Jeremiah was a bull-frog
20 Sep 2009 14 Comments
in Life, Middle Age, Midlife Tags: Life, Middle Age, Midlife, Thoughts, Three Dog Night, Women
“Just an old-fashioned love song;” “One is the loneliest number;” The ink is black, the page is white;” “Jeremiah was a bull-frog”.
Hubby got a new CD of old songs recently. Three Dog Night. Songs from my heyday. Funny how a few lines of an old song can take you back to that time. A time of being young and fit, footloose and fancy-free. An entire lifetime ahead of me. Hmm, well I guess I’ve used up a lot of that life.
Has it passed me by? Or, have I really lived it? Have I enjoyed the good times? Have I learned through the challenges? Or I have just gone from one day to another? One event to another? One item on the calendar to another? Just trying to get through it, just trying to make it through another week, another day, another hour?
At 17 I enjoyed life. Yes, it had its challenges. I had my problems – some seemed insurmountable. But many new experiences awaited me. Life was exciting!
Over 30 years of marriage; three children, one son-in-law, three grandchildren, and other additions to our extended family; friends coming and going and staying; a variety of jobs – paid and volunteer; a parade of vehicles – new and used, cars, trucks, tractors and lawn-mowers; and a vast array of experiences, challenges, joys and obstacles are testament to the fact that my life has been anything but boring!
Right. So, why should it change now? After all, I’m not as old as my mother. Yes, we are related and chances are that I may have some of the same problems as she does – when I reach her age, if I reach her age. But, for now, I’m still mobile, have 20/20 vision – with my contact lenses, my hearing is good – maybe a bit selective, have nearly all my teeth, and my hair is the same colour as it was when I was 17 – okay, maybe with a little help…
Come to think of it I’m fairly footloose and fancy-free as well. My children are all grown-up and basically self-sufficient and on their own. I’ve trained my husband to take care of himself as well. I have a job I love and enough hobbies and things I want to do to last several life-times. Each one is sure to bring its own challenges, learning and joys.
So, I guess the choice is up to me. I can wonder how long I’ve got left to do the things I want to do. I can worry about my health and mobility. I can wallow in the gloomy possibilities.
Or, I can take a lesson from my mum. I can try to face every day with a smile and look for the laughs in the day. I can help others. And, when people ask, “How are you?” I can smile and say, “Happy and thankful.”
Because, in the end, who you are is not defined by your age, health, mobility or mind function, but by your spirit.
Let’s journey together.
© Denise Budd Rumble 2009
Road Trip Tales – Part Three
06 Sep 2009 15 Comments
in Aging Parents, Family, Friends, Middle Age, Midlife, mother, Sisters Tags: Family, Life, memories, Middle Age, middle aged, mother, road trip, Sisters
We had a comfortable night in the hotel – after finally finding one! Who would have thought we’d have trouble finding a room in Belleville, in the middle of the week!
We had a leisurely breakfast before we loaded into the car. A stop at a country craft and bake shop for goodies and baked goods and we were on our way to Aunty K. This time we took the major highway. Time for gawking about was over. It was time to just get there. It had been a year since our last visit.
Aunty K.’s face lit up when she saw us. “What a nice surprise. What are you doing here?”
She sat in her wheelchair, one side immobile. Her hair looked like it could use a good wash and a set. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
“Aunty K. How are you doing? You look good.”
And she did. She was a sight for sore eyes. Even with one arm she gave good hugs and her eyes twinkled.
We sat and chatted for a little while. Mum had eaten the last part of her sandwich in the car. “Of course it’s all right.” So Karen and I decided to go out for some lunch promising to bring back cups of tea to have with our dessert. We thought that the two friends might want to have some time for themselves.
