Spring Rain

For seven straight days, the streets of Montreal have teemed with rain. This morning is no exception as I watch raindrops bounce off the pavement and create widening circles in puddles at the curbs. Everywhere I go, I smell the pungency of wet earth and the delicate scent of lilacs and other flowers in bloom.

There’s something very cleansing about the rain; it washes away the grit of winter and helps us to prepare for a new season.

I think of the healing that takes place when we cry – what a release it can bring. Sadness and grief, when we allow them to flow through us, can lead to peace and acceptance. Men, especially, are socialized to hold their softer emotions in check. Why should crying be less acceptable than laughter? We all need to express both.

A year ago, in the month of May, my dear mother passed on. Fresh grass now grows on her burial plot and mauve tulips stand tall next to her tombstone. Only one or two tears slide down my cheeks as I pay my respects at the cemetery. Her spirit is free now, no longer bound by time or place or affected by the elements.

I can almost hear her shout, “Let it rain – let it rain!”

Climbing Stairs

Our largest library in Montreal, the Bibliotheque Nationale, can be accessed from within the subway system, a great convenience in frigid weather. This morning as I wait for the library to open, I look down at two flights of steps populated with people coming from and going to the trains.

Talk about character in motion! It’s amazing what you can tell about a person from the simple act of climbing or descending stairs. Some of these travelers are terribly out of shape. They use the handrails to haul themselves up, step by step. By the time they reach the landing, they pause to catch their breath. Others skip lightly, rushing to the top. I see someone reading the paper as he takes the stairs. Now that’s multitasking.

Going in the opposite direction, a young man counts bills in his wallet as he goes down. A thin woman in heels clatters all the way to the bottom of the stairs, hanging on to the railing for dear life. Her frame is pitched forward at an unnatural angle, telling me the shoes are more of a hindrance than a help.

At this time of day, I assume most of these people are heading for work or school. I can sense their moods by the way they carry themselves. Some of them walk jauntily, with confidence. Others trudge along, as if the effort is almost too much for them. A few shuffle their feet.

From my vantage point over the stairwell, I commiserate. It would have been so comforting to be able to stay in bed another hour on such a bitterly cold morning.

Bigger than My Fear

At 2:02 a.m., I suddenly awaken, my body as taut as a stretched elastic band. There is rustling in my room. I hear it again. The fear I feel is primeval, gripping. I can scarcely breathe.

It’s a grey, furry field mouse coming out of hiding in the corner. His family has been proliferating in this building – and as mice often do, he has climbed to the 2nd floor, where it’s warmer in Montreal’s harsh winter climate.

Since the duplex became infested, I have barricaded myself in my bedroom at night, not wanting to run into the little critters. I realize that I’ve locked myself IN with the very creature I want to avoid. Shit! I open the door so he can scamper out. Later I find a dead mouse in one of my traps, hopefully him. Everything being scrupulously clean in my apartment, the dab of peanut butter in the trap must have been enticing.

Here I am dealing with something that strikes terror in my heart. I ask myself what I could be learning – faith? courage? strength? I pray. I take action (fresh mouse traps, carefully baited) as I wait for the exterminator. He praises the efficiency of his poison bait and tells me this isn’t the worst case he’s seen.

I think of others around the globe dealing with scorpions, deadly snakes, giant spiders or destructive forces of nature. How do they do it?

It’s important not to give into our fear, but to see it as a friend that alerts us to danger. To use it as a spur to action. And then to hand our problem over to a Higher Power, with thanks in advance. I believe we are never ever truly alone!

Those Bleak November Skies

November gives me the blahs – continuously overcast skies, the bareness of trees and a foreboding chill that makes me zip up my jacket in anticipation of winter.

Today I treat myself to a few hours in a downtown Montreal greenhouse. Surrounded by a sea of flowers, from furry mums to daisies (bunches of white, purple or violet), I gratefully breathe in the humid air. I listen to the gurgle of water as it flows into two small ponds and watch the carp wind their way beneath the lilies floating on the surface.

It has been a year of losses for me – first my mother’s passing, then the departure of a close friend and I need this visual feast to remind me what I truly love in this world. The colours, the textures and the scents in this tropical place fill my senses.

