What are you waiting for?

Posted on July 11, 2016 by whoistalkingoutofmyhead Image 1

Summer is not waiting for me to catch up, I must catch her. This is the only summer of 2016, realize how precious and fleeting she is. Hold her hand, dance in her flower meadows … laugh with a child, blow bubbles, sprinkle in the water, dip your toes in and get wet. Don’t waste a single moment. When the heart is light, this advice is easy to take, when the heart is heavy, laughing and dancing seem far away.

But I have discovered that as I choose to smile, to dance to dawdle … to breathe in the mountain air, something happens to me … a revitalization, a realization that life still has much beauty to unfold. When beauty asks me to dance, I should get off the couch.

Beauty is found everywhere, it is ours for the viewing, ours for participating in. It has a way of enlarging the soul. I was talking to my 92 year old mother, who enjoys the view of two large poplar trees from her deck, that and her flower pots are what make her smile on a summer day as she sits in the sunshine. And then she will say, before you know it, the snow will be coming. Oh yes, so for this day I ask you the question Mary Oliver has in her poem …

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

—Mary Oliver

Breathe in the prayer of summertime and exhale joy … Happy Summer!

“So you must match time’s swiftness with your speed in using it, and you must drink quickly as though from a rapid stream that will not always flow.”

― Seneca, On the Shortness of Life

Kayaking photo by Catherine-thanks.

There’s Always Something …

Posted on May 7, 2016 by whoistalkingoutofmyhead Image 2

There’s always something …

In the midst of spring’s great expectations, both a wild fire rages and a fridge breaks down. And I can tell you I’d choose a fridge breakdown over the flames any and every day.

It’s also Mother’s Day weekend, and I know that many women dread this day, along with its suitcase of hidden pains and unmet longings.

I hope my daughter calls, but she lives in a country that does not recognize this Hallmark Day. She is also a busy mother and I will try to call her; as I do want to acknowledge the fantastic job she is doing of raising my grandchildren. My surrogate (official definition: a substitute, especially a person deputizing for another in a specific role or office) daughter in Australia, has asked for my mailing address so she can send me something. I don’t need or want a gift I tell her, I would just like a conversation. What I would really like is the connection with the two that don’t call anymore, but like many other Moms, that catching up will have to wait for heaven. Over the years, I’ve heard many of the sadnesses women express over Mother’s Day: the sadness of remaining childless, the sadness of children buried, the sadness of rocky relationships with children. The pain is always greater for the mother separated from a child, than for the child. A little piece of the mother heart goes to each child; and when that daughter has her own children, she will understand the way a mamma’s heart gets divvied up.

This week I had a delightful mother/child encounter while biking the Rocky Mountain Legacy trail, from Canmore to Banff. About half-way, Parks Canada has set up two lovely red lawn chairs; I decided to stop on the return trip, to sit and take in the view. As I arrive to the red chairs, I see that a trio has also just stopped and it looks as though we might both be heading for the chairs. I take one, as a mother plops her little one in the other, and we both take photos. She offers to take my picture, I agree. She sets her drink down on the adjoining arm rest, I say “I’ll raise the cider. I’m sending this to my sister that joined me on this trail last year, she’ll like the drink addition.” After she takes my photo-I reciprocate the offer. The three moms scurry the young ones … scatter the kids amongst themselves, raise their drinks and I keep shooting. “Look this way, say cheese, do the cheer. How about one from the back, so we see the mountains?” After thanking me, they ask if I’d like the fourth cider. “They came in a pack of four so we do have an extra.”

“Yes, I say, that would be great.”

I discover they met in prenatal classes just over a year ago. Then the interesting birthing stories began. Two of them had C-sections. As a former nurse, I asked a few questions. “Were you disappointed to end up with a C-section?” Not really “Did you have a doula?” One had. “Is this your first mother’s day?” Yes.

To Danika, Jessica, Adrianna and all the other first time moms—Happy Mother’s Day to you!

For those with a first sad Mother’s Day—May you be encouraged. You gave the world something beautiful, and you yourself are a better person for that. To the mature mothers & grandmothers: Let’s encourage the young moms. The pressures put on moms can be overwhelming, stifling and self-diminishing. The blend of home, career and parenting is a daunting task, even more challenging than it was in our day.

