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Posts by Linda Hunter:
- for the heating pad that had kept my husband warm each day in bed
- for the pain medication that was making a difference to his severe back pain
- for being self- employed so I could spend time by his side
- for the nurses who cared for him and for me too as I sat beside him
- for the delicious tea and muffins I bought around the corner from the hospital
- for the medical plan we have that makes buying prescriptions no burden
- for our family Doctor who paid attention to changing symptoms, called our house to check on him
- for a car that works that got us to the hospital quickly
- for a hospital that is only nine minutes away
- for soup from the hospital kitchen, two bowls, and both hot
- for the wonderful bed, duvet, and super soft pillows he laid down upon all week
- for the TV he watched, and the distraction from pain when he watched it
- for friends who called and visited
- for hospital doctors who consulted and ruled out the dangerous stuff
- for space and a chair for me to be by his side, to read, and write, and chat
- for time together with nothing to do but talk
- for slowing down – no computer, no cell phones, no music on the iPod – just us
- for hospital equipment that worked well
- for computers that carry medical history and provide good information
- for IV liquids that made such a difference
- for a co worker who kept it going at work in his absence
- for children that spent time visiting, and showing him he was loved
- for wellness that was just around the corner
- This event is truly ‘inclusive’ – it brings together the entire grad class, every single grad is welcome, and no one is excluded.
- Truly for everyone, this event includes students with disabilities, accessibility challenges, those who drink, those who don’t, those who are part of the ‘cool’ or ‘in’ crowd, and all of those who are not.
- This is the final opportunity for the ‘entire’ grad class to be together in one place, to make lasting and lifelong memories together, after this, no matter how many get togethers there are, they will not include the entire class
- This is the most entertainment and fun you will find in one place on one night – a ‘wet’ grad cannot even compare to this type of event – the themed decorations, the food, the entertainment, the dancing, the prizes – no ‘wet’grad, even a really well organized one, will have this much fun or provide this much to do in one place.
- This is only ONE Night out of your entire life of nights
- These grad memories will be ‘memorable’ – they will not be foggy or forgotten – why risk losing this memory with such an important a group of friends on such an important night
- The question of whether or not to drink doesn’t enter the equation, it’s simply not an issue, there is no pressure to ‘party’ in a certain way
- The chance to start a new tradition be the first graduating class to produce an amazing all night, all inclusive After-grad
- This event sends a clear message, we value our grads, they are cared about, and we want them to be safe and to have an unforgettable night
- Other teens say this is the way to go –
Grateful For The Gurney
November 17th, 2011I recently spent an unexpected day in hospital with my husband. He had been in bed for a few days with flu like symptoms and was under his Doctor’s care. On this morning, his health had deteriorated even more and we ended up first in our Doctor’s office and then headed to hospital
for almost eight hours – a full work day.
I had been scheduled to speak at a Conference that day, but instead spent my time, watching and waiting, while many others worked hard to help my husband. Later, that week, someone mentioned that they had felt sorry for me, for wasting my day in hospital, for missing my chance to
present, for having to spend so much time in a hospital room. “Had I had a terrible day?” And I quickly replied, “Actually, no, it had
been quite a good day, and I had spent some of my time writing a list of what I was grateful for that day”
Since you asked, here’s what I am grateful for:
Not such a bad day after all!
Aging with Grace
November 10th, 2011This past week I realized that my mom is old. My mom is 82 so it may not come as a surprise to anyone else that she is old, but it did to me, it came as a quiet, creeping up on you kind of surprise.
My mom has always been ‘with it’; you might even say ‘cool’. She has always been ahead of her time, willing to learn new things, ready to try new adventures, a doer, always in the game, never on the sidelines. And even in her oldest years, she has never seemed ‘old’.
Busy five days a week, Grace has always been active; dancing, table tennis, bridge, exercise class, the Casino, so this week, when I realized that she had actually gotten old, aged without me seeing it, I was surprised, and saddened.
It didn’t come as a thunderbolt; it came to me slowly, a little bit of information at a time. This week at the grocery store, she moved more slowly, it took us longer to shop for her list, and she referred to that list more than once, reminding herself of what she had already bought, had yet to buy. She apologized for taking too much of my time, for making me wait too long at the bank, for not being able to find her money quickly, and for being, well, old.
