A LIFE WELL LIVED

Today is the anniversary of my mother's death and naturally she was on my mind most of the day. Then at the end of yoga class tonight, my yoga instructor read this poem out loud to us and it hit a chord within me. It was a fitting end to a day filled with memories of my mother and certainly food for thought. I dedicate this poem to my mom who died too young but lived life to the fullest. 

A Life Well Lived

By Donna Maris

Ready or not, some day my Life will end.

There will be no more sunrises, days, hours or minutes.

No more cell phones or calls and mail to be returned.

Every thing I will have collected, be it treasured or forgotten, will pass to someone else.

My wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance.

It will not matter what I owned or what I was owed.

My grudges, resentments, frustrations, and jealousies will finally disappear.

So will my hopes, ambitions, plans and To Do List: All will expire with me.

The wins and losses that once seemed so important to me, will fade away.

It won't matter where I was born or what side of the tracks have I lived.

It won't matter if I rented, or owned a house or lived on a boat.

It won't matter whether I was clever, beautiful or brilliant.

My gender, skin color, ethnicity will be irrelevant.

So what WILL matter?

What will be the measure of my days, weeks and years passed?

 How will my life be valued?

What will matter is not what I bought, but what I have chosen to build.

Not what I received, but what I have shared and given you.

What will matter is not the level of my success, but my significance.

What will matter is not what I learned, but what I have taught

What will matter is every act of integrity, compassion, courage and sacrifice that enriched, empowered or encouraged others to emulate from my example.

What will matter is not my competence, but my integrity and character; my true grit.

What will matter is not how many people I have known, rich or poor, 

but how many will feel a lasting loss when I am gone.

What will matter are not my faded memories,

but the memories of those who knew and have loved me.

What will matter is how long I will be remembered, by whom, and for a

kaleidoscope of reasons, like a brilliant rainbow.

Living a life that matters doesn't happen by accident.

It's not a matter of circumstance.

It is one made of choice; one of my own choosing.

And in so doing, I dance and write my name with Destiny.

I choose to live a life that matters.

 

Snow in Winter, eh!

 

Vaseux Lake

 Last week it snowed where I live. I mean really snowed. It began snowing on my way to curling and it snowed so much that after our curling game we didn’t even stay for our customary beverage--though we did stand around discussing the snow outside for almost as long as it usually takes to down a cold one. The heavy, wet snow was certainly weather-worthy material for a good rant as is the blast of very cold arctic air now sitting over our region. 

Shoveling my driveway last week I got to thinking about the weather and how we as Canadians love to talk about it. 

Canadians are very articulate and talking about the weather gives us a chance to show off our winter weather lexicon. Remember all that nonsense from last year? Last winter was record-breaking in many areas. It was a season dominated by ice storms, frost quakes and that meteorological fiend--polar vortex--and nothing gets us going quite like a polar vortex. 

"Winter, a spell of short, cold days commonly defined as a season will be more or less exactly what you would expect."

In case you live somewhere tropical like Maui and think polar vortex is something straight out of a sci-fi flick--polar vortex is a large pocket of extremely cold air situated over the polar region that can occasionally break away and venture south into Canada and the U.S.  Basically, the polar vortex is nasty and the culprit responsible for several weeks of sub-zero temperatures last winter.

I am typically Canadian. I know how important it is to be forewarned and therefore forearmed regarding various weather systems. I have several weather Apps on my iPad (just in case one gets it wrong) and I record the local news every day so as not to miss the weather forecast. Yes, I am weather obsessed along with every other Canadian out there.

 "Ice and snow will create icy, snowy conditions."

So what’s with our obsession? We know its winter so why do we get so passionate about entirely typical winter weather. Why do we act so surprised when temperatures plummet in November as if temperatures haven’t plummeted in November for the past ten years. It’s like this almost every year yet we still have to make a fuss about it. Basically, at the beginning of any given season somewhere in Canada will be hit by entirely typical weather.

The answer to that is as big and varied as the country we live in--a geographically diverse country with weather patterns that can vary hugely from province to province and season to season. From heat waves and humidity warnings to freezing temperatures, wind chills and everything in between, there’s no shortage of material when it comes to our weather. 

