Karen Toews
Scripting Vibrant Living Beyond An Empty Nest
Celebrating 50 years … a family weekend
Our wedding photo tells the truth: Derryl and I were mere children when we vowed “I do, I will”. Fifty years later, thinking about this ‘crazy-big-number ‘milestone, I’m excited to share a photo-story of our celebration with family, and community friends who have become our Nova Scotia family‘. Without meaningful relationships beyond ourselves, this day could never have been as rich or meaningful.
Three months prior to October 19, 2023 – the same span of time in which we planned our wedding – we emailed out invitations to “save the date, come celebrate with us!” I would plan the food – no other contenders for that. We hosted the party at the Sanctuary – the name for our home – which limited the number of guests we could squeeze in. Deciding to cook the main course food and to purchase desserts and baquettes from local bakers to round out the menu, a few days prior to the event I made a robust chili (thanks to a special friend for the recipe) and froze for reheating on party day. With my in-house helpers – a conscription of efficient family members – we added a huge coleslaw salad and cut a mountain of farm-grown carrot sticks. The above, along with the contributions of guests’ yummy salads, we had plenty of delicious food: accompanied with locally-pressed apple cider, a collection of red and white wines, a cooler with chilled drinks, coffee and tea. Half a carrot cake remains in the freezer and will be gone before Christmas – definitely not preserving it for another ‘big anniversary number’.
Full disclosure, I lost more than a few hours sleep stressing about the food, but in my years of experience with food prep and hospitality I’ve come to count on the jitters to keep me sharp! Yes, we had some glitches the morning of the party but “mum’s the word about those” – nothing too crazy that my creative, best-ever, family-team couldn’t help fix. xoxo
A party is more than bread and wine. Our daughter Renee made decorations; planned a short program which included a couple mixer games to determine who knew Derryl and Karen the best and how much did things cost in 1973; a couple music selections giving it a bona fide East Coast kitchen party feeling! She was a sounding board for my ideas and questions, mc’d the flow of the evening. Our son Brad drove from South Carolina: helping on the day of to move and rearrange furniture to seat thirty-plus people, was on call for running errands and doing behind-the-scenes stuff I’m not aware of.
“Big thanks, kids.”
A bonus to the party morning’s kitchen kaffuffle was a rehearsal for Derryl’s last minute special request to add to the planned program. Bryan Adam’s Everything I Do (I Do It For You): a duet by son Brad on the keyboard and son-in-law Damien on the electric guitar: Some of the best things – and for the performers, the scariest – are the last minute impulses! It was amazing; made my heart sing!
Our wedding attire: after fifty years lying in the cedar chest is appropriately wrinkled!
From a combined potential of ten siblings – who live in Alberta, British Columbia or Minnesota, USA – Derryl and I were honoured to welcome four of them to our celebration. Daniel Toews, Rebecca Straforelli and Ruth Vandenberg….
… and my sister Ruth Langerud (and her husband, Eldon).
Of our six young adult grandchildren, we were grateful to have one join us for the fun. Joah happened to be here working with his Papa in October. Which for him, included more than one motorbike jaunt with ‘the boss – and hanging out with the ‘old guys.’!
The night before the party was more relaxing than a wedding rehearsal! Brother-in-law Eldon and son-in law Damien jammed on the guitars they’d brought from home, some of us singing along … knitting. Pretty chill.
“Fifty years married” doesn’t easily roll off my tongue. This ‘big number’ doesn’t mentally feel like a fit for people who still do spontaneous fun things, are loyally crazy in love with each other, give space to each other’s needs for independent adventures they enjoy. A party guest asked what’s helped us stay together. Put on the spot, Derryl hesitated – and regardless of my inner writer preferring to mull over thoughts before putting them out to the world – I jumped in with something close to this. You get up every day and keep going together. Our life together has had good – often great – times; it’s also had challenges – some for extended stretches, downturns in our construction business, physical health hurdles. But we have valued our relationship, and commitment, for the long run. “I love this guy” is my bottom line. Some things I forgot to add that night, but are key for us in our hearts and mindset, we didn’t have a plan B. (Not saying that irreparable things can happen in marriage relationships.) We work things out. And we have a common rock in our union: a personal knowing and trust in the Creator-God who loves us all.
We did have a plan for children. Renee and Brad and their families are the cherished treasures of our hearts.
This is us.
Thank you for scrolling through these pics (gratitude and photo credits to family and friends for sharing their ‘takes’ on the weekend) and reading our story, one that by the grace of God, continues to unfold.
Love from Me and Mine
Karen
End-of-Summer, Photo-Visit Blitz
My late summer’s pilgrimage to western Canada was two-fold: first in British Columbia with my husband’s family, then visiting my kin in Alberta.
We travelled by air to the furthest south-west part of British Columbia – Abbotsford – for a Toews reunion: delicious in every way with good food, catch-up conversations around the tables, hilarious fun and games (think modified Family Feud), one-on-one chats, singing, walking local trails.
The weekend wrapped up with a crazy-fun, hoppin’ dance floor; speakers belting out a super play-list, to celebrate with two of the young couples who got married during the season of COVID restrictions. Such a blast – perfect way to end an awesome weekend.
Kudos to Derryl’s siblings who pulled everything together…including a brilliant memento ….”label your personal mug for the weekend, then take it home with you”. Perfect size for my morning cappuccino!
A creative practical tribute to Mom Toews (now deceased), displayed a tidbit of favourites from her kitchen when serving the wide circle of family, and their friends, around her table.
Grandpa Toews (now in his early nineties) sat on the sidelines, listening, watching the action of the ‘fruitfulness’ of eight children and their children.
Derryl flew home to Nova Scotia; I enjoyed the gift of driving to Alberta with my daughter Renee and her husband Damien.
