(I could have used a story I had written a few years ago called “Remembering Wondering Moments”, but I was inspired to push the envelop and expand on that piece. It didn’t work. Too many examples made it confusing and unclear. I learnt that it is better to stick with a few examples that are linked with a common theme. Less is better.)
I don’t remember when I first became aware of the subjects of reincarnation or paranormal phenomenon. As a child growing up in Calgary, they were not subjects of conversation in our household. I do know that I have always been comfortable with the ideas. Something rang true to me, made sense and seemed a natural fit with my developing belief system.
Perhaps it was the atmosphere of acceptance in our household. Growing up, it was a common experience to hear those dejavu type stories from my dad. I remember him coming home from a plumbing job and telling us that he remembered the house he had been at that day. Although he had never been there before, it was familiar and he told the owner where everything was. I remember my mom would patiently, politely listen to my dad, never saying much, so I don’t really know what she really thought.
One time, when I was living in Vancouver, I was in the hospital for gall bladder surgery. Just as I was waking up back in my hospital room, I remember saying out loud, “How do you think I feel, I just had surgery?” No one was there. The next time I was back in Calgary for a visit, my mom and dad asked me if anything strange had happened the day I had surgery and I told them what happened. Then they told me their story. According to them, when dad got home from work, he went to sit in his favorite chair in the living room and instantly found himself in my hospital room in Vancouver and had asked me how I was feeling. We left the experience at that.
In 1982, my dad was diagnosed with cancer. Doctors operated and found that the cancer had spread extensively so they closed him up. They treated him with heavy doses of chemotherapy and sent him home. Weak and frustrated he spent hours as he tried his best to clean out the garage, not wanting to leave mom with the job.
After dads surgery, I returned home to Vancouver. A couple weeks later my mom phoned to tell us that dad was missing. He had said he was going for a walk and didn’t return. A transit bus driver came forward when he saw the story and picture on the front page of the Calgary newspaper. He remembered my dad because he had to wake him up at the end of the line in Bowness. Someone else had seen and talked to him. When I went out to the kitchen after that phone call, I noticed a match book square in the middle of the floor at least 6 feet from the counter. A mystery with no logical explanation as to how it got there. I took it as a sign from my dad.
I stayed in Vancouver on the off chance that dad might be making his way to see me. I contacted everyone in my circle of physic friends. I was told that he was near a body of water. Part of me still didn’t want to hear the truth.
The very next day as I was driving along, I noticed a funeral procession directly behind me. An experience that I had never had before and have not had since. I gave thanks to my dad for preparing me.
Mom phoned with the news that they had found dads body in the Bow River.
I knew that my dad’s family was Anglican but I don’t remember my dad ever going to church. So at the funeral when the Anglican minister started getting into heavy religious comments that didn’t reflect who my dad was at all, I started getting angry. Just then the minister used my dad’s brother’s name, Gordon, by mistake. It was an appropriate moment, as my uncle did go to church regularly. Again, my dad was taking care of me from beyond saving the day.
In the weeks after dad’s funeral we tackled the garage. What do you do with 17 toilet tank lids of various colors that we found stored in the rafters! Dad’s fellow plumbers came to the rescue and hauled away truck loads of stuff.
Growing up I always thought the youngest of my dad’s 4 brothers, Gordon, was the ‘black sheep’ of the family. A real momma’s boy, he always lived at home with his parents. On a vacation to Australia one year he came back with a wife. Auntie Margaret and Uncle Gordon moved to Victoria. We rarely saw them. Years later they got a divorce.
When his bothers in Calgary heard that Gordon was in the Victoria Hospice, they asked if I could spent time visiting him as there was no way they could come. I barely recognized him when I arrived. I traveled back and forth staying over night on the pull out sofa beds set up on the hospice ward. The hospice volunteer was surprised to meet me, as Uncle Gordon had told her that he didn’t have any family. I learned from other visitors that Uncle Gordon was well known and a well liked fixture in the local mall. I enjoyed getting to know Uncle Gordon.
The hospice nurse phoned me at home in Vancouver to let me know that Uncle Gordon had slipped into a coma and that the end was near. I spent those last days sitting with him, playing music and reading to him. One morning the nurse woke me up in the family room to let me know the time was near. She was back in a couple minutes to say he was gone. Just as he was in life, he chose a moment when he was alone. I made a few phone calls. Arrangements in place, I headed back to Vancouver.
Ralph and I went to Victoria the day before the funeral, or so we thought. We were representing the family that was back in Calgary. On the ferry I saw the obituary in the Victoria newspaper – the funeral was that day. What a helpless feeling. When we got off the ferry we made a couple of phone calls to find out that they had left us messages on our answering machine to let us know the date had been changed. We had checked our answering machine and heard no messages. Once we got back home, we listened to the answering machine again and all the messages were there. So Uncle Gordon had gotten his way after all, no family.
I marvel at the timing of this topic being on the heels of the Memoirs Writing class
homework assignment where I noticed that it is my dad’s side of the family that is connected to these kinds of ‘wonder’ moments.
Bizarre stories to some. I always wonder where our lives would have taken us if we had explored these connections further. I trust that some day the answers will be revealed. For now, I will just patiently, politely wait as I wonder. Wink.
By Lynn Keeling
Jan 30, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
WONDER WINKS
I could have used a story I had written a few years ago called “Remembering Wondering Moments”, but I was inspired to push the envelope and expand on that piece.
Thinking back, I remember a moment as a young child when I decided to stop being the person everyone came to for counseling. I remember clearly, saying to myself, “I’ll grow up when I’m 40”. So, I turned myself off and instantly people stopped coming to me. I wonder what would have happened if I had continued on the path I was on.
I grew up in a household where my dad would come home from a plumbing job with stories like how he remembered a house he had worked in that day. Although he had never been there before it was familiar and he knew where everything was. Bizarre experiences to some. My mother would patiently, politely listen, never saying much so I don’t really know what she thought. I was always comfortable with the idea of reincarnation, somehow it just all made sense to me.
There was the time that I was living in Vancouver and was having surgery. Back in my hospital room, I remember saying out loud “How do you think I feel, I’ve just had surgery”, because someone had just asked me how I was feeling. No one was there. The next time I was back home in Calgary for a visit, my mom and dad asked me if anything strange had happened the day I had surgery and I told them what happened. The story according to them was that when my dad got home from work, he went to sit in his favorite chair in the living room and instantly found himself in my hospital room in Vancouver and had asked me how I was feeling. We left the experience at that. I wonder where our lives would have taken us if we had explored these connections further.
Volumes could be written about my 13 years living with Alan. A friend of mine in Quesnel, had phoned me in Toronto, asking if her co worker could stay with me while he was attending a Crisis Line conference. Off we went to pick him up at the airport. Alan said that there was a spark that shot between us when he first saw me. I hadn’t noticed being that I was with my boyfriend, Dean, who had kindly agreed to drive us. I had brought along my housemate, Bonnie, for Alan. Long story, short – I soon moved to Quesnel and started my life with Alan.
Years later, when mom phoned to tell us that my dad was missing, I found a match book in the middle of the kitchen floor. The next day I was driving along and noticed a funeral procession behind me. Signs from Dad, preparing me. Mom phoned the next day to tell us they had found my dads body.
During these years I took reflexology workshops and other various healing workshops. One day after on course in Vancouver, I missed my exit driving home to Langley. I found myself driving down a road – clear blue sky and sunshine on the Vancouver side of the road and dark stormy clouds on the Langley side. Clearly, I was being shown an obvious choice to make, in my eyes. I spent a few more years in the stormy relationship. Wonderful moments mixed in; working at Expo 86, winning a Lincoln Town Car on a scratch and win ticket, and more time with his sister, Brenda, and her family and all the other relatives.
Magical moments like the morning I drove the nieces and nephews to school. The light had turned green, yet I stayed put for some reason, even with the oldest telling me the light was green and that I could go. Just then, an 18 wheeler roared though the intersection in front of us. Another moment to wonder about.
