It's only a cold, but…

I want my mummy!

Drippy nose, hurting, stuffed-up head, coughing, slight fever from time to time and all the little bones in my face ache, and a bag of used Kleenex beside my chair…

I know it’s only a cold, but… I want my mummy!

If my mummy were here she would get me comfortable on the couch and tuck soft blankets around me. She’d put cool facecloths on my forehead and stroke my hair. She would take my temperature on a regular basis. She would insist I rest – no matter what I thought I had to do – and bring me books to read. Regular drinks would be brought to me all through the day. And, chicken soup – not the salty, overcooked store-bought kind, but homemade. Then, to help me sleep, my mum’s special hot lemon and honey at bedtime.

When I was a child I would get a doozy of a cold at least twice, if not three times, every year. But, it wasn’t so bad with my mummy looking after me. Okay, yes, sometimes she got impatient with me but all us kids have to try out the limits – right?

All stuffed up and coughing I phoned my mum the other night. I wanted to make sure she hadn’t come down with this dreadful cold because we had been together the day before it hit me. And, at 82, a cold can become a much more serious event.

“Are you getting enough rest? Are you eating? Drinking enough? Have you made yourself some hot lemon and honey?”

“I’ll be okay, Mum. Remember when I was little and you used to look after me when I was sick? You made the best hot lemon and honey – your secret recipe.”

“You need someone to look after you. You phone your son and tell him to come and get me. I’ll come and look after you…”

“Thanks Mum. But, really, I’ll be okay. I’m probably over the worst of it. And I sure don’t want you to get this! It’s…”

“Oh Denise, I won’t get sick!”

“I know Mum. Thank you. Tell you what. If I get any worse I’ll have you come.”

“Make sure you do, mind.”

Lately the retirement home has told Mum that she must use her walker; even just to go down to meals. Her walking is deteriorating… as is her memory… But, no matter the age of the mother, or the daughter, the relationship stands as it always has, ageless – a mother, a child, the instinct to look after one another just a part of who you are. I am blessed to have such a mother.

“Achoooo! Cough, cough, cough… I want my mummy!!!”

Let’s journey together.

© Denise Budd Rumble 2009

Road Trip Tales – Part Two

“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

But it's supposed to be spring!

I can’t believe it! My weatherman and my calendar agree, here in Southwestern Ontario, Canada – heavy on the Southwestern – it is supposed to be Spring. But this morning I was greeted by snow!

Yes, I know it’s only April and it’s not unusual for us to get snow at this time of year, but today the reappearance of snow hit me – like a slap in the face, a kick in the butt, like being shoved down when you’re trying to get up out of the doldrums of winter hanging on and wanting spring to take over.

After having several days of double-digit weather recently this new snow is a drag. Maybe it’s menopause, but I’m sick of the cold and the snow. I’m cranky and tired and headachy. And, I just want to crawl back into bed, snuggle down and wait until spring really is here.

Except for those darn hot flashes!

Hmm, I guess that’s one good thing about the cold weather dragging on. When a hot flash takes over all I have to do is step out on my porch to get some relief.

Let’s journey together.

© 2009 Denise Budd Rumble

Moving mother and memories…

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

On a roller coaster at Christmas time

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

Conversations…with my mother, this year

“Ready to go Mum?”

“Yep.”

“Here, let me help you zip up your coat.”

“No, just leave it. I’ll be fine.”

“But look outside. It’s snowing. It’s freezing out.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll be cold. Let me zip up your coat.”

“I’m fine! Leave it!”

“Have you got a scarf?”

“I don’t need one.”

“What about that one you got last Christmas?”

“I’m fine.”

“Here’s your boots…”

”I’ve got my shoes on and they’ll do.”

“But, Mum, there’s at least three inches of snow on the ground!”

“They’ll do!”

“I’m glad you’ve got your gloves on, at least. Ok, I’ll just get my stuff on and we’ll head out.’

Worn out, frustrated and angry I head out with my mother. She shuffles down the hallway of the apartment. No dancing here, not with our bodies or our minds. No singing either. Just silence. This doesn’t feel right. It’s not fun. I don’t like it.

Let’s journey together.

© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble

Conversation…with my child

“Sweetie, come and look out the window. Look at all that snow!”

“Can we go and make a snowman?”

“Sure! Let’s get bundled up and find some carrots…”

“Mummy, what are the carrots for?”

“You’ll see.”

After a drink, a visit to the bathroom, putting on a sweater, finding all the outdoor clothes to bundle up in and struggling with snow pants we’re just about ready to go outside.

“Let Mummy help you with that zipper.”

“Thanks, Mummy. I’m going to be so warm.”

“Chin up! There we go. Okay, I’ll get my coat and boots on and we’re ready to go.’

“Don’t forget my scarf!”

Smiling and singing we practically dance as we head outside. Well, if you can call it dancing when you’re so bundled up in a snowsuit, hat, scarf, mitts and big boots that you can hardly move. But it was joyful dancing as far as we were concerned.

I loved being the mother of young children and playing with them. Colouring, making our own calendars, playing in the snow, tobogganing… Okay, maybe I was just extending my childhood. But, it felt right to spend time with them, to enjoy them.

Let’s journey together.

© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble

Conversation…at age five with my mummy

“Mummy, can I stir it for a while?”

“Sure, Denise. You can stir the eggs and sugar together. I’ll measure the flour.”

“Daddy’s going to be surprised when he sees these cookies!”

“He sure will. Okay you keep stirring while I add the dry ingredients.”

“My arm’s getting sore. Can you stir it Mummy? It’s awfully hard.”

“Okay, I’ll just finish this up. After I roll out the dough we can make all kinds of shapes—Christmas trees and stockings, stars and angels. “

“Can I do that part? Can I do the angels?”

“Why don’t we take turns? Then we’ll cook them in the oven. And, after lunch, we’ll decorate them.”

“Will we put icing on them? I better taste the icing and make sure you made it right, Mummy.”

“Yes, Denise, you can be the official icing taster.”

“And sprinkles? And little silver balls? Mummy, I love you. This is so much fun.”

“I love you too, Denise.”

Let’s journey together.

© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble

Conversations…

The Oxford Dictionary defines “conversation” as “an informal spoken exchange between two or more people”.

Most of us engage in conversation every day of our lives. We chat and yak, gossip and converse. We debate and parley, visit and talk. We hold gabfests and discussions.  We confabulate, dialogue and chitchat. We talk out of both sides of our mouths. And, some people never stop talking!

You would think with all the words we spew that there would be a lot of communication going on. But, is there? Do the words bounce around, like a pinball, after they leave our mouths? Or are they gratefully caught and examined? Do we carefully catch the precious words that come our way from those that love us? Do we listen and hear? Do we turn the words this way and that and get the real meaning sent to us via those sounds? Do I?

As a baby-boomer with years of exercising my ears I have no excuse. I should be a good listener.

Over the years I have heard the words of my mum and dad, brother and sister, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents and they have heard mine. Sunday school teachers, ministers, club leaders and schoolteachers have commanded my attention, my questions and my answers. Friend and foe have assaulted my ears and I theirs. And then there are those I’ve worked with, strangers I’ve conversed with and others who have eavesdropped or just happened to be within listening distance of my spiels.

I’ve spoken words of anger and frustration and softly uttered words of love, encouragement, hope and comfort to my spouse and children. Now grandchildren await my words.

There are conversations I would like to change; others I would like to delete. But, we have no chance to call back our words. We must live with what we’ve said.

So, what words will I speak today? What conversations will I participate in? And how will I treat the words that are flung at me?

Let’s journey together.

© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble

A Change To Embrace

There are some changes one just has to embrace—there is no choice. Another recent change in my life is a prime example of this. Some of you in midlife will be able to relate.

This change involved pain. And, the pain affected more than one person.

This change was messy and noisy.

For the change to be successful it needed several others to chip in and help. It had the potential to be a life and death situation.

This change had been coming for some time, so you’d think we would have been ready for it. But, no we weren’t really and it left us scrambling.

This change has affected numerous people. For many of us our lives will never be the same. For some of us we have no choice but to embrace this change. The choice has been made for us.

So, I guess I will embrace this change as happily as I can. Another change on the journey.

Let’s journey together.

© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble