Cats and crooked oaks

It's after 4 and I'm awake thanks to the low rolling rumble of that massive Russian transport plane that lands here monthly or thereabouts, a refuelling stop on its journey over the top of the world; a middle of the night, under the cover of darkness pitstop for a tired crew but now the stale sleepless air of the darkened room seems heavier and more uncomfortable, and my foggy brain contemplates returning to sleep as I shift and turn and flip the pillow to uncover the cool fresh side, hoping to quell the rising storm of random thoughts beginning to call for my attention.      I know it's pointless so I shuffle into the blackness and down the hall, a sliver of moon or maybe streetlight falling across the far end, giving me just enough hope of not stubbing my toe as I navigate the shadows to the front room.  In the shadows I can make out the black cat curled upon his post and he lifts a furry head at my hand's direction and satisfied at finding me at the other end of the outstretched arm, returns his head between his paws and turns deeper into his unfinished task.  The darkness outside is beginning to lighten, revealing the crooked oak across the street, stars still dot the sky above and twinkle through the swaying branches, though the morning's dawn will soon begin to consume them and I think about the day ahead, the possibilities and responsibilities and wonder if once it concludes if I'll feel more content with where I am and what I'm doing, or if maybe tomorrow will just bring more of the same.  The other cat silently appears and joins me on the couch, kneading and pulling at my blanket as he searches for the perfect spot to settle somewhere on my feet, taking more of my discomfort with every longer stretch until he's buried deep between the folds.  It's simple really if you watch them and their approach to life, just being what they are without any pretense or airs or questioning of its validity.  Meeting needs as they arise, fulfilling their purpose ever-present, sliding simply between being and doing until the line blurs to perfection.  A muted yawn and one last stretch and he slips back into sleep not yet prepared to face a day that hasn't yet arrived, and it becomes clear that we could learn much if we'd only get out of our own way...

Renovating your Reality

It’s been a long, cold, ugly winter out there. Mountains of shoveled snow line the driveways and intersections; streets become frozen lakes when the water mains freeze and burst open throwing their pressurized contents upwards and into the frozen ice-world above like some Disney movie heroine struggling to find her identity; and as the season progresses the streets crumble and give way from below - the gaping potholes lie in wait to damage tires and rims and turn the daily commute into a trek across some Arctic minefield.

We've had enough.

That temptress Spring returned briefly last week, showing just enough leg and bare concrete to entice the winter-weary, stirring forgotten passions and lustful yearnings for garden centers and potting soils and just as quickly as she turned our heads she disappeared, taking with her our last, dying hope of getting through March unscathed.

The winter carnivals are over and gone, Spring break is on the horizon, and if you believe the calendar the new Season has officially arrived, but we know better, and we aren’t fooled, though we want to be.  The high school does its best to lift ailing hearts with Spirit Week and the annual career symposium, but we all know we’re stuck in that dreary in-between world, not quite where we want to be, and not quite free from the holds of our pasts, prisoners of time and place.  Cold and flu season adds insult to injury, robbing us of what little energy and motivation we have left, mopping running noses and soothing sore throats and coughs, mired in medications that dull the aches and pains.

And so we wait again.

The renovations are in full swing and progress has been plenty on all fronts – though this past week saw nothing moving forward until around Friday morning, thanks to a sinus infection that had me praying for a simple migraine to ease my suffering, but illness-induced rest and plenty of fluids and I’m almost feeling human again – enough to begin planning the upcoming week’s schedule and thinking about where I’d like to see this project in a week’s time.  The structure has been removed and replaced with engineered lintels to carry the roof loads as planned and we’re enjoying the increased space and abundance of natural light that had been trapped and blocked by the original house design. 

We’ve become accustomed to the chaos and upheaval that is construction – the missing areas of finished floor, the dangled wires and exposed framing, the relocated services and storage and the dance to find the things we need that are no longer where they once were.  And more than once each of us has turned the old direction to head downstairs and found ourselves standing in the middle of the kitchen like an Alzheimer’s patient searching for the unseen.  But we catch ourselves and turn the right way, the new way, and continue on, adapting to the new route and reinforcing the muscle and mental memory of how to navigate our own home.

