Pay It Forward - Again!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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!

Home Sweet Little Home

I have been inundated with posts this week (thank you, Huffington Post!) about Little Houses.  The tiny homes movement has been growing with many being built in various American cities (hello, Canada!) to address the homeless population's lack of housing.  Built in community with social services at hand along with laundry and administration facilities within the small "villages", the homeless are speaking out about what 500 sq. ft. or much less can mean to someone who has been sleeping outside on cardboard for years.  I have not studied it, cannot address all the issues that could arise from it, but in this moment, I have to say it sounds like one type of solution for some homeless in some communities.  Much cheaper than building big apartment buildings that require large outlays of cash and ongoing maintenance of hallways and heat and air conditioning.  Many tiny homes have solar energy, composting toilets and small maintenance concerns - plus affordable rent for someone making $15 K or so a year.   There is also the invaluable sense of community and pride that these small abodes render.

With the many pictures accompanying these articles I realized that our seniors - yes, you Boomers - are also embracing this in different ways as they seek a retirement solution that will provide them with economic independence.  I have personally downsized into a small, two bedroom home in a lower, economically developed region.  I would never choose this area if I was working - jobs are scarce - but the winter is warmer, the climate is dry and - glory be - the real estate is cheaper than most major cities. Our downsize is not as dramatic as the tiny house movement (and we did actually look at tiny apartments as one consideration but they were VERY pricey!), but it has no basement, is just over 1000 sq. ft. and fits us to a "T"!

I do have friends who have chosen to go the Little House route but, in our lingo, we call them "park models!"  Everything you could want including granite counter tops and cathedral ceilings in 500 sq. ft!  Selling their multi-level city house enabled them to follow their dream.  They now own two park models - one in Canada and one in Arizona.  They get to embrace two various locations, avoid the much-maligned Canadian winter and only have to move some clothing from one site to the other.  The park model in Arizona is what many snowbirds call home for the Canadian winter.  Mind you, most retain their 2000 sq. ft, 3-bedroom home in the city too.  These friends threw caution to the wind and chose to free themselves from the weight such a home creates in maintenance and heating bills and found a small park just miles south of their city home that garnered them a riverside paradise in Canada.  They have retained their temporary trailer as a "visitor dorm" in case of grandkid-sleep overs but had a new park model moved on to the site this spring!  I think their vision is brave and innovative.  This is Year One and I have to say that the Facebook posts are all positive and speak to the allure of friendships and activities in both countries!

What would it take for you to give up your suburban abode?  The vision of freedom to pursue our travel plans and a little corner of the world we can still call home was all we needed!

The Bloomin' Move

Ah \- to be 15 years old!

I spent my whole growing-up phase of life in the same home - a little two bedroom apartment in the back of my parents bakery on the Canadian prairies - small town girl, same friends all the way through school, summers filled with playing "Knock, Knock, Ginger" and bicycle trips out to the famed Chickadee Land.  I played in a sandbox filled with sand from the famous sand dunes (Spirit Sands) just north of our little town and still remember the fun ferry ride across the Assiniboine River before the current bridge emerged.  So, to find myself moving six times in the last 14 years is so not like me! Moves dictated by crazy relationships or life changes; pursuits of inner city living or escapes to the suburbs - they have added up.  I have learned some packing tips and figured out how to make a landing and decorate a house in 3 days, but, I have not yet found an angst-free path between the old and the new.

Me hiking at Spirit Sands

I have spent the last month either preparing for the move out of our current home or planning the set up of our soon to be new home.  I have learned to make decisions, stay the path, embrace the easy and breathe through the challenging.  I have also learned to lean on those who offer a hand or a shoulder - depending on the day!  Today, in the midst of the proverbial angst, I sit and visualize the view from my new home, imagine the fragrance of the roses blooming by the patio and can almost taste the tingle of the local Chardonnay and I just know, in that one mental picture, that I am home.

In my continual, lifelong search for peace, balance and tranquility, I have not always succeeded but in the attempt to avoid the unavoidable I have sold out dreams and sidestepped amazing opportunities.  I recently posted a picture - one of those proverbial Face Book sayings that really resonated within me:

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."  Anais Nin.  

