I was recently reading an article from a fellow blogger on the importance of ‘downtime’ (The importance of downtime – Niraj’s blogs (home.blog) And, as much as this topic is universal, I wonder whether it transcends all ages and stages of life.
Can you have ‘downtime’ from a life of ‘downtime’? That’s the big question.
There were moments over the past 35 and more years when this word would totally escape me – it wasn’t even part of my everyday or occasional vocabulary. Very rare was it that I would have a moment to spend by myself or for myself. These moments, if at all, would have to be stuck in at the very beginning or at the very end of the day, when alas my eyes would close and I would drift away into a dreamland far far away not knowing whether I actually had this downtime moment of not.
I certainly tried to find that work/life harmony – exercising 3 times weekly, eating right including fruits and vegetables in my diet, savouring the ‘antioxidants’ from my daily glass(es) of wine, sneaking away on weekends to the coast to soak in some much needed sun and sea breeze. It was hard work finding this harmony and I used to wonder whether stressing on the importance of finding time to de-stress wasn’t a big part of the reason we were all so stressed. And most times I would just let the day go by and whatever moments were left in it for me, I would be grateful, joyous and feel ever so blessed.
And so now that my days are filled with whatever I want to do, I wonder whether it is still necessary to seek ‘downtime’. For my days can be quite full (note that I’ve removed the word ‘busy’ from my vocabulary), and tiring. Am I in fact catching up on all the ‘downtime’ moments I missed over the past years. Or am I just in another stage of life where I am able to make that ever so important choice of doing what the hell I want to do.
Stay the course my dear friends. Work/life Harmony is important. We must however manage our expectations as to what this ‘harmony’ looks like. Then and only then will you be able to achieve it.
For the past year and a half, you’ve been constantly on my mind. Covid-19 has sent the world in a tailspin, and as much as I miss you and mummy terribly, I’m forever grateful that you’ve been spared this ‘inconvenience’, and selfishly, that we have not had the added worry of keeping you guys safe. It would have been a lonely existence for you both, one which, after such a long and happy life, seeing your children and grandchildren almost daily, would have possibly left you bereft of what was most important to you – family.
We’ve managed well, though – and keep in touch with each other often. Meeting up when we can for quick get togethers at each other’s homes, dropping by to share excess fruit (Julie mangoes, Mummy’s favourite), Zabocas (the boys are still competing as to whose is the best), homemade bread (your eldest has become quite the baker), but most importantly, keeping our family bond strong.
You’ve left us with a legacy so ingrained that in this time of forced isolation, our family connections have pulled us through and we thank you for this.
Circa 1972
And oh the family keeps on growing – with some scattered across the globe, we still remain in touch thanks to the technology which baffled you so much towards the end. Your great grandkids keep us busy and entertained. Some we have not yet met due to Covid, and some on the way. And they all look ‘just like you’ – if not physically, certainly in their hearts which are full of love of life and family.
I must have been 8 or 9 years old when I discovered that my mother had just turned 40. I stared at her cutting her birthday cake with my father and I wanted to burst into tears. She was smiling and happy. We were all happy. But to me 40 was such a big number. A number that felt ions away and in my childlike mind, my mother didn’t have much longer to live. And so, 40 became for me the big bad age.
When I turned 40, in the peak of health, with a young family like my mother had been some years prior, I felt dread. For no other reason than what my mind had recorded so long ago. I didn’t want to receive any birthday greetings so I escaped with my small family where no-one could reach me, just for the day. Since then, though, I’ve realised that age is just a number. Your health, your happiness, your family are a few of the most important things in life. And now that I am in my sixties and the real big numbers are staring me in the face, I dig deep into my memories for what those ages could possibly mean.
My mother breathed her last breath just a few months past the age of 70. She had been ailing since her early sixties. My father heroically took on the role of caregiver like no other. And even with her family rallying around her, her quality of life began to fade towards her late sixties. She had lost her speech. I can only imagine that she felt trapped no longer being able to communicate as she had wished. And yet, even with this memory, the dread that I felt at 40 no longer haunts me. It has now been replaced with a sense of newness of life. For in my own experience, there’s still time for adventure. There’s still time to learn new things. There’s still time to love – your family, your friends, yourself.
