My Easter Sunday Dinner Jacket/Robe

Some mornings, especially on Sundays, and especially this Easter Sunday, I am moved to reach back to a quieter simpler time.  As a child, Easter mornings brought along with chocolate and decorated eggs a new outfit for each of us five children.  Suits and ties for the two boys and cute dresses, gloves, hats and purses for the three girls.  Not an easy accomplishment in those days.

So this morning I arose thinking that I would dress up.  Not for church, or family gathering, but just for the heck of it.

So by mid-morning I had showered, done my hair, my makeup, and was sipping my coffee thinking that this indeed would be a day with no work, no chores, no shopping (easily done in these days of isolation and hunkering down).

I would read, knit, listen to audiobooks, perhaps a movie (if Jesus Christ Superstar plays) and I would look darn good doing it.

So some thoughts whilst all this was happening.  Into my 7th decade I realized a few things.

FACT: It takes a lot longer to ‘dress up and look better than it used to. * That’s okay I have the time.

FACT: It seems there is a 100% chance of slopping.  That includes cooking and eating.  *Geez

That took my thoughts to ‘clothing protection’.  I think I was in the shower when I started thinking about Dinner Jackets.  Like this:

  Yes my mind did include JB. (That’s James Bond Judith, not Baxter!)

It occurred to me that centuries ago dinner jackets were worn by men so they did not slop on their clothes while eating.  Research did not bear this out alas.

Should I even dress? Up?

Well sure so my Dinner Jacket idea became this:

Not exactly the same thing but….

Except mine does not exactly look like this.  It is white and rather worn (the kindest description I could think of).  But oh my when I take it off I will be lovely.  (it’s all about perception folks!)

Inconsequential Consequences

The consideration of consequences is what gives society a leg up on decency, even more so than the aesthetic consideration of what is right.

We not only have abandoned rightful consequence we have suspended the due process of justice.  Guilty on accusation.

Rampant accusation and rampant and often illogical consequences.  People are guilty on accusation.

Matt Damon made a logical statement and was castigated.  Not only is the right to free speech gone (unless you are a white supremacist speaking at some college aimed at creating chaos then all bets are off), individual rights and freedoms have been relegated to the gates of hell.

The President of the United States boldly lies, denigrates humanity, and abuses and disrespects many, not the least being women, without consequence, and has made Alternative Facts and misrepresentations of truth and decency acceptable.

In Canada a political leader of great promise has two accusers come forth, one from when he was a teenager and dropped his drawers leading to a consensual event, and once from some bimbo who when he tried to kiss her said no and he accepted no as no and took her home at her request, has resigned his post.

We not only have abandoned the consideration of rightful consequence we have suspended the due process of justice.  Guilty on accusation. Guilty on accusation.

It cannot be said enough.

The Evil of the world loves this.  Give the masses something to rage about and they will not notice what else  is taking place until it is too late.

 

 

Hidden Messages in the Midst of Demented Ramblings

The strangest thing happened yesterday and the thought of it stays with me today.  I visit frequently and regularly with a dear relative who suffers from dementia.  The kind of dementia doesn’t matter, it all translates to the same thing.  Inability to communicate, to understand, to know.

I read once that someone asked an old man why he went to see his wife in the nursing home every day when she suffered from such severe dementia that she did not know him.  He replied that yes she did not know who he was, but he knew who she was.  I think of that so often.

Anyway, I am pretty much the only person who visits this dear soul and I do it because she is family, we have a long history and because I love her greatly.  Her degree of dementia varies from day to day.  Sometimes she knows who I am, most times she just knows I am a nice lady who visits her often.  Sometimes she knows, and announces to everyone that I am her great great great…but cannot remember what.

I used to visit her in the mornings until it was time for her lunch but then the Home would call me in the evenings because that is when her agitation grew worse (It’s called Sundowners) and they would ask me to calm her if I could.  So now I visit from about 3 pm to 5 pm and this seems to keep her grounded and most times content.

