Laughter – Cynthia Reyes

A Good Home, Book Interviews, Book lovers, Book Reviews, Christmas Decorations, Good wishes, Gratitude, Kindness, Laughter, Life Challenges

Incredible You

December 16, 2014 Cynthia Reyes

Readers of this blog and A Good Home have encouraged my family and me through some crazy times this year.

You’ve consoled and encouraged me in the domestic arts, including the two times I tried making outdoor Christmas arrangements! Several readers offered compliments, tips, commiseration, inspiration.

And Arna sent me this photo.

“I told you I have a planter like yours!” she said.

Yes, Arna, but yours is far more assured.

From last fall to this spring, I had to abandon virtually all my book-related activities and take to my bed.

Some of you decided to help. You bought my book, and wrote wonderful reviews.

Phil reviewed A Good Home for an American book website last year, then created computer-assisted images promoting the book.

John G. took my book with him on his annual canoe trip, then wrote a review too.

In Avery, Texas, 90 year old Lou Mathis and his wife Aggie were themselves struggling this September. Their farm business was suffering because of its name, “Isis”. (Isis was the ancient Egyptian goddess, but in today’s climate, not a popular name.)

Lou asked on their blog: “WHAT DO YOU THINK? For some reason I refuse to give up the… ISIS FARMS. But would painting the sign OVER IN GREEN……”

I asked you to reply to Lou and Aggie and many of you did. Wonderful, caring replies that helped them make their decision. It’s now called “Aggie’s Farm”.

Photo by Aggie's Farm — Photos by Aggie’s Farm

In October, Canada’s national radio network, CBC, aired my interview with celebrated host Shelagh Rogers.

I’d been nervous about it. But people like John V. wrote to my blog afterwards:

“I heard you speak on the radio about healing and it gave me perspective and hope for my own circumstances. Sincere thanks for sharing.”

Such validation for a book completed in dire times!

On crazily painful days, I often forced myself to write poems, making fun of myself and my home life. Some (like Stiletto Heels) became blog posts, which made you laugh, uplifting me in return.

Andra wrote: “I absolutely howled with laughter reading this. Thanks, Cynthia! Have had similar thoughts watching the young ladies strutting about in high heels and skimpy dresses in inclement weather. And like you, I recall being just as foolish back in the day. Great poem.”

Then, without warning this fall, life changed perilously. My husband nearly died.

Titled No Words, my poem expressed the raw agony our family experienced.

In reply, you warmly supported us with prayers, consolation and good wishes.

Incredible kindness, especially because I’ve never met most of you in person.

“Thank you” hardly seems enough. But thank you, anyway.

For your kindness.

And for being part of my world.

My best,

Cynthia.

A Good Home, Afternoon Tea, Art, Birdfeeders, Birds, Childhood Memories, Coping with Chronic Illness, Country Living, Courage, Daughters, elderly Parents, Family, Family Matriarch, Family Stories, Homes, Inspiration, Laughter, Life Challenges, Mothers, Nature, Storms, Winter

Every Day, A Gift

February 1, 2014February 2, 2014 Cynthia Reyes

A couple hours north of Toronto, the winter has been harsh. For days on end, my friend Deb and her family were snowed in.

“This week it was minus 36 degrees celsius,” she wrote, “not counting the wind chill! It was so cold that the trees sounded like they were exploding; like shotguns firing nonstop.”

But something sacred is taking place inside this home.

Deb’s mother Gladys, who lives with her, is declining in health. Week by week, something else fails. Two weeks ago, her feet swelled to the point where her shoes couldn’t go on. Gladys is getting weaker.

“Every day is a gift”, Deb wrote recently.

I know what this means. When time is limited, when every day is a gift, one uses time differently.

Every day, mother and daughter try to create – or simply appreciate – moments that bring joy.

Joy comes in many forms.

It comes from listening to music that Gladys enjoys. “We try to fill the house with her favorite songs from opera to Frank Sinatra.” She particularly enjoys Maria Callas and Andrea Bocelli.

Doing things together brings a special kind of joy. Gladys, an accomplished artist, still loves to paint. “Sometimes,” Deb says, ” Mom has enough energy to sketch with me or show me how to paint a picture. Sometimes it means just sitting quietly together in front of the fire and reading.”

Joy comes from simple things like deciding what to cook. “I pore over the recipes and ask her opinion. Then I try to tempt her to have a little, though her appetite has waned.

“I still offer her a glass of wine or a hot chocolate spiced with something special. And Mom still enjoys her peanut brittle, though she has to suck on the pieces rather than bite them (90 year old teeth)!!!!”

They take joy in nature. Gladys often sits in a comfortable chair beside a large window. On the other side of that window is a bird-feeder and beyond that, acres of woods and a snow-covered lake.

“We watch for the many different birds that come to the feeder right by her chair,” says Deb. “We watch the snow swirl around the house and whistle through the trees. We are amazed at the snow sculptures — also known as snow drifts!”

There’s also joy in laughter. The two women watch funny movies together. Like “The Heat”, with Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy. They laughed so hard, they cried.

When friends drop in, they enjoy tea, cookies – and laughter.

And then there’s the kindness of others. “The nurses that come every second day have been so kind and are gentle in spirit.”

Gladys faces each day with a mixture of hope and acceptance. She points out that the doctors are experimenting with a new injection that seems to be helping to give her some strength back. And she also says: “My bags are packed and I am still waiting for a clearance on the runway of life…… That is what snow blindness can do to you. Illusions??? Think positively! Spring is coming!”

Indeed, there are signs of rebirth in the air. Just days ago, a new baby was born – Gladys’ third great-grandchild. It’s a joyful occasion, and Gladys looks forward to meeting the newborn soon.

There’s much sweetness in this time. And sadness. And wonder.

Deb notices that, whatever they’re doing, Bailey, the family’s pet retriever, “spends a lot of time at Mom’s feet as if he knows something.”

As her mother nears the end of her life, Deb finds herself reflecting. “I take Bailey out for a walk every day to breathe….to catch my breath, and pray. To find solace in nature….. to marvel at the snow. I spy two moose in the forest, a mink sliding across the driveway. I tell myself that all I can do is my best. The rest is up to God…the when – and the how – of how this will come to an end.”

She says Gladys is “calm and brave”, her sense of humour and memory still sharp. She surprised Deb recently by reciting a quote from a book she received on her tenth birthday, 80 years ago:

“Deem it not an idle thing

A pleasant word to speak

The words you use, the thoughts you bring

A heart can heal or break”.

It’s moments like this that bring tears to Deb’s eyes. Some days, all it takes is “a word, a song, a story Mom tells.”

But there’s a lovely sense of grace in this home, perhaps reinforced by the words from a prayer by St. Francis which Deb frequently recites: “Make me a channel of Your peace”.

Dedicated to Gladys and Deb, and to all those who’ve had a similar experience.

A Good Home, Chronic pain, Coping with Chronic Illness, Courage, Friendship, Laughter, Life Challenges, Lunch, Toronto Rehab

Laughing Through The Pain

December 30, 2013 Cynthia Reyes

Once a month, at the same time, in the same restaurant in a suburban mall, I meet Arna and Phyllis for lunch.

I’d never have met these women were it not for the many sessions we attended together at Toronto Rehabilitation hospital, trying to come to terms with chronic pain, trying to figure out alternatives to narcotic painkillers.

The group is one of my two separate trios of “Toronto Rehab grads” . We meet regularly to support each other.

You might expect us to be miserable, and sometimes we are. But among each other, there’s no need to pretend. No need to say “I’m fine, thanks,” when you’re not. We’d see right through it.

“Seriously – how are you really feeling today?” Someone will ask, looking you straight in the eye.

And out comes the truth: “It’s been a really crappy week. The pain’s been very bad.”

But as Arna reminds us: “I might be in pain but I don’t have to BE a pain.”

And so we laugh. Perhaps the most surprising thing is how much laughing we do. In my second trio, Penny has the talent of cracking up Joan and me with one short sentence. The woman is a born comic.

“Why don’t you write comedy?” I ask her.

“Because it’s just stuff I say,” she replies. “I don’t even know it’s funny till someone laughs.”

We laugh at the silliest things. Maybe that’s because we give each other license to SAY the silliest things to each other. Like the day when Arna and I both noticed that Phyllis seemed unusually stressed. Turns out, she’d been struggling with pain and allergies, but Phyllis was still pushing herself hard to get certain tasks completed.

“You need to rest,” Arna advised.

“I’m too tired to rest,” Phyllis promptly replied.

“You’re too tired to rest?” I asked in disbelief.

As if on cue, the three of us burst out laughing.

Chronic pain never rests. The very term “chronic” means that it’s with you all the time; only the severity fluctuates. Sunny, cool, dry days are helpful to some people. Wet, cold, humid days are agony to many. And freezing temperatures? Extreme cold does a number on both our bodies and our minds.

We learned several drug-free techniques at Toronto Rehab. Laughter is just one of them.

The act of staying in touch, and keeping these lunch appointments, are two of the tools we use to fight back against the depression that’s a travelling companion of chronic pain. And when we laugh at the ridiculous things we say on a day when even the act of walking is painful – we’re not just using one of the tools we learned – we’re also kicking chronic pain in the teeth.

Chronic pain kicks us in the butt all the time. Kicking it in the teeth once a month is the least we can do in return.

This post is dedicated to Joan, Penny, Arna and Phyllis — and to everyone who struggles with a chronic illness.