I have been doing home visits for over 20 years now, with retirement a few weeks away.

And I have never been afraid. I have walked down alleyways, up rickety stairs, across roof tops to more rickety staircases. Into buildings where I knew drug deals might be going down. Bed bugs and head lice and other little critters did not keep me away. I was never anywhere that I did not want to be.

Then along comes this invisible germ. This little bug, a coronavirus, a submicroscopic pathogen that scientists have named Covid19. And I am feeling afraid. I am not invincible against it. It is keeping me away from where I want to be. I long to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time. My heart is breaking with the realization that I have completed my last home visit.

My very insightful and caring son, an avid basketball player and fan, while understanding my concerns and feelings, told me that I was in good company. He shared a story about Vince Carter, a former Toronto Raptor, currently playing for the Atlanta Hawks. Vince was very much looking forward to playing his last season, knowing that he would be on the basketball court with players who had yet to be born when Vince had played his first game. His season also came to an abrupt end.

Everywhere in the world dreams are ending or being put on hold. There is both hope and fear in what the future holds for us.

This morning, my husband and I sat at our dining room table and participated in a virtual Worship service led by the Pastor of our church. It was a very intimate and spiritually uplifting time, singing and praying together. Around the world many people were doing the same.

Philippians 4:6 Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving present your request to God.

Yes there is fear.

Yes there is isolation.

Yes there is panic buying.

Yes there is sickness.

Yes there is even death.

But,

They say that in Wuhan after so many years of noise

You can hear the birds again.

They say that after just a few weeks of quiet

The sky is no longer thick with fumes

But blue and grey and clear.

They say that in the streets of Assisi

People are singing to each other

across the empty squares,

keeping their windows open

so that those who are alone

may hear the sounds of family around them.

They say that a hotel in the West of Ireland

Is offering free meals and delivery to the housebound.

Today a young woman I know

is busy spreading fliers with her number

throughout the neighborhood

So that the elders may have someone to call on.

Today Churches, Synagogues, Mosques and Temples are preparing to welcome

and shelter the homeless, the sick, the weary.

All over the world people are slowing down and reflecting

All over the world people are looking at their nieghbours in a new way

All over the world people are waking up to a new reality

To how big we really are.

To how little control we really have.

To what really matters.

To Love.

So we pray and we remember that

Yes there is fear.

But there does not have to be hate.

Yes there is isolation.

But there does not have to be loneliness.

Yes there is panic buying.

But there does not have to be meanness.

Yes there is sickness.

But there does not have to be disease of the soul.

Yes there is even death

But there can always be a rebirth of love.

Wake to the choices you make as to how to live now.

Today, breathe.

Listen, behind the factory noises of your panic

The birds are singing again

The sky is clearing,

Spring is coming,

And we are always encompassed by Love.

Open the windows of your soul

And though you may not be able

to touch across the empty square,

Sing.

– from Richard Hendrick, in Ireland, March 13th 2020

• 

When I was a child, apples were the one food that we could freely, without permission, eat at will.

During the winter and spring months the Apple Man, with his truck full of apples, would stop by on a regular basis. He had bushels of apples in various variety, colour and taste. Each time he would stop by, my parents would purchase a bushel or two, setting them in the corner of the kitchen for cooking and eating.

In the summer and fall months, our own apples trees provided this crispy, crunchy, fresh treat. We had a few russet apple trees beside the house, that gave us a hard, sweet green/brown apple. An apple tree that bore big, sweet, red apples grew at the front of the Kleine Bos (small bush) along side our strawberry field. But the best apple was the large yellow apple that grew in the fence line that separated our property from our nieghbours.

One of my earliest memories, of life in our new home in the country, is of the day that a group of neighborhood ladies stopped by with a big pot of Apple Pandowdy. I can still smell that slightly spicy smell, and taste the sweet delicious taste of creamy, carmelly smoothness. This was the only time I experienced this ever-so-wonderful dessert. That is until this past week when I goggled the infamous dessert and made my own big pot of Apple Pandowdy. It was a yummy treat but didn’t compare to my memories of that wonderful afternoon.

• 

The Apple, also makes an appearance in Scripture, Genesis 3:6-7. “When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and desirable for gaining wisdom,

she took some and ate. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves. “

Is the plentifulness and affordability of this humble fruit a reminder to all who partake in it, of that day in the Garden of Eden and the consequences of that most expensive meal?

Usually, in the winter, I prefer to spend a lot of time indoors, reading, writing, working on jigsaw puzzles. But these past couple of days, in the midst of a stormy, snowy blizzard, I had this great urge to be outdoors. The temperature was bearable, our snow covered trees provided protection from the winds, and the gently falling snow made the world resemble the inside of a snow globe. Snow flakes fluttering before reaching the ground, often being swept away by the wind.

