ponderingsat80’s posterous

I am back in my little condo in the country preparing for Christmas.  Before leaving the city I decorated our 4 foot artificial Christmas tree that we bought when our 3 year old granddaughter was coming to spend Christmas with us and we wanted a tree for her.  I will spend another week here before returning to the city to spend Christmas with our daughter and her children and, of course, our artificial tree. 

 The tree that sits on the table in my living room here is made of ceramic. Our daughter, who took a ceramic and pottery course several years ago, made it for us.  It is decorative, bright and cheerful, with its little birds and coloured lights. After Christmas I will store it in the city until next year when it will replace the artificial one that I plan to set outside on the balcony.

 Christmas trees past . . .

The last year we spent together with the family – before moving to another city, one of the boys, my husband or all of them, brought home a tree that was to become a disaster.  The tree was in the shape of an S, it did not stand straight and it was next to impossible to decorate – it was so ugly that even the cat attacked it!  It fell over and several of the ornaments were broken.  After cleaning up the mess we cut it back – hoping to make it look better.  Unfortunately, that didn’t help - - the S shape was more obvious than ever.  We tried in vain to straighten it, and cut it back until it was so small the only place to put it was on a table!  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry!  None of us forgot that Christmas - it was hilarious!  

 When we moved to the new house we chose to not buy a tree.  Instead, we decorated a plant that had been left by the previous owner.  The house had floor to ceiling windows which was great for tall plants.  This not-a-tree turned out to be a worse experience than the cut- back tree that sat on a table. The following year we chose to have no tree at all.

There were worse Christmases:  One year we all had the flu and everyone stayed in bed;  on our sabbatical year in France, Christmas found me recovering from surgery, and there were barely any presents for the children and definitely no tree – it was a sad Christmas for us that year.

Fast forward to the time I lived in the country . . .  and we decided to pick a tree off our own property.     None of the trees were very nice, but they were ours and it was an interesting experiment.   Even my little dog Mimi hopped and jumped with delight as she got caught up in the excitement of us chopping down a tree and dragging it back to the house.   We did this in November and the tree was left outside until mid December. It remained fresh and never dropped a needle; it also gave off a marvellous scent of pine.  It was not a beautiful tree – its branches were sparse and bent, but it was ours and we were proud of what we had done.  We kept it in the house well into January, and then put it outside where we could look at it.  Finally, one day in the spring, we told it goodbye, chopped it into little pieces and put it in the garden.

 Christmas and trees and all of that are now more or less left up to our children.  We love to be with them to enjoy their trees and decorations, and, of course, all the presents.  My daughter, after saying she had ‘caved’ and was going to buy an artificial tree, found she could not bring herself to do it, and is buying a real one instead.  On the news today they said it is better for the environment to cut trees, after all – she will be happy to hear this.  We have had happy trees and sad trees, good Christmases and bad Christmases;  I look forward to enjoying more trees, be they real, artificial or ceramic – in the end, the only thing that really matters, is being with  our loved ones, if possible, at this time of year.   

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There is no other word for what I’m doing – I am definitely building a nest.  I have always been this way:  as soon as we move – or are getting ready to move - I start to plan where I will put things.  Even when traveling  . . . and we settle in to a hotel room, I create a nest – my little space – my home away from home. My husband, on the other hand, is the hunter . . . he can’t wait to go out and explore.  I need to feel comfortably settled before I can do that.

 Since coming to the city I have measured, moved furniture and tried to imagine how a room would look if I place a chair, a table or whatever in a certain spot; or how a picture might look hanging on the wall.  I am excited by the fact that I can bring more furniture here than expected – this is a lovely surprise.  My daughter, also a nest builder, will take the bedroom set from the country as well as a sofa from the city which will free up space for the bright and cheerful one I intend to bring.   Things are working out beautifully and this is becoming an exciting adventure.

 The demons are keeping their distance these days -- they do not dare attack when there is so much creative energy in the room!  It is fun and extremely satisfying to find ways of turning this rather cold and austere looking condo into a warm and welcoming home.  What a difference it will make to have softer and bright coloured fabric throughout the house.   I am striving for balance and must avoid clutter ---- the mistake we so often make when we move into a smaller house.   

