Aug.14, 2024

The coffee is almost ready.
The buns are done, freshly baked just now. Brunch in the garden is fitting for today. It’s my mum’s birthday today. 93 years young as we say. She made it to 92 and a half.
Those half years were so important when I was a kid. I imagine they were for my mum as she got older.

I baked today. I have done “mum” things this morning. My mum baked, especially when I was younger. Coming home from school, there would be freshly baked muffins or buns or oatmeal cookies, the very thin and crispy ones that mum always made. The recipe was in her head and in her hands.


There are things I don’t have to do today – send flowers, write a birthday card, calculate the time difference – still 6 hours – and call at the right time. The normal routine on this day for the past 30 some years with some exceptions. Living on two different continents does that.


Today, I have thought about my mum, and smiled. A very special lady my mum. Her friends would tell you so as well. I have remembered her laugh, her smile, her funny walk that she shared with my aunt, her twin sister. The way our home was open to friends and family, her sneezing. She held the family record of 22 in a row. The way she could calm my worries, the absolutely unconditional love she had for me and for her grandson. The hugs, full on, arms holding tight kind of hugs and during her last months, the “mmmm” that accompanied our hugs that expressed so much.  I reflected on her unwavering friendship. I saw in my mind’s eye, how her face shone when she said I love you – so deeply felt. I love you too mum. Happy birthday. Blow out your 93 candles. I bought you flowers, I hope you like them.

One habit that brings you joy

My morning coffee… Can you smell it? Can you feel it? Can you taste it?

After completing my morning ritual of having a shower and getting dressed, I progress to the moment of ultimate joy in my day, everyday. Be it Monday or Saturday, at home or away, I tred quietly into the kitchen. I choose the cup of the day – sometimes one that brings reflection, sometimes one that makes me smile, sometimes one that prompts a memory. I open the fridge, take out the milk and pour half a cupful into my chosen cup. A splash of cream to make the flavour full. A couple of steps to the microwave to warm up the milk. Beep, beep, beep. Cup in hand I turn to my little handy Nespresso machine. First, froth the milk. Next, choose the coffee – should it be ristretto strong to open the eyes and kickstart the brain or espresso taste to smoothly transition into the day. I choose. Capsule in, cup under, button pushed. An espresso size to get the most strength. I wait. The coffee pours into the hot, frothy milk. Mmmm. I wait. I press the button once again, freeing more delicious, steamy coffee to flow into my morning cup. Two hands on the warm cup standing in the back doorway gazing sleepily at the garden. Up to my nose to catch a waft of the wake-up magic. To my lips to sip the fragrant liquid gold, feeling it glide down my throat, my taste buds peaked at the flavour of, well, my morning.

Daily writing prompt
Describe one habit that brings you joy.

Cosmos

Falling up,
My imagination flies to the stars.
Past the dark sky, past the full moon,
Past sparkling stars, past unexplored galaxies,
Past sudden black holes, past silently gliding satellites,
Past shooting stars streaking across my path.
Comfort is the black dark night.
Comfort is the bright full moon.
Comfort is the sparkling stars in random formation.
Disappearing in the cosmos,
With the universe unfolding.
With the engulfing arms of darkness wrapped around my sorrowful shoulders,
I rest, in the dark night, comforted in my grief.

My mum

A yawn, and you were gone.
The person who was my mother ceased to exist in this part of the universe.
Did your spirit take flight?
Did your soul find peace with the whole dying thing? Safe journey? Where did you go?
One minute you were living, breathing, holding my hand. The next your breath ceased and your heart stopped and no sound was to be heard – just the one yawn and then, you were gone.
I miss you. I miss hearing you say Hejsa Kim when you say hi on the phone. I miss you calling me Kimalas. No one else calls me that. I miss your voice. I want to hold your hand with the crooked, time-worn fingers and tell you I love you like so many times before. I want to give you a hug and hear you say ahhh when I do. I want to hear you laugh in that special way you had, loud and free of pretense or constraint. I can’t figure out whether I should say had or has – you’re still here in my heart. I’m not used to it yet, you being out of reach. You loved me I know. What do I do without you? I love you mum. I miss you mum. My anchor, my safe place in a storm, my cheerleader, my friend, my mom. One last breath, one yawn and you were gone.