A few weeks ago, my sister turned 70. We had been joking about it for some time, reminiscing on our experiences and wondering what this new stage would bring for her. The day after we celebrated her, she messaged me – it’s not so bad after all – she said. I smiled a big smile. For my sister has now become my new beacon of what 70 looks like.
And what does 70 look like? It is at peace with oneself. It is accepting of what life has to offer. It is grateful for every moment, every day. It is quirky and has a sense of humour. Ready to go new places and experience new things. Its arms are wide open welcoming love and adventure. It is wise. It is kind. It is generous of heart and spirit.
Thanks to my sister, I look forward to 70, hoping that I too will find that it’s not so bad after all.
I started sewing at my mother’s side probably around 6 or 7 years old. The interest was primarily making something out of seemingly nothing (I am learning something new). Fabric that was flat and pretty could turn into stuffed animals, playtime balls for kids. It was truly amazing.
And then later on fabric could turn into clothing. The best of all. I wanted party clothes. So I sewed different items of clothing to sell so I could buy to buy more fabric to make my own clothes. My sister got into the act as well and inveigled me to sew clothes for her. No biggie. Practice makes perfect. And it gave me a great sense of pride to see her strut out of the house in something I had made or helped make for her.
Many sewings later, I was making clothes for my then boyfriend and now husband. Soft furnishings for my home, clothes for the kids including their play clothes, pyjamas, bathing suits. It never stopped. Until one day my job, taking care of the kids, managing the household, and sometimes looking after myself all got in the way of my passion for sewing.
Fast forward to retirement. And I am back in front of my sewing machine, but this time sewing quilts. Oh my word!. The joy of creating something out of seemingly nothing has returned. At a level that I never imagined.
But the best part is that after 3 years of YouTubing, I was lucky enough to attend a quilt retreat in Missouri. And that’s probably the only reason to go to Missouri. To quilt with others who love the art form as much as you do.
My primary intention was to better my machine quilting technique. So I signed up with a retreat from the renowned Angela Walters. But if I may, let’s just take one tiny step back to acknowledge the wonderful world of YouTube. Oh my word. I started following the greats in the world of quilting – Jenny Doan from Missouri Star Quilt Company (#missouristartquiltco) for her easy-to-follow quilt pattern tutorials and Angela herself (#quiltingismytherapy) who made machine quilting look so easy and gave me the confidence to try my hand at it. Making the quilt an actually quilting it.
Not having the support locally in a tropical country where quilts are seen primarily as cheaply made bedspreads from Walmart, I felt and still feel alone in the industry. But I am slowly but surely making my way.
So now let’s get back to the retreat. A very kind and much wanted birthday gift from my husband, I headed to Missouri for my first ever quilt retreat. Missouri. Not your everyday destination, known if at all, primarily for cattle farming and quilting. Pretty small town country living as I know it anyway. And as I was to learn very quickly, filled with kind, generous, easy going people.
I was made to feel at home from the time I jumped into the Uber at the airport to the time I left. Easy to talk to. Willing to please. Making everyone feel at home. Hospitality at its best.
Angela, realising that I had come totally un-prepared for the retreat experience, shifted gears immediately and opened her personal sewing machine and quilting space for me to do what I had come there to do. I had come to learn the techniques of machine quilting. Unbeknownst to me the retreat was primarily about getting together and piecing a project with like-minded quilters. Chit chatting, learning from each other, spending time in your own space. Angela willingly offered me her time and experience helping me to quilt the project I had come prepared to quilt, including others in the retreat who wanted to learn a thing or two. She did not bat an eyelid. And the hospitality was laid on thick, without hesitation. Down to the last moment when we discussed together how to finish the quilt.
I’m not sure I am making myself clear on this special attention I received from one of my gurus. But I was on top of the world.
This was a 3 day trip. Close enough to my other quilting guru, but without transportation, almost impossible to make a visit to Hamilton a reality. I had resigned myself that it would not happen and was content with my decision. Until on the first day, at dinner, while buddying up to some of the fellow quilters….
“Absolutely not. There’s no way you can come all the way here, travel so far, and not at least visit the Missouri Star Quilt Company.” I was being kindly admonished by a fellow quilter. I shrugged my shoulders. But I had no choice, or so I thought. “We are going there tomorrow.” And I jumped at the opportunity. Generosity of time, unequalled. Little did I know however that this Good Samaritan would arrange for me to me meet none other than Jenny Doan herself and her daughter-in-law, both of whom I follow avidly. I was in seventh heaven.