Joining them after lunch we laughed until we almost cried, tears of joy and sadness blending, as we reminisced, drank our lukewarm tea from take-out cardboard cups and ate chocolate éclairs – freshly baked. We talked about cheeky mosquitoes in the church, baking pies in the cottage woodstove in 80F degree heat, and more. Memories of a time past, when Mum and Aunty K. got up early in the mornings to start the laundry, make breakfast, usher their children off to school. A time when they walked to… wherever, whenever they felt like it. They made their own cups of tea with boiling water in china teapots. We children feasted on the results of their hard work and love – roast beef with Yorkshire pudding and gravy, apple dumplings, skinny pancakes, ginger snaps and chocolate cake. A time when age was just a word.
Mum told Aunty K. about her new walker.
“That’s what I’ll need next,” Aunty K. informed us. “Today I stood up – first time since my stroke. I can hardly wait to get in my own apartment with my own furniture again.”
We agreed that would, indeed, be wonderful. And, yes, Mum could come to visit, stay a week, or more!
A helper came to wheel Aunty K. to the dining room for supper. It was time for us to go.
“We’ll come again. Shall we bring chocolate éclairs, or would you like something different next time.” “Not sure when we’ll get back…” “Yes, it’s been really lovely visiting with you…”
Amidst kisses and hugs we “walked” with her to the dining room. “Enjoy your supper!” “Good bye!” “See you soon!” “Take care!”
I looked over at Karen. We both swallowed harder. It was difficult to come, to psych ourselves up for the reality of “now”, but it was more difficult to say goodbye.
Mum broke the silence as we walked to the car, “It was really nice to see her again. Thank you, girls, for bringing me. I really appreciate it.”
I swallowed hard, again. After all, how big a deal was it – really? Two days to do something for two people who had loved me well, and helped shape me into the person I am. Two people who would, and had, sacrificed for me and yet expected nothing in return.
“Everybody have their seatbelts on?” I asked. “Mum, are you comfortable back there? Sure you don’t want to sit in the front?”
“I’m fine. Did you say you had another book for me to read?”
“Two more, I think. Right in that red bag there. Yep, that’s it. Whew, it sure is hot in here. Mum, I’m going to have to turn the air conditioning on.”
“Sure, that’s fine.”
“And, there is a pillow and a blanket if you need one.”
Let’s journey together.
© Denise Budd Rumble 2009
Road Trip Tales – Part Two
21 Aug 2009 11 Comments
in Aging Parents, Family, menopause, Middle Age, Midlife, mother, Sisters, Women Tags: Family, hot flashes, journey, Life, menopause, Middle Age, Midlife, mother, road trip
“I don’t remember being on this road before.”
Another half-hour drive and we decided to stay away from the major highways and enjoy some of the scenery. As kids the purpose of the trip was usually just to get there so we did very little sight-seeing along the way.
“You’re right, Mum. But, we decided we’d travel some new roads, see some new scenery. We thought you might like that.”
“But will there be time to visit Aunty K.?”
“Remember we told you that we were just going to travel to Belleville today and stay in a hotel tonight. We’ll have a leisurely breakfast and then make our way to Napanee in the morning to visit. We’ll be able to stay all day, until her supper time.”
“Oh, alright then.
A minute later her nose was buried in her book once again.
The car took us over rolling hills and through peaceful valleys. Patchwork fields, wildflowers waving in the breeze and trickling brooks danced across our field of sight. We enjoyed seeing the varied architecture of old houses and new, quaint villages and larger towns. We drove by the Bowmanville Zoo. Earlier we thought we might stop and visit there but the break at the mall convinced us that it would be too difficult for Mum.
“I don’t remember the trip taking this long.” Mum lifted her eyes from her book to the window. “I don’t remember being on this road before.”
A few hours later, with the help of “geeps”, my GPS, we found a nice “British pub” and restaurant.
“Where are we?”
“We’ve found an interesting place for supper, Mum, a British pub. They probably have some nice fish and chips.”
“I’ll just wait in the car. You can bring me a pack of chips.”
“Mum, you need to have some supper. We’ve found this nice place for you. I bet they make a really good cup of tea.”
“I’ve got part of that sandwich left, just bring me some chips.”
After some cajoling, arguing and putting our foot down, we helped Mum out of the car and up the stairs to the pub. Karen and I did enjoy a delicious meal of fish and chips. Mum had trifle. Following an arduous climb up, then down, a flight of stairs to use the “facilities” the three of us settled into the car again.