  I should have been an interior decorator – or an organizer for people who move – I love the challenge of taking on a project like this.   I hope, however, this will be the end of me having to move - the next one perhaps being to a nursing home – or heaven forbid - the ground!  But none of that - not yet – this is too much fun!    My friend whose passion it was to buy and renovate old houses, now says there will be no more of that for her - she is now ready to settle down.   I too, am more than ready to settle down; I want to relax and enjoy the nest I am building for myself and my husband – I hope to live here quietly with no moves in sight for a long, long time.         

I went for my eye exam yesterday and was told the cataracts observed last year had not changed and there was no need for surgery.  I am fortunate and grateful that at my age there is no sign of eye disease either.   Still . . .  had I needed surgery, I would no longer need distance glasses . . . Oh, I am so hopelessly vain!

 The last couple of days I’ve been cleaning out drawers and cabinets trying to create space for the things I’ve carted to the city.  Why do I keep all this?! . . .  My son says we are in the process of downsizing which means we should be getting rid of what we no longer use.  He’s right of course, and yet, we still hold on to things --- why?  As I continue, however, to empty drawers and put things in piles to throw out – or better still, give away - I feel an enormous sense of relief and I am actually glad to be doing this.  I no longer need all those coats, shoes and handbags; and why do I have so many sweaters, blouses and scarves? It feels so good to be making piles of stuff that crowds my closet and drawers.   We are meant to simplify our lives as we get older – to lighten the load – to share . . .  My son is right – this is the way to go and it is definitely refreshing.

 Life changes; we change --  I no longer have my hair dyed – I like that grey adds dignity to my face;  I now use very little make-up – it no longer hides my wrinkles.  High heels are a thing of the past – flats are fashionable for a woman my age.   Comfort is what I aim for now and It’s great to feel free to dress as I please.   Out go the fancy clothes and shoes, and no more trips to the hairdresser – other than for a trim now and then.  This morning I gave two bags of clothes to the poor, and I feel richer for doing it – not money richer but happier for letting go of all the things that held me captive to fashion.

 I still have books, dishes, pots and pans and furniture to give away and to sell.  But first there is Christmas . . .  For the past several years I have given my jewellery, china,  crystal and silver to my family as gifts; what fun it is to eat off one of my plates or drink from a crystal glass when I visit.  I get so much pleasure out of seeing my daughters and granddaughters wearing my jewellery that it is a gift for me, as well.    

 Back to my original thought – I will not have 20/20 vision for a while and perhaps never; but wearing glasses can be fun if I find the right frames!  Now that I’ve decided to dress as I please, I will buy frames that are bright and colourful – frames that will give me a boost but hopefully won’t shock the neighbours.  Most important in all of this, is to remember I am letting go of fashion, ‘un peu,’  but not giving up on fun!

They’re not gone - the demons, I mean – they’re hiding, waiting to pounce when my guard is down - when I least expect them.  This morning as I cleaned out a couple of drawers, throwing out stuff or organizing it to take to the city, they appeared in full force and I found myself almost overwhelmed.  Memories came flooding back: an old spoon, a plate or a glass . . . each with a memory of its own; boxes of old photographs – mostly of the children and grandchildren taken in the country and carted here when I moved. I have no place to put them in the city and must now dispose of them or at least sort them out and take as few as possible. When my demons attacked, I fought the urge to stop what I was doing and simply sit down and weep.  

 I understand now why I am having such a difficult time,  it’s because this is the end of living in the country – there won’t be, as when I sold my house on the country road, the excitement of looking for another place where I could live near nature and feel secure.  There won’t be another little condo like this one where I have been happy for so many years.  That part of my life is over.  I will accept this - I will - but this is the end of something I loved and cherished, and I am grieving.    

 It’s important that I keep busy; soon I will put up decorations for Christmas to make the Holiday Season  cheerful and merry.  And it will be, if I remain positive and see the good side of getting down to one home.  We had a goal:  We wanted to get down to one car, and we’ve done that; we wanted to get down to one home and we’re almost there.  If I can concentrate on that and feel proud of our accomplishments, the sadness will gradually begin to fade and I will settle down.  I must not ignore the pain I’m feeling - it is real and it hurts.  I must acknowledge that this has been like a death and I am mourning.  But as I said in an earlier entry, I am moving on and I will settle down;  and one day soon I will see all of this as good.  But first,  I must rid myself of these demons – once and for all.