There was an interest, a certain type of generosity of time and spirit, and kindness that pervaded those three special days that have stayed with me in my heart and soul. That have motivated me to become the best quilter that I can possibly be in honour of those I met and spent time with.
Most of all however, it was a time spent learning a skill just for myself. It was all my time. And I sincerely cannot remember the last time I did anything that was all for me.
I will continue to quilt for as long as I can, and I hope to master the skill to the best of my ability. But I will forever take with me the memory of the kindness that was bestowed upon me.
With Angela Walters – Quilting is My TherapyWith Jenny Doan – Missouri Star Quilting Company
How does one get out of lapsing. Not having time for the things you absolutely love. Trying to get other items off the list so you can get back to your favourite pastime. Has my life returned to that awful ‘Busy’ stage. I sincerely hope not.
I am seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. But. Wait. That light is being shrouded by other projects. Projects that need to be done. But projects that are really not on my ‘Happy to be retired radar’.
My quilting is amiss. My blogging is flushed. My gardening has been relegated to watering when I can and a quick walk through my garden to cut back the dead leaves.
I have been making time for friends and family. They are the problem. Too needy. LOL. Can’t do without them though.
And on top of it all, I miss my children and grandchildren, more importantly.
Where has my retirement dream gone?
This is an SOS to all those who have been here and overcome.
Five little bottles standing on the wall. If one little bottle should accidentally fall, there’d be four little bottles standing on the wall. I used to sing this song for my children when they were small, teaching them to count. Never did I think that this would reflect my destiny.
I’ve just left Australia after 2 months of what was initially meant to be a family get together for Christmas, which somehow turned into what feels like a mass exodus of my sons. For my husband and I now return home, just the two of us. Back to empty-nesting. A stage of life which I am familiar with and treasure, but it’s the distance. Or is it much more than that?
It’s a long long way away. Approximately 26 hours of travel depending on whether I am going there or returning home. Many of us have children who live in another country. Grandchildren included. And I’m not sure why this is hitting me like a ton of bricks, but it is. I guess having two of my 3 boys settle abroad took some getting used to. My third son was always close or closer to home. But now that he has decided to join his siblings it’s almost as if I feel deserted.
The reality of what an empty nest really is has hit home. It’s hard enough leaving my grandkids behind and my sons may or may not believe this but it’s just as hard leaving them behind. For they will always be my babies. And, as I write, many stories of them growing up pass through my mind.
Like the time my two eldest decided to disguise themselves and go look for Santa’s elves incognito. Or the time my youngest found a nest of snakes and decided to bring them home as pets. When Josh fell into the bougainvillea bushes. Or Xander was taken away in the elevator and I ran a flight of stairs like a mad mother to catch him on the next floor. Watching Ben pace up and down begging God to return his dog. The many camping trips. Their first steps. Their first day at school. Their many firsts. Waving them goodbye with my eldest driving them to school. The tears, the laughter, the love, the growing pains. The anxiety. The sleepless nights. The prayers.
And yet there is a great sense of pride knowing that they have grown into descent human beings, in spite of the many mistakes I’ve made as a parent. Loving, attentive husbands and supportive, adoring fathers, surrounded by a group of people who are happy to call them friend, husband, Dad, son-in-law. I have so much to be grateful for. And yet the tears flow, my heart breaks and I yearn to be with them again.
You never know what life has in store for you. So be grateful. Enjoy the little things in life for as you grow older and wiser, you will realise that those little things were, in fact, the big things.
Just a little over a year ago I left my grandchildren with the heaviest of hearts. There was just not enough time to share my love with them. And now one year later, the departure is no less heart wrenching.
I can’t complain though. 2022 was amazing. With two visits to Aussie and a Christmas season shared with all at home. I will never complain. But leaving is always the hardest part. The cuddles become sweeter. The laughs become louder. The moments more precious.