It’s always a magnificent drive through the Rockies; another special gift was the full view of Mt Robson’s snowy peak. Often capped with clouds – and considering the whole day’s drive we’d had smokey skies from the wildfires – I felt like it was God’s personal welcome-back-west gift to us three, who currently live in Quebec and Nova Scotia.
The next day, now ‘home’ in Alberta with a contrasting but forever familiar view, I was ready to go with the flow; connecting with as many family and friends that I possibly could.
Always on my list is a wee visit with Aunt Helen – age 102 and counting. As long as you don’t drop in during her 2:00 – 4:00pm naptime, she doesn’t mind visitors just showing up: which is what my sister Ruth and I did. She’s still in her own home, with clarity of mind and memory; a God-loving woman.
Next we were off to the farm. My brother Wayne passed a year ago, yet I sensed his essence driving into the yard – and missed him opening the door and walking down the sidewalk to meet me. We’d basically invited ourselves for supper; while visiting with Wayne’s wife Linda and daughter Carmen we picked, washed and prepped veggies from Carmen’s flourishing garden. I’m sure somewhere, her Dad was smiling and saying ‘that’s my girl’!
This grounding space is home: I don’t feel like a visitor as I wander through the yard and raspberry patch; mosey about in the big trees behind the house. The golden field south of the deck is the same view I had from the kitchen window as I learned how to cook, washed and dried dishes- and where Monday through Friday Mom would be on the lookout: “grab your lunches, get up to the road, the school bus is at Falk’s!”.
Before leaving Nova Scotia I had reserved one activity : a boat ride with big brother Glen on Coal Lake, near the hamlet of Gwynne where I went to school from Grades one through eight – about 11Km (7 miles) from our farm. This lake, a water source for the hamlet was created from a dam when I was growing up – we drove past it to go practically ‘everywhere’ but it was never a destination for leisure or pleasure (likely because there wasn’t a beach for swimming and we didn’t have a boat!)
Now it’s a different story. This lake is a favourite for fishing, boating, kayaking – yet still not for swimming, for no apparent reason other than ‘nobody does it!” I enjoyed a lovely ‘cruise with coffee and cookies’, courtesy of captain Glen and his wife Lois; shared with my sis Ruth and her husband Eldon. But for the record, I have resolved I’m not visiting this beautiful, clean body of water again without taking a dip!
The following days were a busy blur, connecting with family and friends. Some connections planned, i.e. walks with friends, revisiting Wetaskiwin’s By the Lake Park , adding to the gazillion kms we’d logged running together in the past. Other visits just happened; walking downtown; a stop at the grocery store, popping into a restaurant or business where friends work, running into a former optometrist on a street corner, a driver shouting from his vehicle waiting at a stoplight- “Karen, are you lost?” It all felt like a grand community hug!
Everywhere in Wetaskiwin is within walking distance; I included ‘points of interest’ en route to my different destinations. i.e. Heritage House where our family lived for several years (had one room for bed-and-breakfast guests) when the kids were still living at home, their schools two blocks away. And MacEachern House where sister-in-law Ruth Vandenberg and I had a teahouse business for a few years. Precious memories, yes indeed.
Get togethers catching up with siblings and their families, cousins, friends: the many gifts of fellowship, food, schedules adjusted to include these fun times – all so very much appreciated. xoxo
I’ve previously posted a story about my friend Christine, a thriving stroke survivor and author of several books whose focus and ambition is to encourage and support other stroke survivors. Some years, our visits have been limited to a hello and wee chat at her door. This time was an extra gift of time with tea and koláče, her homemade Czech pastry – and as always, I came away inspired and motivated. With hope and faith and courage we can be overcomers.
A special opportunity for me was helping at a seasonal grounds’ clean-up a few kilometres from ‘the farm’ – at the Crooked Lake Church and cemetery where many deceased neighbours and community members are buried- including my parents, brother, aunts and uncles, grandparents. These work bees haven’t previously coincided with my visits home – a highlight this time, especially shared with my siblings – left to right: Lorne, Glen and Ruth.
Then. It was time for up and away to return home: ever grateful for relationships, friendships, and precious times between the hellos and good-byes.
Thank you for reading,
xo, Karen
Photo-blog: Cape Breton pulls out the stops for Mom and Son hiking
“Hey Mom, I have a two-week window to come see you and Dad: end of June into July.”
Yahoo! Our son Brad was coming to see us.
I love these calls from our kids – other family too for that matter, as everybody lives so far from us and there are generally long gaps between family visits. Rarely do Derryl and I have previous travel plans that overlap with these visits, but this was one of those times.
Derryl had scheduled a two-week motorbike trip – his happiest mode of transportation for exploration and a sure fix for his mental re-wind. Father and son could spend a couple days together before Derryl’s departure, and I said to Brad …. “after your Dad leaves, you and I are going hiking!”
Mom and son would enjoy a hiking extravaganza – we would start with a warm-up weekend close to home before heading off to Cape Breton to the Highlands and more.
June 30th Derryl pulled out of the driveway…
… and Brad and I left for a day-jaunt to hike and explore some sites of the Minas Basin: Wolfville, Grand Pre historical site, and Cape Blomidon.
Three days later, on a drippy Monday morning, we loaded our hiking gear and headed for Cape Breton. I had booked accommodations so no tent-camping on this trip, but our fingers were crossed. Soggy cloudy hiking isn’t always much fun.
We got our wish! The rain stopped before Canso Causeway , the link to Cape Breton – and rain showers later in the trip weren’t enough to spoil our plans.
On a previous hiking adventure in Cape Breton I’d seen Egypt Falls in the Margaree Valley: one of those well-hidden locations where Google Maps helps very little but friendly locals do a lot! Brad and I eventually found signage and reached the Falls parking lot!
The wondering and wandering was well worth the short hike down to the waterfalls – and for Brad, enjoying the challenge of a brief, very icy dip; a solo plunge as someone had to be the photographer!
