View from the window....connections

 

The sky is blue and the sun is shining this morning, a welcome change and a lift to the spirits as we stay home, again, today. This is not a big deal for me but I recognize how difficult it is for some. I think a lot about my mom-in-law. She is 97 and a half...each day is an achievement at that age, I think. She is a province away from us in Quebec. She is watched over carefully by my brother and sister-in-law, but for this past year there have no visits from other family and for some time, no outings at all; she lives alone in her apartment.

(Mom is not sad here, just thoughtful)

Several years back Mom spent some time in the hospital; pneumonia is not uncommon in grandmas, although potentially very dangerous. My two week visit to stay with her while she recuperated, turned into two months. (Who wants to leave Quebec?) 

During that time we tried to convince her that her time of independent living might be over and that the new English retirement home might be a lovely and safe place for her. (Being an English-speaking person in a Province that is not, this opportunity would not come along every day.) Well, Mom was not of this opinion, and by the time you reach her age, your opinion is one of the few things that you have left. 

Eventually, she was convinced to leave her third floor aerie, in the old building with no elevator, and move to a lovely apartment close to my brother and sister-in-law. Compromise, yes, but who knew that in this time, we would be grateful that she is cloistered there and safe.

Added danger and increased restrictions mean changes in contact with the local family supports, and her increased hearing issues (Mom and the hearing aids seem not to be compatible) means increased isolation. I try to write more letters but there really is not much news as we are doing, well, not much.

On our visits to Quebec Mom and I spend a lot of time going over family history and photos. We visit the cemetery because her family and the people she grew up with, and among, are there. I photograph the stones and she tells the stories. We visit the places she grew up and that we all love. I started serious research a few years back so each trip adds something to the story. 

So, I thought that I would go back to my research and see if I could find something new and interesting to tell her in my next letter. I had recently come across a searchable website for newspapers in Quebec and found some gems. Like the story of Uncle Everett and the stolen bicycle from 1933. 

(Excerpt 31 Jul 1933)

So, Everett borrowed brother Larry's bicycle to go see about some paid work. Larry's bike was stolen. A pursuit ensued and it is written in full detail in the newspaper because, unsatisfied with police response, they went to the newspaper! But all was not lost as a few days later....

(excerpts from 02 Aug 1933)

In the midst of this research, I received an email from a Jim in Winnipeg. He had seen a photo of a gravestone that I had taken in 2012, in Quebec, in pursuit of family history. Jim has an interest in the stories of CEF soldiers (Canadian Expeditionary Force) from the First World War and requested that I add this man's military history to the  memorial where this photo was posted. I told him that I would be pleased to do that and mentioned that my grandfather had given his life in that war. 

(the 2012 photo taken in Quebec)

About a week later, I received another email from Jim, this time with an analysis of my grandfather's war history based on his service file, war diaries and battalion history. Jim had also previously visited the war cemetery where my grandfather is buried and shared with me his photos. I forwarded this to my oldest brother with whom I work on the history of our own family. Being that all we have of our grandfather is a photo, a medal, and a gravestone picture, this was a remarkable, unsolicited gift, all resulting from a cemetery photo. 

(my grandfather Patrick who died 29 Sep 1918)

I was also working at the time, on some family history for my husband's second cousin, K. He was confused that his grandmother could be my husband's aunt, and yet my husband was younger. (This one trips me up every time but the short answer is, big families. The oldest ones are having children when the youngest ones are still kids.) I also traced K's father's line back a few generations. In doing so I came across this Voters List from 1963.

What interested me about this was that at #46 I found the Hutchisons. She is the granddaughter of the sister of K's great grandfather. My program is oriented to show the relationship of each person added, to my husband. In this case she is '2nd cousin of husband of maternal 1st cousin of husband'! So, somewhat distant family of K on his father's side, probably a 2nd or 3rd cousin a couple times  removed.

