voices-Valleys-Stories-Poems-Interior-ebook/dp/B016C8YLFS/" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c7c7c; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out; vertical-align: baseline;">Amazon.com </a> <a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Voices-Valleys-Stories-Poems-Interior-ebook/dp/B016C8YLFS/" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c7c7c; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out; vertical-align: baseline;">Amazon.ca </a> <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Voices-Valleys-Stories-Poems-Interior-ebook/dp/B016C8YLFS/" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c7c7c; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out; vertical-align: baseline;">Amazon.co.uk</a></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;"><i>This high-quality anthology for charity features entertaining short fiction, fascinating memoirs and articles, and thought-provoking poetry by 51 talented BC writers, fiction or real, from the ’50s to today. Cover to cover, you will visit the Interior of British Columbia, Canada from your armchair and read about challenging experiences in remote areas, encounters with BC’s wildlife; harrowing experiences with forest fires; pulse-pounding adventures; humorous people-watching stories; touching childhood memories; coming-of-age tales; stories about relationships and family bonds; and funny-only-in-hindsight true accounts. </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;"><i>All proceeds from book sales, after production expenses, go to Médecins Sans Frontières / Doctors Without Borders Canada (MSF). In this edition, all photos are in black and white. For the Canadian edition with colour photos, contact <a href="http://cobaltbooks.net/">CobaltBooks.net</a> or <a href="http://redtuquebooks.com/">RedTuqueBooks.com</a>. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">And `ta-da` - here it is - a wee sample of my story!</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Snowbird Melting</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fiction<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Eileen Hopkins<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lakeshore Drive through<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Joy`s eyes </span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">and mine!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Joy pushed the door of the rented villa on Lakeshore Drive open with her shoulder, trying not to let go of any of the five miscellaneous bags she was juggling. As she turned she could see straight through the living room and all the way across the lake—a lake circled by brilliant yellows and greens and reds. <i>Okay, so Carol was right. It is beautiful. </i>Too tired to do more than dump the bags and defrost dinner, Joy sat at the dining room table and watched the lights across the lake twinkle in the distance. <i>Here’s to retirement—and bed.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span> <span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The sound of pigeons cooing and tapping their claws on the metal cladding outside her bedroom window woke her the next morning.<i> My first morning as a snowbird—time to check out the lay of the land</i>. Joy caught her breath. She was having a hard time breaking the habit of using Merle’s expressions as if they were her own. She ventured downstairs, thinking a run in the cool October air might inspire her, motivate her, do something, anything to get her into a happy retirement frame of mind. Walking with purpose, Joy rounded the corner of the parkade and rammed into the rather solid shoulder of a man bending over an overflowing garbage can. She took a quick step backward, grabbing for the wall to steady herself while he pulled himself up from his crouching position. Joy was staring into the weathered and rugged face of a very tall and handsome man.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Might want to watch where you’re going on this fine sunny morning. We move a little slower out here in the sticks.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Sorry. I was ...” Joy fumbled for words like a junior high egghead who had just run into the high school football quarterback. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Good morning, just the same.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> She smiled and held out her hand. “Joy Steward from Unit 2.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Joe. Caretaker and anything else you might need.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Joe’s grey hair was pulled back into a ponytail. His black T-shirt looked like a faded rocker souvenir from the 1970s, and his cargo shorts were nondescript Walmart.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Well, Joe the Caretaker, I am going for a run. Got any advice?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Joe leaned against the cement pillar, thumbs hooked in his pockets. “Might want to watch out for rattlesnakes.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Joy waved goodbye. <i>Did he say rattlesnakes</i>? Her eyes swept the cement floor of the empty parkade. Heading down Lakeshore Drive, she found her gaze constantly watching what might lay ahead on the path. <i>Rattlesnakes</i>. She shook her head in dismay. She needed to get out more, find a friend, find something to get her through this winter in the desert, something that didn’t involve rattlesnakes or men.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Main Street view - just another November stroll along the lake shore!<br />
How do you describe<br />
this without going over your word count!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As seen along Joy`s run on Lakeshore Drive!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>You know you want it!</b></span></div>
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-32086938304159071422015-12-31T12:03:00.000-08:002016-01-11T04:01:29.127-08:00My Top Ten Blog Posts of 2015<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Sbk01QtVK1w/VoWGiPIDxdI/AAAAAAAABQo/z85txuox0yU/s1600/We%2Bdon%2527t%2Bstop%2Bplaying%2Bbecause%2Bwe%2Bgrow%2Bold.-HEARTS.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="153" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Sbk01QtVK1w/VoWGiPIDxdI/AAAAAAAABQo/z85txuox0yU/s200/We%2Bdon%2527t%2Bstop%2Bplaying%2Bbecause%2Bwe%2Bgrow%2Bold.-HEARTS.gif" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">It is the last day of 2015 and I made a quick run through all of my posts with the intent of sharing the top ten with you. It turned into a review of my own personal journey as I hit the highs and shared some of the lows. To sum it up, 2015 has been a year of exploration for me. Almost like a coming of age experience - only when you are 65 and not 15! The blog took off this year - thanks to more than a little help from my online friends with page views zooming from 60 to 1400! Thank you, one and all, for your interest, your comments, and your presence! I feel like 2014 was more jogging in place and 2015 finally saw me figuratively running along new trails with an increasing number of f</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">ellow joggers keeping me company! </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqAEG9krfx0lB3eqerJS6-eOHo8rWJ_EABA0fzfq4-XDdHIEY9whftr2acbMvCK5c1qNqe9dEuQ4y5HHsnXTSigc_OY0Ddf1kiGNEjWBCFeshncIPGZ22uFpEayWc8u1HTS0Wf80gY76M/s1600/IMG_8985.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; font-size: medium; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqAEG9krfx0lB3eqerJS6-eOHo8rWJ_EABA0fzfq4-XDdHIEY9whftr2acbMvCK5c1qNqe9dEuQ4y5HHsnXTSigc_OY0Ddf1kiGNEjWBCFeshncIPGZ22uFpEayWc8u1HTS0Wf80gY76M/s200/IMG_8985.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">10. </span></span><a href="http://boomerspotofgold.blogspot.ca/2015/04/five-mind-games-to-annihilate-boredom.html" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">Five-Mind Games to Annihilate Boredom</span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">This is me talking to myself - not a mountain top experience but the sound of rumblings in the valley. I pushed myself to slog up the nearest hill even if it was a garbage dump just to shake my soul up a little and remind myself I am OK!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span> <a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oUa1F2ckKDM/VikIJxPDLcI/AAAAAAAABPY/No-kX4AGkFc/s1600/1-P1020779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oUa1F2ckKDM/VikIJxPDLcI/AAAAAAAABPY/No-kX4AGkFc/s200/1-P1020779.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="150" /></a><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">9. <a href="http://boomerspotofgold.blogspot.ca/2015/10/a-look-backwards.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Look Backwards</span></a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">A much-needed reminder that Planning is not a destination - it's OK to move on to the living part!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">8. <a href="http://boomerspotofgold.blogspot.com/2015/10/autumn-of-my-life-aging-well.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Autumn of My Life: Aging Well</span></a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Pausing for a season of gratitude - so necessary no matter what stage of life you are facing. I feel strongly still, that honouring my creative inner-me is a risk well worth taking!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span> <span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">7. <a href="http://boomerspotofgold.blogspot.ca/2015/05/beatles-eternal-reefs-or-candy-bars-for.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Beatles, Reefs or Candy Bars?</span></a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">As we age, funerals become more common in<span style="color: blue;"> </span>our lives. We no longer feel queasy at the thought and the trends these days are certainly taking it out of the cemetery of our parents! With 145 page views, I would say that many of us are curious about how this may play out in our end-of-life story.