She seems worried more and sometimes even troubled, at what’s going on out there. She is more timid, finds things more annoying, and gets mad quickly, sometimes at others, sometimes at herself. It’s almost as though she is looking in from the outside, not really a part of what’s going on. And so, I am sad, to see her changing, to recognize that she is different, to know I can’t change it, and to want to save her from it, to keep her safe, to make her happy. I love her and I want her to be ok, always. And I want her to be here, always.
And so, I decide I need to be more patient, to be sure that nothing I say upsets her, to walk a little more slowly when we are together, and to help to ease her troubled mind, to try and make her laugh. And I decide too, to grieve a little, for the mom I see slipping away and for a time when she won’t need me, when she will no longer be here.
But mostly I remind myself to be grateful. My mom is here and sharing our home, she is not undergoing chemotherapy, doesn’t have dementia, doesn’t’ need a walker or a wheelchair. She requires no personal care, pays her own bills, does her own laundry, thinks for herself, and still travels to faraway places. So, if old is all I am dealing with, I think I can cope, and I shall count my blessings – of which it appears, I have many!
The Girl Effect
October 9th, 2011Some messages just need to be heard, whether or not you are ready to listen!
http://www.girleffect.org/share/the-big-picture/the-girl-effect-ticking-clock#.TpHnabtFaIU.facebook
The Rhythm of an Ordinary Day
July 31st, 2011This morning, as I set out on my gratitude walk (I walk each morning before I sit down to a computer or laundry, or letter writing) I started thinking about my ordinary life and this ordinary day. A wise woman once told me that life for most is very ordinary and if you can find the joy in that, in simple living, you will be miles ahead of those who are always wishing for something extraordinary to happen, only to be disappointed by their ordinary life.
Before I headed out, I made up some muffins, fed the cat across the street for my traveling neighbours and put out my used clothing for pickup later in the day. I left with the sun shining and feeling thankful – thankful that nothing amazing or earth shattering was happening in my life right now, grateful that everyone was healthy and going about their everyday ordinary lives – my mom getting dressed downstairs, our son at work getting the restaurant ready to open, my husband off to work in his little MG, another son was just getting up, having slept outside underneath the stars, and our daughter, miles away in Scotland, walking home from a regular day at the café – an ordinary beginning for all.
On my walk I encountered all sorts of souls, saying hello to all as they passed me by. I helped a little boy who couldn’t reach the mailbox, post a letter for his mom, I held the door of the bank open for someone to take her tray of coffees in, and I chatted with a lady trying to help another rein in a wayward dog. I dropped in at the local juice place and bought a great spinach smoothie to take to the restaurant where our boy was already working hard. I walked along my ocean route and with the way the sun was shining, it looked like there were beautiful shiny droplets dancing on the water, the kind that follow you as you walk, and the smell of the sea was deafening. I picked up milk at the grocery store and helped a senior cross the road to get out of the way of traffic that was moving much faster than he. Once home, I made those muffins I had started, poured a cup of tea, and chatted with our other son who was planning a day at the beach. I moved on to do a load of laundry, finish a writing assignment, call our daughter to say hello, do a little cooking, and finish a crossword.
It was the best sort of day, one could hope for – quiet, sunny, peace filled, sweet smelling. Nothing amazing or terrible happened. I didn’t accomplish a great deal, didn’t invent something new, or manage to save the world. It was a perfectly ordinary day, and while I didn’t climb any mountains, the view from where I am sitting is pretty spectacular!
On Remembering and Writing
July 31st, 2011My father was a writer, although if asked, when I was young, I would not have called him that. Most of the time he was at work, where he went every day, to a television studio, where he wore a tie and was a technical director. That was his real job!
When he wasn’t at work though, it was true, he was a writer; always writing, on bits of paper, on napkins, on the white edge of the newspaper he read every day. He would stare off into space sometimes at dinner, or when I was talking to him, and when asked what he was doing, he would say “thinking”, and then he would rush around trying to find a pen to write down his latest idea. When I was 8, I remember, he wrote a series of TV scripts that he read to me as books written in rhyme, books that no one else had, Even so, I still didn’t think he was actually a writer. I liked to write too and for years, I would tell my Dad that I was a writer. I wrote poems, short stories, a book when I was 10 about a Giraffe, that I wrote and illustrated, and then in my teens, a book of poetry – Pie a la Mode.