Change is a grand thing if you can survive the transition period.  It has taken me a long time but I think I’ve finally begun to understand that critical life lesson.  While we are naturally resistant to it we crave it just the same and somewhere along that spectrum of same-different new-unknown, we each find our level of comfort and freedom to be who we are meant to be.  Understanding that each of us has varying levels of change tolerance is critical too for we can’t force others to accept change at more than their comfortable pace – though we can all grow and tolerate more change if we take our time and move forward slowly together.  It helps if everyone involved is on the same page and has the same vision of the future – but that relies on shared communication and mutual interests and we know how difficult it can be to get a group (never mind family) consensus on anything.

In the case of a renovation good plans and shared design sense are key to a harmonious transition from the old to the new and improved, else one of you is going to get what they want and have in mind and the other is just going to get what they get – now depending on which one of you ‘cares’ most about the outcome and whose level of unhappiness with the current state of affairs is greatest might dictate the direction and degree of change involved. There’s nothing worse than an apathetic stakeholder in the change process however – they’ll maintain and swear they really don’t care about the details along the way – despite repeated queries and assurances, but you know they’ll be the first to voice displeasure with the final outcome for any of a number of possible reasons: emotional inaccessibility, passive-aggressive tendencies, lack of commitment to the planned changes or pure bull-head stubbornness. 

Open, honest, shared communication is key. 

And really when you boil it all down, that’s true no matter what the nature of the change.  We know at our very basic core that we must change and grow in order to survive – that’s just the reality of being human – and accepting that fact can be scary and unsettling and it might bring out fears and emotional scars of past changes that didn’t work well or didn’t provide obvious improvements – but we can not stay where we are for any length of time without dying and withering in some way.  Preparation is key – we need to have a general understanding of where we want to get to before we begin or we won’t have any idea how to get there, or when we’ve arrived.

Funny how some of us forget that, and blindly dive into changing things around us for the sake of change; for the thrill and uncertainty of making things new and different around us, to live on the edge and push the envelop of safety and security we normally operate inside.  A new paint colour, new hair style, new relationship – you know who you are – anything to feel different than how we do presently, but without really digging deeper into understanding what it is about the current reality that has us feeling trapped or fearful or unhappy and in search of change.  Without knowing why you want change, and moving toward a vague, undefined goal, you are apt to find yourself in exactly the same mental and emotional state you left – just surrounded with new things and places and people.  And soon you’ll be looking to make another change…

Some of us are quite content to exist like dust in the wind, happily being thrown along life’s path, tossed and turned this way and that as situations and opportunities change and fluctuate around them, easily able to adapt to the new and unknown and seemingly able to thrive no matter where they end up.  Others prefer to live like rocks, anchored and stable and content to be just as they are currently, seeing no need for new and improved when the tried and true have been just fine, thank you very much, fighting even the most basic changes around them, clinging to the familiar.  Most however are somewhere between the two extremes, holding on here and letting go there, shifting from being in control of the change process to being changed by the process no matter how hard they fight it, struggling to exist between the two and make it work along the way.  We’re blind to it and don’t understand why we feel the stress we do, ignorant of the battle that rages around us constantly, not becoming an active partner in the process that will ultimately determine who we become and where we end up.

And so we curse our current situations and long for new and better and explain away our limitations to chance or location or outside influence instead of owning up to what we’ve done to get us to where we are today.

It will be a few more months until we can say we’ve entered the home stretch in these renovations; until we will be able to truly see the end in sight and begin to get excited about the future way we’ll exist inside the re-created and expanded spaces.  For now we’re content to see the progress in little stages bit by bit, knowing we’re heading toward something better and more able to suit the way we live in this house; something that will give us more room to be who we are and who we are becoming.

But just to be human, we’ll still find it easier to stand and look out the front window complaining that the temptress Spring hasn’t returned than to accept and embrace the cold reality of winter, shoveling be damned.

Stuck at Home

Peering out the high window in the back door, the swirling, tumbling curtains of snow blow down off the roof and onto the deck, or what used to be the deck until Mother Nature decided we needed fairly constant reminders of the date on the calendar and provided us with endless opportunities for free, productive exercise on the end of a shovel.  It’s become old hat now, an old tale that we know by heart, we wake and it will be cold; at some point it will snow and before long people will be complaining about the City not clearing the roads quickly enough…

Welcome to January!  Somehow it’s become awhile since we last talked and caught up on things – that’s my fault – distracted by vacation in late November, then the allure of Christmas though this year we hit the road, well air, and spent the Holidays elsewhere hoping to distract and numb the realities of the past year rather than face them head on during a time filled with so many memories of year’s and better times past.  And then this bitter arctic loneliness descended and stayed here as it usually does but not so early, January is one thing, but early December is quite another, and now we find ourselves a week from expecting a groundhog to tell us the forecast.

