Bin There. Done That.

The holiday season is approaching, and unless you live totally off the grid in Upper Lower Vacantville, you know that plans are afoot. People are walking the "I have a purpose" walk, carrying lists, checking them twice, looking slightly distracted, and not sure whether  they're actually enjoying themselves but finding that, more often than not, they are.

Christmas is nigh, near a store near you, and no matter what your Faith, you know that if ever there was a time to be nice to one another, this is most likely it. And so you smile at strangers, hold doors open for parcel laden people, and stand patiently in line behind the lady at the ATM who is updating her account book for the first time in a decade..and you smile at her too. The hype, the syrupy music, the moments brought to you by Hallmark, the Griswolds, and the Grinches have become a winter rite of passage that few in the western world can avoid.

I, for one, don't wish to. Because over the years, Christmas has become the one time of the year that I can unabashedly wear my heart on my sleeve. Be sentimental, openly thankful for all that is good in my life, and give to others less, or more, fortunate simply because I want to. I know that I could do this any day of the year, but having Christmas ensures that it happens at least once.

And then there's the boxes in the basement. Every year I swear to edit and delete the growing Bin Nation in the storage room. But I don't. Because each time I open a bin a memory flies out, captures my heart, and suddenly transports me to a moment I hadn't thought about in years.

The years of Christmas past are held in those bins. The year I fell in love with wire ribbon. Apple year. Pink year. Berry year. And every year's a bird year. And it is all there in the bins.

This year, the pieces that are drawing me in are red. So that's the starting point.

First up is to put Frosty on the porch.

I love him because he was my smoking buddy for several years, when I still smoked. We've had many long discussions about this or that, and he is forever cheerful, no matter what I  tell him. He was very happy when I quit smoking, but I  don't see him as often as I used to, as I don't have to hang about on the porch in -40 weather, puffing away. But it is a Christmas essential that he be there in the porch, greeting me, and friends with a welcome smile.

Then there's the old ornaments that I inherited from my parents.

Fragile glass that over the years has not withstood the test of time. The few that remain are treasures. Bussie's Bell, a blue little bell given to my Mom by her bridge club in the 1950's. Not all that special really, except that she loved it, held it, and treated it with care. And now I do so for her.

There's the china angel given to me by Clare and Peggy Ross, long gone friends of my parents. The  little cupie doll faced angel says "Obey Your Mother and Father" and I always felt like I was being admonished.

It's like Peggy knew I wasn't all that obedient a child, and thought I should be reminded. It made me feel guilty,  but I have cherished it since the day I received it when I was  7 years old. It broke once, and now there's a glue stain where I fixed it. Oddly, I like it more now that it's less perfect!

Other ornaments are more whimsical. The Three Blind Mice
 are just plain cute and the birds? Well,  they're here year round, and this Christmas, they get  the red berry treatment.

As I unpack the bins, a process of elimination begins...what to take out, what to leave in. It becomes a mood indicator, a barometer measuring how the past year has gone. Some years, barely anything has made it out of the bins. Big, bold, in a hurry, don't think a lot, just do, years. Other years, it's a far more thoughtful, subtle unpacking. Finding little gifts from friends who have slipped beyond, and wanting to put them in places where I can see them, and remember their smiles.

This year is more like that. A good year, so there will be lots of red, to celebrate my family, my kids, their successes. And a quiet year, to remember good friends gone, but not forgotten.

Another trip around the sun. Another reason to unpack the bins that are filled with love.

I Don't Care if You Feel Like Dying, It's Not Your Turn.

A few weeks ago, a friend lost an arduous battle with cancer. Right now, I have two other friends fighting the fights of their lives. Another friend is facing challenges, and yet another is wondering what's going on with her body and if it is now betraying her.

Five years ago, I heard those three little dreaded life-changing words: "You have cancer".

While the entire medical team we were blessed with was wonderful, one of them captured the moment succinctly when he said," Your train has left the station, and you're on it for a ride that will have lots of stops and starts. Your destination is Health. And you will get there."

Another doctor talked about cancer becoming more of a chronic disease...meaning that there are now treatments and management regimes to help people diagnosed lead long, relatively normal, healthy lives. If diagnosed early (and that is a fairly critical component) many cancers can be treated, and are no longer the automatic death sentences  they once were.

No matter what the type of cancer, or the prescribed treatment, there are many people impacted by the diagnosis, including YOU ...as a husband, wife, son, daughter, cousin, uncle, aunt, friend, and or lover. And there are ways you can help make this a little, and sometimes a lot, easier when the going gets tough.