Our routine each visit is pretty much the same.  Big hello and hugs and then I take her to a common area, make her a cup of tea exactly the way she likes it (the water must come to a rolling boil) and we look through magazines.  Sometimes there are groupings of words that make sense and sometimes for a short while she is pretty accurate to somethings.  Once she looked through a magazine and saw an article on MS and commented on it.  I always put a few magazines out and when she finishes one she picks up another.  She ended up picking up the same magazine she had just put down.  I did not say anything and continued to peruse my own book, always keeping an eye on her.

As she flipped through the pages she said, ‘There must be a lot of MS about because here is another article about it.’  I only said, ‘Really?’

But that is not what I wanted to tell you.  I always listen to every word she says even when they seem to make no sense.  It seems the respectful thing to do.

After tea I take her to her room and help her to lie down to stretch out her back (other wise she is in her wheelchair all day) and then I read her Bible to her until it is time for her evening meal.  She has read her Bible every day  since she was a child but can no longer hold the book or read the print.

I always sit at the foot of her bed as I read.  I stopped for a moment and she started to talk.  Trying to tell me something but things like, ‘ I am a a a a  airplane,’ would come out instead.  And still I listened and suddenly, quietly, the strangest words were coming out of her mouth,  ‘We have talked about it you know, the kindness.  You coming here to be with me so much.  Your kindness to me.  Your kindness does not go unnoticed you know.’

She raised her hand and placed in over her heart, ‘I feel your kindness.’

She looked at me, very aware in the moment, and all I could say was, ‘I come because I love you.’

She raised her hand pointing up and said, ‘Do not love me, Love Him ‘In the time it takes to breathe out it was over and she began rambling on about a myriad of things none of which made any  sense.

And I was touched.

Finally a Sunday that is a Day of Rest

Damn. Sore throat, tinnitus, cold. Should have been more sympathetic when BJRS got their colds last week. Got Fisherman’s Friend (NO not a friendly fisherman), lots of fluids of the nonalcoholic kind. Took last of my Cold FX. Low activity day, probably reading and thinking great thoughts. To my afflicted family above, ‘I feel your pain’

I will be back at it tomorrow!  T’is the season.  Wash your hands, lots of fluid and rest.

Yesteryear: When it Really Was an Honour to Serve the Sick

Yesteryear: When it Really Was an Honour to Serve the Sick

In 1978 I had the privilege of working for the Sisters of St. Joseph in Brantford, Ontario where I remained for almost twenty years.  Then, as now, each workplace had its own ambiance, and culture, but the emphasis then had an awful lot to do with respect.  Not just in Healthcare but in business.  And not just for bosses but for everyone.

Those were the days when treating employees well, resulted in happier employees and happier results.  Employee retention was important indicating a well-trained, knowledgeable, productive and stable work environment.

In those days, at least in my world, one felt valued, and performed accordingly.  Doing a good job was self-rewarding.

The Sisters lived on the fifth floor of the hospital and were an intricate part of daily hospital life.  They had a vegetable garden and often cooked up wonderful soups for everyone.  It wasn’t unusual to come on the night shift at 11 pm and find a pot of soup simmering on the stove in the kitchen of each unit.

Our motto was simple: It’s an Honour to Serve the Sick

It was printed on the bottom of all our stationary and posted on walls.  I am sure not everyone felt the same way, but I believed in that motto.  I believed in the sentiment.  I felt it. Actually I felt it long before I even knew I was going to be a nurse.  I suppose that came from years of reading books when I was younger; Dr. Tom Dooley, Florence Nightingale.

I wasn’t a young naïve child when I went to work there.  In 1978 I was thirty-one.  It was just part of my nature to embrace the core value of nursing, as I saw it.

Now they weren’t true Halcion days, with constant joy, but looking at today’s work environments and standards of care it, they were the best of years.

Pretty soon some dim bulb decided that our faith based care had to become more businesslike.  The nuns were ousted to residence at the Mother House in Hamilton, and the fifth floor became offices.