Good luck with that Phil.

The snow banks beside the driveways have grown to the point where adults can now be lost behind them, children stand in awe and proclaim them sovereign territory, and me? I just keep trying to throw the next shovelful over the top though I know it won’t be long before I’ll need a longer shovel or a better plan.

It’s exam week over at the high school and the prisoners are busy memorizing and copying and finally learning what they should have picked up in the fall, some shooting for the honor roll, some aiming just above the bar of futility, most somewhere in between wishing they had taken better notes or asked the wardens a bit more about linear functions and solving by substitution…

The boy is confident he’ll maintain his A average this term and we’re happy to see he’s become interested in his classes and grades and is putting in effort finally.  School had been (and still is) a social gathering place for him, the lessons and studies from the front of the classrooms distractions from the real world issues of friends and fun and fooling around, but somewhere in the transition to high school he shifted focus and accepted he has ability and can use his powers for good instead of evil, and while it continues to be a work in progress regarding respecting the position of authority leading the class – no idea where he gets that from (guilty as charged -  he really is my son) he is finding that inner drive that will serve him going forward.

Sure wish I knew where my inner drive went.  I think it drove away long ago.

That’s not entirely true.  I blame these last two months and this winter’s weather cycle of bitterly stupid cold.  It’s becoming an annual habit, sucking the life out of me creatively and mentally, leaving me in a disinterested stupor of sorts blindly pushing forward until I catch some traction.  It’s what I know, and what I push against to start every year.  The new calendar doesn’t bring surges of wonder and inspired delight at what might lie ahead, instead I find the first few pages monotonous in their sameness, cold and barren cells waiting to be crossed off an endless list.  

Resolutions?  New beginnings? Changes? Yeah, those will have to wait a few more days until I’m finally able to shake off this slump and start hitting the ball out of the park again.  The bat is heavy and the ball seems to dip just as I swing, never quite on it’s mark, and maybe my back elbow is flying a bit too high as I cock it back…  I know it’s something I’m doing and something I can control – it’s not the pitcher and it’s not the ball – so it must be me.  Getting tired of striking out.  Just gotta keep swinging and trying little changes and then I’ll get a hit.

I’m on the verge of starting round two (or is it round three? Four?) of the renovations to the house, and this time it’s real.  Staring with opening up walls and moving the back stairs to enlarge the kitchen.  But first it’s getting the basement area cleaned out so I can build the bar down there that will function as our kitchen while the upstairs area is torn apart.  It was awhile getting to this point, but Monday the demo bin gets delivered and the sledge hammers come out and we’ll make like Miley on her wrecking ball – though I’ll be fully dressed and there won’t be any licking of anything, and, um, let’s just move beyond that disturbing image, shall we?

So it’s demo, then opening for new stairs, tear out old stairs, build bar area, gut kitchen, move walls, reroute electrical and HVAC, rebuild kitchen, refinish hardwoods, baseboards and trim, paint, bring in new furniture and appliances… and somewhere in all that, remember to breathe, take the boy to and from hockey, enjoy the process and keep you up to date on the way by.

The snow continues to swirl down off the roof and it whistles by my window as it drifts across the yard and over the road, smoothing over the angular banks and leveling off the landscape.  There’s no sense in going out and trying to impose my sense of order to the driveway just yet, Nature’s got her mind made up about what I need today.  She’s in charge.  I just need to relax and let her lead the way, and then she’ll throw me an easy pitch and I’ll get my game back on track, you’ll see.  Somewhere in all the upcoming chaos is my chance; I just need to wait for my pitch.

Silent Success

The cool winds of November keep us company now, flakes of snow filtering down slowly in the mornings to rest among the feathery veins of frost on the windshield, waiting for the sun to finally rise and melt them back in the low light of day.   If we’re lucky the temperature will creep close to freezing and maybe even above by mid afternoon, and every day now without snow that stays, is a success.

