Lost children's eve, a pre-mother's day proposal

This proposal was first made on Multiply 4 years ago. At the

time I was in the Netherlands for the funeral of my mother.

Over there the evening of May 4th, the night before they celebrate the end of WWII on May 5th, is for Remembrance.

This inspired the idea for Lost Children's Eve. A moment, the night before the celebration, to recognize the pain of the many women for whom Mother's Day is salt rubbed into a wound. 

A moment, the night before Mothers' Day, to honor the many women who have lost children, for whatever reason.

A moment to honour children lost to death, like Heather's Jonathan, Tint's Ceinwen, Shannon's Abigail, Chandra's Nooveya and my own first-born who only lived a day and never even had a name.

The children who are missing, which must be the worst of all.

The children with whom contact was lost through a bad divorce.

A moment to honour the birth mothers who gave up their children, and the women who couldn't bear children, and yes, even the women who had abortions. Reflections on the 
A word here.

No ceremony can replace a child that was lost, or never was. But seeing one's pain honoured and recognized is a good thing.

So here is a candle for my wonderful sister-in-law and brother. They would have been such good parents but could not have children.

Here is a candle for Sarah, which is what I named my first-born in my heart. Somehow the name felt right, even though  I cannot imagine picking it. 

Here is a candle for the never-to-be siblings of some only children whose parents would have liked to have more, but no one else came.

And finally, a candle for the might-have-been children of my friends who had an abortion, even if it was the right decision to make at the time.

Peace to all.

For the Record: let me go while the going is good!

We are enjoying a wonderful day. Nothing on the agenda and decent weather. I transplanted some daffodils from the greenhouse into the flowerbed for instant cheer. And while I was preparing an awesome lunch that included fresh dandelion greens, the radio had an item on the importance of preparing for the end of life.

Apparently many people find the topic difficult to broach. I don't. Death is a part of life. Suffering bugs me. Death, not so much. Euphemism for death drive me nuts. I remember old home support clients blackmailing their middle-aged children to not go on vacation "in case something should happen to me". Hallo, you are 89, what exactly do you think might happen? 

I shall not pass on, I shall die. Other dimensions shall be faced when we get to them, or not, as the case may be. I'd like a few more good years, but will not feel cheated if this is the last garden.
One of these days I shall get an official document together, but meanwhile let me put this on the record:   

If decisions have to made regarding end of life care: Keep me comfortable, but don't do anything heroic. Let me go, and throw my body on the compost heap. Since that is illegal, do whatever is cheap and comforting. Donating to science, if that is an option, go for it. Clear enough?

Meanwhile this is a good day and I am heading back to the garden. Spring panic is on and I am enjoying every minute of it.

The Exam Effect

In a fit of hubris and optimism about my own level of energy I agreed to give a talk on sustainability at the Burton learning center, formerly the elementary school. The closure of the school is a result of the greying of the population. Never mind, that is another topic.

When I promised to do this I figured I`d have all winter to prepare. Yeah, right.  To make a long story short, we are on for Earth day, I am wondering what I let myself in for, and I am trying to get  a nice presentation together. As usual, I only start going when the pressure is on, and once that is the case I am wistfully thinking that if only I had more time I would do a better job. B.S. Let's get real.

It reminds me of studying for the big oral exams a lifetime ago. I'd linger and procrastinate, and once the deadline loomed I'd really get into it and want to read all sorts of extra  material. I'd imagine that I would keep reading old articles in obscure little magazines about, say, the role of political pamphlets in 18th century France. Of course I never did.

Meanwhile the garden season is on. This year started with a backlog because last fall I could not do a thing. What was I thinking?

Spring pictures from our new home away from home.

We finally managed another trip to the offspring in Metro Vancouver. In normal times we go a few times a year, but last year was not normal. 
For a change we took the Greyhound from Revelstoke, 100 Km North of here, with a ferry across Upper Arrow Lake halfway. We had left with an hour to spare in case we got unlucky at the ferry, so we had time for a stroll along the river. 

The bus took nine hours, but at least it was one of the comfortable new ones. I quite enjoyed not having to worry about arriving before dark and/or driving in traffic.

We needed a new place to stay. Vancouver area apartments are tiny. The time when the grandson could be asked to relinquish his room to Opa and Oma is long past. For some years we enjoyed the guest suite in an apartment building around the corner from daughter's place, but alas, it is no longer in use.