After spending a week in the city I am back in my little condo – my refuge - in the country.  As I unpacked (yes, unpacked) my bags yesterday, I began to wonder where I would find the courage to let this place go?  How can I leave this lovely little home that has sheltered and offered me frequent breaks from the life I share with my husband in the city?

This is negative thinking, and I must stop before it pulls me down. It is time to let it go – I know this in my head, but in my heart . . . oh, it is such different story.  I have had 12 lovely years here; I have had alone time; and time to go on walks, to listen to music, to read and to write . . .  I have been blesssed. 

 I managed to keep these negative thoughts at bay until 4 o’clock this morning when the demons attacked with a vengeance . . .  all my fears and anxieties about living full-time in the city returned, and the only recourse I had was to get up and face them head on.  

 I made myself a cup of tea and sat in my recliner where I fought the urge to give in to this painful and destructive negativity.  What must I do to rid myself of these dreadful feelings?  How do I remain positive? I sat struggling with these thoughts for some time . . . Then I began to take stock of what made this place a warm and cozy home.  What made it so inviting?   How can I bring some of this warmth and beauty to the city?   

I then knew what I would do:  I will replace some of the furniture in the city with furniture from here - the color and fabric will make the the place brighter and feel warmer; and when I hang my lovely paintings - it will definitely look less formal. Yes!  I will do that!  I will, but I must first decide quickly what furniture to take - already people are expressing interest in certain items.  I sat sipping my tea as these positive ideas replaced the negative ones and I felt myself begin to relax - I had overcome my demons - for now.  Tomorrow I will take measurements and try to imagine where to put things and  how they might look?   Tomorrow I . . . I sat back on the recliner and slowly, without realizing it, drifted off.  When I opened my eyes, it was daylight and the demons had vanished.         

 After breakfast, I took out the tape measure to begin my task.

 But what was I thinking? It  is a gorgeous day. Why am I dwelling on furniture and decor when the sun and mild weather beckon and invite me to do what I enjoy doing the most --  go on a walk!

 How easy it would have been to have let myself sink into negativity; how dreadful to give in to those feelings . . .  I am truly  grateful that next year I shall not have to worry about the weather or the road conditions for driving, and there will be no fixing or having to repair things - I will no longer have that responsibility – not here, at least.  It is a relief to know that I will be living in a lovely warm and attractive condo in which I will be comfortable and where I will accept, and at last begin to realize, I am finally settled.

November was an unpleasant month when I lived alone in the country. The weather strangely enough did not bother me; I, in fact, enjoyed the mood. I liked the shorter days, the darkness and the rain . . .  I liked the smell of dead leaves and water soaked earth – I liked the cosiness I felt when I lit a fire in the fireplace and curled up with music and a book; or baked cookies and made applesauce that added to the settling-in feeling.  And it was exciting when the first snowfall of the season arrived – everything looked bright and fresh as the snow stuck to the trees and covered the ground with a light dusting.  I liked it because I knew it would not stay - the ground was not yet frozen and it would quickly melt.  I also loved that the trees were bare and I could look deep into the woods and see the neighbour’s house up the road. But as much as all this pleased  me, I chose to pack up and leave.  Why?  Because November was also hunting season, and the woods behind my house were tremendously inviting to hunters. I worried I might be easy prey for reckless or inebriated men armed with rifles or bow and arrow.    I felt terribly vulnerable as a woman living alone, so I packed my things, grabbed my little dog and fled to the city.

 I was not alone to feel this way - people around me were wary at that time of year; it was not uncommon to hear of a stray bullet coming through a window or hitting someone's car!  Hunters lurking in the woods made me uneasy about driving on country roads and I avoided that as much as possible.

 Twice!  I got broken into during the fall season.  The first time happened when I left for only a short trip to the city: I came back to find the door kicked in and everything turned upside down; clothing and items from bureau drawers were scattered  everywhere; mattresses were turned over and lay half off the beds, and contents from my kitchen cupboards and drawers were spread all over the place.  But other than a small Dictaphone belonging to my husband, nothing was taken.   There was not much for them to take – the television and radio dated back to the beginning of time, and in the drawers were mainly baby clothes belonging to my little granddaughter who had stayed with me for a few days. It was scary, and I am amazed I was able to live there alone after that.

