It was by chance that we heard the news of Shelagh Hill’s death.

Ken and I have new emails addresses so, if you send a note to the old ones, the chances are slim we will get them — however, Ken received a note from David Hill yesterday telling us when Shelagh’s “Celebration of Life” will be.

I learned that Shelagh died on December 2nd. Shelagh had a particularly nasty, rare (2 cases per 100,000) cancer that is hard to diagnose and harder to treat. Cholangiocarcinoma (“Bile Duct Cancer”). She had 6 weeks from diagnosis to death.

Her husband of 56 years, David, reminded me how Shelagh was incredibly philosophical.

For example, at the initial diagnosis she thanked the doctor (who was quite upset herself) and said she had broken the news “beautifully”. Shelagh always thought of others first, and he said, this continued right up to her death.

Shelagh was one of my students on Bowen Island. She trained with me for years and was a delight. I will miss her in the world.

Salute!

Yes, that is a bag of lentils on her head!

When my brother Art, was taking care of dad during his final days, he told me that dad was sad because he wasn’t getting any personal mail.

My dad was a huge fan of the mail. He wrote letters or sent clippings everyday. The highlight of any day was when the mailman came. Most of the time, dad would greet the guy at the door. Rarely was the mailman able to get the mail in the slot, before dad was retrieving it. Junk mail and magazines got the same attention as a letter from a loved one did. Dad’s daily adventures always included a trip to the Post Office, sometimes two or three times a day.

Ken and I certainly notice we get a lot less mail, now that dad is dead.

Anyway – getting back to my story.

After dad complained about not getting any personal mail. Art sent him a card.

Dad was thrilled. But there was no return address or signature on the card, and when dad asked, Art told him it was probably from one of his old students.

It was a homemade card that said, “You can do it.”

Dad’s response: “Do what?”

I absolutely love this story.

He said, Are you waving your arms around much these days?
She said, No, I just don’t feel like it.
He said, Everything changes.
She said, Truth be told, I just get angry when I do.
He said, Yeah, you were really hurt.
She said, Yeah.
He said, When do you think you might let go of all that?
She said, I don’t know. How long does it take to get a knife out of a back?
He said, nothing.
She said, Maybe if I waved my arms around a bit, I’d be flexible enough to reach it myself.
He said, Yeah, but you’d still have a gaping wound.
She said, Yeah, but at least then there would be a chance of healing.
He said, Yeah.
She said, Everything changes.
He said, Yeah.

I was warned – still, I persist!

I sat down yesterday to begin something I’ve been meaning to do for a while. But, then I quickly stopped doing it, as soon as I realized exactly what it was I was doing.

Sandie does it and I like to copy her. I also know, she struggles with it. So, I’m questioning myself. I’m a lot like Sandie and wonder, do I need a new habit to struggle with?

I’m learning how to cook, and am taking it quite seriously. So far, it’s been really fun, as well as extremely challenging.

For Christmas, Tamsin gave me a bag full of the cooking magazine, The Australian Women’s Weekly Home Library.  Each is full of lessons, recipes, beautiful photos, and helpful hints to create everything from fish to fritters to flan.

The pile of magazines has been stacked by my chair for two months now. I spend time everyday browsing them, turning down pages, making shopping lists; trying to figure out what 500 ml and 30g translate to in real measure!

There are some recipes I know I will never make, some I have tried, and some I really want to try, someday.

Still, space is limited and I’m all about not having clutter. So, I think I’ll just cut out the page, save the meal I want to make for later, and recycle the rest. But uhm — is ripping recipes out of magazines, with the big fat idea, of making that particular desert or dinner, someday — the way I want to go?

Maybe – maybe not.

The salmon and dill quiche, and the ratatouille look really good, but for later, not for tonight.

I think I’ll put the scissors down for now. But, I’ll keep them handy, just in case.

I rarely worry about the children.

But, with the approval of DeVos as Secretary of Education I have to say — I’m worried.

I had hope that the next generation would be voters who would change the havoc that is being created by the asshats now in power.

I had hope that they would not, could not, be so callous, so closed minded, or so financially focused, that fucking over others, would not be their main goal.

But, I realize now, they may lack the education that will be needed. They may not even get the chance to learn the necessary skills to make these changes.

The dumbing down in the American education system is going strong and my hope fades.

I had a poor education when a good education was at least on the table.

Now, I fear they are clearing that table of opportunity.

As I said, I rarely worry about children. But thanks to the shit storm in the states, I can honestly say, I’m not only worried, I’m heartbroken.

My action for the day –

I’m going to continue my education, by reading something I was supposed to read, when I was in school, but did not.

AND I’m writing our PM again today. It begins with…

Dear Prime Minister Trudeau,
Put your shirt back on, there is work to be done.