Remembrance Day is once again behind us – that sober, somber day of duty, when life stops and we silently say thank you to those who died years ago fighting wars on the other side of the world; the poppies and Memorial Services the least we can do to honor those valiant young souls who went willingly, never to return.  The bugler’s call of The Last Post summons the departed soldier’s spirits back to the cenotaph, where the gun salutes on either end of the 2 minutes of silence punctuate the eerie quiet before The Rouse awakens our hearts again to the present  - but we linger and hold the past for awhile longer, each of us acknowledging in our own way that we truly understand the sacrifices.

We’re fortunate to live in the time and place that we do – we know this deeply, and our blinding ignorance of the past most days is a testament to how far away we really are from those dark days.  We’re a prosperous society and we live like Kings; drunk with riches and endless opportunity, fancying ourselves important and powerful as we consume our way through life, still ignoring the plight of the underclass, tempting Fate yet again.   The lessons of history laid bare await us still – but we think if we ignore them just a little bit longer, then perhaps their truths will not apply.

We’ve become masters of this.

I’m wrapping up a project for clients who have become friends – the way most of my clients do – thanks in no small part to my need and ability to connect to the people around me, and for my work to have meaning it must be meaningful to those who will use it and have it be a part of their reality.  I’m learning this has always been my way, though I have either chosen to ignore this fact or had never been awakened to it until recently, in whatever medium I am ‘working.’  A sense of purpose I suppose – something we all aspire to have in our lives – many searching for it in deep recesses of the soul or in dark corners of the heart – many looking in places they fear it may never exist – many more having not found it seek replacements to sooth the aching emptiness.  Others give up and pretend they never needed meaning in their lives from the beginning, content to follow blindly, and patiently wait for their eternal rewards.

I’ve searched ever since I was old enough to understand and question that there might be more to what I saw around me – that all things were not what they appeared and deeper connections and hidden realities existed if you dared look beyond the obvious.  Creative minds do this naturally after all, taking ideas of things that do not yet exist and finding ways to make the impossible possible.  Asking ‘why not?’ along with ‘why?’ then moving toward the ideas with conviction and purpose.  In the creative world nothing is impossible and solutions to problems wait to be revealed – one only has to ask the right questions.

As my current project winds down and I look back over the details and creative solutions that happened to fall into our plans I am comforted by the process that works the way it does and provides what it does for those around me.  I’m given credit for results that happen to find me as often, it seems, as I search for them, and I humbly acknowledge my part in the process but am by no means comfortable taking credit for the results.  I am merely fortunate to be in the right place at the right time.

Writing comes to me in much the same way – if I am able to get of my own way things flow much more effortlessly than if I pretend I am the powerful author of the words on the page.  It helps if I can find the quiet spaces that nurture the process – for me those tend to be found in the wee hours on either end of the day – leaving few of those hours for sleep some nights – though I am also slowly realizing that those quiet spaces are also available to you during the most chaotic busy times – if you have the courage to stand silently inside and accept them.  I’m making a mental note to stand silently inside more often – I need much more practice in this area!  And oddly enough Life keeps providing opportunities for practice…

I am very thankful to have had the opportunity to work with my current clients and have enjoyed being allowed into their lives as I worked to create something of lasting value for them.  A mutual benefit of shared experience.  And really, that’s what I’ve always been searching for – and like my writing, once I stop fighting it; stop searching for it, it becomes obvious that it has always been there with me all along. 

True prosperity isn’t measured in dollars and cents or found in one’s possessions – no matter how drunk we are with material wealth – deep down it becomes obvious that the measure of one’s success is found within – by how willing one is to silently stop and listen to the reality surrounding them, allowing the connections to others to ground them and sustain them, secure in the knowledge that solutions and results exist to be found, regardless of the magnitude of the perceived problem. 

I stopped for 2 minutes this past week and listened to the eerie silence, paying my respects to those who paid the ultimate price so that I may live where and how I do, able to help others as I help myself, all moving forward together.    Theirs was a bloody hell compared to the troubles and problems we face today – yet they had the courage to stand and fight, the will to battle to the very end.  The least we can do is awaken to the reality that we have it easy by comparison. 

It’s November and we still have no snow.  That’s one measure of success.  I’m fortunate and grateful for the connections and people in my life who have allowed me to become a part of theirs, and who allow me to do what I do, to be who I am. For me? That’s a much truer measure of success.