Solomon is now 4. He is, for all intents and purposes, a big boy. He is a loving big brother. His cousins adore him. He is gentle and kind, most of the time. Conversations vary from little boy to almost teenager. But there is always a conversation and he more often than not starts with – “Grandma, did you know….?” sharing his 4-year old wisdom whenever he can. His obsession with Super heroes is beyond. “You want to come visit my superhero house Grandma?” Of course I answered. “But just know Grandma that it always snows on Fridays.” “Well I’ll have to bring my warm jacket.” I reply. “Not to worry Grandma,” he consoles. “I have warm clothes for 80-year olds……” “What about 40-year olds,” I counter. “Yes Grandma all ages. Not to worry.” I frown. 80 year olds? Well really.
Solomon – loving big brother and cousin
Wyatt is 3. Learning to be a big brother. Always busy and still can’t keep still for long. Doesn’t know how to walk from A to B. Must run. Easily distracted unless it involves cars, planes or trains – a worrisome characteristic when learning to ride his bike, looking all over the place except ahead of him. Loves to help in the garden except when he stumbles upon his water gun and must squirt everything in sight. Loves the ocean as he calls it, running into the waves and toppling over, bubbling up in peals of laughter. Not good for grandparents. Thankfully he knows how to swim. His cuddles, when he decides to share them, warm your heart. And you don’t want to let go.
Wyatt – always on the move
Julius is 2 going on 12. Talks non-stop. Not needing any response really. Full sentences with an accent that takes some time getting accustomed to. “Where dis come from?” is his favourite question with a hint of Trini lingo. “Shops!” is the go-to answer. And of course, the age-old question of ‘Why?’. He is learning to love the water, but it can’t be too cold. “I want to cuddle you” jerks at your heart but you soon learn that it usually gets him off the ground and from A to B very easily. But you don’t care. A cuddle is a cuddle. He has a mischievous streak. A smile that melts ice. Determined with no fear.
Julius – thinks he is a big boy always with a story to tell
Then there is our Thea Molly Rose – almost 7 months. Our newest angel. Our first granddaughter and the first girl in the family. She has captured our hearts with her open smile, quiet nature (for now) and her delicious thunder thighs. She is quietened by Solomon and excited by her brother, Wyatt who makes her laugh at the slightest action. She loves hugs and kisses, probably because she can’t yet dodge them on her own. And I have this feeling that she will rule her brother and cousins with the wave of a finger. Time will tell.
Thea – our newest angel
Their laughter. Their stories. Their different personalities keep you on your toes. Your heart swells with each look, each smile, each cuddle, each small hand slipped into yours. Each time you hear them utter the word, ‘Grandma’. And you can’t tear yourself away. But you must.
Until next time my angels.
Grandma loves you to the planets and back, over and over and over again.
They may hold my hand for a little while, but they will forever hold my heart.
Driving home last night after what turned out to be a lovely birthday celebration of dinner and cocktails at sunset – well what was supposed to be a sunset – we were greeted with the beginnings of very stormy weather. Dark ominous clouds, thunder and lightening. Weather that had been forecast a few days prior. But we went anyway.
I was sitting in the front of the vehicle with my son. And I sighed at the rain. Something I don’t usually do. I love the rain and all the good that it brings. Pondering this time however what it might mean for the first week of the New Year.
“Rain brings new growth Mum.” And I smiled in relief. And some tears of gratitude for my many blessings.
And so I begin the New Year with promises of new growth. With an open mind and open arms. To whatever life may throw at me. Knowing that even though dark clouds may threaten, there will always be the proverbial silver lining. I just need to look for it.
It’s been a while since I’ve made any New Year resolutions. Primarily because I always seem to loose the moment the New Year begins. I forget. I change my mind. I simply can’t keep it up. Whatever it may have been. My resolutions became something I thought I wanted to do and never did. And as such I spent the year kicking myself for not being able to achieve what I thought were non-complex goals.
In 2023 however I made a simple commitment. In April. One that I felt I could keep. One that resonated with who I was and who I wanted to be. I committed to being true to myself.
Some may disagree and I would sincerely appreciate the feedback whether or not I have succeeded. But at that moment in my life I decided point blank that I was working too hard to please everyone else. I had lost who I was.
I had a lingering memory of this fun-loving teenager and I wanted to be her once again. She loved life. She laughed a lot. She feared nothing. She could do anything she set her mind to. And she revelled in the security of the love of family.