When I finally left Alan, we were on a trip and had stopped for gas in Keremeos. I refused to get back in the car. The next day I caught a Greyhound bus back to Langley. There in the parking lot of the bus depot was our car, Alan was no where to be seen. He later said that he had gone to the bakery across the street. I jumped in the car and took off, stopping at our basement suite to load up as much as I could in a few minutes. This lead me on the most magical journey, that lead me to a transition house. The next day, each person I talked to on the phone, gave me another number to phone. Then I was to call back in an hour, so I went and sat on the beach at White Rock. There was this dog that ran first one way and then back the other way, sometimes running out into the water chasing the sea gull shadows. So free. Eventually a man came wandering by. He was the dog’s owner or I should say the dog was his owner. The story was that his wife and him had moved to a condo and had given the dog to his son and family. The dog had run away twice and had found his way back to them. A precious moment I remember well.
Back to make yet another phone call. I was told that there was a bed available, and asked if I wanted it. I had to say the most difficult word I had ever said, “yes”. I planned to spend one night and get all the information I was looking for – what my rights were, options, etc. Long story short, I stayed there for a month. There was a reference list of programs. One I called was Relationships Anonymous to be told that they had stopped meeting 2 years ago, but the lady told me about weekly co-dependency meetings at the Vancouver Unity Church. Another 8 week course called Gemini interested me because it is my Zodiac sign. It started the next day. It turned out to be a self assertive, self awareness course on polishing the Gem In I. I loved it.
I went to the Unity Church on Mothers Day, mostly to get information on the Wednesday evening co-dependency group. I felt like I had come home. The minister was talking directly to me. On the ride home every song on the radio was healing, meaningful, up lifting. Once I got back to Surrey, I sat in my car to keep listening to the songs. The next song had nothing to do with anything, the moment was over.
One week the minister said to make a list of things we want to do then to go out and do them. That was the day I met Ralph. After the service, I noticed him a few rows in front of me and heard the thought in my head, “you’ve seen that man a few times now you should say Hi to him”. At coffee downstairs, he came and stood right beside the chair I was sitting in, so I jumped up and told him a little voice had told me upstairs that I should say Hi to him. We introduced ourselves and chatted for a minute. Later, in the parking lot, I noticed that he was riding a motorcycle and that would be on my list, so I told him he needed to take me for a ride sometime. A few weeks later I got my ride and we have been happily together for 18 years. He is all my dreams come true in one bundle. My own balloon animal maker. My 13 years with Alan put me in the right place at the right time to meet Ralph. I wonder if we would have met if I had left Alan sooner.
There has and continues to be even more wonder ah ha moments through the years.
At Norah’s memorial service 4 of us honored Norah and her drum with a drumming session. Someone noticed a rainbow outside – not one, but five. One vibrant brilliant one and 4 muted ones below it, one for Norah and one for each of the 4 of us. Perfectly in line with the entrance to her condo building where the reception was.
We missed Uncle Gordon’s funeral in Victoria. I was to represent the family that was back in Calgary. We didn’t get the answering machine messages telling us the date had been changed. We were on the ferry when I saw the obituary in the Victoria paper saying the service was at that exact moment. What a helpless feeling. Once we got back home, we listened to the answering machine again and all the messages were there. My uncles doing! I wonder? He was a loner, the black sheep of the family.
At Bernie’s memorial service at the Minoru Seniors Centre today, the microphone died. A sign from Bernie, that it was time to end the stories and have coffee and cookies.
I am wondering if I am supposed to attend the Ama Deus workshop next weekend. The brochure talks about the Mayan culture and that same day I got a travel email about a Mayan resort. The instructor’s last name is Spano and a couple days later I saw that name again totally unrelated to her workshop. Are these signs that I am supposed to attend? I wonder. Wow, on Friday at the ladies Tai Chi lunch, as I was reading the menu at Moxy’s restaurant, there was Mayan again. Shaking my head here, wondering.
The timing of this topic being on the heels of the homework assignment at the Memoirs Writing class at Cambie makes me wonder. We were to write about a dead relative that influenced us and I had noticed that it is my dad’s side of the family that is connected to these kinds of Wonder moments. And that I had already written a story about Wonder which I haven’t even included in this piece. I wonder why.
Magical coincidences that prove to me that I truly am in the right place at the right time.
Looking back, I wonder what path my life would have taken if I had become the nurse I had thought I would be. Would I have found the healing energy work. Did that choice make it necessary for me to be a patient to find a medical institution that taught Therapeutic Touch and had a Relaxation Group program.
My 40th birthday has come and gone. I’ll be 60 this May and I am still wondering if I have grown up yet. I trust that some day the answers to all these questions will be revealed. For now, I will just patiently, politely wait as I wonder. Wink.
By Lynn Keeling Jan. 2009
Thinking back, I remember a moment as a young child when I decided to stop being the person everyone came to for counseling. I remember clearly, saying to myself, “I’ll grow up when I’m 40”. So, I turned myself off and instantly people stopped coming to me. I wonder what would have happened if I had continued on the path I was on.
I grew up in a household where my dad would come home from a plumbing job with stories like how he remembered a house he had worked in that day. Although he had never been there before it was familiar and he knew where everything was. Bizarre experiences to some. My mother would patiently, politely listen, never saying much so I don’t really know what she thought. I was always comfortable with the idea of reincarnation, somehow it just all made sense to me.
There was the time that I was living in Vancouver and was having surgery. Back in my hospital room, I remember saying out loud “How do you think I feel, I’ve just had surgery”, because someone had just asked me how I was feeling. No one was there. The next time I was back home in Calgary for a visit, my mom and dad asked me if anything strange had happened the day I had surgery and I told them what happened. The story according to them was that when my dad got home from work, he went to sit in his favorite chair in the living room and instantly found himself in my hospital room in Vancouver and had asked me how I was feeling. We left the experience at that. I wonder where our lives would have taken us if we had explored these connections further.
Volumes could be written about my 13 years living with Alan. A friend of mine in Quesnel, had phoned me in Toronto, asking if her co worker could stay with me while he was attending a Crisis Line conference. Off we went to pick him up at the airport. Alan said that there was a spark that shot between us when he first saw me. I hadn’t noticed being that I was with my boyfriend, Dean, who had kindly agreed to drive us. I had brought along my housemate, Bonnie, for Alan. Long story, short – I soon moved to Quesnel and started my life with Alan.
Years later, when mom phoned to tell us that my dad was missing, I found a match book in the middle of the kitchen floor. The next day I was driving along and noticed a funeral procession behind me. Signs from Dad, preparing me. Mom phoned the next day to tell us they had found my dads body.
During these years I took reflexology workshops and other various healing workshops. One day after on course in Vancouver, I missed my exit driving home to Langley. I found myself driving down a road – clear blue sky and sunshine on the Vancouver side of the road and dark stormy clouds on the Langley side. Clearly, I was being shown an obvious choice to make, in my eyes. I spent a few more years in the stormy relationship. Wonderful moments mixed in; working at Expo 86, winning a Lincoln Town Car on a scratch and win ticket, and more time with his sister, Brenda, and her family and all the other relatives.
Magical moments like the morning I drove the nieces and nephews to school. The light had turned green, yet I stayed put for some reason, even with the oldest telling me the light was green and that I could go. Just then, an 18 wheeler roared though the intersection in front of us. Another moment to wonder about.
When I finally left Alan, we were on a trip and had stopped for gas in Keremeos. I refused to get back in the car. The next day I caught a Greyhound bus back to Langley. There in the parking lot of the bus depot was our car, Alan was no where to be seen. He later said that he had gone to the bakery across the street. I jumped in the car and took off, stopping at our basement suite to load up as much as I could in a few minutes. This lead me on the most magical journey, that lead me to a transition house. The next day, each person I talked to on the phone, gave me another number to phone. Then I was to call back in an hour, so I went and sat on the beach at White Rock. There was this dog that ran first one way and then back the other way, sometimes running out into the water chasing the sea gull shadows. So free. Eventually a man came wandering by. He was the dog’s owner or I should say the dog was his owner. The story was that his wife and him had moved to a condo and had given the dog to his son and family. The dog had run away twice and had found his way back to them. A precious moment I remember well.
Back to make yet another phone call. I was told that there was a bed available, and asked if I wanted it. I had to say the most difficult word I had ever said, “yes”. I planned to spend one night and get all the information I was looking for – what my rights were, options, etc. Long story short, I stayed there for a month. There was a reference list of programs. One I called was Relationships Anonymous to be told that they had stopped meeting 2 years ago, but the lady told me about weekly co-dependency meetings at the Vancouver Unity Church. Another 8 week course called Gemini interested me because it is my Zodiac sign. It started the next day. It turned out to be a self assertive, self awareness course on polishing the Gem In I. I loved it.