And believe me, there are times when it will be tough.

Early Days...
1. First, and foremost. Listen to what you're being told. And don't deny what you are hearing. When someone is telling you about their diagnosis, it's not about you.

2. A warming hug, and a simple "I'm here to help you, with whatever you need" statement is more important than denials, questions about the diagnosis, or dismissal as crazy. While doing that kind of stuff, you may think you're showing support and love. But you're not -you're showing your own shock and dismay. And it's not your turn. It's your turn to comfort, to have and to hold. (All the questions and validations of information will come later...all part of the train ride.)

3. Be there. Simple smiles, hugs, and genuine support. If it's within your realm, offer to help and be an advocate...attend medical meetings, take notes, ask questions..your pal with cancer is likely off in la la land, worried about surviving til the next day, and not likely to be taking in all of the information that they'll be given. Being an advocate is a tremendous help.

4. When it is right to do so...you'll know because you'll recognize that quiet moment and the unspoken question...talk about how you feel about what's happening. It's ok to say it's all quite frightening...but don't go into great detail about the fact that you're scared  to death too. Pillar of strength...not a foam noodle.

Into the Thick of It...When the Going Gets Tough
5. Little things are the important things. If you're making lots of trips to clinics or hospitals for treatments, carry along some great music and remember the ear buds. Bring  some little sweet treats. A bit of good chocolate. Some nice hand cream, whatever ...just make it small, simple, sincere and heartfelt.. tiny gestures to help ease the journey.

6. Think of incentives and ways to motivate him (or her) to focus on the treatment outcome rather than the crap they're in the middle of:

- Come in to the treatment room with half a hundred dollar bill. Say the other half is waiting at home on the fridge door (and make sure it is).

- Bring in travel brochures. Circle a few you know would be of interest...then show the tickets you've bought for the celebratory trip once treatments are over

- Talk about the best book you've ever read (or that you know would be liked) Bring it in to be read...but cut out the last chapter. It's at home on the bedside table.

Goofy stuff, yes...but they show that you care, and that their job is to get through it. It all helps, especially on those darker days. These little motivators may not be big things, but if they bring a smile, they're worth it. Think of things that he (she) considers precious, or has longed to do...start with that and  make it even more of an incentive.

Being Prepared...

7. There may come a time when it's appropriate to talk about worst case scenario...and "what if I do die?" Don't deny, and do be a good listener. Offer to help where appropriate: is the will up to date; what kind of funeral arrangements are wanted; all the tough stuff. But if you're respectful and acknowledge that death may be a  possibility then it's easier on everyone. And once all of the difficult things have been dealt with, then you can get back to the "fun" stuff (and I use the term very loosely, as I know none of this is really fun).

Life is a Terminal Illness...

8. None of us are getting out of this alive...how we help each other through threatening times, or final transition times, is proof of our humanity.

Reed or Weed...Trash or Treasure

We have the absolute best, bar none, neighbours in the entire western world. No contest! They are kind, gentle, funny and friendly in assorted degrees. We get along great, and John and I consider ourselves blessed to count them as important people in our lives. When we go away, they watch the house and care for the cats. We share our garden with them. And we have dinner parties, and gatherings, and we laugh a lot together.

All except for one thing... and that is MY insistance that the beach grass remain undisturbed in front of our place. They respect that, they do, but it bugs them. They prefer an ocean style shorefront (where rapid wave action prevents grasses from establishing on the shoreline).

But what actually exists is a river's edge,where the plants establish themselves to prevent erosion of the shoreline, provide fish and amphibian habitat, and food for migrating birds. Not rocket science, but definitely botany and the laws of natural selection being imposed.

They  ( the two husbands) respect my wish not to have them "rake" our beach with their ATV's by dragging a bedspring type contraption behind them. And they cringe when I ask them how they're enjoying my grassy garden.
It's confusing ...they're here - riverside -  because they proclaim to love nature- the fish, the birds, bugs, and butterflies.

They just don't seem to make the connection between all of the things they like about the waterfront, and the impact that clearing it has. No fish. No birds. No bugs. No butterflies. Just a bunch of crows and vultures!  (seriously, they wouldn't be here either if there was just sand)

Drives me crazy really. And if either of the two hubby's ever read this, know that I love you both...but I don't love what you're doing to the shoreline.
There. Said it. (But you already knew all this).
It's very difficult to try and find the fine, thin line between good neighbours, boundaries, philosophies, and friendship.
Caw  caw!