It’s his domain and as such he is particular, fussy and bossy. Such a Leo (I say that with love, but like, chill out dude).��

But what kind of partner would I be if I didn’t offer to help? This rural property is our home and our business. We’re in this together. Besides, I’m not a fair weather gal. I’m borderline handy.��

Okay, well, at least I’m super helpful. Did I mention keen?�� Positive too. Put me in, coach.

I’m not sure if it was a sympathy-vote-of-confidence, or an “anything to make you leave me alone” chore, but the Carpenter delegated to me a task that even I couldn’t mess up: raking. (Or could I?)

I’m on day three of this task. Day three. We don’t even cut the grass and I’m still out there making mini piles, like little hay stacks. Raking affords me a dangerous amount of�� time to think.

It brings to mind a university English class where we learned about the four stages of conflict in a plot: person vs. person; person vs. self; person vs. society, and person vs. nature. Raking brings about all of these conflicts. Let’s discuss.

The Carpenter gave me this task as a test. I’ll be darned if I’m quitting this exercise though. The Carpenter wants me to. I know he does.��

It’s a twisted game we play with one another. Truth or dare. Is it true you can’t handle manual labour? I dare you to try. And for reasons I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with, I’m as determined as ever to prove myself not only capable, but exceptional. Person vs. person. Kelly gets a gold star.

Raking is boring. It just is. Same thing over and over. Person vs. self. So I have to get creative. I draft stories in my mind. I psycho-anayze my life choices. I converse with the chickens, who show up to kick my grass piles about. I secretly believe they like the Carpenter more than me and he’s sent them out to disrupt my progress. He would. They would.��

Nothing bugs me more than, well, the bugs. This brings me to person vs. nature. I don’t know what those tiny bugs are that fly directly into the corners of your eyes, dart into your mouth and sometimes, wander up your nostrils, but they make raking most unpleasant. Bug spray isn’t a deterrent for these flying tyrants, it’s more of a dare.��

I spend a good deal of time slapping myself, or making frantic hand gestures to move these creatures away from my face, but that just encourages them to bite. Long sleeves, long pants, long socks in high boots, a tight hood and gloves; sexy. Suddenly, I miss January.

Person vs. society in relation to raking is easy. People are very judgy about other people’s lawns. We are oddly obsessed with grass – ours and everyone else’s. It’s all about appearances. If anyone drove up the lane and saw me flailing my arms in self-defence, they’d judge.��

The struggle is real, guys.��

Ah, but the lawn looks great. It really does. I love this place. Until Thursday when we get to do this all over again.

I wish you a happy, safe Victoria Day long weekend, everyone.��

Rake in the fun.

The post Rake appeared first on Wellington Advertiser.

You might argue they did, but let’s skip the metaphysical karma stuff and head straight to the heart of the matter, which is this: for all the credit the Carpenter and I get for raising these two beautiful, kind, smart, compassionate and hilarious people, what I really want to say is, thank you for doing such an incredible job raising me.��

See, they don’t tell you that motherhood isn’t just about raising children. Sure, it was my role to deliver them into the world (a story neither of them likes to hear because of my propensity for graphic detail). Yes, I made a commitment to provide for them, nurture them, guide and protect them. Check. Check. Check and check. Yet, as much as I shaped their future, my children redefined mine.

In all the ways that matter, we grew up together. The things I thought I knew about life before their arrival, the lessons I thought I’d learned, the hurts I thought I’d healed, and the achievements I’d achieved were no longer benchmarks for success.��

Nothing could have prepared me for the role of motherhood. Being responsible for another human life while also managing my own was nothing short of a fast-track apprenticeship turned CEO. Seriously, if there was a job description for motherhood, I don’t know if I’d pass the job interview.

From the minute we met in person, my children taught me to trust the power of my intuition. If I felt something was wrong, I was right. Gut instinct. I could sense things in my children that I couldn’t even sense in myself. It’s a sixth sense thing. That lesson helped me develop another skill: to speak up. When it came to advocating for my children, I found my voice without hesitation or doubt. Advocating for a child with autism is exhausting. It just is, especially if it’s a girl. Don’t get me started. All mothers of exceptional children relate.