Father’s Day 2024

In 1910 a day was established in order to pay tribute and show appreciation to fathers and father figures. Today, it’s father’s day in Canada.
Dear Dad,
I have thought of this day for a few weeks now. Just remembering that it was on its way. Not because I needed to find an appropriate Jacquie card. You know the one, with the appropriate sentiment for the day, one with the jaunty jazz sound and some fanfare wishing you a happy day. I didn’t send a card as I usually would. I don’t need to make time to call you however much I’d like to.
I’ve been thinking that it was going to be a strange day, not in any particular way, just knowing it would be odd. I miss you.
You have always been there…always. Now I have conversations with you in my head. At the moment they’re quite one sided. I talk a fair bit! Nothing new in that. There are tears mixed into the lopsided conversations at the moment. Your last words penetrate the silence – I do hear you say you are proud of me, you love me – your last words to me as we looked into the eyes of the other and said farewell…Dad there has never been any doubt. Perhaps the grief needs to subside a bit for me to hear the other things.
In my heart and in my soul, no, actually, in every fiber of me, I know what the words “my daughter” encompassed for you. A privilege and an honour Dad. I chose good.
I love you. I miss you.
To my dad – happy father’s day with all my love,
Your daughter. 

Music to my ears

Walking down memory lane or actually singing down that oh so unique path. That incredible state where music brings people back from long ago, places become touchable, and somehow the words come, dredged up from some faraway box. Amazing what music can do – melts away the years. Music, with just a few notes of THAT song, establishes the mood of all those years ago. I’m smiling. It’s a pop road tonight. It’s a winding road – Blondie, Coldplay, Sting, Peter Gabriel, Genesis, Bruce Springsteen, Police, Toto, Supertramp amongst the many You Tube can dig up.
The screen is showing Phil Collins at the moment singing at a concert in France in 2004. Singers, sax, brass, drums it all just plays. Pun intended. That sound of Collins on the drums. This is good.
Time is ticking – in two directions – both backwards and too fast forwards. My mind wanders to concerts where the music leapt from the stage straight into my heart. Concerts shared with friends, with family, with hundreds of kindred spirits. Jazz concerts in the park where the peacocks sauntered between the chairs under the canopy of trees and stars. The wine was very nice and the music sublime. Concerts under cover, in big stadiums sometimes seated, sometimes not. Rock concerts, jazz concerts, pop concerts, classical concerts.
I’ve sung my voice away to a whisper. Clapped until my hands were red. I just didn’t want the songs to end. And I still don’t. It won’t. My mind is full of notes and words. My body is filled with beats and rhythm. The music is in my heart. I’ll be back again soon. Wandering down a song, laughing a beat, memories tugging the lyrics, thought forgotten, from the box giving my voice words to sing. I gotta get a ticket to a concert! It’s time.

Café au lait and apricot jam

I am opposing the weather. Snow? Snow that stays? What?! So I am opposing this blasphemy against the natural course of the seasons. What are the weather gods thinking? So. How can I oppose the weather? Stand and shake my head woefully and insist that it scoot? Go away? Shoo? Do I oppose the weather by shaking my fist at it while I shout inane foul words at it? I fear that this is not the path to success. The weather gods oppose me by just, well, just carrying on. We are so tiny and our fists and curses even smaller they hear us not. If they, by chance hear our flailing efforts, they simply flick our voices away as they would a speck of uninteresting dust. Humpf!

Still, I insist on opposing the weather. I have found a way that warms my insides so I glow. Watch out – the heat is intense. The weather gods be damned!

