This is an excerpt from my private journal in September 2010, shortly before I started this blog. We were living in Mike Perry’s summer house while our future home was being renovated on Perry’s Point. Of note, this excerpt was written during Hurricane Igor and its aftermath. Also of note is my poem at the end.
Very slowly, the house on the point is undergoing the planned metamorphosis. My emotions are mixed. To see the rot exposed, the peeling paint and wallpaper, the ancient cobwebs hanging from the now-bare and blackened rafters, the unbelievable mess created by demolition, and now construction, all of this plays havoc with my need for order. Are we really going to live here?? In this house on a piece of rock jutting out into the cold north Atlantic? And are we ever going to find carpenters for the new windows and clapboard???
But then, on one occasion when I visited the point last week, I caught an encouraging glimpse of what can be…of what that house can become. My eye is drawn to the sun shining in through the stained glass. I see promise in its dazzling colours. I get a picture of the rooms, devoid of junk, neatly decorated, warm and comfortable, the kitchen filled with welcoming smells, music playing, Paul laughing at our cat Vivian as she skitters across the floor after a pop stopper. I see Paul working, and I see me typing another page in my new novel. I welcome a visitor, put the kettle on…
I pretty much wish we were already there, playing house. Patience is not my strongest virtue, so the time drags on.
So the house in Paradise didn’t close yesterday as planned; the buyers require a survey of the land…why did they wait til the last minute??? And now we are back in Newtown, enduring the wrath of Hurricane Igor as he sweeps over the province. There’s a leak in the living-room here at Mike’s, since Paul left to go out on the point. The wind is howling, the rain is hitting the windows in sheets. Mother Nature is showing her teeth today and she means business! The radio tells me that this storm is a record breaker, and I feel like I have three houses to worry about: this one, the one on the point, and our biggest investment, the one in Paradise that is almost sold. Even Maisie and Vivian look worried.
Everyone I love now has their power back. Lynn got hers at 1 yesterday, Mona last evening, and Denise at 4 this morning. (no other family lost theirs) We had it gone for about seven minutes on the night of the storm. So I breathe a sigh of relief that all is well once again. I smile to realize that many have no cable tv or internet access right now…just like us!
Of course, we still wait for a phone call from our real estate agent, or our lawyer, as to when the house will close. I pray the walk-thru goes well. And we wait to see if the TCH will open later today. And we wait for our windows to be delivered. Sometimes life feels like a waiting game.
I love cooking and baking. Sometimes it feels downright therapeutic. As I made cod au gratin for supper yesterday, and then a strawberry-apple crumble for dessert, a feeling of such peace and contentment enveloped me, it made me think of Simple Abundance, and how much truth is in it. When I cook with love, and there is lots of time to do it right, I adore it! Thinking of living on the point and cooking and baking in my shiny new kitchen fills me with joy…I even taped some loose recipes into my personal cookbook, in anticipation of using them. The only thing that hurts is to read the recipes that Mom dictated to me over the phone not that long ago…
And I wait for a call from Lynn to see if they have a new placement for Mom. I don’t think I will get over the hurt of her Alzheimer’s disease for a very long time, and the worst is yet to come. Right on the heels of Dad’s ALS and death, the dreaded condition swooped in on my precious mother and changed her forever. Why has this double whammy hit our family? I wonder. The knowledge of it and the pain of its aftermath seems to have changed me forever too, I fear.
God, give me back my mom, I beg you and I plead
we’ve lost her much too early, the pain will not recede
First we lose our father to a death no one should know
too young he was to leave us–my God! I miss him so..
The grief it proved a burden our mother couldn’t bear
her sadness turned to illness with a name I’ve always feared
I know not how her soul survives as her mind and body waste
she lives and yet she doesn’t; a stranger took her place
Where is my mother’s heart? where is her winsome smile?
I miss the wisdom of her words, her gentle, caring style
God, give me back my mom, if it’s only in a dream
let her put her arms around me; let her hold me as she sings
Then please take her up to heaven, let her suffering be gone
reunite my precious parents–maybe then I can