 The second time I was broken-into was much worse:  The house had just been renovated:  New doors and windows, new bathroom . . .  fresh paint throughout the house.  It was November and hunters again were on the roads and I once again made my escape to the city.  A few days later I received a phone call from the neighbour to whom I entrusted a key and who checked my house while I was away. “You’ve been broken into!” He yelled into the phone, as though he needed somehow to impress me.  He was terribly agitated and although I was upset, I kept my calm and asked if he would go back to the house and call me on my cordless phone so that I could walk him through the house and he could tell me what was missing.  It was a much bigger haul this time – they took all of my electronic equipment (except the old television that had been passed on to us from an elderly uncle).  In fact, the caretaker had to use my regular phone – the cordless one was gone!    

 I cannot believe I had the courage to drive out and sleep there that night.  But I did.  And the next day – before calling my insurance agent – I placed a call to an alarm company, and within a week, an alarm system complete with panic button next to my bed, was installed.

 An alarm system in the country! where living near nature should have meant peace and quiet and joy . . . An alarm system that scared me more than it helped – I kept worrying I might set it off by accident which happened on more than one occasion and the police came for nothing.   I knew that if there were too many false alarms I could be fined – or worse – they would not come at all!

 The robbers had taken more than my meagre possessions - they had ruined my quiet life and taken away my peace and feeling of security.   Shortly after the second break-in I put my house up for sale.

 It is  now the month of November, and I write in the security of my city condo; there is an alarm system to alert in case of fire or a break-in, and a panic button to summon help in an emergency.  This system is not only necessary, it is reassuring -  especially for older people living alone.  I gaze out my kitchen window and see bushes and trees nearly bare of their leaves and I see an empty swimming pool that belongs to the Sporting Club next door; yet, in spite of the comfort and security offered to me here, I still miss the melancholy feeling I experienced when living in the country, and the cosiness of an open fire . . . the smell of applesauce now simmering on the stove, permeates my kitchen and fills me with nostalgia for that part of Novembers that I loved and remember so well.

Seems I will be unpacking my bags after all (c.f. earlier entry) – I sold my condo this week.  A lovely couple came to visit, fell in love with it and made me an offer I could not refuse.  The wonderful thing is I do not have to leave until June!

 I am actually in the state of shock – I did not expect this – it had been a slow market, and this is a big surprise.

 I must not dwell on what I am giving up but look forward to what is ahead. The city is not where I preferred to live but there is positive in everything, and yesterday on my walk, when I began to feel heavy-hearted because I would  be leaving this lovely haven, I decided to dwell on the positive aspects of living there:  My doctors are just across the street, as is the pharmacy. And there is a lovely little cafeteria – not only for lunch but where I can pick up takeout food.  There is a small shopping mall within walking distance – 2 minutes by car if necessary; and several lovely parks where I can walk my little dog or sit on a bench and relax.   It is not the quiet of the country, true, but it offers other things: Theatre, concerts and nice restaurants for when we feel like eating out.  I will adjust, I always have -  everything happens for a reason.  It is actually kind of exciting to wonder what will happen next in my life and what new adventures await me?

 I have much to do before the move: Furniture to sell, clothes to give away and a complete cleaning and emptying of the condo.  The children will visit and take what they need – or like - but before that, we will spend the Holidays here and enjoy our last Christmas in my little condo in the country.  I will then stay and begin the work I am so familiar with – the pattern I have lived all my married life -  I will be packing and selling, giving away, and getting ready to move . . . the beat goes on.  And in the spring, I will, like an old pro, close the door and not look back.

 I am happy and sad this morning – the time has come for another change – another move, but I have had 12 wonderful years here and for that I am grateful.   I shall miss a lot of things, yes, but I will also remember with joy the happy moments shared here with family and friends.  There is a time for everything and the time had come for us to get down to one home.  I cannot imagine my life without packing and unpacking and living out of a suitcase but I am confident there will be different, but many happy days ahead, as I begin full time living in the city.  I am moving on but not checking out – not yet.  I have a lot of living to do and a lot of stories to write.  I’m just moving on.  

 Why is everyone driving so fast – so recklessly – aren’t they aware it’s windy?     What is wrong with everybody? This is dangerous.  Be careful!   I am upset and wonder if they see me mouthing “idiots!” as they pass me on the bridge?

