What happened to October 2019?

It came and it went. Even my autobiography got shoved aside. Monday, September 30th, I started teaching a new ESL student, referred to me by my previous ESL student. Luz comes twice a week, Wednesdays 10 to 11, and Fridays 4 to 5. Today, somehow, she didn't show up. Could have been because of the changes from October 24th to 31st. I had to cancel the Friday and Wednesday of that week. More about that in a few minutes. So, the ESL tutorials account for a "loss" of two hours a week writing time.

Much of my time was taken with preparing to go to the Surrey International Writers' Conference, October 24th to 27th. Not the writing I'd hoped to take with me, or to prepare to do there, just preparing to leave my husband alone for seven days. I wanted to have some "me-time" after the conference, stay with friends until the end of the month. Not doing that again. I was leaving on Thursday, October 24th and coming back on October 31st, flying home on my broomstick.

But first I had to arrange for someone to check in on my 86-year-old crippled husband once a day, help him get his shoes on if he wanted to go out, make sure he had his medicines, and at least make a sandwich for him for his lunch. Interior Health (the regional health service for this part of the province of British Columbia) assured me that a visiting nurse would come every morning between 9am and 11am. They pledged to do "dress assist" and "medicine assist" and "meal assist". We would pay $31 (and change) per hour or $72 per day whichever was less. I'm just waiting to see what the bill will say when it comes. Because: over 7 days, 6 "nurses" came (one came twice) but none of them were nurses. They were "care support workers". So--Frank attempted to be up every morning with at least most of his clothes on. Not once did any of these "workers" offer to put on his shoes. When he asked them to give him his morning pills, one of them (the one who came twice) didn't know how to open a blister pack, and when she checked with her supervisor, she was told not to give him any of his medicines. The second time she came, she had mastered the mysteries of the blister pack but would not set the Victoza pen to the correct dosage. Frank managed to get her to let him know when he had clicked to the correct dosage, so that was okay. (He's legally blind, so he can't see the numbers on the pen.)  All six women objected to giving him Tylenol-for-arthritis. Only one actually did give it to him because she reasoned that it was an over-the-counter medicine. But he had to promise not to tell on her as she wasn't supposed to. Because she wasn't a nurse. WE WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE NURSES. He's also supposed to have hydromorphone, but there was no use asking for that. As a result, he spent the week in pain because we didn't have nurses. Meal assist? One woman made him a peanut butter sandwich, but that was while I was still there and I told her to. One peanut butter sandwich was supposed to last him for seven days? Too much to ask that he be given one peanut butter sandwich every day for seven days? There were also half a dozen dinners from "meals on wheels" that the surveillance nurse said could be heated up for him. I still have all those dinners in the freezer in exactly the same spots that the MOW volunteer put them the day after I left. So, $31 an hour? Not one of these women stayed even 15 minutes, let alone the hour we were promised. What do you bet they try to charge us $31 X 7 days of "service"? Seven hours of nothing. But they're the government. However, when I mentioned to someone that I planned to write a letter of complaint, my friend suggested I send the letter to the newspaper. I think I will. As soon as I get that bill.

He did cope pretty well. Our son, Steve, came over several times, and helped him. They had meals at restaurants. They even went shopping and Frank cooked a big pack of sausages and had sausage sandwiches every day for supper. One night he added fried eggs. When I got home I was amazed that he hadn't created a bigger mess than the one that greeted me on my arrival. Next time I leave him alone, he's going into a respite centre whether he wants to or not.

clutter

I don't have a cluttered desk at Cowork, because I have to clear it off every evening when I leave--nothing on the desk, nothing on the shelf above the desk (except for the official notice that it is reserved for me on Mondays and Fridays), and nothing in the three drawers that I used to have full to over-flowing when I rented this desk "permanently." I have a small suitcase that I use to bring to Cowork anything that I need to use at the hot desk.

