ponderingsat80’s posterous

One evening as I walked from the bathroom to my bedroom after taking my shower, something flew at me; I instinctively ducked and cried out, “oh, my god, there’s a bat in the house!”

 What to do . . .?  I was alone and quite afraid of bats.  After I turned on the lights, it disappeared and went into hiding.  Was I to leave a light on all night?  Would it fly at me in my bedroom?     

 I called my new friend and neighbour to seek his advice.  “My son Eric is visiting me; he’ll be happy to help you and will be right over.”   Within minutes Eric was at my door smiling and wearing a pair of work gloves. The bat, however, was nowhere to be seen and I  wondered if I had imagined it?

 We sat in the dark and waited, but there was no sign of it.   After a while, I said, “This is ridiculous.  Please go home.”   Eric insisted it was hiding and would come out eventually.  We continued to wait.  Nothing happened, so we turned on the lights and Eric began searching the house. I was uncomfortable and embarrassed about the situation and the idea kept persisting that perhaps I had been mistaken – there was no bat.  He kept checking under things: tables, chairs behind pictures – everywhere . . .  suddenly I heard him exclaim, “I’ve found it!”

 Curled into the size of a quarter, the little bat hung attached to the bottom of a chest of drawers.  Ever so gently, Eric reached for it and in his gloved hand took it outside where he released the frightened little mammal unharmed.  

 I was relieved and grateful, but most of all, I was impressed by Eric’s attitude: he showed so much respect for this little creature that I began to understand it was more afraid of me than I was of it.  A bat in the house, although not pleasant, turned out to be a wonderful lesson in acceptance; I was glad this never happened again, but Eric’s patience and kindness towards me and the little bat, had been a beautiful experience.   

 I went on to feed the birds but poisoned the mice . . .  talk about respect for creatures!     

“What’s happened?  Where is the house?!”   My son and I exclaimed as we drove up the country road towards the house that had once been ours.

 Several years ago, after two break-ins, I decided it was no longer wise for me to live in the country alone; I put the house up for sale and moved to a small condo in a town where I would feel less vulnerable.

 It was always with mixed emotions that we drove past the house - there were so many memories . . .  years, summers . . . spent there with the children and grandchildren.  We would prepare ourselves psychologically as we approached the house from the bend in the road. What we had not prepared ourselves for this time was the shock  – there was no house.  It was gone!

 In its place now stands a contemporary tall structure, which in my opinion, does not look good.   The structure itself is made of wood and glass – sharp angles - and much too tall to be sitting at the top of a hill.  Several trees have been cut to give the new owners a better view of the mountains and this has taken away the charm and look of a little house in the woods.  I do not like it at all. 

  My daughter and I drove past it yesterday, and the two of us were practically in tears as we stopped and looked up at the ugly structure.  Gone was the house and gone were the trees that surrounded it. It hurt that these people seemed to lack respect for a property that had meant so much to us, and we wondered  what had become of the paths in the woods.  Were they still there?  Was the path to the brook and over to the neighbour’s pond intact? Or had they fenced them off?  Or even worse - let them go to brush?

 We sat for a long time reminiscing.  We felt sad.  The house is gone, yes, but the memories of summertime fun with dogs and cats and friends will always remain, and for those incredibly precious years we will forever be grateful.

They had predicted thunderstorms on the early morning news; that was nothing new we had thunderstorms almost every day in the mountains during the summer.  

 The day had started out sunny but by mid-afternoon the air had turned heavy and oppressive and the sky had begun to cloud over.  Here it comes, I thought, better prepare for the dreaded thunderstorm - again.  I loathed the storms – we were forever getting struck by lightning and inevitably, a power outage would follow.  I unplugged electrical appliances, filled jugs with water, brought out the flashlights and candles and waited.

 It grew darker and darker - soon the daylight disappeared and it was black as night.  What is happening?  My god, what is happening?  And where are the children?! . . .  Storms were common place and we had learned to live and adapt to them, but this time it was different: Thunder and lightning, wind and heavy rain  pelted the windows; I suddenly understood that  this was no ordinary storm – this was a tornado!  I had no other choice – I had to get to the basement.  Except, we had no basement – the house was built on rock and the rock was covered in dirt that housed creepy crawly things, as well as spiders, and in the fall - mice. It was not my favourite place, but in this instance, it was the safest place to be.  I grabbed a flashlight opened the door to the cellar and headed down the steep ladder-like stairs; shaking and terrified,  I sat on the bottom step and prayed my children were safe.   I heard the roar of thunder and wind combined and I was sure the roof or some part of the house would be blown away!

 Where were my children?. . .  I was worried sick about them.   There had not been time to jump in the car to go look for them – this had all happened so fast.   There was no weather network or internet to give people updates in those days.  In fact, our television was so primitive we relied on rabbit ears to pick up all three channels!

 The storm lasted for what felt like an eternity – twenty minutes or so, perhaps. Then all was quiet and I dared to go back upstairs.  Light rain was now falling – the storm was over.   The roof appeared to be intact, as was the rest of the house. The power was off, of course, but I expected that,            

 I stood by the window and almost wept with relief when I suddenly spotted my daughter coming up the yard, followed by her little brother.  I was confident my 11 year old was at the farm where he would be safe, and my other son was wise enough, I hoped, to take shelter.