Cold November Morning

The sunlight is streaming in low this morning; highlighting the frost on the rooftops even more than usual, calling attention to the contrast and cementing the fact that summer is slowly fading from sight in the rearview mirror.  The arrival of November and tonight’s time change should have been enough notice, but we’ve been busy and the days have slipped past quickly and silently and now we have a moment to take stock and really see where we are.

Where I haven’t been is here, sitting, writing, watching my world as an observer, keeping notes and finding my connection to all things around me.  The reasons are as habitual as they are numerous, but the end result has been a quiet dis-ease that slowly rolls and simmers just enough below the surface to be unremarkable, yet high enough to ripple through at times and call attention to my absence.

I looked back the other day and noticed the last real post I set here for you was Bert’s eulogy post; that’s not the kind of finality I want to leave anywhere just laying around - the trip report installments didn’t feel ‘right’ beside that and so they have since vanished by my hand – they aren’t really where I wanted this to go anyway and so I decided to retract them and let them live where and how they do for me, for us, and they will serve me well there. 

Here I need to be more complete, more grounded, more real – questioning and rambling as I do to make sense of things – this is what I find I crave when I allow life to overtake me rather than being an active participant.  I need to be present in the process – I’d argue we all do – though I’m becoming more convinced that fewer and fewer understand how to do that anymore or why it is crucial to our existence and growth and shared, mutual experience.  It’s a thought I’m keeping active on the back burner for the next little while – a seed of sorts that I hope to germinate with some quiet time and water with further insight and study – and we’ll watch what fertile, green shoots sprout forth over the winter.

Life is changing again – intuitively I know this winter will be something new, something testing me and pushing me in directions I will resist and fight against – my stubborn nature resorting to what it knows best as it attempts to maintain its own reality intact, separate from my true reality – and I will work my way through it and emerge on the other side more complete and with a better understanding of how and why this is supposed to work – this backwardly experienced lesson we are all expected to learn eventually, but are never really prepared for.

The kittens have grown to full cat size now, busy with the intruders who have moved in under the backyard decks, those underground architects of various interconnected holes and tunnels taunting the felines from beneath their feet.  We had to put down the oldest of the three earlier this fall – at17 he reached his wintertime with grace and nobility, still active and alert and in charge – but the body (as they are wont to do) was beginning to give way and fail him and so we made the difficult decision for him and allowed him one last afternoon in the sun and in the flowerbeds before his fate. 

It’s been that kind of year for us. 

And maybe that’s why I’m been away when I really should have been here more.  Maybe I’ve been busy keeping busy, pretending the reality isn’t always just a little bit away over there, hidden enough in plain sight to be familiar, yet distant enough to be forgotten.  Maybe I didn’t have much to say – or maybe I wasn’t ready to say it – or maybe I didn’t know what it was I needed to say. Maybe I’ve been silently waiting to feel ready again, moved to the point where forward is the only way remaining.  Maybe…

The maybes are beginning to unravel themselves into a pile of words at my feet. 

A jumbled collection of ideas and places; fragments of truths and remembrances that need to be knit back into form and given structure so they can stand alone again.  Woven together to embrace and warm me in the cold months ahead as I plow back into life, ready to begin the required heavy lifting and excavation that has become my journey.  Wrapped around and held close on those cold, dark mornings when the shadows and silence surround and sit formless in wait. Worn to protect and comfort me when the light of day retreats, leaving only a flickering flame to guide me.

The sun is higher now, but that frost doesn’t look like it’s ready to release its hold on the rooftops any time soon. We can’t deny it any longer, the cold is settling in.  I’d better get knitting…

Words of Remembrance for Mother in Law

In this life you don't always get to choose how things play out.  And you never know what the future holds.  For us, 2013 has been one of those years that you won't soon forget - and so far it's been for sad, unfortunate, unplanned reasons.  Almost exactly 3 months after my writing and presenting my mom's eulogy at her funeral service, Karen's mom suddenly passed away after a quick battle with liver cancer and I find myself again looking back at a life into which I had the honour of being accepted.