No worries, daughter found a hotel that is not only affordable, but a total pleasure and only 20 minutes by foot and sky train from her place. 
There is no green space separating Vancouver city from the many adjoining municipalities that make up the Metro Vancouver area. We used to think of  adjoining towns merely as 'almost-but-not-quite-Vancouver'. Now that we know the place better we appreciate spacious Burnaby, with its mountain and nature parks, on its own merits. This visit we got to know historic New Westminster, the oldest city in Western Canada.
This picture of our hotel is borrowed from the municipal website.

This is the view that greeted us on our arrival, late at night on Thursday evening. Rather, this is what happened when I tried take a picture of the Fraser River by moonlight. It needed the skills of Piper's Pal Terrence to do it justice. My efforts to use the night setting just resulted in streaks.

The Met Hotel is right on New Westminster's main drag, which itself runs parallel to the river. It is an old brick building with high ceilings, beautiful windows, the friendliest staff and affordable to boot.  People, I am in love and already planning the next trip. We lucked out with blue skies and spring blossoms all around. 

Here are some tourist pictures.

 Above: playing with the fish eye lens, the inviting patio in front of Starbucks on Columbia Street, with lots of pansies. Below: the British cafe. 

We were only a only a few blocks from the entrance to the New Westminster Quay, a beautiful waterfront park. 

The patio of the Riverside market center. What's not to like about  hanging out in the sunshine and watching people while eating superb Italian ice cream? 

Below the view East, towards the Patullo bridge, from the same place.

Too bad the river boat cruises won't start till May.

Above: the section closest to the Patullo bridge, still facing East, and below the bridge with sky train.
Sky train is wonderful! You never have to run for a train, because another one will be along in minutes.

Below, still close to the Patullo, but now facing West.

The city even provides recliners.

We had thought the walk stretched from just below the Patullo bridge to the Riverside Market, but on the next  visit we noticed a whole stretch to the West. We had a date to go for Dim Sum and ran out of time to walk the whole thing, next time. 

Some more flowers.

This stretch of the river walk is bordered by pleasant looking housing.

New West is becoming popular with hip urbanites who are being priced out of Vancouver.

I could almost imagine being content in the one with the rooftop patio. I'd have to be rich to afford it, so I'll stay right here.

Let's not forget this is still a working river. Cranes, log booms and tugboats remind us that a city cannot exist by sushi alone.

One for the Irish: Her name was Mary Devine

This one too is recycled from Multiply, but did not make it over here yet. 

One of the joys of being a Home Support Worker ( from 1987-2000) was getting to know a generation whose parents had been the first European settlers in this area. History is shallow here, apart from the First Nations which is a whole other story. The European history of Eastern North America is a bit older.

One of my most memorable clients was a gentleman from Quebec, who told me the story of his grandmother. 

Her name was Mary Devine. 

She was born somewhere in Ireland in 1834. At age 14 she and her family set sail for Canada, like so many fleeing the potato famine.

This is a small part of her story, as I heard it from a son of her youngest son.  It may not be completely accurate, since the narrator was old when he told it, and besides he enjoyed a good story and may have embellished a bit. But then, that is part of the Irish tradition too, isn't it?  I am certain of the last sentence.

Mary met a young Frenchman on the ship. Other than both being good Catholics and nubile they did not have a language in common.  But the times were desperate, her parents only too willing to have one less mouth to feed. The young couple were wed either on the ship or shortly after landing.  Mary lived the rest of her long life in Quebec, but never became entirely fluent in French.

They homesteaded a 200 acre island in the Ottawa River.  We are talking ultimate pioneering here. Think of it this way: if you want a sweater, you have to start by cutting the trees to clear the land to make room for sheep. 

Mary bore 24 children,  4 girls and 20 boys.  On Sundays the family crossed the river to go to church in 2 large rowboats. World War 1, that great insanity, claimed 18 sons. Her youngest 2 were too young to go. 

The wife of her youngest son died young, leaving behind five children, one a six months old baby. Mary was 80 by this time, but she raised her grandson from babyhood till he was 6 and his father remarried.

That is a juicy tragi-comic story too, but not mine to tell.

The grandson resented being torn away from his grandmother, to go live with a stepmother who was bitter for good reasons and took some of her resentment out on the young boy. I knew him as an old man, when he was a Home Support client.  He is long gone now and I am long retired, but let's respect the rules of confidentiality.

I won't say more about him other than that he was a colourful character, it was a privilege to know him and I loved his stories. 

Mary lived to be a hundred. Her grandson said that even in extreme old age, her back was ramrod straight and seen from the back she looked like a young girl. He mentioned her often. This sentence stuck in my mind: 

"Everything worthwhile I learned in life, I learned from my grandmother."