"Your car will refuse to start. Because its winter!"

We are also a nation that likes to play it safe and talking about the weather rather than politics or religion is a pretty safe topic. While some like it hot and others like it cold, saying “the heat is unbearable” or “I can’t believe it’s snowing in April” is unlikely to lead into a heated debate or a shouting match.

Canadians are friendly and the weather is a great conversation starter at networking events, or even in the elevator. “How about the weather, eh?” is a common phrase I’ve certainly used at one time or another to greet someone I don’t know.

We are sensible and practical. Since temperatures and climate conditions vary so widely from day to day and season to season, asking “what’s it like out today?” gives us a good idea what to expect and can help with day to day planning. Should you wear a toque and gloves? Is a thunderstorm likely to interrupt your kayaking excursion or will a snowfall affect your commute time? These are all sensible, practical reasons for being up on the weather.

"Frostquake, polar pig, Siberian Express…Brrr!"

Winter is part of our Canadian charm. Where else would you find cities with nicknames more famous than their real names like “Winterpeg”--a label so famous it appears in the Canadian Oxford Dictionary and a name which instantly brings to mind frigid cold temperatures and heaping snow banks.

We're also pretty savvy at glorifying the weather one minute and then complaining about its impact the next. We have written songs and stories about it. It’s what we like to do. As a Canadian the ability to survive winter (along with the accompanying rant) is a testament to being Canadian. We’re tough, flexible, creative, and we are prepared!

"Temperatures in Canada are going to fall sharply over the coming weeks because that is what happens at this time of year."

So brace yourselves, even if this proves to be the coldest winter in a hundred years, there’s a high probability that it will be followed by another sudden weather-related phenomenon known as spring. And in no time at all, the polar vortex will be a distant memory replaced by another Canadian meteorological beast--the humidex!

 “You can’t get too much winter in the winter” – Robert Frost in his poem Snow.

The Broken Road

Gratitude has been on my mind of late most likely because of the long lead up to Thanksgiving this past weekend. This year I have a long list of blessings to catalog, not the least being the healthy deliverance of my two newest family members. My list is extensive to say the least.

During a recent yoga class, we were instructed to contemplate five positive self-qualities for which we are grateful and in doing so I couldn't help but ponder my life journey thus far. 

I set out on a narrow way many years ago

Hoping I would find true love along the broken road

But I got lost a time or two

Wiped my brow and kept pushing through

I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to you.

Mine is a journey along a sporadically rocky road riddled with twists and holes and on occasion so broken it has forced me to change direction. The twists and holes in our roads often represent the many "total busts" in our lives such as loss, loneliness, divorce, struggles, setbacks, depression, injury, illness; pretty much anything which didn't go the way we anticipated or wanted it to. And this is what I am truly grateful for this year.

Every long lost dream led me to where you are

Others who broke my heart they were like Northern stars

Pointing me on my way into your loving arms

This much I know is true

That God blessed the broken road

That led me straight to you.

I am grateful for every "no" which made room for an unexpected "yes". Every giant hole of loss which became a window or a doorway for me to look into or walk through. Every bout of loneliness or depression which reminded me to love that much more sumptuously when I could. Every struggle which has deepened my inner strength. Every injury or illness which forced me to rest and recover and to build strength in other ways. Every delay which gave me an ounce more of patience.

I think about the years I spent just passing through

I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you

But you just smile and take my hand

You've been there, you understand

It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true.

Maybe every failure is not really a failure at all, but a blessing in disguise. So this Thanksgiving past, I am grateful for everything that was "not". I give thanks for the broken road.

(Bless the Broken Road, Rascal Flatts)

THE KISS OF LIFE

 Love is difficult to define. Not even the most experienced of us can truly grasp or explain love to its truest and deepest meaning. Love is a never ending saga of experiences. It can be risky and quite often baffling. Love comes in many guises. It can be unconditional. It can be virtuous. It can be affectionate. And of course it can be sexual.

Love is really undefined. But there are three defining moments in the story of my love.

