I dwell in possibility

A chaotic Halloween scene, from left to right: Myself, in high chair; my Grandma Reade, fussing over me; my Aunt Arlene in robber mask (we still have this mask); Dad hamming it up; and my Grandpa Reade leading in, no doubt running in at the last minute after turning on the timer on the camera. In front a homemade Halloween cake, likely with hidden foil money and jokes inside.

Our family has always enjoyed Halloween get togethers. We’ve always kept each other company as a family, as it can be a bit lonely and dark once the sun sets. Dad would have great fun decorating the house in the festive spirit, although he’d always stay out of the room during pumpkin carving. He did not love that squashy smell!

We often dressed up, ordered in pizza, enjoyed some kind of gloppy icing confection, roasted pumpkin seeds, and shared many laughs.

Dad would usually have a tape of very campy haunted house sounds playing in the background (groans and screams, chains and footsteps, creaking doors – the usual!). Dad’s snoopy pumpkin, and my Grandma and Grandpa’s ceramic light up haunted house would always make an appearance, too:

In later years we watched spooky, schlocky classics – older sensitive to my tendency for sensory overload. Last year’s was Frankenstein; previous to that, we had watched a couple of classic Vincent Price movies.

Dad and I would also go for a walk, hand in hand (or mitt in glove) to get a feel for the pulse on the street and check out neighbourhood decorations and pumpkin carvings.

I think Halloween appealed to Dad’s delightfully fun and theatrical side. He’d gotten into theatre as early as Junior High and continued dabbling in theatre throughout his adult life, even acting in a couple of Fringe plays.

His absence is all too painful today- our first Halloween without him. During this first bleak wasteland year without Dad we’ve no plans to celebrate, but hopefully next year will be able to honour his playfulness and love of the holiday in new ways.

As Hallowtide begins, I am looking forward to All Souls Day/Night (rooted in paganism) in a couple days- it will be an opportunity to reflect on all the beloved friends and family who have passed into the next realm. Dad thought the premise of this time to honour and celebrate the dead was a beautiful concept, and I agree. To set the mood, I invite a listen to Loreena McKennitt’s All Souls Night: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=07eWCY65Q0A

I’ll be posting a reflective gardening post soon, but my attention is currently on dismantling this past summer’s garden. Over the last couple of years I’ve grown runner beans, which grow about 20 feet to the top of lantern hooks on my deck. Dad would always marvel at their height! Their pretty flowers attract many butterflies, pollinators, and the occasional hummingbird.
(Pics below from August 2024; the recent frosts have decimated them now)

Tonight I will be chopping down the beanstalk and gathering dried beans. We ate the beans the first year, and they’re okay sautéed with garlic, but they’re kind of big, hairy, and tough (Skye gives a tentative sniff below). I prefer the bush beans (purple and yellow) for enjoying as a side for dinners- much more tender.

With no plans to eat the beans next year but simply grow them for flowers and our pollinators, I am able to harvest the magic beans 🫘✨and set them aside for next year’s planting. They are gorgeous and humongous! Fairytale-worthy, indeed. ❤️

Dad took this fantastic shot while visiting Vancouver years ago. He had such a unique eye for photos and the best sense of humour.

Amazing how revisiting a song later brings deeper understanding. I finally know, understand, and feel the pain of this familiar song that crept into my brain this morning.

King of Pain (Sting)

There’s a little black spot on the sun today
It’s the same old thing as yesterday
There’s a black hat caught in a high tree top
There’s a flag pole rag and the wind won’t stop

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running ’round my brain
I guess I’m always hoping that you’ll end this reign
But it’s my destiny to be the king of pain

There’s a little black spot on the sun today
(That’s my soul up there)
It’s the same old thing as yesterday
(That’s my soul up there)
There’s a black hat caught in a high tree top
(That’s my soul up there)
There’s a flag pole rag and the wind won’t stop
(That’s my soul up there)

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running ’round my brain
I guess I’m always hoping that you’ll end this reign
But it’s my destiny to be the king of pain

There’s a fossil that’s trapped in a high cliff wall
(That’s my soul up there)
There’s a dead salmon frozen in a waterfall
(That’s my soul up there)
There’s a blue whale beached by a springtime’s ebb
(That’s my soul up there)
There’s a butterfly trapped in a spider’s web
(That’s my soul up there)

I’ve stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running ’round my brain
I guess I’m always hoping that you’ll end this reign
But it’s my destiny to be the king of pain

There’s a king on a throne with his eyes torn out
There’s a blind man looking for a shadow of doubt
There’s a rich man sleeping on a golden bed
There’s a skeleton choking on a crust of bread

King of pain

There’s a red fox torn by a huntsman’s pack
(That’s my soul up there)
There’s a black-winged gull with a broken back
(That’s my soul up there)
There’s a little black spot on the sun today
It’s the same old thing as yesterday

I’ve stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running ’round my brain
I guess I’m always hoping that you’ll end this reign
But it’s my destiny to be the king of pain

King of pain
King of pain
King of pain
I’ll always be king of pain
I’ll always be king of pain
I’ll always be king of pain
I’ll always be king of pain
I’ll always be king of pain
I’ll always be king of pain
I’ll always be king of pain

I lie below the skylight this morning on a soft fluffy blanket in front of the warm fire, coffee in hand, beside a warm, foggy rabbit. The sky shines a gorgeous azure blue through the window, inviting me to join.