Her name was Mary Devine.

A day between the Ides and Saint Patrick's day.

Note on The Day 2016. 

This was first posted on Multiply in 2012, then again a year later. It is now four years later and we are maintaining the pattern. Since this was written the big 50 passed without any recognition whatsoever. Yes, I was a bit teary and miffed in spite of knowing better. Spouse's loss of hearing has made celebrations with people not fun, so I did not organize anything. But rather than pining I ended up having a wonderful day with a new friend. So it goes. 

One more note. On May 5 2016 Spouse was diagnosed with a horrid disease that is a close cousin of Parkinson's, with some Alzheimer's characteristics as well. Progessive Supranuclear Palsy. We are doing the "in sickness and health, till death do us part" thing now.
______________________________________________________
Forty-seven years ago this day, on March 16 1966, I was crossing a bridge over the ancient canal that at that time was home to Amsterdam City Hall. 

It was a cold, blustery day with some sideways rain. A just-married couple, she in full white regalia,  emerged from the hall into the lousy weather. And I thought: "Poor bride. But then who plans a wedding at this time of year?" At which point a little bell went off in my brain, and I remembered that this day marked our own first wedding anniversary in the same location.

Look at how tall he was! I am wearing the highest heels I ever had. These days we see eye to eye with me in flats.

This set the tone for future years. I take full responsibility for my own part in the lack of celebratory rituals.

We were in our bohemian phase and had lived together for two years before marrying, a daring thing in those times. We considered ourselves beyond bourgeois concerns like wedding anniversaries.

Alas, by the time I got over that and would have liked some recognition the pattern had been set. Mother's Day ditto. 

Many subsequent anniversaries passed without being marked in any fashion.

By the time we hit 20, our circle of friends was just recovering from one of those waves of  splits and reconfiguration that seem to mark modern life. I was so grateful to have been spared that whole scene that I did not mind that this historic day was overlooked.

Note me looking up at man  adoringly and handsome man smiling over my head into the distance.

The suit had been tailor made by the fiancee of a friend who was a professional. The fabric was this colour. Yes, I kept the little hat.

I did shed a few private tears when 25 passed in the same fashion. It was not one of our better years anyway, and no, I will not go into details. Anyone who has been married a long time knows that "for better or worse" includes the ups and downs of the relationship itself. I sincerely believe this society would be healthier if fairy tales ended with "And they had some very good times, as well as some bad ones, and lived tolerably ever after."

At 30 things had improved. I did not really expect much but still harboured a small hope. The day was marked by our daughter calling at night. "Hi Dad, congratulations". "Congratulations on what?" "Your 30th anniversary." "Anniversary of what?" 

At 35 I took matters in my own hands and organized a dinner with our daughter's in-laws. They owned a store at the time and handed us a nice basket, with the words "Happy Anniversary". Bewilderment on the part of spouse. "I thought your anniversary was in July?" An ESL moment. "No, that's my birthday." We laughed it off as the mature people we were by now and enjoyed the outing.

By now, I am resigned to living with a man who just does not do dates. It's nothing personal. He would walk through fire for his children, but I am not sure he knows their birthdays.

40 and 45 coincided with visits to the kids. We often go to the coast in March, which is a miserable month of melting snow here and full spring in Vancouver.

Today marks the 48th, so help us Goddess. Needless to say, it passed  unmarked. I will organize something in two years, if we are still around. 

Meanwhile I appreciate my Old Dutch for constancy, loyalty, a shared history and sense of humor, a compatible view of the world, and many small kindnesses that make daily life more pleasant.

Happy Anniversary.

How to waste a morning

I am 90% retired, it is not quite garden season yet, and I do not consider a morning contentedly browsing the web time wasted. But this was not like that.

All I wanted to do was finish some chores while being suitably entertained by a good podcast. Move laptop to kitchen table. Find the latest Bill Moyers. But first, let's quickly check the email. And there was a new blog post by a person I just started following. Quick, read it and leave a comment. In the comment I wanted to leave a link to a post I had done on the same topic: preparations for extreme weather and power outages. 

Our most dramatic one  had happened in August 2007, as the result of a forest fire. I couldn't find it on Blogger. Had it been left behind on Multiply? Indeed, it had. What do you know, all Multiply content was still there. I ended up not only searching but re-reading old posts, complete with comments. This is rather like leafing through old picture albums. Not without pleasure, but not what I planned to do today.

