New Year Reflections

Reflecting tonight on a few of the more memorable New Year's Eves in my life, not all good - in fact it was the memory of one particularly bad NYE that got me reflecting back - but it's all in the fabric of my life...

OK, out with it... let's start with the grim one. I was young. From my vantage point now I'd say veerrry young. That would be about 20 or 21. I had a boyfriend of a couple years that I was in the process of breaking up with. Correction: he was in the process of breaking up with me. We were living together, and the decision had been made a week or so before NYE, but I hadn't moved out yet. And we were "friends". Or so we thought. He was always a very kind soul but I guess so wrapped up in his own stuff about the breakup (or 'her' - the girl he had fallen in love with, that was at the root of me being asked to move out), that his thoughtlessness that night took me by surprise. He had made the arrangements for the night, so I put no attention to the evening, until we were ready to leave the house - and he grabbed a bottle of rum and said "this is what I am taking to drink tonight. What are you taking?" Of course, I didn't know that I should need to be thinking ahead on that count. And that was back in the days when you couldn't just go pick something up without planning ahead (liquor stores closed early on such nights, and were so busy you actully had to line up outside for hours [!]), so essentially I was left with nothing, aside of whatever I might be able to find in the cupboard. It was just so thoughtless, and it was a bad omen for the evening ahead. I had already said that I didn't want to go out for New Year's, considering the situation, but he said he still wanted to take me out (I guess he felt guilty about breaking up with me? and his new gf had plans?), so I acquiesed (sp?). My memories are actually very vague about it now, but I remember it being a night from hell. Being at some party and him kind of leaving me all alone for long stretches, ignorning me (or so it felt), and me just feeling totally awkward and uncomfortable. I just wanted it to be over. But it was something to just endure. And, there was no easy way to leave and get home. So it did need to be endured. And I was Miserable. I was broken hearted, felt unloved, definitely felt jilted, and the whole situation was just laid out in front of me: everything had come to this. And it sucked. I never was much of a drama queen, but that night probably did bring out the bits I did have: I was probably pouting and putting off some pretty 'woe is me' vibes. I am slightly amused now to think of it, but feel a bit sad for the younger me. And am also curious as to what he remembers from that night.

The "good" thing from that night was that I declared I hated New Year's parties, avoided them, and started creating new rituals for myself. Not that declaring all NYE parties bad was a good thing, but the movement to new rituals was a positive evolution for me. I must say I am still not all that fond of NYE parties, but they don't fill me with dread anymore.

Now, what other memories do I have?

I remember the year my sister Carol came and stayed with me in Victoria one New Year's. I was living in a lovely little attic apartment in a renovated heritage house, with a wood stove, skylights and a wee balcony with an ocean view. It had all these multilayered floors, and I had candles scattered about. We stayed in. I don't think she'd ever done that before! lol. It was quiet, but we had little rituals at midnight, wrote lists and resolutions, burned them, saved the ashes - and ate little treats. All stuff I had done alone for years since the NYE from Hell, and was sharing for the first time. Seemed very grand to be sharing it with someone else - and shockingly quiet for her (she kept talking like it was a novelty, I don't think she'd ever not partied).

Also in the low points category was the New Year's Day -- so not the night, but the day after -- where I had memories of some very painful stuff from my childhood come back to me for the first time. I was so shocked and confused. I remember the day because I went out walking in the morning, and there wasn't a soul around. So began a whole new chapter of my life that I have done a lot of work around, but have not written publicly about. But I do associate it with NYE.

In the bittersweet arena, there was the year Carol was in palliative care at St Paul's Hospital, and my sister Patti and I smuggled in champagne and snacks. We took over a wee room used for families and the chaplain - the irony wasn't lost on us - and chatted away the night like girlfriends. No, like sisters, sharing a 'normal' New Year's Evening. It was special. It makes my heart catch, as it must have been her last one....

Had a few memorable New Year's with a close close friend, her sister and brother-in-law. We'd gather at her place, and eat and drink and laugh and argue. I am not an arguer, but there were plenty of amusing moments with one of the trio of people I was drinking with wouldn't stop talking long enough to hear another persective so the only way to get a word in edgewise was to argue one's point. Probably doesn't sound amusing to read, but it is amusing to reflect back on. We also had a lot of fun. It was a ritual that got set aside when one of us diverted to a relationship, but still have surprisingly fond memories.

A definite highlight was 2 years ago in Athens, Greece which I wrote about here. Fantabulous!!!!

If you read that, you'll know why I was out trying to find a pomegrante (sp?) today....

Well, it's about time to clang pots and pans here...mom is up, watching Dick Clark (still alive!)... so will wrap this up. I am sure I have a few more memories that will come to me, and may add to this later.