Here are the words I shared at her service yesterday:

Alberta Elaine Bomak (1942-2013)

As long as we have memories, yesterday remains

As long as we have hope, tomorrow waits

And as long as there is Friendship, today is Beautiful

You will be hard pressed to find a better quote to sum up the way Bert saw and approached life.  She was the family historian; the keeper of the stories of the past, of the memories of yesterday. She was the eternal optimist who always saw the bright side; whose glass was always half full and who never ever let the obstacles of life get her down.  And she was a true friend to all who crossed her path; dedicated and faithful and compassionate and giving - her laugh and her smile brightened every room she entered, and all who knew her were better for the experience.

Born in Dauphin and raised in the Duck Mountains for the first 10 years, Bert nurtured the qualities that would guide her for her lifetime.  Surrounded by the abundance and beauty of nature, she fostered a deep appreciation for all living things, and found joy and beauty in even the simplest wild flower. 

Her green thumb came naturally then, and was always on display in her yard and garden in Dauphin.  Bert could spend the entire day out weeding and tending and nurturing her plants and flowers, and often did, visiting with and chatting to neighbors, themselves knee-deep in their backyard gardens.

Theres an honesty and goodness that can only be found in conversations with your fellow man, shared while each is busy with the grounded earthiness of planting, weeding and harvesting.  And Bert had that honesty and goodness in spades.

The Britcher lumber camp and sawmill also imprinted young Alberta with the essential qualities of the value of hard work and the necessity of cooperation and generosity for success in any endeavor.  The lumber business could be brutal, hard work, and it demanded strong, willing hearts and minds in order to survive and prosper, and those hearts and minds needed to be well feed and watered.  Feeding and looking after a bush camp is not for the timid or shy, and Bert carried those lessons into her family life in Dauphin.

Anyone who had the pleasure of joining Tony and Bert for meals or parties at their home on 7th Ave can attest to how easy Bert made it seem to feed an entire neighbourhood; how effortlessly she would add more plates to an already overcrowded table and make room for unexpected guests - and always Bert would give up her spot at the table for you, disappearing downstairs and quickly reappearing with more food and dainties from the freezer; complete meals in minutes, always more than enough.

And baking! Pies and cookies and desserts and dainties - she was always baking and freezing and taking trays of goodies to events and occasions.  Award winning recipes that we will forever miss, never quite able to perfect her methods just the way she did.  Like her lemon merengue pie or her cinnamon buns... And if she wasn't baking she was canning - fruits and vegetables and pickles - the shelves in the cold room overflowing with the abundance of the summer garden, and enjoyed during those long, cold winter months.

Bert loved people, and people loved Bert.  She carried a ready smile and a quick laugh and always had a story to share!  She knew her family's stories back to the Mayflower and Admiral Dewey, and was never lost for a date or a place that an event took place, and she could tell you what the weather was like that early March morning back in '52 and what they served for dinner, and who sat where around the table, and what the conversation was about that night...

But it wasn't only her family's stories she told or knew - she seemed to know everyone  and was related to half of them, and she knew all the generations and who was related to whom and how and she knew their stories too.  She knew your stories better than you did!  And when she told those stories her eyes would light up with a brightness and life that seemed to carry her on for hours, and her laugh would fill the room and she soon had everyone laughing with her. 

Her home was a warm, inviting place for all, and together with Tony they welcomed family, friends and neighbours to come in and join them and have a drink and something to eat and share some laughs and enjoy the company of others.  Any occasion was cause for a get together - the 7th Avenue crowd never needed an excuse to get together - but it was the same for Church friends, or work friends, or family friends, and more often than not, those groups began to overlap and in the end all became just good friends.

And with her, through her, all our yesterdays remained.

But as much as Bert had our yesterdays preserved, it was her outlook on life and her version of tomorrow that really defined her life. 

She was always cheery and optimistic, expecting the best and shrugging off the worst, selectively ignoring advice and information if it didnt suit her version of how things were going to be.  Happy and smiling and seemingly always in a good mood, she met life head on and kept winning the battles thrown her way.  Her health was always a concern and while she didnt always follow her doctors (or her daughter's) medical orders to a tee, her positive outlook carried her far further than maybe it should have.  It's a trait we all should consider adopting.

  

The Church played a large role in Bert's faith in the goodness and certainty of tomorrow and it played a large part in her daily life.  Tony and Bert were active members of the church, and Bert learned enough Ukrainian to be able to follow along to mass without much difficulty.  Her baking graced many a table in this hall, and as a fitting tribute, it will grace some of the tables here today as well...