A short trek back to the car, we drove to Baddeck for supper on the wharf where we waited a long time for the food (albeit delicious when we got it) – after another half hour’s drive to our AirBnB we were more than ready for La-la land.
Next morning – in full sun – we were on the road, the famous Cabot Trail; stopping on Cape Smokey for a glorious cloud-studded view of the Atlantic .
Driving further we reached the entrance to the Cape Breton Highlands National Park, where we purchased a sticker for access to the park, along with brochures for trail information and all things related to outdoor pleasures of the park.
Franey trail was first on our list: rated by the park “a steep climb to panoramic views of Clyburn River canyon and Atlantic Ocean”, it did not disappoint.
Off the trail, back at the parking lot, clouds threatening rain encouraged us to explore the sights from our car. Until we drove past the Keltic Lodge to the Middle Head trail parking lot. It was barely drizzling, it wasn’t cold, we had our rain coats; and seeing a family with a toddler in hand and pulling-pushing a stroller-wagon with another ‘little’, we had no reason to wimp out and miss this beautiful, moody-weather headland hike.
The next day we chose a hike closer to our AirBnB; Coxheath Hills Wilderness Trail near Sydney. A municipal trail with a steep incline to the apex, where the trail mostly levels off with a few ups and downs through the other loops. Beautiful sweeping views: on well-maintained trails except for the overgrown Western Lookoff, which we opted not to hike.
Unaware of developing rainclouds, we reached the parking lot just in time. Destination: Sydney – for a quiet afternoon, sloshing through puddles to view the harbour’s famous fiddle, then finding a pottery painting cafe for a couple hours of coffee-treats-reading our books: while creative types worked on a mug or other piece of fired clay. A perfect rainy afternoon atmosphere.
The next morning, checked out of our lodgings and headed back on the Cabot Trail to Pleasant Bay – specifically Pollett’s Cove – for our most ambitious hike of the trip.
Overcast, the day looked soggier than what we’d hoped for. Regardless, we decided to ‘just check out’ the trailhead; another 10km from Pleasant Bay. I drove here a couple years ago and knew it’s a packed dirt-gravel road (or after a significant rainfall would be a muddy drive) with many large protruding rocks. Thankfully we met only a couple other vehicles, and after carefully pivoting around MANY water holes with no indication of their depth, we reached the trail parking lot. Google gives it this address: 1773 Red River Road. There was no way Brad and I were repeating this drive again. We parked the car, pulled on our raincoats and hiking shoes – neither which offered much protection from goopy mud and rain-laden bushes – grabbed our poles and set off.
We finally reached the welcome view of Pollett’s Cove, walked down to the shoreline for a short rest, waved to the folks camping in the orange tent, and a closer view of the white horses on the opposite upper ridge. On the beach there was plenty of evidence several of the herd had been freely roaming in the the Cove and surrounding landscape.
It felt like our hike back to the car went faster than our hike in – though no less messy as we tromped through the streams and slipped our way on the mud. Very ready to get to our motel – for hot showers and start cleaning off our gear – we stopped on the way for a few minutes walk through the shoreline grounds at the Gampo Abbey. It was a calming, quiet, relaxing atmosphere.
The next day was a travel home day – but we had time for a couple hikes in the National Park.
A gentleman at the motel recommended Blueberry Mountain: the trail isn’t listed in the park’s brochure but can be accessed across the highway from the Cap Rouge parking lot. We were so glad we didn’t miss this. A magical drive to the parking lot – trailhead – in sunshine above the clouds hanging over the ocean, which scattered into puffy strands once we started and summited Blueberry Mountain.
After all this beauty we didn’t want it to end. The Skyline Trail was at full capacity for hikers so we drove on to Le Buttereau for a couple hikes, a view of the ocean, discovering more Acadian history – and one more icy Atlantic dip for Brad.
Back at the car, near the exit of the Park, for fun we checked our ticket stub for accessing the park. We were within minutes of our projected time we’d hoped to spend there. Our ‘wells’ were full with the awe and beauty of nature. We had enjoyed exercise and made memories. My marked-up Park trail map – with more trails to yet explore – would have to be tucked into my Nova Scotia binder for ‘next time.’
Now, we had more beautiful miles to cover on our drive home.
Thank you Brad for our shared hiking adventure. Until the next time…
Thank you to my readers – hoping you’re also enjoying happy trails this summer..
Love,
Karen
Hello 70’s
June 22nd I turned my life-calendar ahead to another decade: the 70’s. Seventy feels like a ridiculously big number that makes me wonder, how on earth did this happen already?
This is how. I have been busy doing life with a web of family and friends; work and pleasure (sometimes one and the same); adventures and challenges; joys and setbacks. The decades have rolled along, birthday celebrations have come and gone.
Before I was old enough to remember, I’ve had a birthday party – beginning as a child with my Mom’s example of celebrating family, especially remembering the day of their birth. Acknowledging birthdays with a party is significant to me too. My husband Derryl and I are a month apart in age, to the day. The summer we turned fifty, both of us then avid runners, planned a walk-run birthday party for a gang of guests: family and friends from all our social circles. Bib numbers sported an identical number: 50. Delicious food and drinks were promised post-activity: a strategy used by most legit event organizers. Participation wasn’t optional. Several distances were plotted and routes explained. Even my retired-farmer-Dad: then eighty-one, who never did comprehend why someone would choose for fun to go for a walk or run, was a good sport and walked a few blocks with some of the younger set. Everyone chose the route that felt doable for them: our group of crazy-about-running friends were all in, opting for the longest distance. The intention was for everyone to finish back at our house at pretty much the same time: which worked out well and thankfully there were no DNF’s (Did Not Finish)!
Blessed with a gloriously beautiful summer morning, I think everyone had a good time: Derryl and I sure did.