But for now, let me say:

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Airport Respite

Wow, it was almost too good to be true… and so it was… At Victoria airport enjoying the bliss of the upper observation lounge. When I got here it was sooooooooooooooooooooooooo quiet. Almost the only person here, and total silence. No music. Occasional announcements, but that’s ok. It must be sound proofed, because even the planes seem muted. For about 30 minutes it was like that, and I relaxed. Truly relaxed. It’s something I need. I need more of.

Then 2 women with 2 toddlers arrived. And the silence was shattered. I don’t resent them at all, they have as much of a right to be here as I do – and perhaps even more if they have airport business! I don’t even resent the kids screeching, cuz what else is a kid supposed to do?

But, oh, how I missed the quiet. And I felt a sudden stab of yearning for that silence.

Then a dozen more people. Maybe half that, but if feels ‘full’ in here. Again, no feelings of wishing they would go away (or not much) but just brings to mind how much I crave silence.

Just as I crave time alone.

I don’t know what to do without it.

30 years of living alone.

I misssss it.

______________

What I am doing is taking a mini-respite break. Mom has an evening worker with her tonight: they make her dinner, entertain her (great when they are readers, as tonight’s one is), give her a wash and settle her in for the evening. I am delighted she enjoys them so much. For the most part, these are different workers than the day girls – I’d like to say a different kind of worker – perhaps because they are booked through a private service (subcontracted by the health authority), so I think they are doing it for different reasons. Last night mom had a girl read her poetry. What bliss for her.

I say girls but, of course, they are women. And when there’s enough time to get to know them, really interesting women.

And mom blossoms.

She is a lot more social than she perhaps thought she was.

And they all adore her.

How lucky I am, to be caretaking for such a sweet mom as mine (ours).

___________

Getting noisier by the minute… but I am now in a zone. Liking it as much as if I’d wandered in here and found it like this: busy, alive, noisy – ah, there’s my little cocoon spot in the corner, all mine.

Perhaps best I experienced both extremes tonight, on my first night here, so I will happily accept it when it’s a busy spot – and will really appreciate it when it is quiet.

I think I may be able to find this place empty at times.

I look forward to that.

One of the most interesting challenges of this process for me is going out to relax. As in, there is a care worker in for mom, and I get a break. So… what do I do?

I have always been someone who really does relax at home. What regenerates me is unstructured time alone at home. Or wherever I am hanging my hat at the moment. I have always been like this. Figured it out a long, long time ago.

And while I can stay home when care workers come in – morning or evening – it’s probably more important to get out. I know that. But it can seem artificial sometimes.

Because there really isn’t a perfect place to go.

Mornings I have gone out for breakfast, often taking my laptop and writing to kill time.

To do chores is to, well, do chores. And going to stores doesn’t restore me.

I’ve made it a point to not use the time for household chores or doing things for mom during these times… but as much as I am totally used to being on my own and not even notice it, to get up and get dressed and go out just to be out has an odd awkwardness to it.

Especially at those times when I just want to curl up and sleep.

Sometimes I do. At home.

But I know out is good.

Early on, I had a couple of the careworkers tell me that I really needed to get out. I think they could read it on my face, sense my need to get away. I appreciate their encouragement. It really helped me in the early days.

Now with winter, and now that I am working, it really is easiest to just tuck into my room in the mornings, and either sleep in, or enjoy the radio, or reading, or dig into work.

And when my sister is here, staying home is more the norm than going out in the mornings.

Though I still do get out. I feel like I have a morning rhythm now – even though it’s a little of this and a little of that.

Evenings, well, less so, still getting that worked out. For a few nights when my sister was here, we’d go out for dinner, which was fun… but it gets expensive, and more than once I just found myself wanting to curl up and go to sleep after dinner – just not that easy to do sitting on a bar stool.

Last night, I stayed home. Took some snacks into my room, turned on my radio, chilled. It was very restful, and I was able to separate. But tonight I thought it made sense to go out.

So…. After planespotting for awhile, decided to come hang out here in the airport’s observation lounge. It was the best choice so far. Very comfortable (big leather armchairs), aboriginal art, view of the tarmac and departure lounges – and the taste of travel in the air.

It’s about as close as I get to travelling these days, so it feels good.

And I think I could relax here.

When I think of all the other options, it really is the best. The library is good, but not all the time. Restaurants are ok, but they cost money and you can’t really put your feet up (only metaphorically). A pub is good, but can’t have more than one drink and can get tired of them. Going out for coffee is fine, but you can only do so much of that, and it doesn’t work in Sidney in the evenings!!! (they roll up the sidewalks here by 8…) Have done my share of sleeping in the car. Or driving around crying at others. What a mixed bag. I’d like to be at the point where I am going for a swim, still looking forward to creating that.

