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Bloom: Finding beauty in the unexpected.

Finding beauty in the unexpected.
Safe to say...not something that comes easily or naturally for any of us.
We plan for life events. We prepare for life events. Thus we have expectations for life events.

If I go to university, I will find work.
If I marry, we will be happy and get along forever.
When I marry, I will have children. I will get pregnant easily. Our baby will be born alive. Our baby will be born healthy.
Of course we want those things! rightfully so!!
And we can't prepare for, or dwell on the fact that all our fears may become reality.

Instead we can learn from people like Kelle, that "the unexpected" in life can be beautiful...
that stigma's are rampant and damaging,
that life with a child with special needs isn't hopeless or full of shame,
that reaching out and sharing your story is life giving.
Bloom. Even the title speaks of hope!
Can't wait to read it.

kelle's blog: Enjoying the small things.



do you feel overwhelmed today?
do your life circumstances stretch out bleak before you?
are you disappointed in yourself? did you handle a situation poorly?
i wish i could share a cup of coffee with you and listen to your story;
for i'm sure you have many incredible things to talk about and share.
for now, i pray you will encounter something in your day (whether a smile, a laugh, a cup of coffee, a letter in the mail, a song, or a kind word...) that brings some respite to your weariness.
you deserve that my friend.



My dad sent me this photograph.
I noticed it in the family history book that he recently wrote,
and I wanted a copy of my own.
A picture of my Grandmother,
or as we were accustomed to calling her..."Großmama" (say Geh ros -ma ma)
in 1942.
My mother's mother.

She and my Großpapa were immigrants from Prussia (now ukraine).
This was their 1st farm in Canada.
The Alberta prairie.
They came into this new country with one baby (my aunt Margaret).
And then had 10 more:
David, Dorothy, Bernard, Erwin, Helen, Edward, Rudolf, Rae, Eric and Gertrude.
My uncle Dave was 18 years old when my mom was born.

It looks like there is snow on the ground in the photograph.
No time for Grandma to put on a jacket I guess...
I wonder what she is hanging on the wash line.
nightgowns? shirts?

I remember my Großmama's hair.
Her long white braid, pinned up into a bun.
(Just like she wore it back in 1942.)
I remember her dresses. She liked to wear brooches.
I remember her calling my mom, "Trud-dah".
I remember her baking buns.
I remember Klassen Christmas gatherings with a house full of people
and always lots of singing.
In German.

I know that my beautiful Großmama worked very hard and put up with a lot....
I know that she did her best.



i have never bought a card for myself before.
(have you?)
i decided to purchase a befitting one as a "gift to myself".
although initially it felt a bit odd.

i buy myself special coffees, clothes (sometimes) and books,
just as a treat..so why not a card?
i promised myself that every year in May
i'd buy something small-
a little memento,
a little gift to be tucked away.
to represent.

its not that i really need a reminder of the pain from that
day in may so long ago.
yet i want the anniversary of my miscarriage to remain
a part of me.
we talk about the baby once in awhile as a family.
and kent will never forget.
but i need to revisit this alone as well.

So buying the card is my private/public acknowledgment
of something very significant.
(no, i'm not going to write in it...although i guess i could)

Do you also collect things to remember? have a significant place (street, coffee shop, tree) that is symbolic? maybe you have a special song(s) that serve to remind... or you have a picture placed somewhere you'll always see it?
(This friend, and this friend also remember someone dear and very loved.)

Bless you as you carry those memories close to your heart.

"Memory....is the diary that we all carry about with us."
Oscar Wilde



I had a job once where I facilitated and taught inservices to nursing home staff.
I had a job once where I organized a volunteer program.
I had a job once where my opinion was requested by specialists.
I had a job once where my name and credentials where written on an office door.
I had a job once where I carried files in a leather bag for manager-meetings across the city.
I had a job once where I fired, hired and lead a group of my own staff.

I was financially set.
I was very proud of my work.
I worked with amazing people.
I did not find happiness in achieving my professional goals.
that was a great surprise to me.

The positions I was granted after graduation were never mine to keep.
University doesn't teach you how to balance your personal life with your professional life.
I couldn't handle the pressure of giving my attention and care intensely for the day, and then
going home to more pressure and neediness.
I discovered over the years that i couldn't handle the constant pressure of families to do more;
wanting me to "help Dad be more active", "teach auntie millie  to stop hitting", or to "get mother out of her room to socialize."
I couldn't handle the pressure of hiring staff and then being told I had chosen poorly by the Director...(more than once).
I couldn't handle the pressure of starting a volunteer program from the ground up.

I couldn't handle anything in the end.
I desperately wanted to handle it. I loved my jobs.
I really loved them.
But loving your job doesn't always suffice if you are emotionally exhausted.
or not tough enough. or depressed.

I now work at a job where instead of being paged, someone hollers my name from the till.
I now work at a job where my credentials are null and void, and the cards that I hand out are the gold crown variety that people pay for.
I now work at a job where i attend staff meetings to discuss up-selling easter chickens that lay eggs, as opposed to debriefing with doctors about the recent death of a long term resident.
I do not wear clothes to work that "command attention".
I do not have to worry about appearing prepared, professional or looking "successful",(other than wearing clothes that aren't stained).
I now work at a job where my only calls are to customers to tell them their Dickens Village ornament has arrived....

I am happier now at work than I have been for a very long time.
I love what I do.
I don't feel pressure.
I don't feel inadequate.
I don't feel judged.
I don't feel stressed.
I don't feel anxious before or after work.
I am happy.
I am at peace.
I am thankful.


time heals all wounds

does the passing of time heal our wounds?
what do you think?
i'm not exactly sure.
i was pondering that familiar phrase just now as my hands busily washed dishes
and scrubbed pans.
(a great time and place to think and reflect, is it not?)

on sunday as i was enjoying an afternoon of painting at a local
ceramics shop; i saw out of the corner of my eye someone from "the past"...
a woman i used to be incredibly close to, someone i looked up to,
and at one time accepted as the sister (in law) i always wanted.

seeing her briefly at the store, knowing that she also chose
to pretend and ignore my presence, wasn't shocking.
it wasn't the first (or last) time.
i felt sad though.
that we had to pretend....
when years ago we had celebrated christmas's, family birthdays,
even confidences together.
now we were just strangers,
sharing a space.

Has time healed that wound?

Time has strengthened my understanding of how marriage is not easy,
and probably wasn't for my sister in law. There is grace now, where there wasn't
grace before. Time has enabled me handle our "encounters" without getting shaky
and emotional.

Our wounds change us. and time passing though helpful, does not change us back
to how we were "before".....or heal us completely. (as much as we'd like it to).
I think time rather, can help us live and adapt within that inevitable change.
to form some sort of new existence, and grasp onto some sort of truth.
to move forward...

Its tough.

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