Next I noticed at #41, Harold and Peggy Munkittrick, longtime friends of Mom who attended the same church. Harold had a bicycle store in town, and one summer we stayed just up the road from Harold and Peggy on Lake Wallace and Harold lent our boys bicycles. (One was returned with a scratch or two as our youngest took an unscheduled side trip into the ditch with it on his first outing.) I worked on Peggy's family tree for a time because legend was in her family that there was a connection to Donald Morrison, the Megantic Outlaw. I did not find it but maybe if I'd worked longer I would have found that he was a 2nd cousin of husband of maternal.....  Harold is gone now but Peggy, tiny and feisty, is 101.

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donald_Morrison_(outlaw)

Lastly I noticed that at #37 are the Pierces...L.B. Pierce; veteran of two World Wars; wounded at Passchendaele and thus unable to return to his profession as a barber; father of a son who did not return from WW2. And whose wife Bessie, was the granddaughter of Mom's GrandAunt Lavinia. All related in some way. All from  'the photo'.

So...people, places, pursuits...connections and remembrance.

PS A copy of the Voters list will go with Mom's next letter. I wonder if she will see more connections?

View from the window...Oh, who are the people in my neighborhood

 

For parents of a certain age, whose children are a little older than is comfortable admitting to, that is a familiar song from the childrens' television show Sesame Street. That was when, next to Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, Sesame Street was the show that kids grew up on. It was familiar, part of our daily routine..kind of like our neighbours.

We have lived in this neighborhood long enough to pay off a full term mortgage, see our children mature, marry and provide us with grandchildren. When we moved here we were the new kids on the block; a harried, working, broke young couple raising young boys.  

We are now among the few 'mature' couples on the street. We have lost many of our older friends, and those remaining are eyeing accommodation that does not require mowing or shoveling or chimney repairs. 

In this weirdest of times, while we 'stay at home', my view of our neighborhood is narrow, limited to my window primarily, as we are not outside interacting in normal ways.

Lest you think that I only think about birds and squirrels, although, 'slightly reclusive' may apply to my personality, I do see and am interested in my neighbours. You will have to settle primarily for pretty winter photos as I cannot stand at my window taking unauthorized pictures of them. 

My next door neighbor is from Europe originally. Her husband did his army time as legislated there, and then they moved to Canada. You can still hear the sounds of that land in her voice. Her husband, a sweet and gentle man, never learned much English, but he had the biggest, warmest smile, and would always wave and say, 'hello, missus'. He is gone now and at 93 she remains, keeping her home and property so tidy, and almost every day I see her drive past my window to visit the cemetery.

The neighbor on our other side has only been here a couple of years. When she came to view the house before she purchased, she was accompanied by many of her 7 children, and their children. Someone called across to us, 'don't worry, we are not all moving in.' (Perhaps, I was looking pale, or slightly hyperventilating, at that moment rather than welcoming) She is a wonderful friend now, and perfect neighbour. She lives alone, independent and active, with only 5% vision. She wanders all over town, crossing main intersections without a cane to indicate her vulnerability, the thought of which gives me nightmares! Every few days I see her walk past my window, head down so she can see the shadows which delineate the edge of the road. 

A small figure with white hair now, walks her a small black dog. She is the widow of the man we used to call the 'Mayor'. Their house was built slightly before ours, when this was the edge of town, and what is now a park across the road, was farmland. The Mayor seemed sometimes larger than life, big voice, loud laugh, and huge sense of fun. His hands were big, fingers thickened and gnarled from a lifetime of working in a foundry. He had a large presence and left a equally large hole when he left us. His widow lives there still, with his daughter there to provide company and help. Every few days she walks past my window, pauses to wave; a long-established habit we have, and then continues home with the small dog, who, like the widow, moves a little slower.

Someone that I see without fail, each day, is not my neighbour. I don't know where she lives, but our street is part of a well-established route that she walks each day with her grandson. She is tiny, this grandma; her face is weathered, and I know she does not speak English.  Over the past year I have watched the grandson grow. I think he must be about the age of our youngest grandson. I have watched the age-old parent-child dance begin; the tension between the encouragement of independent thought and behaviour, and the compliance often required for safety and/or the acceptance of authority. I think it is called 3. I don't think she understands what I say, but she does understand the 'Hello' and wave, and she waves back and stops her grandson from his exploring long enough to wave too. I enjoy their passage past our window.