But what do you do when you want to relax for an hour. And you can’t be at home? Not complaining, just observing and trying to work it out. Because it is important to be restored when all is said and done.

This is good. And they have a sweet $1 2-hour parking thing going on.

Stepping back, this is one of the things that surprised me most about being a caregiver: what one does to relax when one gets some time off.

I have tried without success to find a crash pad. My dream has been for someone with a spare bedroom, or a studio, or some separate space in their home (or a furnished place empty a few days a week) where I could hang out: crash, read, relax, sleep, watch tv – just like being at home. Well, sort of. But after a year, and a few expressions of interest, still nothing. Of course, I am looking for an angel who will lend that to me, versus paying for it. I won’t give up, but man on man, what a haul.

If you read this, and you have a spot like that, wherever you live, know that there is a caregiver (or 12) in your community who would kill to be able to make use of it. To donate space to a careworker has to be one of the greatest gifts someone can give.

Ok, enough yattering. This place has died down to about ½ the people and ½ the noise, and it’s ok.

________________

Just re-read all that. Interesting jumble of thoughts. But there you go.

There I go.

Great lounge, I was able to see the pilots – I can see pilots right now! – on a plane that pulled up to get 9 here. Kind of cool.

And this lounge just totally emptied out.

I am here totally alone.

Bliss has returned.

I create my own bliss.

But here is a gem.

Reflections of a Frustrated Blogger

I described myself in a tweet this morning, as a "frustrated blogger" (@citytravelbug). Hadn't thought of it that way before. But I am currently in limbo waiting for a phone call, so why not dig into that?

I am frustrated because I don't seem to have time to blog these days... but is that really it? I am frustrated because I am not blogging. I don't have a lot of time these days, true, but it's not that hard to do, as long as I have more of a free flowing blog, than a "composed" one. Which I'd planned (ha ha) to do anyways. So, what's stopping me?

Out of the habit is the biggie.

If I am in the habit, then it's no big deal to pop open my laptop and just write. Somewhat journal like. Not so crazy, considering that blog comes from weblog, which is an online log, or journal. Blah blah blah... enough intellectualizing!

Right now I am waiting for a call back about whether I can get a couple more days of respite care at Piercy Respite Hotel for my mom. Breaking all protocol here, but hopefully it will work out. Sometimes you just gotta trust your gut.

Was due to pick up mom this morning, but she had a fall yesterday. Not too serious, but was at the hospital with her for awhile yesterday while they stitched her up and checked her out. While we were doing that, she offered to stay another night or two, to give me a bit more respite time (also had a burst hot water tank this week, hardly real 'turn off the real world' kind of respite!)... I knew they had had a whole whack of time open the other day, as someone cancelled last minute (mom had already stayed one extra day as it was)... so I called the nurse last night. It appears that mom's room is available for 2 more nights, but that can't be confirmed until the booking person looks. Just called, and there's a relief person on, so won't know for a bit. The only thing is, I should have already left and be picking her up right now if they can't keep her longer. So a bit of a pickle of a delay if I hear I need to go get her, but I am crossing my fingers and toes. Anyways, that's the "I gotta trust" part of it.

Oh, on the falls, I was also tweeting this morning about: how do I get used to the falls, how do I keep my heart from getting stuck in my throat each time she has one. She's fine. Me, well, sheesh!!!
This is mom all loaded up to be taken back to Piercy - and the guys put the Christmas lights in the back on for her. Not a clear pic, but it was a nice moment, all 4 of us were laughing: her, me and the 2 paramedics (both cute). On that note, I told mom she didn't have to fall to get attention from some nice young men! She had 4 yesterday, 2 each way. And I told her not to be disappointed when she got women sometimes ;-)

There I go, composing again... the decision to add a couple of pics did it to me...

So........ to the frustrations part of it....

How did I get out of the habit?

It IS partially time, but I realize exactly where it started.

At the end of July my mom had a fall. And I kept it from my sister because: a) mom was "ok", b) mom asked me to, and c) my sister was off to the UK for 6 weeks in September and we both knew she would worry worry worry worry worry to the point of not enjoying her trip if she knew. It killed me a little not to tell her, but agreed to after talking with my brother and sleeping on it. And I agreed to do that as long as I didn't have to stay silent about "everything else".