Continuing on minor highways and through a couple more towns we finally reached our destination for the evening.
“Are you sure the home will still let us in? It’s getting a bit late isn’t it?”
“We’re going to a hotel now, Mum.”
“But, I thought we were going to visit Aunty K.”
“Tomorrow, Mum. We’re going to have a leisurely breakfast and then spend the day with Aunty K. tomorrow.”
“Oh. Alright then. How much farther to the hotel? I’m nearly finished my book.”
“Nearly there. We’re in Belleville now.”
Overwhelmed by hot flashes I turned on the air conditioner – full blast.
“Mum, there’s a blanket there if you need it – and a pillow.”
Let’s journey together.
© Denise Budd Rumble 2009
Road Trip Tales – Part One
20 Aug 2009 4 Comments
in Aging Parents, Family, Life, Middle Age, Midlife, mother Tags: challenges, change, Family, journey, Life, Middle Age, Midlife, mother, road trip
The day dawned… a good way for any day to start.
First I picked up my sister – she was ready and waiting – then on to our mum’s. Mum was a little distressed when we arrived.
“I’ve been trying to phone Karen, but it’s not going through.”
“Did you remember to dial the area code first, Mum?”
In our area we now must dial the area code for a local call. This has been in place for some time but lately Mum forgets – at least half the time.
“I was wondering when you were coming.”
We looked around and instead of the one bag Karen had helped Mum pack the night before there were several. Amidst explanations we went through the bags. We were able to get it down to one bag for the hotel, one for the car and one full of magazines for Aunty.
A stop for coffee-to-go and we were on our way.
A couple of hours into our trip we took a detour to a large mall. There were some specialty exercise shoes my sister wanted to look at that weren’t available in our area. And, we had a surprise for Mum. She had been debating whether or not to get a walker. Karen and I knew it would give her more security and confidence in her walking so we got one for her. She was thrilled when we gave it to her and anxious to try it out.
Mum has always been a walker. Out of enjoyment, as well as necessity, she has walked miles and miles in her lifetime. In the past couple or so years, however, Mum’s walking has decreased and deteriorated as her legs have started to give out. She catches her shoe on a crack or unevenness in the pavement and stumbles. Her knee sometimes gives out, with no warning. She’s had a couple of falls. Now a pleasant walk, even a slow one, conjures up fear of falling. I thought that with her walker she would have a sense of freedom – something she’s been lacking since no longer having a car, or legs that are 100%.
So, off we went. Mum was excited at first and walked at a smart pace… then slower…up the sidewalk to the door, through the door, a few metres, then…
“Where are we going in the mall? Is it far?”
It was a struggle for her to walk, even with her walker, even with multiple rests and sit-downs, even with her determination, her stubbornness to do and to go. How had it come to this?
Let’s journey together.
© Denise Budd Rumble 2009
Road trip!
28 Jul 2009 8 Comments
in Family, Friends, Life, Middle Age, Midlife, Sisters Tags: Family, holiday, memories, Middle Age, Midlife, mother, road trip, Sisters
We got the car’s air-conditioning fixed at the beginning of the summer for which I’m thankful because tomorrow – road trip!
My sister and I are taking our mum to visit a friend. They’ve known each other for over fifty years, since before we emigrated from England. Besides the fact that my sister and I also want to visit her, our mum can’t drive herself anymore and she needs some assistance when travelling, so it’s a road trip!
Just those two words conjure up feelings of anticipation and excitement. My mind goes into full-gear – what shall I wear? Hmm, the weather man says “clouds, with some sun and chance of rain”. I’ll need maps. We’ll pack a lunch to eat on the road. Where should we stop for supper?
When we were kids we went to said friend’s for many holidays – Christmas, Easter, summer. The husband was a minister and so church holidays were busy times for him, not so easy for them to come to visit us.
