Hope

One thing I have learned on this journey, this steep and rocky path is to never give up hope. I did. Many times over the past few years of David's illness, I totally and completely gave up hope. He would never get better. There is no cure for lung disease. He would die.

And he did.

However, I watched him give up hope, only to find it somewhere else. A kiss,  a cuddle, a smile, a shared memory, the voice of a grandchild over the phone. Life goes on until the candle flame goes out.

They advise you in palliative care to never give up hope. I used to get angry at that, for how can one hope when you know that death is certain? What good is hope?

Ah, but it's the focus of hope that shifts. You know there is no cure for the disease, that the end of life is near, so your "hope" shifts. You hope that the end will be peaceful. You hope your loved one will die in comfort and with dignity. You hope you will be there with him, and not at home or hastily picking up a sandwich in the coffee shop.

Until then, you go on living because that is what you know. David was in palliative care for just over two months. About a month into his stay, he mentioned to his doctor that his cataract was giving him more trouble than usual. An opthalmologist would be making rounds next week, how does that sound?

Inwardly I cringed. What on earth does he need an opthalmologist's consultation for? How much longer will he be alive? Does he really want to undergo a "procedure" at this stage of life?

It didn't matter for the opthalmologist did not come as scheduled, and would only be available next month. Too late in any case for David. I asked a friend of mine whose husband had passed away the year before. She said "well I guess they only know how to live, not die. My husband wanted to have all kinds of dental work done his last year of life; work he had been putting off for years. I went along with him - whatever floats your boat, honey. Maybe he wanted to die "whole". I don't know."

Two weeks before David died, his medical licence renewal came in the mail. As was our habit, I brought the mail to him every day. He looked up at me with a question in his eyes. I nodded my agreement, so he quietly wrote out a cheque, filled out the form, and handed the envelope for me to put into the mailbox.

He died a licenced physician - just as he had lived.




Wishing you and your loved ones a peaceful Holiday Season, filled with joy, hope and blessings.

Renovations

I hired someone to paint (about 3 weeks ago), because I liked his name. It was Liam and I liked how that name just rolled off my tongue. He seemed to be a nice, upstanding young man;  pleasant with a cheerful manner and an agreeable smile. However, his work was terrible! So I fired him.

My daughter advised me to call Mr. Experienced Handyman, a fellow recommended by a friend, who had painted their house a year or two ago.

So I called Mr. Experienced Handyman. He was not available right then, but could I wait about 5 days or so? Hmmm. Not the answer I wanted. When you're ready to have the house painted, you don't want to wait. Oh well, I guess so.

Three or four days later, I came down with a doozie of a cold, so put house painting and renovations on hold.

In the meantime, I thought I'd call around and find somebody local. Mr. Unexperienced Handyman came  by to give me an estimate. He too was polite, but this time I was ready. "How would you fix this problem?" I asked pointing to some bumps in the wall that were obviously screws or joists protruding through. He looked a little unsure for a minute before happily providing what he thought would be the "right answer". It wasn't (I won't bore you with details).

I called somebody else. His name was Mr. Dude. Well, I'd learned not to judge a person by his name, so asked him to come by. He offered his renovation skills as well. Since I needed a sink and toilet replaced in the small downstairs bathroom, he gave me an estimate for that at the same time. But he could only come two weeks down the road.

I was starting to get frustrated. It seemed to be taking longer to choose a good worker than to actually have the work done!

 I called Mr. Experienced Handyman back once again, since he'd done a decent job in my daughter's home. There was no answer and he didn't have an answering machine. Odd in this day and age.

In desperation I called a painter David and I had hired five years ago. He was very good, but rather pricey. And since I'm refreshing the house to put up for sale, I don't really want to spend a lot of money. Mr. Expensive did come over and just as I'd thought, his prices were more than I wanted to pay. But - he could come within a couple of days.  Hmmmm.

A couple of days came and went and no Mr. Expensive. His "other job" would take another week to complete. Figures.

Decided against Mr. Dude installing the the sink and toilet, as somebody else, a Mr. Old  Handyman-with-a-truck told me he would pick them up at the Home Depot instead of me paying a hefty delivery charge. Fine, good, but this guy doesn't paint.

However, when I went to Home Depot to choose a sink and matching toilet, the salesman told me they were the last ones in stock. Groan....  So I had the young man hoist them into my car and home I went. Once in the garage, it was easy to remove the sink (it comes in pieces) from my car but the toilet was heavy. I looked around to see if any of the neighbours were about. The couple across the street were in their driveway, along with some members of their family. However, it was their wedding day - definitely not a good day to ask one of those finely dressed guests to come over and help remove a toilet from my car.

Ever the resourceful one (or more likely the stubborn one), I eased the toilet from the trunk of the car onto a garden chair, which I had pushed over there to catch it. Otherswise, I'd be carrying a toilet around in my car for days on end. But now I have a toilet (in a box, of course) sitting in the garage in a garden chair. The sink is lying in pieces next to it. 

And, I still need to hire a painter. I decided to call Mr. Dude. Could not find his number anywhere. Ah, but I had his email. Sent him an email telling him that the toilet and sink were installed (they were not as yet, but hopefully soon), so could he come and do the painting instead?

He did not answer my email. Is he mad? Who knows. This is business. Tough luck. I'll try Mr. Experienced Handyman-who-had-painted-for-my-daughter.

He was not home, of course, but this time his wife answered. Yippee - progress! I left him a message - could he come on Monday to do the painting?

Went upstairs to check my email. There was a message from Mr. Dude-who-was-not-installing-the-toilet, saying he'd be glad to come and do the painting on Monday if that was convenient.

Great, now I'll have everybody coming to my door at once. I'll have to call somebody back and cancel.
Sounds like a comedy show.
And with my luck, whoever I choose will probably not show up!

Stay tuned.......
Oh, and this is just the upstairs painting (2 bedrooms and a bathroom). Wait until I get the downstairs painted and carpets ripped up!

Old Codger....

......or do you deliver?

Dismantling the house is tough.
All I wanted to do after David died was run. Run away. Go somewhere, anywhere. Keep busy. Frantic pace. Go, go, go. Anything to get away from the awful truth. That which I could not change.

And so I cleaned, I sorted, gave away, threw away and held a garage sale. My kids brought up all the junk from the basement and settled it into the garage.