During this time, we are isolated but not necessarily alone. We are privileged to have so many ways to be in contact with those that matter to us. I am reminded though that with a smile and a wave, we can offer, and receive some cheer, through the window. 

It's a beautiful day in the neighbourhood...

Thank you Mr. Rogers

View from the window...cardinal facts

Cardinal - car·di·nal /ˈkärd(ə)nl

noun -  1. a high ecclesiastical official    2. a number  3. a songbird

adjective - of greatest importance; fundamental

    I imagine that in any language other than English, each of these meanings would have a separate word. We however like to imbue each word with multiple meanings that I'm sure confound and frustrate those trying to master English for the first time. However, in this context, as I see do not regularly see church officials out the front window, am not counting things, and have no profound statements of importance to make, we shall content ourselves with the joy of the colour red, which we do see regularly.

On these days in January when it is so often gloomy and dark, the vivid red of the Northern Cardinal brings a literal bright spot to the day. We have had a pair visiting regularly. They approach quietly, sitting near one another in the safety of the cedar hedge until they feel that it is safe to approach. 

With some birds, like Blue jays, the male and female are coloured alike. It is not hard to tell the male from the female with these cardinals.

The female is all soft earthy tones with accents of vivid colour in the tip of her crest, the edges of her wings and most pronounced, her beak. She is generally shy, hanging back in the ground near the shrubs. She will venture out for a seed or to forage but quickly returns to safety.

The male is all flash and brilliance, instantly recognizable and gladly welcomed, his presence bringing a lifting of the spirits. The pigments for his red feathers have to be ingested, so if he is a bold and brilliant red, he is eating well. (So what came first, the Cardinal wearing red, or the red cardinal. Probably the cardinal, but it may not have been called a cardinal at the time. See? Confusing!)

Cardinal are primarily seed eaters and their beaks are curved and strong to break open even large seeds. 

It is obvious that these birds are a pair. Cardinals are predominantly monogamous and often retain their mates for life. He stays near and is always aware of where she is. He talks to her in single 'chips' as full songs seem to have more purpose in mating time.

It is such a joy to have this colourful presence in the yard each day. Many people attach meaning to the cardinal as a totem or spirit animal. Some believe their presence is a visitation of a loved one after death. Whether you ascribe to those particular beliefs or not, the presence of a cardinal should bring a moment of joy.

And when the male cardinal leaves the lower shrubbery,

and ascends to the treetops

we will know that spring is very close.

NB: The Cardinal is the State Bird for 7 States. The common Loon is the Provincial Bird for Ontario. I shall name the Cardinal as my personal Yard Bird.

View from the window...who goes there..and there..and there!

 

As the seasons change, so do the visitors to the garden out front. Many stay year-round, a few just change from summer to winter 'clothes', but some only visit at certain times. Those visitors are on a path north in the spring and then on a journey south in the fall. To me, White-crowned sparrows, house finches, and Dark-eyed Juncos are birds that help define the seasons.

Until this year...

We have been visited by a host of juncos, dressed in their formal slate-coloured tuxedos, with brilliant white shirt fronts, and accompanied by their ladies in lovelt gowns of subdued browns and greys.

 Their beaks are a soft pink and when they fly their tail feathers fan out and are edged by white feathers, both of which are identifying features. They are ground feeders like mourning doves, and will run on the ground only flying to regain shelter. Comical to watch.

Being that survival of any species is based on meeting the needs of food, shelter and safety, our yard must be fulfilling some of those needs. The human hierarchy of needs includes friendship, esteem and self-actualization. Many birds that winter here, like chickadees, do so in larger groups but that probably has more to do with safety and warmth than friendship. I think most birds and animals are born self-actualized; they seem to know how and where they fit in, and what is necessary for their survival. Humans seem to have to figure all that out in spite of being of a 'higher order'.

They do not announce their arrival like the blue jays or sparrows with noise and fanfare, but arrive in a loosely formed group that spreads itself under and in the spruce tree and on the lower branches of the shrubs next to the house. They come and go as a group but seem to have a built-in sense of individual space, staying near to one another, but not close. When feeding they seem to give way to one another though it is not obvious where that is due to size, sex, age or aggression. Maybe being polite or taking turns is built into them while we must be taught it.