At home I have a small desk in my bedroom. It's handy for me to use when I make a phone call or need to make a quick note to myself. Too small to allow it to get cluttered. It's a roll-top desk, borrowed from my son Steve, and it has a shelf-like top above the roller. I have pictures made by my son Ken, and a box of his with his brother's pumice stone inside. I keep the pumice stone because there's some dried blood on it, from Frank's forehead when he rubbed a wart he should have left alone. I also have some pictures of St. Francis of Assisi, a couple of crosses, a small statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and some printed out prayers. I guess it's a shrine of sorts, devoted to the memory of my eldest son Frank (1957-2005) and my second son Ken (1959-2012), both victims of the demon Cancer. I don't consider this shelf to be cluttered.

 My bedroom itself is cluttered with boxes and bags of things that have yet to be sorted since we moved to Penticton in April 2016. I'm working on it. I've made more progress than you might imagine, given that I still haven't finished in three years. Everything that didn't have an obvious place to reside, got put in my bedroom. Now, most of it is getting tossed in the garbage anyway. I just have to look at it first, and decide.

It's my head that's cluttered. I come to Cowork to write. Sometimes, I print out documents sent to me by the church where I serve on the Church Council, or documents from various doctors that I have to read to my husband and are illegible on my little iPhone. But mostly, I want to write here. I've been working very hard on my autobiography, If Anyone Should Ask, now on Decade 7 of my life. Finish this decade and Decade 8 and I'm done. It's rough. Not much editing. But it's not for publication. If you aren't a member of my family, there's no chance you'll get to see it. I mentioned it at the writing critique group I belong to, and the "leader" said she "had concerns about it." No she doesn't. It's absolutely none of her "concern" at all. She was "concerned" about my using anecdotes. She writes non-fiction books about submarines, so I guess she doesn't have any anecdotes. It was her husband's profession, and her knowledge is second-hand at best. So, autobiography aside, what else do I write here?

Today, I've taken refuge in this blog. I'm writing about writing, or not writing. Being at this desk only twice a week, I feel a bit nervous when I'm not making good use of the time. Blogging is good, but creative writing is better. At home, I've been reading about short stories, and reading short stories from all different sources--classics like Guy de Maupassant and Hemingway, for example, and contest winners from 2019 Short Story Contest at the CBC. I think I could write short stories long-hand in notebooks at home, between Cowork session. Maybe submit something for the 2020 contest.  Sounds like a good plan. So far, no progress.

So what should I be doing at my hot desk at Cowork? Besides my autobiography and blog? It's the novels that are cluttering my mind: First there's the trilogy that was sabotaged when my thumb-drive went crazy and turned the whole thing into a mess of upside-down question marks, and I lost my first book, House of Secrets. And about half of the second book, Baby's Breath. And notes for the third book of the trilogy, Flowers and Flames. I'm sure I have most of the above printed out, but I haven't the courage to look.

Then there's the book I started when I was taking Creative Writing courses at UBC.  I guess I started it long before that, but it was in one of these courses that I got pushed to go outside of my comfort zone--try a fantasy. Really? I always say I don't like fantasy, but that's not true. I loved Lord of the Rings, The Narnia Chronicles and Harry Potter. Fantasies, all of them. So, I drew a deep breath and re-started my story which doesn't have a title yet. It's a historical ghost story. Historical because the main part of the story is circa 1950, in London, England. Then the protagonists (two girls) meet a couple of ghosts and, in the Bloody Tower of the Tower of London, they meet the ghosts of the two princes allegedly murdered by their favourite uncle. But the boys don't believe it was their uncle, and command the girls to travel back in time to their murder and find out whodunit. (They were smothered in their sleep, so they didn't see it coming.) I'm having a ball researching and scribbling. I can't find the scenes I've actually written, but that book might get done before the trilogy! Maybe!

writing and hot-desking

Writing. What's that? I mean the writing of novels and things. I'd be delighted to come up with a short story, or even an article. A poem? Well, I have been working on that autobiography, If Anyone Should Ask. In fact, I'm into Decade 6. I still can't face that novel that got fried in its thumb drive. Haven't looked at it in months. That really hurt! However, maybe I can get the autobiography finished and edited and printed and distributed--hopefully by the end of the year. Hope!