  No one was hurt and no damage had been done to the houses on our road.  The tornado had cut a swath down the side of the mountain; trees were uprooted, houses and barns lost their roofs and debris was strewn about, but miraculously no one was injured and no animal died. 

 We were fortunate and we gave thanks, but perhaps a lot of anxiety could have been avoided, had there been, as there is today, a tornado warning.

 A wish to help you was my plan

Oh lonely, kind and gentle man.

Then you took over, tricked me to

Reveal my cares and fears to you.

 You chuckle softly, never laugh,

As clumsily I tread my path.

You listen, counsel, leave me free,

You give advice then wait and see.

 You’re neighbor, friend and soul discreet,

Treasured acceptance I so do seek.

I wonder though, questions abound,

How come my plan got turned around?

“Would you please send someone to install a garbage disposal unit?”  I asked when I called the plumber’s office.

“You will have to come pick one out,” someone said.   “We have several different kinds.”

It was a cold winter morning when I set out towards the showroom.  I had been there several times so I was sure I knew my way.  Spotting the building I turned on to what I thought was the plumber’s driveway, but as I drove along, I wondered why the road was narrow and the snow so deep?  Manoeuvring the car was becoming difficult and suddenly I realized I was stuck!  I could neither go forward nor backward.  I spun the wheels several times before getting out of the car, and to my horror, I saw that it had sunk into a foot of snow!  I was not on the driveway, at all – I was on a snowmobile trail!

Snow covered my boots as I climbed up the four foot embankment and made my way red-faced to the office.   “I need help!”  I exclaimed as I came through the door.  “We know we saw what happened and can call you a tow truck if you like?”  Within 15 minutes the truck arrived.  “You must stay in the car and hold the steering wheel straight.”   The driver ordered.

Embarrassed but grateful, I climbed behind the wheel while he, from the top of the embankment, attached my car to the truck.  I felt a sudden tug, and within minutes the car and I were suspended vertically mid-air off the ground!  I was terrified, and it was just about then that I decided it might be a good idea to fasten my seat belt!  The driver swung the car slowly over the embankment and ever so gently lowered it to the ground.   

Relieved, I hopped out of the car to thank him and settle my account.  “You are the third person I’ve towed off the trail this week.” He remarked.  “People make that same mistake all the time.”   It comforted me a little to hear this and I managed to regain my composure before going back to the store to pick out a unit.  “This is it.” They said, pointing to the only unit in the store.  I was furious!  Why did they insist I come pick one out when this was the only one in stock?!            

 I placed the order to have it installed, and as I prepared to leave, they confirmed that three other people had to be towed this week – “it is an easy mistake to make.”  They added.   I left feeling annoyed at the whole situation and dreadfully stupid for having taken the snowmobile trail;  but while driving home I began to chuckle -  being suspended in mid-air had been kind of fun I had to admit –   in fact, it had been very exciting.   And not only that, I now had a story to tell!

 A 6 lb. cream coloured toy poodle was the first dog I could call my own.   I bought her from a breeder in a nearby village when I lived in the country.  She was great company for me and we enjoyed a marvellous life together - for a while.  I named her Mimi.  

 Mimi was free to roam the property; she was extremely agile and got all excited when the grandchildren came to play soccer: She would get hold of the ball, bounce it off her nose and push it across the front lawn.   She would also fetch tennis balls that were tossed from the deck.  I do not remember teaching her, but when I would cross the road to pick up the mail, she would sit and wait for me at the end of the driveway and never leave the yard.   

She was fearless: She would herd large dogs that came from neighboring farms, away from our property. And to my amazement, they respected this intimidating tiny poodle, and left without an argument.       

 Every afternoon during the summer, we would go for a walk in the woods that was part of our property.  She knew the routine, and as soon as we left the house, with great excitement, she would take off  ahead of me on the path.  I have a terrible sense of direction but I never worried about getting lost while she was with me – she would always lead me home.  Once in a while I would decide to come back through the neighbour’s woods, and Mimi would object and hold back -   but eventually followed.  I relied on her to guide me, for even though I enjoyed  the woods, I was easily disorientated!

Mimi was with me while I was alone in the country and we spent many a night together during a thunderstorm or a snowstorm and we were often without electricity.  I found such comfort in her little presence and was extremely grateful for her company.

 Our daily walks continued, as did the games on the lawn, until one day when I was weeding the garden and Mimi was playing with her ball; she accidentally tripped and struck her head on a rock, and as I heard the noise and looked up, I saw her zigzagging back to the house.  Several days later she developed a cataract on her eye, and weeks later we began to notice a change in her personality:  the happy little dog was gone and in her place was an aggressive animal that snarled and snapped at children and even at me!  There was no playing with a ball and no more fetching - the joyful little dog’s life had changed completely and she was very sad.    I could no longer control her and I worried about taking her out for fear she might bite someone.  The vet concluded she had become vicious because of a  brain lesion caused by the blow she'd received to the head.   I had lost my dear little friend and companion and it broke my heart but I had no other choice - I had to have her put down. 