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK-OdKYSxO-VjMj-IV9GHO2LFzNoUV-s-Esz-9W1DXm_W3B79pIQwk1NI6GbHKcQ31tolVbqaG3EiOMwgvqeKjI36ePFkaOZhYHiZAyCeBAdqDvENLKKFXXO4zKHQt44YrqDjnFYeeOaE/s1600/P1040955.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK-OdKYSxO-VjMj-IV9GHO2LFzNoUV-s-Esz-9W1DXm_W3B79pIQwk1NI6GbHKcQ31tolVbqaG3EiOMwgvqeKjI36ePFkaOZhYHiZAyCeBAdqDvENLKKFXXO4zKHQt44YrqDjnFYeeOaE/s200/P1040955.JPG" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span> <span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">6. <a href="http://boomerspotofgold.blogspot.ca/2015/06/enoughness-in-retirement.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Enough-ness in Retirement</span></a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #484848; line-height: 18.2px;">So far, one year has pushed me and prodded me to write a story for a new audience, paint with a group, swim (or float) with no concern about the rolls and wobbles exposed to the world, and relax in the quiet of my own home to read, paint, sleep, repeat. I walked the shore, photographed the emotions mirrored in the lake, and rested on a bench, alone or not, content and full of awe at the tranquility water can integrate into my soul. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #484848; font-size: small; font-weight: normal; line-height: 18.2px;"><br /></span><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">5. <a href="http://boomerspotofgold.blogspot.ca/2015/07/three-reasons-why-old-eyes-sparkle.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Three Reasons Why Old Eyes Sparkle</span></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #484848; font-weight: normal; line-height: 18.2px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Let's face it - not everyone has the privilege of getting old, but few of us look forward to it. I am here to share why the place I am in right now is the best place there is in a long life of "places."</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://boomerspotofgold.blogspot.ca/2015/07/three-reasons-why-old-eyes-sparkle.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #484848; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;"><br /></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: blue;">4.</span> </span><a href="http://boomerspotofgold.blogspot.ca/2015/06/why-when-i-was-your-age-or-to-spank-or.html" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Why, When I Was Your Age..</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">This generation is not lost; it is being found every moment of every day by the loving parents who were shaped by (me/you) the generation before. </span></div>
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<a href="http://boomerspotofgold.blogspot.ca/2015/06/why-when-i-was-your-age-or-to-spank-or.html" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium; font-weight: normal;" target="_blank"><br /></a><span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">3. </span><a href="http://boomerspotofgold.blogspot.ca/2015/08/fire-part-2-make-plan.html" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Fire! Part-2 - Make a Plan</span></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Our close call with a wildfire seems so minuscule now that it is over and the news is pouring in about the many people who lost homes and livestock and livelihoods. It feels selfish to keep talking about it and blogging about it. And yet, in this moment, when the question is still there, I do have wisdom I didn't have a few days ago: I know what I would save in an evacuation emergency and I know what I didn't have - an emergency plan.</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://boomerspotofgold.blogspot.ca/2015/08/fire-part-2-make-plan.html" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;" target="_blank"><br /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">2. </span><a href="http://boomerspotofgold.blogspot.ca/2015/09/my-list-of-small-things.html" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">My List of Small Things</span></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am heading toward one of those milestone birthdays that everyone keeps talking about on my Facebook page this year. Perhaps that is because many of my friends are on the same journey! I find that things are changing for me - small things really - but I have the time to take notice of small things these days. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0kCvnvqLMQeaHQgjzF7DTxSpnpjg2VIbEDZCLJU3IwLN3D0rqBF75t11wdjrPJQNJn0vQRw9mf972NmikbWTrZ1el69FpfTIdSa17iT4WB4I9enduhYrqsQqxTkauybLGcoQ2Q-hmog/s1600/P1040815.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="121" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0kCvnvqLMQeaHQgjzF7DTxSpnpjg2VIbEDZCLJU3IwLN3D0rqBF75t11wdjrPJQNJn0vQRw9mf972NmikbWTrZ1el69FpfTIdSa17iT4WB4I9enduhYrqsQqxTkauybLGcoQ2Q-hmog/s200/P1040815.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><a href="http://boomerspotofgold.blogspot.ca/2015/09/my-list-of-small-things.html" style="font-size: medium;" target="_blank"><br /></a></span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">AND, my Number 1 post of 2015 with over 300 page views - a record for this humble blogger:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /><span style="color: blue;">1. </span></span><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://boomerspotofgold.blogspot.ca/2015/02/retired-introverts.html" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Retired Introverts</span></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Retirees don't morph into something they are not, but for this retiree, at least, they continue to become who they really are. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">HAPPY NEW YEAR!</span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;">May you be your authentic self </span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;">as you explore the new horizons ahead!</span></h2>
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-35415955062177655652015-12-02T12:49:00.004-08:002016-01-11T03:58:37.034-08:00Labyrinth of Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSloUvnmvZ4ESckWC-WnEFhAx7VShapeT5gFOG9juBxTZVJCW5qqQ" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for you have come a long way quotes" border="0" height="200" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSloUvnmvZ4ESckWC-WnEFhAx7VShapeT5gFOG9juBxTZVJCW5qqQ" width="149" /></a>I never believed that this could happen in retirement. One minute I am coasting along, embracing new experiences, welcoming a few challenges and BANG I feel overwhelmed, grumpy, and disillusioned.<br />
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I chase balance like some people chase gold. Too much? Time to cut back. Not enough? Time to ramp up. I run from one jar to the other, adding a marble here and taking out one from there. The path between all of my jars is well worn, grooved deeply, so much so that it is hard to climb out of some of them and get on level ground for awhile. That's when I need to take the bird's eye view of my own labyrinth of life.<br />
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Make a choice - a hard one to eliminate some of the jars or maybe change the path a little, running on one or the other instead of the usual? Or, here's a concept worth considering, quit running for a while and let the worn paths of my life fill in a little and become more like a walk on a beach than a dash down a highway. Maybe one or two need to be cordoned off until they are safer or maybe some very faint ones need to be explored more thoroughly. That is life and until I can take it all in I will fail to enjoy my journey. Focusing on the finish line is futile as the only finish line we ever truly cross in finality is death. The rest are all just part of the scenery.<br />
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Resting in the moment. Ah. There it is. </div>
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It is so beautiful from way up here!</div>
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Clarity and Joy!</h2>
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-27203847561732686732015-11-17T00:36:00.002-08:002015-11-17T00:42:44.481-08:00Writing for Nanowrimo<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So I hit the 25,000 words today. Five minutes ago! I am running behind but, that is almost half of a decent sized novel! Not sure where the characters will end up, know now who I think the antagonist is and how the love story will end but, I might make it into a sequel too. Especially if there is a market for Novella sequels! Anyway, with the news of Paris;, a recent commitment to participate on a project bringing a Syrian family to our community; and, the fact that the subject of my book attempt is centred on refugees of a different kind - white, Canadian and scared, I am living and breathing crisis and I can't sleep! Hence this after midnight post! There is so much to remember, so much to change, so much to feel that I am going to do an unprecedented thing! I am going to share it with you. Yikes. Deep breath. So, here it goes!<br />