I went to the Unity Church on Mothers Day, mostly to get information on the Wednesday evening co-dependency group. I felt like I had come home. The minister was talking directly to me. On the ride home every song on the radio was healing, meaningful, up lifting. Once I got back to Surrey, I sat in my car to keep listening to the songs. The next song had nothing to do with anything, the moment was over.
One week the minister said to make a list of things we want to do then to go out and do them. That was the day I met Ralph. After the service, I noticed him a few rows in front of me and heard the thought in my head, “you’ve seen that man a few times now you should say Hi to him”. At coffee downstairs, he came and stood right beside the chair I was sitting in, so I jumped up and told him a little voice had told me upstairs that I should say Hi to him. We introduced ourselves and chatted for a minute. Later, in the parking lot, I noticed that he was riding a motorcycle and that would be on my list, so I told him he needed to take me for a ride sometime. A few weeks later I got my ride and we have been happily together for 18 years. He is all my dreams come true in one bundle. My own balloon animal maker. My 13 years with Alan put me in the right place at the right time to meet Ralph. I wonder if we would have met if I had left Alan sooner.
There has and continues to be even more wonder ah ha moments through the years.
At Norah’s memorial service 4 of us honored Norah and her drum with a drumming session. Someone noticed a rainbow outside – not one, but five. One vibrant brilliant one and 4 muted ones below it, one for Norah and one for each of the 4 of us. Perfectly in line with the entrance to her condo building where the reception was.
We missed Uncle Gordon’s funeral in Victoria. I was to represent the family that was back in Calgary. We didn’t get the answering machine messages telling us the date had been changed. We were on the ferry when I saw the obituary in the Victoria paper saying the service was at that exact moment. What a helpless feeling. Once we got back home, we listened to the answering machine again and all the messages were there. My uncles doing! I wonder? He was a loner, the black sheep of the family.
At Bernie’s memorial service at the Minoru Seniors Centre today, the microphone died. A sign from Bernie, that it was time to end the stories and have coffee and cookies.
I am wondering if I am supposed to attend the Ama Deus workshop next weekend. The brochure talks about the Mayan culture and that same day I got a travel email about a Mayan resort. The instructor’s last name is Spano and a couple days later I saw that name again totally unrelated to her workshop. Are these signs that I am supposed to attend? I wonder. Wow, on Friday at the ladies Tai Chi lunch, as I was reading the menu at Moxy’s restaurant, there was Mayan again. Shaking my head here, wondering.
The timing of this topic being on the heels of the homework assignment at the Memoirs Writing class at Cambie makes me wonder. We were to write about a dead relative that influenced us and I had noticed that it is my dad’s side of the family that is connected to these kinds of Wonder moments. And that I had already written a story about Wonder which I haven’t even included in this piece. I wonder why.
Magical coincidences that prove to me that I truly am in the right place at the right time.
Looking back, I wonder what path my life would have taken if I had become the nurse I had thought I would be. Would I have found the healing energy work. Did that choice make it necessary for me to be a patient to find a medical institution that taught Therapeutic Touch and had a Relaxation Group program.
My 40th birthday has come and gone. I’ll be 60 this May and I am still wondering if I have grown up yet. I trust that some day the answers to all these questions will be revealed. For now, I will just patiently, politely wait as I wonder. Wink.
By Lynn Keeling Jan. 2009
WONDER
Definition: Wonder (wun`der) – n.- a feeling of amazement or admiration v. – to feel admiration; to feel uncertainty.
Synonyms: - speculate, doubt, question, be unsure, conjecture.
How many words can you make from the letters in the word ‘wonder’? There’s won, on, one, Don, Ron, done, red, rod, roe, row, rode, rend, now, new, no, nod, doe, nor, ore, or, ode, dew, wore, wed, worn, word.
The process of wondering can be linked with making choices, decisions. I wonder what I should do, what choice I should make. I wonder what will be the best decision. Should I or shouldn’t I.
Then once I have made a choice, I wonder if I made the right decision. I wonder what would have happened if I had made the other choice. I wonder if maybe there were other choices that I could have made that I wasn’t even aware of.
Simple choices, like which item to order from the menu in a restaurant turns into a complicated over intellectualized turmoil. Once the choice is made, I still wonder if I made the right choice. Is it what I really want! Will it satisfy me! Will it satisfy my craving! Will I wish I had ordered something different!
I wonder why my decisions around choices are often influence by the cost. Money is often the deciding factor that sways my decision making process. Trade off’s, on the balance sheet of wants.
I even wonder what decisions I would make when I win the lottery, living a life where money was no object. I wonder when and where I should buy a lottery ticket. I wonder if I am supposed to be playing the same numbers, or if my winning ticket will be a quick pick. I wonder when I am going to win. What choices will I make with the money I win!
Then there is the wonder of nature. It is amazing. There are fragrances, colors, textures. So many things to wonder about, like one word – green, for so many different colors.
And have you ever wondered why! Why me! Why not me! Why you! Why not you!
Even wondered why someone liked or disliked me! What did I do wrong, right!
How can I be unsure when I speculate on the question of the doubt I conjectured.
I wonder.
January 2009
Synonyms: - speculate, doubt, question, be unsure, conjecture.
How many words can you make from the letters in the word ‘wonder’? There’s won, on, one, Don, Ron, done, red, rod, roe, row, rode, rend, now, new, no, nod, doe, nor, ore, or, ode, dew, wore, wed, worn, word.
The process of wondering can be linked with making choices, decisions. I wonder what I should do, what choice I should make. I wonder what will be the best decision. Should I or shouldn’t I.
Then once I have made a choice, I wonder if I made the right decision. I wonder what would have happened if I had made the other choice. I wonder if maybe there were other choices that I could have made that I wasn’t even aware of.
Simple choices, like which item to order from the menu in a restaurant turns into a complicated over intellectualized turmoil. Once the choice is made, I still wonder if I made the right choice. Is it what I really want! Will it satisfy me! Will it satisfy my craving! Will I wish I had ordered something different!
I wonder why my decisions around choices are often influence by the cost. Money is often the deciding factor that sways my decision making process. Trade off’s, on the balance sheet of wants.
I even wonder what decisions I would make when I win the lottery, living a life where money was no object. I wonder when and where I should buy a lottery ticket. I wonder if I am supposed to be playing the same numbers, or if my winning ticket will be a quick pick. I wonder when I am going to win. What choices will I make with the money I win!
Then there is the wonder of nature. It is amazing. There are fragrances, colors, textures. So many things to wonder about, like one word – green, for so many different colors.
And have you ever wondered why! Why me! Why not me! Why you! Why not you!
Even wondered why someone liked or disliked me! What did I do wrong, right!
How can I be unsure when I speculate on the question of the doubt I conjectured.
I wonder.
January 2009
WHEN DID THEY FEEL THAT THEY BECAME ADULTS
ADULT – n.- a man or woman who is fully grown; a mature person. Adj. - having reached full size and strength.
SENIOR – adj. – being the older of two; of higher office or rank; referring to the last year of high school or college. N.- one who is older or of higher rank.
Growing up I was led to believe that the magic age of 18 made me an adult. Just as 13 made me a teenager, 16 allowed me to drive, 18 to sign up to go to war or to get married. 21 back then, now 18, to vote. Legal drinking age was 21 lowered to 18 or 19 depending where you were.
As a teenager I thought I knew everything and that adults were dumb. I remember thinking that my mom was old and done when she turned 40.
Then my 18th birthday came and went. Over the years I began to see how stupid I’d been, the big know it all that I believed me to be. I soon understood how patient the adults had been, seeing all after all.
Years of school learning to prepare for adulthood. I played my role well for family and friends by getting married at age 21. What was supposed to be for life lasted 2 years, so much for school teaching me how to live life.
The rest of my 20’s were spent acting like a teenager, years that I had lost because I was so shy. A period of my life when I regressed, acting like a kid, instead of acting my age. 25 was huge for I thought that a ¼ of a century was a hell of a long time. For many years I would glide back and forth from what I still called home to living on my own. I would arrive with my suitcase full of laundry for my mom to do, taking advantage in so many ways. Always leaving with care packages and money too.