Preparations for our trips started days, if not weeks before. Mum would bake so we could contribute to the meals – cakes, pies, squares. I would have to go to the library and get some books to read – in the car and while we were there. It would be a chance for me to indulge in my favourite past-time. Then there were all the decisions about clothes and toys and if the car would make the journey there – and back!
Excitement would be at a fever pitch on our travel day. Dad and Mum would get up while it was still dark and pack the car. Dad would start up the car so it would be nice and warm for us. Mum would set up the back seat as a bed and Dad would carry us and place us, ever so gently, in the back seat bed, a mess of pyjamas, blankets, pillows and feet. Half an hour later the questions would begin, starting with “how long before we get there?” and continuing with “are we there yet”?
Aunty and Uncle and their two kids would give us a grand welcome when we arrived.
I loved doing dishes with Aunty – we had such great conversations. She always treated me as an “equal” and never “just a child”. Uncle was in and out with the irregularity of his position as minister to his flock and counsellor to every one else. He conducted the high school band. He could “hum” like a trumpet. And his eyes nearly always danced.
I remember bats in the belfry, smoke and fire in the chimney, cheesecake on the floor, the best raspberry pie ever and lumpy gravy, daily walks to the grocery store and good times at the rented summer cottage – puzzles and boat rides, sticky Chelsea buns and water skiing, new friends and old, sand between the toes, sun and rain, singing, laughing and playing, walks on the beach and rides in the car.
I loved spending time with them. It felt like home. They felt like family. We were loved well.
I’ll think of all these things tomorrow as I throw my overnight bag in the car and drive to pick up my sister and our mum. I’ll wipe away tears as I do now. I’ll remember what was as I help my mum down the stairs and answer her question “what day is it?” at least three times on the way to the car. We’ll try to be patient as she asks “how long will it take to get there?” and “how long are we staying?” and “when are we going home?” again and again.
My sister and I will smile at each other when she asks “are we there yet?” You see, we are sisters. We share these same memories – good memories, happy memories, the kind that stay with you, even when the people in the memories begin to fade, even when old age grasps them tight.
And you know what? I think I’ll put a pillow and blankets in my back seat – just for old time’s sake.
Let’s journey together.
©2009 Denise Budd Rumble
But, would it work?
20 Apr 2009 5 Comments
in change, Family, Life, menopause, Middle Age, Midlife, Sisters Tags: challenges, change, Family, Life, menopause, Middle Age, middle aged, Midlife, mother, Sisters
Folks less hardy than we might have fainted at the foolhardiness of it. But not us! We were up for the challenge. With just a few days to spare we made sure we had all we needed. It was going to be close. It was going to be difficult. It was going to need cooperation from all involved. We knew we could pull it off.
But, would it work?
After lots of fun and conversation at the restaurant the tension began to build. Amidst hugs and laughter and “I’ll see you there!” we wondered if we would. Would we see everyone there?
Cars parked. Food and such retrieved. Stairs climbed. In pairs and groups they rode the elevator.
As I left the elevator and entered the hall I could hear voices. Happy voices. Lots of happy voices. And yet, I could see no one, nothing. Nothing except one lone shoe. An important job for a lone shoe – keeping the door ajar so that no welcome soul would be locked out. Furtively I pushed open the door and ventured the three feet into the living room/dining room/kitchen area of my mum’s retirement residence suite. I smiled widely.
What I saw was cause for relief and celebration. We had done it. We pulled it off. And, more than that we had accomplished a daring feat quietly, on the sly. She didn’t have a clue.
Mum was chatting and laughing – happy that, once again, she could have the entire family in her “home”.
And, my sister and I were happy, too. We had been able to gather everyone together for fun, food and games at Grandma’s – just like we used to when Mum had a large family home to house us all.
And, miracles of miracles – we all fit!! Well, as long as we didn’t all breathe out at the same time and kept our elbows in.
Let’s journey together.
©2009 Denise Budd Rumble
Craft Night
01 Apr 2009 8 Comments
in Christmas, Family, Life, Middle Age, Midlife, Sisters, Thoughts Tags: Christmas, crafts, creativity, Family, Life, memories, Midlife, mother, Sisters
“You know what we should do?” My sister’s eyes twinkled. “We should have a craft night!”