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Not the first chapter but:<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Monica had huddled by the fire for the rest of the afternoon, letting her children wander close by, playing tag, chasing twigs in the little creek and digging canals along its bank. She kept an eye out for old Pete but he never came back their way. The May sky was turning pink when Monica split some granola bars between the three of them and handed each child a juice box. Throwing their garbage into the fire, Monica felt herself just wishing they could stay here forever. Warm, safe, and free. But soon to be hungry, tired and wet, she admonished herself. Monica tucked Mattie into the stroller as his eyelids began to droop, stashed his bag under the seat and headed back toward Horseshoe Bay just as the moon was rising over the mountains. Same moon as last night, she reminded herself. Just the scraping of their boots sliced through the silence of the rainforest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The boat was about the size of the family room Monica had left behind just twelve hours ago. Marty had approached them as soon as they had emerged out of the woods and climbed the stairs leading on to the unlighted pier. He had loomed rather large as he rounded the empty control booth. He looked a lot like Captain Hook with his large nose and chiseled chin jutting out under his lips. His long black hair was captured into dreadlocks that streamed down his back like Hook's more gentlemanly ringlets. Even his eyes were black and bright but when he spoke, his words were soft and confident. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Looking for the midnight launch?" Marty stopped short of the pier's edge and waited for the little group to approach. Monica held Mattie close to her chest as Jessica clung to her free hand, her small backpack slapping Monica's elbow with every step. Her own backpack weighed down her shoulders after the short trek out of the woods. It was all she had left. Monica had moved in a surreal landscape that nothing in her life had prepared her to face. Nothing. "We are running on schedule. The weather is perfect. Looks like all is a go. Please move into the waiting area near the mooring." Monica acquiesced with just a nod. Her mouth was too dry to speak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Mommy, the life jacket is too tight and it smells." Monica looked down into Jessica's frightened face and forced a smile as she gently touched her eight-year-old daughter's chin. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">"I know, sweetie, but it will stretch a little and the smell will blow away in the ocean breeze. Daddy always told you that when we sailed, right?" Monica felt her frozen smile dissolve as she pulled Jessica closer and gave her shoulders a hug. <i>Daddy. Mark. Where are you? <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> "Hurry, now. I have to get Mattie into his jacket, too, and he is such a wiggle worm." Such normal conversation. Child-mother words. <i>There is nothing normal about this.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> With hushed tones, the three men in charge of the small fishing boat called out to the mixed crowd of moms and dads, aging grandparents and the ten children clinging to someone's hand or leg. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Hurry, please. No noise."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">" We only have fifteen minutes before we have to be onboard. One small bag per person."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">" Sir, you can't take that sleeping bag." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Sorry m'am, no noise. Please. Hush up your child." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Monica settled Jessica on a rock nearby, adjusting the straps of the backpack to position it on Jessica's chest instead of her back. Everything had to fit over the cumbersome life jacket. <i>Mark, I need you here.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mattie squirmed on the ground between Monica's feet. Asserting his two-year-old self, he threw his head back, slamming it against Monica's knees and cried out in frustration. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Shhhh, Mattie. Shhh," Monica whispered to her son. "Mama will help in a minute." Monica scooped Mattie up in her arms, desperately trying to quiet her little son's loud yelps. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Mi'k, mama. Mi'k." She knelt down on her knees and answered her son.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">"Soon, Mattie. Ok? Mama will give you milk soon - when we get on the boat. See the boat, Mattie. We have to be very quiet so we don't scare the fishies. OK?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Monica forced a smile to comfort her son and sighed with relief when Mattie put his fingers to his lips and said, "Shhh, Mama. Mattie won't scare the fishies."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In fifteen minutes, the boat was loaded with eighteen adults and ten children. The adults shifted their weight and meagre possessions and the moms and dads positioned their children close by. Monica tucked Jessica in close to her knees, letting her lean on the big backpack stuffed with a change of clothes, some dry food and three small emergency blankets she had stored away a few months ago. Mattie snuggled against her chest, drawing comfort and some nourishment from her breast. Her life jacket rested open sliding a little from her shoulders as she held her son. Jessica fingered the small flashlight she had snuck into her bag after her Mom had checked its contents. Monica shook her head "no" as Jessica raised her eyebrows in a silent request for permission to turn on the one source of light she could find in the pitch black mist off the coast of British Columbia. Jessica slid the flashlight into her jeans pocket and moved closer to her mother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The sound of the boat's motor shattered the silence of their escape from the new government and the new laws that had threatened their families for the past six years. This was the most dangerous part of their journey, the three men had admonished as the passengers had settled onto the small deck. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">"No lights, no smoking, no talking," the tallest of their three rescuers reminded them. "Keep the children quiet." The red-headed sailor nodded at Monica as she breastfed Mattie. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The boat slid into the fog enveloping Horseshoe Bay. They would follow the ferry route to Vancouver Island where they were promised safety, food and a place in the new settlement established after the last Tsunami had obliterated nearly all of the west island coastal towns. The west coast of the island was wild, believed uninhabitable now and perfect for refugees with good reason to flee this new global presence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-15757297419422942662015-11-14T10:51:00.001-08:002015-11-14T10:51:35.669-08:00Take a Chance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bFTAlNnuQEM/VkeCOzqZoHI/AAAAAAAABQE/8dMSsNEky9U/s1600/12194819_914231008611931_7491452748817129109_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bFTAlNnuQEM/VkeCOzqZoHI/AAAAAAAABQE/8dMSsNEky9U/s320/12194819_914231008611931_7491452748817129109_o.jpg" width="203" /></a>I have been writing, writing, writing but not for my blog! I am not so sure how I skipped from having hours of free time to three meetings in one day, but somehow life happened. I took a chance!<br />
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With retirement, comes many more hours of free time. Goes without saying, but, just saying! I spent my first year immersed in figuring out how I was going to do this retirement thing. I recognized the need to connect with people and not just ideas (as many well-meaning friends and family shared!) However, I am very comfortable keeping company with ideas! Still, volunteering was one of the suggestions and I knew I would get to that sometime but here's the thing - it is almost expected of you in a small town! Once I identified myself as newly retired and started to indicate where my interests and passions aligned, invitations abounded. This would not happen in the BIG city, I am sure. But word travels fast up and down the streets of a small town. I overheard someone say that you can form a committee within an hour just by shouting an invitation off your back porch.<br />
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Admittedly, I have turned down some opportunities because I am well aware of my lack of energy and still very cognizant of my recent work overload, but I started out small. Sitting once a month at the art gallery in town has opened up the world of artists to me on a first name basis. Joining their group helped as well. Declining an inquiry regarding leadership was wise!<br />
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As an outcome of the recent campaign for a new prime minister in Canada, I voiced my opinion on Facebook and here about the Syrian refugee situation and for poor people everywhere. I felt like a hypocrite since I was not putting action to my words even though my heart was breaking. Enter an opportunity to serve on a committee working to bring a Syrian refugee family to our small town. I inquired, attended a meeting and found myself taking on fundraising - a new venture that has definitely broadened my number of acquaintances in town! It has also zapped my low store of energy and absented me from my keyboard! Well, my public keyboard and book keyboard although I have been caught up with typing minutes (my former colleagues would be amazed!), printing cards and speaking with the local paper. Can I just say that even for a good cause, I still dislike having my photo taken?<br />
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Volunteering may be a common theme for many retirees. For me, it is new. I rarely volunteered beyond the scope of accepted parental stuff and occasional church activities during my active work career. Single parenting four children had something to do with that! Stretching my learning curve to be more public is a BIG change for me. It has its positives as I like the fact that I can put action to my words, but it also zaps my energy levels as it takes me out of my comfort zone. A two-edged sword! I have decided it is a path worth exploring, but I have also accepted that I have limits I need to respect. There is no way to discover these limits besides pushing them! So I am pushing them and keeping an eye out for that brick wall!!<br />
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I have also been using some of my energy to support a new anthology that is officially launched today. <b>The Voices from the Valleys</b> is a collection of stories written by local authors (that includes me!) with proceeds going to support Doctors Without Borders. Available on Amazon today!<br />
