The geriatric care wing of a pavillion attached to a nearby hospital.

  
The doctors insist that residents be served water as often as possible.  

Mr "R" sits in his wheelchair, eyes closed , his back stiff against the back of the chair, his white hair curling around the rim of a black felt hat.  Impressive figure.  I put my hand on his shoulder, stroke his arm gently and expect him to open his eyes.  He does not.  I ask if he wants some water - no answer.  I push the glass softly against his mouth and slip a straw between his lips.    Glass empty..... his eyes still closed.                                                                                                                            I feel triumphant.


Mrs "A" had breakfast in bed and invites me into her room. The rosary on her night table compelled me to say that I used to recite the rosary in German.  She delivers a part of it in French as her fingers move the pale blue beads and is eager to tell me that a priest comes to a lower floor later in the day for rosary recital and would I please wheel her there some day.  She can not leave this floor because she does not know the password that opens the elevator door.  I have done so and sat with her while warm memories such as rosary evening and teenage awakening mingled  in my head, going back many many years.  Us girls on our knees in the pew struggling to be next to hold the tiny mirror in front of us so that we could look up to the choir loft where the boys were hanging over the gallery looking down. .                                                                                                                        Pleasant thoughts.
                       

Mrs "L" likes Christmas.  The decorations in her room look tired and the white film covering them is not snow but dust. Her right arm is in a sling she moans about the pain and asks me to inspect the bruises.  I tell her that I'm not allowed to do that and ask her what happened..
She tells me that she was not tied in on the right side of her wheelchair and fell out.  Sometime later I meet her in the 'fish bowl' aka smoking room and as I express my concern about the fact that she is again not tied in she tells me that her fall had nothing to do with being tied in or not but that she fell as she tried to walk.                                                                                           Listen and take in with a grain of salt.      

                        
Mrs "M" sits near the window and turns the pages of a magazine lying on a table in front of her.  She invites me to come closer and points to a photograph of cats playing with a ball and is concerned as to how they can get all that work done in one day.                                                                Then she utters "if my mother came to see me now I would give her a push to get her out of here"  and in the same breath she continues "when I moved out from home mother told me that I could not do that and asked where I will go and what I intend to do and I answered I will do everything that you would like to do now but can't, haha".
I change the subject and ask if I can change the water of the flowers in the vase.  She smiles and as she turns a page in her magazine asks me to leave by saying come again.
                                 I feel welcome.


Mrs 'C' sits in her room facing the open door.  She does not want any of this rotten water.  No she does not want me to turn her chair towards the blaring TV which she says she can't see because they placed it too fu...ing high. I stop trying to turn her chair around, move to the side and watch her knit without needles and wool.  
A heavy Nefertiti bust hangs on a gold chain around her neck.                                                                                                                Harsh words have no power over me.


Mr "P" is a retired pastor.  He rolls back and forth in the corridors as if he were on Main Road and tells me that he is here because his wife left him and mumbles something about for better or for worse.
                Yes, shit can happen in the best families.


Mrs "M", the 92 year old resident is the matriarch of  the 3rd floor.
She rises late, has breakfast in her room, dresses nicely, wears jewellery, has her hair and nails done once a week and loves to push her walker towards an area where her job is waiting. She smooths wrinkles out of hundreds of facecloths and makes neat piles of them.  "Who touched this, none of their business, my job, it's only 11.30 why are they moving towards dining room".
                       Live to the very end.



    

Melee of things

A few weeks ago I took the boys age 8 and 10 and the girl age 14 off their parent's hands.

For lunch they filled their bellies with drinks, spaghetti and meatballs and desert at the Ikea store restaurant and when I later inquired about their supper preferences and expected to maybe hear McD's or such other fast food place, they emptied my wallet in a 'Sushi Palace'.
No, not a plain Sushi Bar but a Palace. 

How times have changed!

On my 10th birthday, shortly before the end of war, I asked for apples.  My mother went begging to some farmers and returned with the gift of 2 wrinkled ones which made me very happy.
    