So what had changed. I had a life to love. My sense of humour still prevailed. There was nothing to stop me from doing what I wanted to do. And Lord knows my family have never left my side. But I had lost my way. I let myself be swayed by the expectations of a society that I didn’t really want to be a part of. A society that wanted me to conform to their norms. To look like them. To be like them. And I was finding it hard to keep up for my aspirations no longer conformed. I no longer wanted to be like them. I was not one of them. And never would be.
With that revelation, I forgave myself all wrongdoings and moved on. Just like that. Almost like an epiphany. And just like that she returned. Slowly. One step at a time. One sweet laugh at a time. One small accomplishment at a time.
She was no longer a teenager. Lord knows she doesn’t look like one. But her heart and soul feel the energy and passion of a teenager. Her years though have taught her when to say ‘enough’ and move on. How to love with all your heart and be loved. How to be true to yourself.
The journey continues. My commitment remains strong. And I look forward to new growth, new love, new beginnings.
Happy New Year to everyone. May you find your true self. May you live your true life. May you be uplifted by the love of your family and friends.
I have been absent from my blog for a few months this year. For those of you who may have noticed and missed my musings, thanks for following me. The truth is that I’ve been preoccupied with life. Not the cliché ‘busy’ but ‘preoccupied’. And intentionally so.
There is a difference between being ‘busy’ and being ‘preoccupied’ – in my mind anyway. ‘Busy’ is what I was during my working years. What seemed like a million things to do to get through a day’s work, at the same time keeping up with my other responsibilities as a home-owner, wife, mother – and let’s not forget sneaking in some time for myself and trying to remain true to my family and friends. It was indeed a busy life. And as much as I enjoyed this former life which has afforded me many satisfying moments, and luxuries – and still does mind you – I can safely say that my retired life is second to none. One that is well-deserved and well-timed, if I may say so myself.
For you see I now preoccupy myself with what matters most to me. Time for myself, my family and my friends. A better place to be when whatever you do is a conscious decision based on the value it brings to you and those who are important to you. You now begin to focus on building memories leaving the ‘things’ you felt you absolutely needed behind. You now engross yourself in activities which nurture your inner creativity and bring you inner joy. You learn how to say ‘enough’ and walk away, peacefully. You learn how to ‘let go’ even though your heart is torn, but knowing that you’ve done your best. Believing that it will all work out in its own time.
My blog writing may have taken a dive, but I still take time to share my thoughts in other avenues. I’ve enrolled in the University of YouTube and delve into the making of anything a sewing machine can do. I’ve rekindled some friendships and made new ones and probably due to a natural expiration date may have let some go. I’ve quietened my voice so that I can listen more and in so doing find that I understand more. In essence I continue to be a work in progress, even at this stage of my life for I realize that there is so much more that I can be, that I want to be.
And my blessings abound. As I sit and write, the squealing voices of my grandchildren in the background fill my heart to overflowing with love. The pitter patter of rain falling on the roof lulls me to a semi-conscious state of peace knowing that the garden is enjoying a much needed gentle soaking. I am reminded of so many great moments this year – from the spur of moment visit to friends near and far for a catch up, to cycling to the end of the earth with my one and only. From siblings hot-dog nights, to camper-van exploring with my kids. From sitting staring at the ocean to trekking through the forest feasting my eyes and my soul on some of the most beautiful waterfalls. To just sitting still.
To understand and accept that life is what you make it, that happiness comes from within and every moment counts. These are the clichés I aspire to embody.
Merry Christmas to you and your family. May your heart be filled with love. May you be at peace.
This is a brief simple recap of the relationship I shared with my mother-in-law who recently passed away. It is not meant to recount her many idiosyncrasies. It is not meant to expound her many wonderful and sometimes crazy traits nor remember her many quips which most find so endearing.
It is simply sharing another side of Roses that only a few chosen ones have been fortunate enough to experience. The in-law side.
My first introduction to Roses was facing her straight on from the back, her rear end pointed to the heavens as she doubled over on the floor in a desperate effort to relieve some ‘gas’. It was not a pretty sight. There are some things in life that you just can’t un-see. I stood still and remained silent. I wanted to run, but Roger my now husband, was holding my hand very tightly in a desperate effort to keep me there. She eventually jumped up, laughed her infectious ‘ha ha’ laugh, her blue eyes twinkling as they always did, and we moved on as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
And therein began a very open, no frills, no fuss, nothing to hide, take it or leave it type of relationship, with the woman who was to make a huge impression on my life and the life of my three sons.
