Blogging About Blogging

Yesterday was the anniversary of Albert's passing.

I had a cry day.

It's kind of an odd position to be in. To be so blessed, in love, and living my best life, while simultaneously grieving the loss of my other best life. And what a blessing that my new love also grieves my past love - JimE and I truly have a special thing going that few others can really understand.

Anyway, let me rabbit trail a bit here...

Our Northern Health region is currently in a different 'special lock down' than the rest of the province. And as such church has been mandated to online or zoom sessions only.

Each week JimE and Beth lead worship music; one opens with a set-list and the other closes with a couple of songs and they take turns opening and closing.

JimE opened his laptop yesterday (Sunday) morning to send his two closing songs to her. And lo and behold Beth had already sent him her set list. Both lists included "Father of Lights." (Which, incidently, is one of my faves.)

Anyway, in collaboration they decided they'd start the meeting with Beth leading it and JimE would finish off leading it again. It actually worked well.

*** end of rabbit trail ***

As a sort of last minute thing that evening, a group of us decided to meet at 6pm at Northern Lights Winery to walk through the festival of lights. Actually I think it's called "Light up the Orchard" but I always call it "Festival of Lights."

It was a nice warm evening and the walk was beautiful.

When our half hour session was over we all just sort of stood in the parking lot with no real plan since it was sort of a last minute group date. So I just threw it out there, "Party at our house!" Poor JimE. He's a good sport and is learning to just go with it when I get crazy.

And twenty minutes later the party was at our house.

I was grateful we had gotten the inside Christmas decorating done this weekend to compliment the outdoor decor that's been up for a couple of weeks. And grateful we always have charcuterie fixings and wine on hand. It was like we'd planned this party for weeks, when in fact I was a crying mess just a few hours before. We have good friends.

But we are all old people. And the party was over by 9:30. We did a quick clean up and Jim sat to watch the recorded hockey game.

I felt the need to debrief the day, so plunked down at my computer and set out to blog. Blogging has always been my own personal therapy that I just happen to publicly share with anyone else who may be entertained by it.

I sat at my keyboard starting and restarting a blog entry many times, but just couldn't get it to go in a direction I needed it to. So I took a wee Facebook break.

And the first thing that pops up on my feed is a post by my sis-in-law Coralie commemorating her brother Albert. Her post included about a half dozen photos and a video. The video was recorded during Albert's last session he had in his music room in September 2018. The phone actually fell over at the beginning of the recording, so it's just a black screen with audio. Audio of Albert singing, "Father of Lights."

Seriously?!!?

And with that, blogging went out the window. That was the therapy I needed. To finish off my "Festival of Lights" day with another version of Father of Lights.

*****

This morning I went back to my computer to see if there was anything salvagable in my attempted blogging from the night before. Nope. Nothin' to see there.

However, I noticed the post I wrote last year on November 28th. While I did publish the post I didn't actually publicly share it. I'm not sure why because I never do that. The post was only viewed 5 times. And 4 of them were probably me.

Perhaps someone needs to read it this year.

So here is my blog entry for November 28, 2020:

Learning the Attitude of Gratitude.

"He's gone."

A very short sentence, with life altering impact, that needed no further explanation.

Without a doubt the three worst phone calls I have ever had to make. On the worst day of my life- November 28, 2018.

It's been two years today since I said goodbye to the man who had been my everything for 38 years and eight days.

I've done a lot of reminiscing this past week or so. I recall last year fearing the coming of November 28, the first anniversary of losing him, and how it signified to me a moving on of sorts. Well, actually I prefer to think of it as a moving forward.

And here at the second anniversary, I acknowledge that by the grace of God, I have moved forward. This doesn't mean I forget all that Albert brought to my life. For surely I am blessed beyond measure every.single.day by the things he provided for me. And daily I am grateful. Even on days when missing him actually physically hurts my heart.

I would have NEVER imagined that I would be remarried two years later. Never imagined who I would be remarried to. Never imagined building a new house. Never imagined, never imagined, never imagined....