Today my running shoes aren’t laced up ready to run. They aren’t hanging up for decoration either. Outdoor footwear has evolved into hiking shoes and sturdy sandals. I cheer for women my age who are still running; my aging process hasn’t allowed that – arthritis, past injuries, etc. – and I’m okay with choosing physical activities to best serve my goals for the long haul marathon.
Yesterday’s birthday celebrations didn’t include an organized walk-run. Yet I was on the go from morning to night. The day before, Gail, my first and forever NS friend – had called to invite me for a birthday walk. We opted for an ocean beach and hike around Gaff Point. One of my favourites.
After we parted, I barely had time to change my shirt, ‘doll up’ with some earrings, and head off to another friend’s for lunch. Where – surprise to me – four additional mutual friends were waiting on the porch singing “happy birthday……. ” . Super meal, both fun and serious conversation about aging and more, lots of laughter. Thank you Sue and friends.
Derryl and I and our nearest neighbours had dinner reservations at one of Lunenburg’s (Nova Scotia) charming restaurants. Interesting conversation, good food, patio ambience with a view of a Maritime coast. Could it get any better?
Derryl and I took a twilight walk after on the wharf, where we met a friendly young couple (who kindly took our photo), from New Jersey, USA – celebrating their 10th wedding anniversary, grateful for a break from small children, exploring new shores.
I set out writing this post thinking it would be a contemplative look at aging – perhaps even advice – partially triggered by quotes about such, that I’ve collected from reading women author’s memoirs. Lamenting that I never had a conversation with my Mom – the most influential woman in my life – how the aging process felt for her, I struggled to dig out the story.
Then I discovered a different one. Maybe Mom and I did miss something without this chat, but we had a lifetime of conversations about living. Neither Mom or I brought up the how-to-age topic. We were blessed to live in the same town. We were together often. We didn’t say “I love you!” every time we said good-bye or got off the phone, as this – and a lot of things familiar and dear to us- were ‘a given’ . And nothing had changed.
I watched Mom in and through her aging.
Mom and I when she was seventy.
A couple months shy of eighty Mom died. As family we all felt (and wished) we would have had more years to share life and conversations, but oh so grateful for having received and watched her example of wisdom and love for God and people, a straight-forward attitude, generosity and much more. Thank you, Mom.
About those quotes on aging: I might look at them again someday. Maybe share them.
It’s not lost on me: this is my story and in all our beautiful uniqueness – and bodies – aging isn’t the same for everyone. As goes the mantra from my past holistic health consulting: one ‘plan’ doesn’t fit everyone.
Ready or not – 70’s, here I come. And dear friends, whatever your age and stage, may you feel confident to ‘show up and give it a go’!
Have a wonderful summer.
Love,
Karen
Grateful for my Body. Today.
A couple weeks ago, clear as an audible voice I heard: “Karen, are you grateful for your body?”
Though the question caught me off guard, answers fill pages in my journal where “so help me God”, the truth hits the page. Thoughts and laments bear witness to how I’m coping with challenges, living life; a dance between questions, discouragement, uncertainty; and gratitude grounded to the day’s Scripture meditation, other inspired writers, email odds and sods, musical lyrics.
Added to this mix there is a measure of hope; as “imagination harnessed to faith1“.
My record-keeping has helped make sense of the journey through physically-stretching seasons, which I’ve shared in previous posts, the pain challenge and a turnaround week. Then last October, hiking in beautiful Fundy Park, New Brunswick, I fell, cutting my forehead on a rock. (I hate when that happens: I won’t repeat what I said while scrambling to my feet.)
I went to the nearest ER where a Doctor checked my vital signs and stitched me up. Thankfully, the scar above my left eye on the photo below is barely visible now amongst the other forehead wrinkles. My family Doc thinks I sustained a concussion: I interpreted her heads up that “concussions take a while to get better” meant it would take its jolly time to heal . Rightly so. I’m an Enneagram type 7 2 – a personality that “fantasizes about the future, with exciting possibilities and plans for my next great escapade”. I don’t do well sitting with physical or emotional pain – to be honest, unless I’m in the woods, by the ocean, or on a road trip to somewhere, sitting can be troublesome!
January 2, 2023: it’s in the journal. “Don’t waste time grieving about setbacks. Surrender to things you can’t change ” – a paraphrase from Melanie Vogel, thru-hiking the Trans-Canada Trail. I needed a mental kick in the butt. Ready for this challenge from a serious hiker, I determined to direct the strengths I’ve used for adventure and spontaneity – learning new skills, being flexible, energetic and optimistic – towards my goal for reaching a healthy, sustainable active life. Since then I’ve been on another adventure.
I’ve learned some things. Reducing brain stimulation, i.e., caffeine and alcohol, and extended periods of screen time – helps reduce the fuzzy brain (memory gaps) and the ‘numbskull’ sensation (for real). Knowledgable healers with supplements and physical therapy support can be amazing. Walking in the woods as much as I’m able continues to restore my body and soul. I’ve experienced – again and again – the comfort of my patient husband, prayers, many cups of herbal tea. I’ve discovered this body-kindness program has been restorative to my body’s general wear and tear from a journey of seventy years around the sun, a trek I hope to enjoy a couple more decades.
Universally, we suffer. The reality of pain and reversals is not a frivolous matter; many people in the world experience painful conditions and horrible circumstances far worse than mine, yet we all have stories. Looking back – through my twenty’s, thirty’s and forty’s – migraine headaches were my tormentor, showing up at will and messing with my life. Medication helped somewhat but the routine of my life danced to their tune. I couldn’t fix this; acknowledging that taught me grace to accept help; especially from my husband and young family who had to manage for themselves when “Mom’s in bed with a migraine.” Am I grateful for the pain? Hardly! I discovered that in spite of trying to eat and live right, the world is imperfect. I couldn’t be perfect then. And I can’t be now.
