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

Renewal and Change: Time to tackle the crap

Somehow it became June.  Not that middle of June with the beginning intensity of summer that lasts until late September; this year early June is more like late May with fruit trees still in bloom, flowers finally daring to stand proudly in the gardens and the true feeling of the change of season turning the corner at last.

The greenhouses are doing brisk business these days as the winter-dwellers emerge to rediscover the outdoors and attempt to reclaim their mastery over the landscape. Trucks are busy delivering yards of black earth and soil and decorative bark and stone as yards begin their yearly transformation and the streets are lined on garbage day with paper bags full of the trimmings and prunings and remains of last year ready to be composted into next year.

The ceremony of renewal and change has begun.

It’s June and up here that means the final days of school are underway, exams and graduations and the cleaning up of another school year before the halls fall silent for a few months.  Stressful times for some – those ending this particular chapter of their lives and embarking on the next – and less so for others – those who have a few more years to go until they too wear the cap and gown and pretend they’re ready to take on the challenges of Life, though these years of high school present enough opportunities for drama and intrigue to fill an entire season of Hallmark after school specials.

We should know, but that’s a story (or a book) for another time…

Somehow April and May got away from us, well that’s not entirely true – it’s just that they were filled with circumstances and events that caused time and place to shift as required in order to achieve some semblance of balance and order – but now suddenly time has passed and we stand looking back as we catch our breath and realize nothing stands still ‘out there’ regardless of what’s happening ‘in here.’

I’ve been busy the last few days cleaning out the old garage and establishing a plan for the new one – figuring out where everything will go and how it needs to look in order to provide us with optimal storage and functionality going forward.  This has been in the works since the new addition was constructed and closed in – but it isn’t a process that can be rushed or quickly designed – at least not for me – there is an organic, natural way I inhabit a space that takes time to fully appreciate and understand exactly how I interact with it and how it needs to be for me to feel centered and at home in the space.  I require time to use it in its barest sense to get comfortable and familiar before making lasting change.  I suspect we all have this trait though many are more able to adapt freely to their environments than I, or they don’t have the luxury of time to sort such things out. 

The old garage has been my space since we moved in here back in ’95 and it has grown and changed in nature and purpose to suit our needs and my needs as I have changed and demanded more or less from it in exchange.  From simple storage and basic, crude workshop space with a handful of simple, cheap tools that managed to turn out the early storage cabinetry and carpentry skills for a young married couple finding their way as homeowners; to a more finely tuned and focused workspace with specialized, professional tools that allowed a business to grow and provide for a young family; and then to an injured, quieter, shadow of its former self, at the ready should it be called into service, but slowly hidden behind a veneer of bigger more pressing projects and demands, and requiring dedicated time and motivation to return it to a state of workability.

As I sifted through the shelves and cupboards and laid the contents out in the bigger, newer confines, I felt an inner rawness that comes with taking stock of what you have and really looking at it to assess its value and appropriateness for you and whether it will serve you moving forward, deciding if it should stay or if it’s time to say goodbye.

Stuff accumulates and gets piled up in corners and behind things without you realizing it, even though you see it every day.  Easier to keep it just because, than to have to take the time to really decide what it is and why you have it and what to do with whatever-it-is.  Easier to stay with the tried and true than the new and unknown.

But we need to make room for the new and improved while still carrying the old and trusted with us, though it requires patience and dedication to the task, and a careful, honest eye to accurately measure the needs and wants and balance them with the available size and space and time and energy.  You can’t do this for someone else – you can guide him or her and assist them and lend a hand, but they have to do the heavy lifting themselves.  They have to own the stuff in question or the real decisions can’t be made about what it means and what to do with it.  That can be a painful process.  Layers of dust and time settle on our stuff and our attachment to things can become tied to feelings over time instead of the concrete objectivity that once existed.

Ignoring the stuff might be easier in the short term – it doesn’t hurt if you don’t have to dig in and take stock, right?