One nice Saturday morning, in August, I got up at 5:00 a.m. and hauled all of the stuff out in the driveway. I did not think. I could not think. So I priced everything at $5.00. Tables, a television, old VCR, dressers, lazy-boy-chair, old tools (well they went for a dollar), electric leaf blower, weed trimmer, my old wood-working projects, bunches of knick-knacks, and old garden rakes, shovels and whatever else was down there. Most of it was sold. The rest I donated.

Then I looked around the living areas. What do I want to get rid of? What do I not want to drag to a new house? One of the first things I decided to let go of was the old stereo system. It still worked (somewhat), so I put ads up at my local grocery store.

A young music student wanted the ancient turntable and speakers. I sold them to her for $20.00. She did not want the rest of the unit. Hmmmm. Now what to do? The tuner and radio were alright, and the CD player was still decent, but without speakers.....
Then there was the stand. Even though it was made of pressed wood, it was still pretty good. I re-posted the ad, asking $15.00 for the stand. The rest I would figure out what to do with later on.

The telephone rang early in the evening.
"Hello? Is this the stereo stand?"
"Um, yes." I answered.
"Well, is it still available?"
"Yes, it is."
"What?"
"Yes!" This guy sounded really really old. I don't think he could hear very well.
"Oh good."
Silence.
"Yes..." I encouraged.
He coughed once or twice. Said something to somebody else who must have been in the same room. It sounded like "what do I tell her?"

"Ah, lady?"
"Yes, I'm still here"
"Could I come and look at it."
Gee, that's a tough one (LOL).
"Sure, when would you like to come over?"
This old codger mumbled something to his roommate. I guess they were conferring.
"Is it still $15.00?"
I hesitated. Actually, I'd forgotten what price I'd asked, since I'd priced and repriced so many items.
"That's what the ad says!" he sounded indignant and grumpy yet I hadn't answered his question.
"Then that's what the price is." I confirmed. "When would you like to come by?"
"O.K. I'll call you later." Click.

Two minutes later the phone rang again.
"Hello? Is this the stereo stand?"
"Um, yes."
"Ah...um...ah, I don't have a car. Do you deliver?"
I nearly dropped the phone. Do I deliver? Am I a store? A delivery service? For a fifteen dollar cabinet? Well, I couldn't help myself. I had to laugh. Told him I couldn't lift it into my car. He said he'd try to get somebody to help him.

No, this is not the end. There's more.
A few mornings later, I opened the door to see a very old man on my doorstep. He'd come by bicycle.
I just stared at him. I knew who he was because he had called earlier.
"You can't take this home by bicycle!"
"Oh, I know that, lady. I just came to look at it."
I was impressed. He had ridden his ancient bicycle about two miles to get to me and all the roads were uphill. Talk about perseverance and stamina! And he looked about 85 years old!

"Well, come in." I felt bad. I should have just lugged it into my car and delivered the dang thing. "Would you like some tea?" I asked him. It was a cool morning and I felt sorry for the old guy.
"Oh, no thanks, I have the flu."
Oh..... I took 2 steps away from him, as he coughed and blew his nose.

Long story short, he paid me the money, told me I'd miss this really good cabinet (gee, I don't think so) and arranged to pick it up later. Still feeling a little guilty at the old guy coming out when he was sick and on his bike too, I gave him the CD player and radio that went with it. He didn't want it, so gave it to his daughter-in-law, who was driving the pick-up truck.

Hope they enjoyed their treasures.

Where are you?

I'm in the wind, I'm in the breeze
I'm in the flowers and in the trees
I'm all around; though you cannot see
Please don't weep. I'm still me.

I'm energy now, a beam of light
I watch over you day and night
I'm in your heart; can you not feel?
The depth of our love, does it not heal?

I scattered you at water's edge
Mindful of the rocky ledge
The lake was calm, the sky was blue
I saw a butterfly; then there were two
Please tell me that was you.

A pair of dragonflies, glistening wings
Dipping, dancing, shining things
Great heron swooped in to view
I saw another, making two
Once again - was that you?

Just close your eyes my love and feel
I'm not gone, I'm real as real
I've only changed, transformed as they say
I'll never leave you, I won't go away

I am the light that flickers in the hall
I am the shadow you see on the wall
I'm all around, though you cannot see
I'm not gone.
I am still me.

What does the sky look like?

"What does the sky look like?" he asked as I walked into the kitchen.
I gave him a smile and turned around to plop our coffee down on the counter.

"Oh, a little cloudy, some patches of blue."

I was glad that my back was turned, as in truth I hadn't really noticed. Why did he ask me this question?

Logically it was probably because he hadn't ventured out of the house in the past 2 or 3 years. Or maybe he just wanted to know if we would be able to enjoy our morning coffee on the deck, soaking up the early summer sunshine. Some days even in summer, it might be too cool, especially if the sky was overcast. Or too windy and he'd have trouble catching his breath.

More than likely, he just wanted to have some sense of the outside world. A world he had almost left behind.
Now, I'll never know.

Every day after that, however, I made sure to look up at the sky as I was running errands, so I could tell him what it looked like. And as I became more aware of the sky, I also became more aware of our environment.

Over the years David would make a comment like: "There's an east wind blowing." And I would look at him as if to say, "Who cares?"
Now I take more notice.


I think that being aware of the ebb and flow of one's natural environment is to feel connected, and David must have needed the strength of that connection.

Sand pictures

Does anybody know what this is? Let's ask Mr. Bunny.... too late, he's hopped away.

Well then, let's ask Jazzy. Oh, she's taking a nap.

How about Nathan? Do you know what that thing in the sand is?

Nope, he's too busy playing with trucks.

Let's ask the horseshoe crab.

Or Mistress Seaweed...

How about the little girl who made the sand picture?

Why it's a Sand Angel, of course.

Monster for supper?

Ewwww - what's that, Mommy?
Lobster, Jasmine.
Monster?
No, lobster!

What are we going to do with it?
Eat it - it's for supper.
Nooooooooo!

What's wrong? Lobster is good. We only have this when we go to the ocean. It's a treat.

But... but....is the monster o.k., Mommy?

"Yes," said Mommy with a straight face. I couldn't help laughing out loud. How on earth could a cooked lobster be o.k., sitting on a dinner table in a pool of garlic butter, about to be devoured by a hungry family? Oh, the innocence of little ones.....

Dreams and pens..

Night times are hard. The house is so quiet, so dark and still as I lie alone in bed trying to go to sleep. Before long, the inevitable tears flow, soaking my pillow. It's incredible how much I miss David's warm body next to mine. I still reach out to touch his pillow in the night.