 Life with Mimi ended but the memory  of this delightful little animal lingers  . . .  even after several years and two dogs later.

I felt sad and rather frustrated as I stood by the dining room window of my sister’s house – the family home that she had inherited from our parents who had passed away years ago. 

 My young daughter and I had dropped by to say hello on our way to the country, and my sister kept fussing with something in the kitchen and would not stop to visit.  Why is she like this?  I thought.  Why won’t she sit with us for a minute?

The house is built on a river bank, and as I stood looking out at the river, I reminisced about my childhood and thought about my mother - not my father - for some reason.  I felt annoyed;  why had I bothered to stop by and why was my sister behaving this way?   It hurt.    Suddenly, I felt a presence – such a warm and loving presence that it took my breath away.  And it was my father who said, “Do not let this bother you – she does not understand these things.”   These words were spoken with such love and tenderness that my sadness disappeared and I felt amazingly comforted.

 When my daughter came from upstairs I decided we should leave, so we said our goodbyes.

  This incredible experience filled me with such peace that I soon forgot my sister’s rudeness.  We were quiet as we drove towards the country, when my daughter unexpectedly broke the silence:   “I need to tell you something, Mom.”    "What is it?” I asked.  “Something strange happened to me when I went upstairs: I went into the room  where I once slept as a baby and . . .  this is going to sound weird . . .  I felt Pepere’s presence.”  “Oh, my dear sweet little girl – so did I!  I did not want to mention this for fear of upsetting you, but so did I!  He was there . . . for both of us!”  My father was very fond of this sweet little blond curly haired girl - she was special to him when she was growing up.

 I am still puzzled by this mysterious happening and by the words that were spoken: “She doesn’t understand these things.”  But I continue to believe a loving spirit who was my father and my daughter’s grandfather on earth, was indeed there to comfort us.  

Once upon a time . . .  I joined a church choir.  We had recently moved to a new town and this was an opportunity to not only do something I love, but to meet new people

 We were a group of  8 singers (when we were all there).  The director was a trained musician, as was the star soprano. I was a soprano, but had no training

 We rehearsed once a week and sang at Sunday morning mass.  As mentioned in previous entries, I am prone to the giggles and I inevitably come across someone with a similar affliction. One of the woman in our small choir had the habit of sneezing whenever we rehearsed and even more so at mass.  She had a hilarious sneeze – it sounded like a dog’s bark.  Problems started when the person next to me found this so funny, she laughed  and her cackle sounded like a hen!  Worse still, someone behind us sounded like a pig –  her's was a snort.   The barnyard sounds were endless and hilarious and I found myself hiding behind my sheet of music to conceal the giggles.  So here we were, at every rehearsal and every Sunday morning: bark, cackle and snort – we should have been named the barnyard chorus!

 Even the icy stare from our choir director could not keep us from laughing - we were hopeless. On top of that, the one male voice in this tiny little choir was forever off key, and when asked how he did that when everyone else was on key?   He answered, “With great difficulty.”  It was all too funny!

 The sneezing continued during each rehearsal and at every mass, as did the cackle, snort and giggles; but it was great fun and I stayed in the ‘barnyard chorus’ until we moved away.

(for Claude)

He walked up the yard crying, “Mommy . . .  Mommy!”  Tears streaming down his little face, but when he spotted the cat on the front door step, he stopped crying and bent over to pet it.  After a few minutes, he resumed his crying and came in the house.  “Mommy,” he sobbed, “Jimmy took my toy!” I could not help but smile as I wiped away his tears, for I had witnessed the whole thing.   

 He was only 3 years old when we visited his grandparents for the first time on a cold January day.  Having decided on sleeping arrangements for him and his baby sister who was with us, I was settling them down for the night when he began to complain. “Why can’t I sleep with you?”  - “Because Grandma has prepared a special room just for you.” I replied.   “I don’t want a special room. I want to sleep with you.” He whined.  Ignoring his little outburst, I continued to get the baby ready for bed.   Once in her crib, I turned to take him to his room, but he was gone. His grandmother and I looked all through the house calling his name, but there was no response.  We were frantic and we wondered where to look and what to do?

 “I think I found someone who belongs to you,” said an elderly gentleman with a chuckle in his voice as he stood on the doorstep after ringing the bell.

 What are the chances of something like this happening?  This little sobbing boy let himself out of the house and headed down the street bare footed and in his pyjamas - in the dead of winter!  I grabbed him and hugged him and thanked the stranger profusely, and leaving my mother-in-law to get the details, I carried him up the stairs to a warm bath and a big cuddle.

 How a 3 year old boy was able to identify his grand-parents’ house at night, on his first visit, remains a mystery; but I will never forget my fear when I noticed he was gone, and the relief and immense gratitude I felt towards a stranger who happened along and picked up my freezing and frightened little boy. What could have been a tragedy was almost a miracle.  This time, a little boy lost was a little boy found!