A helpful tool for me is reading other’s peoples stories walking through their hardships – especially when it’s connected to overcoming a physical challenge. One example is “I’ll Push You, a Journey of 500 Miles. Two Best Friends and One Wheelchair” by authors Patrick Gray and Justin Skeesuck. Two friends doing the Camino de Santiago– one of them needs to be pushed in his wheelchair. Comments like: “there is joy in receiving help from others -this is accepting grace; choosing pride over vulnerability makes us weak” – all I can say is Wow.
I enjoy the backward glances. Memories are wonderful, and I have adventures planned to add to that bank. There will be more life glitches, but as the two friends on the Camino trail said: “The only way to go through something, is to go through it.” By their example, I see how grace and gratitude can ‘pour the oil of appreciation into our lives’3 .
Today I say yes, I am grateful for my body, this tent that’s home for my mind, spirit and heart; the essence of who I am.
My journal gets the last word. April 9th. “When you’re in over your head, I’ll be there with you. When you’re in rough waters, you will not go down. When you’re between a rock and a hard place, it won’t be a dead end, Because I am God, your personal God, ….. ( Isaiah 43:2, 3a, The Message).
Thank you for reading. May you be blessed with gratitude and hope.
Love
Karen
1. Apologies, I don’t know to whom I can acknowledge for this quote.
2. The Road Back to You – Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile – page 10
3. Gratitude Cures Perfectionism – from “Attitudes of Gratitude” by M.J Ryan
Treasures and the Tide
The summer of 2022 in Nova Scotia gave us exemplary, spectacular weather.
September raised the bar with beautiful warm days, leaning into its East Coast pattern of saving its grandest days for the fall season.
To soak in the ocean’s warmest time capsule of the year, I walked on a different beach for several consecutive days – all within an hour’s drive from home.
Calm waters (typical before a storm); beaches littered with rocks. Only one treasure chosen to add to the collection on my window sill.
I grew up in the Prairies. After living here fifteen years I still pinch myself in wonder, thankful to experience the power and constancy of the tide and discover its offerings left in the sand.
Beach excursions are typically therapeutic but these walks were especially invigorating: inhaling salty air, exhilarating to feel my physically stormy spell coming to an end. (Some of that experience is shared here and here if you want some back story.)
I have a stack of books on my desk; actually, several stacks. A motley mix of how-to’s, devotional, writing resources, adventure and non-fiction, and two volumes of poetry – the last two written by a friend I’ve known since childhood. Kay now lives on the opposite coast of Canada, by the Pacific Ocean: we haven’t seen each other for a very long time, years that have held significant changes and challenges for us both. Thanks to Covid’s nudge for re-connecting and our kindred passion for writing we occasionally shoot off an email.
I appreciate Kay’s poetry that I can understand (which isn’t always the case in this genre!) and especially resonate with how she relates to nature – the birds, the decaying leaves, the clouds, and the tide. These bring life and hope to her spirit, as they do for mine. With Kay’s permission I’m sharing her poem The Tide is Out. Thank you Kay for this metaphorical angle I hadn’t thought of before.
Dear friends, keep on searching and believing for the treasures.
Be well, with love
Karen
Photo-Blog: First Visit to Newfoundland
I bought a new bike to replace my older, heavier one. That was in March: when the weather and roads were still not compatible for a test run, but I needed a carrot to shore up motivation and spirit that my hip and back would be better. I would cycle this summer and specifically in mind was my first-ever visit to Newfoundland, a plan ‘in the works’ for many months, with friends I’ve adventured with before.
That pretty blue bike sitting in the shed and a hope-filled turnaround in May (plus comfortably enduring a 5000km trip sitting in the car in June!) all nudged me to go-ahead. Hurrah, I did go to Newfoundland!
Every adventure I’ve shared with this group of friends has been a production: this time rivalled a three-ring circus; what with bikes, camping gear, duffle bags and coolers for thirteen people. All safely secured onto three trucks. Thank you Art and Shelley, the experienced couple who organized another great event – and capable, willing helpers who made the puzzle pieces fit every time we moved locations.
Our group, hailing from eastern Canada and Ontario, rendezvoused at North Sydney, Nova Scotia: where we – and a parking lot full of transport trucks, RV’s, cars and trucks – embarked on the MV Blue Puttees. Destination: Channel-Port aux Basques, Newfoundland.
After our post-noon departure, six-hour voyage, disembarking, and short drive to J.T. Cheeseman Provincial Park it was early evening by the the time we set up camp. The fact this was all in warm weather with clear skies was a blessing especially appreciated by us first-timers to Newfoundland, forewarned about the joys of its changeable and challenging weather.
The next day was hot and dry – perfect. We dismantled our camp; heading north to Deer Lake where we stopped for groceries, ice, drinks, lunch-to-go; before turning northwest onto Highway #430. Destination: Rocky Harbour.
Some of the gang opted for the long-haul cycle from Deer Lake to our campground destination near Bonne Bay – several others (including yours truly) chose to drive part way and cycle a shorter distance, beginning at the boundary of Gros Morne National Park. There, clicking into our pedals, a small sign warned us of significant elevation changes in the next six kilometres. Not totally correct: the next 35-plus kilometres were a series of significant ups and downs! Thankfully we had the wind at our backs: the descents were a mix of exhilaration and hanging on for dear life while saving some momentum for the next climb.
Happy to finish (survive) this first ride on ‘the rock ‘ our group set up camp at Gros Morne Berry Hill campground . With a cook house/shelter (and plug-ins to charge our phones), showers and bathrooms, a fire pit surrounded with circular-seating, we were set to pitch our ‘tent city’, make and eat supper – and for some: a short walk around Gull Pond. A perfect spot to end a tiring day.
More sunshine the next morning! Perfect for plans to tour Bonne Bay: stopped on the way at the Lobster Cove Lighthouse to climb and clamber around this Newfoundland shoreline. Awesome.