I am BLOOMING!

In China - still hard to believe!

Guiltless Giving

I read an article from the Boston Globe about the "gift that keeps on giving - guilt, that is" and laughed out loud.  With a downsizing move in the very near future, this has been a daily topic of discussion between my two brains - the Pragmatic one and the Nostalgic one ! 




The conversation often goes like this:

N-Brain:  "I think that every grandchild should have a tea cup from their great grandma - you can't give a stranger that precious bit of china commemorating the crowning of Queen Elizabeth II, for goodness sake!  My grandmother protected that delicate piece of memorabilia for what - 50 years!"  

P-Brain (love that little pun!):  "You have never sipped one cup of tea out of that cup since the day it saw the light of day!  It has been packed in a box for like 30 years now and moved along with you each and every time.  Let it go - it will be the perfect piece for a royalist collector somewhere!  Your grandchildren will thank you!"

Let me weigh in now that no one brain wins every debate - at least not in my head!  Tears sometimes blind my pragmatic self and ruthless energy sometimes pushes past a guilt-driven wish to pay the kindness (and memories) forward.  I expect my children daring to read this blog to smile on cue when I only seek to "pay forward" what my mother and grandmother paid forward to me! and then, say "thanks, but no thanks, mom" and hand it back!

So, how do you decide what stays and what goes?  If you have personally reached this stage, do you get the proverbial answer "not now, Mom, but maybe in 10 years" or "yes" when their eyes are glazed over to hide the "what  will I ever do with that " look.  Having delivered the full set of china to my nostalgic, sweet Oregon daughter, I am now prone to be ruthless and yet I dither away.

There is a lingering fear, from my perspective, that awful moment when I find out I gave Daughter #1's wished for item to Daughter #2 - hurting feelings, playing favorites, tossing the important stuff, gifting the ugly - I think you get it.  I will need strength of conviction and maybe a small glass of Merlot to see me through those moments.  I love you, daughters-of-mine, each of you , so very much - maybe so much, I will not weigh you down with my rubble!!

I think back to the scene following my own mother's death, when her much downsized possessions were laid out in full view and realized then that the most precious items were the much used aprons she sewed from dress scraps, the rolling pin she had saved from the bakery she and my dad had owned or the recipes - handwritten on cardboard saved from pantyhose packaging and envelopes - those are things memories are made of and not the lovely little tea cup living out its life in a box in the basement.

So, pictures have been sorted and can be discarded without guilt by the receiver.  The china will be gifted or given away.  The jewelry has been labelled.  And this weekend, the dishes will be sorted.  Pictures of keepsakes will be circulated and all can speak up for what is up for grabs.  The following weekend, the charity of my choice will receive the remaining pieces - and DONE!  Or almost anyway.  I anticipate I will still be anguishing over some long ago crystal glass or bowl.  Perhaps there will be room in our new home for one box of guilt-free gifts and memories! 

Decision Day

To INFINITY and BEYOND!

When do you know?  I have asked this question many times over the past few years.  As one by one friends and family members retired, I waited for an opportune moment and then quizzed them.  Great answers one and all!  But no one could tell me when I should retire!  If you know me well, you will know that my laptop is filled with worksheets and numbers - almost as full as my head is!  I played games with crazy numbers that jumped all over the place - escaping from my spreadsheets, hiding in the tool bar on the screen or bouncing off face book pages or other blogs with similar topics.  I inhaled gargantuan meals of information that gave me mental indigestion and insomnia!  But slowly, I was able to bring order to my thoughts and corralled those numbers into logical columns.  Now, only the occasional one creates a hiccup!  