Adrianna asked about my mothering experience. After briefly explaining my loss, they knew I meant when I said what I have held to be true for a long time: “Motherhood is a high calling. Spend as much time as you can, because you never know what the future holds.”

There is always something … and the forest fire rages in Northern Alberta, while my fridge has been fixed and has resumed its cooling.

Mother’s Day flowers found near Canmore—a special treat: Wild Orchids.

Jocelyn is the author of Who is Talking Out of My Head- Grief as an Out of Body Experience

Learning to Live the Loss

Posted on February 27, 2016 by whoistalkingoutofmyhead Image 3

If there were a day to strike from the calendar—Feb 27 would be that day for me—a day three of the most beautiful young people on the planet departed, eleven years ago. Every day in the news, I hear of events that would make others wish to erase another day.

As I type, a reminder pops up in the corner of my computer screen- A day to get through. A month ago I typed those words on this day. Now it asks me if I want to close or snooze—could erase be an option?

I find that the dread of a day can be worse than the day itself. As I was writing in my journal the day before, I decided music should be a part of this preparation. “All right, God—you can select the songs.” I put the setting to random. I never know what will play, usually a mixture of spiritual, folk, John Fogarty, Christmas carols, and my foreign language lessons. I had the sneaky suspicion I was trying to put God to the music test, just to see if He was listening.

The first song takes me back to when my now-in-heaven-daughter was thirteen. This was a signature song for her that year. Through the register vents Twyla Paris would sing: God is in control, we will choose to remember and never be shaken, there is no power above or below. Oh-oh-oh God is in control. That is a great start. I could not have picked better.

The next song is from the Christmas album given by that same daughter her last Christmas, and Sue Chick sings … Heaven comes down, the hearts of men rise … do we dare take a chance … and the heart longs for more. Then Steve Bell tells me that Into the darkness we must go, gone, gone is the light.

And I notice increased number of age spots on the hand that holds the pen. I sit there thinking this is kind of silly and any moment the Arabic lesson would come through. I was interrupted by a call from the florist for a delivery. But, song after song encouraged me. At song 14, I thought perhaps I should get on with my day. Johnny Reid finishes the set of fifteen with I left my hometown years ago … to let all this love surround me. I would have said, to let all this beauty surround me. And I realize Love and Beauty often feel synonymous. Both are heavenly gifts. I contemplate the power of the words, and the themes of love, loss and suffering … songwriters capture the struggles we have. Music soothes and inspires, it reminds me that I am not in control, I am not alone on the journey, and I must continue. Sauntering in sacredness is an option.

I sent my sister-in-law a thank you for the flowers, she responded with an email about an image she had of new green shoots coming forth. Later that afternoon, I went for a walk … and found a likeness of her vision:

Never before have I seen shoots in February. These green and burgundy shoots brimmed with hope of new life. For this day, I head to the mountains, to contemplate the gifts of the journey … and to sit in the beauty, this is what I left my hometown for.

From John O’Donohue’s book Beauty, a poem by Dietrich Boenhoffer:

The Unfilled Gap

Nothing can fill the gap When we are away from those we love and it would be Wrong to try to find anything

Since leaving the gap unfilled preserves the bond between Us. It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap.

He does not fill it but keeps it empty, so that our communion With another may be kept alive even at the cost of pain.

New Beginnings, New Shoes

Posted on January 24, 2016 by whoistalkingoutofmyhead Image 3

You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream. C S Lewis

“How’s the class going?” I ask my friend.

“It started last week, but I didn’t go. I never signed up. I wasn’t sure I’d finish it.”

(you won’t finish if you don’t start, I thought but didn’t say) “I bet you finish all the books you start as well.”

“Yes, I do,” spoken with a grimace.

“I don’t anymore. If I don’t like it, I move on. Some books I plug through for awhile, hoping for it to redeem itself, and sometimes it does. If something isn’t worth the time, I don’t finish. Having said that, I call myself a great beginner … I begin a lot of things, and don’t always finish. I used to chastise myself for that, but I realized if I didn’t start, I wouldn’t have finished the things I have.”