Bert always had plans for tomorrow.  Places to go, friends to see, someone in the hospital to visit, something to take baking too, a trip to Winnipeg to see her doctors...

No time to worry or regret, too busy looking forward.

And then there were her todays, always filled with friendship and love; her life a beautiful, fragrant, bouquet, and each of you, all of you her friends, a unique and perfect flower in that bouquet. If Bert gave you her word, that was all you needed.  If she said she'd get it done, it got done.  It was that way at the Town office and then again at the RM office, you knew you could always count on Bert.   In return she trusted everyone with a prairie honesty and trust that still meant something, and beneath all that was a loving mutual respect for everyone she encountered.  She'd give you all she had if you needed it more than she did, and would never ask for anything in return.

To all of you who consider yourself a friend of Bert's, Karen and I would like to thank you  for helping make her life full and complete.

To Bert, friends were friends forever, and none was more dear to her heart than her true love Tony.  They may have seemed an improbable match, but in reality they were a perfect one, and together they cared and shared with each other and gave of themselves to all who knew them.  Tony's passing affected Bert deeply, but she knew she still had so much more to give and live for. 

The greatest joy of Bert and Tony's life, Karen shared an amazing relationship with Bert a bond between mother and daughter that transcended friendship and family to a much higher plane, and I can see so much of Bert's wisdom and quiet influence in Karen and how she responds to life, in how she parents, and how she treats others.   A mother's lasting legacy lives on in her daughter, and Bert you did an amazing job.

One man though captured Bert's heart like none other, and he had her wrapped around his little finger from day one.  Bert loved Riley completely and truly, and lived to have him happy and smiling - I cannot begin to tell you how many hundreds of dozens of cookies and brownies and desserts she made for him over the years; the lengths she went to ensure he would always remember Tony, or the number of games she played with him regardless of her medical condition or level of fitness.  And in return he loved her fiercely and loyally and grew up guided by her love and support and her character.

The usual summer routine of Karen and Riley visiting and staying with Bert for a few weeks while Riley took swimming lessons, Riley helping Ba in the garden, his little boy voice still on her answering machine... Those days left a real impression on him and again, I can see alot of Bert in him too.

While going through things at the house, Karen and I found a letter written by Bert, for Riley, to be read when he turned 18 - one of those time capsule Letter to the Future things, and it seems appropriate to share with all of you today, in Bert's own words, her advice for Riley:

Dear Riley,

When your mother was born we thought it was the happiest day of our life, but when you were born we were even happier.  We love you dearly and will enjoy all the days we spend with you as you grow up.  The following is some words of wisdom given to me by my Aunt Gertrude on Sept 27, 1962 (I was 20 years old.)

"Use what talents you possess.  The woods would be a silent place if no birds sang there except those that sang the best.  Laugh and the whole world laughs with you.  In marriage it is not as important to marry the right person as to be the right partner."

I hope that you will be to your Dad and Mom what your mother is to us.  She was a joy to raise, was very considerate and loving and gave us many reasons to be proud of her.  Especially the good mother that she has been to you.

My advice to you Riley is the same as what I gave your mother: Do in life what you want to do.  Not what your parents or other people expect or want you to do, and you will always be happy.

Love Ba and Gigi

Friends and family.  They were the cornerstone of Bert's everyday life, and ensured that for her each day was beautiful.

On March 15th, 1942, Alberta Elaine Britcher was born and the world would become a better place.  On June 19th, 2013, Bert Bomak peacefully passed away, and the world will never be the same.

* * *

Rest in Peace Bert, Thanks for Everything.

Until the skies darken again

good days are easy,

unappreciated usually,

overlooked at best. 

until you need them,

then they are harder to pin down,

to find, to hold.

but if you let them

they can find you,

you just need to sit still

and let them approach you,

on their own,

like a timid small animal

alone.

make another cup of coffee

soothe the soul

and take it to the sunshine

and dewy grass

watch the world

exploring green shadows

listen to the birds

and the wind and the sounds of another

new summer starting

forget the grey and cloudy

skies behind you

for awhile

until the thunder

rumbling, rolling explodes with fury

rage on fire.

weather the storm

and contain the damage

keep the peace and stay the course

deluded reason and inward focus

cannot be subdued

drenched and shaking

the blood runs cold

and exhausted energy

soon lets go

giving way to lingering stillness

until the skies darken again