The motto was thrown out, and ridiculous lengthy pretend words were posted denoting, Mission, Vision, and Values. (All of which took meetings on meetings on meetings to create).  The energy that was spent in delivering care to patients, staff, and families, and community was now spent in – yup you guessed it – in meetings.

The Ministry of Health changed funding and doctors and patient conditions no longer determined length of stay.  The running joke was, ‘It’s an Honour to Serve the Sick in five days or less’.

In any healthcare facility today you will see all kinds of information posted.  How many falls occurred per unit, per month, per year – interventions of the same.  Charts on infections, use of antibiotics – information ad nauseum.

This is what I call CYA.  Cover Your Ass with the Ministry.  Remember in Harry Potter that some Ministries were evil?  My thoughts exactly on our ‘Ministries’.

Have you any idea the professional dollars wasted on the positions putting together this information in a deemed acceptable fashion that could be used to give direct care?

STOP THE JUSTIFICATIONS I want to yell. You are not convincing anybody.  Least of all me.

I believed in Care and Caring.  And don’t let anyone tell you it is the same thing.  Care is something you deliver to those in need.  Caring is the way you do it.

I believed a good employer cares for and looks after his clients AND his employees.

I believed It’s an Honour to Serve the Sick.

I guess I still do.

*Sadly this hospital closed in the 90’s at a time when Ontario shut down many hospitals across the province.  I was actually sitting on a committee in Queen’s Park before that happened and when discussion came up about closures it never occurred to me that my hospital would be on the list.

** Of course I was also the one who said in 1970 that the new coffee shop, known as Tim Horton’s would never succeed.  It just never occurred to me that anyone would leave home to pay for coffee.

Oh well….

****Throughout writing this my mind has sifted through many memories of my Nun friends and what they taught me, but mostly my mind had been on Sister Patricia Valeriote, so this is a shout out to her.

 

 

 

My Near Perfect Day which was not a day at all but a morning, and, far from perfect, unless you are the really really optimistic sort.

 

I love the neighborhood I moved into almost a year ago. It is a lovely subdivision with wide lawns and large mature trees, and has a peacefulness about it that makes going for a walk pleasant indeed.

I have been considering finding a church to attend for some time now, although I am not sure why, but the thought persists often enough that I first considered what church it should be. You see I have attended and joined many churches in my lifetime; christened in United after birth, baptized in water at age thirteen in the Baptist Church, converted to Roman Catholicism through RCIA at the age of fortyish, and joined the Salvation Army at my last unfortunate attempt at marriage. The Church remained, husband did not. I was happy and active in each of my churches, largely I believe, because I am comfortable in my faith, and I will not argue ideological differences that some cling to in attempts to say their church, their God is right and no one else is.

Anyway, I decided to look for a church that was within walking distance. Yes, I drive, but the thought of walking to church has a certain appeal. There is a lovely little United Church just down the hill a little over two kilometers away, so about one and a half miles each way. I watched for signs each time I passed it to see what time service started. Last week I noticed it was a ten o’clock  service.

So this morning I awoke, put on my Sunday best and headed off twenty minutes before ten, enjoying the walk on a lovely not too warm sunny day. I came to the parking lot first and noticed only one vehicle, which I thought strange. A few more steps took me to the front doors where a sign read, ‘Closed July and August.’

Maintaining my Sunday Best Approach I decided to head back up the hill intending to stop at a Timmies, A Tim Hortons (Canada’s addiction) and treat myself to breakfast and a latte. The day I figured was not completely lost.

Now Tim’s has booths, all of which were full, and tables and hard on your butt chairs, and two delightful faux leather stuffed chairs by a delight faux fire. I take my breakfast, latte and napkins to the comfy stuffed chairs, pull out my tablet (free wifi), notebook and pen, prepared to continue research in my present endeavor. Ah. Perfect.

Balancing my tablet on my lap, holding my coffee, I reach for my pen. In the blink of an eye, or in the more modern phrase, in a nanosecond, my latte is spread down the entire left leg of my virginal white pants and in a wide arc around my reading chair.