My brown suede boots gave out this week … The zipper was catching and I knew the day would come when I’d not be able to get them on or off. That day came Wednesday. I had them on, but could not unzip them. So here I type with one brown suede boot, and one barefoot … just kidding. First, I waxed the zipper to see if it could overcome the catch point, no luck. Then I took a plier to to grab hold of the zipper pull as I held the teeth together and tugged … and in the opening of the zipper, it came apart. I looked at these lovely boots, and wondered what else I could make of them. The reality was: nothing. I will carry my boots to the garbage, I guess.

Sometimes it is hard to let go of the past, of ideas, of ways of doing things, even if they aren’t working. New beginnings are always opening up,but they ask us to step forward and try. Am I willing to risk, with an unknown outcome? Jennifer Dukes Lee expresses this dilemma well: IF you never go, you’ll never know. There are always good reasons for not walking through the doors of this life. There are always risks in crossing those great thresholds. True enough: Sometimes, our worst fears come to pass. Sometimes, things break. Sometimes, we ourselves are the most broken things of all. But that’s the thing. To live a beautiful life, we have to take the risk. To live a beautiful life, we have to lose the fear of stepping across the threshold. (Jan-Incourage@dayspring.com)

Shoes For the Curator of My Soul

Cement blocks, ill fitting shoes

Doubt on the left, Fear on the right

Laced with guilt, It is hard to walk

Harder to dance, Impossible to fly

Barefoot she skipped ahead Jocelyn

The Advent Adventure

Posted on November 28, 2015 by whoistalkingoutofmyhead Image 3

Even before the Hallowe’en masks disappeared, Christmas merchandise appeared in the stores. Every time fresh snow fell the song, It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas jingled in my head; and we had snow in September, so it’s been awhile. Thinking about the season of advent, I wondered if adventure shared the root word. With the ease of Google search, I found out that advenire ‘arrive’ meaning the arrival of something is at the core of both.

Advent is defined as: the arrival of a notable person, thing, or event, while adventure is an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity. For many children Christmas is exciting, while parents can dread the season. The expectancy of something big happening fills the air. But, for people in grief, or challenging life circumstances, it is not the most wonderful time of the year. And if Santa Claus is the only one coming to town for December 25, I’m not sticking around for it. (Bah, Humbug!)

In the far past, I thoroughly enjoyed December, and more hope-beach-sunset-quotes-quotes recently I have rekindled a love of the Christmas season, coming out of a ten year mark of a world turned upside down, with personal catastrophic events that made the Christmas of 2005 my most dreaded ever. The Christmas that mocked me with All hearts come home for Christmas, the first Christmas that two of my three children were not on this planet, the first Christmas without my husband … I feel a strong kinship with the Biblical descriptor of The people walking in darkness have seen a great light, on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned … The dawning of light, is the beginning of hope. The beginning of the great adventure of Emmanuel … God with us … through thick and thin, through darkness and light.

This year as I light the first candle of Advent, the candle of Hope I reflect on the Hope that has carried me through a passage of grief, to a new shore. A stumbling towards beauty and grace.

Hope is a choice, Hope has given me my voice to question to doubt, to scream and shout Hope has been in the midst as a spark as a river, a cause to shiver Hope behind, hope before as it opens and shuts the door. The taste of hope and I want more … More of the source, more of truth, more of the grace it has given I want hope on this earth … and a taste of Heaven.

best_hope_quotes_with_images

Emily Dickinson says, Hope is the thing with feathers/ that perches in the soul. Does that make hope flighty? Or does it means it visits, when I need it most? Hope is a choice I can make. For me the source of the Hope is the litmus test of its worthiness. It is easy to miss the meaning of Christmas; it has been turned into numbers of shopping days left, and pre-Christmas boxing day sales. May you also have some adventure in your advent season … we settle for tinsel when we could have eternity …

A favourite Advent song of mine is Ready My Heart by Steve Bell. My apologies if the link does not work.

http://redmp3.cc/13011993/steve-bell-ready-my-heart.html

Jocelyn is author of Who is Talking out of My Head, Grief as an out of Body Experience

Today you are You

Posted on November 5, 2015 by whoistalkingoutofmyhead Image 1

Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You. Dr. Seuss,

These are the heart-tug days, when your only grand-daughter is half a world away, eight time zones ahead. I could either be sad not to be there, which I am, or I can do what I can from here. Long distance grand-parenting is a new-norm challenge. My North African granddaughter on the edge of the Sahara, chose an Arctic Adventure theme for her birthday, I chose to decorate the snowball her and I made on her recent Canadian trip.