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I have another story going into Childhood Regained to help support Save the Children's efforts working against child labour in South Asia. This one is not up for pre-purchase yet.<br />
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Please check them out on Amazon or find out more here:<br />
http://www.jodierenner.com/books/anthologies/<br />
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So, no matter what, I am beginning to see that I can re-engineer my life at any stage! I just have to be willing to take a chance. The ball is now in your court. <br />
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Go on - take a chance!</div>
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-83113296593272488602015-10-31T13:15:00.001-07:002015-10-31T13:15:13.362-07:00Ghost in the Valley<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The vineyards snaked through the fog, the rust-coloured vines creating a pattern that led nowhere - just up and up until they disappeared. Martha ran along the lakeshore, hoping to clear some of the cobwebs from her mind. "Out, damn spot," she muttered to the wind. The frosty Halloween evening had invited her openly into its shadows and the fog had set the stage for her active imagination. Sighing, Marsha tried to focus on the pain in her side instead of the pain in her heart. It had only been six years, she reminded herself. That would sound foolish to those who had never experienced a loss of ... Marsha dug in her heels and came to a full stop. <i>What was that?</i><br />
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A wisp of fog hung conspicuously low, creeping along the ground, winding its way through the big roots of the sycamores growing along the lakeshore. Marsha hugged herself and strained her eyes in the muggy darkness of an October night. The wisp bounced over the rocks and across the sand. She could just catch occasional glances of it as it seemed to dip a toe into the ice cold water and then retreat.<i> Just like .... oh, my God - like Barnum!</i> Marsha fought the tears as she remembered her beloved puppy. Sweet, funny Barnum, who had run along the lakeshore, teasing the waves with his silly rushes and retreats, refusing to come back to her and Pete until they had joined him at the water's edge.<br />
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Marsha felt the familiar pain rush through her heart and into her throat where the flood of tears hid until she could no longer force them back. Just then, the wisp of fog twisted and did a somersault, rolling over and over as it formed into a white, furry ball of energy. Marsha hurried to the next opening in the brush and peered between the trees as the ball bounced off of a rock and landed partly in the water. Blinking and then squinting, Marsha left the path, crossing the open beach and peering along the shore. No sign of the little furry ball anywhere. Marsha sighed with disappointment. Just as she was going to start back to the path, Marsha looked down and froze. There, in the sand, were four perfect paw prints, and laying beside them was a tiny heart-shaped rock. Marsha bent down and wrapped her cold fingers around the smooth rock. Holding it in the palm of her hand, Marsha lifted her eyes to the stars twinkling in the sky where the mountains rose above the valley fog. "Barnum, you old trickster. You always knew how to make me smile." Marsha grinned broadly, wiped the one remaining tear from her cheek, and nodded. <i>Ready to go home now.</i><br />
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Barnum barked once, as he lifted his nose to the sky. Marsha's body slowly dissolved and disappeared, leaving the dog alone on the beach. He barked again and turned, running back along the familiar path.<br />
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"Barnum! Come on, boy." With one look back, Barnum dashed to Pete's side. "I know, boy. I miss her, too," his master whispered. Man and dog matched each other's steps as they moved closer to the bright yard light of their lakeside home.<br />
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-19391803499675182732015-10-22T09:17:00.000-07:002015-10-25T15:34:40.068-07:00A Look Backwards or a Glimpse Forward<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Sometimes I actually do read my blog. Usually, I am drilling for hidden nuggets of wisdom or, in other words, looking for some *%^** inspiration! I ran across one post on my early planning for retirement. I had just attended a workshop on wills and estate planning and learned a few things about life in the process. Now, since this session was about "death & taxes" that might seem a little unexpected - but planning for any momentous occasion generally applies many of the same principles!<br />
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One of the most challenging issues facing me was knowing how much is enough when it comes to planning. I rattle around in my own head a lot - it is a familiar space and I am used to the twists and turns that have developed over the years - however, it seemed like I was roaming in circles on this question of retirement. Conversation with self: "So, if I age in place how long will that last and does that mean keeping the house or buying a condo and when should that happen - before I get frail and lose my grip but not too soon so I can still enjoy sleepovers with my grandkids and leisurely visits with my more adult friends and family and then what about nursing homes and do I have enough money for them and ....." Round and round - if I go this way then that will happen; if I don't go that way then this will happen.<br />
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If I walked away with anything that night it was this: You don't need to plan for 10 or 20 years. You only need to look about 5 years down the road! Simple thinking really but it was like someone stepped in and opened up the hidden exit I had been rolling past on each subsequent circuit in my mind and - PING - I popped out like a bingo ball - Under the O - OH!<br />
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Five years?<br />
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"I can do five years," I said to myself two years ago. "Why, I will still be a 60-ish person in five years," I muttered smugly. Nodding my head sagely, I noted I will still be travelling; still hosting family and friends; still walking the neighborhood and still living in my house! "That wasn't so hard." I laughed at my fear. "There are a few details to be ironed out, of course, but what a relief to take on only one chunk of the journey." I sighed with a huff and sauntered off into the sunset of 2013.<br />
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Well, here is where I zigged instead of zagged. Although I did retire it was one year earlier, I actually sold the house, changed the neighbourhood, made new friends, took up painting and got my first story published. Those must have been the "few details" that needed to be worked out!<br />
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There is a lesson here somewhere. I think it has something to do with being open to opportunity, willing to go with the flow, fearless (well, not really fearless, but still able to stand!) when facing change and crazy enough to try something new, no matter what the original plan. I admire many people in my life: sisters, daughters, friends. But, for this moment, I humbly applaud me - not to beg accolades from my peers but to encourage you, too, to stand up and applaud yourself along the way of becoming you. Your opinion is the one that matters!<br />
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<b>Here's to the next FIVE years!</b><br />
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<b>AND Story #2 accepted and ready to be pre-ordered on Amazon!</b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><a href="http://www.jodierenner.com/voices-from-the-valleys-an-anthology-celebrating-bc/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #008a17; font-family: "Comic Sans MS";">Voices
from the Valleys - Stories & Poems about Life in BC's Interior</span></a></span></div>
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-18401857407954784752015-10-12T15:24:00.002-07:002015-10-12T15:27:30.613-07:00Canadian, eh<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2M921CXaOYLkYGgrHgn8Ms0H09neozW1m2FTKDlpfEJrL4yZ28yr54Ksxx5rfikw5ZASEWL9FdMPEnvgWBUu5wyFYedz1nHi9S2xLf-ml3KWOuixCo7VrEDeN_4SW_rXqujY6kpIZp8/s1600/1234759_10153180504555468_1011389282_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2M921CXaOYLkYGgrHgn8Ms0H09neozW1m2FTKDlpfEJrL4yZ28yr54Ksxx5rfikw5ZASEWL9FdMPEnvgWBUu5wyFYedz1nHi9S2xLf-ml3KWOuixCo7VrEDeN_4SW_rXqujY6kpIZp8/s320/1234759_10153180504555468_1011389282_n.jpg" width="240" /></a>I have recently become much more political, more socially conscious, more outspoken about governments, poverty and all that controversial stuff I rarely discussed in my more formative years. It's not that I didn't think about these topics or hold opinions about them before. I think I just believed I lacked a receptive audience to my one-woman debates on the topic of the day. Now I don't care so much about who listens, who comments, who disagrees or if there is even an audience listening. Because, in Canada, that is what we care about more than anything else - freedom to believe, share and just be - without fear.<br />
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Every day of my life I have breathed in freedom. I have lived in the relative safety of a country whose citizens respected the rights of all. I have been overwhelmed with thanksgiving for the life I have been dealt. But, now, well, now I have begun to have a healthy fear that this could stealthily slip away from me in the covert blink of an eye.<br />
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Canada, oh Canada - these days, I see poverty seeping into your towns and villages - far outside of the down and out alleys of the cities. This is not a poverty dictated by droughts or war. It is one founded in the murky depths of greed and political intrigue. People are hurting, struggling and becoming frustrated as they observe the top ten percent of your population gaining more and more wealth while the other 90% slowly dwindles in their ability to make ends meet. I see your people taking minimum wage jobs to be able to support themselves only to discover they can't afford a roof over their heads or decent food on their table. I see the gap widening between the have's and have not's - a gap that includes reasonable access to a good education, secure housing and medical care. I see your government building monuments immortalizing politicians instead of building a road that would provide a First Nation community in Shoal Lake, Manitoba access to the basic needs of life. I see your politicians cry "terrorist" when mentally ill people kill innocent citizens and then ride that wave all the way through a parliament that passes a Bill to give that same government more power to act against your own citizens if the government decides they are the terrorists and now has the right to throw them into prison, no questions asked. I see you sending your soldiers to countries to fight a war that is not based on any principle other than greed or political intrigue and then your government dares to call it fighting oppression against a people.<br />
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Canadians, oh Canadians. You are still decent, law-abiding citizens who love your families and your country and are filled with pride whenever you see the red maple leaf snap to attention in a windy prairie town. Canadians - you - are those who were born in our home and native land and also those who have chosen to adopt Canada as your new home. You still care about the poor, about education and health care and, yes, even about greenhouse gasses and our environment. But your government - our government - does not.<br />
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I stand proudly today and wave my personal flag of respect, love and belief in humanity in a country I call home. It does have a red maple leaf emblazoned on it and it flies high into the heavens as an emblem of hope, freedom and justice for all - for now. Vote with your heart as well as your head and bank account. Be alert. Be courageous. Most of all, be free and exercise that freedom in what you say, believe and, soon, in how you vote.<br />
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Oh Canada, Our home and native land.....<br />
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-14102205076802414222015-10-03T19:46:00.000-07:002015-10-03T19:46:31.622-07:00Autumn of My Life: Aging Well<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Fall is my favorite time of the year. I love the cooler temperatures, apple crisp and moving from summer's blush to autumn's explosion. It is the new New Year for me. A time for resolutions to form and my journey to change. It is also a time of gratitude when life just fills up my heart to bursting. I get excited about the newness even though I am no longer a student happily sharpening pencils. Even the smell of paper makes me smile.<br />
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I feel like I am entering the Fall season of my life right now as well. I know that many would say I am way past that and should be celebrating the winter of my life but I was always a little slow on the uptake. I see this as a time in my life when I start to harvest all I have planted through my twenties, thirties, forties and fifties. There must have been a rush of planting in those fifties because I seem to be harvesting a little later than many! I have arrived at a time when I am able to pursue the being of me and wrap my aging hands around a new life that is defined by my own vision and newly acquired understanding. <br />
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When I look back at the other seasons of my life, I can see where I focused my life energy and how that is paying off now. I only have to look at my four amazing daughters to know that, in spite of their parent's divorce and some hard times financially, each one has found her way and is living her life independently and, I believe, with joy. My years of parenting - most as a single mom - were the most fulfilling and, yes, the most challenging of my life. I believe in my daughters and their ability to work with what they have and move beyond each problem they encounter. I see them adopt a great work ethic, a passion for their chosen path and a love for their children that warms my soul. It did not happen in a vacuum - they were loved.<br />
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In my autumn years, I know I can lean on my past experience to fuel my ongoing journey and to help me make choices that matter. Agonizing over my shortcomings is done. Celebrating my imperfect creativity with what I have is the new reality. I lived cautiously in my past and fed my desires with simple things like reading voraciously and journaling. I could never get enough of either! I aspired to write stories and books and yearned for the talent to draw and paint. I settled for photography eventually and dabbled in that to open up some creative outlet that did not require any real artistic skill - or so I thought. I worked hard and lived frugally with the goal of comfortable retirement in my distant future.<br />
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Now, photography, painting, and writing are all outlets for my simmering wish to create. As a retiree, I can hang out with artists, have coffee with authors and enjoy each day while creating with great people to keep me company! We all have this within us. It manifests differently, but it is there. You may burst into home decor or fashion consulting or learning to play the saxophone - all of it is your creative-self hungrily asserting itself. You just have to feed it and let it loose!<br />
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Not growing, not learning, not becoming - all are the end of life and the beginning of dying long. I choose to live long one brush stroke or typed word at a time!</div>
Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-84934724414092252972015-09-03T15:43:00.000-07:002015-09-03T15:43:33.075-07:00My List of Small Things<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I am heading toward one of those milestone birthdays that everyone keeps talking about on my Facebook page this year. Perhaps that is because many of my friends are on the same journey! I find that things are changing for me - small things really - but I have the time to take notice of small things these days. So, here you have it - my list of small things that have changed as I mosey down the other side of the hill.<br />
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When you get older:<br />
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1. <b>Your friends will start keeping their shoes on when they visit you at home. </b> In Canada, we take our shoes off when we go inside our houses. That is probably because in many provinces they are caked with snow or mud most of the time. Now, that is not a plus or minus but I did discover when visiting my daughter living in Oregon that Americans consider it odd. Well, times have changed - at least in the 50+ developments around the country. Most of my peers now keep their shoes on - I usually insist on it. Just too much huffing and puffing to re-tie them after a visit. Besides, they aren't trudging through snow drifts or skipping through mud puddles anymore! <br />
2. <b>You never know what day it is.</b> I might realize if it is a weekend or not based on how many tourists are wandering our streets, but, really, unless I have an appointment or meeting that week, I am clueless. <br />
3. <b>You pack more underwear than trendy cute tops or multiple pairs of shoes.</b> It seems the body has made some of its own adjustments and I am just not up to trying to force it to keep to the straight and narrow. A comfortable pair of walking shoes with some sandals to dress up or down and I am good to go.<br />
4. <b>You choose slow over fast most of the time </b>- slower routes to avoid speeding traffic; slower travel tours to get more rest; and, for some of us, slow cookers so we aren't worn out by dinner time. Even a slow boat to China sounds preferable to an 18-hour flight in economy.<br />
5. <b>You talk about your body functions </b>like you used to talk about the cute boy in your chemistry class. Now did you see that one coming twenty years ago? Me either.<br />
6. <b>Not just the hair on your head turns grey</b> - my eyebrows are going white too! Gotcha!<br />
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Well, just hum along with me, friends. The Beatles had it all figured out - we just weren't listening to the lyrics back then! </div>
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<i>When I get older losing my hair</i></div>
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<i>Many years from now</i></div>
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<i>Will you still be sending me a valentine</i></div>
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<i>Birthday wishes, bottle of wine?</i></div>
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<i>If I'd been out till quarter to three</i></div>
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<i>Would you lock the door?</i></div>
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<i>Will you still need me, will you still feed me</i></div>
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<i>When I'm 64 (or 65!)?</i></div>
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<b>Let me hear a resounding YES!</b></h2>
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-82630258187783781852015-08-16T17:36:00.002-07:002015-08-16T17:36:56.957-07:00Fire Part 2 - Make a Plan!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtqxJ4ZxRprXmfY4CwxG0FInp6NJCTI7T5lVg9MOYCcDDtL41Jh9m1bF5oG1lnga4OS8Ubko1KECKyJL60NG24CLm8_3JX2Vd0VFqsdh8QpFe5tglKCatsA7IV1xqHbn2wKtit2G1ivg8/s1600/be-safe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtqxJ4ZxRprXmfY4CwxG0FInp6NJCTI7T5lVg9MOYCcDDtL41Jh9m1bF5oG1lnga4OS8Ubko1KECKyJL60NG24CLm8_3JX2Vd0VFqsdh8QpFe5tglKCatsA7IV1xqHbn2wKtit2G1ivg8/s320/be-safe.jpg" width="320" /></a>I am in my post-trauma state of re-living, regurgitating, re-thinking and decided it would be much more productive to share my new wisdom instead of remaining in the "what if" state of mind that typically follows an emergency.<br />