Advice I rejected, as I was still rebelling. Still using my parents, while trying to break free from their grasp. Wanting to grow up, yet scared to be me. Still trying to succeed by pleasing society. Learning by trial and error as I tread through my life, for none of my schooling had taught me a thing I could use.
On through my 30’s, then I turned 40, and no surprise, it’s not old after all. Still wondering when adulthood would begin, I wandered through life. The ½ century mark has come and gone. Starting to enjoy the senior’s discounts offered at 55, 62 or 65 depending on which restaurant you are in, as well as monthly senior’s movies to be enjoyed too.
This year will 60, collecting C.P.P. Then comes 65 and the O.A.S pension, well you know the rest. No sense in speeding up the process, for just like mom said, “The years go by faster, the older you get.”
I thought the dictionary might help answer your question, but now I’m confused, for you see it’s well known that when you get older you shrink and get weaker. So now I am wondering if the moment of becoming an ‘adult’ is when you have reached full size and strength and has nothing to do with emotional maturity after all.
By Lynn Keeling (Feb 10, 2009)
SENIOR – adj. – being the older of two; of higher office or rank; referring to the last year of high school or college. N.- one who is older or of higher rank.
Growing up I was led to believe that the magic age of 18 made me an adult. Just as 13 made me a teenager, 16 allowed me to drive, 18 to sign up to go to war or to get married. 21 back then, now 18, to vote. Legal drinking age was 21 lowered to 18 or 19 depending where you were.
As a teenager I thought I knew everything and that adults were dumb. I remember thinking that my mom was old and done when she turned 40.
Then my 18th birthday came and went. Over the years I began to see how stupid I’d been, the big know it all that I believed me to be. I soon understood how patient the adults had been, seeing all after all.
Years of school learning to prepare for adulthood. I played my role well for family and friends by getting married at age 21. What was supposed to be for life lasted 2 years, so much for school teaching me how to live life.
The rest of my 20’s were spent acting like a teenager, years that I had lost because I was so shy. A period of my life when I regressed, acting like a kid, instead of acting my age. 25 was huge for I thought that a ¼ of a century was a hell of a long time. For many years I would glide back and forth from what I still called home to living on my own. I would arrive with my suitcase full of laundry for my mom to do, taking advantage in so many ways. Always leaving with care packages and money too.
Advice I rejected, as I was still rebelling. Still using my parents, while trying to break free from their grasp. Wanting to grow up, yet scared to be me. Still trying to succeed by pleasing society. Learning by trial and error as I tread through my life, for none of my schooling had taught me a thing I could use.
On through my 30’s, then I turned 40, and no surprise, it’s not old after all. Still wondering when adulthood would begin, I wandered through life. The ½ century mark has come and gone. Starting to enjoy the senior’s discounts offered at 55, 62 or 65 depending on which restaurant you are in, as well as monthly senior’s movies to be enjoyed too.
This year will 60, collecting C.P.P. Then comes 65 and the O.A.S pension, well you know the rest. No sense in speeding up the process, for just like mom said, “The years go by faster, the older you get.”
I thought the dictionary might help answer your question, but now I’m confused, for you see it’s well known that when you get older you shrink and get weaker. So now I am wondering if the moment of becoming an ‘adult’ is when you have reached full size and strength and has nothing to do with emotional maturity after all.
By Lynn Keeling (Feb 10, 2009)
UNCLE BILL AND AUNTIE DOT
I don’t remember my dads’ parents working, not like my moms parents. It was always exciting to go visit moms side of the family. Memories of helping in the restaurant by slicing dill pickles for grandma and then visiting the small hotel they owned in Carsland, Alberta. How exciting to go into the bar after hours of course. There were meals shared with the road construction crew that paid for room and board. I still remember the cribbage game with one of these men. He counted the points so fast it scared me. The hands and game were over in an instant it seemed. We were always looking forward to these visits, knowing that we would be leaving with another silver dollar from granddad. Mom’s 2 brothers were married with lots of kids. Good time memories of visits playing with our cousins and lots of food.
Then there were visits to dads side of the family which could be labeled ‘obligation visits’. There was games and good food. Once granddad Keeling tried giving us a silver dollar when we were leaving, it felt like he was trying to buy us. It wasn’t the same.
Uncle Gordon, my dad’s youngest brother now in his 40’s, still lived at home. I considered him as the black sheep of the family. He traveled to far off countries on his vacations from his job at the post office. One year he came back from Australia married. He got a transfer and Aunt Margaret and he moved to Victoria, BC. I guess she didn’t want to live with my grandparents.
There was also dad’s other 2 brothers, Bill and John. Uncle John and Aunt Irene had 2 children, Wayne and Janice. Uncle Bill and Auntie Dot spent most of their married life in Timmons, Ontario where he worked as a mailman. They had no children.
This is the 1st time that I have noticed the parallels. 4 boys, 2 married with 2 children each and the other 2 married with no children and both worked for the post office.
When the family in Calgary, found out that Uncle Gordon was in the Victoria Hospice, they asked if I could go visit being I lived in Vancouver. It was at these visits that I got to know another side of Uncle Gordon. The hospice ward in the hospital is beautiful. They had rooms with pull out beds where I slept overnight and bagels, muffins, coffee and tea in the mornings.
It didn’t surprise me when I introduced myself to the hospice volunteer as Gordon’s niece from Vancouver, visiting on behalf of his brothers and family in Calgary, that he had told her that he didn’t have any family. I met some of his visitors and learned that Uncle Gordon was a well known regular at the mall.
I headed back to Vancouver the day he died. There was a retired minister, an old family friend that was taking care of all the arrangements on my uncle’s request. Ralph and I would be back for the funeral to represent the family.
We were on the ferry to Victoria the day before the service planning to camp out, leaving nothing to chance. I had been checking the Victoria newspaper obits and there it was, only the service was that very day. What a useless devastating feeling, being stuck on the ferry with no way to get there on time.
Later that day, I talked to a couple of people to find out that they had both phoned us and had left messages on the answering machine about the change of day. We had checked our messages and not heard any from them. When we got home, we checked again, and sure enough, the messages were there. Clearly Uncle Gordon didn’t want us there.
When I started this story, I thought it was going to be about Uncle Bill and Auntie Dot. They must have come to Calgary for holidays over the years. I don’t remember much about them. I went to Timmons once to visit them. They took me to friends with them for card night and taught me to play Euchre.
They moved to Calgary when he retired to be closer to family. My visits to Calgary would always include a visit to see them in their apartment. Ralph and I enjoyed these visits and looked forward to them. My mom seemed to see it as an obligation.
Uncle Bill was living with cancer and had a paid nurse visiting daily to help him. Auntie Dot drifted away diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. I witnessed their love connections wrapped in patience and compassion. The time came when they had to make the move to the Bethany Hospital where they lived on different wards. Uncle Bill would take us to the Alzheimer’s ward to visit Auntie Dot. She still seemed to be connected to him somehow trusting him and always wanting him to take her with him when he left. I can’t imagine how hard the end of these many visits must have been for both of them.
I strive to love even half as much as this wonderful example of the purest love I have ever witnessed.
By Lynn Keeling
February 15, 2009
Then there were visits to dads side of the family which could be labeled ‘obligation visits’. There was games and good food. Once granddad Keeling tried giving us a silver dollar when we were leaving, it felt like he was trying to buy us. It wasn’t the same.
Uncle Gordon, my dad’s youngest brother now in his 40’s, still lived at home. I considered him as the black sheep of the family. He traveled to far off countries on his vacations from his job at the post office. One year he came back from Australia married. He got a transfer and Aunt Margaret and he moved to Victoria, BC. I guess she didn’t want to live with my grandparents.
There was also dad’s other 2 brothers, Bill and John. Uncle John and Aunt Irene had 2 children, Wayne and Janice. Uncle Bill and Auntie Dot spent most of their married life in Timmons, Ontario where he worked as a mailman. They had no children.
This is the 1st time that I have noticed the parallels. 4 boys, 2 married with 2 children each and the other 2 married with no children and both worked for the post office.
When the family in Calgary, found out that Uncle Gordon was in the Victoria Hospice, they asked if I could go visit being I lived in Vancouver. It was at these visits that I got to know another side of Uncle Gordon. The hospice ward in the hospital is beautiful. They had rooms with pull out beds where I slept overnight and bagels, muffins, coffee and tea in the mornings.