An hour and a half passed in the blink of an eye. Snap out of it. Leave comment. Get asked for WordPress password. Oh boy. I am in the process of changing over my usual password for a more secure one, but keep forgetting which sites have changed yet and which not. Guessed wrong. Start over. Go through  process of inserting  new, secure password. "You can't use that, it was used recently". ARRRRRGGGGH!!!

I will have to come up with a 100% new, secure password and change all sites over to it, keeping records as I go. Meanwhile, the day is shot. At least I had chicken soup in the freezer to feed lunch to a friend who dropped by unexpectedly. 

Woot woot, we're all mobile again!

This is too funny. Efforts to get the computer and printer on speaking terms have not yet succeeded, which is why I spent about an hour at the library today booking our Greyhound tickets for the Easter trip to the coast. 

This involved agonizing decisions about which terminal to use, choices between an easier departure time vs not having to transfer, and most of all: do I opt for the cheap book-ahead version or pay $77 extra for refundable tickets. After much waffling I took the safe way, picked refundable and printed the tickets right then and there.

Good thing: I came home to the news that Old Dutch got his driver's license back! He should never have lost it in the first place, but that is a whole story that does not belong here. I am learning a modicum of discretion in my dotage. It took 7 months of jumping through medical hoops, but here we are. We may still end up taking the bus, but at least we have the choice. 

I touched a man who had a beer with Stomping Tom!

Stomping Tom Connors died yesterday, followed today by radio legend Max Ferguson. Like so many Canadian institutions, we got to know country legend Stomping Tom through  CBC radio. 

We can sing along to the hockey song, and know what the boys and girls are up to on a Sudbury Saturday night. This morning the radio played a song I had never heard before: "Fire in the mine." It was about a fire in the mine in the Northern Ontario town Timmins, back in 1964. 

We have a family connection to  Timmins. Our co-grandparents hail from there, so I gave them a call to ask if they knew their home town had been sung about on radio. 

Guess what: our co-gramps had been working in that mine at the time, though not underground. It turns out Stomping Tom had started his career as a musician in Timmins. 

My grandson has a grandfather who once had a beer with Stomping Tom Connors. Wow. A plugged-into-Canada moment. I love it.

P.S. My new blogger buddy Tossing Pebbles did a great post on Stomping Tom, complete with videos. Go see.
http://philiprobinson.blogspot.ca/2013/03/stompin-tom-connors-last-night-unique.html#links

And more on this much-loved Canadian:
http://www2.macleans.ca/2013/03/07/stompin-tom-connors-and-the-places-he-put-in-songs/

Outraged-out and heading to the greenhouse.

I am feeling outraged-out. I am tired of working myself up over the insanity and iniquities of a world that seems bent 
on self-destruction. I am allowing myself a break from signing and passing on petitions. 

It seems so obvious to anyone with half a brain that humanity needs a way to wean itself from oil. How come the Powers That Be have not figured out the real bottom line: 

Water will get us through times of no oil better than fossil fuels will get us through times of no water.

Canada is rich in the precious substance that future wars will be fought over. Meanwhile most of the economy is based on selling off non-renewable resources, and never mind those pesky environmentalists. 

I am too aware of how many people all over Canada are employed in the Tar (it ain't oil) sands to advocate just closing the whole project down tomorrow. But if oil is about to run out, should we not make the most of the last bits of it? Should we not save it to make things with, instead of burning it? And when there is conflict between oil and gas and water, should water not get equal consideration at the very least?

Anyway.......I am tired of the world's conflicts. One thing I love about gardening is the lack of moral ambiguity. Gardening is always a Good Thing to do. I am spending a lot of time right now drawing grids and figuring out what to plant where when. Leeks and early greens are going strong under the grow lights. I may buy another grow light. And I am seriously considering sticking some snow peas in the greenhouse tomorrow. We have nothing to lose but a few seeds. 

Wanted: more peasants, urban or otherwise, AND the people who can get us into space. But that is a few other blogs.
I am just going to enjoy some farm and garden porn.
Start here: http://theruminant.ca/2012/11/06/farm-glance-green-city-acres-winter-production/

Some Fun for Valentine's Day

Relax, all you sad disappointed romantics out there. You are not alone. Yes, couples exist who are still nuts about each other after many years of marriage. I know some. And I also know divorced singles whose lives were blighted by the search for the romantic perfect, when they had the imperfect but adequate.

The psychology industry, with its over-emphasis on self actualization at the cost of family and community, has much to answer for. But that is several other topics. Let's keep it light today.