"Please send me a dream," I entreat him, "so I know you are o.k. So I know you are not gone, not passed away, but passed within". This is an expression I heard from my on-line widows support group. Our loved ones have not passed away, they've passed within. I like that.

I did manage to fall asleep,and when I awoke in the early hours, a vague sense of having dreamed of David splashed across my brain. What was it? Ah, then I saw a picture of me in a boat. I don't know where I was going. I had a small child by the hand. Try as I would, I could not remember who this child was. I think it was a little boy. A grandchild? Nephew? One of my own boys? My husband as a child? Dreams are funny. Time does not run like it does here on earth. My children are grown now, but when I dream of them, often they are still toddlers, or teens. And I am the same age. A grandmother. So I don't know who this child was.

There was a stethoscope around my neck - David's. As most of you know, he had been a doctor in this life. A gentle and respected physician, who loved his work. Somebody on the boat addressed me as doctor. I was too weary to correct him (or her, I forget). Upon awakening, the message was clear. David was within. We are one.

It must seem a strange way to think, for someone who has not experienced the loss of a spouse, a partner, a lover. This "passing within" rather than "passing away." It's a deep feeling of love, centered in the heart. Both of my parents and my brother have passed away. I still feel a connection to them and dream about them from time to time, but there is a detachment, a feeling of letting them go. It's just not the same.

PEN STORY, PART II
Earlier in the month, I was back at the notary's office as there were more legalities to be sorted out. This time, I checked my purse at least 3 times to make sure I'd brought a good pen. I had. But just to be on the safe side, I reminded everyone right before the meeting began, to make sure they had their pens handy. The notary looked at me as if I had 5 heads. She had obviously forgotten our last meeting where nobody could find a pen (I was sure David had hidden them all). The financial advisor, who was sitting on my right side must have remembered, for he gave me a self-conscious smile.

The meeting began. A document was produced for me to sign. With a flourish I whipped out my pen, placed it on the paper and.....
nothing....but a scratch.
I could not believe it. David up to his tricks once again! If he couldn't hide the pens, then he'd just make sure mine didn't work! Ha! And I thought I'd been so smart, so prepared this time.

Good old Financial Advisor leaned forward and lent me his pen. It worked and I signed what was to become the first of quite a few documents that morning.

"You can keep it," he said with a smile.

A little birdie told me..

Monday afternoon.

I had had a particularly lonely and grief-stricken weekend.
It seems I can go for a few days feeling fine and then - Wham! Out of nowhere I am overwhelmed with feelings of pain and loss.

Monday afternoon, I was babysitting my two grandchildren. Little Nathan was down for his nap. I had given him his bottle upstairs and gently placed him in his crib, sound asleep. His sister was sitting in the living room watching a childrens' program on television. Otherwise, I would be hearing "Grandma - where are you?" "Grandma - I have to go potty!" "Grandma - is Nathan sleeping yet?" So with the TV as distraction, Nathan could be put to sleep undisturbed.

Quietly, I closed the bedroom door. Made sure the baby monitor was turned on. Tiptoed downstairs. Peeked into the living room. Jasmine was totally absorbed in her show. Good. Went to the kitchen to heat up my coffee in the microwave. Just then the dog barked to go out. O.K., so I took my coffee to the patio door and let Whiskey out.

It was a beautiful day. Sun shining brightly. Sky a clear blue. Too nice to be sitting inside. So, I took a couple of minutes to walk barefoot in the backyard grass (no I did not step in dog poop). I just enjoyed the feel of grass on my bare toes, and talked to David as I always do. "Why are you gone? Why don't you come back? Where are you?" Silly questions, but I ask anyway.

Heard a chirping. Ignored it. The chirping did not go away. In fact it became louder and more persistent. So I looked around. A bright red cardinal sat chirping for all he was worth on a telephone wire. I watched him for a while. Looked for the female. Could not find her. Just him. Sitting chirping as if trying to tell me something.

Walked back in the house. Left the dog outside lying on the grass, chewing on a plastic dog toy. Peeked into the living room. Jazzy was just fine.

"Would you like some juice?"

"Yes, grandma."
"Yes, please," I instructed.
"Yes, please," she repeated.

Poured her some juice. Re-heated my coffee (I like it hot, even on a hot summer's day).

Finally ambled into the living room to sit on the sofa beside Jazzy, snuggling up to enjoy the closeness of her three-year-old body; but still conscious of the sharp pain of loss - knowing David and I will never snuggle up together again.

Enough focusing on the pain! (I admonished myself). Looked up at the TV screen to see what Jazzy was watching. Childrens shows are short, usually lasting 10 or 15 minutes, so I thought we'd watch one last one and then turn off the set. As it happened, a new show was just beginning.

It was about a little robin who was sad. He was looking out of the window in a child's room. The robin had been injured and the child had brought him home. But now he was well and longed to be outside.

The mother of the child walked into the room, sized up the situation, and told the little boy to let the robin fly free. He obediently opened the window and the robin flew out. But a few minutes later, the bird was back. He perched on the child's finger, told him thank you for your care, I'm sorry I have to leave, but I must fly free now. I love you.
"I love you too," replied the child.

The mother explained to the child that the robin was happy now. It had to feel the wind on its wings, join the other birds, build a nest and go on to a brand-new life.

Nice little story.

And then it hit me.

That story was meant for me. It was a message from David saying he was well and happy - flying free now. Thank you for helping me heal, but I must go on to a new life.

No, no, no, I argued with myself. I must be going nuts. How can that be?

It's the timing. The precision of the timing. I had just sat down at that precise moment to cuddle with Jasmine and look up at the television. Had I not let the dog out, heated my coffee, watched that bird, put Nathan down earlier or later, etc. etc., I would have missed that show.

It's always the timing that brings home the message.

Oh, and I wonder what the cardinal had been trying to tell me?

I wear his watch...

...on my left wrist.
I sit in his place at the kitchen table, so I don't have to look at his empty chair.
I drink coffee from his favourite cup in the morning. The cup I used to bring him in hospital, to make him feel a little bit closer to home.
I carry his wallet in my purse.
I sleep in one of his t-shirts.

Over these past weeks, whenever I went to Tim Horton's I would buy a coffee for me and a coffee for him (double-double). Back home, I'd sit under the oak tree in our backyard where I have a candle burning to light his way. I'd carry on a conversation with David while sipping my own coffee. Then I'd pour his under the tree. I just could not bring myself to buy only one coffee. I had to buy David his coffee too. Even my children when coming to visit would bring me a coffee and one for David. It became a ritual; pouring David his coffee under the tree, so he would get it wherever he is.
But now I don't need to pour his coffee under the tree. When I sip my coffee, I feel we are sipping together, as if we are one.
Am I losing my grip on reality?