 I hold the steering wheel tight as I feel the car pulling to one side.   “What a strong wind!”  I mutter to myself and to my dog sleeping in her carrier beside me.

 “I hit heavy wind as I drove out here.” I tell a neighbour as I park my car in the garage. “Lucky you have a small car and it’s close to the ground.” She remarks.   I agree and give it no further thought.

 But . . .   while driving back to the city I feel the same pull - the same wind.   Then it happens . . . the car shifts to the side and I suddenly hear thud, thud, and thud.     I have a flat tire! 

 Okay . . . now is the time to use my cell phone. “Stay calm.” I tell myself as I dial CAA.  Luckily the battery is not dead and my payments are up to date.

 I am told to put my hazard lights on and to stay in the car; that someone will call me for particulars. They do. They are adamant I not get out of the car.

 I eventually see a truck pull up behind me; ignoring the instructions I climb out onto the busy highway.  A guy gets out and checks the back of his truck.  “Are you from CAA?”  I ask.  “No.”  He answers without  showing me any kind of concern.  “I have a flat tire.”  I shout, over the roar of heavy traffic whizzing by at way above the speed limit, I am sure.  He continues to ignore me. Two women sitting in the cab of the truck yell out for him to lend me his cell phone. “It’s okay.” I answer.  “I have one.  Thank you.”    

 I get back in my car and wait.  I turn on the radio to distract myself.  My dog sleeps.  At least there is that; it would be awful if she too were nervous.   A car – a Camry I think, passes and stops a short distance away; two well dressed men, one looks to be in his fifties, the other younger, get out of the car.  They walk towards me, and in a foreign accent, offer to change the tire.  By then, however, I have become paranoid and have decided to follow instructions; I lower the window a couple of inches and indicate I have a cell phone and have called for help.

 I feel vulnerable – I am scared.  Why? What on earth would they want with an old lady and a dog?  They smile graciously and I smile back but remain locked in the protection of my vehicle.

 They take off and I am somewhat relieved. But I am also alone on a very busy highway and I continue to wonder what will happen. It has begun to snow.  Oh, no!  That’s all I need . . .  .

  An hour later (feels like a day) a tow truck arrives; a young man jumps out and tells me to move the car further onto the shoulder.  I am convinced I will go into the ditch, but he is right, there is plenty of space.  I get out to empty the stuff from the trunk of my car that has garment bags and suitcase and bags of food..... (I do not travel lightly --- remember?)  The young man reaches in for the spare tire – the spare  . . . is nothing but a tiny little wheel meant for a kid’s tricycle!  He takes it out and orders me to get in the car and stay there!   I am quiet and subdued as I climb back in the car; I watch him as he quickly switches the flat tired wheel for the tiny little ‘tricycle’ wheel.  He is right about the danger- traffic whizzes by at an incredible speed - nothing but a whirr – a buzz - one car or truck after another.  I am struggling with the idea that no one, except the well- dressed gentlemen, had stopped to offer help.  Were they truly good Samaritans and did I remember to thank them I wonder? . . .

 The young man finishes his job, puts my luggage back in the car and hands me a paper to sign; he then tells me to keep my hazard lights on and to drive no faster than 80 kilometres an hour. He is good at what he does and I am very impressed. He leaves and I feel alone and vulnerable.  I weave my way back onto the highway, lights flashing, the car feeling off-balance because of the tiny wheel, and drive ever so slowly towards the city.

 My kids have scolded me for not checking my tires:  “Before you leave the house and especially before you head out of the city, mother!”   They scold.  They are right - I should have suspected a problem when I crossed the bridge?  Why did I think it was only the wind?!    I learned my lesson well.  So well, in fact, I have driven the gas station attendant crazy asking him to check my tires every time I stop for gas.  “You can tell.” He says.  “Just by looking at your tires, you can tell they don’t need air.”   “I know.  I know.” I reply.  “But did I mention I had a flat tire while on the autoroute alone with my little dog and it began to snow?.  . .”  He gives me a good natured smile and walks away shaking his head - he has heard my story before  . . .  over and over again.    

 After developing hearing loss, what’s next? -  Cataracts.  At my annual eye examination last year the ophthalmologist told me I had the beginning of a cataract in each eye.  “Nothing to be concerned about”, she added “cataracts, like grey hair, happens to everybody as they get older.”   Oh, happy thought.  