The world here changed a lot here after that fall. After the first week or so of carrying on alone, totally scared that mom would fall again, and me straining my back as I assisted her, we got help. And the daily morning workers started. And some other adjustments were made around the house. Now we were supposed to get a home care assessment done sometime soon anyways, so I was able to tell my sister about those changes under those auspices (is that the right word? It's one I say but never write... oh well, for once I don't care...). (She never suspected a thing: had a great trip, and was surprised to learn about it afterwards... and totally understood, and appreciated the decision). Glad that bit is over though. Siblings have so much to do in partnership when caretaking a parent, holding something back generally doesn't help. And just felt odd to not speak of it.)

That was all going on about the time I wrote this blog entry: Grace. I had to write about it. I couldn't say nothing. My blog would have felt totally unauthentic to me if I just glossed over what was happening. So I chose my words veeeery carefully. Almost too carefully, I thought, as it felt a bit contrived, but it's also one of the most special posts I've done about my mom, because it captures the spirit of her, her heart, the fun we have (had?). Such a shame, the fall occurred the day after the pictures of this outing were taken. Mom was SO HAPPY that day!!!! She talks of it often. She talks of wanting to go back. But it won't be the same. and it's not that easy. Thinking of how happy it made her makes me all happysad. I start to cry as I write this. Her joy fills me with joy. And I feel so sad sometimes, thinking of her losses.

Okey dokey.....

Anyways... although I got my wish, of being able to share enough with my sister that I didn't feel I was lying to her... and to be able to have enough out in the open that I could blog about how my world was changing... in the end, being careful with my words was really really hard. And as I look back now, I never wrote another blog post after that all fall (well, not the heart stuff anyways).

that brings up a whole other realm of stuff for me, which I'll reflect on later.

For now, I am going to relax a bit, as I got my call back (she can stay), and I got a blog post out, so I am starting the ball rolling. Though who knows what will come! One thing I want to do is share what caregiving is like, to share our journey, and just put stuff out there as I adapt and work stuff out.....

ok, all 4 now...

La Tête au Carré: Nice's FAB "Square Head"

OK, I have fallen in love with a building:

Image source: @olivier_m

This FANTASTIC building is located in Nice, France and it houses a library.

Rather, I thought it housed the public library, but I think it might just be the library administration buildings. That's ok, though it dents my fantasies a bit (just think about it, reading a book in the nose, wandering into the frontal lobe section, eavesdropping in the ear....).

I had really wanted to visit this area of France in 2009 (there are Picasso museums in the area!) but it just didn't work out. But now, it's biting at my fancy again, and I'm dreaming of future travel again. For me, that's two things: one is just a future trip to France, the other is a possible mission to visit fabulous library buildings around the world.... interesting premise...

Anyways the "Square Head" in Nice is the vision of local sculptor Sacha Sonso. It is actually called La Tête au Carré, which means "Thinking inside the box". How delightful! I just adore it.

If you are as fascinated as me, you might be interested in:

• "Square Head" Building by Sosno (Nice) - a bit on the history
• Wikipedia entry on Sacha Sonso - the sculptor who envisioned the head
  
• Sacha Sonso's website - he was new to me, but I love his truly fantastic works!!!!
• The architect was Yves Carrard
  
• Tête au Carré (the “blockhead building”) in Nice - musings and photos by a former physicist who was taken by the the building when in Nice for a conference
  
• Carol Ann Photos - fab pics of the building by a professional photographer
  

On the thought of fabulous library buildings in the world, here's one link I found so far: 8 Amazing Libraries (and One That’s Horrible).

This will be a fun "journey", even if it is just virtual travel for the forseable future...

Grace

This is my favourite picture of my mom. It was taken just a couple of weeks ago, but I can picture her as a teenager. If they'd had phone cameras back then, this could be her goofing around with her girl friends. Yet she is 89, and somehow this shot takes decades off her face. I love her pure joy, and it feels very special to have captured this moment together.

Her name is Jeannie, not Grace, but it is her aging with grace (among other things) that inspired the name for this post.

I don't write a lot about her aging, or what it is like living here and supporting her at this stage of her life, but I think I shall begin. It is, after all, the biggest thing in my life. Haven't said a lot prior to this - aside of posting a few pics and adventures - as it is of the utmost importance to me to respect her privacy, and to respect the privacy of my siblings. But I feel pulled these days to record some of what I feel and notice, as I know it might help others. And I do need to process it. So, I shall, to a degree, share some of that here. Being careful, being respectful, while still being honest. Sharing with grace, I suppose.

A week ago we began a new phase of things: mom has a morning worker come in to give her a sponge bath in bed, dress her for the day, and make her breakfast. The bathroom here, while sized appropriately for her cute little house, is just too awkward to continue using for bathing for an elderly person, even with assistance. Hence the sponge bath in bed.