I found a special place today. A place uniquely mine. I had to travel far to reach it, though it took only a split second, a snap of my fingers if you will, and I was there. Wonder of wonders, lo’ and behold, the sun is shining. The late afternoon heat still present after a generous sun played in the sky above through the day. I can feel the heat, inside. My son is laughing and running, pulling me by my hand. I’ve travelled not only to a warmer clime but to a different space in time as well.

A tapestry is unfolding – the colours are warm and enriching, a diverse palet of earthy colours – russet red, radiant yellow, deep purple, sage green, rose pink and ochre. Sounds of people shopping, debating, friendly chatter over the price of a glass of honey, birds commenting on life in general and grasshoppers, the size of your ring finger chirping. The sounds float onto the tapestry accompanied by the tantalising smells of lavender, wild thyme and roasting chickens on a spit. I remain, eyes gently closed, in this special place to see the smiles and friendly waves, taste the ratatouille made of purple aubergines, deep green zucchinis, red, yellow and orange peppers, purple (not red) onions, fragrant garlic and the reddest of red tomatoes (the ones that taste of the sun.) The tapestry comes alive with the smell and colours of the earth, the taste of the local wine poured into a thick glass tumbler from a jug and the sound of the wind in the olive grove. I linger a while over my bowl of café au lait fending off the world outside, the world of grass now white with snow. The blackbirds huddling in the hedge, all puffed up to keep warm. I love spring but today I escaped. Mmmmmm, the warmth stays with me when I open my eyes. The weather and its creator I have conquered for today and the key? A cup of coffee with warm, frothy milk and a delicious slice of fresh sourdough bread spread with apricot jam. A scrumptious key to a wonderous memory portal.

Bon appetit!

Compassion

What is compassion?

Compassion unfolds in response to distress, pain or suffering.

It begins with recognition of suffering, which gives rise to feelings of concern and empathy. This, in turn, motivates the willingness to take action to relieve that suffering. At different times, and in different situations, different parts of this process(awareness, feelings, empathy, action) may be most available and/or most skillful. – this explanation is courtesy of Compassion Cultivation Training

We are much kinder to the people around us who we offer compassion to in their time of suffering than we are to ourselves. With self-compassion, we give ourselves the same kindness and care we’d give to a good friend. I am learning about compassion and this week in particular about self-compassion. Self-compassion is no different from the compassion that you show to others. Having compassion for yourself means that you honor and accept your humanness. You know and accept that life does not always give you roses without thorns. Frustrations will come your way. You will experience loss. You will make mistakes. You will fall short of how you feel you should have behaved. Things will not always go the way you want them to. This is something that happens to everyone – and you and I are no different. The secret to being able to feel more compassion for yourself and for others is essentially opening your heart to the fact that this is the way of life – this is how life works and instead of fighting against it you will find, that opening your heart to this reality will enable you to feel compassion for yourself. It is ok to acknowledge that things are difficult at the moment and that you are finding it hard.

Now the above was very easy to write. My fingers fly across my keyboard and the words flow effortlessly. I find it much more difficult to stop the critical self-talk and critical self-judgment that happens in my mind when I’ve just messed something up – be it ever so minor. The talk begins – why can’t you ever do anything right? You always mess up. You are so clumsy. – Anyone else recognise that voice? We are human – “human” means that one is mortal, vulnerable and imperfect. So we are hard wired to make mistakes. Instead of beating ourselves up, we need to learn to be gentle with ourselves. Speak kindly to ourselves. We need to practice self-compassion.

We need to observe and recognise that those negative thoughts are just that, thoughts. We must learn to be aware of the thought or the feeling just as they appear – observe them non-judgmentally and not ignore them or try to suppress or deny them. In other words as Kristin Neff writes we must hold them in mindful awareness. In my meditations I am practicing to do this. Some days I nail it and can hold the negative self-talk in observation and I can objectively just see it. Some days I dive right in and get lost in the critic that lives in my head. The meditation practice is teaching me to be brave in being vulnerable. Accepting my own vulnerability is teaching me to be kind and loving to myself. I believe that when I am loving to myself, I have a greater capacity to be compassionate toward others. We need more of that.

