Gratitude – Page 3 – Cynthia Reyes

A Good Home, Family, Family Matriarch, Gardening, Gratitude, Home, Inspiration, Life in canada, Lifestyle, Mothering, Mothers, Non-fiction writing, Parents, Raising Children, Relationships, Spring Bulbs, Thanks, Tulips

Mother’s Day in the Garden

May 11, 2014May 12, 2014 Cynthia Reyes

One garden here at the old farmhouse is extra-special.

Partly shaded by a large red maple, it has two dogwood trees, two purple lilacs, a Japanese maple and a forsythia shrub. The Japanese maple was stuck there “temporarily” but was somehow forgotten and has outgrown its spot.

“One of these days, I’ll have to move it,” my husband says. But that tree is so big now that I suspect it’s not going anywhere.

Hydrangea shrubs and tree peonies also flourish here.

In front of them are smaller plants: Solomon’s seal; ferns; the intriguingly shaped “Jack-in the Pulpit”; the occasional trillium (Ontario’s official flower); may apples and another woodland plant whose name I never learned.

Pink tulips come up every spring, as do daffodils, astilbe, and hosta. It’s the only garden bed that’s home to such a variety of characters: woodland, shade, and sun-loving plants.

No wonder it’s called “Mama’s Garden”. The children she mothered are a variety of characters too.

Throughout the spring, pink lamium borders one side of Mama’s Garden, while blue forget-me-nots border the other. Recently, though, they’ve both strayed into the path.

“Your garden would look better if I could weed the path regularly”, I apologize to Mama.

And I can hear her voice saying: “Ah, m’dear. It’ll get done. Right now, there are more important things on your plate.”

My husband named the garden in tribute to Mama’s great love of gardening.

My mother died several years ago.

On every Mother’s Day since, I head out to Mama’s Garden, no matter what the weather, no matter what condition I’m in. I bring a sturdy mug of coffee, walk through the entrance arbour and down the short pathway, looking at the growing things around me.

I sit on the stone bench at the back of the garden.

“Thank you, Mama,” I say.

There are so many things to thank her for.

So I thank her and I thank God for her, and sometimes the talk with Mama gets mixed in with the prayer and it feels like the beings I am talking to are one and the same, but I don’t think either Mama or God would mind.

I give thanks.

For a mother who loved and tended her family. For a mother who taught us the importance of growing things. And for a mother whose love and faith live on in our hearts.

Garden photos by Hamlin Grange. Photos of Cynthia by Dale Ratcliffe.

This post is dedicated to my mother and mother-in-law, who mothered not just their own children, but all our cousins and friends when they needed mothering too.

Happy Mother’s day, and happy belated Mothering Sunday, to all women who tend and care for children.

A Good Home, Canada, Canadian Wine, Canadians, Flowers, Garden, Gardening, Gratitude, Home, Homes, Life in canada, Lifestyle, Poem, Spring, Spring Bulbs, Storms, The weather, Tulips, Wine, Words

A Fine Canadian Whine

April 30, 2014April 20, 2018 Cynthia Reyes

That funny sound across the land

Is not the geese in flying band

That sound across this country mine

Is just a fine Canadian whine

Photo by Hamlin Grange — Photos by Hamlin Grange ©

We whine and whine about our weather

Spring and Summer, Fall and Winter,

We whine at snow, heat, fog and rain

We whine, we carp and we complain

“Winter is hell”, we cried and said

(Forgetting hell is hot and red)

“Come Spring, come soon, or we shall rot”

So Spring herself is what we got

We’d dreamed of Spring’s so-pretty flowers

Forgetting Spring’s cold wind and showers

Spring came with those accompaniments

Arousing such crude sentiments

“Can you believe this awful cold?”

“Come on now Spring, break Winter’s hold!”

“Can you believe this awful wet?”

“Good God, this Spring is the worse yet!”

And on and on Canadians go

As if our lives were full of woe

Day in, day out we moan and groan

As if bad weather were ours alone

But grateful gardeners aren’t such grumps

We take the good and take the bumps

We welcome all the days of Spring

And give our thanks for what they bring

And so we wait the Winter out

And though at times we feel some doubt

We know that flowers need the rain

Without it, we would toil in vain

Without it, what would be the point

Without it, we’d be rolling joints

Oh, wait – out by our West-Coast way

Some people do that night and day

Okay, alright that was a slur

‘Gainst folks whose Springs are oft a blur

Of rain. Offense, they do deserve it not

(Their “B.C. Bud” is known as hot)

My West Coast friends, I will refrain

From mention of your weed and rain

I will not write about your pot

At least I will not write a lot

Back to my garden I will go

Back to a subject that I know

And walk between the growing plants

And tend to what the garden wants

At evening, sounds rise o’er the land

(It’s not the geese in flying band)

That pleasant sigh is me and mine

Sipping a fine Canadian wine.

****

All Photos by Hamlin Grange ©

I’m dedicating this poem to my friends on Canada’s west coast, hoping their sense of humour is working well today.

And especially to Louise, in Niagara-On-The-Lake, who has a lovely garden, and her husband Neil, who loved his work at a winery in Niagara-on-the-Lake. Despite the uncertain weather of some growing seasons, the story of Canadian wineries (in both the east and the west) is remarkable, with many award-winning wines. Way to go, Canadian wines!

A Good Home, Artists, Courage, Daughters, elderly Parents, Family, Family Matriarch, Family Stories, Gratitude

An Extraordinary Letter

April 10, 2014April 10, 2014 Cynthia Reyes

Remember Debbie and Gladys, from the story titled “Every Day, A Gift“?