A short drive through Rocky Harbour (too early for Sweet Rock Ice Cream but tagged it for later), and another 10KM to Norris Point, where our group rendezvoused for the short water-taxi-ride across Bonne Bay to Woody Point (population, 281).
Exploring Canada’s beauty and culture is amazing; meeting other travellers is equally fascinating, i.e. Kaisa and Christoffer in the line-up at the ferry. I had seen them pumping up the mountains the day before and judging from their gear it was clear they were long-haulers. They began this adventure (one of many) from their home in Finland and were gunning eventually for New York city, an ambitious goal for any cyclists. Their website shows a fascinating story of teamwork, courage and grit. The end of August Kaisa posted this Instagram photo from the Big Apple: they made it! More fuel for my fire: never stop dreaming and aiming for big adventures.
The ferry ride to Woody Point was barely 15 minutes: yet enough time for live entertainment! Yes – Newfoundlanders’ music and hospitality is a real thing!
Woody Point boasts shops with great coffee, ice cream, chocolate, pottery, yarn and souvenirs. A couple kilometres further is the Gros Morne Discovery Centre: the uphill walk along the road getting there is worth the effort: so much to see and learn about the Park’s surroundings and history.
The Centre is also a trailhead for hiking: I chose the Lookout Trail, a doable distance to finish before catching the last ferry of the day back to Norris Point and campground. A friend joined me part-way; then on to the windy summit where a fantastic view rewarded my uphill efforts.
At the summit a couple from Vermont, USA, kindly took my photo. In a brief chat we discovered my husband and I share with them some unfinished hiking business: to complete the northern half of The Vermont Long Trail. Now wouldn’t it be crazy-fun to meet sometime on that trail?!!
On my descent I met Frances from Quebec. I had observed her earlier at the trailhead; about my age and stature, an ambitious, confident, no-nonsense hiker – and now we hustled and talked our way down the trail to the parking lot where I also met her waiting husband. Fantastic fun. (The next evening the two of them stopped by our campsite fire-circle to say hello; initially not recognizing this kindred soul without her cap, walking shorts and poles! )
The next morning brought another beautiful day. Excited for the highlight of my trip – hiking Gros Morne – I joined the early-bird shuttle to the parking lot for the approach trail; a scenic 5 kilometre warm-up for the Summit Trail.
Joanne, Dan and I descended Gros Morne on the ‘easier’ section of the Summit Trail – challenging but not scrabbling over rocks and around boulders. On the approach trail back to the parking lot I was excited to see Jolie and her family from Quebec. We had met briefly the day before at the Woody Point ferry-taxi dock, where we did what hikers do – exchange hiking plans! After a brief ‘hello and have fun’ our threesome and a couple other friends were anxious to finish up our Gros Morne hike (18Km) and celebrate with a Sweet Rock ice cream treat. And get back to camp for a shower, supper and sleep.
The next day’s itinerary held another Newfoundland attraction: a ten-mile boat ride on the Western Brook Pond. (Apparently even the largest lakes are often called ponds in Newfoundland!)
Clouds threatened rain, which spit on us for about five minutes; but otherwise a fine day.
Multi-gifted tour guides.
This boat ride to the end of the fjord at Sally’s Cove is also a drop-off for back country hikers to hike the Long Traverse: a 35km hike from the Cove to Gros Morne.
This arduous, spectacular hike boasts a not particularly well-marked trail, with tortuous black flies and the possibility of snow. The first two conditions were confirmed first-hand the day before, descending the summit of Gros Morne, where we’d had a ‘shouting conversation across the valley’ with a hiker finishing the Long Traverse trail. The flies were ‘driving him mad’; after which we were privy to the yelling conversation between him and his female partner who’d lost the trail, equally frustrated by the bugs, and “could he come find her or at least wait up for her!” He evidently kept charging ahead to get beyond the miserable insects; we saw him “across the valley” shortly after: they were still communicating so nobody was in danger.
I love challenges but hiking the Long Traverse is no longer on my bucket list.
Those dubious clouds thankfully held off until we were back at camp; when tarps started to whip in the wind and it began to rain. Nervous about keeping my down-filled sleeping bag dry, all my gear was quickly stuffed into kit bags and taken to the shelter. Uncertain about the tent (which later collapsed on itself), I decided to share with others a cabin at the campground. Wonderful idea.
The next day several of the group carried on up the coast to do more cycling and sight-seeing; me and three others drove back to Channel-Port aux Basques to catch our ferry reservation.
It was a meandering day, stopping at restaurants for lunch, then for tea and pie, “sit wherever you like, m’love...” , exploring as many nooks and crannies of coves and views before arriving for a midnight departure at the ferry terminal. Onboard, with an adjustable chair to stretch out in, my jacket and small cushion for warm comfort, I had a solid six-hour sleep!
I’m grateful for my wee taste of of Newfoundland. There’s much more to see and explore: I will return.
A Turnaround Week of Wonder
Merriam-Webster defines wonder as “a cause of astonishment; to feel curiosity or doubt, rapt attention or astonishment, at something awesomely mysterious or new to one’s experience.” My curiosity about wonder uncovered synonyms like: marvel, phenomenon, caution.
What’s the big deal about this six-letter word that triggers a question mark?
If you’ve read my recent blogs, a saga of pain has been the dominant – and very tiresome – feature. Sometime during this season one of my OWLS friends (a small group of wise and curious women) asked me, wondering – ‘where was I was finding the strength to keep going’? I wondered about that too and compiled a list. Journalling; connecting with friends in person (regardless how I felt); adjusting physical expectations; experimenting (marijuana gummy bears did NOT do a thing for me); praying (sometimes ranting); facing fear head on; coming to terms with no shame in taking pain killers.
Taking one day at a time.