60 years later, 10 years ago, Pasha, Besito de Luz and I sat around the kitchen table talking and laughing all afternoon whilst sipping wine, slicing carrots, cucumbers, avocado  and things I don't remember, sniffing the ingredients of the sea and choosing what to artfully combine with the rice for a pleasing effect to the eye and palate when rolled in seaweed on the bamboo mats, all in preparation for the sushi party of the evening, my 70th birthday.   Again I was not only happy but also overjoyed about the gift of togetherness of mother and children.  Yes, Moselito was also present but only interested in coming to the table to eat.


I don't know what awaits me on Sunday.  

On the way back to normal

Yes, loads of snow and  below normal temperatures of -25/-30F and the very occasional -8 in between have been on the menu for too long now.  Actually since early January.

I don't like the cold nor the job of clearing snow off the car early in the morning but I like Québec and what I'm seeing from the spot I am sitting at at the moment.  I see majestic pine trees wearing a thick white coat over a dark green undergarment.  Coat where illuminated by the sun changing into a diamond studded jacket topped with a blue hat.                             I forgot what I don't like.  Good.


Oh, thank you all for your so very kind words on my last post.  I wanted to say much more but could not find words that were precise enough to convey my feelings. 


I thought that knitting exercise would prevent getting cramps in hands.  Well, no cramps when knitting but yes cramps when holding playing cards. Hm...

These are some of my baby's snuggle socks made of leftover yarns.  Now, don't rush off making babies.  

  
   

I feel very blessed and am much surprised reading your comments here and thank you all, Tom, Halle, Rouchswalwe, Marja-Leena, Lucy, Sabine, Roderick R and Natalie, for your kind words.

Why surprised?  Because when I want to know if one of you has posted anything new I click on your blog.  I did not expect all of you dear friends to click on my blog to see if there is something new to read after I mentioned 'end of posting and commenting'.  

I have been feeling very fatigued and melancholic for a while now and very much in need of receiving. I don't feel the strong woman.

This new need of mine feels very strange to me.  I don't know what name to give it.  Is it need for help, appreciation, encouragement, gestures, words, love?
Maybe I do get it all but don't feel it, nor see it, nor hear it.

Is this need caused by the fact that a big 'O' is around the corner or is it health related?  I have been told that the count of "I forgot what" in my blood has been low for too long and have been referred to a specialist whom I'll see next week.
  

Today was better than yesterday - I'm on the way to improved tomorrows.


I do follow your blogs and also

                        Je suis (for the verb suivre) Charlie  

Holiday Wishes

Moselito and I are heading in this direction today.

May you all. dear friends,  be safe in whatever direction you are going this holiday season and throughout the New Year.

Today is one of those days

on which my thoughts jump from one thing to another to end up on a theory that maybe needs to be given long and serious serious thought.   

As I am cleaning my Bamboo floor which I supervised the installation of and know that a small space needs to be left  available behind the floor boarding all around allowing the wood to react to temperature and humidity.  It contracts and expands.  If no space left near walls, it will allow the floor planks to open up where they join.                                                                                                                                                                                                     I reach an area where a gap has developed between the planks and my thoughts jump to the spot on my right hand thumb where at the top on each side of the short fingernail the dry skin has popped open.   This reminds me that I need to wear gloves as soon as I start using the heater in the car to prevent this from happening.  My thumb reacts to warm air being blown at it as my hand is busy steering.

Then, as I wonder if there is a word to name this area of my thumb and play with the idea of asking one of my daughters, I think that I should not.  They have no time nor patience for such silly questions of their mother.

From there my thoughts wonder to the question of  what is this thing of 'mothers and daughters'?   Why, after the mother is no longer with us, and I know that it applies to many of us, does one feel guilty of not having  shown more patience, more devotion, more gratefulness, more compassion, more love.  I am saying more because we all have given, some more some less.  Did our mothers display love, self-sufficiency, tolerance and strength in order to give us peace of mind?

