This was my backyard last summer. It doesn’t look too much different now other than it’s covered in four inches of moss and doggie droppings. (Well, not four inches of doggie droppings. That’s almost impossible with Chihuahuas.) My yard has been a craptastic embarrassment to me (and probably to my neighbors) for several years. Probably like 10. I moved in here when the house was first built in 2001 and never really got the yard done properly. I half-assed it all the way along because I never really had enough money to do it the right way. I still really don’t but I’m doing it in phases, so it won’t be so painful.

Finally, I have a landscaper who knows what he’s doing, is willing to work within my miniscule budget and in phases, and we’re starting off by starting from scratch. This weekend, he’ll come in and kill everything in the yard (vegetation, that is) so that it doesn’t grow back. I’m done with foot-high dandelions and miniature lakes for the dogs to dip their bellies in. After a week of letting the vegetation die off, he’ll come in with equipment and scrape everything out down to the base. Then we can see what we have to work with. We’ll know then if we need to regrade, and what it will cost to bring in additional gravel and topsoil, plus to extend the patio.

I have the weirdest shaped back yard. It’s very wide and very shallow and the only thing that saves it from being claustophobically shallow is that it backs up to a large green belt and ravine with three-story high trees.  This picture is the lot drawing with my rudimentary attempt at landscape design (from March of LAST year!) That’s when I had about double the funds I have now to redesign the yard. We’ll see if what I end up with this year looks anything like this design.

I can’t wait to have a backyard – finally!

…I had my sewing machine dusted off

…I had a few spare moments to copy this

…I had this hair

…I had this body

I could look just like this and save myself $59 plus shipping.

But then it wouldn’t be me either. Although I really like the top.

You can check out the video of the three ways to wear this top here: Boston Proper

Today was Easter Sunday. Not a day that impresses me much because I’m not the religious sort, but it signifies the start of better weather where I live – usually. Not always, however. Today the weather was perfect: low 70s, sunny, warm breeze. Beautiful.

What I really wanted to do today was go for a bike ride. I couldn’t do that for a variety of reasons, and when I did finally get a couple of rare hours to myself, I was too tired and it was too late in the day. It seems like I’m always so tired. Between my mom, my full time job, and Laila (my two-year-old granddaughter who is living with me for a while), I’m running on empty emotionally. Oftentimes physically too. So it was important to me today to find somewhere, anywhere, that I could stop for a few minutes and stare out into the horizon. To get lost from reality in a healthy way. I needed – craved – a place far away from bustling noise and crowds, and it seemed that every waterfront park was full of people. I finally found one that ended up being less than two miles from where my youngest daughter now lives. How weird is that? Just followed the GPS and that’s where it landed me.

I stood and watched the sun on the water, the ferries going across to the nearby islands, and listened to the water on the rocky beach below. I need to get away. I need to find a way to quietly feel what I’m feeling because I’m so busy taking care of everyone and working that I can’t feel. My mom’s health is stable right now, but unpredictable. Every day I have with her right now is a gift. That gift could be taken from me at any time, so I do everything I can to be with her, help her, make sure she is comfortable and well cared for. And she is. But I have so many emotions tied up in her that I can’t deal with them all and still function.

So I stare at the water and take a deep breath. I inhale the strength that I need to keep going. So many people depend on me. I have to be strong and keep the faith. Faith that I’m never given more than I can handle and that I’m precisely where I am supposed to be. I’ll know months, maybe years, from now just why I’ve been going through all this.

A friend told me not so long ago that I need to remember that I am powerless. I am powerless to change the outcome for my mother. Knowing that – believing that – has helped eliminate the panic and fear inside me and helped me to relax and take each incident as it comes. I am strong – sturdy, like an ox. Steadfast, loyal, forthright, and tenacious. But even the strongest oak can bend and break given a strong enough headwind.

On a closing note, at least I get to share in this little girl’s life. She is so much like her mama with all her mama’s great qualities: sociable, loving, artistic, active, expressive, and more. The contrast between the beginning of life with Laila and the end of life with my mother is not unnoticed by me. It is deep and profound. I wish I could articulate it better. Maybe in time.