Never imagined.

I actually have a fantastic imagination.

And I do tend to imagine stuff.

I try not to live in fear and imagine the worst 'what ifs."

But I do find myself often imagining "what if ...." And then trying to pre-live a scenario. Not so much to bring fear upon myself, but more in a "prepare myself for anything" situation. And I truly believe it has saved me on many an occasion to walk through situations with a little more grace and confidence than might be expected. Or than I actually feel.

Walking through grief is always uncharted territory. And there is no set pattern to follow. No right way to grieve. No wrong way to navigate. No matter how many grief sessions you are required to walk through.

I have lost a child. Lost my Mom. Lost my Dad. Lost my grandparents. Lost my bestest friend. Lost my in-laws. Lost my husband of 37 years. And at times I've felt I've lost my sanity.

And I still don't know how to accurately walk through this sh!t.

Truly, I want more than anything to be able to post a blog or write a book with a step-by-step guide on how to navigate loss.

But there is no such guide.

The absolute best advice I can give is to daily be grateful. This is ultimately what has sustained me. Being grateful every.single.day. Even on the hardest days, find something to be grateful for.

As encouraged by St Paul in Thessalonians: in everything give thanks. It doesn't mean being thankful for everything that comes your way. But rather, in every circumstance focus your mind on things you can be grateful for.

I can't describe it, but finding gratitude in all things has changed my life.

And for that I am grateful.

This man. I am so grateful for the foundation we had that can launch me forward with the grace of Jesus into the future. 

Here's the link to Coralie's Facebook post of Albert singing "Father of Lights"

Your Freaking Out is Freaking People Out.

I went to Costco on Monday.

I bought toilet paper and paper towel because I needed both. There was lots on the shelf and I didn't notice anyone else buying any

We went to Superstore yesterday. We spent $178. I bought soup bones to make broth but no other meat. The coolers were not as full as normal, but certainly not bare.

The rice and cat food aisles were a little scant but there was toilet paper on the shelves.

I didn't notice anyone with ridiculous amounts of anything in their carts - and I looked for it.

I went back to Costco today (mostly for a few Christmas items I wanted) The beef coolers were full and so was the rotisserie chicken shelf. There was no fresh chicken, very little pork. No bread but lots of keto bagels. No produce in the walk-in cooler except mushrooms and pomegranates. There was still some fruit. I didn't check the toilet paper aisle.

I really saw no-one panic buying. Even at the beef coolers. There were many people taking the ground beef almost as fast as they were loading the coolers. But everyone only had one or two packs. It was all fairly decent and calm.

The store was quite busy for a non-pension/welfare Wednesday and the line-ups were long but they moved along quite efficiently and the staff were friendly.

People on social media are freaking out about people panic buying and telling everyone to calm down and just stop it. But to be honest, it's the freaking out about panic buyers that's freaking people out.

Stop freaking out about panic buying! It's not really happening.

These grocery stores pump through A LOT of people every day. Every single regular day. It only stands to reason that after three days of no trucks getting through from the lower mainland due to the catastrophic flooding closing every highway, the store shelves will become bare.

It will take a while for trucks to get rerouted and get the food chain flowing again but food will come. This will give us a chance to clean out the forgotten soup in the back of the pantry and use up the scraps in the bottom of the freezer that would otherwise become freezer burnt and tossed in the spring.

Details I Think I May Wanna Remember Some Day.

Did you lose your sense of taste?

That's usually one of the first responses from people upon hearing I had COVID.

No. No I didn’t. Jim did for about a week or ten days.

But the list of symptoms is long and varied, and in an attempt to commit to memory just how bizarre some of them were, I shall blog an entry for my own personal record keeping.

It started with a dry tickle cough and eighteen hours later I could feel a fever coming on and my eyes felt like they were getting glassy. And within a day my eyeballs hurt. Not really a headache, just sore eyeballs.

My appetite disappeared and rather than the expected loss of taste, my mouth felt like it was full of bitter chalk. Yeah, I was brushing and flossing regularly.