You all hear about how nice Canadians are so while I kneel to start clean up a young couple come over and help with the mop up. Then a young worker shows up with mop and pail. I head off to the ladies room to try and wash some of the coffee from my pants as another worker calls out, ‘don’t worry I will have another free latte here for you when you come out.’  You see there is still a certain perfection to the day. Unfortunately the washroom has an automatic tap and only an air hand dryer.

So I throw handfuls of water on my once white now brown pants then use thin bits of bathroom tissue to mop up the floor. When I return back to the counter the young lady has my new latte ready.

I decide to sit at a proper table and chairs to work, but find the urgency to get my pants into a good soak a soon as possible is, well urgent. So I gather all up and walk the remaining one thousand steps home, still savoring the beautiful day and gardens and parks.

My clothes are now clean and wearable again and now I head off to see my Auntie, and while the Nursing Home insists I brighten her day, I have to say she brightens mine. So I guess all in all, this is still a pretty perfect Sunday.

 

Closing Off One Year – Believing in Another

Believing

Hardship (Photo credit: StormKatt)

Well these last few weeks have been filled with challenges for many people I know, including us. This is a wonderful time of year and makes me aware of all our blessings. Sometimes you just have to let life happen and deal the best we can. I have a dear dear friend who believes in dealing with the hand we are dealt and she is one of the most positive people I know.

Regardless of What or Who you believe in, I think Belief is necessary. It is strengthening.  Now anyone who is reading this and is anti-Christian, or Atheist, or agnostic, don’t get your girdles in a knot.  Belief is a very personal matter for each of us; God, Jesus, Creator, Universe, Oneself.  The important thing is that we believe.

Our beliefs give us Hope and Hope is the Life Saver, that allows us to not only survive but to do it well.  Sometimes you just have to hang on to the side of the dingy while it tosses us around on stormy seas.

No one gets through life free of strife.  Sometimes we can have a mind set that gets things flowing in a positive peaceful way but most times its just getting through the difficulties.  That’s where faith and hope and belief come in.  Faith in yourself, your own strength.  Faith in a Creator.

Hardship is owned by each of us.  We may go through years of relative calm and then, oops here comes Life.  Belief is our Strength and while I cannot change the path many of us are on I can certainly be there to provide support which doesn’t necessarily ease the pain, but sometimes it eases the mind and/or soul.

There will be better days.  Maybe just not for awhile.  No one can set a time limit on trials and tribulations.  Back in May of ’80 we started with the death of my grandfather.  Thereafter at least every six months for a period of six years we lost many family and friends and most of them too young, way too young.  In that time there were good things, good times, but the shadow remained for a long time.

Since August we have had five deaths of friends and family, we have had lots of illness and upset.  We shall survive and we will do it with good cheer and a healthy dose of gratitude for what we do have and did have.

Life for me remains good and if we did not have pain, how would we recognize that good?  I am not sure how I feel about that last sentence as I am pretty sure I could recognize the good without pain and suffering to contrast it, however I am trying to remain very sporting of this Thing called Life.

 

CERN, God Particle

 

It’s a bright sunny warm morning here on the east mountain and the day is yet to begin for this household as G1 and G2 have not yet arisen, which is somewhat unusual although it could be a carry over from two previous nights of watching fireworks.  Canada is 145 years old and comparatively young compared to the old world but still worthy of celebration.

The first item I spotted in the local rag, The Hamilton Spectator, is that ‘Physicists inch closer to proof of ‘God particle’.

Now I love all things CERN aka the European Organization for Nuclear Research and am especially intrigued by its $10 billion atom smasher, not because I understand it (as posted previously) but because of the intrigue.  CERN exists way underground on the Swiss-French border so there is a certain futuristic weird stuff to the whole idea.  It seems that little Higgs Boson subatomic particle,’that if confirmed could help explain why matter has mass, which combines with gravity to give an object weight.’. HUH??

See what I mean??  To me it seems easily explained and I don’t see where God particles come into this. Though I have no idea  what…well anyway, now this very statement will occupy much of my thinking today. All things CERN tickle my grey cells especially since it reports that scientists have compiled ‘vast’ amounts of data that show the footprint and shadow of the particle.

