Progressing through these posts, one by one, with a little trepidation, and reading each only maybe twice through, first to read and then again to fix the most garish mistakes and not touch them again, after adding my two cents, or a dollar’s worth.
Of these days of early spring I do recall but hazily, as consumed was my mind on that leaving of a friend. Even now, writing this, I have tears threatening to burst through, wandering in my mind and tripping over those many smiles and belly laughs and deep meandering conversations we had, of Sofie farts, and a person who asked me only to be this me, gave me the courage to be this me, and for that I am grateful.
photos from March 9th, 2018
I admit the last few days I have stumbled over how to describe this sorrow I feel at D3 not being just right around the corner, the loss of wood shavings over everything you had on if ever you graced the inner sanctum of his world, his workshop, of Sof, and frosty mugs of beer and the sound of vinyl on his old record player, the loss of things that I miss, and profoundly, surprisingly, deeply.
This post is I guess about routines, and that bog standard stuff, but it is as much a post about what I couldn’t say, what did I say, or post, instead? Well, let us see – BEFORE: just Rose and I, and AFTER: Making Space For Better Things – em, I really didn’t know till I just took a look.
Which, from a certain angle, was actually what I needed, more and less, to make space for better things, different things, and that I got.
You can become too reliant, on people, places, things. I know they are important, yet I am an introvert and people are not often my cuppa, well, and that I’ve always believed that who you truly are is who you would be if everything you had was taken from you, and I have always asked myself that, and made my choices on the answers, or made my changes. As an introvert one can be prone to solitude becoming lonely, space becoming emptiness, and quiet becomes voiceless.
Routines, yes, I suppose they order the mind, and mine can be rather cluttered and too focused on details, and not enough BIG picture. They give us space for our grief, our joy, our good things, our bad things, our loves and lives and little bits and bobs we revere, or fear, and force us to not carry unnecessary gear. With D3 gone I have had to change, and I guess this post is about that, the beginning of, and the acknowledgement, kind of a pause to look around, if only a short pause.
You know, I’m thinking as well that my early mornings probably started 6 years ago when Tim was dying, in those last months, it was that time I needed to watch the dawn rise, in quiet, coffee in hand, writing in my journal of the days before, or just watching the world out that Cottage window out to the lake and the trees beyond, wondering what was to come, before the nurse, or the social worker, or the appointment to go to, or the hospital, and as the days grew nye to his last, to wait, to care, to stand behind him as he shaved his face, holding him up.
My time, even now, still, I awoke this morning at 5 AM. Oh, routines, they have saved me. And now, a pause, a look around. Which reminds me, I need to listen to the radio more (note to self). So this post isn’t about D3, but that was on my mind and is this morning, but I know what happens next, maybe I’m stalling.
From March 17th, 2018
You know, I’ve been getting up way too early of late. Most mornings well before the dawn cracks, regardless of when I went to bed.
Call it age, menopause, or perhaps the dog, as it would appear our bladders are on the same pee schedule. Unfortunately, her needs require me to actually wake up and wear pants for. So, well, then I am up. So she starts bouncing at the door, back and forth, and I can hear the whining coming through the open door, so I let her in. Well, at this point I am well and surely up.
Almost some mornings, or, er, nights, it is like I do not want to miss anything, and my body is up before my mind, and when my mind awakes it takes me back to exactly where I left off the night before. Well, unless I was drunk, and then I beg it for mercy.
Given that on occasion throughout the week, I work at 6AM, my body is all like well what!! I thought you liked getting up at this time” ?
So, yeah, I’m up. So what do I do? I watch stupid video’s, scroll through Facebook, looking at the same shite I saw just the night before, generally 6 hours before, as that seems to be the magic number, 6. Six hours of sleep is what my body has determined is optimum, that or 3:30AM, whichever comes first. Seriously, when I work the late shift to 9PM the night before, I am doomed the next day to awake at that magic hour of 3:33. All the time.
Course, if I think back, I recall Grandma mentioning this, how her ageing internal clock began to wake her earlier and earlier, finally having to put her foot down at 5AM, just in time for the CBC Radio News, whilst having her ritual bowl of Oatmeal.
Mornings with Grandma where Peter Gzowski in the morning, listening to his voice, which I can almost hear still, a murmuring away in the background, talking about things I didn’t understand, but that Grandma found engaging, and would sometimes include me in, like making a statement to me, this child, treating me as if I were older, an equal. It was glorious.
Now, call me a liar, what I do? Just re-read this post, and it had me thinkin’. You know, maybe why D3 comes to mind as he sometimes reminds me of grandma, little weird, with a circle of close and dear friends, always listening to the CBC, eclectic music tastes, independent-minded, and those are qualities of both I miss, I cherish, I admire, of ‘cobwebs in your corners not your mind‘ kind of person.
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