Then in the middle of May I had a definite turnaround.
It started when I bumped into a friend outside a local market who asked me if I was going to an upcoming women’s event at a nearby church.
I told her, “I haven’t really thought about it and don’t have a ticket.”
My faith and God are integral to my life: a childhood inheritance that I’m grateful for which has remained my Rock. In my present season of life I’m more of a one-on-one, or small-circle-of-people kind of person; yet when I checked the event online I thought “I’d like to go to this!”
About sixty women were there – on pre-registration we were assigned to a specific table of seven or eight women. I knew two of the ladies at mine; it was a friendly, comfortable fit, chatting before the event started.
The event advertised, ‘the season of singing has come’, and that’s how the day began. A tonic for my soul; there’s just something about singing, joining voices with other women. After a brief introduction, the guest speaker shared encouraging family life-changing stories including her own physical healing. Then she posed this question: ” when you came here today what were you hoping to discover or take home with you?” Several women audibly answered the question – myself included; as I had thought about this, being open to receive something, to ‘feel better’.
As the speaker walked amongst the tables it was like she was listening, sensing what was happening in the room; she stopped at our table to pray for one of the women, and also did so for my pain, including a few words about ‘not holding rebellion and resistance‘. I thought at the time, “how curious!”. From life experience I have learned to assess messages and directives that others give me; and as I pondered this part of the prayer later at home, though I wasn’t certain just what it meant, its spirit and intent resonated as being right for me.
The morning session was followed by lunch and conversation around the table: followed by more music, and a short wrap-up session to finish as per scheduled (something I appreciate). I left the gathering with a spirit of contentment and gratitude for what I’d shared and experienced.
Two days later, a Monday morning email announced the re-opening of a small cafe on the Atlantic shoreline not far from our home. I’d missed this charming, homey spot; and wanting to support it again from the get-go, I drove there for an afternoon cup of tea to celebrate with them. Sitting at one of the three occupied tables in this one-room house-cafe, it was difficult not to catch the thread of other conversations. My antennae picked up phrases from the three women and a gentleman across the room i.e. keep trusting God to help you, don’t give up hope that He is with you in difficult times.’
I said to myself, “God, I am wondering if this is a bit weird … or is there something cool happening here?”
Attentive to reading my book and enjoying tea, the foursome stopped at my table on their departure, asking if I was enjoying what I was reading.
“It’s a great book”, I responded, ” A Trip Around the Sun by Mark Batterson and Richard Foth, two pastors who mentor and challenge each other to turn everyday life into the adventures of a lifetime. “On another note,” I said, “I wasn’t meaning to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help but hear your conversation about God helping us, to keep trusting Him through our difficulties. That especially resonated with me as I’ve been suffering with physical pain for a few months.”
As vulnerable as this sounds here on the page, it didn’t feel odd at all though I’d never seen these people before.
The gentleman bent down his large frame and looked at me, “I’m Nick, would you like me to pray for you?” Now I thought for sure, this is not weird but something cool.
This could have been really uncomfortable – people lean over and chat eye-to-eye all the time but typically not with strangers – but this felt right. With no hesitation on my part, ” thanks, Nick, that would be great. I’m Karen, and I believe in prayer.”
He confirmed, “you’re okay with me praying for you?” before gently placing a hand on my arm and quietly asking God to help me in my need for healing. It was short – I don’t remember the words, but I won’t forget the spirit and impact of this brief meeting.
Nick and his wife gave me encouraging smiles and left the cafe.
Tea-time was over. Before leaving, the other two women introduced themselves; Jean Ann lives in the area and I’ve since discovered she radiates Life to whomever she meets.
Later that same week – after months of trying a myriad of modalities – I discovered a physiotherapist whose expertise and exercise recommendations proved to be physical game-changers for me.
I wonder about it all; the months of suffering and searching, the see-saw of surrendering and despairing. The strength restored and spirit renewed.
And particularly, the timing. My physical turnaround made it possible to travel to Alberta to visit family and attend a brother’s memorial service. And to later join friends for a physical-activity-filled week to Newfoundland (catch that story next – almost ready to post) ): a wish I’ve had since we moved to the Maritimes.
I live with the mystery, the wonder of all this: with gratitude to God and the people who ministered help and hope. Aware that the flow of life is uncertain: each day is a gift.
With love for hope and courage – for wherever you are in the ebb of life.
Karen
xoxo
Rescripting Life With The Pain
In January I wrote Life Disrupted: My Season of Wintering and never imagined that here in May, my life and physical activities would still be so restricted by pain. A short reprieve in February gave me an injection of hope – thank you! – and then the pain came back full steam. So did the pendulum swing of positive expectation and helplessness.
I’ve written snippets elsewhere about the Enneagram. Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile’s book The Road Back to You has been helpful in my self-discovery for learning how I’m wired. I don’t program my life to following their description of a type Seven – “The Enthusiast” – but I resonate with many of the identifying factors that includes both strengths and self-defeating patterns.
Rescripting (trying to make sense of) my present season has been a collaborative practice of this evolving understanding of who I am and scripture and prayer with journalling my highs and lows (with the accompanying emotions, these words are for my eyes alone!).
My new normal is a hot morning bath. A couple weeks ago I laid back, planted my feet on the tiles on either side of the taps, and talked to my legs.
“I don’t appreciate what you’re up to – particularly you there on the right! Yet as I look at you I know you’re still strong, you look fine and I’m grateful for you.”
I thanked them for all the tasks of life they’ve helped me do: running upstairs to fetch laundry, mowing my lawn, trundling the green compost cart to the road every other Monday. For all the places they’ve taken me: hikes in the backwoods and trails I’ve shared with friends and family, the sights I’ve viewed and the hills I’ve climbed on my bike, launching and portaging the kayak to reach my happy place on the water.