If so, it does not seem to work.  Not with me anyway.


Actually, I was going to say that I will stop posting and commenting for a while because it takes more time for me to do so than I can afford to use up for that purpose.

Will I be able to overcome this much enjoyable addiction?
          

Day Three

To Val-David again where Mireille exhibited two of her works.  I have seen and bought a smaller one of her creations a few years ago but had not seen any of her larger works.  Our paths cross occasionally in the village. We hug and kiss cheeks.  She recently told me that she no longer sculpts her hands being 'done'.                                                                           She now composes music, writes the lyrics and guitar in hand performs in small places here and there.  

   

A cold glass of sangria while waiting for our food was much appreciated by all.

What you see is not all she got.  The goat cheese made itself invisible.  

  

A few more photos and then back home .

Day Two

35 minutes drive to Mont Tremblant

  

                                                                                       
                                                                                          We took the easy way up

South side

Hard rocks in hiding

North side

Day one with Pasha

She arrived tired from her 6.5 hrs Jeep drive, eager to get into position to capture the blaze of autumn colours.     
                                                      
                                                     Parc des Amoureux - Val David 

Killing time..........

until Pasha arrives.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Arrangements need to be made for Nikita and Dakota to wiggle their tails and Chester to purr when she gets back home and it's a 5+ hours drive for her.  My thoughts are with her on that long drive - 16 lanes changing to 8 and then to 6.     

She wants to preserve our Autumn leaf colours as seen through her camera lens.

If I dare to suggest it, we might even discuss planing for an 'all of the families' bash to celebrate our upcoming big 0s.
"What, who wants to think about that now.  Next year comes soon enough, no rush about that, I don't feel like talking about it".  I can hear it.

Numbers never bothered me until I did not fit into this or that any more which to my delight, for a reason that I am proud of, happened very late in my life.  

Oops, she just called.  Should she maybe do the last stretch on the 117 or should she stick to finishing off on the 15 or or or.....it would be cool to take a country road and blablabla.
I suggested she should come here as usual and take it easy for the remainder of the day. 
It is supposed to get warmer and warmer till after the weekend and the show has not reached its peek as yet.




  

Who were you

Today I found 15 scraps of paper filled with my handwriting, small corrections and lots of crossed out lines, dated April 9, 1996.  I remember that I wanted to type it all up and hand it to his brother. I never did.  


Can a person whom one does not know well be one's friend?
Can one be fond of a person whom one does not know well?
Who were you, Luc?
You were a special being, a brave spirit wearing the shell of a human body that appeared at my doorstep uninvited but always so welcome and then disappeared again and re-appeared and disappeared.
When we sat together on the doorsteps on a hot summer day - you were the cool refreshing summer breeze.
When we stood at the window and watched the snow melt under the first warm sun rays - you were the first tender shoot of a tulip that announced spring to me.
When you asked me "how is it going?" and reassured me that all will be fine - you were the tiny bud on a stem that promised me roses.
When you offered me this tiny, oh so tiny little straw basket with a rock inside - you were like a child entrusting me with your treasures.  
When you struggled to set my furniture up after my move up here and struggled with the door that did not want to stay in it's hinges - your enthusiasm, energy and strength felt like fire.
The few times you shared painful moments of your life with me, were the times when only your shell was with me - you felt like water running through my fingers or like a rock that I could not move.
Then there were the times you passed by without stopping - just a smile and a wave - like a butterfly  .
                                  You were and still are my soulmate.


Luc was in the process of moving to another province where he had bought a small home together with a woman whom he met when he found her sleeping in her car in a parking lot in the middle of a small town nearby, on his early morning walk.  He talked about tourist accommodation, bike rental and repair and had stored 15 bikes with me which were going to leave a few days after him.