Do I do everything wrong? No. Do I occasionally make mistakes? Um, yeah. Do those occasional missteps define who I am? No! Do the missteps hit a nerve in me so that I think “Oh damn. That wasn’t the right thing to say or I should have worn oven mitts to avoid dropping the dish”( You get the picture.) Yes it hits a nerve, as it should. Learning from the mistake is powerful and seeing it for what it is – the glitch in the thinking process that results in us doing somehing wrong – is the loving thing to do. Say to yourself what you would say to others who just dropped a hot potato – “that was hot! are you ok?” Be kind to yourself. This is what I’m learning to be.

Watching Brené Brown’s “Call to courage” the other day, reminded me that “Owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we will ever do.” She writes on brenebrown.com, “Wholehearted living is about engaging in our lives from a place of worthiness. It means cultivating the courage, compassion, and connection to wake up in the morning and think, No matter what gets done and how much is left undone, I am enough. It’s going to bed at night thinking, Yes, I am imperfect and vulnerable and sometimes afraid, but that doesn’t change the truth that I am also brave and worthy of love and belonging.

I want to show up in my own life! I am going to do it! I am going to set up to the plate and I am going to be brave! I know that I will get my ass kicked. I will make mistakes and I will do good things. I am human. I am enough and I am worthy! And I’m learning to love myself for it.

Thoughts on procrastination and caring

Just watched a Ted Talk about procrastination. Tim Urban – a master procrastinator.

I have a cover letter to write that I really don’t know how to start, which is why I am on YouTube watching inspirational Ted Talks. Makes sense.

Tim Urban talks about the difference between the mind of a normal functioning non-procrastinator and his – a procrastinator mind. The major difference he has found is the presence of the Instant Gratification Monkey. I can relate.

Unfortunately, the Monkey has a great deal of influence over the Rational Decision-Maker. I think that we all know the conflict that arises between the Rational Decision-Maker and the Instant Gratification Monkey. Even if our brains aren’t in procrastination mode on a daily basis, most of us have experienced the pull of something that is fun and easy and makes us feel good right now, over the “to-do” item on our list that demands some preparation and that only after hours or days of hard “slog” gives a feeling of gratification. Hands down, “now” wins more often than not. That conflict is real and constantly taking place for a procrastinator.

Tim then introduces the Panic Monster. As Tim Urban explains it, the Panic Monster actually ends up becoming the driving factor for the procrastinator. When the deadline for whatever it is we are procrastinating about approaches, the panic monster wakes up. It is at this point that we enter the realm of chaos. The Monkey scoots up the nearest tree and the Rational Decision-Maker takes the helm and we cram for 72 hours straight and meet the deadline. My son, “cramming” for his final exam. Which he passed by the way. This anxiety can be very effective albeit not healthy as a constant companion in the long run. And how did I end up on this tangent?

Oh right, my cover letter. I am job searching. Writing my cover letter is rather important. Writing a good one is essential. I would like to be considered for the position that I am applying for. I would really like to be invited for a conversation. It is, dare I say critical, when applying for a position that I have limited work experience with but feel a burning passion for, that my cover letter leaves a positive impression. Especially since this is a path that I know deep in my heart is the one I am to follow.

So I am going to trick my Instant Gratification Monkey. Is this possible? Can this be done? Is that even an option? While scrolling YouTube this morning – don’t laugh, the Monkey was still in charge at that point – I happened upon a video of Nerd HQ “Conversations for a cause” from 2013 with Zac Levi and his guest Tom Hiddleston (Avengers). Not something I had seen before but I stopped a while and ended staying for the hour long conversation. You know that feeling when your intuition nudges you? There was something I was there to hear. Two things actually. Tom quoted a friend, who quoted Confucius “We have two lives. The second one begins when you realise you only have one.” This was in response to a question about where he draws his positivity from. He wants to live that one life. He continued that negativity, negative thoughts, are just clouds passing. Let them go. Life is just too amazing. And it is.