Going outdoors in the winter is so much more inviting when it is something you want to do, versus something you have to do.

I found my snowshoes, dusty from lack of use, and stepped out into a wonderful wintery wonderland. The tracks I had made, yesterday, had all but disappeared.

It’s amazing how quiet the world is when you are surrounded by snow covered trees. The rustle of autumn’s old brown and yellow leaves, the crackles of winter’s bare branches, make me believe that when a tree falls in the forest when no one is there; it makes a noise.

Life’s changes are often hard to make. Even the good ones.

For the past 20 years, I have been very privileged to work in a field that I am passionate about. Helping people stand strong, on their own to feet, makes for a very rewarding career.

I knew that retiring would happen one day. And that day is very quickly approaching. This change is something that I am ready for.

In the distance, I can see the yellow brick road that leads to the golden years. I am very excited to set foot on that path.

“I will be retiring from my position as Family Home Visitor with Healthy Babies Healthy Children. My last day of work will be April 30th. These are some of the hardest words I have ever written.

Old houses hold so many stories, so many secrets, so many tall tales. No one knows them all, except for the house itself. If walls could talk, I would sit there all day and just listen.

To the stories about the original builders of the home. The excitement they felt when they first moved in. Stories of the births and the deaths, the weddings and the birthday parties that must have taken place within those walls.

The different sales that happened. Old families moving out and new families moving in. And then, somewhere down the line, for reasons unknown to those passing by, the old people moved out but no one moved in.

And the house began to weather and wane. The grasses grew taller and the trees began moving in.

I wonder what the house would say now. Is it sad, is it lonely? Or perhaps quiet and content? A big part of me wants to restore the house to it’s former beauty, giving it more stories to hide within it’s walls.

But today I cannot do that. So I will just preserve it with pictures.

My earliest memories of mixing colours was when I was playing on a pile of weathered stumps with a cousin of mine. We had gathered flowers and grasses, squished them, and painted their juices onto the pieces of dried wood.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot about art. For a long, long time.

Immersing myself in art came back as a form of therapy. Dipping a brush in that day’s colour of choice, and feeling the brush move along the canvas.

Then, I took an art class at a local art gallery with my youngest daughter, a high school student at the time. Our instruction, during an outdoor class, asked us to sit and spend 15 minutes looking at the bay in front of us and watch as the different colours appeared.

I thought to myself, ‘I can do this. I need to do this.’ Our basement is now full of canvases. Some I will keep. Some I will paint over.

My father used to tell us stories about how he loved to draw. How he would take pieces of charcoal from the wood stove and draw on whatever canvas availed itself.

As I watch my little granddaughter diligently working on her canvas, I visualize her grandfather working on his.

Last Friday, when pulling into a gas station to pump some gas, I thought it might be interesting to see what happened if I said ‘yes’ to the attendant’s sales pitches instead of my usual ‘no thanks.’ It was kind of fun, actually, as she added item after item to her list list as I said yes instead of no.

So in addition to a full tank of gas, I now have a nice, clean car. And because, for some strange reason, my back window was partially open, half of my back seat has been shampooed and rinsed as well. And by buying two car washes, instead of one, I earned a bonus of 100 Air Miles.

Also, a part of my purchase included two lottery tickets. Because I am not in the habit of purchasing lottery tickets, it took me a half hour to figure out how to play the different games. Much to my surprise, and disappointment, I didn’t win anything. Not a nickel, not a dime, not a quarter!

Two bottles of diet coke were the next items on the list. One was an excellent addition to my lunch. The other is in the fridge.

Then came the chocolate. Very hard to resist. But because they might tip the scales, in a negative way, at my next WW meeting, I will gift them to my loving husband who has not gained an ounce since our wedding day.

I was a fun experience. Will I do it again. I don’t thinks so.

But I am, now, 116 Air Miles closer to earning a free trip to visit the kids!

When I was in fourth grade, my teacher believed that all of the girls should know how to knit.

I’m not sure where the needles came from, but the yarn was from an old, rusty orange sweater that my mother gave me to unravel. With my dutifully, unraveled yarn, I somehow gained the skills needed to knit a tiny pair of socks for my soon to be born, baby brother. How I managed to knit a pair of socks, using four needles, at that young of an age still blows me away.

The socks however, made from the re-purposed yarn, were not suitable for my baby brother’s feet. And therefore, they gracefully adorned the tender tootsies of my favourite baby doll.

I have been knitting ever since; sweaters, scarfs, blankets and baby outfits and numerous other things.

The colour, rusty orange, continues to hold a special place in my heart.

I love doing different things for my family for Christmas. So I thought ‘Why not socks for Christmas!’ Two years in the making, they are finally done!

What’s that saying, ‘Warm Feet, Warm Heart?’