More notes:

Luc arrived at my house around 17.30 for a good-bye supper and to view the community video that had been given him by Moselito's home away from home to thank him for his helping hands. He brought three muffins for desert - his aunt had made them - and was holding a big white carnation that he shyly held out to me.
He ate well.  We boiled young potatoes, prepared a green salad and some crab meat mixed with Mayo.  He enjoyed the dinner and commented how little efforts we put into meal preparation when we prepare it for ourselves only. Like - take one thing, slap it on another and eat.  While we were having our second herb tea and while I was puffing away on my cigarette I asked him if he ever smoked and drank and hung out in bars.  He smiled and said "of course I have done all those things but as we get older we don't have the energy
for that any more and we look for an easier way of living". 
He talked a lot about this good conversation he had with his mother and brother a few days ago.  How they talked a lot about the past and how difficult it had been for his mother.  Many moves because of his father's job, 4 children to take care of etc.  He talked about being sent to pensionat, him and his brothers and had it not been pensionat , it would have had to be reform school or such.  He felt that they or maybe him only (I'm not sure) had been a bad bunch for a while.  He disliked pensionat.  He was very happy to repeat over and over again
how happy his mother was in her new place.  The house being now rightfully his but he was leaving most things behind so that his mother would feel good when going there on a week-end visit.  His aunt and uncle would stay in the house each week-end and his sister would be able to go there when she came over from England during the summer.  He also talked about leaving small nick-knacks behind because he wanted to detach himself from the past and start a new life in a life that now scarred the shit out of him.  He told me how terribly he panicked after he had decided to move up here from Montreal and how frantically he tried to get his Montreal place back, that it had already been rented to someone else and that if this had not been the case he would still be in Montreal.  He wanted to hear me talk about moving up here and how I feel about it.  He was worried about having to make new friends in B., about having to subsidize part of his business and life there.  How easy it was for him to spend big money but how hard it was for him to pull small amounts out of his pocket for his daily needs. No, he did not have to worry financially and even if he lost it all in that new place he would still be able to survive decently.  He admires how his father was able to plan all so well and retire at age 55.  Yes, it's about time he undertook something and took up some responsibilities.  Sure he knows how to count and, do I think he could get a kick out of keeping records on a computer?   " But, one can get addicted to it!"    No, he won't use it to withdraw - it was now more important to put energy into building a relationship with C. and looking after his bike shop.  He wants to cut off part of the building and build a small bachelor apartment.  He bought the kitchen cupboard here. 
He enjoyed the video but did not make many comments.  We were both sitting on the couch with blanket around our laps - he joked and said "just like a grandfather".
He called the mover and confirmed that the move was still on and then walked back to me and talked about re-establishing trust - that he told the mover a lie when he cancelled and told him that he had lied to him when he reinstated the move.  Movers must have seen it all he felt, since most people must have big emotions when they move.
At one point he asked me if he could rent this room, and pointed to a room, if he ever had to come back.  "Anytime Luc"!  He was pleased to hear that and seemed content. 
I did not ask him why he would rent here since he has an empty house in Ste.A.  Later on, shortly before leaving he asked if he could look at HIS room.  I opened the door, he walked around inside it and said "this is very nice, you used to sleep here I guess, I need a mother".
I did not know what to say except that if he really wanted to be here I would be pleased to have him and would leave him to do whatever he wanted.....talk or read in peace.
Luc had mentioned to me that he would come to visit early because he did not like to be out late.  When I felt that he was getting ready to leave I offered him to sleep in HIS room since he did not like to be out late.  I offered it twice but he kept saying that he was al right.
His good night and good-bye hug did not feel as warm and quite as hugging as other times and his upper body felt stiff and cold.  
He was dressed in beige pants, beige wool pullover and a yellow/light brown jacket.  A small, serious looking figure walking through the porch light down the steps into the dark for ever.