He went on to say “Don’t be afraid of your passion. Give it free rein. And be honest and work hard. It’ll all turn out ok. Give yourself permission to care” Ok. Eyes open – heart open. I will. I am. It resonates with me – the following statements: “It’s so much easier to lose when you’ve shown everyone how much you don’t care whether you win or lose. It’s much harder to lose when you show that you care, but you’ll never win unless you also stand to lose.” So – Instant Gratification Monkey off you go. Climb your tree. Even though the Panic Monster hasn’t yet reared it’s anxious head, I actually have a deadline. I have to get this done and it has to be near perfect. Because this matters. And I do care.

Thinking back

My mother-in-law died recently. Just a couple of weeks ago in fact. 06 March at 17:32. Why I noticed the time I have no idea. I just did. She did not have covid19. She died of the complications of having cancer for a long time. She lived with cancer – pancreatic. Her operation to remove the cancer was in 2016. She beat the odds for a long while. The percentage of people with this cancer who live past the first year is only 5%.
My mother-in-law, Mette – a tough lady with humour was how a close friend described her. She loved family gatherings and having people drop by for coffee. She thought about others, concerned with their well-being. I have only known her with cancer and with the thoughts and worry that cancer brings with it. I would have liked to have met her before the worries overwhelmed her. She did not accept that she wouldn´t live for another 10 years. She went for walks in the neighbourhood where she and her husband Benny, had settled 50 years earlier. Building their own house alongside the neighbours who also had chosen the same little town away from the city bustle. The neighbourhood grew. The house was built not far from Roskilde fjord. Water. A magnet for Mette – walking distance from water was best. She and Benny walked to the water many, many times even when things got tough for both of them. Benny has Parkinsons. A robber. A thief. Stealing abilities taken for granted through life. Stealthily taking over areas of the mind, areas of cognitive function in the brain, prompting fantasies to become reality, making time stand still. So while Mette fought her demons, both the dark thoughts and the limitations enforced by a body fighting a foreign invader 24/7, and Benny battled on through the debilitating effects of his illness, they walked the neighbourhood. Down to the fjord. Down to the next street and over and back. Down to the end of their street and back. Down to the neighbour three doors down and back. Until Benny couldn´t anymore without being wobbly and Mette worried he would fall. Mette was OK. She could manage. She walked. As long as she kept up with the kemo, every other week with a break once in awhile, she could manage. She wasn´t ill. Admirable. She didn´t want her illness to overshadow her life and she didn´t want anyone to worry.
We brought Benny to visit Mette the Wednesday before she passed away. He said goodbye. Gave Mette a kiss.
Thursday I could still talk to Mette. Her responses were simple – her requests basic – water, sit up, wet her lips. I sat by her side. Held her hand. Crocheted a little hand towel.
The sun streamed in the big window where her bed had been placed so she could look out. Feel the light. She loved light, loved the sun and the warmth it gave.
Friday I remembered music. Last Night of the Proms which she liked. A little candle – LED but still it flickered like a candle. We were there. Let her know we were there. Held her hand. Let her know that when she was ready it was ok for her to go. To start the next journey – a journey we couldn´t be a part of. There were flowers. As the light began to fade she seemed to make up her mind. She opened her eyes oh so briefly. We were with her. We held her hands. She took a few short breaths. Then no more.
There was no drama. There was simply no more. I opened the window a while after. Her soul, her spirit could fly when ready. Safe journey Mette. We tidied up the room. Gathered up her belongings. Spoke with the nurses. Took our leave. There was no more.