Anyone who knows my mom knows she is a fashionista. She’s been stylish from the day she could choose her own wardrobe. So, in keeping with that, a couple of my friends and I decided that we would make the theme of her party a “Dress to the Nines” party. Get it? Nines? Ninety two? Ha! People could dress up if they wanted, and many did. We had linen tablecloths, chafing dishes full of beef, ham, roasted potatoes, and other delicious potluck items. Uh huh. Potluck and tuxes do too go together! The whole night was fantastic.

Even more special was that my next oldest brother, Chris, made it to town from Kansas City. It was a special, special night and experience for him and I’m so grateful he could be here. Our close family friend, and my soul sister Mary, also came in from Portland, Oregon to share in the celebration. There were over 70 people there laughing, sharing memories of my mother and their connection to her, and she enjoyed every minute of it.

I was so busy coordinating things and looking after my mother that I didn’t get time to take pictures, so all the pictures here are taken by others and some are “second generation” meaning they are downloads of the original, so the quality isn’t the greatest. Still you can see how wonderful the party was.

My mom and my brother, Chris.

My mom and my two beautiful daughters, Stacy (left) and Cindy (right).

A view of the party room.

My brother giving a very eloquent and moving toast to my mother. (And Evan, my grandson in the foreground.)

Me, lighting the candles on the cake.

No, we didn’t put 92 candles on the cake. Would have likely set off the fire sprinklers!

Chris and our friend, Mary.

Best party ever. I had so many helpers getting it ready that I really can’t take sole credit for it. It was a party full of love and joy. Memorable. As I told my brother, it’s one of those life defining memories. He said that was an understatement.

The blanket was a cream colored fleece blanket that I edged and appliqued with a lacy rose applique on one corner. It was a Christmas gift to my mom several years ago. Mom loved this blanket. It sat on the foot of her bed for years. (Timmy the Cat loved it too.) One day, recently, when it was cold out and she needed to ride somewhere in the wheelchair, I put it on her lap.  Ooh, she loved that warm blanket.

I don’t remember the last time I saw this blanket. It had to have been during a recent trip to the ER or even when she went in for the pacemaker – yeah, it was probably then – that I put the blanket on her lap, and she kept it with her for the entire time she was in the hospital. It kept her warmer than the heated blankets that the hospital supplies and gave her some comfort. I like to think it reminded her that I love her as she went in for her surgery.

However, somewhere along the way, I lost track of the blanket. Maybe it was during the typical distraction (on my part) of getting her released and trying to get her home that I lost the blanket. The other day, I went to get it for her as we were going to a doctor’s visit and I realized we had lost the blanket. I looked everywhere. I assumed that since it wasn’t in mom’s apartment that it was gone. The problem is that the blanket is the same color as the hospital cotton blankets they use. I assumed that since we likely lost it at the hospital, someone in the hospital laundry room saw it and was now enjoying my handiwork.

I intended to call the hospital’s lost and found, but I didn’t. I guess I figured it was a lost cause. (Ha! Pun not intended.)

I’m a firm believer in karma. Well, I guess I’m a bigger believer in the fact that my mom knows a million people and touches people every day and they never forget her.

Tonight my mom called me.

“Guess what I have sitting on my lap?”

Um, Timmy? I dunno.

“My blanket! Someone brought it to me.”

I almost thought my mom was delusional, but she’s not. I confirmed this by checking with the front desk at the retirement home. Everything my mom said was accurate. Someone from the hospital brought it to my mom. Laundered, in a blue bag. More than two weeks after she had her pacemaker installed, and a week after she was released the last time.

I have no idea who or how it was found, but it was. It has appeared and it’s with mom again. I nearly started crying. I exhaled with deep gratitude.

Why does a silly blanket mean so much to me? Why does it mean so much to my mom?

It’s just a blanket.

It has to be the love quotient.

You can pretty much guarantee that when I’m silent it is because I am reflecting on things and waiting for some sort of germination of my thoughts, something suitable to post to the public.  Grab your coffee and join me for a while, won’t you?

One of my favorite songs of all time is Ripples, by Genesis. This is from their Trick of the Tail album that was released sometime in the 1970s. It’s a song of love, relationships, beauty, aging, and to me, even death. But it could be death of a love or relationship, death of a feeling, or death of a person. It’s totally open to interpretation.

This song to me is so poignant that I cry every time I hear it. Particularly now.

I’m sandwiched between watching the new life of my nearly two year old granddaughter (who is back living with me, just her, by the way but that’s a story for a different day) and watching my mother live out her “golden years”.