In the spirit of Dr Seuss, I sent her poetic birthday wishes and a snowball picture.

Dear Maisha,

It is your ninth birthday, and there is no one you-er than you,

nor would I wish there to be, and that is truer than true.

How you love to imagine, you love many others

Including your mom and your dad, even your brothers.

How I wish I was with you, with you and the others.

You could paint me up and we could eat all the cake,

We would make up some poems, we could jump in the lake.

Or in the ocean, and swim like a dolphin, maybe a starfish,

Could be an Arctic creature … Oh I wish and I wish …

We’d have a girls’ night out, that would be fun you see

Cuz now you are thrice as old as when you were three.

You are nine times smarter than when you were one

There’s still so much fun to be had, funner than fun.

Oh Maisha, you are you-er than you

And that’s why I LOVE YOU, I love you I do!

If I could hop a plane, or board a train, or catch a fish

I’d be there in a flash, on my fish wish dish.

I’d give you a big hug in person. That would be de-lish.

But you—are you-er than you, and I am just me,

But because I’m your granny, I’m smarter you see.

Until you turn ten, and then the gig is up

by then you will know three languages, or maybe four.

You might start to think that Grandma’s a bore.

But for now listen up girl, to me and your mother.

She’ll show you the way, she’ll love you like no other.

How can I know that? Can that be true?

Cuz I’m your mother’s mother, and I’m older than new.

So HAPPY BIRTHDAY dear girl, you are niner than nine.

You are finer than fine. Have lots of fun.

And CALL YOUR GRANDMA SOMETIME!

Missed the amazing cake, but thanks to technology, I read the poem to her, apparently she was smiling the whole time! Makes my heart glad.

Today you are you! Do what you do!

Are You What You Think?

Posted on October 21, 2015 by whoistalkingoutofmyhead Image 1

Insider Insights … It is said that even the rocks cry out, in this case it was the walls … The bathroom walls.

What began as a chance encounter at a local pub, had us on a bistro search 144 kilometres away. We met Lance Dettwiler in Prince Rupert, BC and he convinced us that we should stop at his cafe, The Elephant’s Ear, on our drive through Terrace BC. This was similar to that random comment we should get together for coffee, sometime. And it rarely happens. But this time my brother, his wife and I took the turn into town to hunt for The Elephant’s Ear, and with the help of Susie Q, the GPS we found it.

Lance almost seemed surprised to see us, and when I went to use the facilities, I was surprised with the washroom, full of artistic graffiti wisdom. The usual set of stalls with slider locks it was not. Instead the fairly large space, by bathroom standards had white walls and ceiling completely covered with artistic sayings. It looked as though customers continued to add their personal mottos. I hoped no one was in desperate need, as I took my time to photograph the philosophical words of the wall. Some of my favourite being posted here.

I always have a conversation with cliches, but who wouldn’t agree with eternal joy? Each blending of truth alongside pat statements always causes an argument in me. Oh, if only life could be summed up by neat little catch phrases. And the upper comment about knowing for sure: I envy the author’s certainty. But do we become what we think? That line about whether you think you can or you think you cannot–either way, you are right. In Canada we just had an election, and Justin Trudeau won with the platform of sunny ways; of hope over fear, of hard work over cynicism. A country was won over by positivity. While cynicism seems the modern norm, especially in politics, optimism is refreshing, even if some of the lines are cliche.

I could not argue with the excellent food and ambiance of the bistro, it was worth the off-road detour, and jaunt through Terrace BC. Truly the destination and the journey are what make the trip worthwhile.

The reality is that my catch phrases change on a regular basis. What is written on the walls of my heart today has been written over what I believed yesterday. And yet there are words and assurances that have longevity. What’s written on the walls of your heart?

Travel from room to room

Posted on September 3, 2015 by whoistalkingoutofmyhead Image 4

The work to forget, can be as difficult as the trying to remember.

