Laying Down Track

Three blocks from where I live, there’s a high school running track. This summer they tore up the grass in the center and put down a layer of gravel as a foundation for artificial turf. I understand this is for an eagerly-awaited soccer field.

The outside track where I used to do laps with a good neighbour and friend was also ripped apart. In its place I saw tractors and scattered pieces of concrete in heaps everywhere.

The upheaval happened at the same time as the changes in our relationship. For several years we traded recipes (he made the best curry) and meals as well as stories and bits of wisdom. Just before July, he moved back to his home in South America. Suddenly there were thousands of miles and nothing but faulty communications between us – and his absence left a huge gap.

Today I walk past the soccer field and see a brand new track. It’s wider and made of asphalt. The old cinder track is only a memory now, along with our heart-to-heart conversations and shared laughter. My life is filling again with new activities and people.

Recently my former neighbour called to say he’s busy building a house in the tropics. Like me, he’s laying new track. I suspect, though, that we will both pause from time to time and glance back at the path we traveled so well together.

Fields of Clover

Voles like to eat. They're also skittish and scamper away from people, so quickly that we rarely see them. Lately I have been seeing a lot more of these small furry creatures (look like mice but with a shorter tail) in a park along the St. Lawrence River.

Today I see the granddaddy of all voles - he's HUGE. Probably because of his size, he does not fear humans. He sits on the strip of lawn next to the walking path, munching on the vegetation. Three people stop and take pictures. He keeps eating. Then the young boy flaps his arms in a threatening gesture and shouts, to see if he can make the creature budge. The disgruntled vole finally heads for the bushes, doubtlessly to return later for his meal.

Montreal, like other cities in North America, has adopted a "green" policy and banned the use of pesticides in its lawns and parks. To curb the spread of weeds, the city now seeds with clover. This plant has overtaken the parks, filling the air with its sweet scent and giving us fields of white and mauve.

I am sure this is why I'm seeing all these fat voles! What I also noticed the other day were two rock snakes with vivid black markings, curled up on the grass next to the river. Wild snakes? I've lived here more than twenty years and this is the first time I see them. I feel like cheering.

Residents are also seeding their lawns with clover and the yellow heads of dandelions have all but disappeared. Others have removed their grass and planted bunches of wildflowers instead. A real visual feast.

I pay more attention these days to chemicals and additives in the products I use or eat. Whatever we put in our environment - or in us - will affect us in ways we cannot fathom. It's time to get back to nature. Let's start with clover.

Remember the Love

On my way to the grocery store, I stop to admire a row of flowering bushes planted around the parking lot. They produce a profusion of pink blossoms with a distinctive scent. These are the same bushes I grew up with – we had a fair-sized hedge of them in the front yard.

It is now one month since my mother passed on and there are regular reminders of her presence in my life. A few weeks ago, all the lilac trees were in bloom and everywhere the breeze carried her favourite fragrance.

My mother was a determined woman with a fierce love for her children and a strong will. What I recall now are not any arguments or misunderstandings in the past but my experience of the last nine years – when she leaned on me more and more as her body and cognitive functioning succumbed to Alzheimer’s Disease.

To her credit she never once complained about not being able to walk, dress herself or do any of the countless things which autonomous people take for granted. She was always glad to see me and recognized me until her last dying breath. Even a disease as thoroughly debilitating as Alzheimer’s could not rob her of this. She would not allow it.

Towards the end, most of her words came out garbled or not at all. But five days before she died she turned to me as I was leaving the nursing home and clearly said, “Thank you very much.”

Maybe one day I will forget the many challenges I encountered as I tried to keep her safe and healthy. What I will always remember is the love.

Just before Mother's Day

The day before Mother’s Day, I sit in a hospital emergency ward with a very sick woman. Her lungs are filled with water, she’s all bones at 90 pounds, and she’s coughing helplessly. A saline solution pumps into her veins to keep her hydrated and oxygen is being fed through her nose. The woman’s my mother – 88 years old and now fighting for her life.

She stops eating and the doctor tells me she's dying.

Yet later when I mention my sister coming, she opens her mouth and takes careful bites of extremely tasteless food. Chews and swallows. Like I said, she’s a fighter. She’s struggled with Alzheimer’s disease for years and now she’s battling the odds as her bodily processes break down.

I tell her there’s nothing to fear – her spirit will live on. And the next world is surely a better one. If she remains here she will only suffer more. It’s time to let go.

This isn’t what she wants to hear. Once most of the water is removed from her lungs, and the oxygen mask taken off her face, she breathes a sigh of relief. Then she eats some more, shoring up her strength. She simply isn’t ready to go.

In my heart I am glad she decided to stay, even if it’s for a few more days or even weeks. The world isn’t the same place without her.

Silence can be Golden

Although I do most of my writing in my home office, I like to start off chapters at the library. There’s something very motivating in hearing the tapping of keys all around me. At the Bibliothèque nationale in Montreal, there are 200 work stations for those who want to surf the Net or use a computer. Today a middle-aged man sits down with a young female friend across from me. They are having a conversation.

In this section of the library, every sound is magnified. Users require absolute silence. Many are students working on papers, while others have projects like mine.

The Chinese woman next to me holds a finger to her mouth and says, “Sh-h. No talking!” He nods but then continues the conversation. Now a woman two rows away walks over, glares at him and reminds him that this is a silent area. He nods to her as well but keeps conversing with his friend, who answers in monosyllables.

I, too, am now having trouble focusing on my writing. I watch as a young man goes over to the troublemaker and tells him that he is disturbing everyone here. Perhaps he would like to leave? The offender is muttering now. The young man strides over to the attendant and points him out.

One more word and the man will be kicked out. Mercifully he shuts up. This is the kind of person who will play music so loudly that even the deaf can hear. It’s all about ego.

I am not too fond of rules and regulations but I see how they serve a practical purpose. Some people just won’t behave without them.

Breath of Fresh Air

Our first day of spring is filled with sunshine – the perfect time to get out for a stroll. I see a man wheeling an infant down the street in a baby carriage. Great! Maybe he’s a househusband, or giving his wife a break. So what’s wrong with this picture??

He’s taking puffs from a huge cigar and holding it a few inches from the child as he continues his walk. His baby boy is actually doing more inhaling than he is. The man looks self-satisfied. I am sure he will tell the baby’s mother how refreshing it was to be out on such a warm day and how they both enjoyed it.

As I get older, I become increasingly aware of how interrelated we all are. Almost anything we do affects someone else or maybe even a number of people. It’s important to think before we act and consider the consequences. We’re not as separate as we may feel. Even thoughts have ripples and words have the power to heal or to strike down. Our actions have repercussions that we can’t even see.

The very air we breathe is a product of what we put into it… need I say more?

Four Months of Four Walls

Residents of the nursing home where my mother lives look glum these days. In this season of never-ending snowfalls, most of them are imprisoned here. With their wheelchairs and walkers it’s just too risky to venture out on slippery sidewalks and clogged streets.

As she overhears a conversation about the mountains of snow, Mother says, “I want summer.” Incapacitated as she is, even she needs a change of scene. I wheel her to the other side of the floor to hear the caged budgies sing. Like the people in this place, the birds’ greatest comfort is often each other.

Montrealers are all talking about the weather. We’ve broken snowfall records from 30 to 50 years ago and with more on the way in the coming days, will reach an all-time high. I tell myself, “This too will pass.” By the end of March it will be too warm for anything but rain.

To break the monotony of the indoor world, I head downtown to browse the stores. Tomorrow it will again be impossible to travel – they’re announcing two more feet of snow.