A Sunday Kind of (Self)Love

Last night, we celebrated my grant-aunt Huguette’s 90th birthday.  It was a surprise (she being a Valentine’s Day baby) and she was very much so.  She kept saying:  “All these people are here for me?”  Of course!  It was organised by her youngest son Francis and his wife Sonia.  As we went around kiss-kissing each other’s cheeks, most of us were saying how nice it is to gather for other than a funeral.  Honestly, it feels that is how it is now.  As the older generation is dying off, there are less and less people inclined to get these gatherings happening.  Huguette is one of the last three left in a family of fifteen kids.  Her older sister Beatrice is 98 and the baby of the family, Maurice is 86.  A few of us cousins said we would organise something.  Remains to be seen…

The following pictures are horrid as the lighting in this place was awful but hey…  It’s so funny that the cousins mentioned below are my mother’s cousins – but closer to MY age – and Suzie is my mother’s cousin, Darquise’s daughter… what does that make her to me? Second cousin once removed?  Whatever!

The restaurant was an hour away, so by the time I drove my mother home and walked through my door it was already 11:30pm.  By midnight or so, I was done.

Quite the intro to my Sunday Kind of (Self)Love, eh?  Been a while since I got so wordy, so hunker down 😉 (no obligations, of course!)

I got up (out of bed) at 9:00 this morning.  I immediately put on my workout clothes not even sure if I was going to do anything – but isn’t that half the battle?  Last night’s oversized Greek meal came back to my memory and I turned on my app to start my exercise…

Did my Tai Chi Walking and whatnot, exchanged texts with my two besties, finally made myself a coffee at, what? 10:30am?  Sat down and responded to comments on the blog, read a few and by 11:15 or so, first coffee done, I was getting hungry!

So, I set to work chopping half a red onion, and threw that into a frying pan with some olive oil, pancetta and added 3 of the leftover Greek potatoes.  Took out a slice of my sourdough, popped it into the toaster and then fried up two eggs.  Oh my goodness.  I sat down at the table and was present in the moment.

But I then realised it was too quiet in the house.  Most days, I spend the whole day in a quiet house, no music, no TV and all is well but today, I decided to add some music.  Turned on Spotify, Chose “Easy Like Sunday Morning”, a list by Nicola Cronin, and the first song was Sunday Kind of Love.

And so this post was born.

I unofficially or subconsciously decided to have an intentional day.  From sitting down at the table – for both my meals (instead of in front of the TV), washing my dishes right after my meal, doing my laundry (wash, dry, fold, put away), writing this post, that has, quite frankly, taken me all day; doing all of it, mindfully.  I went from one to another, with a little break here by watching a show, a break there by watching a movie; and by the end of the day, realised I had accomplished way more than I thought I would.  And feeling so damn good the whole day.

For supper, I knew I wanted to use one of the cans of dry-like-sawdust tuna (at the price they cost, the last three cans will find their way into some sort of recipe and not simply chucked) and some canned beans (I had white kidney beans).  I knew there would need to be some some extra oomph added in and, well, let us just say, I managed it!

Sheesh.  I look at the three meals I have shared here… pretty much all in the same colour scheme and monotone, eh?  No matter, each one was tasty!

When I have a day like today, where there is no stress, no rush, no having to be anywhere at any time, the choice to go out or not (despite the break in the rains, I somehow did not manage to go out for a walk and guess what?  That’s okay!), doing some things that need to be done, skipping others for another day, I realise that damn, I need more days like this… And how nice would it be to have them on a Tuesday or a Thursday and not be obliged to make them happen on a Sunday?

I think retirement is starting to call louder.

Oh look at that!  My rhododendron is finally blooming!

I think I’ve held you up long enough and this Cinderella has to hit because, while she would really REALLY like to be already retired, she is not yet!