“The time is ripe for looking back over the day, the week, the year, and trying to figure out where we have come from and where we are going to, for sifting through the things we have done and the things we have left undone for a clue to who we are and who, for better or worse, we are becoming. But again and again we avoid the long thoughts….We cling to the present out of wariness of the past. And why not, after all? We get confused. We need such escape as we can find. But there is a deeper need yet, I think, and that is the need—not all the time, surely, but from time to time—to enter that still room within us all where the past lives on as a part of the present, where the dead are alive again, where we are most alive ourselves to turnings and to where our journeys have brought us. The name of the room is Remember—the room where with patience, with charity, with quietness of heart, we remember consciously to remember the lives we have lived.”
― Frederick Buechner, A Room Called Remember: Uncollected Pieces

Four years ago on the first of September, I landed in an unknown hometown. A wary excitement filled me for this new beginning, a fourth new beginning of what had been a series of unrequested life events. I remember the excitement of seeing the mountains from my dining room window, this prairie girl with prairie bicycle legs. A town in the shadows of the Rocky Mountains was a scenery change of significant elevation.

Landscapes of the physical variety are easier to modify than the minefields of the mind. For many people, it seems easier to plod on in a difficult known, than to move into the unknown.

And yet radical life changes require radical responses. Radical choices.

My mother of ninety-one lives in the room to remember. She may not remember what she had for lunch, but, start her up on a memory lane conversation and she can tell you how the fly ball felt as it smacked into her bare hands to clinch the game. She was the hero of her country school! Of the days of her drinking husband, she says: “Those were hard times, but we got through them.”

She has a selective memory. Memory can be revisited.

I would like to remember my life as worthwhile and wonderful.

The past is a foundation for the day, the future gives hope. The past and future collide into this

moment of today, this present, which is exactly that – a present moment, a gift to be opened and deeply appreciated. I want to live my life in such a way, that when I am my mother’s age, my room to remember will be positively full. For today I am here, in this moment celebrating the lives I have lived!

Here’s to the anniversaries you celebrate today. A reason to be grateful. Thanks to my sister-in-law for introducing me to this musical artist, Josh Garrels, and this song about understanding further along: Check out this song!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IctD9l4F-ag

Jocelyn is the Author of Who is Talking out Of My Head, Grief as an out of Body experience.

Some Assembly Required

Posted on June 12, 2015 by whoistalkingoutofmyhead Image 3

All GARDENING is LANDSCAPE PAINTING. William Kent

SOME ASSEMBLY REQUIRED

I was on my annual pilgrimage to The Garden. My brother-in-law says I would get the reward for gardening from the greatest distance. Some people have garden plots on the city’s edge, as opposed to the 14 ½ hours I drive to garden for one week each June. This is not just any garden; it began with two large holes of the heart represented by the two components of the lake, at which point a bridge crosses over to the garden … This is the memorial project dedicated to my son, my daughter, two wonderful young people no longer on the planet … two young people who had spent many summers at the camp this project is now a part of.

This year I had ordered three concrete park benches and a picnic table to replace weather worn wooden/wrought iron benches. This is what I ordered …

I had invited friends to be there for the delivery at 1:30 Tues afternoon.

It had been overcast and intermittent rain for the first two days of the week. I postponed the bench delivery, as it was pouring rain, and I wanted pictures for when they would arrive … besides who was going to sit on the park bench on a rainy day? The next day was set up for better weather. The man I had communicated with, was not in when I called to change the delivery date … but another customer service rep took the message; he said he would first tell the delivery people, and then he would inform Daniel about the change as well. You’re sure? I ask, Yes I will be sure to pass on the information.

So while it was rained, my sister and I went to purchase plants that were to be admired from the new benches. We arrived back at the garden, with the newly purchased plants and with feet that had been in cold, wet runners and socks for the past three hours. My toes were wrinkled, and the hot chicken noodle soup had worn off.

“Look at those tracks, someone has been here” my sister said and pointed to wide mudded ruts ….

And then – “Do you think they dropped them off?”

This is what I got.

At the same time a text message arrives from the maintenance guy: Parkside Lumber made the delivery … looks like some assembly is required 🙂

This was not what I expected, this was not what I had ordered.