It didn’t surprise me when I introduced myself to the hospice volunteer as Gordon’s niece from Vancouver, visiting on behalf of his brothers and family in Calgary, that he had told her that he didn’t have any family. I met some of his visitors and learned that Uncle Gordon was a well known regular at the mall.
I headed back to Vancouver the day he died. There was a retired minister, an old family friend that was taking care of all the arrangements on my uncle’s request. Ralph and I would be back for the funeral to represent the family.
We were on the ferry to Victoria the day before the service planning to camp out, leaving nothing to chance. I had been checking the Victoria newspaper obits and there it was, only the service was that very day. What a useless devastating feeling, being stuck on the ferry with no way to get there on time.
Later that day, I talked to a couple of people to find out that they had both phoned us and had left messages on the answering machine about the change of day. We had checked our messages and not heard any from them. When we got home, we checked again, and sure enough, the messages were there. Clearly Uncle Gordon didn’t want us there.
When I started this story, I thought it was going to be about Uncle Bill and Auntie Dot. They must have come to Calgary for holidays over the years. I don’t remember much about them. I went to Timmons once to visit them. They took me to friends with them for card night and taught me to play Euchre.
They moved to Calgary when he retired to be closer to family. My visits to Calgary would always include a visit to see them in their apartment. Ralph and I enjoyed these visits and looked forward to them. My mom seemed to see it as an obligation.
Uncle Bill was living with cancer and had a paid nurse visiting daily to help him. Auntie Dot drifted away diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. I witnessed their love connections wrapped in patience and compassion. The time came when they had to make the move to the Bethany Hospital where they lived on different wards. Uncle Bill would take us to the Alzheimer’s ward to visit Auntie Dot. She still seemed to be connected to him somehow trusting him and always wanting him to take her with him when he left. I can’t imagine how hard the end of these many visits must have been for both of them.
I strive to love even half as much as this wonderful example of the purest love I have ever witnessed.
By Lynn Keeling
February 15, 2009
STILL WATER RUNS DEEP
Sometimes the universe offers to stir up the waters that run deep within each of us. Opportunities come our way to churn up and loosen the silt of our lives, allowing us to let go and release. For me, days or even weeks before a workshop of any sort, I’ll notice the stirrings begin, sometimes even before I have decided to attend said workshop. This wonderful process continues on at the workshop and then sometimes for long afterwards. As is the case with this story about the last T.T. workshop I assisted at.
I have attempted many times to put into words a description of the sequence of events that transpired that day. Nothing I write seems to ring true. I am aware that some words are just not ready to be written as yet, as I struggle with the resistance to write them, hence the healing continues even months later.
Part of the struggle is about wanting to display my words so they clearly speak what I am trying so hard to express. What I need to do is learn “Barack language”, that clear, concise way of weaving words together to inspire all that read me.
Until then, just know that energy shifted and there were many wonderful ah ha moments of awareness throughout the day.
I seized the moment and made the choice to practice what we teach, to honor myself and what I needed. Instead of me doing the upcoming demonstration of T.T., I asked to be the one receiving as I had a mild headache. This turned into a rich experience for all, as each of the students were invited to assess what the energy field was like on someone with a headache. It was a rich experience for me as well and I also learned a lot.
Having just received T.T., my deep waters were churning. Wanting to take off and be outside by myself for awhile, I chose instead to sit quietly in my own process as I was observing the students giving each other T.T. I questioned whether it was my stuff or someone else’s or a combination of both. I suspected both, which was confirmed later when we were all sharing. In the moment, I trusted that “this too shall pass”, and it did.
There are many characters in this story, some present and some not. There are many stories within this story that has links to many other stories all with different perspectives of the same workshop.
The T.T. process has truly enriched my life. I walk through this journey I am on grateful for all my special whirlpools that stir me up from deep within.
By Lynn Keeling
Feb 22, 2009
I have attempted many times to put into words a description of the sequence of events that transpired that day. Nothing I write seems to ring true. I am aware that some words are just not ready to be written as yet, as I struggle with the resistance to write them, hence the healing continues even months later.
Part of the struggle is about wanting to display my words so they clearly speak what I am trying so hard to express. What I need to do is learn “Barack language”, that clear, concise way of weaving words together to inspire all that read me.
Until then, just know that energy shifted and there were many wonderful ah ha moments of awareness throughout the day.
I seized the moment and made the choice to practice what we teach, to honor myself and what I needed. Instead of me doing the upcoming demonstration of T.T., I asked to be the one receiving as I had a mild headache. This turned into a rich experience for all, as each of the students were invited to assess what the energy field was like on someone with a headache. It was a rich experience for me as well and I also learned a lot.
Having just received T.T., my deep waters were churning. Wanting to take off and be outside by myself for awhile, I chose instead to sit quietly in my own process as I was observing the students giving each other T.T. I questioned whether it was my stuff or someone else’s or a combination of both. I suspected both, which was confirmed later when we were all sharing. In the moment, I trusted that “this too shall pass”, and it did.
There are many characters in this story, some present and some not. There are many stories within this story that has links to many other stories all with different perspectives of the same workshop.
The T.T. process has truly enriched my life. I walk through this journey I am on grateful for all my special whirlpools that stir me up from deep within.
By Lynn Keeling
Feb 22, 2009
LETTER TO ME
Throw me away. Let me go. Clear out the clutter. Give me a break. Haul me out. Give me away. Let me be used for what I was made. Think of the one with creative hands that breathed me, brought me to life. Don’t stick me away, never to see. Enjoy me, use me, let me be seen.
I’ll fit someone, I promise, just give me away. Let me delight both you and me. I’ll do a good job, release me, let go. Spread the wealth and it will flow.
Clean up your act. Clean out your closet’s, your cupboards and draws. Go through your piles, sort through your stuff.
What’s with the near empty toothpaste tube and bottles, the bits and pieces of soap, old toothbrushes, newspapers, magazines and books. So many unused or broken appliances and electronic gizmos, what should I do! Cottage cheese containers, peanut butter jars, coffee and cookie tins, egg cartons, recycled this and recycled that.
Clothes that don’t fit, some old and some new. Old favorites worn out, with no place to go. Some unworn, for they were saved for good. No room left to fit in the closet of life. Shoe’s piled up just in case there’s a need. There’s the newest pair for good, and the every day footwear, and then the pair that’s one step from the curb. There’s one sock from a pair patiently waiting and hoping to be reunited.
What’s that, that I see under the bed. Bits of material, bags full of stuff. Important I’m sure, just can’t remember when or what for.
And what’s with those new towels, pillows and blankets unused, waiting for their day. It’s been 2 years now, so what’s the deal. New toothbrushes lined up waiting their turn, but don’t throw out the old one for it might be needed for something new.
So many tapes, cd’s and books lining the shelves, piled here and there. The programs to learn to write this for you. Emails to read and delete, with some to keep in this file or that. Bills, junk mail, flyers galore! Coupons for this, to be kept just in case.
Clean up your dust, no time to rest. Daily chores that turn into more.
Things to sort out, spring clean from without. Things to sort out, to figure out. Why do I collect, clutter my life. Time to release, no time for peace. I clean out my life to turn a new page. I need to be saved.
By Lynn Keeling
Feb 9th, 2009
I’ll fit someone, I promise, just give me away. Let me delight both you and me. I’ll do a good job, release me, let go. Spread the wealth and it will flow.
Clean up your act. Clean out your closet’s, your cupboards and draws. Go through your piles, sort through your stuff.
What’s with the near empty toothpaste tube and bottles, the bits and pieces of soap, old toothbrushes, newspapers, magazines and books. So many unused or broken appliances and electronic gizmos, what should I do! Cottage cheese containers, peanut butter jars, coffee and cookie tins, egg cartons, recycled this and recycled that.
Clothes that don’t fit, some old and some new. Old favorites worn out, with no place to go. Some unworn, for they were saved for good. No room left to fit in the closet of life. Shoe’s piled up just in case there’s a need. There’s the newest pair for good, and the every day footwear, and then the pair that’s one step from the curb. There’s one sock from a pair patiently waiting and hoping to be reunited.