And my how she has taken to it! Rather that resist or be annoyed at a string of strangers coming in to perform the most personal of tasks, she is accepting it all with grace. And then some. She considers it all a luxury and she truly is luxuriating in it. We call it her morning spa treatment.

What a joy it is to witness her responding like this. I'm not at all surprised, but still I am delighted.

It's also a break for me. Not that there is all that much to do for mom, but as time goes on, and she becomes a little more unsteady on her feet, the attention and care she needs becomes more steady (hmmmm.... unsteady = steady care, interesting). No task in itself is too much, and there is nothing I wouldn't do for her, but the cumulative effect does chip away at one's (mine) energy. And if I get depleted, then I'm not going to be as good with her, and we'd both 'suffer'. I don't mean heavy suffering, but if/when we become strained in the process, it has the potential to change things from aging with grace to enduring. No one wants that.

I knew these things when I moved here 15 months ago, or at least I had a sense. But I suppose no one really knows until you're there.

When the spa days began, I was aware that she needed the extra care, but I wasn't really aware that I needed those breaks yet. But I did. I do. What an incredible difference it has made already. Something as simple as I am blogging now first thing in the morning. Just having some quiet mental space to start my day. Having lived alone for 30+ years it's something I am more than used to. I had adapted, somewhat, but now that I have this time with ease back I can already feel myself responding. I am more present with mom, and I am more present in general.

So I guess I was ready for things to shift. And I guess she was too.

The health care workers love her! I'm not surprised. My mom is such a sweet and interesting person. And she is totally rolling with the punches with each new person comes in. So far, no repeats. And so far, no men (!). We were told to expect a real variety for the first few weeks as we fit into the provider's schedule, and were warned that we might get a few men. She has accepted that possibility just fine, but of course we've put in a request for women ongoing. And I gather the men are in big demand, so I doubt we'll actually see them. But you never know.

We are having fun trying to remember all the ladies names, and a bit about them. Each time we get a new person, we remark that we like them and want them again. So they have been scoring big points with her. And, by extension, me. I admit it has been nice to see how so many different personalities can all perform the same tasks and still make mom feel happy: gentle, bubbly, no-nonsense, take charge, serene, joker, nurturer.... she connects with them all. Will be interesting to see who we get as ongoing caregivers, but at least I know she's going to be fine, no matter what.

Grace.

Mom is accepting aging with grace. She is accepting care with grace. She accepts me in her home with grace. She is accepting help from a wonderful neighbor with grace. She more than accepts the arrival of any of her flock with grace. She accepts her fleeting memory with grace. She has learned to. What else can she do?

And she has kept her playful spirit! If anything, it has really come out to play!

Evident when we go hunting for Grace.

One day when we were out for a drive, rather than go afar, we started exploring all the little streets that go down to the ocean here. Re-exploring for her, of course, she has lived here so long. But new to me. We were having a grand time when we came to a little road that goes out to a spit of land with about a dozen homes on it. I believe it is a public road, but as the only purpose of it is to go to these homes (there is no parking aside of a couple of visitor spots in the complex), I know that you're really not supposed to drive there. People walk out there all the time, and I used to go there with mom when she was mobile, but only on foot. But I knew she'd like to see it again. So I just drove out there, saying all the while that if we were asked what we were doing there we'd say we were looking for a friend's place. This led to further concocting a story and, out of thin air, I plucked "Grace" as the friend's name. No one asked us what we were doing, of course (I didn't really think they would), but it just added some fun. We, of course, carried looking for Grace as we poked around other streets.... it was a great lot of fun.

And now it's a bit of a theme. When we haven't been out for a drive for awhile, mom will say, "Let's go look for Grace!" Or if I just end up somewhere new, I say, "I wonder if Grace lives around here?"

Then, more recently, when we were talking about the recent changes in her life, and I complimented her on how she is aging with grace, we both stopped, looked at each other, and simultaneously yelled, "Grace!!" And laughed. With recognition that maybe that was the grace we were looking for.

So, we've had lots of fun with the grace theme, and it's actually provided a nice opening to all sorts of dialogue. And I know that grace has also been a theme for my life over the past 15 months.

Grace: we've found her, yet we will continue seeking. It's a journey we are on together.

My 7 Links: 7x7 Europe

I came across the #My7Links hashtag on Twitter tonight and was immediately inspired. What is it? The My 7 Links challenge was created by the Tripbase blog - here are the rules. You are supposed to be nominated to participate, but I'm not much for rules, and I was ready to go. So here are my 7 links, chosen from my 7 month trip to Europe in 2009/2010 (hence the 7x7 reference).

