Berry Good Weekend

What a totally country weekend! Or at least, what I consider part of my country life.
With the long weekend, I've had five days at home to read, write and do the chores I love doing. We brought home baby chicks last week so we've been hanging out with our new "peeps" all weekend. Also watching three fertile eggs under a broody hen (or two; they seem to switch it up) while Dwayne is trying to incubate nine eggs.
We went to the Friday night kitchen party, finally, at the Chatterbox Cafe in Pugwash. I'm starting to develop a following of my column. Hard work is paying off.  
Dwayne has been trying to shoot the crows that are eating the potatoes sets he FINALLY got planted after so much rainy weather. But he hasn't hit one yet. "You know you're married to a redneck," I said the other day, "when there are cigarette butts and empty shell casings littering the yard." Nice.
I've been reading Cheryl Strayed's book, "Wild", and the weirdest thing keeps happening: Her book keeps triggering something in my mind and I have to put the book down and write whatever has come to me. After five pages, it was rewriting the opening to my memoir. Last night, I wrote eight pages in my notebook. I haven't written so much longhand in ages; took an hour (I was writing as Dwayne was falling asleep).
Dwayne and I had a conversation on Sunday night, one of those wandering ones that ended up touching on how hard he has always worked and that he had three jobs when he was first married back in the early 80's. Up until the nineties, he was still going down to the farm to milk every evening. I said, "You know, if you had kept up the farm that way, I'd likely go with you to help. That way, I'd get to spend time with you and you've finish sooner to get home."
It was an idea that really resonated with me. It's never bothered me that he works so hard, even though he usually puts work ahead of everything else, but at the same time, if I could help him, I would. I liked the way that statement rang so true inside me; I'm sorry we don't get a chance to do that. Oh, well, I worked in the strawberry patch this morning and kept him company while he waited for cars to roll in. Strawberries sold well for our first two days with our roadside signs. Hopefully word will spread about our red, juicy, unsprayed berries.

Checking on the chicks...

Bruno the bear eating ants in the back field for three days certainly puts a crimp in our walking up the lane, although the bugs are too thick for that anyway so Bruno can munch in peace...

Picking strawberries...

Even the ones that don't pass Mum's strict quality control and go to our kitchen are wonderful The hens get the really squishy ones which they don't mind at all...

 

I'm the creative, marketing & PR team...

















And this is our unique marketing angle: wildflower-infused berries! See if you can spot a few red berries in there...

 

 















Mum remembered this blast from the past: a favourite book of my childhood...

So now, as I head back to work tomorrow, I'm  hoping I head out the door to fetch the newspaper in the morning only to find Bruno sitting in the middle of the strawberry patch.

I submitted an application to be a speaker at the Alzheimer Society of Nova Scotia's conference in October, hoping that speaking on "the spirituality of Alzheimer's" would be of interest to them.
A couple of weeks ago, I met the co-ordinator of the education programs at the local support group meeting and she told me unofficially that I was going to be asked to speak. This afternoon, the woman coordinating the conference called me.
Ultimately what she wants is what I want to talk about but it's not based on my idea of "spirituality". I don't think she knows what I mean by that (which means it wasn't clear in my pitch) but it also could be a recoil from the word "spirituality". I suppose since I'm not a minister or chaplain or theological PhD, I don't have the cred to talk spirituality. This is a bit of a shock -- or reality check? -- to me.
However, what she wants is my last paragraph and that I can do.  It's about the 3 essential elements: the power of the word Love; the underutilization of Music; and the myth of aggression (she objected to my use of myth). I can see if I can work my "spirit" stuff into it through the back door but then again, maybe that's not really my message. But somehow I can't see that.
Right now I'm not seeing much of anything. I get flustered so easily and since I'm at work, I can't walk the dog or do  Sun Salutations to bring myself back into balance. I did make notes of our phone conversation, though, so I can run all this by my mother, the World's Best Sounding Board; and because I'm at work, I couldn't really hash it all out with this woman so we're talking again Thursday afternoon. My confidence will be back and I'll have an outline for her based on what she wants.
Plus: I found out my presentation time is one hour. 45 minutes to present then a Q & A. All of a sudden, that seems like a lot of time.

Yet here is what has me feeling discombobulated: It's not her "rejecting" my original premise of the spirituality but from what comes rushing back when I get talking about my caregiving experience. You'd think the power of my reaction would have lessened in the four years since Dad died but talking about it brings it all back with such a rush of emotions -- including anxiety, frustration and guilt.
Now I'm worried I can't talk about it. I'm worried I gave this woman the impression I can't be "professional" about my experience. Perhaps "spirituality" kept it at arm's length but then again, talking at a conference will be enough arm's length to keep me professional, not personal.
Even though it's my personal experience she's really interested in. Right now, the working title of my presentation is "If Only I Knew Then What I Know Now: One Family's Caregiving Experience".  I hate using that cliche but maybe something better will occur to. It is accurate, though. The focus of my presentation will be two-fold: lessons learned, and the family perspective.
Lest you think this was a negative conversation that has brought me down and made me question doing this, what is best -- and what I was hoping for -- is her offer to work with me on this to create the presentation both of us (the other half of "us" being the Alzheimer Society) will be proud of. I want to make a difference, I want to help, I want to create some kind of positive outcome from my father's suffering. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen. Mum and I actually had been hashing out other words than "spirituality" so maybe stepping away from that and finding a new focus is what is needed; maybe I'm too stuck on one idea that isn't the best one.
My brain is good with percolating ideas so I just have to let go, this instant, and trust in the process that always works for me.

More pictures that tell a lot of words instead of me trying to because we sat up really late last night with a bonfire and the strawberry moon and the fireflies trying to compete but I made sure I was up early in order to go for my walk before it got too hot because believe me, mornings are so lovely here, it would be a shame to miss them but now I've vowed to be in bed by nine.

Mum was the first to spot this guy in the field.

Dwayne and I headed out on the bike to get closer.

Somebody is not sure how close he wants us.

"I'm outta here."

"How about I watch you for awhile?"

Two baby heads spotted. Will we see a third soon?

Mum's birthday lunch at the Landmark Cafe in Victoria-by-the-Sea, PEI. Lovely town, lovely day.

Photos of the action around here since I last posted. Pretty typical, I'd say:

Some of these just beg for a caption contest, don't they? And somehow, they all just seem to flow together thematically.

Given that I'm developing Reader's Waist and Writer's Butt, I am making a concerted effort to walk more, particularly on work days (which are long and involve lots of sitting). The plan is to come in the door from work and instead of sitting down with a glass of wine, put on my sneakers and take Abby for a walk along the road (that's 40 minutes, a good walk).
Before I could head out the door this afternoon for the first walk of the new regime, Dwayne said, "You'd better check on your mother."
"What? Why?"
"She came in from gardening and said she was done and going to make herself a cup of tea. I think she might have overdone it. She looked really hot."
So I trotted right upstairs where she was reclined out fully in her chair.
"Are you okay?" I asked.  "What's wrong?"
"It's just my allergies acting up," Mum answered. "I'm allergic to hard labour."

I posted scenery photos on my Field Notes (work) blog but here are the more important parts of our road trip to Ontario: the people we visited.

In Maine, I made a new friend.

At the Gayman's in Uxbridge: Cousins!

Susan Beer and her mother, Colleen Ross, in Cobourg.

Find Mrs. Stinny!

After another fabulous dinner chez Shelagh in Cobourg.