Posts by Linda Hunter:

Did you hear something…

March 27th, 2012
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Recently, while out walking with my husband, we encountered a friend heading in our direction.  He stopped to talk, first taking out his ear buds, and then moments later having finished our chat, resumed his walk, ear buds firmly reinstated.

I couldn’t help thinking that while he was probably listening to some great tunes; he was missing out on a whole other song that was playing
that fine morning.

• A cat meowing in the laneway
• Young road hockey players yelling ‘car’
• A neighbour calling out hello to another neighbour
• One baby giggling in a stroller
• Another  baby crying in a stroller
• A mother’s reassuring voice to her twins
• The car horn as one driver acknowledged another’s mistake
• The beeping sound the stoplight made when it was our turn to cross
• A little boy asking his mom if he could play at the park
• The songbirds in the trees above
• A passenger shouting out his thanks to the driver for holding the bus
• The rattle of the chains on the park swings
• The sound a seagull made overhead
• The soft rustle of the wind through the trees
• The sound of laughter coming from the daycare windows
• The senior thanking the teen for holding the bank doors open
• The swinging sound of a metal ‘for sale’ sign
• The whistling of another passerby
• The rolling wheels  of a senior’s walker
• The waves crashing against the boardwalk
• The jingling of change in our pockets
• A puppy’s bark at the sight of a squirrel
• The sounds our footsteps made on the gravel path
• The grocery service driver ringing a doorbell
• The sound of gratitude for a beautiful morning’s walk

 

 

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To Have and To Hold…

February 13th, 2012
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On a recent anniversary trip, my husband and I reflected on our 30 years of marriage and why we were still enjoying friendship and love.  Having been only 19 and 20 when we wed, our chances of reaching 50 and still being together and happy, were slim.

At 13 ½ years old, I had looked at the Scottish boy visiting next door as a wonderful easy summer boyfriend.  And,  while I didn’t understand much of what he said through that thick Scottish brogue, I understood cute and different and I enjoyed every minute together, vowing at the end of our month together, to stay in touch and to someday visit him in Scotland.

A year later, having saved all of my babysitting money, I boarded a plane bound for Scotland to spend a month with a young man I hardly knew and a family I had never met.  Looking back, I have only gratitude for the parents who had confidence in me, who believed in friendship and young love and who knew that life experience is the best teacher of all. Three years on, the changing Scottish industrial landscape meant a decision to immigrate to Canada and my long distance romance landed right in front of me on a Boeing 747.

My high school years were a challenging time, and adding in a 16 yr old transplanted homesick Scot, one who had already completed high school and was an apprentice mechanic years ahead of his Canadian peers, made it tougher. But by 19, both of us were in College and still in love, so it seemed an easy decision to marry young. Who could have known that a friendship begun at 13 would form the basis for a longtime love, one we would celebrate 30 years later.

Those years passed quickly with careers underway, two inter- provincial moves, three children, caring and grieving for dying parents, friendships, birthdays, graduations, and family holidays -the stuff of marriage and of life. And while not everyone who had wished us well at our 1980 summer wedding was convinced, we hoped we understood what it might take to keep it long and loving. And at 19 we couldn’t see why it wouldn’t.

So under a glorious blue sky and beside an aqua marine ocean in Fiji, I asked my husband what he thought was holding us together and more importantly what had kept us happy all these years.  For those who are interested, here are a few of those thoughts….

♥    WHEN MAKING IMPORTANT DECISIONS, we listen to each other, really listen and when it’s time to decide, whoever wants it more than the other person doesn’t want it, wins.  It’s never spoken about again and we each support the winning decision fully.

♥    EITHER, SAY IT OUT LOUD or DON’T SAY IT.  Think what you like but only say it if it is said out of love or will benefit the other person. And never share something to unburden yourself; some knowledge you just have to live with. We taught our children “if you can’t say it on a billboard, don’t say it out loud”.  Honesty is not always the best policy and some things really are better left unsaid. The answer to ‘do I look fat in this?” is always NO and the answer to “am I looking more bald?” is always NO.

♥    LOVING SOMEONE IS EASIER THAN LIVING WITH THEM.  Most people are easy to love, not so easy to live with, so we each started out with 5 rules that the other person had to honour.  Since there are only 5, we chose wisely and we chose deal breakers.  My husband’s “you can’t bring up the past”, meant that the argument about too much golf on Sunday, once resolved, was never mentioned again. And we compromised on everything else – there will always be things that annoy you, put them into perspective because small things can eat away at love, little by little if left to grow.

♥    MARRY YOUR FRIEND was the advice my mother gave me at 19.  She said to be sure that we had a strong friendship because once the passion started to fade; the friendship would keep us going.

♥    IT’S NOBODY’S BUSINESS. In our toughest and saddest times, we shared little with our friends or family, at least nothing we considered private and we didn’t ask others for advice.  We shared mostly with each other, and professionals when needed.  And while that famous saying “a trouble aired is a trouble shared” might work for some, we chose each other because friends can end up taking sides and family members can find it too hard to forget and move on long after you already have.

♥    TAKE YOUR TIME – IT’S ABOUT INTENT. Better to sit with things a while and not rush into saying or doing things you will regret later on.  We look at intent – if something is said in the heat of the moment or in anger, know that it can be forgiven.  If you can forgive, you can move on.