But I grew older and time marched on. College came, then the start of a career, a new house, some traveling, and 3 kids. It was a busy life and so I didn’t write much. My Dad would ask me from time to time about my writing, and I would tell him that when things slowed down, when I had more time, I would write. And he would tell me “if you were really a writer, you would be writing every day, writing something, anything”.
25 years on, I had written very little. When my Dad was dying a few years back, we shared some time together while I stayed home to help care for him. He and my mother had lived with our family for over 10 years and he had decided to die at home. Each day, I would make my way downstairs for a visit and cup of tea, and he would ask me to share a memory, something I would remember when he was gone. It was a difficult exercise but a meaningful one. I was forced to dig deep, look back and to really remember! I thought about my childhood and what I had learned from him, what I would miss. I talked about the little house he had built me when I was very young, in the basement, the one no other kid had, with a real sink and a shingle roof. We shared stories about the ice rink he had built in the backyard, the one with the wooden borders that each night, when he got home from work., he would flood; he would grab the hose; flip his jacket over his shoulder, and stand, laying down another thin layer of soon to be ice, thinking, as he stood. We talked about his love of the English language and how we had to learn a new word every day, and that we had to use a pen for crosswords, no pencil or being indecisive. We laughed about the stray dogs we had had, the paper bag puppet shows, our great road trips to New York, and how he had taught me to waltz when I was 12, by standing on his toes. He had said “you never know when a young man will ask you to dance, you need to be ready”.
When I asked him why it was important for me to remember, why it was so important to tell him something every day, he said ” when we die, we die alone, we take nothing with us, and nothing we own or leave behind really means much, it’s just stuff. The only thing that truly matters are the memories we have made, what we have left behind that others will remember, what reminds them of us, what says that we were here”. Lucky for me, because my Dad had been a writer, many of those memories were written down, in magazine articles, in published books, and in those bits of paper and napkins that we found. And, those permanent memories, the many he had written down over the years, meant that my Dad would never really be far away. I could read a poem now, and bring him back, sitting across from me, smiling, and telling me another story.
Just before my Dad died, he asked me what I was going to do with my time, once the kids were up and out, and I was a bit older. And, without missing a beat, I told him “I think I’ll do some writing”. He looked up and through a smile and with a very weak and quiet voice he said “If you are going to be a writer, you will have to write, every day, write something, anything”. When I responded, with tears in my eyes, that I just didn’t know what to write about, he replied “do what I did, write about what you know”.
I have been thinking about those words, for a while now, and I have decided to be that writer – to write down what I know, so my kids will have what I have, a memory that can’t be forgotten, one that is written down and lasts forever, one that they can read anytime, anywhere, one that means I am always here, and never really very far away. And then years from now, when they are sharing their memories with me as they say their goodbyes, they will feel what I felt, sitting there with my Dad – sad and blessed, weary and hopeful, grown and grateful.
My Dad has been gone since 2004, and hope that somewhere, somehow he can see me, and the new book.
Following Your Heart
July 31st, 2011That news is forever etched in my mind, no that one is stitched in – the moment when we found out we were going to have twins; our tiny family of three was quickly going to grow to five. In one of those quiet moments following the news (it was a long moment – we were speechless), my husband revealed his biggest fear, he was worried that he “couldn’t love another two babies as much as he loved our daughter, his heart was full, he just couldn’t imagine loving anyone else that much”. So I told him what I believed then, and what I know now, that your heart simply “grows bigger”. I’m not quite sure how it happens; it just grows, gets larger and fills with even more love.