                                 May what is true in you dear friend
                                 arise beyond the treshold
                                 despite the ruins of your self-destroyed habitation     
                                 and we
                                 who follow your destiny
                                 wish to be mindful
                                 that you too are mindful
                                 and standing upright 
                                 look back on the ruins with the decision
                                 to build them up once more into a firm new dwelling

                                                                         Rudolf Steiner


I think I was the last one to be with him and hoped that by writing each and every word of his down, I would find something that indicated his intention to drive back to his house, do what needed to be done for being able to sit in car and fall asleep.

I usually visit his grave once a year or more to put things in order.  I will go there tomorrow and will look at dates. II want to know how old he was.                

Looking down

Moselito loves going for long walks and replied with yes yes yes and a broad smile when Ellena suggested to go up to the top of L'Aiguille and look down to Val-David village.  His pottery  and weavery workshops are located in that village. 

Little did he know how slowly Ellena would make it up to the top.  He does not know that she suffers from  'window shopping syndrome' .  She walks a bit and needs to stop a bit. 
Consulting a specialist about the soreness in legs confirmed that carotid arteries are fine and that fixing the leg arteries would be as risky as leaving them alone.  So, Ellena reduced her long and up the hill walks to short walks for the past 2 or more years but, decided to try one more time to do what she always did.    

Moselito patiently waiting for Ellena

In this area of the Upper Laurentians we live on the oldest rock on earth and this is one of them rock pieces.

"Moselito...out of breath... wait for me.......out of breath...... not so fast!!!"

Each time someone passed us on the trail I asked how much further the top was or I stepped to the side and made gestures that invited them to pass.  

Moselito and I snacked, he went back to the edge where he could look further away and I stretched out on a bench and closed my eyes.  The tap on my shoulder was not Moselito's hand.  It was Guillaume, a young ranger, asking if I needed help. No thank you was apparently not enough for him to hear.  He decided to leave me his walking stick for just in case.

Guillaume caught up with us on the way down.  I laughed when I saw him coming and his reply, when I said that I was not surprised to see him again, was "and this time I'm staying with you all the way down".   And he did - with a helping arm from time to time, a friendly smile during our conversations, pointing to an easier trail towards the end of the descent and........also with a smile "you two are a double I can't remember the kind word he used, I suggest you bring a walking stick, you carry a cell 'phone, you teach Moselito how to dial 911, you register in the book at the entrance to the parc and you sign out on your way out".  

I wonder if someone reported this old lady on the trail, huffing and puffing.

I am so proud of myself and feel very much alive and am looking forward to seeing Guillaume when signing in next time.     

Hot summers and humidity

The story of the skirt relates to the time I was working in a bank.  My female co-workers just nodded their head when I answered "Madame T" after having been asked my name.  I did not know that French Canadians, at that time, addressed each other by their given name, used 'tu' on the first meeting and expected to hear me say "Ellena".    Bad start, I was considered to be the arrogant newcomer from Europe.       
I gave the girls an occasion to get back at me when I told them that I want my circle skirt to stand out in a circle as wide as their skirts and asked what to do about it short of inserting whatever it was they inserted into the hem of the underskirt.  Their kind advice was  "wash, rinse in sugar water and dry in sun". Smart- me did so.                                                   
The little branch of big TD bank was not air-conditioned then.  Do I need to explain what happened on the day where heat and humidity climbed extremely high?  Sitting in place all afternoon was a very sweaty/sticky situation.

Soon after and shortly prior to leaving the bank, I realized that I had become a trusted and in their eyes experienced friend.  One of the girls was getting married and asked me specific questions concerning the night of the wedding, another girl came back from their honeymoon and shared with me that her husband asked her to do such and such and did I think it was OK.  A young man walked me home after work, talking about Elvis P. whom I had hardly heard about, to then casually pose questions concerning abortion.  I was not much help to any of them being very uncomfortable talking about personal matters but, I was pleased that I had made friends that trusted me.  

 Today is the first time that I notice the man sleeping on the bench but Pasha always makes me smile the way she moves proudly down the catwalk with purse on arm.

(Shaking my head in disbelief that I bought a purse for her).