I am the observer. The caretaker. The nanny and the nurse.

My granddaughter is exploring all things new, learning expressions, testing out words, movements, behaviors, and tasting everything that there is to savor about her life ahead. It’s fascinating. It’s entertaining.

My mother is reflecting on her life and experiencing new things as she becomes less and less able to care for herself. Her mind is sharp, clear, but forgetful. (Aren’t we all at times?) She reflects on nursery rhymes she once knew, songs she sang or that we sang together as a family when I was young, and retelling funny dreams to me. It’s equally as fascinating and often entertaining.

Somewhere in there, in that swirling vortex of caretaking for others, my self appears  and feelings surface. It usually happens early in the morning when I wake up and my granddaughter is not yet awake. Like now. In the silence of my home, surrounded only by the snoring of the pups, the purring of the cats in my ears, and the squeaks of my granddaughter on the baby monitor as she wakes up, I cry. I cry with gratitude for being able to be alert and present through all of this. I cry because I’m honored that God has placed me in a position of trust with these two souls – that I am the one who gets to take care of them. I am entrusted with their well being. I take my job seriously.

I cry for what has been and what will be. I cry for what is right now.

I reflect on the days when I raised my girls alone, as a single mom, feeling the ache of loneliness and the burden of responsibility at such a young age and with no family support surrounding me. I vow to hopefully guide my daughter – the mother of my granddaughter – down a different path with her daughter, as a single mom, and hopefully give her the support and wisdom I felt I never had. I cry for the mistakes I’ve made with both my daughters, yet I smile when I remember the fun times we did have together as our little family unit grew up.

I think (but do not dwell) on what lies ahead for my mom, and ultimately for me and the rest of my family. We are 49 days into the new year, and of those days, my mom has spent 14 days in the hospital. That’s nearly one-third of the year, so far. And for every day she has been in a hospital bed, I have been by her side, talking to doctors, updating my brothers and my daughters, putting my brothers on stand-by to fly out here should circumstances change, advocating for my mother’s comfort, her care, and trying to find out what is in store for her future, if anyone even knows. Really, only God knows. Eventually she will be gone. She is my angel. I pray I have a lot – a LOT- more time with her, but I know that is probably not reality. So, I cry.

I pause occasionally in the midst of my caretaking, like now, and try to refocus and celebrate the moments that I have right now. The moments pass quickly and they “go to the other side” never to be lived again as they  just were. I want to remember them. I want to burn the laughter, the joy, the sadness, the stress, the anger, the worry, the fear, the hope, all the emotions into the craters of my brain and soul. I don’t ever want to forget what I’m feeling or doing now. I want to enjoy every second that I have with my mother, particularly. I have set aside doing much of anything for myself. I’m trying to correct that, but it’s hard. I get a few moments here and there, maybe a trip to the mall for new shoes or an hour for dinner with a friend. Sleep is not deep, rejuvenating, nor long.

I am energized by knowing this is not a permanent state of my life, if that makes sense. Knowing that this too shall pass gives me strength and determination to put one foot in front of another and keep doing the next indicated thing. Love is my engine, yet I have no idea of the destination, other than forward. And that’s okay.

Today is a good day. Today I will play with my granddaughter until my daughter arrives to take over her care. Today I will get some work done so I can have money to keep living in my house. Today I will spend time with my mom and possibly, if she’s feeling up to it, take her to dinner at one of her favorite restaurants after taking her to get her a manicure and pedicure. We will smile and laugh and maybe just enjoy the peaceful silence between the two of us.

I am looking forward to today. With that said, here’s the song by Genesis for your enjoyment.

I have been reading online about a lot about bloggers having a hard time blogging. Me too. I honestly think it might be partially because of what I’d call Super Blogs – those home, decorating, crafty, or mommy bloggers who are over-the-top bloggers with giveaways, sponsors, prettiest of the pretty photos, Etsy shops, and words that won’t end. It’s intimidating to say the least. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I don’t like those blogs – I do – I subscribe to a gajallion of them that suck hours too much time out of my day. Some are enlightening, educating, pretty to look at, and others are just like the Charlie Brown teacher – wah wah wah. All you see are the pictures.