When all three were still toddlers, we would spend hours at the park, playing, watching. Pushing them endlessly on the swings, they would shout “higher, go higher”. They would play with their trucks in the sand, chase each other up and down the slide, and squeal, look up with their eyes fixated on me on the bench, and yell “Mommy, watch this!” I can remember thinking “wouldn’t it be nice if time could stand still, if they could be young forever, laughing, playing, healthy and happy”. It is such a glorious time, that moment in childhood and motherhood, where you have no idea what’s coming and the only thing that matters is right now. I knew then that those really are the “time stands still” moments, the ones that warm your heart, and the ones you go back to, when you want to remember.
Of course it is true, as our children grow; our capacity to love them grows right alongside. I remember in grade eight, our daughter had argued with friends, ending in tears, and she ran to her bedroom, threw herself on the bed crying, really crying. You know, the kind of loud sobbing that makes you feel really awful afterwards and gives you a headache but at the time is completely warranted – your world has been shattered. Then, after chatting about it and deciding what repair work needed to be done, I left her, still crying, but a quieter, gentler crying, the kind you do just before you fall asleep, still sad but knowing tomorrow will be better. And I remember, closing her bedroom door, with my heart aching. I would have done anything to take that pain away, to have had that moment never happen, and to have saved her heart. But these are the experiences that make your heart stronger, build that ever important muscle, and prepare it for the heavier things to come.
By the time they hit high school, your heart adjusts. They’re older, they understand more, and their hearts have already been through a lot. They know how to open it, and how to close it off to shield some of the pain so it doesn’t hurt quite so much. For us, our hearts become “heavier”; we worry more, about late night parties, learning to drive, and the pressure – the pressure that comes with becoming a young adult.
In our daughter’s final year of high school, it felt like our hearts were riding a roller coaster. One day it was about the graduation, the dress, the freedom and the excitement. The next day it was about the grades, the future, the decisions, the anxiety of “knowing who to be, what to do”. And with each day, no matter, up or down, I always gave the same advice “follow your heart”. I would tell her to strip away all of the distracting stuff, the stuff that gets in the way and ask “what is the right thing to do, the true and good thing to do”.
With the end of high school looming, came the “heartfelt” decision to leave home, to travel, and to live abroad, and the decision to share her heart with a young man. While her heart was telling her it was time to go; ours was telling us we might not survive. Our home would never be the same if that heart left, even for a short time.
And so for the next six months, while they worked several jobs, researched routes, bought backpacks and hiking boots, I worked on my “heart”. I worked on letting her go, a little more each day and I worked on gratitude, for having raised a strong and confident young woman, ready to take her heart out into the world. In our hearts we knew it was time; time to watch, and to love, and to let go.
That day finally arrived, the day we sent her off to Europe, her boyfriend at her side, and I realized something. My heart wasn’t going to break after all; she was simply going to be taking a piece of it with her. A piece she could keep for those quiet desperate moments, those “did I do the right thing” and “what was I thinking” moments, and for those times when her heart would ache for home and for family. When the time came to make their way through the security gate, she turned and looked back, threw us one of those famous smiles, and blew us a kiss. And, I blew her a kiss right back, and as I did, I said quietly, so no one would hear “Be careful doll, you’re traveling with my heart”.
Our daughter is still traveling and living abroad, nearly 4 years later, and I continue to keep her close in my heart.
There Are No Strangers Here, Only Friends You Haven’t Met
July 31st, 2011This famous quote, which belongs to William Butler Yeats, the Irish poet, came to mind the other day while I was at the post office, standing in line. My local postal outlet is in a pharmacy, and I am often there, sending packages, photocopying, or buying stamps. As usual, there was a line of customers and I found myself talking to strangers. A stranger is defined by some as ‘a person with whom one has had no personal acquaintance’.
One of those in line was a lovely man, a retired history teacher from Ontario, who took a moment to share some history with me (once a teacher, always a teacher). He showed me a Canadian 25 cent bill, yes, a 25 cent bill, from 1900, very cool! He had found it amongst his mother-in-law’s belongings when he was cleaning out her home during a move. He was so very pleased that it had not been lost, and when I suggested that it might be of value and should be kept in a safe place, he shook his head and told me that he wanted to share it with as many people as possible, so they too could enjoy and learn, and I was so glad he had. He then showed me an old 50 Deutshe Mark bill and we talked about what that would have bought way back when, and how times changed for Germany during the war years.