Hot desking works well for me. I have a routine now, sort of. I've reserved the desk I used to have for Mondays and Fridays. I still don't come in early enough. But I do what I can while I'm here, and that's a lot more than I'd get done if I stayed home or tried the library/coffee shop routine some writers do. That would never work for me. I have to have a place I'm paying for and that I can use for the purpose of writing alone. If I want to go to Blenz for a coffee, or to Tugs for lunch, I can leave my work on the desk and go out for an hour. Or I can bring something to eat at my desk. No one bothers me. But there are people here if I feel the need for company--that rarely happens.

Epiphany 2019

Every year, in January, we celebrate Epiphany instead of Christmas. We started this years ago when our kids started getting married and having their own traditions--in their own homes or with in-laws or with friends. So, instead of trying to compete, we set up our own tradition and invited all family members to come for brunch on Epiphany to celebrate the visit of the Magi to the baby Jesus. This celebration has taken different forms over the years, but the core of it remains constant. The question is not what do you want to get, but what do you want to give. Jesus said that whatever we do to "the least of these my brethren" (the poorest people) you have done it to him. So, like the Magi, we give gifts to Jesus instead of to each other. For this, we use the World Vision catalogue.
The day usually goes something like this: family members begin to arrive about 11a.m. The coffee is put on, and we chat for a while. I have plates of cookies, Japanese oranges, nuts, chocolates, etc. for nibbles. Then one of my sons (Steve does it now) goes into the kitchen to make the brunch. I have about three dozen eggs, 6 cans of asparagus, 3 dozen English muffins, and a couple of hams all set out to be made into Eggs Benedict without the sauce. On the dining table there are two big punch bowls of juice and pop. No alcohol since the year one of my grandsons got drunk drinking the "adult" punch instead of the kids' punch. He was only four years old. In the fridge, there are a couple of trifles to be set out when the eggs and ham are done. Again, no more alcohol in the trifles--just Jello, pudding, cake and fruit.
We used to play a circle game, like musical chairs, for those who brought gifts to pass around. That died out a few years ago. But we still play the bucket game. I have a bucket filled with wrapped gifts--some of them are pretty good like chocolates or wine or a gift card to a restaurant. Other gifts are cheap and silly, like a set of kids' blocks or a pair of pantyhose or a deck of cards. People take turns choosing a gift. They open it up and show everyone and the next person has the choice of stealing a gift that is already open, or choosing a wrapped one from the bucket.
This year we added "chalking the door"--an ancient religious ceremony where a member of the family, or a priest if one is handy, take some chalk (which is supposed to have been blessed, but we didn't have any blessed chalk this year) and writes on the lintel of the main entrance:
 "20 C + M + B 19". This is 2019, broken up so it begins with 20, then we add C, M, B, and close it up with 19.>2019. C stands for Caspar, M is for Melchior, and B is for Balthazar, the supposed names of the three kings who followed the star to visit Jesus, the Magi. The other interpretation of the letters is Christus Mansionem Benedicat, or May Christ bless this house. The crosses between the letters represent the cross of Jesus, his death and resurrection.
Best of all is the gathering of family members. This year we had all three of our surviving children, a couple of grandchildren and two great grandchildren (one a teenager the other a babe-in-arms).
I've been writing my autobiography, If Anyone Should Ask. I've been writing it in decades rather than chapters. Last September, on my 80th birthday, I distributed Decade One. At the Epiphany Brunch this year, I distributed Decade Two. We expect that the great-grandson who visited us this Epiphany will be baptized at Easter (hopefully) and we'll have a family gathering for that. At that time, I hope to be able to distribute Decade Three--but first I have to write it.

"It's a Wonderful Life"

Yes, it is a wonderful life, even with all its ups and downs. Last post, I was especially despondent, and have still not come to grips with that set-back. However, that has to wait for another time.

It's December and everyone is busy. Fortunately, I don't have the usual baking and shopping stresses that I once had, when my children were little and we had to play Satan Claus and do all that crazy stuff. Now that I've cast off Satan and things that promote greed and unachievable goals, I feel much better. I pity people who still do all that.