She practically choked on the last word as our mum and the two of us burst out laughing. That innocent line had been our mantra, and cause for much mirth over many years.
There were some fine craft shows in the three months leading up to Christmas. Most years we were able to attend at least one.
Snowmen and Santas. Angels and stars. Shepherds and crèches.
Wreaths and bells. Teddies and dollies. Trucks and trains.
Wood and wool. Wire and wheels. Fabric and lace. Stuffing and string.
It made one giddy to see all that selection and choice.
“Mum, look! Isn’t it sweet? And, it’s sooo soft!”
“Oh, my goodness! How can anyone charge that much for that bit of stuffing and fur?”
“But…”
“Denise, I’m sure we could make something even better and for much less. We should have a craft night.”
Over the years the same scenario was played out hundreds of times. We didn’t even have to say the words out loud! “We should have a craft night!”
And “craft” we did. Between us, my mum, sister and I made teddies and teddy clothes, dollies and dolly clothes, various and varied Christmas ornaments and decorations, knitted and crocheted sweaters and cardigans, vests, afghans, pillow covers, baby booties, mitts and socks.
We sewed Halloween costumes, toys, pillows, pillow covers, clothes, clothes and more clothes. We embroidered and cross-stitched and tatted and painted.
We baked everything from Christmas fruit cakes made in October so they could set and taste just right, to candy and cookies, play-doh, clay and shrink plastic.
We didn’t always live close to each other and made many things on our own. Then there were the fun times when we had our “craft nights” and afternoons and days and worked our hands raw preparing enough “stuff” for our own table at a craft and/or bake sale.
Were our attempts always perfect? Did everything always sell? Was our quality superb? Well…of course! How can you even ask such questions?
Even today wandering alone through the gift shops or enjoying a local craft sale I still hear my mum say, “We should have a craft night!”
Let’s journey together.
© 2009 Denise Budd Rumble
Moving mother and memories…
22 Mar 2009 10 Comments
in change, Family, Life, menopause, Middle Age, Midlife, Sisters, Thoughts, Women Tags: challenges, change, Family, Life, memories, Middle Age, Midlife, mother, moving, Sisters, Thoughts, Women
Over two years ago my mum moved from her house of over 4o years to an apartment complex. It was a difficult transition, not only for my mum, but for me and my siblings. We sorted and organized and cleaned and sorted and threw out and sorted and kept and tossed and… You get the idea. It was long and it was painful.
This fall my mum decided that it was time to leave her two-bedroom apartment and move to a one-bedroom suite in a retirement residence. Once again we sorted and organized and tossed and kept and…
“What’s this?” I asked my sister. “Didn’t we throw this out the last time?”
I held up a thin, worn blanket. A blanket that once wrapped precious items bought in England and given in love. A blanket that kept those things safe from breaking as we traveled the ocean to all the promise and adventure of our new chosen home, Canada.
Karen looked over from the box she was opening. “I’m sure we did,” she answered. “Oh my goodness! Come here, Denise.”
There in the box was a pile of material we had found in the attic of the house. It had not survived being stored in the attic very well and the decision had been made to throw it out. But, here it was again. Obviously Mum had reversed the decision and washed and kept the material. Mum had made most of our clothes and, as many of her generation, hesitated to throw anything away. We found bits and pieces of various shapes and sizes.
“That’s from my Grade 8 graduation dress!”
“Mum made that dress for me the summer I met my future husband.”
“Do you remember this dress of Mum’s? She wore it to death.”
I held up a jar. “And what are we going to do with these? Do you think Mum will do any more sewing?”
To others it was a jar of buttons. To our mum it was a jar full of memories – a little white button off one of her baby’s knitted jackets, knitted by her mum – a fancy gold button from a smart navy blazer – a button from a favourite dress long gone – and many more.
Tears filled our eyes as we looked around. These were not just our mum’s memories, but ours as well. Blankets, buttons, books, tablecloths, fabric, furniture and more – each filled pages and chapters of our lives.