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Our close call with a wildfire seems so miniscule now that it is over and the news is pouring in about the many people who lost homes and livestock and livelihoods. It feels selfish to keep talking about it and blogging about it. And yet, in this moment, when the question is still there, I do have wisdom I didn't have a few days ago: I know what I would save in an evacuation emergency and I know what I didn't have - an emergency plan.<br />
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There are many websites that advise on how to prepare for an emergency. I am thinking that some of my neighbours and friends have already googled them for their own information. Good for you - <b>I did not have one</b>! Alberta has a great one at <a href="http://www.albertahealthservices.ca/HealthWellness/hi-hw-disaster-preparedness-guide.pdf" target="_blank">Alberta Health Services Disaster-preparedness Guide</a> and the Canadian version is at <a href="http://www.getprepared.gc.ca/cnt/rsrcs/pblctns/yprprdnssgd/index-en.aspx" target="_blank">Get Prepared</a>. These guides provide a lot of great advice on preparation. Here's how it would have made a difference for me.<br />
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1. Local Emergency Management Contacts - I did not know who to call in case of a threat like a wildfire. I had to depend on my neighbours with cable TV and non-existent radio warnings (what was that all about?!). In desperation, I called the RCMP to confirm our situation. So, step number one is to make sure I know how I can get information about the situation threatening me: wildfires, earthquakes, floods. All can hit without warning. And learn the lingo - I now know an evacuation alert (if you are lucky enough to get one) is a gift to get ready while you have the time. Pack your car! Be ready! We did and never regretted it - not even when we were unpacking the car when it fizzled out to "stay in place". The sense of relief wipes out the inconvenience - trust me.<br />
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2. Important papers and documents - Prepare a list of important papers and documents you should take with you - insurance, birth and marriage certificates, passports, licences, wills, and land deeds. I would suggest you scan copies into your computer and store in a secure place with passwords etc. you can remember in an emergency. I did not have a list - only some sense of urgency as I tried to remain calm and remember it all and check them off in my head.<br />
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Keep your important files/documents in an easy, portable storage system. Thank goodness we did this right - especially without a pre-written list as per #2. Our files are in cube containers that fit into those IKEA type cube storage systems. A large storage file that fits inside a file cabinet etc. would work too. Safety deposit boxes work too but may not be accessible immediately and would be more useful for storing valuable jewellery or keepsakes. It was a relief to know we really just had to grab two boxes and all files were safe. That could be pared down to one to save space but two was easier than none! The passports and birth certificates were not in this location. Nothing was scanned for safe keeping and easy access. That will change!<br />
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3. Medical records and prescriptions - I had our medical records that related to recent developments requiring specialised care or consideration in my important files box (well a few recent ones were still laying on the guest room bed but....easily grabbed!) I would suggest that you keep a list of your current medications (the drugstore always gives you one when you re-fill your prescriptions) plus the over the counter ones you can't live without for a week. Keep your list inside your medicine cabinet and have a baggie or something designated for transporting so you just have to grab it, dump the meds and pack them. The guideline does suggest having an emergency stash of two weeks-worth of essential medications in your preparedness emergency kit. I am just thinking of the rushing I did to get the stupid plastic bag for all things in the bathroom in the first place. In retrospect, I know I could have just grabbed my travel ziplock that I keep in the cabinet and fill that up. I just need to put it in a more conspicuous place. Panic does befuddle your brain!<br />
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4. Emergency contact list - I did not have one! Have an emergency contact list available that includes your Doctor but also your family members phone numbers. Here is my story. I depend on my cell phone for ALL my phone contacts. I do have one list I keep on my laptop also. Thursday night my cell phone died right at the beginning of the event. I packed my laptop in a panic and threw my charge cords into my camera case. I wanted to make some calls and could not find the numbers without unpacking my laptop etc. and could not remember where my charger cord was to give me access to my phone. Panic destroys your thinking capability. A printed list that I could have easily grabbed would have been such a big help at the time.<br />
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5. More about lists, I would suggest that you keep all of these lists with your emergency plan booklet - yes, the one you and I are all going to sit down and fill out tonight. I am going to file it in with my important documents and files - the grab and go box I will be able to take with confidence if I am ever faced with this situation again. I will also include an extra charging cable for my cell phone.<br />
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6. Personal Contact - Have an out of town contact person that lives far enough away they will not be affected by the same emergency. A neighbour is not good enough. I did not have one officially set up and those I thought of were on my laptop in the car or on my phone that was dead and my mind could not unfreeze enough to even think my way back to that. With a plan and a specific contact in mind, you can let someone know your situation, where you are going and how you are getting there. At least you are not operating in a vacuum. Without having thought about this before, I could not even think well enough to even recognize the importance of it - even while we sat and waited to hear if we would be evacuated. I was thinking - "it won't happen"; "I will let someone know if it does happen"; "I'll call when I am safe." Faulty thinking! Panic brain thinking! Call or email someone with exact information and plan.<br />
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So the next big question beyond what do you need is what would you take? In my first burst of panic, I grabbed my undigitized photos of my kids. I am so glad I had already downsized and handed off the important informal family photographs but the formal ones - the "baby" pictures - those do not exist anywhere else - those needed to be saved. I also included my youngest daughter's baby book - that will be handed off at her next visit! The laptop went into a suitcase along with my tablet and a few clothes. My phone went into my purse. The charge cords, as I discovered later, were shoved into my camera bag. Medicine and some often-worn jewellery I keep in the bathroom were tossed into a plastic bag with my toothbrush. I could have saved time here if I had designated a bag - I had to look for one! After a short discussion about files, the boxes of important papers and documents were loaded as is. The last thing to go into our little Honda Civic were my watercolour paintings - all in one box - I guess they are important to me after all! With a plan, we would have saved a few minutes of talk for other important things. Overall, I would say it took us fifteen minutes. If we had not been in a down-sized stage in our life with everything so organized and at our fingertips it would have been at least thirty minutes or more.<br />
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No diamonds or other expensive jewellery made it in. Nostalgia won over price. It was a mess, but it was packed. Raouf and I worked separately; with a plan and a list of the essentials, it might have gone more smoothly. In retrospect I think I would have thrown in my prized pictures from Africa and Thailand, and now I am clearheaded I must remember to put my mom's locket on my list of things to save. I had written it off along with the diamond rings and gold bracelets I never wear. There are a few other things that mean a lot to me that did not make it into the car - they will go on the list titled "if there is time."<br />
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As you know, we did not get the evacuation order. We had time while we were waiting to save other things. Call it denial; call it acceptance, but, I remember looking around and thinking, <i>yes, I could let go of everything else</i>.<br />
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There is SO MUCH MORE in the Plan Guidelines. With the emergency past and the panic subsided, I am going to put my plan together. Stay tuned for a picture of my emergency kit. I want to see a picture of yours, too!!<br />