My Most Beautiful Post
A Birthday and a Jet Plane
My soup and champagne celebration on my 51st birthday in Paris. I chose this as my "most beautiful post" for a few reasons. Yes, the soup is beautiful (I challenge you not to salivate at the description!), and so was the view - but this post was all about wrapping up my 7 month trip: sadness, joy, learnings, being ready to come home... So it's beauty is TO ME, though I hope my savory soup and other pics from that post are beautiful to others. I almost hesitated to include this post for beauty, as the pic I really wanted to use was the one below, which captured my joy of a very special day and point in my life... but I'm also not so cocky as to say that my most beautiful blog post was about me! lol. But there you go. Re-reading this post is a beautiful touchstone for me. And, perhaps, it can serve as a beacon and beautiful inspiration for others considering a grand adventure.

My Most Popular Post

Wandering the charming Passages of Paris

I had so much fun in Paris learning about the old covered passages! I found a lovely little book about them, read it, studied, then set out to explore some of them for myself. Some were awesome, some less so, but enjoyed it partly because it was a part of Paris that is a bit off the beaten track, but the passages captured my heart. And others' hearts too, it seems. I got lots of feedback on this one, and it turns up on Twitter every so often. And I'm delighted, as I am glad for others to discover this less famous but no less historic part of Paris.

My Most Controversial Post

Happy New Year from Athens!

This was hardly controversial, but I didn't have much in my 7 months of blogging in Europe that was controversial. I was not only careful not to criticize the places I travelled to ("When in Rome...."), but I felt this at the core. I was a guest and anytime I did not agree with a culture I felt it was a learning opportunity. So I kept my mouth shut. Now I am hardly a person who is unwilling to speak her mind, but as I chose to confine this challenge to my big Europe trip, it just wasn't a theme. Why this post? Well, cuz I managed to generalize that "everyone gives New Years trinkets in Greece" when, in fact, it was a tourist things. Oops. Well, it felt pretty cool and authentic to me anyways. (Interestingly, my biggest culture shock on my trip came from Athens as well, but I havent' really written about that (aside of a mention here....)... yet ...

My Most Helpful Post

Would the real Checkpoint Charlie please stand up?

Contrary to common belief, the historic Checkpoint Charlie isn't what you see when you visit the spot where it once stood in Berlin: that's a replica. The real Checkpoint Charlie is at the Allied Museum. In this post I wrote about my trip to the museum, what I saw there, and why I think it's one of the best historic sites in a city overflowing with them. I thought it was my most helpful post as I really do point people to a site which they might not be aware of, snuff out a few misconceptions, and give practical information on how to find it. And helpful, too, as it's history that can reach those who may never go to Berlin but are fascinated by it's history. One of my trip highlights.

My Post Whose Success Surprised Me

A trip to the Opera... and the Phantom's home

The success of this post surprised me because it was a bit of a sleeper. I didn't even plan to see this site, I just stumbled on it - and it was FABULOUS! Got so many great pics that I had to split my blog post into two parts (the pic above is in part 2 - and, yes, that's a mind-blowingly big, glorious Chagall!). I see it tweeted about from time to time when someone discovers it, and it makes me smile. And, really, you've gotta see it if you go to Paris...

My Post that Didn't Get the Attention it Deserved

Calvalcade of the Magi

I was lucky enough to be back in Barcelona on January 5th which is when the Catalan children celebrate their version of Christmas. The Calvalcade of the Magi, or Three Kings Parade, was a great experience and I got some truly fabulous pictures! It was held at night, and the performers and floats were so different from a North American parade, that it was truly magical. I feel it has been lost in the pure volume of blog posts from my trip, and a little overlooked. I'd be happy if more people saw the pictures and enjoyed the magic too....

My Post I am Most Proud Of

My Trip to Pompeii

Pompeii was unreal.... perhaps because it is real! Its the blog post I am most proud of for a few reasons.... Probably the biggest reason is because it was my first experience of "being" a travel blogger, as I arranged to take the tour for a reduced rate in exchange for writing a review. Wasn't sure about doing that at first, but when they agreed that my review would be impartial (if it was bad, I was going to say so!), I was ok with it. And it was pretty damn awesome! Not just Pompeii, but the tour itself. Though I did still comment on some things that could have been improved. It was a great little challenge for me while on my trip and I learned a lot while doing it. And talking about it now makes me realize that it's important to share.... I was also proud of it because I think it's a good post on Pompeii: great pics, little vignettes of information, and tips. Of course, I only got to see about 5% of the city, but that's all anyone gets. And if you get a good tour -- like mine, with an archaeologist who had actually worked on the site - you are going to learn tons.

So, that's my 7.