Maybe..... but I feel him....close to me.
Our love is our connection. Our bond. Our bridge from one world to the next.

David loved pens. There are oodles of pens in his desk drawers. Pens sitting in a coffee mug on a shelf next to the telephone. Pens in every pocket of every jacket. Pens lying on the surface of every coffee table in our home. When David and I would go shopping (that seems light years ago now) to a stationery store like Staples, he would head straight for the pens.
"David, don't you think we have enough pens? We must have a hundred or more at home. Why are you looking at more pens?" He'd just smile and head on over to that department anyway, leaving me to pick up whatever we had initially come into the store to buy.

I am sitting in the notary's office (here in Quebec, we use notaries rather than lawyers for real estate transactions, estate management, etc.) a few days after David's passing. His son-from-out-of-town was there too. As was my financial advisor. I was asked to sign a document. Opened my purse and started rummaging inside. No pen. I knew I had one in there. I always carry a pen with me. Looking up, I noticed that everyone was looking about for their pens. Nobody could find one. Finally, the very red-faced financial advisor stepped outside to ask his secretary for a pen.

Ha - I think David had hidden everyone's pens.

Three days ago, I was down by the lake where his ashes had been scattered. It was very peaceful with sailboats on the water, cool breezes caressing my face, ducks swimming among the rushes close to shore, and blue blue skies. I walked for a bit and then sat down on a rock under a willow tree.

After a while, I headed back through the grassy field towards the road where I'd parked my car. A melody floated through my head.
....let's go down to the river to pray.....

Oh, did I come here to pray? Hmmm. Maybe I should.
The morning of David's passing, I kept hearing a voice in my head saying "call the priest." So I asked the nurse to call him. When the Father arrived, he asked me to join him in saying the Lord's prayer.

That prayer came back to me as I walked that grassy field towards the car. And when I had finished, I looked down on the ground, and saw.....
lying in the grass...
a pen!

Finding comfort in nature..

Opening to the morning light....

Reaching towards the afternoon sun...

The Natural world is full of healing if only we would notice. The shamrock (above) bloomed just a day or so ago. I didn't notice. I'd been too busy to pay attention. I had bought this plant for David just this past spring...

Before David's hospital admission, I looked out the front window to see a pair of ducks on our front lawn. There is no pond or water source nearby. It was quite a surprise. I looked up the meaning of Ducks in my Animal Speak book. Ducks bring emotional comfort and protection. I knew we were in for a rough ride.

One evening I happened to look out David's hospital window to the Healing Garden. There swimming on the pond was a pair of ducks. I never saw any more after that.

Sitting on my back deck one afternoon on one of my "days off" from the hospital, I looked up into the sky to see a hawk flying overhead. Now there are hawks in our neighbourhood, but I usually spot them towards the woods - never in my backyard.

The hawk is a "powerful bird that can awaken visionary power and lead you to your life purpose. It is the messenger bird, and wherever it shows up, pay attention. There is a message coming."

I was out walking the other morning, listening to birds as they sang and chirped. I was feeling lonely and sad. Suddenly a tiny brown bird flew down close to me. He (or she) settled on a low branch, looked at me and chirped out a greeting. I wonder.....

Three days after David's passing, I was once again sitting on my back deck. It was a beautiful day, but I was crying in grief and pain. All of a sudden, an orange and black butterfly flew down and perched on the chair next to me. I knew in my heart that it was David, telling me he was alright. I have read that when you see a butterfly, it is a Soul who has passed on coming to comfort the ones left behind.

David

My dear David slipped quietly from this world with peace and dignity yesterday, July 3, 2010. As they say in the COPD world "He is breathing easy now..."

I awoke early this morning to feel waves of love and joy emanating from David's spirit. It was such a comfort, as I thought I'd be waking up in pain.

Yes, I feel sad. Yes, there are tears, but right now I know he is flying; he is lighter, having left his painful and worn out body behind.

I'm not ready

Five weeks ago, the telephone rang just before 8:00 a.m.
I had just gotten out of the shower and was towel drying my hair.

"Hello, this is M.S. Hospital calling."
My heart sank. "Yes?" I managed to croak.

"Your husband is desaturating."
That meant his oxygen level in his blood was very low and if they were calling me, it was because they could not get it up to acceptable levels. Bad news.

"Is he conscious?" I asked.
"He's sleeping."

"I'll be right there."

My mind went into over-drive. He's in a coma and the nurse did not want to tell me. She did not answer my question, but just said he was sleeping. If his sats were that low, then of course they couldn't wake him up. And we all know there is no resuscitation in the palliative ward.

Is he alive? Will he still be there when I arrive?
"Please God." I prayed. "Not yet. Not yet."

Driving as fast as I could, my mind sending David signals.
"Don't go, yet, sweetie. We still have lots to say. Lots to do yet. I haven't given up hope of bringing you home!! Hang on. I'm coming."

I don't know how I managed to do it, but I missed the exit. How on earth could I do that? This car has been driving to the hospital for 3 weeks, doesn't it know the way all by itself?

And then a great wave of peace washed over me. If I missed the exit there is a reason. And there is nothing whatsoever I can do to stop or change whatever will be.

That peaceful feeling did not last long, as it took me an extra 20 minutes (on top of the usual hour) to get to the hospital. Frantically I parked the car. Slammed the door. Bolted up the stairs to the third floor. Passed the nursing station. Hmmm. Nobody there, that must be a good sign. Nobody to waylay me before I enter Hubby's room. Round the corner. Hubby's door is open. Hmmm. Another good sign. If it had been closed....

Tore open the curtain to see David lying in bed, looking a little groggy, but reading the newspaper! I ran over and gave him the biggest, most giganticist hug you can imagine.

He looked at me in surprise. "Am I dreaming? What are you doing here so early?"

Apparently his oxygen mask had fallen off sometime in the early morning hours. I don't know how long he was without oxygen, but when the day nurse came on duty, she saw David in bed, face a grey colour and his mask dangling over the edge of the bed. She put it back on and then got the oxymeter to measure the oxygen saturation in his blood. She told me at first she couldn't get a reading, so called for help. He was still breathing, so after a few minutes the oxygen reading was 50 (normal being from 90-100). The nurse told me it took an hour to get his sats back up to normal. They had to put extra oxygen on to do that.

What a scare for everybody.