I had not ordered pieces of a picnic table, no where had I read that I was to put this together. It never even entered my head.

I called back to Daniel, the polite young man I had met the day before, I had spoken with him by phone several times from two provinces away. I asked as to why they had come when I had postponed. More importantly these were pieces this was not a picnic table. He was not quite as understanding as I thought he should have been. He asked, How did I think these pieces could be shipped etc … takes up too much space, obviously they can’t be shipped already put together. In my head I wondered how much time I needed to spend at meditation in this prayer garden?

“When I order a dress from a catalogue I do not expect to have to sew it together.”

“I don’t think that is a fair comparison.”

I did and the only one that came to mind at the time … No where had I read that they were unassembled. Mostly it was the disappointment. This did not meet my expectations.

I had thought it would be something else … I thought, that if I ordered a bench, it would arrive looking like the picture, the picnic table would look like a picnic table.

My brother in-law chuckled at the dress concept, and added- when you buy lumber you don’t expect it to come in the form of a house. No, but if the lumber advertised itself as a house, I might?

Some assembly required …

Oh I know that applies to many areas in life, my expectations exceed the horizons.

On a happy note, I called Bob again, my go-to-guy at the camp, (he could probably tell how near the tears were) he thought he could send some help over the next day.

Park bench angels with strong backs … angels that thought this was like Lego for adults.

The picnic table instructions were hard to read, after being drenched in the rain. Did I mention that they were short 6 nuts and bolts, and the steel plates had holes that were off by half an inch? All’s well that ends well, I guess? I had coffee on the bench. I dunno, those lumber people, and God … they seem to promise things I can misconstrue so easily. And at least one of them gets away with it all the time.

Lessons from the Lanes

Posted on May 7, 2015 by whoistalkingoutofmyhead Image 1

I am a swimmer, and many life lessons have come via the pool. Like: fat and water don’t mix … fat floats … therefore, all sizes can enjoy the water.

If you want to feed your insecurities, stand naked in the pool shower. But if you want to feel okay about yourself, also stand naked in the pool shower. There are many body shapes and sizes … get over yourself. You can also shower with your bathing suit on.

One morning a group of grade one students arrived after my aqua-size class was done. Most of the ladies in the class are in their sixties with real grandma bodies, soft and comfortable for hugs, with a little extra pudding. It is freeing to be among these women who are comfortable with their bodies, and peculiar vein-marked appendages. The six year old girls chattered non-stop while they got their swim suits on … the chatter continued as they marched towards the pool, you have to walk past the showers to get to the pool … as they rounded the corner they went dead silent, their mouths stopped mid-word, they could not take their eyes off the nakeds in the showers. Somehow I think this was not the picture of grandma they envisioned. Each wave of girls repeated the sequence of chatter, silence, eyes wide-open fixated on the marshmallow ladies. The grannies had their own chuckles after the education session.

Some mornings the lanes are labelled … Slow, Medium, FAST. With only four lanes, I tend to choose medium or slow. But, after the triathletes have vacated their fast lane, I choose it, and discreetly nudge the fast sign to the edge of adjoining lane. This morning as I joined in, my lane partner said “I’m not that strong a swimmer, I do some swimming and some jogging back and forth.”

“Whatever works,” I said. She jogged on and I front crawled past her. I wondered why she told me that. After half a lane, I realized, she was apologizing for herself. She was in the lane swim, but not doing the standard strokes.

How many times hadn’t I felt out of place when I started at the pool? People would lap me again and again. When I swam alone, I didn’t care, but when there were two or three other swimmers in the lane, I felt the need to apologize each time my arm or leg bumped into another swimmer. So sorry to have been in your space. I stopped at the end of the lane, lifted my goggles from my eyes. I was not in this for their sakes, I was here for myself. We all had a right to be there, and as I stopped comparing myself to others the more buoyant I became.

One stroke of pool luck … I have found a solution for my increasing facial wrinkle count. This morning as I struggled to get a swim cap on – yes, I wear a swim cap to keep my ear plugs in, and the water out of my ears, as I pulled this girdle like cap on my head, I could feel my scalp sucking upwards … then I smiled as I noticed my skin pulled tight, a face lift without surgery. Hmmm, I wonder if my navy swim cap goes with my little black dress?

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