Now, to nominate 5 others to do the same (who have not already been nominated!):

Artist at Large: Exploring Cultures with Eyes Open

Peter's Paris

RomePhotoBlog

Sights of the World (Travelwriticus)

Women on the Road

Looking forward to their 7's !

The Picture of Courage

This man is the picture of courage. I am both saddened and inspired.

If you don't follow the Tour de France, then let me introduce you to Johnny Hoogerland. After being hit by a media car - along with cyclist Juan Antonio Fletcha - landing in a barbed wire fence, getting back on his bike (after being cut out of the fence, then tended to a doctor riding a motorcycle), persevered to finish the race while bleeding and in excruciating pain. He is on the podium because in addition to being in a breakaway of five riders that actually was going to beat the peloton to the finish, he was positioned to win the "King of the Mountains" polka-dot jersey - all he had to do was finish. It didn't matter that he came in 16 minutes after Luis Leon Sanchez (who took the win for stage 9); all he had to do was cross.

What courage. He was in tears as he was awarded his jersey and in such obvious agony. They say it took them 33 stitches to sew him up afterwards (well, I also heard 44 stitches, whichever it was, it was a lot).

Some other reflections:

• I know the riders take risks, and they accept those risks -- but it's one thing to go crashing over the edge of a mountain or into a ditch as a result of cycling (and there have been plenty of those in this year's TDF -- but to be hit by a car? It's crazy - and I feel for all those riders shaken by the incident, as well as those injured


• It was a French television media car that hit them and -- get this -- they were ignoring instructions from the TDF Race Director on race radio (it's in one of the articles below) - it's beyond irresponsible


• I was shocked to see the images of Johnny wrapped in the barbed wire, being cut out, the huge gashes in his legs and on his bared ass (yes, his uniform was in tatters), and his blood covered legs as he crossed the finish line - but I looked


• I was bothered that I looked, as it seems disrespectful, somehow, to be looking at the worst of it all - and thought of how he would feel, knowing his rear end was displayed to the world in tweets, then re-tweeted, and re-tweeted..... I wish people would resist the temptation to re-tweet the pictures that he'd really not want anyone to see


• But mostly, I am moved by the deep-to-the-core courage it took for him to get up on his bike and carry on.

Remarkable courage. Inspiring. Breathtaking. Moving. RAW COURAGE. Wow.
Here are a few articles about what happened, if you missed all the action:
Tour chief furious at vehicle accidents
More blood and broken bones leave the peloton shaken and looking for answers

Reflections: Looking Back on My Europe Trip - almost 2 years later

This rock sits on my windowsill. I picked it up from the beach in Rhodes, Greece when I made my first trip there. It is just one reminder I have of the 7 months I spent travelling Europe in 2009/2010.

Two years ago today, I was counting down the days to my departure, and wrote this More Toes Than Days To Go blogpost 9 days before my departure. I was clearing out my apartment, making final preparations and trying, unsuccessfully, to contain my excitement.

These days that trip is still with me and the memories are as sharp as if I was still there. I can feel atmosphere of Berlin or Barcelona if I just close my eyes. Heck, I can even do that with my eyes open. Barcelona, Aix-en-Provence, Paris, Rome, Florence, Venice, Berlin, Rhodes, Athens, Madrid, La Alberca... so close I can almost touch them. Yet that world feels so far away from where I am today: living in sleeping little Sidney, BC, Canada with my sweet 89 year old mom and an adorable cat.

One of the things that keeps the memories alive is the little things I have around me from my trip. Perhaps the most prominent of those is this little orange leather purse that I got in Florence. I have used it every days since I bought it and still get compliments on it. In addition to its lovely colour, it's neat as it holds a whole bunch of stuff, while still being quite a tiny purse. In fact, I could have this view today, aside of the ground: I still wear that top, and still wear those adorable little sneakers that I bought one hot July day in Barcelona.

It's the little things that provide those memories. That rock on my windowsill, my purse, the loofa sponge I bought from a seaside vendor during my first trip to the old town of Rhodes. It makes me smile each time I shower (and I'm impressed that it's only just now starting to show a bit of wear - I'll probably still be using it for years to come). And my big, sloppy, comfy grey zip-up sweatshirt that I bought when I returned to Barcelona in January when it was cccccold (was staying in a place with no heat, common there, as it doesn't usually get that cold) - I wear it around the house practically every day, though the zipper is long broken. These are my everyday touchstones.

Those touchstones are pure magic, as they have the power to take me back, to connect now to then, and keep all I learned about myself on my trip front of mind.

It's important, as sometimes I feel very far from travel, the wide stretches of open time, the freedom, the learning, the beauty....