It’s about a daughter’s efforts to bring joy to every remaining day of her 90-year old mother’s life and it touched the hearts of many of you from around the world. Late last night, I got an extraordinary letter from Debbie. I asked and got her permission to share it with you. It’s simply titled:

MOM

There is a Holy bathroom here at the hospice.

You go in to use the toilet ( please forgive the graphics here), after days of not being on a normal routine, when – suddenly – you find yourself shouting out to God that what Mom is going through is not fair! That you are mad — at God!

And then you get an answer.

You’re told that you have been on a journey and now it is ending. You cannot micro manage any of this like you have been…. appointments, drug refills, nursing care, then hospice care, micro managing the nurses here, mom’s injections … the when and the how and the what kind of everything!

You’re told that YOU ARE DONE!

It is out of your hands. She is about to start HER personal journey with God WITHOUT ME.

Gladys creates one of her last paintings

I have done my job….a job well done….but a job that has finished. I cannot, no matter what I do, change the when or the how. I have to let it all go.

I have said my goodbyes each time in the past day that we thought mom was dying . I know she loves me and she knows that I love her. We had the opportunity to say all the important things. And yet I have said them over and over again.

When I flushed my troubles down that toilet, with the realization that I am NOT IN CONTROL, and that it is totally in God’s hands, I felt a huge relief wash over me… a letting go… a handing of a precious package in to His care. I left that washroom feeling tremendous relief and with a smile on my face that has not been there for a long time.

Back in her room, I wished Mom a wonderful journey. I told her to have fun.

I told her as my guardian angel that I was going to keep her busy and see some of the world that she didn’t see. I told her to do the same.

“What the heck … take a spin around the world in the arms of the angels and have them show you the mountains and oceans, fly over the jungles , spin around the Eiffel Tour, buzz over Europe …see it all. Have the angels soar through the heavens….have a blast.”

She told me to look for her in the first dandelion that I see. I will wonder at that gift.

Often Mom and I would think of something at the same time and say it at the same time. I would joke with her as to who really had the first thought. Before Mom and Dad moved in with us, quite often I would pick up the phone to call Mom and find that she was on the line. The phone didn’t even have the chance to ring. We had timed it at the same instant.

So maybe when I’ll be doing something and think of Mom, maybe at that very instant mom is up in heaven thinking of me.

She is very peaceful now as she has been put into a medically-induced coma. She won’t feel the anxiety as her body fails her.

So my friends, grab a glass and fill it with something like a fine wine and raise your glass in a toast to my Mom. Here’s to a life well lived, to a job well done. Here’s to all the love she gave and received back tenfold.

May we all be as blessed.

Deb.

Thank you, Debbie, for sharing this loving letter with us. I am asking everyone who’s read your letter to raise a glass to Gladys. “Here’s to a life well lived, to a job well done.”

A Good Home, Authors, Book lovers, England, Gratitude, Inspiration, Kindness, Teaching English, Words

You Just Never Know

March 2, 2014March 20, 2014 Cynthia Reyes

Somewhere in Birmingham, England, a teacher has been using my book A Good Home to teach English to her students.

Why? I wondered as I read her email.

You see, I never knew what readers would make of my book. For one thing, so much of it was written piece by piece, over many years – a series of private memoirs, an ongoing “journal” never meant to be published. My writing was descriptive, yes, but also simple.

I wrote about what I was seeing, hearing, thinking and feeling at the time. About my family, neighbours, friends. A special home. A beloved pet. A garden. A flower. A chance encounter. And even a tragedy or two.

Not for others to read, but for myself. Because I wanted to remember those moments.

“It’s an excellent example of descriptive, emotive writing”, the English teacher wrote.

My reply must have been a disappointment. It’s easily the least descriptive thing I’ve ever written.

“I’m at a loss for words,” I wrote, still stunned. But good manners kicked in. I gave her a heartfelt thank-you.

A Good Home - A memoir by Cynthia Reyes — A Good Home – A memoir by Cynthia Reyes

Now that I’ve gotten over my surprise, I can tell you this: she made my day. In fact, she made my whole week.

“Someone’s using my book to teach English,” I silently repeated.

From her home in Toronto, a woman sent me an email. She said she’d nurtured the dream of returning to the thing she loved most – writing – but years had passed and she still couldn’t find the right space or time to do it.

I urged her to stop for a few minutes. To record a thought, an image, a scene — anything … and never mind about making it sound fancy.

“Write,” I’d told her. “Just write.”

Later, I followed up with another email: “Have you written today?”

This week, I got an email from her. She’s back at her craft… and using the story of our exchanges to inspire others. These “others” are people I will likely never meet. But with luck, at least one of them will similarly encourage and inspire someone else.

With a few words in their email notes, the English teacher and the Toronto writer both gave me a gift — at a time when I needed to be uplifted.

The original email exchanges with the Toronto writer, for example, happened at a time when my body was so inflamed with pain that I felt useless and miserable – unable to help myself or anyone else. Dragging myself to the computer was unbelievably difficult. It never occurred to me that the few words I wrote would help to change someone’s life.

Nor, I suspect, did the teacher or the writer know what a positive impact their own words would have on me. But then again, I didn’t know that the ongoing “journal” of moments in my life would become a book that others would value.

But this much I know:

Words have power. We don’t know, when we write them, how they will affect others. But they do.

This post is dedicated to Paddy Chung and his wife Jacqui, two of my favorite people, whose words and deeds are uplifting. Not surprisingly, I wrote about them in my book. (You may even remember them from “The Harvest”.)