Well I suppose if one must delve at subatomic levels and spend billions of dollars doing it then good for them.  I suspect people of faith, any faith already know.  (And yes I am not looking for an argument on the existence or non-existence of God). Faith means many things and really that discussion is better left to others.

Rob Roser from the Fermilab in Chicago compared the results to finding ‘the fossilized footprint of a dinosaur saying: ‘You see the footprint and the shadow of the object, but you don’t actually see it.

HUH???  Sounds a little like a barker at a circus, Now you see it!  Now you don’t!

I AM MOM! No really…I AM!

Those of you who know me well, know that I tend to look at things differently.  For me Mothers Day is not a celebration of me, but a chance to honor my children!  For without them, how could I possibly be such a super mommy?   While I do not usually publish family pics, today is special so let me introduce my crew.

My youngest Tom, with G1 and G2 Rowan (left) Caleb (right)

 

Tom posted this on facebook tonight:

I love you and thank you for all you have done.

The love of a mother is beyond compare
One who dearly loves and is always there
From scraped knees
                                                       To falls from trees
                                                       A mother cares for all
                                                       From “I told you so”
                                                        To “That’s a no-no! ”
                                                       A mother answers the call

Heidi (DL)with Rowan a great Mom!

                                        Mothers cook, mothers clean, some even work a job
                          Even with all their strength, a mother still knows how to sob
                                    Mothers should be honored for all they have done
Every day of the year, not just one
There is nothing better than a mother’s love
For her time on this earth   thank  God  above
A mother’s love endures forever
Its unbreakable bonds no on can sever
No matter how much I have grown
My mother’s love is always shown
She has become a mentor and a guide
Within her always I am able to confide
No better payment for her I can find
Then to love her with heart, and with mind
To the one who bore me; I share my emotion
To the one who raised me; Absolute devotion
To this woman I express my joy
You will always be my “mommy” and I your “baby boy”

“Glaedr the poet.”

 

And here below are Ryan and Mary Beth, my son and future DL (by this time next week!)

Ryan and my future DL (wedding is one week from now!)

 So I celebrate my offspring and their chosen partners who by the way may officially be daughters in law, but in this family they are daughters!

It also gives me the perfect chance to show who I blame for my quirkiness, my  wit, my insanity, my screwy humor, cause while they simply received the “crazy” gene, it is much more exacerbated in them, and it is very very very infectious!

See where the smile and silliness comes from?

Baptist Nuns..Once Upon a Time..

Nuns

Baptist Nuns…Once Upon a Time
 
Once upon a time in a land far away..no actually in this very city..I was a little girl. The dinosaurs had just died out leaving more room for people. For they were huge and took up an awful lot of room.
 
TV had just come on the market, ice cream cones were five cents, comic books were a nickel..I think, which is a lot like five cents, and when you got a quarter you were living high on the hog.
 
My house was on Spadina Road just down the street from St. Mary’s Hospital. Yes, my house…when the dinosaurs were gone, there was plenty of room for houses. My street has a lovely boulevard. Well it was almost lovely, marred just a little by a huge metal tower.
 
Anyway it still was quite a lovely street back then, new houses, big yards and. of course the boulevard.
 
In those days nuns lived at the hospital and in the early evening they would stroll down the street. I am not sure how old I was when I first saw them, maybe five, maybe younger.
 
It was love at first sight. Those flowing black gowns, long chains with crosses, the starchy white framing their sweet faces. They seemed to float all angelic like.
 
I knew at that very moment I wanted to be a nun! Over time I heard nun stories about them having to shave their heads and never have money but I didn’t care. I was going to wear the outfit! I was going to be angelic!
 
Of course they never seemed to wear lipstick and that bothered me a tad.
Not that I wore lipstick at five but I knew one day I would.
 
Oh and the other minor glitch? I was Baptist. I had no idea there were no Baptist nuns. Sigh…….