His doctor sat on the bed and said "that was a close call, but it wasn't so bad, was it? There was no pain, no shortness of breath."

"But I'm not ready!" came Hubby's sharp retort.

David has had many close calls over the past few years. I sometimes think he is living on borrowed time (as the old saying goes). When I got home that night, I needed to write; as if drawn back into ancient times:



STANDING AT THE BRINK

He is standing at the edge of a Cliff.
Looking down.
Scared. Fearful.
"I do not want to go there."
And he steps back.

"Wife," he says on coming home, "I stood at the Brink today."
"I know," she murmurs, pulling loaves of fresh bread out of the oven.

Time passes.
Another Day.
He finds himself standing at the edge of the very same Cliff.
Looking down, he sees fierce-looking animals.
"No, I'm not going there."

Years before, in a dream he saw himself walking to the end of the Earth.
To the Brink. Where there was nothing but air below.
"I can't go there. I don't have wings to fly."
Just then an angel floated by. His father.
"Not yet," he sang to him, "not yet."

And so he went back home.
"Wife," he says, "I stood at the Brink today. There was nothing below. Just Air."
"I know," she murmurs, ladling out soup for their supper.
Night time. They are sleeping under the Stars.
Wife looks up into the night. And cries softly.
One of those Stars will soon be Husband.
She knows in her heart.
He rarely leaves the House anymore.

Once again He stands at the top of the Cliff. Afraid to look down.
But he knows he must. He's been here before. His body is showing him the way.

Looking down, he sees before him a black pit.
"No, I'm not going there."
And he steps back.
To let somebody else go.
Looking around, he sees many Souls taking the Leap.
Some take the plunge with strength and dignity; others hesitantly with fear.
Nobody returns.

Now there are people with him as he makes his way to the Cliff.
His footsteps grow heavy.
Second Son says "it's just the natural order of things".
"Have a safe passage" whispers a relative.
"We'll make you comfortable when it's time to go," chants the medicine man.
"Are you alright?" concerned friends ask.

"I'm not ready." he tells them all.

And goes home to his wife.
Where he finds her preparing his favourite foods. She knows that one day he will not come home for supper.
But every day she cooks.
Every day she waits for him.
Every day she listens for his footsteps.
Every day they sit down to eat.
"How are you?" she asks.
"I"m tired."
'I love you." her eyes go soft as she looks into his.
"I love you too." his eyes speak from his heart.

She knows his time is near; that one day he will not come home to her.
She knows it will be a time when there is nobody about.
Nobody to watch. No one to interfere.

He will slip away quietly in the early hours.

We look for the silver....

....lining, as the old saying goes. The flowers strewn along our steep and rocky path. The diamonds in the rough.

As you can see, I've taken some time to reacquaint myself with a very good friend of mine - my camera. Out in the healing garden, I absorb the peaceful surroundings and lose myself in capturing a goldfish, a waterfall, spring flowers. How lucky we are to have this hidden paradise, this center of calm, amidst the harsh reality of disease.

David has been out in the healing garden 3 or 4 times since my last post. He tilts his face up to the sun and lets out a sigh of contentment. So relaxing, so nice to enjoy the warmth and healing golden rays. Some days he's too tired. Some days the weather is rainy, but on good days we go out. Just for half an hour more or less, but at least we have this time.

We've also made friends with the volunteers. They are truly incredible people. I did not know just how valuable to the hospital these dedicated souls are. There is one sweet gentleman with white hair who brings my husband his morning coffee and newspaper every day.
Every day.
He never takes a day off. He's always there. You will see him feeding elderly patients, pushing a wheelchair in the garden, accompanying someone to an outside appointment, fetching towels or soap for a bath. He does everything with a smile.

Another one is a wee, tiny little old lady (I'm sure she's 85 or so), who comes around every afternoon with the "snack cart."

"Tea, coffee, cookies, ice cream?"

I sometimes feel like a kid again at somebody's birthday party, being served cookies and ice cream. But she's a dear. And so tiny, she reminds me of a doll with her clear blue eyes and soft white hair.

Oh, and there's Spa Day.

Spa Day happens once a week.

The patient is taken from their bed and put right onto a bath stretcher, covered up with flannel sheets and wheeled down the hall to the Spa Room.

It's dark when you first enter the room.

Ah, but then you see the tiny tea lights glowing softly from the walls and shelves. These are made to look like candles (real candles being forbidden of course) lending a romantic atmosphere.

Champagne cooling in a silver bucket beckons invitingly from a shelf (no it's not real).

Lovely relaxing music plays in the background.

An ocean scene has been painted on the wall to give the illusion of being at the beach.

The bath stretcher is lowered into the tub. The patient doesn't even have to move. They just lie there, secured to the stretcher while fragrant warm water rushes into the tub. Luxuriant bubbles foam up around the person, as much for modesty as for fun, I think.

There is an oxygen outlet on the wall, so hubby can plug in. No worries. The staff are good. I sit nearby and watch. Hubby is fine. He's relaxed and soothed. It's such a treat that the nurses all joke that they need a Spa too!

"No, I'm next!" I joke along with them all.

And we laugh.

It feels good to laugh.

The Healing Garden

I took this pic from Hubby's Room up on the third floor.

The ones below were taken just today, as I walked in the Healing Garden, a beautiful addition to this Hospital. I wish all hospitals had a garden as serene as this one.

It's been over a month since David's admission to Mount Sinai. He still hasn't made it outside yet. We have hopes to bring him out to the garden tomorrow, if all goes well. Just getting him into a wheelchair with 2 portable oxygen tanks is a major undertaking. But we did manage this today - only for 15 minutes in the hallways, but a good start.

I continue to feel like I'm in a twilight zone. David has his ups and downs (he had a major setback a week ago, which I will post about later).

I hate watching him die. I hate that his skin colour is so awful. I hate that he's so frail.

I wrote in a long-ago post "how can his body be deteriorating and yet his spirit shines so brightly through his eyes?" Well, now I know and I hate how the shining light in his eyes is fading.

Life is Strange...

"The lines between us are blurry," says Hubby from his hospital bed.
I know what he means and I find it strange that at the end of his life, we are becoming closer.
How can that be?
There is a part of me that is letting go. I know it is time.
Holding on to someone as tightly as I've been to David cannot last forever.
At some point, there needs to be an uncoupling. A fork in the road. A time when he goes on his way and I, mine.

The letting go process actually started in the fall of 2008. I learned to give up control. Coming home to find the power off and hubby peacefully sleeping while the alarm on his oxygen concentrator screamed unmercifully, was the beginning of this important lesson. Had I been later coming home, Hubby might not be here today. But his journey is not mine to control.