Let’s journey together.
© 2009 Denise Budd Rumble
Numbers have a story too.
10 Mar 2009 2 Comments
in Family, Life, Middle Age, Midlife, Thoughts Tags: Family, Life, Middle Age, mother, numbers
Numbers fascinate me! No, not usually when I’m struggling to balance a long, difficult bank statement or trying to get a long column of numbers to add up to the same total more than once. And, having run my own bookkeeping business for over 12 years I’ve done a few of those. But, numbers have their own story, their own poetry.
In autumn 2008 I had my 54th birthday. I know! I know! I only look 29 – thank you Oil of Olay! Anyway… I am 54. 
I was born in the year 1954, 27 years after my mother’s birth. And, I am twice the age my mum was when she gave birth to me!
So, at age 27, in 1954, my mum gave birth to a beautiful, intelligent, full of potential baby girl – yes, me. 
Today I am twice the age my mother was when I was born, 54, having been born in 1954! Which means that in 27 years I will be the age my mother is now – 81 – if I am still here on earth.
My mum and dad have three children, two girls and a boy. The oldest was born in October, the next in May and the last in February.
My husband and I have three children, a girl and two boys. The oldest was born in February, the next in May and the last in October.
My daughter and her husband have three children, two girls and a boy. The oldest was born in October, the next in May and the next in…wait for it…September. Hmm, I guess he broke the mould, maybe that will be the story of his life.
Numbers tell stories. Someone at age 32 has a story. The number gives a clue as to parts of the story and a good guess at the length. Someone who is 85 has a story. The number tells us their story will be long and will include incredible change.
We’re always inquiring about numbers. How old are you? When’s your birthday? When were you married? How many children do you have? What is your income?!
I am a writer. I love words. But, over my 54 years, I’ve discovered that numbers tell a story too. They have a mystery all their own.
Let’s journey together.
© 2009 Denise Budd Rumble
On a roller coaster at Christmas time
21 Dec 2008 2 Comments
in Christmas, Life, menopause, Middle Age, Midlife, Thoughts, Women Tags: Christmas, emotions, holiday, Life, menopause, middle aged, Midlife, Thoughts, Women
Christmas is a time for a multitude of things, but something folks don’t talk about much is the overwhelming emotion that accompanies this celebration. For me it’s quite like a roller coaster.
As I’m cleaning today I listen to my radio. The station is playing only Christmas music. I love that. You see, I love Christmas time. I’m one of those people who wish it were Christmas all year.
My mood has been up and down like a yo-yo today. Okay, maybe being menopausal and moody isn’t a surprise to anyone, but it seems like every few minutes, or every half hour, I’m up and then down and then dancing and then eyes filling with tears. It just occurred to me that I’m being messed with…by my radio station!
“Jingle bells, jingle bells…” happy, happy.
“I’ll be home for Christmas, you can count on me…” memories, nostalgia.
“I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus…” mental pictures, story ideas.
“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock…” snapping fingers, dancing around the living room – see, I am getting exercise today.
“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…” no problem there. We had a snowstorm yesterday. School buses cancelled, roads closed, snow, snow and more snow! “…just like the ones I used to know…” Hmm, not quite. No amount of snow will bring my dad back to celebrate Christmas with us, just one more time.
Why is it that Christmas evokes such emotion? From strangers wishing you “Merry Christmas” – okay, maybe “Happy Holidays” – to some gnarly brute stealing the parking spot that you’d been waiting patiently for! From teary-eyed parents watching their kids on Santa’s knee to parents screaming at whiny kids to quit asking for every toy they see. Emotions are flying all over the place.
No wonder I’m so exhausted after shopping. My emotions undergo a strenuous exercise there! Happy, sad, impatient, surprised, frustrated, angry. And when hubby happily greets me at the door, obviously having missed me, all I can say is, 
“I need a cuppa and some time alone! Did you even think about starting supper?” Hmm, he probably thinks I was alone all day…
Let’s journey together.
© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble
