All Six Senses

     Seated with both my grandchildren for an after-school snack at my kitchen table, they filled me in on their day. It was Friday afternoon and their parents were at the vet with Gully, the family's elderly chocolate lab. At 14.5 years of age (or using a common rule of thumb, 101 in human years, as my grandson is always quick to point out), his health appeared to be failing and the family was a little anxious about what the results of that appointment would bring.

     While we three chatted about this and that, their pet was clearly on my grandson's mind. Midway through his sister's detailed description of her library book's plot, he turned to me and said that Gully only had four senses left. When I asked him to elaborate, he told me that their dog could not see or hear, and left it at that. I was a little confused by his math, thinking five minus two equals three. This six year old enjoys solving number problems in his mind, so a simple equation like this would be very easy for him. However, I didn't question him any further since his sister had already launched into another anecdote she wanted to share.

     It wasn't until the following morning, while running in the canyon, that it hit me.  A few weeks earlier, the three of us had been talking about the sixth sense. A conversation about how valuable it is but often overlooked in our culture when we consider all our senses. It seems he had factored this in when referring to his dog's remaining faculties - Gully may be deaf and blind, but according to my grandson, along with taste, touch, and smell, his sixth sense seems to be going strong. And as the vet later reported, he is one of the healthiest old labs she's ever seen, giving this family one more Thanksgiving together. 

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Life, Love, and Loss

     While practicing yoga in my She Shed this morning, I acknowledged the beauty of the rainy weather visible through the glass door, as I reflected on the intense ups and downs of this past week. A roller coaster of emotions to process on the mat.
     It began Monday morning, with a call informing me that my brother had been admitted to hospital due to suspected heart attack symptoms. I spent the day sending both him and his wife loving energy, knowing that whatever transpired in there, it would be without the support of any visitors at all.
     Tuesday, I received an encouraging update on his health, along with the good news that a procedure had been scheduled. Then, deciding I needed a hit of grandkids, I hopped on my bike with coffee tumbler in hand, to my older daughter's home for an outdoor visit, all of us maintaining our two metre spacing.
     Wednesday, a COVID wedding with five of us present and physically distancing, of course.  No matter how big or small, officiating wedding ceremonies always brings me joy. Then later in the day, a treasured conversation with my younger daughter, hearing about her rich metaphysical experiences.
     Thursday morning, a message from my brother that he was feeling good and going home. A huge sense of relief. Then after lunch, I walked down to the village to tie a bouquet to my mother's memorial bench so that it would be in place for the following day's anniversary of her death. 
     Friday, I enjoyed a morning forest walk with my husband, reminiscing about my mom and thinking about how much I wished she could still be part of our lives. Then after our lunch, the two of us drove out to the valley for an overdue visit with my brother and his wife, during which we chatted for over four hours, seated around their backyard fire pit. So grateful for the chance to see them in person.  
     Saturday afternoon, I had the immerse pleasure of officiating two more weddings, both outdoors under dry skies.
     And then, Sunday. With three outdoor weddings scheduled, it would be a full day. After the first one, I had a couple of hours free, so I returned a missed call from a young friend. Sadly, I was informed that Kelly's dad had died unexpectedly, on Friday evening. My heart immediately went out to his family in particular, now thrust once again into that painful state of the newly grieving. I had the honour of being the celebrant at his marriage. Now, less than four years later, he has returned to the in-between, reunited with his daughter.
     A few hours later, after returning home from the third wedding, I sat down to relax with a glass of wine. Scrolling through social media, I saw the article that I knew my husband had recently been interviewed for by the local paper. Well written, it was primarily about my husband's sense of humour as expressed on the sign mounted outside his business here in our community. However, partway through, still within the context of the story, there was reference made to Mike and Kelly's deaths. So of course, the tears started flowing.
     A week filled with deeply emotional experiences of life, love, and death. All clear reminders of what really matters.
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Image credit: Gordon Johnson, Pixabay

Perfect Gift of Flowers

 

     Another timely gift from the universe ... last year chocolates, this year flowers.  A few days ago, while still on vacation, I was notified that I had won a gift certificate for a bouquet from a florist located in Lonsdale Quay.  I have won many, many prizes over the years but never flowers. Knowing that I would be stopping by the Quay on the anniversary of Michael's death to purchase our fajita dinner fixings, I decided I'd pick up the flowers as well, to add a burst of colour to our evening.