I think of Ken Klaus’ original piece, Blue Skies, played at Dad’s Celebration of Life. Dad lived in Blue Skies. For some strange reason I’m also reminded of Windows XP desktop screen (below), harkening back to the early 2000s. Happier times. I was running through those emerald green hills back then.

I remember a moment sometime around that period when I was at the Alberta Legislature gardens, a glorious sunshiney day, happy and delirious with life. I looked up at the blue sky abounding the heavens and I felt rushing sensation. The green grass lifted me to the blue and the blue sky came rushing down to meet me, combining into a swirl of perfect union. It was one of those blissful moments when the beauty of life steals your breath.

My spirit extends upward, stretching to reach the light today, but the blue is behind a pane of streaked, dusty glass. It is just out of reach.

Blue sky is framed by a skylight, along with a suggestion of sunshine out of view.

Above, Mom and dad set off on a glorious fall morning around the lake in September 2021.

Dad lived by Henry David Thoreau’s famous quote, particularly- “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately…”

Every fall brought intentional acts of soaking up the fleeting changing of seasons, whether “leafing” with the family, feeding the chickadees by hand in a park surrounded by golden leaves, or strolling in nature. During the pandemic a fall touchstone was a walk around the lake my house backs on to with Mom. He was always waiting, ready to spring for the perfect morning, with bright sunshine, low wind, and crisp temperatures.

The strolling circuit nearly complete, Mom and Dad approach my house for a rest and warm up.

She held the tattered, wartorn flag in her scraped, bleeding hands as she crawled along the rough pavement on raw knees. Long, dark hair fell over her downturned face.

A thousand assaults endured, a thousand losses under the blazing heat of hundreds of suns and dark, lonely moons. A gaping hole where her heart once was.

She begged for mercy. You’ve taken nearly everything, please, no more. And yet still more . On and on she crawled, on elbows now, legs behind, followed by a trail of blood and tears. 

I have nothing left. Her breaths ratched, but testament to her sustained presence in this horrid world. Unrelenting. Suspended. 

Is there no mercy, she cried. Youve taken my father, you’ve taken my security, my life as I knew it. You’ve taken my health, my passions, my dignity. Please don’t take another beloved. The embodiment of innocence, joy and meaning. I don’t ask to spare me. Please, today, spare her. Spare her, for another day. 

The despair and hopelessness was palpable and her raw vulnerability laid bare as she begged. Things didn’t have to be this way. Things could be different. The whys were long lost in the cries into the wind. She collapsed at the altar of fate. And waited.

Five Minutes Later Update: Fate spared her today, as soon as I published this. Thank you for this mercy. Thank you.🙏 ❤️

It’s funny how a song you haven’t thought of in a long, long time will just suddenly come to you in a moment. This morning the sunshine was sparkling outside, and I was quite apprehensively getting ready to embark on yet another vet trek to try to solve an enigmatic issue.

Suddenly Paul Simon’s lyrics and tune trickled in, from a mysterious source, like a meandering stream-

People say she’s crazy
She got diamonds on the soles of her shoes
Well, that’s one way to lose these walking blues
Diamonds on the soles of her shoes

And I smiled. I hadn’t thought of this song in a long, long time. It was released by Paul Simon in 1986, I was still a young child. Dad of course was quite taken by Graceland’s release, I heard it a lot around the house, and in the car on the tape deck.

An odd secret about me is that I think of this song every time a pair of shoes have chosen me over the years. The sparklier the better, and they always symbolically represent my heart. I wear my soul.

I know and understand the standard interpretation of the song, but on another level I suppose everyone brings their lived experience and being to a song, merging with it to create a transformational experience of sorts. For me, the song has always been about wealth, but a very different kind of wealth.

Even as a child I knew intuitively what it meant. Diamonds on the soles of your shoes meant experiencing reality in tune with the spark of life, of living deeply and in touch with the soul. Once I encountered Joseph Campbell and some of the great romantic writers in High School I understood this to be following my bliss, living a life of sensations, and having one’s heart pulse with the rhythm of the Universe. It also meant self actualization and being true to your innermost self. Society will not stifle or shape the spark that is within.

