Growing Versions

In an effort to start feeling better after a long protracted slog of coping with a slew of little annoying yet draining health stuff that is mostly a residue of neglecting my physical needs for the last long  while, I joined a "pelvic floor exercise class". This class is a lot harder than it sounds, and yet also incredibly effective given that it is essentially a learning "how to breathe" class. As I breathed deep into my pelvic floor (or whatever !!) I inevitably had an emotional response during the second class. My mom died only 3 months ago.  Before that she was very much alive---fully present, even though she lived with discomfort or bothersome side effects. Despite her vitality (or maybe because of it?) , she was very stoic and put up with a lot of nonsense before she died.   We updated each other at least twice a day about things going on in our worlds.  We exchanged tidbits on a continuous basis...what the kids were up to, what they made for a community m...

 She sat in her chair in the living room.  It was the right structure so that she felt supported and aligned. The vantage point from her chair was and still is ever changing. Through the picture window the flowers budded, the leaves fell and snow drifted, day in and day out.  In the evenings she would watch Jamie Oliver and Great British/Canadian Baking Show with my dad, in the mornings, she would have a coffee and make a plan for the day.  It was the place she returned to time and time again throughout the day , for a rest, for a phone conversation, to read. Through the months of her illness, she continued to recruit volunteers, write letters about causes she cared about, write notes to friends, check Facebook and plan meals to try from that spot.  She and dad did a lot of adventerous cooking during that period and still brought food to share with neighbours who were going through something or needing extra help. As her illness weakened her , gradually her worl...

 I won't visit you this month.  You won't call. I will raid your garden and you won't get any of the vegetables. I will make plans without telling you about them. We'll go to the store and not buy you one single thing. Whole books will be read and I will not tell you which ones. I will watch movies and not inform you. The nasturiums will ripen. Last month was different. I changed my schedule and took time off work to be with you.   I dropped all kinds of plans for us to be together. You sent me messages, I received them. I picked up food that I thought you would like at the store and sent you pictures of every beautiful thing I saw. I sang with you. We watched the Great Canadian Baking Show. You chose the recipe for the garlic scape pesto and gave me instructions for making the gooseberry jam. I am in August without you. You are in July.

 It is a pot of a variety of lettuce plants. It was planted by my mom.  She has been living with Stage 4 bile duct cancer for at least 1.5 years (that we know of, probably a lot longer).  Standing and gardening are becoming harder as time goes on. She learned about gardening from her dad as a kid and kept on gardening every year of her adult life.  Sometimes the gardens were tiny or rudimentary, but with the help of my dad , they have become major and, at times elaborate, growing projects over the years.  Now it is a collection of raised beds and regular beds that hold a host of plants, vegetable and flowers. Something that was clear that first spring with Stage 4 cancer is that gardening would continue in a big way, cancer or no cancer.  It was important to order the seeds and start them inside and get them planted outside, no matter what. Spending time together in the summer with cancer now consistently involves gardening and following instructions. Plant...

 She walks out of the room,  away from him and the trajectory of the shards of that revolving argument gathering up a plate of half eaten fruit and an inside out sweater as she goes.  She enters the kitchen and casts her eyes around the room. She turns the sweater right side out and tosses the remains of the fruit into the compost.  The copious piles of plates, crusts of bread and cold coffee ahead of her propel her forward.   The sink itself is piled high with pots from the homemade pasta and porridge that had been planned hours in advance yesterday while she half listened to a webinar.   The heat of the earlier argument dissolves in dishwater.  It eases off in flakes as the clear water rinses away the sediment of earlier decisions.  The next meal starts to be assembled in her mind's eye, oh yes, we have that salmon in the fridge. We should use that , it will taste good with the leftover bits from yesterday's vegetables- maybe with a sa...

Since 2020, I have written the following: -grandiose grocery lists (written on an empty stomach) that often end up getlting left behind at home -funding proposals -delicately worded emails -harried Whatsapp messages -a slew of facebook messages (that basically kept me alive) -a tinder profile or two... -utilitarian text messages -heart felt text messages -the very occasional love note (on paper) to a friend or a loved one The things I have not written since 2020: -a journal -a multi-page handwritten letter -a play -a sketch -a novel -more than 2-3 blog posts that I didn't even publish -a pros and cons list