     So there I was, home from our holiday, admiring all the gorgeous bouquets this morning. Glancing over, I noticed the owner leaning on the counter of her small shop, reading the back of a postcard. I finally chose the bouquet shown above because of the vibrant yellows and oranges, as well as the fact that it included some light orange blossoms that looked airy and delicate, as if they were floating. When I approached her with it, she stopped reading and mentioned that she had just received a beautiful message. I could see that she was moved by it and glancing down, noticed the writer had included a hand drawn heart. I told her I was not in any hurry and suggested she read it aloud if she felt comfortable with that. She did and it was a loving note of gratitude from a young woman who had stopped in a few weeks earlier. The shopkeeper explained that the woman had wanted to purchase one rose.  She went on to say that she had wrapped it up, handed it to her and told her it would be a gift, no charge. The young woman expressed her gratitude and explained it was the six month anniversary of the death of her baby boy. 

     After listening to the story, I thanked her for sharing and then went on to explain how extremely grateful I was for this bouquet, especially today, because I was marking the anniversary of my son's death. She nodded, then pointed to the light orange blossoms and told me they were called Butterfly Ranunculus.  I had not mentioned my attraction to these flowers but somehow, she knew.  It wasn't lost on me that the analogy of a caterpillar transforming into a butterfly is often referenced in a eulogy. In fact, my long time friend who had written Mike's, included this - "We are like caterpillars who cry over the empty cocoon of their brother. Confused and afraid, they call out his name because they cannot see him in his new magnificence."  

     A short but deeply moving interaction in a tiny floral shop that lifted my spirits and provided me with another powerful hit of heartfelt connection to my community. Synchronicity at its finest. 

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Precious Birthday Connections

     Early January marks three significant birthdays of people very dear to me (two now in pure spirit form and one here on Earth) - my mother's on the 4th, my son's on the 8th and a close friend's is on the 9th. Last year's incredible display of spirit energy related to these birthdays will be hard to beat. 
     On the morning of January 5th, 2019, I tied a bouquet of flowers to my mother's memorial bench in Edgemont Village as a belated acknowledgement of her birthday. I then strolled over to one of my favourite home decor shops, a fixture in this community for 30 years, run by a mother/daughter team. While driving by the shop the previous day, I had decided I would buy my close friend a gift card from here which I would pop in the mail for her birthday. As the daughter (who happened to attend high school with Michael) rang in my purchase, her mother asked me for the name of the recipient so that she could personalize the card with calligraphy. While she was putting the finishing touches on the present with cello wrap and ribbons, I began telling her that the gift was for my friend of over 40 years. Midway through, something caused her to freeze. A moment later, she proceeded to tell me what had happened to her shortly before leaving home that morning. She had been standing near her husband's computer area, looking up at the huge bookshelf filled to the brim with books. All of a sudden one of the books fell off the shelf and landed right in her hands. She immediately recognized it as my book, Diary of an Intuitive, wrapped in its protective cello sleeve. She mentioned that she hadn't looked at it for a few years and couldn't figure out why it had fallen. Then, as she continued telling me the story, she put two and two together and told me it had been my son. Being intuitive and sensitive to spirit energy, she realized why that particular book and why that morning.
      Then it was my turn to share details with her that would flesh out the entire experience. I explained that I had just come from my mother's memorial bench whose birthday was the day before, that Michael's birthday would be in three days time, and that my good friend, who was extremely close to Michael and celebrating her birthday the day after his, would for the very first time be missing our family birthday celebration at The Old Spaghetti Factory in Michael's honour. She had also edited my book. For the shopkeeper to share her experience with me made my day, filling my heart to near bursting, and gave me something precious to reflect upon for years to come.
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Photo credit: Bruno Glaetsch