Mothers-in-law have always had a bad rap, especially if you marry the first-born male. They are interfering, pushy, want to tell you how to take care of their ‘baby’, treat you as if you know nothing, and generally make your life a living hell. Or so I was warned. But he was so cute, I took my chances and waited, ready and armed for battle.
Well that battle never happened. Instead I was faced with a mother-in-law and father-in-law mind you, who were both so happy that I relieved them of their son, that I sometimes felt that I could do no wrong. On our 10th wedding anniversary Roses with her very mischievous sense of humor, presented me with a medal, laughing her ‘ha ha’ laugh, twinkling her blue eyes.
She never interfered, well not that I noticed anyway. She was always ready with advice when asked, generous of her time and love, and knew exactly when to appear, like magic, to show her support in whatever way needed. My boys loved her. Alexander, my second in particular, as he was the one who spent a few years at home before moving on his own, loved to visit his grandmother. She made him feel at home. They shared their stories and more often than not a drink or two. He was always welcome.
Each of my boys felt special. As I am sure all of her grandchildren did.
I learnt how to be a good mother-in-law from Roses. Well, the truth is that I learnt what a good mother-in-law looks like anyway. She made it seem so easy but in essence it’s a hard act to follow.
At her last moments, I thanked her for putting up with me. For never making me feel inadequate. For always making me feel like family.
Here’s to you Roses. May you rest in eternal peace.
It’s been a long time coming my visit to Madeira. The fascination began many years ago when I learned that my great great grandfather left the island towards the beginning of the 20th century in search of more peaceful lands due to religious persecution by the Catholic clergy of Funchal. It always seemed like a fairy tale imagining him escaping in the dark of the night aboard a pirate ship huddled with his family seeking a new life in the far off Caribbean. Landing on the rich soil of Trinidad and Tobago, happy at last to be able to build a future for his family. A child’s imagination for sure, but one which has stayed with me.
In one word Madeira is enchanting. It has been described as “an oasis of green in the Atlantic Ocean”. Its spring-like climate and rich soil are indeed the major ingredients for the lush environment across the island. Its flora is very similar to the Caribbean and yet everything grows in a more prolific manner. Even though it is located in what seems like in the middle of the ocean with a meagre size of 55k x 22k, Madeira is not in harm’s way of major weather systems.
According to Tom Mullen ‘Madeira is an oddly unique geographical and cultural blip—a rich little universe of rough mountains and lush slopes slapped by Atlantic breakers off the coast of Africa.’ A more apt description I could not find.
The people are proud of their island and over the years primarily through necessity, have created easy access to some of the most challenging and awe-inspiring treks through its lush mountains. Centuries ago its people would spend days sometimes weeks crossing the mountains to visit family and friends and in some instances earn a living. Now with the construction of tunnels upon tunnels, connection between the four points of the island is no longer a deterrent.
Simply put though the place is a small paradise. The people are warm and inviting. Yes it is a tourist destination particularly popular with the British, but apart from the different languages being spoken in the streets indicating the presence of foreigners, you feel yourself one with the culture and slip into this peaceful easy life the locals treasure.
We took the opportunity to explore the island by car and by foot, touring the northwestern tip of the island through the forests, dipping in the ocean and exploring the tropical gardens at the top of the mountain. Trekking the Pico de Areeiro has to have been the highlight of our visit. Words nor pictures can fully capture its beauty. The experience of walking along the 5ft wide trails at the top of the mountain shrouded in the clouds with views of hills and valleys on either side, stepping gently through dark tunnels, walking along the 3ft ledges at the edge of the mountain, traversing the peaks at 1800m. Challenging, exhilarating, mind-blowing – just some of the adjectives that come to mind.
Oh gosh let’s not talk about the food. Seafood of all sorts. I’ve fallen in love with Risotto. I can’t say I love the Madeira wine, but Portuguese red, white and verde – oh my word.
We spent a mere 4 days. I fell in love with my motherland. I am a proud descendant. I left reluctantly with memories that will last a lifetime.
Trekking to Pico AreeiroCoastal viewsFanal ForestMonte Palace Tropical Gardens
Explore with me 