♥   CREATE RITUALS, CELEBRATE moments and share experiences; open up your home and your table to friends and to strangers.  There has often been a party in the works – birthdays on the beach, picnics in the park, graduation parties, and bon voyages. It is a short and ordinary life; we try to add some ‘special to it.

♥   IT’S A PARTNERSHIP.  Believe and trust in each other, respect each other and remember how important this person is to you. You are a team, a partnership – spend your time trying to make the other person happy and if they do the same, you can’t help but be happy.

♥    TIME FLIES, so don’t put off anything; you have no way of knowing how much time you will have together- go on vacations, say yes more often than no, accept invitations, share your time together.  You will wake up one day and ask yourself where the 30 years went, so make sure you have made enough memories to be able to answer the question.

♥    KEEP GROWING. Grow alongside each other or grow independently, but keep growing and learning and loving and don’t hold each other back.

♥    RAISE INDEPENDENT CHILDREN, so you can move on when they do.

♥    BE GRATEFUL – Love IS the answer, so when you find it, know its value and hold on tight, it’s one amazing ride!

 

 

 

 

 

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What I LEARNED & RECONFIRMED in 2011

December 31st, 2011
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Upon reflection, here is what 2011 taught me and what I know to be true:

♥   That a sense of order and peace really can reside on the inside regardless of what’s happening on the outside

♥   That adversity is a gift and that although we can’t always see it at the time, if we really look & listen, the gift will reveal itself – every single time

♥   That our three children really are the very best thing that has ever happened to me

♥   That sharing our home with another generation has offered us wisdom and love beyond what we could have hoped for

♥   That life is ‘simple’ and we complicate it , not the other way around

♥   That ageing is something to be grateful for, because the alternative is to not grow old

♥   That an ending need not be sad, it’s the only way to begin something new

♥   That it is easier to make a decision once now, than to have to keep making it over and over again later (thanks Caleigh)

♥   That being in touch with ourselves is more important that being in touch with others

♥   That our children are on loan to us for a very short time, and  letting go IS our job

♥   That where you live really is your home, if you let your heart know it

♥   That today is the tomorrow you worried about and tomorrow is the today you might never have, so live in THIS moment, the only one you know you have for sure

♥   That there is no right or fair age to die – we need to live fully NOW

♥   That the world and people are inherently GOOD and as Barry Neil Kaufmann said “the way we choose to see the world, creates the world we see”.  I choose to see goodness & abundance.

♥   That LOVE really is the ANSWER

♥   That sharing food is about much more than the food

♥   That we are all ENOUGH

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Christmas presents – it’s a spelling mistake

December 10th, 2011
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At this time of year, people can be overheard asking others what present they would like for Christmas.  I think there’s been a mistake, a simple spelling mistake.  I think the word is ‘presence’ not ‘presents’.  I think what we need to do is get ‘present’ and give the gift of time.

I have never understood the need to do so much at this time of year and to tire yourself to the point that you wish the holiday season was over. What if this time of year was instead about slowing down, and reflecting; about savouring what was wonderful this year, and surrendering what wasn’t so welcome.  What if we offered up compassion and friendship to those who are suffering, who are ill, who are lonely, who are sad.  And then what if we looked forward  with fresh eyes and an open heart and a dream for better days.

Ask anyone about their favourite Christmas memory and few will talk about the pace or even the gifts they received. Many will say, the wonder of their children’s faces, sitting by the tree, writing cards by the fire, sharing laughs with friends, baking holiday treats, checking out the neighbourhood lights, walking in fresh snow, crisp cold mornings, cooking, and eating, greeting arriving visitors at the airport, watching holiday movies….

Few will say, rushing around, spending more, sleeping less, figuring out what to buy, trying to find a parking spot….

My memories of my father who is not here at Christmas, are not of what he bought for me, but of putting up the multi coloured house lights, the skating rink in the backyard, cutting down the tree, reading a Child’s Christmas in Wales, and dressing up for his corporate Children’s Christmas party.  I remember his presence, not his presents.

So, fix the spelling and make a few changes; slow down a little, breath, have lunch with someone you love, take the joy and spirit of the season to heart and you will be well on your way to what matters most.

And for those of you, who say there is just not enough time, Miriam Weinstein, who wrote The Surprising Power of Family Meals, reminds us ‘time is the one thing we do have, no matter how rich or how poor, no matter our circumstances.  Time is how we measure our lives, it is the gift we give others and ourselves.  We short change ourselves and those we love by our insistence that we have too many things to do. And so we don’t allow ourselves to do the things we can”.   

Make a few changes this year and you may only have to return one thing – the love and friendship that comes your way.

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Grateful For The Gurney

November 17th, 2011
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I 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:

• 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

Not such a bad day after all!

 

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Aging with Grace

November 10th, 2011
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This 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!

 

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The Girl Effect

October 9th, 2011
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Some 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

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The Rhythm of an Ordinary Day

July 31st, 2011
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This 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!

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On Remembering and Writing

July 31st, 2011
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My 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.

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Following Your Heart

July 31st, 2011
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That 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.

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