Many of the bloggers that I have loved for years are posting that they are having a hard time for many reasons – some because of depression. For me, a fellow sufferer of depression, it’s easy to say to myself, sheesh, how can I compete with THAT? Even when I know I’m not really competing, it starts to make me think that what I have to say isn’t interesting. I constantly am double-checking what I write with words like “what would my mom think?” And, speaking of my mom, since much of my life revolves around her these days – as it should at her nearly 92 years of age – I censor what I write for her privacy as well.

Sometimes the things that I want to write here are more for me simply as an outlet for how I’m thinking and feeling at the time. I don’t publish them for many reasons, but mostly, because I think they’d be too depressing for anyone else to write or I hear the imaginary critics in my head saying, oh, get off your pity pot. So, I don’t publish or if I do, I find a way to turn the post to a positive slant at the end. Which, I admit, is good therapy for me too.

I’m not sure where this post is going either. I just know I felt like I needed to write it. I’m a professional writer and editor. I get paid to work with words. I’m not the book published-type writer, although someday I hope to be. But words for me are therapy. And journaling. And a creative outlet. My soul food.

I changed my blog to a general blog, hence the title, “The Cadence of Life”, from a sewing-centric blog, so that I could write about whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. It’s my blog and I set the rules and the content. I need to remember that. I need to remember that this blog is primarily for me and my family and whoever is interested in reading it. If they don’t like to read it, they won’t. I’ve never had a hater on my blog. Oh wait, I take that back – I did years ago when I posted something about a local knitting shop and an online knitting group. Whatever. There are always going to be critics and haters in life.

I know this: If I live my life silencing myself and my dreams based on what someone might think or if someone would disapprove, I’m afraid I’ll miss out on a lot of life. I’ve silenced my soul for a long time now and I think now is the time to change all that.

I have no idea how or what that un-silencing will look like. I just know I need to do that.

Maybe I just need to take a clue from my granddaughter, Laila. She doesn’t know who she’s talking to either – or maybe she does, and we just don’t – but she talks with no inhibitions.  Enjoy!

I’m posting these photos for my friend, Mermaids, who is looking for decorating inspiration. I saw these at a local TJMaxx store and want them for myself too. I may have to find $$ to go get them. Posting them here is the only way that I know of to get them up to Pinterest too.

There were two of these side chairs with pillows that said “hello!” as soon as I entered the store. The color scheme screams ME. I even like the floor lamp behind them. The details are posted on the TJMaxx site here.

I also loved this take on a nautical glass ball with rope. Also at TJMaxx but I can’t find it online.

The only thing that anyone here has been talking about for the last couple days has been the snow in Western Washington. The news stations are talking longer and preempting other shows, people are on Facebook and Twitter more sharing pictures and anecdotes, and everyone is either loving the snow or hating it. And most everyone is acting like this is the first time Seattle has ever had this amount of snow. And every year it’s the same story.

Where I live we got about 8 to 10 inches of snow over the last 24-48 hours. A lot even for here, but we’re not unused to snow.  I only dug out pictures from the last couple of years, but my memory – unless mine is failing me, and that’s quite possible – is that we’ve had snow over the past decade or longer more often than we have not. We had a bad snow storm in 2008, another in 1995 or 1996. So, it’s not like we don’t know what to do or how to drive. Particularly how to drive in the snow.

It is what it is. C’mon peeps. Relax. Enjoy the snow. Play like a kid and throw some snowballs, build a snowman or a snow fort. The great thing about snow in Seattle is typically (except for the two-week Snowmageddon in 2008) it’s gone in three days, and doesn’t stick around for three months.

Me, I don’t mind it any more. I’m used to it. I actually like it and welcome the chance to stay home and stop running so damn fast everywhere. I can snuggle under my blankets and hibernate, just a little. I like cozy. I like snow. I also like when the snow goes away. But until it does, I enjoy the beauty and the stillness of it.

January 2012

February 24, 2011

February 22, 2011

January 11, 2011

December 29, 2010

We got about four to six inches of snow yesterday where I live, and there is more snow in the forecast for tonight and tomorrow night. One thing I love about the snow is waking up to it. The moonlight still shining on the new snow. The sun rising through sherbet colored clouds. The silence and stillness before the world wakes up. It’s like a fresh start to life packed into a few brief moments.

Here are a few pictures I captured this morning. Nothing fancy, but pretty. (As in, unaltered, untouched photos.)