A close friend and colleague advised me last year at her retirement party that retiring is like planning to have children - if you wait until you can really afford them you will never have any!  I took that to heart and incorporated a more realistic equation into my spreadsheets!  This winter I spoke to a new acquaintance and asked my "question".  She was wise in hind sight and indicated she knew when she felt she had reached the top of her career and her future role was shaping itself through family and life events.  I added that into the calculations and finally my spreadsheets started to make more sense.  With a little more fine tuning and a majorly freezing winter nipping at my nose and toes month after month, and the decision became a reality.  I breathed deep, re-read my letter of resignation over and over and took the leap.  Four months and I will be sitting on the beach, digging in the sand, sipping the local wine and checking out the seniors recreation centre in the sunny Okanagan! 

I did not have that final piece of the puzzle until a few weeks ago - funny how the last piece falls into place when the timing is sorted out.  Once again, the exceptionally cold winter held some sway in the timing!  So now this - my LAST Q3.................

.....can become this - summer in the vineyard! 

AND THIS!

WATCH MY COUNTDOWN BEGIN!

Four Strong Winds.........

After a long trip to somewhere requiring a passport, a long flight and potentially a visa, there is no place like home but once it's in your blood and your heart, soon the travelling itch creeps up and before you know it, you are into planning to get away from home again.  That usually meant another country, another culture, a big trip!

Well, home to me is truly Western Canada.  I was raised a prairie girl in the 1950's and 60's when travel was for the rich and a big trip was a few hundred miles from Winnipeg, Manitoba to Dryden, Ontario.  Since then, I have spent a month in China, embraced Cuba and sojourned into SE Asia.  There are still many destinations to the other side of the world on my bucket list (and in my retirement plan), but one piece of wisdom I have discovered in my brief flirtation with my travelling dreams is this: the true experience of travelling is not in the location; it is in the eye of the beholder and the heart of the traveler.  

My limited forays as a tourist left me gasping to catch my breath and feeling like I had just been past an amazing experience without fully being in it.  This makes me think of the countless hours I spent driving past all of those trail heads as I headed west from Calgary through our beautiful Alberta Rockies, on my way to a quick family visit in Vancouver. I would often wonder, as I sped past, 'Where does that trail lead?  What beauty and adventure liesbeyond the treetops and how would it feel to stand in the middle of the mountain vista instead of taking a picture from the official highway look out?'

The gap in my experience as a tourist was just that - the experience - smelling the alpine meadow in the heat of a summer day after an uphill hike through spruce and pine or feeling the freezing cold spray from a mountain waterfall hidden at the end of a long gravel road.  Experience that gives you the moment to just being able to breathe in the fresh mountain air without the diesel fumes of the tour bus idling 10 feet away - that experience.  I slowed down and finally did discover some of the hidden gems in my own backyard that tourists and movie stars have been raving about for years and became a traveler, if only for a day!

I also thought about how many times I had attended events during the great Calgary Stampede, tasted the beef-on-a-bun or pancakes served from a chuck wagon and watched the rodeo from a safe distance with thousands of tourists but never, not once, got close enough to smell the anticipation of the cowboy's sweat or to hear the grunt of the whirling bull. Having since lived in real cowboy country, I was able to sort out the common place from the superlative, and got to know a few real cowboys, rubbing elbows with them at church, drinking coffee with them at the local cafe and hollering like a fool for the local boy in the small town rodeo, but, by that time I was a local, not a tourist and not a traveler. 

So, this year, we will stay in this beautiful country, I do not seek to put another notch in my rather notch-less travelling belt.  I am throwing away my preconceived ideas of what traveling is and just doing it! That means immersing myself into the moment and not rushing to the next photo-op!

So if it's Gaspésie and Percé Rock from my elementary school daydreams or a quiet cove up the Sunshine coast looking for the hippie in me - no matter.  To the child-me, these places were the other side of the world where they spoke a different language or felt the ocean spray and where you could see creatures no prairie chicken could ever hope to meet: - whales, caribou and Northern Gannets. My imagination saw me standing there, hearing the waves lap on the shore and I so wanted to just do it.  

So, fifty six years later, here I am, doing it - well, planning to do it!  Stay tuned - will it be East or will it be West?  Which way is the wind blowing?  

For now Alberta is home - have a listen (and enjoy the landscape) - it is WORLD CLASS!

According to Ian Tyson but sung by Neil Young....