Don't get me wrong. I am very happy to be where I am right now, doing what I'm doing, 'tis meant to be. But I still feel that travel itch, and ponder where I'll go when I go mobile again.

And it's not that I haven't travelled at all since then. Since I have been back I've had a great trip to New York City for 3 weeks, an Alaskan cruise, a week in Mexico (Peurto Vallarta), a few days in Tofino and almost 3 weeks in Palm Springs (dog sitting!). Funny, these days, I even time spent in Vancouver is a "trip", lol.

About that pondering for future travel. I think it would be helpful for me to settle on at least one destination for my next big trip, so I can spend lots of time studying up, planning, dreaming.... So far I have a bunch of ideas, and some very probables, but that's all. Croatia and Turkey are of most interest to me at the moment, but not sure. I think there's a reason for all that, I'm not meant to get that clear yet, so I'm going with it. For now.

But I also know what it does to me when I know my next destination... Even if I don't know when, I look forward to that feeling when I start to settle on where....

Sure glad I picked up and took off those two years ago. It was a trip that shapes my life (I can't imagine me without it). Gratitude. I am overflowing with gratitude for all that came together in my life to make that trip possible.

Now I am curious again.....

Reflections on #canucks, #canucksriot and #thisismyvancouver

Oh, what a run it was. The Vancouver Canucks made it all the way to the Stanley Cup finals. Go Canucks Go!
What an incredible spirit. Living on the island now, I must admit I was yearning for Vancouver at times, wishing I was downtown at one of the fan zones. All I heard and saw was an amazing energy that some said surpassed the Olympics. Well, the Olympics were truly special, so it must have been pretty darn good.

Going into Game 7, the tension was unbelievable, even at our house here in sleepy little Sidney. My 89 year old mom and I were gathered before the tv waiting for the puck to drop. Snacks at hand, pizza ordered and warming up our vocal cords for the anthems. Win or lose, it was going to be a fun night. But I was so sure we were going to win..... Go Canucks Go!!!

I was even sure I was going to get a chance to cheer on my favourite player, Ryan Kesler, for a goal. That would have been so sweet!

But, alas, it wasn't to be. The Boston Bruins won. And what a game! And what a goalie! I was amazed at Tim Thomas - he was like a brick wall, nothing gets past him. Both teams played well. Congratulations to the Bruins for their win. I really feel for the Canucks team - oh, what hope they had! - and for the diehard fans, who I know were crushed. But it was fun. And it was a game.

That's the kind of stuff I expected to be posting about. But not this:

Vancouver burning. The riots. The insanity. I felt sick to my stomach.

I was concerned at the first signs of trouble, the first car on fire, but I was optimistic that the police woud be able to get things under control. But, alas, that wasn't to be either.

I am not going to spend my energy posting pics or writing a lot about the actual riots. Lots have done that. I have little to add.

But I was saddened. Truly saddened. I was surprised that I didn't spend longer in anger, but it seemed pointless. I just felt sadness. "My" city was hurting.

OK, I will post ONE riot pic, and it's not about the riots, per se, but take a look at the steamy shot below. Wow and wow. Love the photographic values: the out of focus police, the sharp focus on the couple in their 'embrace', the light - what a public private moment of passion. Oh my!

Just before I went to bed in the wee hours that night, I caught up with some tweets about a planned volunteer cleanup campaign to begin at 7am the day after. Thousands said they'd be there.

And, true to their word, they came. They came and they cleaned. Vancouverites took back their town and through their actions demonstrated what they'd been tweeting: #thisismyvancouver. The next 4 pictures are from a wonderful album by photographer Andy Fang - check it out for more.

Love this pic of the Bruins fan pitching in. Sounds like there was an amazing energy as 100's (1000's?) picked up garbage, swept up glass, washed off grafitti, and scrubbed the riot zones clean. Tweets reported that the city smelled clean. I imagine it sparkled in the day's sun.

If that wasn't enough to warm your heart, how about the free hugs movement downtown? Sweet and heartwarming.

And the messages that Vancouverites felt compelled to write to express their love for the city, their pride, their apologies an condolences.... This scene was at the Bay downtown -people wrote all sorts of messages on the plywood covering the broken windows. Check out the flags that people created and strung up....

That last message is from Mayor Gregor Robertson. Sweet.

Talking about sweet, I was really moved by this expression of gratitude. It's a police cruiser covered with messages of thanks. What a lovely reframing of the images of police cars burning. I am sure this meant a lot to the police.

I wish I had more to say, but I'm tired and emotionally exhausted. Still sad, but also heartened. I love Vancouver, miss it at times like this, and hold it in my heart tonight.

ps - I did some Canucks doodles along the way - you can check them out here.