Jim developed what he calls “the touchy feelies,” a full-bodied skin sensation likened to the beginning of a shingles episode. I’ve never had shingles, but I only developed this odd sensation on the top of my head. It felt like I’d stood up and smashed my head on a cupboard or something – like my scalp was bruised.

Another odd sensation happened in my right foot. When I walked and put pressure on the ball of my right foot I would get a bizarre electrical shock through my foot. Jim had a similar thing but his was sudden unexplained pain shooting through his ankle, sometimes while just lying in bed.

I slept a lot.

I was tired, but more than tired I was weak. My arms felt like they weighed 150 pounds each. I say I slept a lot, and I did, but it was in short bursts, always broken up by coughing fits. I’d get restless and have to move from bed to couch and back again regularly. Cursing my two story house with each ascension and descension of the stairs.

The constant coughing left me feeling like I’d been punched in the solar plexus, making me feel consistently nauseous. Although I never did actually throw up.

During the second week diarrhea set in. Trust me when I say, do not, I repeat, do not, fart in bed if you have COVID. It takes far less energy to run to the toilet for a false alarm than to deal with the aftermath of not making it, if you know what I mean.

Also bladder control was a bit of an issue. I didn’t necessarily feel a terrible urge to pee, but regularly had pee running down my leg by the time I reached the bathroom. Thank you God for tile floors.

After two weeks the dry cough became phlegmy, which was a rusty red colour. I’d never experienced anything quite like it. It was kind of a pretty fall colour that went with the changing of the leaves that I’d lay and watch out the window as they changed colours.

It took nearly two days in my weakened state for it to dawn on me that the pretty red colour was actually because I was coughing up blood. Probably not a good sign.

The COVID numbers in the north skyrocketed while we were CV-positive, to the point they were shipping people to other cities to be treated because they just couldn’t keep up with treatment here in PG. Had this not been the case, I probably would have made a trip to the ER to have the blood investigated. But I procrastinated long enough that it corrected itself and after a few days the phlegm became clear again. For this I am so very grateful. I know of many others who took a terrible turn for the worse at this point.

The phlegm colour cleared, but the coughing was still horrible.

It was exhausting and not great for trying to get some sleep and heal. I felt like I was trying to push all my guts through my pelvic floor and out of my vagina.

I remembered as a child we had a chicken who laid an egg so big all her intestines were hanging out her butt behind her. I’m sure we ate her for dinner that night.

I wondered if it was humanly possible to push all my intestines out without having to lay an egg.

I sleep with a CPAP machine, and I am sure it was helpful to keep my airways open and my blood oxygen levels acceptable even though I was only breathing super shallow, as inhaling much air always set off a coughing fit.

Another weird observation I made was that my fingernails didn’t grow over a three week period. I had painted my nails the first day I was starting to get sick and at the end of three weeks I had zero polish grow-out. Normally I have annoying gaps at the cuticle within about 4 days. Not really something to whine about when there are others being ventilated, intubated and even dying. But it was an observation.

And my hair felt really dry. Kind of straw like. I normally have quite healthy hair and it hasn’t been coloured in a year and a half. It definitely needs cut. I have an appointment tomorrow.

Anyway, here I am entering my fourth week fighting off this beast. I can’t count the number of times I’ve said to someone, “It’s been horrible, but I think I’ve turned a corner.” I think I have turned so many corners that I’m starting to get dizzy.

But I am much better. Still have occasional coughing fits. My lungs feel ‘heavy’. I don’t know how else to describe it. I’m not really short of breath and I don’t really know how long I have to be on guard against pneumonia, but my lungs still aren’t right.

I had three nights in a row where I slept pretty much all night, then last night I hardly slept at all again, even though I didn’t nap during the day. There seems to be no rhyme or reason, you seem to be doing fine and then you get a day that whacks you again.

Anyway, that’s where I’m at going into my fourth week. Trying to remain grateful for my life through it all. And I am. I know things could be much much worse.

Jim has been so good through it all. I just love having him at my side. Making toast. Ensuring I was drinking enough. (The fluid nazi, I lovingly refer to him as.) Winterizing everything at the lake. Watering flowers and doing all the things.



And right in the midst of it all I sold my house. I’m so very grateful. But I was panicking at how I was going to get all the paperwork done with the lawyer. But Carolynne Burkholder-James and modern technology worked it all out.

Had I not been quarantined inside and pretty much unable to stand upright for more than three minutes at a time, I would have cleaned a little harder for the new people and perhaps baked them a batch of cinnamon buns or something. I trust they will be as blessed in their new home as I was for over sixteen years. But I am so happy to get renovations over with and just get on with our lives. JimE and I can start our real New Beginning. Somehow I didn’t expect to start it with four weeks in bed.

But I am happy with the 14 pound weight loss. I guess a diet of bone broth, Neo Citran and Amy’s organic soup, supplemented by a few bowls of homemade goodness from people that love us, is a fairly successful weight loss program.

And laying around for three and a half weeks with my phone in my hand means that it’s the first week of October and 80% of my Christmas shopping is done. Yay Amazon and Costco.ca.

A couple of dangerous discoveries have been experiencing SaveOn home delivery alongside the joy of having a housekeeper come in.

Yes, I suspect COVID has changed life as we know it.

Clickety Clack. Clickety Clack.

So we drove home today through the Fraser Canyon.

Somewhere near being across the river from Keefers, we could see a long train that was sitting and waiting on the tracks.

And I was brought back to my childhood years of when I in fact lived in Keefers, in the middle of nowhere.

Those parked trains were a big part of our wilderness playground.

We'd climb the ladders and peek inside the open-top cars or run on top of the boxcars.

We loved to put pennies on the tracks and collect them after the train rolled over them and flattened them to smithereens.

Many a scorching hot day, we'd steal an egg or five from the chicken coop and crack them on the sizzling tracks and watch them fry.

Though I was never brave enough, (I had just finished grade three when we moved away, so I suppose I'm excused for my lack of courage) but the boys used to hang onto the boxcar ladders and test their stupidity, er... I mean bravery, by seeing how long they were willing to hang on when the train started going again, before jumping off.

We loved counting the cars as the trains whizzed by.
Back in the early 70's graffiti was realitively novel and it was a thrill when we saw it.
There were cars stacked high with lumber.
And tanker cars loaded with various fluids.
We saw many cars filled with pinky red potash. To be honest, I don't actually know what that is. But it was pretty.
I loved the black cars piled high with yellow sulfur. I loved the smell. Ok, I actually loved the taste. Yup. I tasted it. And still to this day I like the taste of a burnt match. Hey, don't judge me.

And next to getting to witness and wave to strangers in a passenger train, I think my favourite were the cars loaded with new vehicles.

While my memories were still flooding through my mind, we caught up to and drove alongside another train on our side of the river today. It seemingly went on for miles and miles as we eventually got past it.

And there were no passenger cars. No new vehicles. No lumber. No pretty potash. Not even any graffiti.

Each and every car on both trains were the same:

Made up entirely of flatbed cars each carrying two seacans.

Miles and miles of seacans.

No Canadian natural resources.

No Canadian passengers.

No Canadian-built cars.

It made me a bit sad to consider the changes that have come to our world in the last 50 years.

But I brightened a bit when I scanned up and down the train and wondered if one of those shipping containers was carrying my Amazon package.

Life. She's a Funny Thing Sometimes.

Facebook reminded me today of this memory from five years ago. When I came 'out of retirement' to begin making money as an artist.

It took a bit of an attitude adjustment to be able to call myself 'an artist'. I always felt like a bit of an imposter or something. Not a 'real' artist.