What’s that, that I see under the bed. Bits of material, bags full of stuff. Important I’m sure, just can’t remember when or what for.
And what’s with those new towels, pillows and blankets unused, waiting for their day. It’s been 2 years now, so what’s the deal. New toothbrushes lined up waiting their turn, but don’t throw out the old one for it might be needed for something new.
So many tapes, cd’s and books lining the shelves, piled here and there. The programs to learn to write this for you. Emails to read and delete, with some to keep in this file or that. Bills, junk mail, flyers galore! Coupons for this, to be kept just in case.
Clean up your dust, no time to rest. Daily chores that turn into more.
Things to sort out, spring clean from without. Things to sort out, to figure out. Why do I collect, clutter my life. Time to release, no time for peace. I clean out my life to turn a new page. I need to be saved.
By Lynn Keeling
Feb 9th, 2009
DOES WISDOM COME WITH AGE
The flood gates open and I am propelled into this world we are now in. I am tiny and helpless, dependent on others. Gradually growing, starting to explore and expanding my world. I’m comforted knowing my friends are near.
My connection shifts around 4 or 5 and my wisdom begins to fade. Part of me knows this connection is real, the confusion extends from this physical realm that I’m in. At this early age, I begin to realize that there’s a need to conform, for those on this side seemed to have forgotten their connection to this other world of mine. They don’t understand, so it’s easier you see, to let the memories just fade by the wayside.
So losing my wisdom, I continue to grow. This family of mine, here to teach me my lessons and schooling begins. Then through the years a hint here and there, people I meet that just seem so dear. Familiar places and de ja vu moments leave me wondering, have I been here before! Some knowings just click and fit right into place, a comforting truth that just seems to make sense.
This limited me makes choices and decides to take this path or that one leading me back to my home destination, back where I started from, the place of great wisdom where I understood the rhyme and the reason of my being here.
This limited body transforms and grows up, eventually I’ll end up where it begins to give up. Losing its form, dependent on others, I return to the start point where it all began. Then the veil is lifted, awake and aware, I begin to remember this great pool of ‘wisdom’ where I understood, what this classroom was for. With eyes wide open, awake and aware, I graduate from this school of life, back to my home base of knowledge where everything makes sense and the purpose is clear. I rejoice in uniting with those I have traveled with before.
It comforts me to believe this story is true, for it gives purpose to all that I’ve been though. So next time a wise one of 2, 3, 4 or 5 tells you their tales of the other side, sit down and listen, gently nudging them on. Who knows, it just might be real, for they are closer to the source and their souls are still pure. And while I’m still here, let me enjoy the wisdom I gain from the choices I make.
By Lynn Keeling
Feb 17th, 2009
My connection shifts around 4 or 5 and my wisdom begins to fade. Part of me knows this connection is real, the confusion extends from this physical realm that I’m in. At this early age, I begin to realize that there’s a need to conform, for those on this side seemed to have forgotten their connection to this other world of mine. They don’t understand, so it’s easier you see, to let the memories just fade by the wayside.
So losing my wisdom, I continue to grow. This family of mine, here to teach me my lessons and schooling begins. Then through the years a hint here and there, people I meet that just seem so dear. Familiar places and de ja vu moments leave me wondering, have I been here before! Some knowings just click and fit right into place, a comforting truth that just seems to make sense.
This limited me makes choices and decides to take this path or that one leading me back to my home destination, back where I started from, the place of great wisdom where I understood the rhyme and the reason of my being here.
This limited body transforms and grows up, eventually I’ll end up where it begins to give up. Losing its form, dependent on others, I return to the start point where it all began. Then the veil is lifted, awake and aware, I begin to remember this great pool of ‘wisdom’ where I understood, what this classroom was for. With eyes wide open, awake and aware, I graduate from this school of life, back to my home base of knowledge where everything makes sense and the purpose is clear. I rejoice in uniting with those I have traveled with before.
It comforts me to believe this story is true, for it gives purpose to all that I’ve been though. So next time a wise one of 2, 3, 4 or 5 tells you their tales of the other side, sit down and listen, gently nudging them on. Who knows, it just might be real, for they are closer to the source and their souls are still pure. And while I’m still here, let me enjoy the wisdom I gain from the choices I make.
By Lynn Keeling
Feb 17th, 2009
CHANGING WORLDS
Lessons learned along the way, filed for a later day. Some forgotten in required moment’s only to surface after their need. The list we take for granted is long.
The electric kettle that didn’t work, what do I do? I really wanted that cup of hot tea. Thank God for my husband who kindly reminded me, that my mother would probably have boiled a pot of water on top of the stove.
All bundled up, freezing to death, no heat in the jeep because it had a summer thermostat. Once inside at our destination, telling our story, here is the question, “Why didn’t you just put cardboard in front of the radiator”?
There was a time I wouldn’t have believed, I could put a plastic card in a hole in the wall and get money out.
Black and white T.V’s with rabbit ears, then to color with cable or satellite, then the advent of the remote control we can’t do without, all soon to be changed to digital.
Party line phones, operator operated. What was your ring, 1 long and 2 short! Black rotary dial phones became the in thing. Then along came the push button, colors and all. Then cordless and cell phones, blue ray and all. Satellite connections, free computer long distance, picture and all.
Cars of the day, collector classic’s today.
Camera’s with film, 120, 110 then 35 mm and Polaroid Instants, movie camera’s with reels played on projectors on white screens. Slide shows too, along the way. Then video camera’s with video tapes shown on VCR machines connected to TV’s. Digital camera’s for pictures and movies connected to computers for instant sharing with friends around the world. Cell phones that take pictures and movies too, with oodles of functions and that make phone calls too.
Wright brothers fly into the sky. Now airbuses taking us to where we have to be. Then the space travel and soon the moon landing.
We have seen so much. So many products we didn’t need, till the advertisers told us, we mustn’t do without.
Listen and learn from your ancestors well, for they have many stories, so much to tell.
By Lynn Keeling
Feb 10, 2009
The electric kettle that didn’t work, what do I do? I really wanted that cup of hot tea. Thank God for my husband who kindly reminded me, that my mother would probably have boiled a pot of water on top of the stove.
All bundled up, freezing to death, no heat in the jeep because it had a summer thermostat. Once inside at our destination, telling our story, here is the question, “Why didn’t you just put cardboard in front of the radiator”?
There was a time I wouldn’t have believed, I could put a plastic card in a hole in the wall and get money out.
Black and white T.V’s with rabbit ears, then to color with cable or satellite, then the advent of the remote control we can’t do without, all soon to be changed to digital.
Party line phones, operator operated. What was your ring, 1 long and 2 short! Black rotary dial phones became the in thing. Then along came the push button, colors and all. Then cordless and cell phones, blue ray and all. Satellite connections, free computer long distance, picture and all.
Cars of the day, collector classic’s today.
Camera’s with film, 120, 110 then 35 mm and Polaroid Instants, movie camera’s with reels played on projectors on white screens. Slide shows too, along the way. Then video camera’s with video tapes shown on VCR machines connected to TV’s. Digital camera’s for pictures and movies connected to computers for instant sharing with friends around the world. Cell phones that take pictures and movies too, with oodles of functions and that make phone calls too.
Wright brothers fly into the sky. Now airbuses taking us to where we have to be. Then the space travel and soon the moon landing.
We have seen so much. So many products we didn’t need, till the advertisers told us, we mustn’t do without.
Listen and learn from your ancestors well, for they have many stories, so much to tell.
By Lynn Keeling
Feb 10, 2009
CANADIAN STORY
My Canadian story is one that starts in the United States. Last winter, I was engaged in a conversation at a RV resort in California.
I am not sure how, but we must have started talking about 9/11. I voiced the question that I have always wondered about, “If it was unsafe for planes to land on American soil, why was it okay for them to be diverted to Canadian airports to land and on who’s authority?” Imagine my shock, to hear the Americans say, “they did?” I was dumb struck. What did they think happened to all those planes? I am still shaking my head.
I found lots of excellent stories on the internet about Gander, Newfoundland, population 10,000, where 39 heavy aircraft landed, accommodating 6,600 diverted passengers for 5 days. It was 30 hours later by the time passengers from the last plane had been processed by the 4 Canadian Customs and Immigration officers.
