I think I may be one. Something about the velvet cloak of the night that stirs and wakens the reflective, or creative state. Tonight is such a night or could be if only I could stay up late, but tomorrow is work. It’s 9:50 p.m. in Vancouver and the wind is blowing across the water causing large starry openings in the night sky, and pushes against my little vinyl cabin. And I love the wind. I think it may make me restless, want to run along beside, want to hitch on and be taken. And the music on CBC is so good tonight, It’s always good late. So many enticements to refrain from sleep~~
Every Thursday morning I take the day off work to accompany and drive my mom to the local pool for an aqua-fit class tailored to those with limited motion and arthritis. There is a good turn out for this, filling one end of the pool with seniors and a few nearly seniors. The class is led by a young Mexican woman who is affectionately called the Mexican Bandit- she exudes explosive upbeat energy, comic antics, and genuine interest and joy in her bobbing charges strewn before her like so many seal pups in the water. She gets applause at the end of her classes.
I am there not so much to exercise but to encourage and support my mom and guard her from turning turtle should her feet lose their footing and float up, thus disrupting the fine equilibrium she attempts to maintain between her upper and lower half while following our leader pool side. She’s cursed as a high floater. We’re going to try 2 pound weights on her feet this week to see if that will keep her grounded.
For the most part my mother is just cracking up with laughter. But she’s moving in the water causing the necessary gentle resistance needed to work her muscles, so that’s all good. But side by side we do our best to execute the movements, I coach mom and keep one arm just behind her.
The music is playing with the “Oldies”, giving our movements rhythm to follow, and I smile while listening to many of them sing along- “Love and marriage, love and marriage they go together like a horse and carriage-” That’s so cute, I think to myself and kind of inwardly roll my eyes.
Until Rocky Mountain High by John Denver cues up next. Now who’s singing in the pool?
Peter is a good friend of my moms at a sprightly 81 years of age and comes to this class twice a week (he’s one of the pool singers) and if one would need proof that the exuberance and delight of a boy could still persist in the mind and soul of octogenarian man well, here’s your proof. Like when the Bandit brings out the Noodles Pete’s face lights up and he excitedly says to us, “These are my favorite!” and pushes his way through the water to the pool side to collect three of them and pushes his way back giving mom and me each a pink one of course, the blue one for him. These are for the leg exercises and stronger resistance exercises, but what tends to happen is reclining back and talking with the person who happens to be floating next to you, or in the case of us three, general hilarity.
It’s not how well my mom does the exercises, it’s that she’s up and out of her house, in the pool, moving her parts around, and sharing with others and laughing. That’s a wholesome prescription that really benefits.
Thought I’d share this photo my husband took on his way home January14th. This beauty was sitting in our neighbors tree on a trail that follows behind our house.
Well that was a close. I of course stay up in my vinyl cabin all week and usually come home on the weekend, but since my husband was away on a job I didn’t, in other words our house was empty for a week and a half. This weekend we both are home and our son had come over from Vancouver to visit. After turning in last night and just falling into deep sleep my husband and I are startled awake by our son shouting out that ‘something burst!” I was disoriented at first forgetting my son was here, so I thought a neighbor had come into our house yelling I don’t know what -house is on fire? But thankfully no, so we run downstairs where our son is in under the bathroom sink doing his best holding a large glass jar over the pipe coming out the wall that once had the bathroom sink shut off valve attached, but no more, having had popped off from water pressure. He was on his 3rd jar full. The floor was already awash and we could hear water dripping down through to the basement. My husband scrambled into the basement, up and over and into the crawl space- with uncharacteristic agility I might add – and shut the main water supply off.
We mopped up, calmed down and commented about how much worse it could’ve been if this had happened last Sunday. You just don’t expect those little valves to come off like that. New rule made- turn off the main when away from home for an extended period!
Pining for a road trip, I came across a few photos.
Amazing storms we witnessed when driving to and from Ontario a few summers back. One of the things I find absolutely exhilarating about the Prairies is the sky – whether it’s endless, blue and open or robust, dark and brooding like these shots capture. Every day that particular summer was a storm watch day. Not to mention constant tornado worries as the radio and the TV weather channels we were glued to each night in our hotel room seemed to warn of just as we would be leaving an area or driving into an area.
You can see them come from miles. I was in a constant state of open-mouthed awe and terror. I was like a kid, “lookit that!” and ” Oh man it’s massive!” to “Shit that was lightning RIGHT THERE!” and “Is that a funnel cloud starting?!” It was fun.