I started joining fb artist groups and following other artists, including a local super-talent Erin F, pencil artist, who creates under the name "Velvet Lead Designs"
Oh, I admit to creeping on her profile and being a wee bit envious of both her beauty AND her talent. And though some of her subject matter is perhaps a bit dark and/or provocative for my decor style, it has an innate ability to evoke emotion. And I admire that. I dreamed of maybe one day having a piece of Erin's art in my possession.

What I NEVER dreamed was that within five short (long??) years, I would be a step mother.

And not only a step mother, but a step-mother-in-law.

Yes, I am a step-mother-in-law.

To the one and only Erin F.

And a piece of her art hangs above my bed in my brand new house.

Who'da thunk it!

Happy 1st Anniversary BiFF!

Many people refer to their wedding day as the day they married their best friend.

On August 3, 2020 I truly did marry my best friend.

We didn't fall in love and then become the best of friends. We didn't date to test our relationship for compatiblity. Quite the opposite occured. He had been my very good friend for many years when circumstances played out and put him in the position of being my best friend. My BFF. Or BiFF, as I like to call him.

And love just sort of snuck up on us.

And 365 days ago we commited before God, family and friends to remain BFF's forever.

It's been a crazy year.

And I've loved every moment of it!

I'd do it again tomorrow. And tomorrow after that. And tomorrow after that. And every tomorrow to follow.

I love him more every single day. Each day I truly am even more grateful for him than I was the day before.

I am so so blessed.

Nothing looks the same...

When we put the house 'at the farm' up for sale in 2005, it was life-changing for me.

While I loved raising my kids on acreage in the best community ever, I hated the extended snow season that came with living on the north side of a hill in the Hart region of our city.

I convinced Albert that it was in the best interest of all that we move to town after Jed, our youngest, graduated highschool.

Ok, it mighta sounded more like, "Jed and I are moving to town where there is bus access for him and I don't have to drive 30 minutes to get to work, church, groceries etc. Do you want to come with us?"

I spent most Sunday afternoons from December to March driving around neighbourhoods in PG assessing how much snow they had, how many kids hung out in the streets, and where the bus stops were.

We had discussions. I had dreams. I had visions. We toured homes. I X'd off various neighbourhoods.

And on July 19, 2005 we took possession of our "town house" on Sanderson Rd.

It wasn't a dream home.
It didn't even have giant potential.
But it was south facing. It had a shop. And city garbage pick-up.
I was convinced.

It didn't take long for Albert to realize that moving to town was indeed the right thing to do for our current lifestyle. But moving was hard. It was an adjustment. And he wasn't ready to do that again any time soon. While he admitted it was the right thing to do, he adamantly told me that we wouldn't be moving again for another 18 years. (the length of time we were in our house at the farm) I mentally calculated that I could begin house hunting again in 2023.

And sometime about 2017 when we'd been in the house about 12 years and made many adjustments, additions, memories, and renovations, Albert realized that his "18-year plan" was zooming in all too fast.

"I take back my 18-yr plan," he said. "I'm not willing to move again. Ever. I am going to die in this house."

And he followed through about a year-and-a-half later.

So here I am in 2021.

Two years before our original plan to sell our Sanderson house.

And at sixteen years and four days I posted a "For Sale" sign on our home.

My house looks nothing the same. My life looks nothing the same.

Faithfully using the bidet...

So, a few weeks ago I opened a new package of toilet paper.

And I said to my love, "This will be the last package of tp we open in this house."

He wasn't so sure. We have bets on when we move into our new home. June 11 is my guess. He's a bit less hopeful weighing in with June 15.

Here's what the remains of that pkg of tp looks like tonight:

As a precaution I had purchased a backup supply.

But I'll be faithfully using the bidet, and encouraging Jed to do the same, to extend this final roll of tissue just so I can be right. HaHa.

We are getting really close to receiving our occupancy permit. And every day we drive up to the house for a wee inspection. And every day we stand in awe at the blessings we have.

And every day we check the C-19 restrictions.

And we giggle with the anticipation of being in our new home. Our true new beginning. And being able to share it with you.
Soon.
Very Soon.

Free Cheesecake. No Fridge.