I don't know how long they will visit here, perhaps as long as I throw out seeds and have messy squirrels dropping bits of corn. It will also be interesting to see if any seeds get missed and result in sunflowers in odd places in the garden; little gifts left as souvenirs of a lovely visit.

 

View from the window...squirrels

 

In these dark winter days, at this 'stay at home' time, it is easy for the spirits to flag. In those hours I am grateful for my front window. through it I see a glimpse of my neighborhood, the tall, graceful maples across the street, their architecture evident in the absence of the cover of leaves. I see the apartment building across the park and wonder if they see me. A large portion of my view though, is the towering blue spruce that some kind soul planted there in the 1960's when this was a new house on the edge of town.

The spruce is a landmark for the house, provides us shade and privacy, but most importantly, is a haven to the local birds and wildlife. 

Nearer to the driveway, feeders hang on a tall pole with shelled peanuts, sunflower seeds, niger seeds and whole peanuts the buffet on hand. These draw lots of activity year round. Lately I have been throwing sunflower seeds on the front porch and in the snow in front of the window as well so there is a lot of activity to watch from my perch on the couch.

The first to arrive is always a squirrel; they are particularly attained to the presence of food. The sound of peanuts hitting the driveway, even if muffled by snow, draws them in like pins to a magnet. In order to keep the squirrels busy we have set out cobs of corn, in special holders, for them. The corn keeps them, at least for a short time, away from the seeds on the ground. 

The antics and acrobatics necessary to get every last kernel from those cobs have given us hours of entertainment in the watching.

And when the cobs are finished 

someone will stop by and enquire if there is more

then sit and wait.

that's just grief...

sneakin' up on you, to paraphrase a Bonnie Raitt song title. Kind of like a ninja whose identity is hidden and appears out of nowhere to attack. There are many times that we can anticipate the presence of grief; for example, my brother Alan's birthday is in several days. I do, and expected to, mourn his absence this year to celebrate it. These moments we anticipate and expect to again feel loss and grief. 

It is the 'heart-attacks' that catch us unawares; those instants of sudden, emotional, re-realization that we cannot see or talk to our special people, that send us for a spiral. The older I get, the more 'loaded' some moments become..my great-niece is having her first baby..so wonderful..Alan will never meet his first great-grandchild..so heartbreaking. Everything seems to have that wrenching flip-side.

Recently my youngest began a new job; a great job and he is so happy. This means that our wee man must take that first step out of the nest and into daycare. Normal in these days when both parents need to be employed in order to survive right?! I immediately felt like I should take care of him instead of anyone else. This was not realistic but I felt so guilty. My children did not have this expectation and when I cried all over my daughter-in-law and apologized that in reality I could not take this on, she, sweet girl, had to ask my son why his mother was weeping on her shoulder. 

I am still teary as I write this, but now, several weeks after baby has settled beautifully into a wonderful daycare, I realized that the underlying emotional was really grief. I realized that this beloved little blond head on my shoulder was so much like the blond head of his father 30 some years ago. My boy is a man, and now our baby was on his way, growing up, not a baby any more. Grief, or perhaps mourning..time passing, changes.

So I exchanged guilt for grief and allowed the tears to flow for a bit, and they cleansed instead of hurt so intensely. Then I bought a car-seat so I could be available if needed, and maybe I will become a visiting Grandma at the daycare at some point. It is not easier, the facts remain the same, but at least I know it for what it is, grief that will sneak up on me when I expect it, and when I don't. 

We bump into the fact of mortality unexpectedly sometimes; those birthdays with an '0' or illness or an accident. Those things that remind us that we are not, nor are those we love, infallible or permanent. We don't like those reminders because they are frightening and unwelcome. For those who are of an optimistic nature or are more pragmatic, this is the stuff of life. For those of us who are pessimistic, this is also the stuff of life, but with no up side.

This is my challenge; to find balance in life and work to savor each moment when I can. It is difficult to avoid the those ninja 'heart attacks' of life, but I am learning that there is nothing wrong with acknowledging those moments of grief. And the more able that I become to recognize it for what it is, the more those moments can become moments of remembrance and celebration of people we love.