For me, Christmas won't come until December 24/25th, and then it will be over as fast as it arrives. Before that, we have Advent--a time of waiting and anticipation of the birth of Jesus. I love the lights and some of the music, and the general feeling of people at least feigning happiness while they grumble about the stress. At least they're trying to find happiness. The smiles are contagious, and the intentions are to appear joyous. For me, it's no more joyous than Lent. In fact, I find Lent more joyous because even though that leads to the crucifixion of Jesus, it ultimately blossoms with the Resurrection at Easter.

Both Christmas and Easter bring better weather, sort of. Christmas is around the winter equinox and so with it the days begin to grow longer and brighter, leading to Lent, which brings Easter springtime and then summer. Both are harbingers of more light in the world. Sort of.

At Advent, I set aside the busy-ness of tasks I've taken on during the year. Maybe I shouldn't, but I do. For example, I've taken on a couple of jobs for Franciscans, and those are on hold for now. At the moment, I have the excuse of the Canadian postal strike--can't trust anything to go through right now, so may as well wait until that settles. That's as good an excuse as any for my procrastination.

This year, like last year, I'm in a play. Last year, I had a couple of bit parts in "A Christmas Carol" and this year I'm playing Ma Bailey in "It's a Wonderful Life" and enjoying it very much. I think this will likely be my last foray onto the stage--I'm getting too old for all the hustle and bustle backstage. On stage, it's fun--even when I'm struggling to recall my next line.

All this means that writing is on hold--except for my autobiography. I've already distributed Decade One to the family. I hope to have Decade Two done and ready for distribution at our Epiphany brunch.

a backward step

A backward step to say the least! On the 8th of this month, less than a week ago, I put my thumb-drive in place and called up the novel I've been working on for ...how many years?... And guess what. It's gone. Wiped out. Nothing but computer language, upside down question marks, etc.. Try to call it up based on most recent date--page doesn't exist. "Maybe moved or deleted," says the message. I have a lot of it printed out, but not all of it. A year ago I paid an editor $1600 for an evaluation--I still have that, at least. Now I'm so discouraged, I don't know what to do.  At my age (80), I am not even sure I care to continue. Is it worth it after all?

While I ponder that question, I'll go back to writing my autobiography. I'll let you know my decision about the trilogy I'm halfway through--backward steps notwithstanding--or maybe I should just quit.

missed posting in September

I like to post at least once a month. I realized that to keep followers following, I should be more consistent. So, I apologize for not doing that.
So, what happened in September? For one thing, my birthday came up. My 80th, so that meant that we had to have a big celebration--Who knew I'd last so long? Not so old nowadays as it once was. But, because my dear husband is legally blind, partially deaf, and not too good with walking, etc., (although he claims that he is a good doorstop), I had to arrange my birthday bash. Just dinner in a very nice restaurant in Summerland. Zia's  Stonehouse Restaurant. I recommend it. And, because my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren are asking questions about ancient history--i.e., my childhood and when I was young, I've been working on my autobiography. Instead of chapters, it's in decades. So, when everyone was gathered for the dinner, I was able to hand out five copies of Decade 1, the first ten years of my life. It came with the promise that Decade 2 would be ready soon. Of course, there will be a total of eight decades, so I'd better get busy.
That was most of what occupied me for September: putting together all the notes I'd been scribbling down on bits of paper all over the place. Rather than have it as a straight narrative, the really boring bits are interrupted with Vignettes--random memories that sort of fit in. I don't promise to have it strictly chronological, and I warned the family that there might be some overlaps. But I've tried to keep it as close to the truth as I remember it and believe it to be. It's not a tell-all, just as much as I care to divulge to my family. It isn't for publication.
My novel (novels?) must take a back seat for a while, because I do want to finish the eight decades while I can. If I don't get to publish a novel, it will certainly be one of my regrets, but I think family history being passed on to the next generation or two or three is more important than my satisfying an ambition.