I've been craving cheesecake for a while.

JimE sat down to practice guitar tonight and I thought, "I haven't blogged much at all this year. I think I'll order a cheesecake through Skip and blog while he plays guitar."

I've used Skip the Dishes a grand total of 3 times in the past 3 years. One of those was in Coquitlam. Turns out I had a 7 dollar credit off my order. I'm not sure why. However it helped with the guilt.

The nearest cheesecake was from Mr Mikes. So I threw in a sticky toffee dessert knowing JimE would eat half my cheesecake. If you are gonna throw all your healthy eating efforts out the window, you might as well make it worth the guilt.

I left my phone open so I could watch Navjeet's progression while I typed at my computer...

....

At the end of November our new house wasn't much more than a hole in the ground with some cement footings and walls buried underground.

Our contractor consultant suggested we get our appliances ordered. I admit I thought she was a bit bonkers since it was going to be a minimum 5 to 6 months before the house would be ready for them. However, I never miss a good opportunity to shop.

We (the 'royal we') did some research and narrowed down what we did, and didn't, want.

We headed off to Moore's Appliance where we were informed with a casual gesture towards a fridge on the floor, "If you want that fridge, you can expect about July for delivery."

Yeah, that won't do for us. And we headed off to Andre's Electronics on the recommendation of our consultant.

Andre's. Who knew? It's not the first place (or likely the 10th place) that comes to my mind when shopping for appliances. However they offered us decent pricing and according to their computer system our appliances would start arriving in January, and the fridge, the most delayed item, was listed as arriving February 17. They'd hold everything in the warehouse until we were ready. Perfect.

Sometime around the end of March I touched base to confirm everything was here, even though we knew it was still going to be at least 2 months before we needed it - our expected beginning of April possesion date had been delayed. Partially due to our countertops being hung up (no pun intended) in the Suez Canal fiasco, so everything kinda became not such a rush.

The range, washer, dryer and OTR microwave were here. Dishwasher is scheduled for May 5 and fridge for May 21. Ok, decent. We won't need it before that.

Today (May 28) we decided to include a little deke into Andre's on our neighbourhood walk.

Dishwasher is here.

Fridge is re-delayed. Should be here about July 21st. July!!??!

Apparently it's on the same boat that is bringing our Fjord livingroom furniture from Norway that we ordered from the 'quick ship' program at the beginning of February, scheduled to arrive by end of April, that's rescheduled to 'arrive in the US' in July to be assembled before delivery to Canada, that takes about 3 months.

Holy crap, CV-19 has played a number on our 'normal.'

With nobody travelling, they are pumping their travel dollars into renovations and home improvements. Resulting in deliveries being delayed way beyond what would have been acceptable two years ago.

....

Ding-dong

....

Skip has arrived with my cheesecake.

I open the door and take the hand-off of the paper bag from Navjeet.

It smells like spices.

I use my best "white girl" manners and think, "The spices smell delicious and I'm sure they won't affect the taste of my cheesecake."

I open the food container.

And there sits a Mike burger and fries.

I'm not sure how to explain the excitement dashed, while simultaneously being exhilarated.

Here sat what I knew would be a free burger and fries, yet knowing my cheesecake was gonna be another half hour away.

A quick call to Mr Mike's resulted in the voice on the phone saying, "Oh, I'm sitting here waiting for your call. I knew that the previous order had been duplicated. I have your desserts sitting in a bag right here, I'm jumping in my car and heading your way right now. Feel free to eat the burger or toss it in the garbage."

We inhaled the burger and spicy fries before she arrived a few minutes later with our cheesecake and sticky toffee cake (that they had doubled to 2 servings) with a $10 gift card attached, with the $7 credit, making the entire orders pretty much free. This botched delivery helped to ease the pain of knowing we'll be 2 to 3 months or more in our new house without a fridge or swivel recliners from Norway.

Online shopping: The Triple Blessing

I love Christmas. I love all it represents. I love that Jesus was willing to be born to humble parents in an even humbler environment. I love that it brings family and friends together. I also admit I love the opportunity to shop for things to bless my peeps with.