Dad experienced life differently than most. He drank life in deeply, savouring the sublime. Life was richly experienced and interpreted through the great artists and thinkers of hundreds of years; a tapestry of great thoughts and metaphors interweaving with raw experience and leading to a transcendent experience. His poetry was a beautiful manifestation of that way of living.

He taught me so much about experiencing the world. He showed me the diamonds on the soles of my shoes, my inner jewel. I think deeply, feel deeply, experience deeply, too. In some ways I’m almost too much hampered by my senses, being absolutely wired to fire. I frequently experience sensory overload. 

There is something special when you connect with someone else who experiences life on a deeper level and higher vibration. I’ve had this connection with Dad, and I’ve been blessed to have it with others. It is also possible sometimes to draw another into that alternate plane of experience, the interior world, and into living an authentic life. In the case of the song, to me, the “she” has done just that. By the end of the song the pronoun has shifted, from “her” shoes to “our” shoes.

And everybody here would know what I was talking about
I mean everybody here would know exactly what I was talking about
Talking about diamonds

People say I’m crazy
I got diamonds on the soles of my shoes, yeah
Well, that’s one way to lose these walking blues
Diamonds on the soles of our shoes

I must continue to try to apply basic photo composition and editing skills to my life these days.

Some life activities I’ve had to crop out of my life by design (lack of bandwidth to cope) and others I’ve had my hand forced into dropping (due to a lack of focus, joy, or time). My frame is much smaller and much more narrow than it used to be. In fact, it’s currently set to tunnel vision, the micro focus end of the spectrum. I’m attempting to manage essential needs with very limited resources and trying not to let anything too important go off the rails. With such a narrow canvas I must choose content with surgical precision.

Weekdays come and work becomes the central subject, a fisheye lens, with all else blurring to the edges. Above all else I must keep earning a living to pay the bills and exorbitant exotic pet fees I keep racking up. Unfortunately my already overtaxed senses max out quickly during the workday, leaving zero emotional energy to manage other life necessities by midday or beyond.

Similarly, my thought processes are also under construction these days. If wake in the middle of the night, I am assaulted by bullets of uninvited, intrusive thoughts of fears and trauma. They echo my darkest fears, my deepest agony, my most hidden trauma. As soon as they hit there is that awful gut-clenching, breath-taking lightning bolt seizing of the body. I see them for what they are. I refuse to give them light, to reinforce those pathways. Drop the brightness, lower exposure. I breathe, untense, center, come to present moment. Change the slide. Again and again they come. Again and again – breathe, untense, center, present moment, and distract. Change the slide. The process is exhausting. It wears you down.

Where do these terrors come from? Are they locked in some mind vault, word for word, buried under trivial distractions during the day? Is this where my quivery in-breath comes from if I try to breathe deeply- am I trying to hold the torrents back in order to semi-function?

During the day, it’s a similar experience, but narrower in content and scope. It’s always triggered by the awareness of the magnitude of the loss. The bottomless chasm opens, the thunderbolt of infinite pain hits. Sharp intake of breath, sometimes doubling over, sometimes reaching out to steady oneself. I could not live in that state permanently. Breathe, intense, center, present moment… Change the slide.

I’m working on reframing other things in my life, too. A current crisis screams for me to resolve it quickly, but there is no easy resolution, no scientific dissection and diagnosis, no neat and tidy bow I can place on a perfectly wrapped package. My head always focuses on what isn’t, what should be, and wants to resolve, taking linear steps to make it right. My head longs for order and the righting of wrongs. My life these days is unfortunately nowhere near as tidy as this.

The antidote, I know, is continuing to work on accepting and focusing on being grateful for what is. Changing the reference points that bring meaning to the picture. Changing the focus. Choosing elements to brighten and the elements I need to de-emphasize and tone down.

Knowing this in the head, and applying it to your heart, however, are two very different things. It is especially hard when you feel you are tied to the railway tracks, but still trying to grasp moments of being. Sure, the train’s far out of the frame, but you can still feel the vibrations of the train headed toward you in the distance… How is it possible to remain impervious to threats- those known, or those unknown, for that matter? I’ll continue to struggle, fiddling with the editing tools.

A week later, after begging on our knees for mercy from the Very Separate House Insurance Department that looks after Mystery Discounts, we finally received signs of life via email. The wording was succinct: “I attached the updated policy document for you to review.”

A quick scan of the new policy document revealed a new monthly price, with no explanation on why or how it had changed.

In sum, and with exact numbers this time, the monthly rates over a three month period are below:

Dad and Mom’s rate was: $247.95 (August)

Mom and Estate of Dad’s rate was: $657.71 (September)

Mom and Estate of Dad’s updated rate, as of today, is: $204.27 (October)

We appear to have won this latest round or house insurance roulette, although we cannot tell you exactly how or why the rate dropped so dramatically again. One thing is certain- if I hadn’t mustered what little strength and determination I have left to advocate for Mom, the long-term outcome would likely have been far different.