In the spring of 2009, I took a "time out" and went off to Florida for a week. I let go of his care and allowed his son to take over for a while. Full of sand, sea and sun, my energy level was back; my balance restored. Unfortunately, during this short week, Hubby took a step down. Was it because I went away? I don't know. Did I feel guilty? Yes, at first. But then, do I control his illness? I think not.

Now, a year later, we've come to the top of the mountain. We both know this journey is coming to a close. We both know it is time to let go. We are lucky this process is so gradual. Others don't have time; they leave regrets, unfinished business, and final words of love unsaid.

And yet - we both feel this incredible closeness. This blurring of souls.
Maybe this always happens at the end of a life.
Maybe not.
I don't know.

With Hubby, the circumstances are such that right now he is practically helpless, lying in bed, attached to the oxygen hose. He wears a mask making it difficult to talk. So I am the interpreter. Nurses, health care workers, his doctor, even the priest who came to visit, all ask David a question, he mumbles a reply and then they look to me for clarification.
I'm still looking after his basic needs when I'm there, so of course we are close.

But what about me? I anticipate and fill his needs now bringing us this closeness, but what can he do for me?
He gets me to talk about myself. When asked "how was your day?" I usually give a brief account or sweep things under the rug, and then focus on the person asking the question. David has forced me to talk about myself. Essentially, he is living through me. He takes comfort in hearing all about my day with the grandkids, at the hairdresser, the garage, the grocery store, the library. Simple everyday life.
He asks about the progress of my book; encouraging me to continue with the publishing process - not to neglect myself or my work to focus solely on him.

Last week I took a day off to go to the dentist and the hairdresser. These appointments were long overdue. It was time. The weather was strange. Strong winds and rain. We even got hail. Then the sun came out. More rain and wind. More sun. I spent the whole day out, ending up at the garden center. Came home in time to pop a chicken in the oven for dinner - a little later than normal, but with nobody home, it doesn't matter.

I noticed then that clocks were all wrong. In a flash I realized that the power must have been off while I was out. I panicked! My heart flip-flopped in my chest.
Then I relaxed.
David is safe - he's in the hospital. Their generators keep the electricity going.

How strange to think Hubby is safe in palliative care. Palliative care is associated with death, not life.

The House is so quiet

His heavy-duty oxygen concentrator lies sleeping in the hallway. One gets used to noisy machines, but once they're turned off, the quiet is unsettling.

David was admitted to the Palliative Care Floor at Mount Sinai Hospital yesterday. It was snowing. Very strange at this time of year, especially since we've had such a warm spring. Driving was a little freaky. They put him in the ambulance at the hospital, while I dashed to the parking lot, unlocked my car door, paid the exit fee and barrelled down the road, hoping to follow. A couple of blocks away I saw a yellow ambulance. Oh good - visibility was poor, so following a big yellow ambulance made my job easier - until it took a wrong turn.

Oops - my mistake - wrong ambulance. Good thing I knew where I was going and happened to end up at Mt. Sinai just as the Real Ambulance was arriving.

Things are much more relaxed. I can finally breathe a little bit, knowing he is receiving good care. The nurses are angels, the doctor - superb. Comfort is their goal and accommodation almost takes my breath away. I slept on a cot beside David's bed last night. Not too comfortable, but he slept like a baby all night. I wanted so badly to open a window, but they were sealed. Lights and noises kept me awake. I had not brought anything with me, so slept in one of David's T-shirts. Tonight I will sleep in my own bed, with the windows wide open. I hate being away from him, but really cannot sleep in the hospital.

I know this "letting go" process is a gradual one. I am learning to "let go" of his personal care. I need to let the nurses bathe him and look after him, particularly since I can't be there every day. The drive is about an hour. Twice as far as the active hospital. But I am wearing out. So I have to take a step back.

It feels like our paths are beginning to fork - he taking one and I the other. We can still see each other, still hold hands and kiss, still share coffee and meals, but I know it's time for him to move on.

I have come to realize that the human spirit is incredibly strong. I may have said it before (long ago when I first started blogging) that his body is crumbling, yet his spirit shines brightly and strongly through his eyes.

Most people would have left this Earth by now. But David's mind is still sharp. I bring him the mail and we open it together. He "instructs me" (as if I didn't know) on paying the bills and other household accounting. This keeps his mind active and busy and makes him feel as if he's still a part of Normal Life Out There. He wants to do some physio to gain back a little strength, so he can sit in a chair and hopefully stand up once again. I am humbled by the strength and fighting spirit he has.

As I drive home, I watch people doing everyday things: shopping, eating, walking. I speak to my children. "What can we do to help?" they ask. "Just tell me about your day. I need to know there is a Normal Life Out There somewhere".

I feel like I'm in..

the Twilight zone these days.

After a 3 week period (back in March) of Hubby feeling increasingly weak and sick, I called an ambulance to take him to hospital. It was supposed to be for a couple of days only. A few tests, treatments, some medication and hopefully back home.
No way.
He's been in hospital ever since.
We're going on 18 days now.

What a nightmare. First the emergency ward. A horrible place to be for a night, never mind two. Hubby was put on wall oxygen using a "rebreather mask". In other words, a very high amount of oxygen and one we cannot duplicate at home.

The nightmare began when nurses decided to adjust his oxygen. No rhyme or reason, just felt they should turn it down. Definitely not good. Poor Hubby nearly passed out several times. On one occasion, somebody turned it off because it was too noisy.
I shrieked.
Tore open the curtain in the next cubicle (where hubby's oxygen was located), turned it back up and yelled "WHO TURNED OFF THE OXYGEN!??"
There was only the poor patient lying in bed and (get ready........) a cardiologist. Now I have no proof that it was this doctor who inadvertently turned the oxygen off, but there was nobody else there.

I marched up to the head nurse. Told her what happened. Told her I was not going to file an "incident report", but she should know what is happening in the E.R. Magically, hubby was moved to "overflow" the same day.

Overflow is a holding unit for patients awaiting admission. There was a little more privacy. More space to put things.
However - once again, the nurses took it upon themselves to "wean" hubby off his high power, what is supposed to be short term, oxygen consumption.