Quotes about why marriage is doomed from the start:
Anon: 
Women marry a man of 25 and think they'll change him.
Men marry a woman of 25 and think she will never change.

Albert Camus:"It lasts or it burns. Why can't it last and burn?"
There is now scientific research into pheromones and hormones and such that explains why that initial magnetic pull diminishes after about 2 years. Time to move on to the next level of a shared life. Supporting each other's life work. Dinner with in-laws. Perhaps mortgages and babies. Some boredom may be involved. 

Lord Chesterton: "It doesn't matter who you marry. A month later you will find out it was somebody else anyway".
Case in point: My husband thought he was marrying a fellow gypsy. Our happiest times together involved travel. Neither of us knew I had this inner peasant waiting to burst out.
Any half decent astrologer could have seen it at a glance, but we did not believe in such nonsense at the time. 

Beth James, reflecting on past agonies of love from the safe shore of her sixties: "All this ANGST. About....just another human being!"

John Gray with his Mars/Venus nonsense drives me nuts. As my Aries (ruled by Mars, for the astrologically illiterate) mother said: "It just isn't true!". Amen. 
Astrology is the oldest form of psychology, and as such a fascinating study. A woman with Mars in sexy Scorpio or sensuous Taurus is bound to have a stronger sex drive than a man with Mars in airy, intellectual Gemini. 

Unfortunately all the stereotypes and jokes assume it is the other way around.
Says a female stand-up comedian: "Men will screw mud!"
No they won't. Just like women, some may not always be in the mood. There is nothing wrong with that, but how does that joke make a woman feel whose partner is such a sensitive man? Lower than mud?

Even though they are sexist, Mark Grungor's talks about the difference between men and women are too funny to resist. The concept of the "nothing box" is hilarious. Will women  discover the joys of the nothing box on their own, now that men are doing a fairer share of the chores? It would not surprise me one bit if some of this material will be irrelevant to newer generations. Time will tell. 

I could have used some of his advice earlier, though he too suffers from the John Gray fallacy. 
For your entertainment, here is Mark Grungor on men's brains and women's brains. 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3XjUFYxSxDk

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=WY24RS7Qfa0

P.S. for Dutch readers. The Nothing Box concept reminds me of an old Kronkel column by  Simon Carmiggelt.

He writes about sitting in his easy chair on a Sunday afternoon. His wife is doing something in the kitchen. Hey, this was the fifties. The children are playing under the couch, something mysterious with two blocks and a mirror. He is doing nothing and feeling perfectly happy. 

"Hem rest slechts een zorg. Dat zijn vrouw tegen hem zegt: "Wat zit je daar toch sullig. Ben je soms ziek?" Want vrouwen kunnen het niet. Zij zijn van nature te dribbelig." 

Other blogs on the Battle of the Sexes: http://reflectionsrants.blogspot.ca/2011/02/valentine.html

http://freegreenliving.blogspot.ca/2011/12/you-hunt-i-gather-division-of-labour-in.html

http://reflectionsrants.blogspot.ca/2009/12/let-men-be-men.html

Thank You, ICBC!

ICBC is the Insurance Company of British Columbia, our socialized car insurance.

Shortly after the accident several people warned me to be on my guard and prepare to get a lawyer. I decided to wait and see. Maybe some people have had a bad experience  and needed a lawyer, but I am not one of them.

At every step of the way, we have received nothing but good service and kindness from the many people working in the system. During recovery we got a state of the art ramp, a brand-new super comfortable wheelchair, a hospital bed, and whatever paraphernalia an invalid needs. We got all the Home Support we needed. We got compensation for accident-related odds and ends, all  without having to beg and wrangle.

In return, I promised total honesty at our end. I could have claimed potential lost income from Reflexology, but I had taken a leave of absence for the summer and told them so.

Yesterday the claim was officially closed with a cash settlement. If it turns out later that I am more damaged than it now appears I am out of luck, this is it. It was entirely my choice to get the money while the getting is good. There was no pressure to settle now instead of waiting longer. 

THANK YOU, claim manager Jennifer Stroes and everyone at ICBC.
You have my permission to use this if you want.

Health update:
Seven months post-accident and almost as long post-colon surgery I feel fine, as long as I remember to pace myself. I got over a bad bug that has been dubbed the 100 day cold AKA the plague in about 2 weeks. It tried to become bronchitis but got stopped at the border. Thank you, immune system! 