Eventually I found more answers at www.freedomvillage.net/thankyoucanada.htm where I learned that within 45 minutes, a total of 224 planes with 33,000 passengers started landing at 17 airports across Canada.
Transport Canada activated its Situation Centre (SitCen) in Ottawa, a state of the art facility designed to provide emergency response where the decisions were made for Operation Yellow Ribbon.
I am not sure how, but we must have started talking about 9/11. I voiced the question that I have always wondered about, “If it was unsafe for planes to land on American soil, why was it okay for them to be diverted to Canadian airports to land and on who’s authority?” Imagine my shock, to hear the Americans say, “they did?” I was dumb struck. What did they think happened to all those planes? I am still shaking my head.
I found lots of excellent stories on the internet about Gander, Newfoundland, population 10,000, where 39 heavy aircraft landed, accommodating 6,600 diverted passengers for 5 days. It was 30 hours later by the time passengers from the last plane had been processed by the 4 Canadian Customs and Immigration officers.
Eventually I found more answers at www.freedomvillage.net/thankyoucanada.htm where I learned that within 45 minutes, a total of 224 planes with 33,000 passengers started landing at 17 airports across Canada.
Transport Canada activated its Situation Centre (SitCen) in Ottawa, a state of the art facility designed to provide emergency response where the decisions were made for Operation Yellow Ribbon.
AS THE YEARS GO BY
Aging depends on where you are at.
There is the single digits where the months count too, or the years where the ¼, the ½ and the ¾ is so important.
Wishing for 5, for kindergarten to start. Then 6 for grade school. 13 designates that now I’m a teen. 16 mean’s I can drive.
Wishing, wishing the years away. Never heeding mom’s words, how the years will go faster the older you get. When she turned 40, I thought she was ancient.
18, now an adult. One milestone I missed was 21, to be legal to drink. They changed legal age 3 months before. Now 21, was when I got carded.
25 was huge, a ¼ of a century seemed like a hell of a long time. Then there was 40, not old after all. I decided to celebrate all year long, getting around to doing all those “I’d like to do that some day” things.
50 marks the ½ century mark. At 55, 62 or 65 senior discounts depending on which restaurant you are in. And monthly seniors movies to be enjoyed too.
This year will be 60, collecting C.P.P.
Then 65, well you know the rest. No sense in speeding up the process, for just like mom said, “The years go by faster, the older you get.”
By Lynn Keeling
Feb 10, 2009
There is the single digits where the months count too, or the years where the ¼, the ½ and the ¾ is so important.
Wishing for 5, for kindergarten to start. Then 6 for grade school. 13 designates that now I’m a teen. 16 mean’s I can drive.
Wishing, wishing the years away. Never heeding mom’s words, how the years will go faster the older you get. When she turned 40, I thought she was ancient.
18, now an adult. One milestone I missed was 21, to be legal to drink. They changed legal age 3 months before. Now 21, was when I got carded.
25 was huge, a ¼ of a century seemed like a hell of a long time. Then there was 40, not old after all. I decided to celebrate all year long, getting around to doing all those “I’d like to do that some day” things.
50 marks the ½ century mark. At 55, 62 or 65 senior discounts depending on which restaurant you are in. And monthly seniors movies to be enjoyed too.
This year will be 60, collecting C.P.P.
Then 65, well you know the rest. No sense in speeding up the process, for just like mom said, “The years go by faster, the older you get.”
By Lynn Keeling
Feb 10, 2009
READY FOR MY DAY
The grain’s of sound begin to drift into my awareness. Slowly, I begin to notice the world around me. Somewhere between that deep sleep state I was in and the fully awake moment when I jump out of bed full of energy, ready to conquer the world.
I vaguely remember a dream, “What was it about”?, I ask myself. I wonder if I have time to turn over for just 10 minutes more sleep. So I turn over and cuddle into my comforter.
The next thing I remember is hearing the clatter of the garbage cans being hauled to the curb. Startled, wondering how long I have been asleep, I jump out of bed. 10 minutes, I notice as I glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table. Stretching, trying to work out the kinks as I take a few deep breathes, I head into my day.
And what a day it will be. All the plans have been made. Everything is in place, details attended to. I have done everything I could possibly do, time to turn everything over to those I have hired and just enjoy myself.
Following the aroma of fresh brewed coffee, I skip down the stairs two at a time and I run right into Jane. Resisting the temptation to ask her how everything is going, I chirp a cheery “good morning, beautiful day isn’t it!” as I continue on into the kitchen.
Giving Maria a good morning peck on the cheek, I pour myself a steamy hot cup of Columbian coffee. I continue on, strolling out the sliding glass doors and down the steps of the classic balcony. My bare feet tickled by the coolness of the soft grasses as I walk towards the rose garden. I am soon surrounded by rose bushes of every description and color. Vibrant, brilliant reds of every shade, soft mellow pinks and an array of sparkling hues of yellows through to that soft peachy salmon color, with a backdrop of leaves and foliage in every shade of green imaginable.
I am lead out of this most magnificent rose garden as I follow the hippy hop of a small rabbit dressed in the smooth softness of his gray furry coat. He turns his head to make sure I am still with him, as we reach a bend on our path of silky smooth cobblestones warmed by the sun that is shining down upon us. He beckons me to go first, as he wants to see my reaction to this sacred place he has brought me to. It is vaguely familiar, for I have been here 9 times before.
The vista before me goes on forever, far beyond what the eyes can see. Every season is depicted in its own unique elegance. There are bare tree branches sparkling with raindrop diamonds frozen in place. A breath of fresh air breathes life with the sounds of the leaves swirling as I hear them crunching beneath my feet. I feel the contrast from the warmth of the stones to the coolness of the leaves I now walk on.
Transforming before me, the bare winter branches of the trees sprout green buds of new growth. In moments the lime green of the newness transforms to the rich darker shades of maturity. Flowers blossom around me. The air is fragrant with the new growth scents transforming into the aroma of full growth. In the distance the snow capped mountains sparkle to life and I am magically transported to their majestic heights as I now look down on all that surrounds me.
Enjoying the cold slippery wetness of the snow beneath my feet, I hear the sounds of songs being sung, a great celebration in process coming from the cave up ahead. The joyful sounds lead me deeper into the darkness. The walls press in against me. My body is nourished by the comfortable surroundings I am in.
I am ready to begin my day, as I am pushed along by the waves. Greeted by the newness that surrounds me, as loving hands welcome me into their world, joyously my new life begins.
Lynn Keeling
Feb 23, 2009
I vaguely remember a dream, “What was it about”?, I ask myself. I wonder if I have time to turn over for just 10 minutes more sleep. So I turn over and cuddle into my comforter.
The next thing I remember is hearing the clatter of the garbage cans being hauled to the curb. Startled, wondering how long I have been asleep, I jump out of bed. 10 minutes, I notice as I glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table. Stretching, trying to work out the kinks as I take a few deep breathes, I head into my day.
And what a day it will be. All the plans have been made. Everything is in place, details attended to. I have done everything I could possibly do, time to turn everything over to those I have hired and just enjoy myself.
Following the aroma of fresh brewed coffee, I skip down the stairs two at a time and I run right into Jane. Resisting the temptation to ask her how everything is going, I chirp a cheery “good morning, beautiful day isn’t it!” as I continue on into the kitchen.
Giving Maria a good morning peck on the cheek, I pour myself a steamy hot cup of Columbian coffee. I continue on, strolling out the sliding glass doors and down the steps of the classic balcony. My bare feet tickled by the coolness of the soft grasses as I walk towards the rose garden. I am soon surrounded by rose bushes of every description and color. Vibrant, brilliant reds of every shade, soft mellow pinks and an array of sparkling hues of yellows through to that soft peachy salmon color, with a backdrop of leaves and foliage in every shade of green imaginable.
I am lead out of this most magnificent rose garden as I follow the hippy hop of a small rabbit dressed in the smooth softness of his gray furry coat. He turns his head to make sure I am still with him, as we reach a bend on our path of silky smooth cobblestones warmed by the sun that is shining down upon us. He beckons me to go first, as he wants to see my reaction to this sacred place he has brought me to. It is vaguely familiar, for I have been here 9 times before.