He went on to tell me about his children, how he met his wife, and about the fabulous holiday he was about to embark on to celebrate his 50th wedding anniversary. Having just celebrated my 30th (just kids!), we discovered that we were both going to the same part of the world to party, to New Zealand. He had his whole itinerary in his hands, a map of the voyage he was taking by ship and he shared his plans and his enthusiasm with me. We chatted about raising a family, what we believed in, and our love and belief in the power of travel, to teach children about life; a different kind of education. After 25 minutes of chatting, we parted ways; he moved on the stationary store, I stayed to photocopy a recipe from a friend.
I feel so lucky to have spent some time in his company, with this man whose name I didn’t even know. And somewhere during my time with this stranger, I thought about what Yeats had said, and began to think of this stranger as a friend, sometimes defined as ‘a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard’. So I think I agree with Yeats, and as far as I am concerned, the definition of a stranger and a friend, today, are both the same – ‘the guy I met at the post office’.
We are all part of one community, one world, one planet earth – talk to someone new today!
Top Ten Reasons
July 1st, 2011Top Ten Reasons to have a safe, dry (alcohol free) After-Grad
“The After-Grad was an amazing time for all of us grads to get together, while being safe. A lot of memories were remembered that night while looking back on our 13 years together.”—Jesse, graduate.
“Graduation is a major moment for us and an event that most definitely stands out in our lives. It is something many of us would not only like to remember but enjoy as much as possible. When alcohol is thrown into the equation it opens up the possibility for over-consumption and the many negative effects that may come with it. Why not soak up every moment you can rather than impair your experience. It is truly an experience I’ll never forget. They are memories I wouldn’t trade in for the world.” —Patrick, graduate.
“The best part about having an After-Grad was having all the graduates together in one place for the event. My memories would be foggy and distorted if I didn’t have the Safe Grad to enjoy. So many events were happening, that there was always something for everyone to enjoy. The After-Grad left me and my friends with tons of memories and great photos!”—Stephanie, graduate.
Talking With Your Mouth Full
June 28th, 2011Anyone who knows our family knows that sharing our Family Dinner Table is something we value and hold dear. For as long as I can remember, we have been enjoying daily meals with family, friends, neighbours, and strangers.
Friends have asked me what makes it work, and I say it works because the rules have never changed.
Our “Open” Dinner Table rules:
• No hats or hoods – we want to look into your eyes when we talk
• No games, books, cell phones, or electronics at the table – it’s about connecting
• No TV in the background & music is low – we encourage conversation
• No answering the home phone – the people at our table are our focus
• Anyone is welcome – strangers are just friends we haven’t met yet
• There is always enough – we will share what we have
• Everyone sits together – no ‘kids’ table – so that we can learn from each other
• You eat what you like, leave what you don’t, and take only what you need
• No set seating, we want you to be comfortable in your chair
• No topic is taboo, we are honest & respectful – our table is a ‘safe place’ to talk
• Stay as long as you like – leave the table when you are full and fulfilled
Home – as published in Boulevard Magazine
June 7th, 2011With our twin sons newly graduated, there has been a lot of talk of late about ‘leaving home’. And with a grown daughter already living in Europe, we know only too well, how different home feels with her gone. Everything changes with each one that leaves; they take their memories, their energy, their laughter, and their dreams along with them, and the house is never quite the same. What I realize now, with two more on the threshold, or should I say the doorstep, is that you never really leave home – you take it with you. It’s not a place or an address; it’s a presence, a state of the ‘heart’.
I can still remember all of the houses I lived in as a child, the moves from town to town, new schools, and new friends. But with each new move, while many things changed, one thing stayed the same, my sense of belonging, my sense of ‘home’, that place where I shared my love and my laughter with family and friends. That sense of home is with me no matter where I live.
So, as our sons make plans, and buy backpacks and travel books, we tell them what we told our daughter – no matter where you find yourself in the world, you are never really far from home – just think of one of your favourite memories and if you hold it close it will feel just like you are here, you’ll be home!
February 11th update – our sons are traveling in Asia and the South Pacific and carry ‘home’ with them every place they go. Our daughter is returning ‘home’ this year, having traveled and lived abroad for over 4 years.