Maybe.  For a little while, sure.  But not in the long term.  In order to free yourself from the disquieting chaos you’ve ignored in there over time, you have to finally decide to wade in and get real about things.  And that means you are going to get dusty and dirty and you will have to fully commit to creating a new dynamic with yourself.  You can’t just pull out all the stuff you have in that old garage and blow the dust off and tidy up the piles and set everything back up on shiny new shelves and trick yourself into feeling good about the exercise.  You haven’t really accomplished anything at that point – not if you are being honest with yourself. 

You’ve just rearranged your crap.

We all know what we need for our ‘crap.’ This isn’t news: a place for everything and everything in its place.  Pretty simple huh?  Yeah, but not so easy though, is it?  If you’re anything like me you have a decent sized pile of stuff laying around – stuff that still has value and is needed and used but that probably isn’t where it needs to be in order for you to feel productive and efficient with it.  Problem is you have to decide at some point what your stuff is and whether you really need it, and if you do, where to put it and how so you will know it’s there when you need it later.

And you probably don’t have places for all the stuff you think you want or need.

So you need to drag it all out, piece by piece, collect it all together so you can really see what you have.  You might be surprised what you’ve been collecting over the years and why. 

Why did I keep that old Planter’s Peanuts tin of used, bent nails that has always sat ontop of the tool cupboard in the corner behind the door?  Sure I appreciate the antique, blue tin, but why keep the useless nails inside it?  And what about the boxes of old light switches and receptacles from when we upgraded the electrical almost 20 years ago?  A broken drill?  Instructions and manuals for tools I’ve since replaced twice now?  And automotive light bulbs from which car now?  You don’t even remember what some of this stuff is or why you still have it…

So it’s time to move on.  Acknowledge it, appreciate that at one time you had need for it but now it doesn’t suit who you are and where you are going or what you are presently doing, and then let it go.  Garbage what needs throwing out, recycle what can be reused or repurposed – whatever you need to do to feel okay with getting rid of that past.

What you are left with after going through all your crap is what you really need and what really means something to you.  (Not what you thought you had or what you remembered you had.)  That in itself can be freeing.  We can attach some pretty deep emotions to our stuff – and it can prevent us from getting real about what things truly are and why we have them.  Yes, this old hand saw was my grandfather’s – they don’t make them like this anymore, and yes it is a connection to the past – but is it something I need in my life? Is the idea of the connection to the past what is important about this old rusty saw with its weathered wooden handle? Or is it an appreciation of the craftsmanship of the tool itself coupled with the connection to the past that keeps it on the pegboard along side newer models that I actually use? Occasionally use.  Okay, seldom use.

So it stays – but it doesn’t need to be easily accessible or take up valuable real estate in the new garage – it can be appreciated from a distance. Done. Next!

Now you need to figure out how to store it so you will see it and know what it is when you need it (if you need it but can’t find it, it doesn’t really help does it?)  I’ve purchased some wire racking that hangs from the ceiling above the overhead door – using those awkward, usually inaccessible spaces for your once-a-while stuff (like Christmas tree boxes and ornaments and lights etc) helps make the most of out whatever limited amount of space you have to store your stuff.  Oddly enough I had stacks of plywood and off-cut lengths of boards in the garage that could be repurposed as shelves and supports and bracing for shelves and supports.  You might need to go buy some – it’s worth your time to get exactly what you need and have it fit your space and your stuff.  Trust me.  There is nothing worse than a bastardized storage system that doesn’t really fit anything you own.  You’ll curse and swear at it every time you try to get something off the shelves or out of the too-small space or worse if you have to separate things to make them fit…

Plus it can be unsafe.

I relocated cupboards and custom built storage shelving from the old space into the new, needing to modify some to fit the new locations in order to allow the cars to fit in the garage alongside the ‘stuff’ and I took the time to paint the lower sections of shelving and cabinetry white to make it brighter and more easy to see where everything is.  Again, your stuff needs to be accessible to you when you need it.  Then I began the process of collecting the related items and putting them away in their places.  Trying my best to order and group them as I went along.