Watching my daughter navigate school and social situations was, without question, some of the hardest moments of my motherhood journey, yet this is where she taught me the power of perseverance and self confidence. My daughter’s challenges would eventually become her wins. Kids that don’t fit in the box come into our lives to challenge our notions of what’s “normal.” They are game changers. They are teachers. They are healers. Especially for their moms.

Raising a son for whom school was easy but his teen years were nothing short of harrowing, taught me that you have to find a way to hold on and let go of your children at the same time. I had to trust his character was stronger than the will to fit in, and that eventually, he’d find his true north. Seeing him come into his own sense of self is empowering. His humour is dark, his compassion for others is light, his loyalty is sincere and his integrity guides him just fine. He has taught me about resilience, the kind that gets you through the hardest days. Remarkable.

My children raised me to be a better version of myself. They taught me the sacred art of letting go and holding on simultaneously.��

Unconditional love makes sense now. Grateful.

The post Raised appeared first on Wellington Advertiser.

It would be a tough act to follow if they hadn’t been amazing examples of what it takes to make a marriage work. I was fortunate to be raised in a household that was built on the foundation of their love, which was as much about friendship as it was romance (you can imagine, with me as the youngest child, romance wasn’t exactly easy to accomplish).

I thought I’d impart some of the wisdom I’ve gleaned from my parents over my lifetime, which, for those of you doing the math, is less than 60 years but more than 25 years (be careful with your guess).

My parents met as teenagers. They seemed to know from the get-go that they’d found their soulmate. In fact, my mom waited three years for her boyfriend to return from the Canadian Navy, in hopes he’d bring home a nice ring from Birks. He did. Smart man. The rest is history.

From this I learned patience in love. The Carpenter and I had a long-distance relationship for five years. Trust was essential. Communication was key. Also, I learned it was best to make him fear the repercussions if he didn’t come home just enough to keep him coming back (kidding, Mom, but I bet Dad laughed).

A relationship should start in friendship and grow in that. My parents basically grew up together. Adulthood by trial and error. Nobody set them up for success and nobody was holding the ladder they’d have to climb. They earned it one career move, one step at a time.��

Not everyone in their circles wished them success. When you’re committed to building a good life, making sacrifices to make ends meet, and actually love each other, it can create jealousy in others. That’s where you learn loyalty. When your partner has your back no matter what the situation, no matter who’s in the room, you create a clear path forward for the family you’re creating together. It’s not about where you’re from; it’s where you’re going. Choose that, first, always. The Carpenter and I are grateful for that example, and for my parents’ love for our family.��

Another pearl of wisdom is to stay playful. Have adventures. Travel. Stay active. Participate. Volunteer. And dance together. Whenever the opportunity presents itself, dance. It’s a beautiful metaphor for love done right.

I’m grateful I grew up in the shadow of a relationship secure in mutual respect. I had a father who respected my mother as an independent person with intelligence, career aspirations, and undeniable maternal instincts. He encouraged her, always. He was also aware that his own career trajectory was dependent on her ability to manage more than he could (Bam. Now Mom is smiling). It’s true. She created a home and kept the tempo of it, and never missed a beat. They saw each other’s value and respected it. It wasn’t easy. I know that. Yet, my parents shared a work ethic that was very much about the future they wanted to build, together.

Now that they are living it, 60 years in, still best friends, they have set the bar incredibly high. I’ve never wanted to achieve anything more in my life than to meet their example. Happy anniversary, you crazy kids.

The post Sixty appeared first on Wellington Advertiser.

I was scanning the bottles and jugs with what was surely a dumbfounded expression of concentration, when I heard her call my name. I know it’s going to sound weird, but I believe my friend came down that aisle at the exact moment that I needed to see her.��

Not that I was desperate, or sad or lost or anything. I just mean, sometimes, you see a friend by mere coincidence (or is it?), someone you truly care about, who fills you up with joy just by existing.��

Despite all this, you rarely spend time with them. You see their social media posts, so you sort of know what’s going on in their world, but you also know them well enough to read between the lines. You’re connected, but not codependent. Yet you are secure in the knowledge that if you called them, if you were in need, if you reached out, they’d pick you up. They’d help. And vice versa.

Angels are humans that show up in your life spontaneously and bring you joy. They exist. You just thought of yours, didn’t you?