I enjoy boosting my pedometer with steps as I wander trough Homeworks, Gingerbread Toys and Everything Baby & Kids.

I like to think that I support local. But truth is, I support whoever provides what I want at the best price. So I also love the steps that I get in Winners and Costco. I generally resist spending my dollars and steps in Walmart, but admit I'm not completely opposed. And I confess that many, many of my dollars go to Amazon and Wayfair.

These days it feels like Christmas to me.

We are closing in on moving day, when we will be handed the occupancy permit and the keys to our newly constructed home and our official new beginning.

JimE's official job is to work his butt off and renovate this house we live in to prepare it for sale.

My job is to sit on my butt, research, and shop for detail stuff for our new home.

Sitting on your butt to shop is the new reality. We say that C-19 has brought this about. But truth is, while it may have accelerated it, butt shopping was well on it's way to becoming our reality long before COVID.

And I try to do all my eating and drinking at my computer with my left hand so my Apple Watch will register each nibble as steps.

Amazon, Costco.ca and Wayfair all love me.

And every day feels like Christmas.

The doorbell rings. And we play the guessing game.

Is it the coffee table from Wayfair?

I think it might be the loveseats from Costco.

No, I'll bet you fifty bucks it's the doormat from Amazon.

It is just like Christmas.

I get the joy and blessing of shopping and hitting "submit order". And then when it arrives, it's like a second joy and blessing to open the package and see what arrived.

At Christmas you get the triple blessing when you get to watch the recipient unwrap and receive the gift.

This time we will receive the triple blessing when we get to open the boxes ourselves and place the items in their intended locations in our new home.

I don't even know if I have the ability to vocalize just how grateful and blessed we feel.

And though it's hard work - renovating, packing, downsizing, deciding what memorabilia to physically take with you, and which to donate, and which to dispose of all together, it's exciting putting together our home. Our new beginning.

And we are grateful. So grateful.

For what was. For what is . For what is yet to be.

100 days...

What a joy to watch our new house materialize before our eyes.

Sometimes it seems like we go days without seeing much progress. But then I look back through the photos...

It's astounding really.

On December 28th all we had were some concrete basement walls sitting frozen in the ground. And here we are exactly 100 days later with siding going on, paint on the walls, much of the flooring done and kitchen cabinets scheduled for about 10 days from now.

We've opted where to splurge and where to go for more financially wise options.

We've made all the design decisions.

And we anxiously await our first night in OUR house. Our true new beginning.

And we feel so blessed. Beyond measure for sure. And most certainly beyond what we deserve. But we graciously accept.

And we can't wait to share our home with you. Yes you. If you are reading this, then truly we look forward to welcoming you into our home. Into our New Beginning.

But before we can venture into this new frontier, we need to close out the former chapter.

JimE, for the most part, has already sorted through his memories and memorabilia and boxed up what to take along with us.

I'm just beginning the sort. Meanwhile Jim is plugging along working his butt off to prepare this house for sale.

Boxes are beginning to fill, get taped and sharpied, and stacked into the "kid's room" awaiting moving day.

I am trying to downsize. I want to take what is beneficial and weed out what will only amount to clutter.

I don't want to toss anything that my children might want. But I don't want to hang onto sh!t that will sit in boxes until it's the kid's time to sort through and decide what the heck to do with it. If it's final destiny is the Salvation Army or the dump, then let it be now.

Sometimes I say to myself, "If you had a house fire and lost every.single.thing within these walls how would you manage." I find this oddly helpful. (But trust me, I pray against an actual housefire.)

You'd probably be offended if you knew how many photos I have shredded. Literal bags of them. Some have been digitized. Some are just memories I shall carry in my heart for eternity.

But it's been therapeutic going through stuff. And I'm trying to embrace the journey.

Some days are tough. Others a release.

And I excitedly imagine placing every item I chose to keep somewhere in our new home. And I thank Jesus for the 'storage room' in the basement, beneath the den, that will undoubtedly house stacks of cryptically labled boxes for Jody, Sherry, Lorne, Kyle, Brandi, Ken and Jed to one day sort through, while shaking their heads and exclaiming, "what the what..."

... and then fight over whose responsibility it is to haul it to the dump.

The Vagina Games

OK, sometimes you come across things that just scream "blog me."

More and more I am convinced that our electronic devices have the ability to 'hear' us. So often after speaking in your home about certain subjects you'll find corresponding ads on your social media feeds.

But I swear to you, I have NOT googled, blogged, spoken about, nor even thought about using my my vagina as a sporting device. But this ad has been popping up on my Facebook feed this week.

What the heck!!?!!


There's a device that allows you to participate in vagina games.

Ok, Ok. You can get all offended.

But if you've given birth to three or more children, you know.

The struggle is real.

Dr Arnold Kegel and his exercises make sense. They really do. (I'm sure there's not a woman alive who doesn't know what Kegel exercises are.)

But following through on them is another story.

But some genius has invented a device that allows you to do the Kegel exercises and save your progress.

But just imagine...

If they set this up as an online competition...

You'd get bonus points for the more kids you've pushed through your birthing canal and were still able to compete.
Ok, the whole thing is bizarre.

I was originally marginally offended.

But really...

Imagine competing, encouraging, accomplishing ...

The Vagina Games. I see it all now.

And the results would be that women everywhere would feel free to laugh. Free to jump on trampoline. Free to sneeze.

Stuff just got real...

 Ok. Stuff just got real. 

JimE and I have been planning to build a house for a little over a year now. We've since gotten married, hung with Jed for a year of COVID, purchased a lot, edited a house plan, sold his house, and watched our new house evolve into more house than I initially envisioned.

All these steps. 

All these moments. 

And what punched me in the guts? A cardboard box. 

The other day we got an Amazon delivery. It came in a decent sized box. 

"Let's keep this box for packing." 

A simple enough statement. 

But it packed a punch. 

We are moving. 

In about eight weeks. 

In about eight weeks our new house will be finished and we will be handed an occupancy permit. 

Yikes! 

Jim has been working hard to do the things that need to be done to make this house we are in bring us the best return for the least investment. 

And now it's my turn. 

Sort through the stuff. 

Weed out the stuff. 

Downsize. 

Pack only the stuff you need. 

Our new house isn't a tiny house by no means, but it's not huge neither. And it's a contemporary style with clean lines that will lend itself to being clutter free.

Today was "clean out your office" day. 

My office has a number of drawers and closets full of shelves. 

I have lived in this house for over 16 years. And in those closets, shelves and drawers I found stuff I haven't actually looked at for 35 years. 

I had no idea that in those drawers held envelopes of photos. Boxes of cards. And folders of memories. 

It took me many hours to go through stuff that probably should have taken only an hour or so. 

And I'm torn. 

I don't actually know how to deal with this stuff. 

I don't actually know what to throw away. What to keep. 

I don't want to pack crap I don't need. 

I don't want to frivolously toss stuff. 

I don't want to regret things that can't be undone. 

I don't want my kids to have to sort unnecessary stuff when it comes time for them to sort our stuff... 

In the bottom drawer of my cabinet I found a stash of stuff that I honestly didn't even remember I had: all the cards from Ben's baby shower. All the cards from his funeral. Oi. 

These are more than 35 years old. 

Do I need to pack them with me?

Can I shred them? 

I'm torn. 

I'm not actually asking for insight and opinion here. I'm simply working through things I gotta work through. And I resorted to my time-tested resource of blogging to blab it all out.. 

It's so weird to be living my best life. Yet having already lived my best life. Having so many heart memories. Having so much in the present, and so many dreams for the future. 

Grateful, grateful I am. 

...but I still gotta clean up this office of mine. 

Everything is laid out in semi organized piles of "keep" "shred" "salvation army" and "I dunno what to do with."