My hand and arm healed fine. Yesterday I climbed the stairs to the Library the regular way, instead of dragging the right leg up after the left. In daily life my knee does not hurt, we will have to see what happens when I start being more active in summer. Any remaining weakness is a matter of doing the exercises prescribed by our brilliant physiotherapist. There is bounce in the old gal yet. 

I feel very fortunate.

A Platform in time. Thoughts on aging.

You know you are getting old when a queen announces her abdication and you remember the coronation of her mother. 

This refers to Dutch royalty. Juliana, mother of the present queen Beatrix took over from her mother Wilhelmina in September 1948. I was 5 years old and remember it vividly.

There was a carnival on an empty field in our neighbourhood, and massive decorations in downtown Amsterdam. The decorations mainly took the form of lights strung along buildings, the way we now see all the time in midwinter. In those drab years immediately post-war it was miraculous. We took the tram downtown to go see the 'verlichting'. The term used translates literally as 'enlightenment', indeed the same term used to describe the 18th century intellectual movement.

We had moved to Amsterdam from Nijkerk, in the country, in the spring of 1947. Our old friends and neighbours from Nijkerk came to stay with us for a few days with their  kids. Gertie was the oldest, my age. He and I were good buddies and planned to get married when we got older. I remember having the mad giggles playing on the guest bed on the floor in my parents' bedroom. After a few years we lost touch with the old Nijkerk neighbours, but I was quite thrilled when I later got a baby brother with that name.

Anyway, about aging in general. I have never understood the desire to lie about age, or the age-denying platitudes that people spout. "You're only as old as you feel." "Age is just a number." And so on.

Age is part of what defines us, much as our place of birth or family of origin does. Born in the Netherlands in 1943, I am young enough to have no conscious memory of the war, but old enough to be marked by the fresh collective memory of occupation and by the time of scarcity that followed. This has nothing to do with health, ability or lack thereof. Age is our platform in time.

When my children were small I would wish I could freeze them for a while at a particularly sweet stage. But then the next stage would bring its own joys. I feel much the same about my own aging. So far, I am enjoying the process, including the need to acknowledge I might need help with certain arduous tasks. At any stage in life, happiness is a choice.

FAQs about Rosie

To my  blog friends: I have blogged about my friend with Parkinson's before. 

This post is part of an effort to reach out to more volunteers.

The old posts are here.

http://freegreenliving.blogspot.ca/2011/01/ty-and-rosies-solstice-party.html

http://freegreenliving.blogspot.ca/2008/04/homage-to-rosie-or-cure-for-bad-hair.html

One member of Rosie's team suggested using social media to find new volunteers. Thanks Anji, brilliant! A message has gone out on Facebook that directs people here.

To anyone who came here after seeing the Facebook post: Thanks for coming this far. Here are some Frequently Asked Questions with answers. Feel free to ask more, it does not oblige you to anything. My life 

has been so enriched by being part of Rosie's. I don't always feel like going, but am always glad I went.

FAQ 1: How much time are you talking about?

Answer: Rosie has no Home Support between 1.30 and 5.30. Volunteers bridge that gap, or part of it. We are happy with ANY time you can donate. Some people come weekly, others once a month, others even less than that. We are grateful to all.

FAQ 2: "I could spare an afternoon  now and then, but don't want to be tied down. What if I get called to work? Or: I want to go to Mexico in the winter, or not come when the grandchildren come to visit, etc."

Answer: You let Rosie know, and you don't come, as simple as that! Rosie has some people on her team who are usually willing to switch dates. 

FAQ 3: I don't have any experience in care giving. What exactly do I have to do?

Answer: All serious personal care is done by Home Support Workers. Rosie needs some help transferring from wheelchair to other chair, and from wheelchair to toilet. She can stand and swivel. Rosie has the metabolism of a humming bird and needs to eat small amounts frequently. She needs help preparing snacks and on a bad day she may need help with feeding. Rosie's ability and energy fluctuate from day to day. On any day she enjoys company and/or a chance to get out.

FAQ 4: My back is not great. Do I have to lift her? 

Answer: No, you just gently assist Rosie to stand up by pulling on her arms.

FAQ 5: I worry about my ability to communicate with Rosie. Sometimes I can hardly hear her soft Parkinson's voice.

Answer: Rosie's voice has improved with medication, AND she has devices now that really help. The I pad rocks!

FAQ 6: How will I know what to do?

Answer: Rosie has an excellent mind and will tell you what she needs. Our job as volunteers is to be her arms and legs.

FAQ 7: Will someone sort of train me? 