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-40259761232418017342015-08-15T14:28:00.002-07:002015-08-15T14:28:16.811-07:00Fire!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzlhtZCr_8V8aWiz-TUfwwnfoTX9lJO55jHeJVg14ZnQYEoQeWHLaEJ5JdFV6GkHHDbesxI4hu47Qe3QWaK9YgJfxs5Htp2PcfvaWncMu6178AAwqfPFrykW-2a1vybG6UTdqkPbT_6SE/s1600/IMG_9406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzlhtZCr_8V8aWiz-TUfwwnfoTX9lJO55jHeJVg14ZnQYEoQeWHLaEJ5JdFV6GkHHDbesxI4hu47Qe3QWaK9YgJfxs5Htp2PcfvaWncMu6178AAwqfPFrykW-2a1vybG6UTdqkPbT_6SE/s320/IMG_9406.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieSUk4nKFQyztDLra-Qhu9hTP9JECZY8ysQjvkLYAX-LPfEVR6iGJwWV0LVfsSrQmPm4OPALaB3VZnf5IJzmvQU3YSoQCE-QwvfSSHVVVkBN6-_qh07DMikJDlScXKklJ0-pdjfNbdCXc/s1600/IMG_9427.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieSUk4nKFQyztDLra-Qhu9hTP9JECZY8ysQjvkLYAX-LPfEVR6iGJwWV0LVfsSrQmPm4OPALaB3VZnf5IJzmvQU3YSoQCE-QwvfSSHVVVkBN6-_qh07DMikJDlScXKklJ0-pdjfNbdCXc/s320/IMG_9427.JPG" width="320" /></a>The smoke grew denser and I started watching with some concern, thinking the fire across the lake was getting bigger. I wandered out onto the patio after dinner expecting to maybe see a sunset. I saw it then - flames reaching just over the ridge beneath the billowing smoke. I was joined by neighbours searching the sky. We gravitated together, seeking confirmation, perhaps, that everything is OK. The flames started jumping high into the air as one tree after another exploded in front of my camera lens. The fire was just up the road - maybe twenty minutes drive. It was hard to tell. My pictures were shaky, out of focus - I was too quick to press the shutter button at times; too dazed to even take the picture at other times. With assurances we would keep each other informed, we went back into the house to escape the thick smoke and stood there with a "now what?" expression on our faces. <br />
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Our neighbour knocked on our patio door ten minutes later. <br />
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"We are under evacuation alert - get packed."<br />
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Here is where the story morphs into the surreal. Get packed, indeed.<br />
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Having no idea how long we had, or even what an alert meant, we kicked into gear. The initial panic created a frenzy of mindless activity. What do you do first? I grabbed a bag - a small one I use for carry on and started shoving clothes in - how many and what? For a day? A week? No time to decide. I grabbed my camera and the prescriptions, a few photo albums of pictures that have not been digitized, my youngest daughter's baby book - still barely filled after 33 years. The plug-in cords for phones and tablets were stuffed in anything that was sitting open. I paused and threw in my favorite jewellery, makeup (which I really don't use very often anymore), extra shoes for walking, jackets, sweaters - the list goes on.<br />
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Then, it was "wait" until the RCMP came and knocked on the door. We had some time to think. The world literally slowed down as the panic subsided and the focus of the adrenalin dump started to provide more clarity. I re- packed my clothes while standing by the car - not wanting to take anything back into the house. We made sure our papers - especially insurance - were loaded and my laptop and plug paraphernalia was packed in a suitcase. I looked at all my watercolour paintings I kept in a box in my guest room/studio and actually deliberated if I should or shouldn't include them in the stuff collecting in our little Honda Civic. In went my box of paintings.<br />
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Another half hour and I started to re-think everything. Where were my cords for my phone? Did I pack my tablet? Do I have all my prescriptions? Did I miss some photos? Should I take my only two original paintings? <br />
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Time passed and we settled down to watch Netflix. Then, wonder of wonders, the rain started - lightly. We decided we would leave it in God's hands and we headed off to bed. I doubted I would sleep. I was only half undressed - ready at a moment's notice to throw on some clothes. I tossed and turned, got up to check if it was still raining, went back to bed; got up when I heard something knocking on our front wall - all was peaceful with just a little wind picking up again. Finally, sleep (after posting on Facebook!)<br />
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What didn't I take? My expensive jewellery, for one. I felt oddly detached from the rest of my possessions - like I had already lost them. <br />
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So, what would you take? Do you have an exit plan? I would love to hear - now that I have had a close call with this kind of loss, I know what I would take!<br />
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-44062140477652234612015-08-15T12:14:00.000-07:002015-08-15T12:14:22.444-07:00My First Story Published!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--></span></a>As a newbie to the world of writing, I have never pursued publishing any of my stories. This opportunity came up recently and my story has been accepted. It will be available this fall. Celebrating my first baby step as an author! The story is titled <i>Angels and Mistletoe</i>. </div>
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-39389069441353317582015-08-07T01:47:00.003-07:002015-08-07T01:54:53.284-07:00One Senior's Political Opinion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQy73aPDEhtC1QNGUDoyphEyuvK5GZzfUgm0TGFr5YGcG3_jXhe" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for images of Oh Canada" border="0" height="160" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQy73aPDEhtC1QNGUDoyphEyuvK5GZzfUgm0TGFr5YGcG3_jXhe" width="320" /></a>I have never been a political aficionado. I voted with my heart rather than my head for many years and often based my decision on the person representing my riding and not the politician at the head of the party. Since retirement, I have had more time to monitor politics. I realize that I am walking on thin ice here, without much political knowledge - just opinions - but, really, I think I am just your average Canadian trying to make sense of a political system that moves in the dark recesses of Parliament Hill and only surfaces with rhetoric to enable it to once more move back into its den of darkness. OK - maybe a little dramatic, but....! That was never discussed in any social studies course in my school.<br />
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Here is what I have figured out for myself:<br />
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1. Many politicians start out with a deep desire to change the world based on their own values and beliefs. Some succeed. Some succumb and compromise. Some keep fighting until they get voted out or get too old.<br />
2. Much that goes on in the political realm takes place under the surface; like an iceberg, only the tip is exposed to the public.<br />
3. A skilled politician is one who can keep a distance from all the failures, make deals under the table to keep the political balls - his political balls - in the air; and, can figure out how to play with the other political big kids trading cards, marbles or, in real life, armies, equipment, and favours.<br />
4. The political essays and articles and Facebook posts are ALL skewed to appeal to the parties the author supports.<br />
5. We, as the public, can easily find many of said essays, articles and Facebook posts that support the view we agree with, spouting off statistics that prove XYZ - and we use that to support our beliefs, sighing with relief that we were right in the first place. It is like a scientist who starts out believing that the earth is flat and then spends the rest of his life proving it instead of saying: I wonder what shape the earth is?<br />
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Accept it. Politics is a game. It`s winners are the politicians who can score a great pension, maybe make a difference by denting the machinery for good (not evil), and are able to retire with a good record of service to their constituency. These are most often the small players - the ones in the trenches (or ridings). They campaign on the party line and they are the ones who believe it will happen. They get our vote because we believe them, too. The losers are usually us - the public - because the party is bigger than the members we voted to serve us.<br />
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The reality is that the higher a politician gets to the top, the more he or she must compromise, negotiate, and, sometimes, "sell their soul" just to keep the power to come back next term. As we have all heard, next term is when all of the promises will be kept and Canada will become an economic superhero capable of saving the world from itself while maintaining a lifestyle that takes care of its people from cradle to grave.<br />
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As Joe Q Citizen (or Josephine!), I have no real answers to this. I am not a political science graduate nor have I spent hours studying what economic policy might be best in any given situation. I can only share how I am going to handle this election come October 2015.<br />
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I am going to figure out what I want in a government by paying attention to the comments and promises made by listening to the candidates, reading the least biased articles I can find, and, by researching what works and what doesn't in historical data and in other countries. I am going to vote for the party that has a plan that lines up with what I have discovered in my research and convinces me they will make a good effort to follow through. All of these other theories I will leave to the experts. I don`t know what is best for Canada but I do know what I believe is best for me, a Canadian, recently retired, middle-class citizen:<br />
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1. A government who cares for the poor and the average citizen of Canada, takes a hard look at the cost of governing and has the courage to start cutting at the top - their own salaries, pensions and perks and then continues sourcing the additional funds from the outside: i.e. increased corporate taxes.<br />
2. A government who will protect its most vulnerable citizens: the youngest, the oldest and the sick.<br />
3. A government who will provide incentives for small businesses, ensuring that they continue to grow.<br />
4. A government who will protect the privacy of its own citizens and repeal Bill C51.<br />