Nurse #1 took off this specialized mask and gave him the "prongs" (same kind we use at home). He then proceeded to turn the oxygen setting down from 15 to 6.
Once again I shrieked like a banshee!
"ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL HIM!!??"
"M'am, I know COPD. Don't worry."
"LIKE HELL YOU DO!"
"M'am, calm down, this is doctor's orders."
"WHICH DOCTOR?" I knew nobody had given him any such order.
No answer.
"WHICH DOCTOR TOLD YOU TO DO THIS?"
Still no answer.
"CALL RESPIRATORY THERAPY."
"I know what I'm doing."

Poor Hubby's oxygen sats descended like a stone. Before I could punch this nurse out, he realized he was doing something wrong. So he removed the prongs and put back the re-breather mask. Respiratory therapy arrived soon afterwards and I told the therapist what happened. She marched right over to this nurse and gave him "sh....".

The next day, Nurse #2 decided to do the same thing.
'NO WAY!" I bellowed at him.
He was more amenable - just turned his back and went on to another patient.
By this time I was beside myself. I felt I could not leave hubby for even an instant. The next day his respirologist came in and I told her what had been going on with the nurses. She was angry and wrote a note in the chart that NOBODY was to touch his oxygen. Finally!

There were a few more incidents, but I'm too tired to recount them. Now Hubby is moved to a ward and his care is much better.

My days are spent at the hospital. I do come home to sleep, even if it is fitful. Today I had to take a half a day off. I came home after lunch and slept the afternoon away. This evening I will go over bills and other paperwork that has been neglected.

Hubby is awaiting placement at Mount Sinai Hospital here in Montreal. If he comes home it will be a miracle. I keep hoping and praying, but the chances are slim.

Spring is in full bloom here. Leaves are coming to life. My garden is blooming. I brought Hubby some daffodils to put by his bedside.

Blogging break

Hubby is going through a rough patch right now, so I won't be posting for a while.

I will still be around to visit. I enjoy reading your blogs as they lift my spirits and your friendship nourishes my soul.

Hope spring is coming in nicely for all of you.

Sunshine, shamrocks and spring!

Dawn....waiting for sunrise.....most of the shamrocks still asleep....except for a few early risers.....

Here it comes! Here it comes.......cheering on the sun as it peeks above the horizon....
High noon......flowers bursting with joy.....basking in the glorious sunshine.

Dusk....shadows lengthen....flowers close in sleep.
Out for my morning walk a few days ago:

I saw a flock of geese flying high up in the sky, returning home after a long winter. I've been scanning the sky almost every day this month, to catch a glimpse and finally, finally, that familiar V-shape, happy honking, and welcome back, geese!

I smelled a skunk - yes, in the morning. It's unusual to smell a skunk that early in the day. More likely that cloying smell stinks up the air (yuk!) in the evening or night (we all know that skunks are nocturnal creatures).

I heard a fly buzz by my ear. Really. Did not see it. But hey, I'll welcome a fly. That means that the bees are not far behind.

And all this sensual stimulation the space of a minute and a half.

Spring must be here!

Conversations.......

"Ahhhhhhh - this is soooooo nice. Being kissed by the sun!"
I overheard my shamrock plant talking to Sunkist tulips: "Did you know St. Paddy's day is just around the corner?"
"How could I not? You remind me every day! I do hope some bluebirds find that birdhouse over there and build a nest inside. I don't remember seeing any last year, did you Tessa?" "We weren't here last year, Tilly."

Why didn't I just ask, a number of my blogger buddies commented on my Pampering post a few posts ago.

Ask what? What kind of nice-smelling massage oil the masseuse was using on me. Good question, why didn't I just ask? Well if I had, then of course, there wouldn't be any story, would there?

But then you have to imagine yourself stretched out on the table. Soft music playing in the background. Body nice and warm under the sheets. Gentle, yet firm pressure over your shoulders by Ms. Massage-Lady ( I don't remember her name). Feeling drowsy........ Ooooo - this is nice. Tension melting away.......Body relaxing............Ummm - nice fragrance. Smells spring-like. No grass-like. No sort of lemony. Ah, who cares........relaxing into table a little more. Oooo.... that.... feels...... good. Where was I? What was I thinking about??? Oh, the music's changed........ where have I heard that piece before? It's sooooo soooooothing....... Sounds familiar..... but where? Ah, who cares........

I think you get the picture. Tooooooo much effort to open the mouth and speak. Or coordinate the brain in the first place ...........to find the words. And even so, I'd probably forget the name of that wonderful smelling massage oil the moment the name left her lips......lips.......did somebody say tu-lips?

Ahhhhh......that warm, caressing sun.....

Yippeeeeeee!!

I have heard from a book publisher!
They want to publish my book!!!

Yippeeeeee - I am over the moon!!!

I started writing Reading Between The Lines about 15 years ago. Put it down, picked it up, life happened, etc. etc. Send it off to a publisher 9 years ago. Got rejected. Sent it off to another one. Got rejected. Gave up. Thought I'd send it off to an agent instead. Might work better. No - did not. Sent it off to another one, two, three. Got rejected again. Gave up.

Over the past year, I'd begun looking at publishers once again.
Well, yesterday, I got the good news! It will take time.
My book will come out in about a year and a half.
But the process has begun!
I am sooooooo happy!!

I started writing articles on palmistry for The Journal of Alternative Therapies, here in Montreal. I wrote some more for Everchanging Magazine in Burlington, Vermont. After a while, I decided to put all these articles together into a book. It did not sound right, so I did a lot of editing, and changing. I grew along with the book.

This is a healing book; a book of my experiences reading people and helping them along their pathway.
Will keep everyone posted.
Yippeeeeeee!

Pampering.....

Sweet hyacinth, beginning to open.

That was then......

Today she is in full bloom, gossiping with the daffys.
Thought I could use a massage last week. Needed a little pampering (don't we all at this time of year?)

There was a "special" on at my local beauty parlor (does anybody else still use that antiquated word? LOL! ) So I took advantage and booked an afternoon of luxury.

The masseuse was a young girl.
Hmmmm.
She was thin - very thin.
Hmmmm - not much muscle power.
"Come right in," she instructed, leading me into a serene, fragrant-smelling, candle-lit, room. Soft music was playing and the lighting was subdued.

Ahhhh - definitely relaxing.
After peeling off my clothes, I bounced up on the table, and scrunched under the sheets. I wiggled around to find a comfortable position for my face. One thing I absolutely hate is having your face in that doughnut-shaped ring. It feels anything but relaxing. A few minutes later, she knocked softly on the door and entered the room.

It's been a couple of years since I had my last massage so I was pleasantly surprised when she began by touching me on top of the sheet, rather than ripping it away with a flourish, like a magician ripping off a tablecloth to reveal rabbits hopping around, or doves ready to take flight. I always feel rather vulnerable lying there unclothed in a face-down position on the table, as if I'm about to be served for someone's dinner.