That day, in the grocery store, I was distracted by a list of things to accomplish, and wondering how I was supposed to do it all and still find time for myself in there. It’s a feeling I’ve been carrying for much of the winter season, like a kite stuck in the branches of a tree in a windstorm; high on the adrenaline of over-achieving, grateful for the view, but questioning how I keep getting myself entangled, when what I really want to do is soar without the worry of doing enough, being enough or having enough. I am and I do. Yet, one good, strong wind could set me free or snap my spars. Depends on the wind.

My friend and I embraced and instantly dove into a high-energy deep exchange about the big stuff, like the changes we’re feeling as our children are grown, how our careers don’t seem to define us as they once did, grief in all its complexities, and what detergent really works best on tough odours. Big life stuff.��

Kindred spirits, we were deep in a shared compassion that life, well, it’s life. Our circumstances are not the same. It doesn’t matter. No competition, no comparison.

We’re both sorting through this stage of life where the past and present have collided to help us redefine our “next.” It’s exciting. It’s unnerving. It’s lonely until you’re reminded that you aren’t alone in it.

Yes, we were those annoying people who blocked the impatient shoppers who just wanted to get their fabric softener. And I understood their frustration, but this was divine intervention in aisle seven. What better setting could there be for a cleansing conversation than amongst the scents of ocean sensation, forest pines and Hawaiian florals?

This friend was the gentle wind that untangled the strands of my kite’s tail, tugged gently at the string so I could slide free of the branches, and offered an upward gust that set me back to flight, secure in the knowledge that I’m figuring life out just like everyone else. I’m not alone. We aren’t alone.��

You’ll be happy to know, I also found the last three jugs of cleaning vinegar. Bonus.

The post Cleansed appeared first on Wellington Advertiser.

Awe is how I felt witnessing the solar eclipse last Monday afternoon with my best friend.

The Carpenter and I made a deal to get our individual chores done on time so we could meet in the yard to enjoy the view from the comfort of our lawn chairs. The clouds cleared right on schedule. Show time.

We were like children, laughing at how ridiculous we looked in our paper eclipse safety glasses, impatiently waiting for the moon to start its slide over the sun. We “oohed” and “aahed” watching the darkness take shape. The play-by-play was comical. We weren’t disappointed that we couldn’t see the totality of the eclipse because our view was incredible.��

Light to dark. The sky turned an eerie blue as if a film had draped over everything, casting long shadows on the lawn. The birds got quiet. The temperature dropped dramatically. The chill was sudden. It felt unnatural. I tuned into the sound of the world around us. Darkness to light. This is awe.��

The solar eclipse won’t be experienced again in the Carpenter’s or my lifetime. When you think about your life like that, with the reminder that there is an ending and you will for sure meet that deadline (writer’s joke), the eclipse was more poignant than ever.

It wasn’t prepared for the emotion I would feel around the significance of this celestial event, but recent events had brought home a sincere reminder of just how sacred time is. To be sitting here, in this place, in this time, next to someone that I have loved more than half my life, and still manage to laugh with every day, is as remarkable as the eclipse itself. Two goofs kicking back and taking it all in.

I took stock of the landscape around me. How did I end up here, on my dream property at this stage of my life? Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. How did I know this move was a risk worth taking, even when some said we were crazy? We are crazy. We have chickens, for pete’s sake. I’m one of those chicken people now. And we’ll make it all work because we’ll work for it. Or we’ll do something else crazy. Stay tuned.

The day before the eclipse, I’d learned of the passing of my dear friend and former colleague, Kris Svela. Another reminder that life is short and unpredictable. Kris and I had desks next to each other for a few years, and outside of work we were buddies. I knew his family and I knew what they meant to him. Everything.

When Kris moved from our community, we kept in touch. He never missed a birthday or Christmas message. He would often send me notes about my writing. Always supportive. Always positive. Always seeing the blue sky beyond the clouds. Were he still in this realm, he too would be watching that sky with goofy glasses, laughing with his best friend Cornelia by his side, marvelling in awe at the rare celestial event. I know he would.

Awe happens when you don’t expect it, but you have to be paying attention. Don’t let life’s dramas eclipse your capacity for joy. While you’re here, be in awe of your life.

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