Why is it that when someone goes through a life changing event; the next time you see them, they’ve been bungee jumping or skydiving?

Is an adrenaline filled action, the way to truly express our love of life? Do we need to be close to losing our life to know the value of it?

I remember wanting to jump out of airplanes. I’ve ski fast down many a mountain, and had my heart racing, in many a silly situation before. But today, I’m not convinced that moving with such excitement is the best way to express my full commitment to the joy of living.

Not wanting to shout, “Woot – woot!” from a roof top, or “I’m alive!” as I fling myself off a cliff, or bridge, is showing me that I’m either old or wise. Maybe both. (Besides, it’s really cold outside.)

If bungee jumping, sky diving or driving fast is considered an expression of life fully lived; then, does watching TV, reading books, petting the dog, or sitting at a sewing machine all day, mean I don’t care about living life to its fullest?

Define fullest!

Some stories start with, Once upon a time. My stories start with, Years ago.

Years ago, Ken and I were on the roof of our house in Eugene, Oregon.

It was a dark and stormy night. We had a bucket of tar, a flashlight, and in the pouring rain, we were looking for a hole in the roof. We needed to fix the leak, that was allowing rain to soak our kitchen floor.

I remember Ken, saying to me, “Stick with me Baby, I’l show you good times!”

Good times indeed.

Now, when I hear Ken say, “Jan, you are going to need your gloves.” I know we’re in for good times!

The 8 – 10 inches of snow that fell the last couple of days, has played havoc, on things we use to protect other things around here.

I’m glad Ken has been in the shop working on a new green house, because the one we have now, is what the Hawaiians call, Pau.*

Same with the structure that is protecting our van.

Pau.

So, I knew when Ken asked me yesterday to, get my gloves, and added, “you’ll need your boots,” I knew we were in for good times!

I’m still sticking with Ken. Our good times are far from, Pau!

*Finished, done, gone.

Weather wise, we’ve been lucky this winter. We’ve had it pretty darn easy, especially when you compare the coast to other places. Okay, do not compare us to Hawaii but, even Bowen Island had a harder winter than we have.

My brother Art says, “Everybody has something and everyplace does too.”

This morning our little world, is blanketed with snow!

Yesterday was the same, and Sechelt came to a complete halt, because of it. (we really should have our Canadian status removed for how we deal with snow!) There was no mail, no bus, no school, and the snow plow hasn’t been seen on our road.

Lucky for us, as I sing that old favourite hymn,  “Me, me, meeeee!” Ken and I don’t need to go anywhere or do anything. We have enough of everything to weather out the storm.

Yesterday, Ken braved the elements and took the doggy for a walk. I grabbed the snow shovel and set out on the driveway.

Then, I started thinking about my Grandma.

Grandma Hudson would have hated this weather. She, like my brother, preferred to sit in a hot car! The hotter the place, the better she liked it.

For years she lived in Florida and her house never once had air conditioning — the heat was Grandma’s friend. But, I’m off topic.

The reason I was thinking of Grandma, as I shoveled the drive was, it reminded me of her mowing the lawn.

When Grandma got the lawnmower out; the neighbourhood got mowed. She did her yard, then would just keep going. The yard next door got mowed and the yard after that did too. She would keep mowing until the mower ran out of gas.

So, thinking of Grandma – I finished our driveway then, crossed the street and shoveled the neighbours drive.

It snowed again last night, so it looks like I’ll be thinking of Grandma again today!

Everybody is a teacher — some teach us what not to do, and others, like my Grandma, teach us what to do.

My Grandma was the best at setting an example, and she never once thought anyone was watching.

Jessica Woodbury reviewed the book I’m reading with —
“If Kurt Vonnegut and Dave Chappelle had a baby and really messed with its head, it would write this novel. I hope Paul Beatty takes that as a compliment because it’s meant that way.”

I’m reading The Sellout by Paul Beatty.

Marian recommend it for my reading challenge as a book that was published last year.

It’s a biting satire that challenges me.

I do think if it were written by anyone else, it would be banned as one of the most racist books around. Yet, I think that’s the point.

Unlike the last three books I started and did not finish – The Sellout has my full attention.

Paul Beatty can write! Some of his prose is absolutely wonderful. I stop at times and think — wow, I wish I could write a line like that..

Two of my favourites are:
“We all know the best apples, taste like peaches.”
“He’s not from the tree of knowledge; more like the bush of opinion.”

And this…
“If I ever were to be ­offended, I wouldn’t know what to do. If I’m sad, I cry. If I’m happy, I laugh. If I’m offended, what do I do, state in a clear and sober voice that I’m offended, then walk away in a huff so that I can write a letter to the mayor?”

The Sellout clearly means to offend. For me, any offense I might take, tells me that I’m not as comfortable with race as I wish to be.