The vista before me goes on forever, far beyond what the eyes can see. Every season is depicted in its own unique elegance. There are bare tree branches sparkling with raindrop diamonds frozen in place. A breath of fresh air breathes life with the sounds of the leaves swirling as I hear them crunching beneath my feet. I feel the contrast from the warmth of the stones to the coolness of the leaves I now walk on.
Transforming before me, the bare winter branches of the trees sprout green buds of new growth. In moments the lime green of the newness transforms to the rich darker shades of maturity. Flowers blossom around me. The air is fragrant with the new growth scents transforming into the aroma of full growth. In the distance the snow capped mountains sparkle to life and I am magically transported to their majestic heights as I now look down on all that surrounds me.
Enjoying the cold slippery wetness of the snow beneath my feet, I hear the sounds of songs being sung, a great celebration in process coming from the cave up ahead. The joyful sounds lead me deeper into the darkness. The walls press in against me. My body is nourished by the comfortable surroundings I am in.
I am ready to begin my day, as I am pushed along by the waves. Greeted by the newness that surrounds me, as loving hands welcome me into their world, joyously my new life begins.
Lynn Keeling
Feb 23, 2009
ANGEL IN THE FORM OF A FRIEND
ANGEL IN THE FORM OF A FRIEND
DIALOGUE: n. – a conversation involving two or more persons. A conversation passage in a literary work.
Different Methods using dialogue in writing stories:
- as people having a conversation
- a description followed by a character speaking words pertaining to that description
Different Types of dialogue:
- words spoken out loud between 2 characters (SAID)
- Percy got down on one knee and proposed “ Katie, will you be my wife? ” Katie was so relieved and lovingly replied, “ oh you silly goose, of course I will.”
- thoughts in a characters head / internal self talk (negative or positive) (UNSAID)
- “I wonder what’s wrong with Percy, he seems so tense. Did I do something wrong? Is he mad at me?”
Misunderstanding / miscommunication
- pink elephants that never get talked about / addressed but that everyone sees.
MY ANGEL IN THE FORM OF A FRIEND
My daily radiation treatments were coming to an end. I had made it through the original 25 treatments, only to be told that they had added another 5 side to side treatments which required another mapping session and more tattoos. Then, one day the radiology technician gave me an appointment card for a Selectron Obturator Insertion and a brochure explaining the procedure. Isolated and alone, I would have to lie perfectly still in a hospital bed in a lead lined hospital room for 4 hours while being hooked up to a computerized machine that would shoot radioactive pellets into me. If I needed to move, I would have to ring for a nurse who would have to shut the machine off before she could come into the room to assist me, making sure the Obturator device stayed in the correct position. I was scared and angry. I felt I had been blind sided. No one had ever mentioned this procedure to me before. It was a complete surprise.
Now, you’d think I would be used to surprises by now. After all, I never knew the time of my next day’s appointment until the end of that day’s treatment session when I got my appointment card back. Early on I had asked not to be scheduled on Monday or Thursday mornings from 10 – 11:30, as I wanted to attend the relaxation groups. They did a magnificent job accommodating me, booking my treatments before or after the groups, even telling me a couple times when they were running behind schedule, to go to the relaxation group then to come back afterwards.
All the thoughts in my head, that dialogue with myself, goes unheard. “Why me? How could the doctors do this to me? I don’t like surprises. They should have warned me, given me a choice – a right to say yes or no. I am a person, not a cow following the rest of the herd, no questions asked. What would happen if I didn’t do it? Would I be okay? Do I really need it? Would the cancer come back if I didn’t? Would I die because I didn’t? What am I going to do?”
I was bursting at the seams, no one to talk to. We were all trying to take care of each others feelings, trying to make things easier for others at the expense of ourselves. In this atmosphere of fear, the truth goes unsaid. Just when I needed it most, an angel came to my rescue in the form of my friend, Karen. She had met me at the cancer clinic that day to attend the relaxation group and had insisted on driving me home.
I began telling her about the upcoming procedure. When I finished explaining it to her she said, “ I’m glad you only need a 4 hour session”
I was so relieved. I suddenly felt lucky, I could survive 4 hours. I was grateful, if other people could endure up to 24 hours, I could do a mere 4 hours. I remember excitedly saying, “Thank you so much, that really makes me feel better.”
Because she was busy driving, I guess she didn’t see how relieved I was. For weeks, I told everyone how helpful what Karen said had been. It got me to and through the procedure with flying colors.
The next time I saw Karen, she gingerly asked me “Are you still mad at me?” Turned out she had been avoiding me believing what I had said in the car was in anger. A total misunderstanding, a huge gap in communication. I had no idea. She was so relieved to hear how much her words had helped me. Now she was feeling guilty for avoiding me.
I don’t know if she ever really understood what a gift she was to me in the moment. A real angel on earth, magically appearing just when I needed her the most.
By Lynn Keeling Feb 20, 2009
DIALOGUE: n. – a conversation involving two or more persons. A conversation passage in a literary work.
Different Methods using dialogue in writing stories:
- as people having a conversation
- a description followed by a character speaking words pertaining to that description
Different Types of dialogue:
- words spoken out loud between 2 characters (SAID)
- Percy got down on one knee and proposed “ Katie, will you be my wife? ” Katie was so relieved and lovingly replied, “ oh you silly goose, of course I will.”
- thoughts in a characters head / internal self talk (negative or positive) (UNSAID)
- “I wonder what’s wrong with Percy, he seems so tense. Did I do something wrong? Is he mad at me?”
Misunderstanding / miscommunication
- pink elephants that never get talked about / addressed but that everyone sees.
MY ANGEL IN THE FORM OF A FRIEND
My daily radiation treatments were coming to an end. I had made it through the original 25 treatments, only to be told that they had added another 5 side to side treatments which required another mapping session and more tattoos. Then, one day the radiology technician gave me an appointment card for a Selectron Obturator Insertion and a brochure explaining the procedure. Isolated and alone, I would have to lie perfectly still in a hospital bed in a lead lined hospital room for 4 hours while being hooked up to a computerized machine that would shoot radioactive pellets into me. If I needed to move, I would have to ring for a nurse who would have to shut the machine off before she could come into the room to assist me, making sure the Obturator device stayed in the correct position. I was scared and angry. I felt I had been blind sided. No one had ever mentioned this procedure to me before. It was a complete surprise.
Now, you’d think I would be used to surprises by now. After all, I never knew the time of my next day’s appointment until the end of that day’s treatment session when I got my appointment card back. Early on I had asked not to be scheduled on Monday or Thursday mornings from 10 – 11:30, as I wanted to attend the relaxation groups. They did a magnificent job accommodating me, booking my treatments before or after the groups, even telling me a couple times when they were running behind schedule, to go to the relaxation group then to come back afterwards.
All the thoughts in my head, that dialogue with myself, goes unheard. “Why me? How could the doctors do this to me? I don’t like surprises. They should have warned me, given me a choice – a right to say yes or no. I am a person, not a cow following the rest of the herd, no questions asked. What would happen if I didn’t do it? Would I be okay? Do I really need it? Would the cancer come back if I didn’t? Would I die because I didn’t? What am I going to do?”
I was bursting at the seams, no one to talk to. We were all trying to take care of each others feelings, trying to make things easier for others at the expense of ourselves. In this atmosphere of fear, the truth goes unsaid. Just when I needed it most, an angel came to my rescue in the form of my friend, Karen. She had met me at the cancer clinic that day to attend the relaxation group and had insisted on driving me home.
I began telling her about the upcoming procedure. When I finished explaining it to her she said, “ I’m glad you only need a 4 hour session”
I was so relieved. I suddenly felt lucky, I could survive 4 hours. I was grateful, if other people could endure up to 24 hours, I could do a mere 4 hours. I remember excitedly saying, “Thank you so much, that really makes me feel better.”
Because she was busy driving, I guess she didn’t see how relieved I was. For weeks, I told everyone how helpful what Karen said had been. It got me to and through the procedure with flying colors.
The next time I saw Karen, she gingerly asked me “Are you still mad at me?” Turned out she had been avoiding me believing what I had said in the car was in anger. A total misunderstanding, a huge gap in communication. I had no idea. She was so relieved to hear how much her words had helped me. Now she was feeling guilty for avoiding me.
I don’t know if she ever really understood what a gift she was to me in the moment. A real angel on earth, magically appearing just when I needed her the most.
By Lynn Keeling Feb 20, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)