Despite my misgivings, she was good. I enjoyed the massage. And she used a light, fresh smelling lotion that reminded me of spring grass or a meadow.

The hour went by quickly and soothingly (is that a word?). While pulling on my clothes, I figured I'd take a peek around to see if I could find that fresh, spring-like lotion. I wanted to know what it was, so I could go out and buy it.
Hmmmmm. Not in sight.
Not on the shelves - they only held candles and some pretty coloured stones.
Not under the massage table.
Any hidey-drawers? Nope.
Ah - another shelf on the far side of the room beside the other massage table.(She had put me in a "couples" massage room. I guess the regular rooms were all taken). There were 2 big lotion bottles on that shelf. But surely, she wouldn't have taken lotion from across the room?

Pumped the first bottle. Nothing. Did not smell at all.
Pumped the second bottle. Eewwww - some pepperminty stuff. I like peppermint, but this stuff was really STRONG - and mixed with some other strong stuff. Really overpowering.

Eeewwwww - I rubbed my hands over my pants trying to get rid of it. Not too smart - won't get rid of it that way. Eewwwww - I have to get rid of this stuff! She'll know instantly that I've been snooping! Wiped my hands vigorously on the sheets that were covering me earlier. Ewwww - still there. Could not get rid of that smell! Maybe a towel. Took one from under the table. Ewwww - still there.

Well, I have to leave the room sometime! She's waiting outside for me to pay my bill. Ah, there's some hand sanitizer. I'll try that.
Didn't work.
So, I poked my head outside the door. Nobody. Good. Ran to the washroom.
Held my hands under the tap and soaped and soaped until the smell was gone.
Whew!
Then serenely paid my bill and left.

Winter isn't over yet!

Look who was foraging for food on my back deck. Yes you! What are you doing up and about? Does this mean spring is here?

No such luck.

Snow, snow and more snow today.


The house across the street. Ah well, I don't really mind. It is rather pretty - and March is almost here. Still winter in these parts, but we've had a good one, so far.
I know that hasn't been the case for my neighbours south of here. Florida, Texas and other parts of the world have had an unusually cold winter.

The days are getting longer and if little chipmunks come out of hibernation to run on the snowbanks, then deep inside the Earth, life is beginning to wake up.

Update: We are not moving. Hubby nearly had a panic attack when I approached him seriously with my plans. I did not realize how someone in his position would be clinging so tightly to familiar territory. As long as he has his familiar surroundings to hold on to, he feels somewhat secure and in control. To take that away from him would be like sinking his lifeboat. I had no idea.

So, we will hire people to do the heavy work that I cannot. I am relieved in some ways. A couple of days before this snowfall, I was looking in the garden (up against the south side of the house) to see if any little crocus shoots had come up. I know it is way too early, but since it has been warm.... Then I thought of missing this. And of all the space we do have to live in. The privacy of our back yard. Our big outdoor deck. One day I will leave it all....... but not yet.

Mistress Mousey.....

.......popped into say:
"Have a very nice Valentine's Day!" Sister Rose's face all aglow...
Hopes that no-one will push her in the snow!

Pink and yellow

Red and green

Loveliest roses

I've ever seen! (green refers to the foliage)

O.K., so a poet, I'm not. It was fun anyway - just to see what would rhyme.

Hope everyone had a nice Valentine's Day.

Update: thank you all for your concern and good advice.

I am looking into retirement homes. One that has particularly caught my eye, is for autonomous seniors. The units are apartments with full kitchen. There is an emergency call button in each room. And a nurse on the premises at all times. The activities sound wonderful (for me). Location is a block or two away from the general hospital.

However, the units are quite small (read: very small). And the rental cost per month is quite expensive.

At this point I am just gathering information. Hubby is not too pleased, but I told him I would not force him into anything (read: this will take time to accept). The reality is, we need to make changes in our lifestyle, as I can't go on like this forever.

Mid-winter blues

Looking to capture the sunlight as it shines on my kitchen-window flowers.
Sunlight kissing the tulip's lips.

Winter plods along. It's cold, but that's normal. The strange thing is, we don't have much snow this year. Which is bad and good. Good because who wants tons of snow? (except skiers, of course). I'd rather less snow to melt when the weather warms up.

Bad - because not much snow means not much insulation for our water drainage hose (buried under the front lawn). And that means a frozen hose, so water backs up into the basement.

This water we're talking about is coming from our water softener, which drains into the sump pump. Now the sump pump's job is to pump out water before it backs up into the house. Normally it does a good job. But with ice freezing the connecting hose to the outside, there is nowhere for water to go. Like hitting a brick wall. It splats all over the basement floor.

I discovered it this morning, while going into the basement to check on the furnace humidifier. The day before, I had gone downstairs for something, only to walk into a huge puddle in the furnace room. The humidifier hose had become blocked with sediment from our water supply.

Well, I dealt with this 2 years ago, so I just turned off the furnace, changed the filter, poured a mixture of vinegar and water down the blocked hose, cleaned up the mess and turned the heat back on. All this while Hubby was sleeping peacefully.

Now this mess in the sump pump room! The only solution, for now, is to turn off the water softener. We'll just have to do without "softened" water. When the earth warms up next month, things should thaw out and our "water in the basement" problems over for a while.

I must say I was thoroughly discouraged this weekend. I feel overwhelmed (oh, I also lugged the heavy dehumidifier up the stairs, one step at a time, from the basement into the garage, since there seems to be water in there too. What is it with water in this house??).

Told Hubby it was time to move into an apartment. I just can't cope with everything on my own all the time. He just nodded. No argument. He's probably hoping that as time goes on and the nice weather comes, I'll forget all about it. Well maybe. But I think it's time we simplified our lives.

New Life...

New babies stretching towards the light...

A little one on the way.....

She's here! Isn't she looovely.....

Peek-a-boo!

A surprise in the garage! This petunia was my favourite. I took so many pics of her last summer and right into the fall. I could not let her go when the outside temps got cold. So I put her in the garage just to see what would happen. Did not expect anything. Over the years, I'd tried to overwinter impatiens, geraniums, and other annuals by placing them indoors in a bright sunny south-facing window. They'd be fine for a little while, but eventually would all die.

So imagine my delight when I discovered these 3 blooms! It's quite cool in our garage and the light comes from a north window, so I don't really understand why this plant would bloom. But never mind - I'll take it!