Weekend Writing Prompt #469 – Cherish

It’s been a dog’s age since I played.  And this is the start of the tenth year of Sammi hosting this prompt!  Whoa!  Plus it’s nice and short, just like I like ’em.  On top of that, today is the 13th anniversary of my father’s death.  And  do I have a lot of memories with him to cherish.

If one is lucky

life has generously

offered many moments

to be later

cherished as memories

Almost But Not Quite – Friday Fictioneers

Good Wednesday eve, my peeps!  Gotta hit the hay but wanted to submit first.  Rochelle, did, after all, choose my photo and I do hate to be rude 😉  Should you desire to play, please click on my frog below to add the link to your 100-word story.  If you’re not sure on the rules and regs, do click on my photo so you can swerve over to Rochelle’s pad to get them!

©moi!

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I hate to appear ungracious or unappreciative, truly I do.  And I do everything in my power to keep those thoughts deep inside and out of my face!  I hate even more that I feel the feeling in the first place, especially when I know full-well the intentions are honourable and heartfelt.  They always believe(d) they (were) are giving me what I wanted and, technically, they were.  Just not quite.  A tad off.  Yes, I wanted a (fill in blank) but the style that I truly desired?  Not what you gave me.  Am I an awful person for thinking this?

Waiting – Friday Fictioneers

Good Wednesday, my lovely Readers!  Today is the day we get our prompt for Friday Fictioneers – a challenge, that once upon a time, showed up on Wednesday, to give writers time to think about what to write for our 100-word story; but somehow, over time, the day became the main posting day.  Go figure.  Should you wish to read what others were inspired to write, click on the link below and enjoy.  Why not try your hand at it… To find out how the rules work, click on Jennifer’s photo (thank you, Jennifer) and you’ll hop over to Rochelle’s blog where she gives the how-to!

©Jennifer Pendergast

Kermit the frog falling down stairs on Craiyon

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Rob spent the morning going up and down staircases all over Old Québec.  Nobody.  Where was she?  Did she stand him up?

She, was Harriet, and she waited patiently at the top of a Petit Champlain staircase wondering what was taking Rob so long.  She had told him where she would be.  Did he stand her up?

Rob looked again at Harriet’s message on his phone.  “No train station, just a staircase, two half-addresses, not three-quarters.  Old Québec Petit Champlain.”

Both avid Harry Potter fans, he thought of the 9 3/4 platform.  Was this a clue?

There! 54½ and 71½.  He looked up.

“Hello, Rob!”

Weekend Writing Prompt #453 – Mourn

This weekend’s word prompt to get our creativity flowing, is “mourn”.  Perfect timing as I lost my cousin Suzie yesterday morning.  61 is way too young, no matter the cause.

To mourn your cousin

The one closest to you in age

Is just so difficult

Only seven months difference,

I often teased her with:

“I’m older than you are, nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah!”

It drove her crazy

I wish I could again

I’ll miss you, Suzie

Set me Free

Good Tuesday morning.  I had this all planned in my head yesterday but then didn’t know how to get this going.  So I used my late husband Mick’s technique and slept on it.  It works wonders!  Lisa or Li is the host of this week’s dVerse Prosery challenge.  She has asked us to use the line:  Bury me with the lies I told from Alejandro Escovedo’s song “Bury Me”  in our 144-word story.  The rules are to use the lines of this song, a form of poetry, right? in a non-poetic way.  We cannot change the order of the line, nor add any words but we can change the punctuation.  I so love this challenge and, once again, Mick was my muse.  Words are different, but the story is the same 🙂

I remember our conversation like it was yesterday.  We were watching some TV show, and you turned to me all serious – as serious as you can be, which was rare because you brought levity to everything, and you said to me, “I don’t want you to bury me with the lies I told, my truths, my failures.  No,  I want you to take my ashes and set them free.  Set all the lies – they were the ones I told myself, you know – the pain, the sorrow, everything bad I carry inside me, free.  Let them go so they can disperse and cause none what I had had to bear.  Try to keep the happy, the good, funny. … Oh, while I am at it, have sexy waitresses serve wings and beer at my funeral.”

Sorry love, I had to draw the line.  No sexy waitresses…

Rocks and Splits

On Monday, Merril hosted dVerse prosery.  I knew exactly where I wanted to go with this one but felt I had to wait until today.  We were to use the following lines:

“The granites and schists
Of my dark and stubborn country.”

from Nan Shepherd’s, “The Hill Burns”
from In the Cairngorms (Edinburgh: The Moray Press, 1934)
https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/hill-burns/

We must use the lines of poetry in a non-poetic prose piece of 144 words.  This is where it let me.

Today, this eleventh day of December, is a regular day to most, but for me?  It marks the eleventh anniversary of the day when the world I knew changed.  Forever. Where things suddenly shifted like the granites and schists of my dark and stubborn country, or, to me, my world.  No matter how much your mind can travel to thoughts you have no reason for having, you can never be prepared for the reality when it comes.  I cannot explain the why of my thoughts. Premonition, maybe?  A sense of knowing that things would not be forever, or at the very least, for another thirty years?  Maybe it’s simply self-preservation to expect (or prepare) for the worst, so there are no surprises.  So you can be strong. It worked twenty-nine years ago, to help me not lose my mind.  It could help again.  Right?

When November Bares Herself

On November 10th, Kim  hosted the prosery challenge on dVerse.  We were to use part of Robert Frost’s poem November Guest.  With prosery, we must use the lines of poetry provided exactly, in prose of not more than 144 words, not poetry.  No inserting any words within.  We can, however, change punctuation, which can make things much more interesting.  I, of course, am to late to join officially but I still wanted to write this one.  These are the lines:

“Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow”

Mémère and me

When November Bares Herself

November can be the most depressing of months; it was especially so for my grandmother.  I think her difficulty  bled onto me.  It’s the dreary, rain-filled, grey-skied, leafless time of year inserted between our Thanksgiving and Christmas ~ two holidays when family piled into cars and gathered around her.  November?  Dead.  No visitors, no colour, no joy.  I felt myself falling into that trap of woe-is-me-ness for the longest time.

But at some point, not yesterday, I learned to know the love of bare November days before the coming of the snow, when it blankets the world in brilliant white, brightening up the darkest of days.  Some years, like this one, the leaves hang on a bit longer and the snow comes a bit earlier.  Some would say a mess of leaves and snow is awful.  I say it’s a beautiful joining of two seasons.

Porch Stories – Friday Fictioneers

‘Tis Wednesday. my good peeps.  Not only is it smack-dab in the middle but it’s also the opening gates of Friday Fictioneers.  This week our lovely hostess Rochelle, has chosen a photo provided by the very imaginative David Stewart.  Can’t wait to see what he comes up with, using his rather “tame” photo 😉  If you wanna read his and others, too, just click on my frog below and you’ll zip over to the Hollywood Squares where you’ll find a bunch of creative entries… and hey, you could add your own, too!

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What a beauty!  I cannot resist a wrap-around porch.

You are such a romantic.

I know.  Oh the stories she must be able to tell.

Why do you assume it’s a she?

Because she is welcoming and invites you in.

That’s sexist.

You betcha.  First kiss.  Golden years, rocking, watching the fireflies.  Young children playing games…

Killer, hiding in the back, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

What the hell is wrong with you?

What?  It’s not possible?  Course it is.

You gotta stop watching your horror movies; you’re twisted.

I’ll stop when you stop watching Hallmark.

Shut up.

Weekend Writing Prompt #422 – Brace

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend.  How you use the prompt is up to you.  Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like.  Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise.  Click on the box to zip over the Sammi’s, should you wish to play along.

A realistic optimistic

woman

does not crumble

at what life throws

her way

No.

She braces herself

and uses these challenges

to thrive and grow