“Oh yeah, I’m aware you’ve lost some tone and strength, and you’re probably frustrated also by so much sitting and laying around. But please hold the muscle memory, I’m counting on you for when I get into action again.”
Adding more hot water and essential oils to the bath, I continued the impromptu gratitude-body scan session.
“I can’t see you heart and lungs but your faithfulness is relentless – to the extreme, helping me conquer marathons and mountains. Thank you. Stay alert for more adventures.”
I thanked my eyes: to soak in the view of the river beyond my living room, to read words of many books (check out my list in the postscript), to see and connect with friends on my computer monitor. I gave a shout-out to my ears, to hear and commune with an owl’s melancholic tones and the wind shuffling in the woods behind my house.
Finally, I went deeper and thanked my genes. Mom and Dad – who as children immigrated to Canada with their parents – gave me resilience, spirit, courage. Gifts that endure though they have passed on.
“Mom, you had your share of suffering. Headaches, arthritis – painful frustrations that hindered you from keeping up to speed with your ambition. Thank you for modelling how not to give up.”
“Dad, many years before I was a gleam in anyone’s eye, your first wife died unexpectedly, leaving you in shock and heart-broken with three small sons to raise. Thank you for choosing life. And for choosing Mom, so a sister and I could become part of a precious blended family. I still draw strength from your deep well, and from what you taught, by living a life of rock-solid faith and trust in God.”
I release the plug to drain the water and finish up with a two to three minute cold shower to boost my immune system and a kickstart to feel fully alive. (A newbie to this practice, I was happy to share a cold-water ocean dip with my daughter Renee on her recent visit to Nova Scotia.)
There’s a knock on the bathroom door.
“Dear, do you want me to bring you a coffee?”
“Thanks, but I’m just stepping out of the tub, and will enjoy that coffee in a few minutes.”
My husband – bless him – consistently offers to turn on the bathroom wall heater, light a stick of incense or white sage: one morning even balanced a small fruit plate on the edge of the tub! I can’t imagine life without his love and positive, enduring support. xoxo
Life is wrapped up differently than what it was and what I want it to be; I sometimes do poorly at accepting each day as it comes. But when I choose to live from a place of gratitude I live a more peaceful, healthier story. It helps me believe, hope, expect that this current story will someday shift to another one less painful.
Dear friends, thank you for listening – that’s all I have to say. May you be well.
Love,
Karen
Books I’ve recently read or listened to on audio. Non-fiction: Stories of courage, adventure and challenges.
- What Comes Next and How to Like it – a Memoir – Abigail Thomas
- A Three Dog Life – a Memoir – Abigail Thomas
- And There Was Light: the Extraordinary Memoir of a Blind Hero of the French Revolutionary – Jacques Lusseyran
- Llama Drama: A 2-woman, 5500M cycling adventure through S.America- Anna McNuff
- The Pants of Perspective: One Woman’s 3,000K running adventure through the wilds of New Zealand – Anna McNuff
- With the End in Mind: Dying, Death, and Wisdom in an Age of Denial – Kathryn Mannix
- I Am, I Am, I Am: Seventeen Brushes with Death – Maggie O’Farrell
- The Girl Who Smiled Beads – Clemantine Wamariya and Elizabeth Well
- We are Not Refugees: The Stories of the Displaced – Gary Tiedemann
Poetry by Kay Gillen: Dancing Between The Raindrops
A Photo-Blog: What’s in a Flag
The Canadian national flag was inaugurated in a public ceremony on Parliament Hill, Ottawa on February 15, 1965. Before this, our national flag was the Union Jack and the Canadian Red Ensign flew from government buildings: both emblems attached to our British heritage. In 1963, (newly elected) Prime Minister Lester B. Pearson promised to resolve the proposal of a unique and distinctive national flag in time for Canada’s centennial celebrations in 1967.
Thank you to Mr. Pearson for accomplishing his mission, and for hoisting the new flag proclaiming these words: “May the land over which this flag flies, remain united in freedom and justice … sensitive, tolerant and compassionate towards all.”
As of the beginning of February 2022, my husband and I have been concerned and curious to see and sense for ourselves how our country’s freedom and justice is being supported and upheld at Parliament Hill in our country’s capital. We checked our schedules – and the weather forecast – and on February 10, 2022 we packed up warm outdoor clothes, several flags and we were off on a road trip to Ottawa.
En route to Ottawa, we had a stopover to see family in Montreal. Where, unknown to us, a Freedom rally was planned for February 12, 2022! Perfect timing. I unravelled and waved my flag with thousands of Canadians gathered in Jarry Park for “United in Love for Freedom” (Unis Dans L’Amour Pour La Liberte). Politicians, educators and first nation leaders gave speeches; we sang the Canadian National Anthem, jostled amongst a crowd of young and old, shouted Liberté! We talked to friendly, smiling people en Anglais and en peu de français.
The next day, February 13, 2022 we drove about 2 hours from Montreal to Ottawa. We were there: the symbolic heart of our nation, home to Canada’s federal government.
We were there seven (very cold) hours walking the streets: it felt peaceful; humanizing; unifying; mingling, talking to other people spending the day just like we were; talking to truckers; listening to speakers, musicians; dancing to stay warm; an absence of anger, illicit signs or language.
We looked for and discovered some Nova Scotia connections: a trucker with his rig.
Our Nova Scotian flag identifying hospitality and welcome to an East Coast Kitchen Party. Too bad we were on a short visit and had to miss the party.
Sadly, on February 14, 2022 – the day after we left Ottawa – the peaceful landscape of this protest for protecting Canadians’ freedom and justice was disrupted when the federal government invoked the Emergencies Act.
How many and how deep are the potholes ahead for our wonderful country of Canada? Nobody knows.
I cry, I get frustrated, I share my heart and my words.
A truck flag –banner bears witness with my heart’s hope and prayer : God keep our land glorious and free!
Karen Toews 