A woman comes in with her two little girls, who scamper around the room examining all the plants. I envy their excitement and spontaneity.

Will I ever feel joyful again? Like the seasons I expect my melancholy will pass. Experiencing loss is part of the human condition and it is normal to feel sad when important relationships end. I give myself permission to sit with my feelings. For a few moments happy memories flood my mind.

I dreamt of my mother and this friend last night (strange, to have them both in the same dream!). My friend was pulling me back from the edge of a deep man-made lake that suddenly appeared in the center of the city. Perhaps that was my subconscious warning me not to let emotion overwhelm me, especially at this time of year.

I again gaze at the graceful palms and flowers that grow here in such profusion. Life for them, and for me, must go on.

As Leaves Turn Gold

Too soon the brilliant reds of autumn fade away. The landscape along the river is now dominated by the muted oranges and browns of maples and the yellows of poplar trees. In the sunshine everything turns to burnished gold.

How perfectly the seasons parallel our life cycles! Whether or not we cling to youth, it falls behind us as we ramble into middle age. Maybe we don’t run as fast, or turn heads the way we used to, but there is a richness that only comes with age. I find comfort in knowing who I am and what I truly value. I am at peace in solitude and appreciate company when it’s there.

Many people find change unsettling, seeing only the losses pile up as they grow older. Yet this is a natural unfolding. There’s an advantage to cutting back and slowing down. We can more easily pause in our routines to absorb the moment – stopping to watch the pink sky at sunset or to hear children’s laughter as they play.

On my walk there’s a blur of black and white as a kingfisher swoops over the water and then disappears into the trees. These days I am more fully aware of the transience of life. I enjoy who and what is around me, knowing they will not last. I appreciate the opportunity to make a difference and use my gifts while I can.

One day I will be like these dry leaves underfoot – feeding the soil that nourished me for so long.

Where the Grass is Greener

It’s a sunny afternoon in early Fall – with just the right touch of crispness in the air. As I cycle along the river, I skirt around a furry caterpillar making its way to the grass on the other side of the path. A couple of feet later, I come across another rust-coloured caterpillar humping along in the same direction as the first one. The next caterpillar I see isn’t so lucky. It was fatally clipped by a skater or cyclist, halfway to its destination.

Why this obsession about getting to the other side?? The area they are leaving behind has the same green grass and even more trees than the place they are struggling to reach.

Human beings are not so different. When I was unhappily married, many times I longed to be single. Eventually I made the switch – only to realize there are challenges in every lifestyle. Perfection does not exist because there is always something to experience and to learn.

The way to be happy, I have since discovered, is “to want what you have” rather than “have what you want.” This does not mean staying in a bad relationship. Rather it has to do with appreciating the good things in your life. I have my health and mobility, time and freedom to write (my greatest passion) or to travel. I also have meaningful interactions with a number of people. I feel useful and engaged. There is a lot to be thankful for.

As I head home on my bike, I come across another caterpillar – this one going BACK to the river. It’s tasted the grass on the other side and realizes it was better off where it started from. I gently nudge the furry creature off the path and out of danger.

Soon it will nest in a silky cocoon, safe from winter’s chill. In the end the place it chooses for this cocoon does not matter as much as the act of weaving it.

Laying Down Track

Three blocks from where I live, there’s a high school running track. This summer they tore up the grass in the center and put down a layer of gravel as a foundation for artificial turf. I understand this is for an eagerly-awaited soccer field.

The outside track where I used to do laps with a good neighbour and friend was also ripped apart. In its place I saw tractors and scattered pieces of concrete in heaps everywhere.

The upheaval happened at the same time as the changes in our relationship. For several years we traded recipes (he made the best curry) and meals as well as stories and bits of wisdom. Just before July, he moved back to his home in South America. Suddenly there were thousands of miles and nothing but faulty communications between us – and his absence left a huge gap.

Today I walk past the soccer field and see a brand new track. It’s wider and made of asphalt. The old cinder track is only a memory now, along with our heart-to-heart conversations and shared laughter. My life is filling again with new activities and people.

Recently my former neighbour called to say he’s busy building a house in the tropics. Like me, he’s laying new track. I suspect, though, that we will both pause from time to time and glance back at the path we traveled so well together.