5. A government who will keep Canadian jobs on Canadian soil where ever possible and quit selling out in the name of so-called trade deals.<br />
6. A government who will revitalize Canada's position as a peacekeeping country and not a potential warmonger or weak follower - violence is never as cut and dried as the good guys and the bad guys. There are a lot of innocent people being maimed and killed in the name of spreading democracy.<br />
7. A government who will willingly work towards transparency for the public in all of its administration.<br />
8. A government who will take our environment seriously and figure out a way to protect it AND still grow economically.<br />
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Or that party that comes close enough to win my belief that they will at least try.</div>
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<b><span style="color: red;">It's your choice; it's my choice. </span></b></h2>
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<b><span style="color: red;">Let's vote like informed voters! </span></b></h2>
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<b><span style="color: red;">Oh Canada!</span></b></h2>
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-14675103106647059512015-08-03T14:57:00.000-07:002015-08-03T14:57:50.819-07:00Gratitude Rainbow<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Please don't assume that I am ungrateful when I state right up front that I need more gratitude in my life. It just seems that it is so easy to percolate in the dregs at the bottom then keep my heart at the surface in the light. <br />
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In preparation for a few stories I hope to get published (no big publishing deal but still....), I have been researching child labour in south Asia and found myself mired in the details of the very cause I feel led to help. It pushed me to feel helpless, angry, and paralysed. It also made me feel guilty for taking my many privileges for granted. In my attempt to be pro-active and put the brakes on this slippery slope, I have started a Joy Journal. It is simple, it was an idea online (Thank you, Ann Voskamp and <i>One Thousand Gifts</i>), and, I think it is working.<br />
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Every day I record three things that bring me joy. The online version places parameters around these to keep the participants from getting stuck in the same genre or, perhaps. to get them started moving forward. Today, the suggestions were gifts that I received at 10 AM, 1 PM and 10 PM. The 10 AM one was easy - I got to sleep in until 10 AM! Of course, that is sometimes a symptom of my ingratitude but what a great spin on that, right? Then 1 PM rolled around and I was staring at the most delicious looking omelette that I had ever seen - crafted by my own hands and shared with my significant other, Raouf. My heart still fills with gratitude and my stomach says thank you too. <br />
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Two out of three is great and I am actually looking forward to 10 PM and what that might hold - a great movie on Netflix? a good e-book arriving on my kindle, a soft pillow in my cool, air-conditioned home? I just wandered off into the realm of imagination - my inner child summoned me! - and I smiled at something my little granddaughter said a few days ago about dragons that breathe rainbows. So, I am thinking, what would that look like for this 64-year-old kid?<br />
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I just might have to blog about that!</div>
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2033793204068638071.post-9381877126719199852015-07-15T19:56:00.002-07:002015-07-31T10:58:37.146-07:00Pay It Forward - Again!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I single parented for many years shopping, cleaning and caring for four wonderful human beings. We were not poor. We were rich with love amidst our squabbles and joy lingering in the dusty corners. We were not perfect, but divorce did not squash my life and inhibit my ability to love. It expanded my horizon, opened up my heart to hear the little whispers at my knee for a hug or a story even better than before. I was tired. I was lonely for an adult conversation about clean air, a sale at The Bay or the newest flavour at Starbucks even though I knew I would be lining up for a large coffee at McDonalds long before I would be standing in line to order a grande mocha frappuccino light. I was not poor.<br />
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Back then, grocery shopping became a chore for me rather than a needed break from my children. And when I did wander down those aisles with my calculator in hand, checking my list and the growing number on my screen, I agonised sometimes over cereal selection and mandarin oranges or some other fruit. I smuggled big bags of generic puffed wheat into our home and dumped it into plastic containers with no label that would expose my deceit. I was the queen of hamburger and, given a chance and a great flyer deal, would drive extra miles for a sale on chicken parts with my heart beating faster and faster as I saved another dollar for another day and got to eat chicken instead of meat loaf. I coached my children to save milk for meals and not to share any juice boxes with their friends as I could not replace them for use when the next field trip showed up on their take home papers. And yet, I did not feel poor.<br />
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I lived in a nice house in an average neighbourhood in a small town with clean streets and green parks and a baseball diamond down the road. My children skated at the local arena and played soccer across the street. We fit in. We looked like an average family with our cheap Walmart and consignment clothes and teeth brushed with the toothpaste that was on sale last week. We were not poor.<br />
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One day, during a shopping trip for a celebration dinner for our little family plus a few friends, I rounded the corner of the aisle and zigzagged around the long line up of multiple grocery carts loaded to overflowing with turkeys, big roasts of beef, boxes of mandarins and Cheerios tipping precariously on the edge of the top rail. I envied these women imagining in my mind that they never once pulled out a calculator like I did. I envied them the privilege I had had once, picking and tossing food and miscellaneous goods with ease, just knowing that at the till the numbers would spit out, they would insert their debit card, the tape would roll and then be ripped and handed with a smile and a "Thank you for shopping with us today." I felt poor. In fact I felt angry, ripped off, tired of scrimping and saving, and filled with a strong desire to call my ex-husband and tell him I would send him the bill.<br />
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My anger made tears gather in the corners of my eyes and I quickly swiped them away while pretending to clean my glasses. My anger covered up my heart breaking news that once again some item or another would be missing from our dinner table - not just the presence of the man who had fathered these amazing children. Grumpily, I continued my journey, feeling sorry for myself, for my children, and then tried to include a generous wish that all families everywhere could ditch this overwhelming frustration of never having quite enough. I felt guilty. I felt angry. I felt poor.<br />
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I reached the till somehow that day, smiled at the clerk, and turned to lift out the first item in my only slightly filled cart, knowing that my black mood was more evidence of my shrinking heart than the non-existent poverty I was claiming as my own. A hand reached over and touched my hand just as I grabbed the generic peanut butter jar. I looked up into the smiling, pale-blue eyes and acne-scarred face of Harvey staring at me. I knew him - sort of. He was one of my ex-husband's colleagues, a strange guy, quiet, bookish and yet, somehow, had managed to become a good salesman over the years.<br />
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He greeted me briefly, handed me a card and said, "Hope this helps you and the kids a little. I know you must be going through a rough time."<br />
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Harvey waved again and disappeared into the mall. My heart grew a little bigger. It wasn't the size of the small gift card he had placed in my hand, although it would make a difference to the ones I loved the most - my children. The tears I experienced were tears of gratitude for someone who noticed that average me - not poor me, not underprivileged me, just me - could get through another day, another week and many years fueled by the joy handed to me by a man who was almost a stranger. His act of kindness was timed perfectly.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-uIsEZiG7IgwqCZVtEr1BvUB42mmkegztPoBp5he-WO5MgUMxxvRy2qKkurCU3klP_xIgq-Kgpl2dEFTSI04qdV0lxLgadPDoe-ySmi33XSTSXjoqP9qi1eLxuZFBTmM-p3jESh-2h__v/s1600/mother_teresa_quote.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-uIsEZiG7IgwqCZVtEr1BvUB42mmkegztPoBp5he-WO5MgUMxxvRy2qKkurCU3klP_xIgq-Kgpl2dEFTSI04qdV0lxLgadPDoe-ySmi33XSTSXjoqP9qi1eLxuZFBTmM-p3jESh-2h__v/s400/mother_teresa_quote.png" width="400" /></a>There are so many Facebook posts about this phenomenon. Like many I nod my head and maybe tear up a bit and go on with my life. I say that I know what it feels like to be that one on the receiving end. I have even experienced the extreme joy being on the giving end. Either way, I never get tired of reading or watching these scenarios. That is the basis of who we are as human beings. And I remember once again, it is not necessarily the biggest, most visible gift that makes the greatest impact but a series of well-timed, simple kind gestures paid forward every single day that may lift up an average single mom struggling to make ends meet even when she really isn't poor!<br />
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Eileenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02166513893416847503noreply@blogger.com0