I’m guessing by now you can see why this process takes time, but also why you keep putting off doing it.  It isn’t easy.  I didn’t say it was.  It is necessary though if you want to get a handle on your crap; your stuff; your belongings and your ties to all of it. It’s an investment in you.  And that is important.

I’m not finished out there yet.  I don’t know if I will ever truly be finished organizing and storing my belongings to get them the way they need to be for me to feel like everything is finally in its place.

I think that’s the story of my life.  Probably of your life too if you stop and really think about it.  There are too few places where we feel like we belong in this world.  Where we know with absolute certainty that we are where we are supposed to be and doing what is really meaningful and important – to us and to those around us.  When you find one of those places, you need to stop and stay there awhile; take a good look around and touch the ground, the sky, the walls – feel it, know it, live it.  Become a part of that place, and make it yours.  Take it with you and keep it with you so you can fully be wherever it is you find yourself, knowing you are able to leave your mark along the way as you move through.  Even if its just for short periods of your spare time.

Maybe it’s your new garage – or your current one.  It might be your basement, or closet, or your desk or filing cabinet.  Pretty sure it’s your garden and flowerbeds and the front lawn.  And if you’re really being honest about it, it’s your life in general and the people you invite in and keep with you and those that somehow seem to find a way to stay in your life even though you know they shouldn’t be…

Chances are you have your share of pruning and weeding and cleaning up and dusting off to do too.  And you’ll soon have bags of last year’s debris on your curb, making room for next year’s too.  Renewal and change.

If you’ll excuse me, I know where I need to be right now.  You?

Uncertain Skies

Up until last week Spring didn’t seem to exist, but she was there in the shadows of the cool mornings and hidden within the flakes of snow and up in the grey clouds.  We get so used to seeing Spring being the outgoing, flamboyant, carefree spirit she usually is that when she arrives sullen and quiet and dressed in muted colours that it catches us by surprise and we stop for awhile concerned, wondering if she needs a moment or a shoulder or whether we should just let her figure things out on her own.

We’re learning that she can be like that.  Raised to be independent, she can handle herself, though she has her tender emotional side that she will let you see in rare glimpses if you are paying attention on those early mornings, the dew a reminder of how much she cares for all these things in the garden.  But she is a child of change and has been given the unenviable role of cleaning up Winter’s messes and bringing order to the chaos he left behind, a job she does with grace and beauty, usually, but this year she has been troubled and is struggling to find herself and dealing with emotions and feeling that she hasn’t had to face in some time.

She can be violent and it surprises all but those who know her closely – storms can rage behind her eyes so quickly and with such ferocity that you have only your instincts left to save you, automatic reactions of survival.  Then just as quickly calmness and serenity return with the certainty of songbird voices in the treetops.  We can be fooled by her fragility if we are not careful, and so we learn to watch her closely and softly prepare for any kind of weather, hoping for the bright sunny days and wrapping warmth that will usher us through to summer, but carrying a light jacket just in case.

No one said this season would be easy or simple or even pleasurable – the human need for labels and clear-cut angularity is not a natural requirement – balance? Yes, complete order and fairness? Not so much.  The best we can do is stand by and respond when called to act.  Take those clear blue, wonderful days and use them to our mutual advantage, planting seeds to reap later; taking the time to tidy up the fringes and edges that will always get ragged and uneven with normal wear and tear; touching up the paint and protecting those things we want to last.

And when she turns and suffers through her anger and rage, lashing out at those who love her, threatening harm and plowing destruction across her path we must stand firm in our resolve, knowing a kind heart and loving hand still exist under the dark, tumultuous skies; that behind eyes flashing with pure intensity and under booming baritone voice she is in there still, the gentle soul and laughing child who longs to be of service; the small, innocent wonder we remember.

And so we wait out the storms.