Answer: YES! One of Rosie's established volunteers will be glad to show you the ropes.

FAQ 8 How do I get in touch? 
Answer: start by sending me an email with subject line Rosie, we'll take it from there. Or use Facebook, or leave a comment, whatever!

ienvan@gmail.com

Roaming through London with Dickens and Google Maps.

The Kobo mini e-reader has been loaded with free classics. I have just spent a few days with Dickens and enjoyed it immensely. I picked David Copperfield because it is the all-time favourite book of our dear retired librarian and of the author himself.

I had read it when I was 12 and barely remembered it. The only part that had stayed with me was irritation with David for falling in love with stupid Dora, and taking years to figure out he belonged with wise Agnes. The whole rich cast of other characters and plots had not left a trace in the preteen brain.

Even though the setting is realistic and there is a lot of social commentary, there is a fairy tale aspect to the tale. Most of the characters wear white hats or black hats. Innocence is wronged but vindicated. After trials and tribulations a happy ending is provided for most who deserve it. The writing is, of course, quite wonderful and often funny with a bite. It made me laugh out loud, wipe away the odd tear and wanting to jot down quotes. I loved it and couldn't put it down.

After spending a few days immersed in Dickensian London I feel like spending some more time there before moving to the next book. I have never been to London and it is not likely that I will get the chance. So I am having some fun with Google Maps, with the extra guidance of  David Perdue. http://charlesdickenspage.com/dickens_london.html

A long day of hugs and tears, and more communications snafus.

Ah, the benefits of extended families! I really wanted to share in the memorial for Nooveya, but needed a ride to the other side of Kelowna. I cannot drive that distance or in that traffic. All three potential rides fell through for valid reasons. At the last moment  Linda's middle daughter Larissa had the brilliant idea that her partner's parents, who live near Nakusp, might take me. They did. Mom R. drives a school bus for a living and was not fazed by the four hour drive there and back again in the dark and snow. Thank Earth for steady drivers. I am so grateful.

It was standing room only at the memorial place. Aunt Larissa and Mom Chandra had created a slideshow of Nooveya pictures that had us all alternating between giggles and aaww....And more tears of course. There were many tears but it felt good to share them. 

In her too brief life this little girl touched so many hearts. She would come along with Mom when Mom volunteered at Evrrdy's school. Everyone agreed she was special, so happy all the time. I wonder if  part of her knew she only had a short Earth contract and was just visiting? 

Talking about networks, R's sister has a huge home close to the gathering place and kindly opened it not only to her nephew and his partner, but to Larissa's large family. We went there after the open ceremony for more food and drinks and general hanging out. By the time we got back near Nakusp it was close to midnight.

I had driven to my benefactors' home in a rural area on the other side of town in the morning. It is just a 15 minute drive home and the road was OK for winter driving. Halfway there* the car suddenly sputtered, slowed and stopped. I managed to steer it to more or less the side of the road and made a few attempts to get it started again. Nope. A few coughs, even a few attempts to turn over, but no go and eventual total silence. My new friends would still be up and it would be no big deal to them to give me a ride home. Guess what: the cell phone, freshly charged, hardly used and topped up a few days ago, said "emergency call only". WTF?

I womaned up and set off on foot for a walk in the dark. My main worry was slipping on icy patches. My boots are nice and warm but the profile is pathetic. I was also wearing my moderate temp coat, not the long one with the hood for really cold weather. It was about minus 10C. Mumbling little blue engine exhortations I had made it about halfway home when I was overtaken by my neighbor, on her way home from evening shift. A warm car never felt so good!

By this time it was midnight and I was wide awake, too worked up to go to sleep. Had I mentioned yet that our land line conked out again last Friday? The telus mobility website was and remains not functioning because of upgrades. We have Chris' phone but it only has a bit of credit. This is all a bit too reminiscent of the communications snafus we endured in July.

At least we are together, the internet is working, and so are my legs. Tomorrow is bus day and we will do the shopping then. I will cancel the Tuesday engagements. We'll manage. And now it is time for a rest. I am retreating to the bedroom with David Copperfield on the Kobo.

*for locals: I got stranded on Highway 6 just before the turnoff to Brouse Loop.

The space of a dawn: Nooveya's song.

This post was published January 2 2013. I don’t know why blogger wants to change that date.

Nooveya's mother gave permission to post these pictures. They are all from her Facebook. If this were paper and ink the text would be unreadable because of tears falling on it. Nooveya is pronounced with the emphasis on the second syllable. The name is Inuit, the people of her father's mother.