 The Kiss of Life:

The summer we met was hot and sultry; it was the kind of summer that could turn a flourishing friendship between a man and a woman into a steamy, torrid love affair. I don’t know if it was the warmer temperatures, the longer days, the later nights, or those extra summer cocktails, but by mid-August my friendship with my next-door neighbor Mark took a romantic turn. As the season began to shift so did my feelings and I felt the inexplicable thrill of falling head-over-heels in love. As summer wound down, Mark was gearing up to plunge head first into a busy work season. He had already cautioned me that his personal time would be limited from September through November, so it was with some surprise that I found him on my doorstep one evening with two tickets to San Francisco--he said he wanted to end the summer and begin our new romance with a trip to one of his favorite places.

We got to San Francisco early on the evening of August 24^th, a day which also happens to be my mother’s birthday. During the course of a year, there are two days likely to cause an outpouring of emotion for me, the first being my mother’s birthday and the second being the anniversary of her death. My heart broke the winter my mother died, and sadness was the glue still holding it together some 9,388 days later.

Summer marks the peak of tourism in the Bay area, but summers there can be cool and are usually accompanied by brisk sea winds and chilly, damp fog. Lucky for us, the oft’ anticipated Indian summer had arrived early and the evening was warm and a gentle balmy breeze warmed us as I slipped my hand into Mark’s and we set off on foot to explore. 

We strolled along granite plazas, past jazz and blues clubs, restaurants and cafes. We walked down hill and then back up for what seemed like an age and eventually found ourselves back at the hotel. I remember Mark made me laugh when he cracked a joke about his painful shin splints from the endless hill climbs--and then without warning I began to cry. It was the sort of crying that doesn't easily stop and threatened to put a damper on the weekend. I wanted to say it's not me crying, it's my soul. But the words were not there.

That night played out like a scene from a movie; I the broken damsel and Mark the accidental hero. But by morning my heart and soul were home. In an unlikely hotel room in San Francisco, I was kissed and left breathing. And without speaking a word, he said, I am here and I will always be here.

The Saddest Goodbye:

Mark had a dog. Sparky, a pure bred Dalmatian, was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and was simply spoiled rotten by Mark. In his eyes, she could do no wrong and in her eyes, I was the evil step-mother. Let’s just say that life was interesting when we moved in together.

One summer when Sparky was a senior, her legs began to give her problems and we noticed after long walks that she would have difficulty getting around the next day. Sometimes while eating, she was unable to control her legs as they would spread-eagle from a standing position into the splits. Then one morning, after going outside to use the doggy bathroom, she never returned and we found her stuck on the steps leading up to our house, her legs painfully spread-eagled. For the next two weeks, Mark lovingly carried her up and down the steps to her bathroom whenever she needed to go. Horribly, we realized her life was beginning to fail.

Sparky was extremely anxious with vet visits, so after much discussion we made the decision to have a local vet come to our home to assess her and to put her down if need be. It was a sad and difficult day for Mark.

The vet examined Sparky and confirmed what we had already realized. It was time to say goodbye. With tears streaming down his face, Mark got down on the floor with Sparky and cradled and stroked her like a baby as the vet gave her the needle and she took her final dying breaths. Watching from the doorway, I saw the pain and misery in her face lift as she looked into the eyes of her beloved Mark and for a moment, I felt what she felt, he is here, he will always be here.

 

The Unexpected Gift:

One evening back in April, Mark and I were sitting around our outdoor fire pit drinking wine. The day had no special significance other than it was Friday and we were together for the weekend after a week apart. I remember thinking to myself that after ten years together, we are still happy. Now I'm not one to confuse happiness with pleasure. Happiness between two people has more to do with effort, endurance and achievement.  Our relationship has become spacious and generous over the years; expectations are few, if any; life is good.

Mark is extraordinary. He has inner and outer strengths not always discernible to the average crowd. He is quick to temper and also to forgive. He is steadfast and has a tendency to be over-generous. When he smiles, I can feel it. He is my love, my best friend, and my soul mate.

Later that night Mark casually suggested we get married. His proposal was an unexpected delight. He spoke just three words, but what he said to me was, My heart is with you and I promise to always love you. With you I want to live. I am here and I will always be here.