 While walking towards the lobby of our condo building one day, I noticed 3 elderly people standing around talking – none of them wore glasses, while I trotted along wearing bifocals. How can this be, I wondered?  They’re older than me . . . . Then I remembered . . .  all had had cataracts removed and now have 20/20 vision.   Except for reading, these people no longer need glasses.  Does this mean we should all aspire to cataracts in order to have perfect vision! 

 I began wearing bifocals ten years ago when carting two pairs of glasses became a nuisance. I needed a pair for reading and another for distance.  Switching back and forth eventually seemed silly.  It was vanity, of course - I did not want to wear glasses at all!   

 A friend of mine has macular degenerative disease and is completely blind in one eye.   She’s an artist – she paints.  Or rather, she painted.  What a huge disappointment this has been for her – painting was her life.  She is the one I mentioned in an earlier entry that bought a house and is now having it renovated; she plans to buy a dog when it's finished.    Bravo for her - she’s hanging in there – she’s an admirable and beautiful woman of nearly 80.   I’d be lamenting my fate and complaining to anyone who’d listen.

 My dog, Mimi had a cataract and could not see out one eye.  She adapted to this situation beautifully and it was amazing to see how well she got around.   

 So . . .  this is old age – the golden years - more aptly named, ‘tarnished brass’ by a friend.  This is when the body begins to fall apart like an old car, and each year demands more maintenance.  What next, I wonder? . . .  I will visit my ophthalmologist next month to find out if the cataracts have developed further? And if I need surgery to have them removed?  What next, indeed.  But wait a minute  . . . this could mean I won’t need glasses except for reading.  There’s good news in old age after all.  Oh, such vanity ---  Omnia Vanitas   All is vanity.  Even at 80!  

Why is being with someone who is hard of hearing so funny at times?

 My sister suffered hearing loss, and when she would visit it was all we could do to hold ourselves together when she misunderstood a word and repeated a similar sounding one that had absolutely no connection to what we were saying. “How about some tea?”  We’d ask.  “It’s much better, thank you.”  She thought we'd asked about her knee. We’d have to escape to the kitchen so that she’d not see us crack up.

 And one time while chatting with and elderly couple in the lobby of our condo building - he being hard of hearing  and with two obvious hearing aids cocked his head and asked, “What was that you said?” And his sweet but somewhat impatient wife dropped her arms, stamped her foot, and shouted what I had said into his hearing aid.  I had to turn around and fake a cough to cover a laugh! 

 My brother called one day and within minutes of our conversation I realized he could not understand a word I was saying - he answered yes or no when I knew he thought the opposite – he simply could not hear me! That was not funny.  But being with a person who is hard of hearing sometimes triggers in me almost uncontrollable laughter.  Why is that?

 And . . . guess what? -  I am the one amusing people now.  I am the one who has hearing loss – in both ears!  I must now use a tiny but very expensive hearing device in each ear.   They are inconspicuous, and I am grateful for that, but should I forget to put them in, and even when I do, people often have to repeat things, which is very frustrating for everybody.   Eating in restaurants is another challenge for people with hearing aids - not only do we hear ourselves chew, we hear the neighbour!  And more upsetting is trying to maintain a conversation with the person you are with – you hear mainly the people at the next table! The clatter of dishes, not to mention the music, makes it almost impossible; one must sit facing the other person in order to read their lips.

 When I first purchased my hearing aids, I made the mistake of leaving them on my night table when I went to the kitchen for a glass of milk.  I never imagined my little dog, sleeping on my bed, might find the shiny little devices interesting; I returned just in time to find her chewing one of them to bits!  Luckily they were insured and I was completely reimbursed, but when the insurance agent asked, “You lost it, really? - Lots of people report their dogs eat them.” I suppose I was technically correct in using the word ‘lost’ but felt myself blushing - he knew . . .    It’s not uncommon for dogs to chew remote controls as well as hearing aids . . . shame on me for lying.

 But not shame on me for laughing when a person with a hearing problem misunderstands a word – it IS funny. And now that I have joined the ranks of those with hearing disabilities, I know what’s going on when people retreat to the other room or hide their faces when I misunderstand a word – it is not only funny, it can sometimes be hilarious!