Nothing soothes the raw howling pain of losing a child. But I find some comfort in these words I once heard in a radio play about a girl who died young. "Lives are like books. Some are long fat novels and some are short stories. Your daughter was a short story. Brief, but nonetheless complete". Nooveya's life was not even a short story.

Her brief life was a song, a bright year of joy and happiness that will always be remembered.

The expression "the space of a dawn" comes from a poem for a friend who has lost a 4 year old daughter. The rest of the poem is pretentious Stoic claptrap but these lines are lovely. They took up residence in my head when my own first born died a day after birth. Pardon my French.
"Mais elle était du monde ou les plus belles choses
ont le pire destin.
Et Rose elle a vécu ce que vivent les roses:
l'espace d'un matin."
(computer does accent aigu on the e but nothing else. Never mind.)
Francois Malherbe

Quicky attempt at translation.
But she was of the world where the most lovely things
are to soon be forlorn
And Rosie has lived the short span of a flower
The space of a morn.

Nooveya did not even have a morning, just a dawn. But what a joyful dawn it was.
Nooveya Sakari Joy Popko was born December 3 2011. Dad Michael and grandma Linda were there.

Brother Evrrdy loved her right away. Uncle Keelan handing over the precious bundle to her big brother.

Big brother with sister at home.

She was smiling by week 5.

Her trademark beaming grin had fully developed by February.

                        Communing with Grandma Linda.

Below: Nooveya in the arms of her mother Chandra. I love this picture. Nooveeya did not inherit the dimples but had the same happy sparkle as her mother.

 The first time I saw Chandra she was in the arms of her beautiful mother Linda, my sister in spirit. Linda is 13 years my junior but has been my guru in matters of  homesteading and food preservation. This woman is a master gardener, cook and canner and has passed the gift on to all her children. She is a fantastic mother, competent at everything she does, an incredibly generous, energetic survivor and one of the people I love and admire most on this planet.

Below: a smile in April.

Early spring gave the Popko grandparents a chance to travel from Norman Wells to Greenwood to meet the new grand daughter. Nooveya got to ride in Napatchee's amoutie.

All grandparents together at the Greenwood homestead.

Trust Linda to house and feed multitudes without blinking an eye. Below: kisses for auntie Drisana, Mom's big sister.

Auntie Drisana with cousins Milena(left) and Seren (right).

May saw some adventures: hiking and geocaching in the hills near Kelowna. 

Shamelessly flirting with Uncle Keelan.

On top of the mountain with Mommy!

               Big brother introducing  the joys of the lake.

Zia Aimee came to visit.

Evrrdy graduated from Kindergarten, with Dad and grandma Linda.

Summer brought many outings to beach and playgrounds and visits to family. Nooveya loved exploring nature.

Below: kisses from Opa.

The summer pictures are not necessarily in chronological order. I am trying to put all her loved ones in there.
The girl sure loved her food! Helping auntie Larissa with some baking during a trip to Fort St John in the gas belt.

Glam picture of Larissa.

With uncle Pravin, the youngest Blasing sibling. He was spending the summer with his big sister Larissa in the land of opportunity.

OK, she could cry. She just didn't do it often.

Camping out at Grandma's in the tent with Evrrdy.

Hanging with big cousin Seren.

And auntie Drisana

Evrrdy was willing to share his huckleberries.

That boy is the best big brother a girl could have.

Below: with uncle Keelan on an outing to the lake.

We have to try that sand!

The whole family on top of the mountain, including dog Catan.

Exploring in the playground.

And with big brother.

On Daddy's back in July.

My turn to drive the truck!

The sweetest picture of the siblings.

                                  Making jam with Linda.

The best nana in the world.

Muck. Rocks. LIFE! Let me at it!

Some rocks require serious study.

How do you know what's edible unless you try?

Thanksgiving!

                                  My turn to feed someone.

Fun with uncle Pravin.

A full year of life includes Halloween. Watching Evrrdy carve a pumpkin.

Ready to scare the world with her sweet uncle Keelan!

We are getting upright now. Are you eating something I might like?

Studying animal sounds.

By November a girl needs a hat outside.

The Santa couch at Evrrdy's school.

Daddy's girl

Tasting birthday cake.

Christmas time. Ohhh...tree...

Helping Opa grind coffee the old timer way.

Guess who is climbing stairs now? Queen of the castle!

Nooveya's song ended suddenly in the morning of December 30. 

Hug your children and appreciate each day with your loved ones.