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We are living in difficult times. No doubt about that.

We can often slip into traps of thinking and focusing on what we cannot do. Sometimes we feel stuck in the NOT instead of in the CAN.

Don’t get me wrong, there are times when we need to wallow a little. Times when we need to sit in the muck and mire. But we can’t and shouldn’t unpack there.

Yesterday I was working in my office and I needed to answer the call of nature. I sanitized my hands, took a sanitizing wipe with me and went downstairs. I opened the door to the daycare and said “Good Morning!” Every child stopped, smiled and said hello or waved.

I used the bathroom, and when I came out a little bossy girl (reminds me of myself) asked if I wanted to help her put the lunch bags away. She didn’t give me an opportunity refuse. She put two at my feet and said “this way”. I followed her with the lunch bags, then she told me which ones belonged to which child. There was a specific place for each lunch bag in the fridge, and only she knew the order. I’d been having a frustrating day before I went downstairs. After she had put me to work, and declared “good job” when I handed her the second lunch bag and closed the refrigerator door, I came back upstairs with a smile on my face.

In the last two weeks I’ve celebrated two of the major sacraments of the Church, baptism and marriage.

At first glance it would appear that neither of these should be possible in these difficult times. And yet, all parties involved with both events were determined they would happen, within the protocols we have been observing.

The baptism happened. It was a small and joyous occasion, with a ten month old baby baptised at the font where her father, auntie and Grandmother were baptised. A small gathering of 11 people, each keeping in bubbles of 2 or 3. Everyone wore masks. And I am certain all who attended will always remember that beautiful moment in extraordinary circumstances.

The wedding happened. It, too was a small and joyous affair, with a beautiful young couple who have already been through more than their fair share of heartache. The bride was married in the Church where her parents were married and where her Grandmother is one of the matriarchs. Everyone, save for the bride and groom, wore masks. And I am certain all who attended will always remember that beautiful moment in extraordinary circumstances.

I read an article where a group of national leaders in the global Anglican Church were gathered over two days by Zoom. They heard from a number of medical personnel, as well as social workers, psychiatrists and epidemiologists. Dr. Michael Ryan of the World Health Organization said “epidemics are about communities. Communities stop epidemics.”

We have been in this liminal state for eight months. And we will remain in this state for a long time yet. Too long to try and measure now, or it will seem defeating.

Instead let us prepare for the coming of Jesus. Imagine his parents preparing to take a journey, on foot, of approximately seven days, only to discover there was no bed for them as the awaited the birth of this extraordinary baby.

Let us make our measurements small. An hour, a day, a week at a time.

Let us be extravagant in our patience and extraordinary in our kindness.

We may not all be in the same boat, but we are all in similar storms.

Amen.

Today is the 11th of November. It’s Remembrance Day. I woke up this morning with bright sun shining off the snow that fell yesterday, and I felt numb. That’s been a common sensation lately. There’s part of me that wants to rage and weep, to cry and scream, to shout and curse, and yet I’m unable to do any of those things.

I got dressed very warm to go to the Cemetery Cenotaph today. Usually I’m in full Legion Uniform with a black wool funeral cope, a black beret and black gloves. Today I dressed in long underwear, a pair of black tights, a long sleeved white top, cassock and surplice, two pairs of socks, funeral cope, beret and gloves. Poppy and mask.

My friend and neighbour drove me to the Cemetery and we arrived to see a swath of snow removed to make a walk-way for those who would be laying wreaths. The Communications person for the local Legion branch was there with her iPad and iPhone ready to record and broadcast the service. A reporter from our weekly paper was also there.

I chatted with the lady who was giving a speech this year. She does every year and she is truly gifted in her ability to write. We saw flashing lights from the corner of our eyes and the motorcade had begun. Firefighters in the first two vehicles, then about a dozen vehicles, with the RCMP bringing up the rear, also with lights flashing. It was a mesmerizing sight.

People exited their vehicles, everyone was masked, most in uniforms of various descriptions. A veteran from each branch of the service stood at the head or foot of a soldier’s grave. Once we were all in place, our soloist began with O Canada, his baritone voice clear and rich. He sang our national anthem the way I have become accustomed, half in English and half in French. There was a moment of silence then the bugle recording sounded the last post. We observed two minutes of silence, a recording of a piper played a lament, then reveille was sounded.

In the distance the Church bell rung, indicating it was 11:00 a.m. We began a little early, but I don’t think anyone noticed. I heard my name called and I went to the podium and read from Micah 4.1-5 and a prayer I wrote yesterday. Then I put my mask back on and walked back to where I had been standing.

Jennifer read her speech and it was awesome. She had researched some of the soldiers buried in the veteran’s section of the cemetery. She reflected on what their funerals would have resembled, with a horse-drawn hearse. She spoke of the brave, the survivors, those who returned injured and broken. She named PTSD and the respect all of our soldiers deserve, from yesterday, today and into tomorrow.

Then it was time for the wreaths to be laid. As the names were being read out a flock of birds began to sing and fly. I don’t know what kind of birds they were, but they were beautiful framed against the grey sky. It was overcast so we couldn’t see the Three Sisters (mountains) but they had been described in Jennifer’s speech and those of us who have lived in this valley for awhile have all seen them.

From where I stood I saw young veterans whose memories of Afghanistan are still fresh. I saw old veterans whose memories of peace keeping and of active service were just beneath the surface of their eyes. There were firefighters, both professional and volunteer. Conservation officers and regional and local personnel. The Silver Cross Mother laid her wreath first and when she removed the poppy from her lapel, kissed it through her mask and pinned it to the wreath, I counted 8 other poppies.

In all about 18 wreaths were laid, and then it was time to sing God Save the Queen and depart. Our soloist, Karl, sang two verses of the song. We sang along with verse one, but he lost us in the second verse. I hummed beneath my mask. He turned suddenly when he’d finished the second verse and Jennifer smiled, thanked everyone for coming then Oscar told everyone to return to their cars, and follow one another out of the cemetery. Apparently Karl had forgotten the third verse of God Save the Queen and was upset about that. I told him I didn’t realize there WAS a third verse to God Save the Queen. He head learned it for today.

A couple of veterans came over to say hello as we headed back to our vehicles. We lamented that we couldn’t go to Rocky Mountain Village for the brief service we do each year, but we all understand why. Hopefully next year.

As the wreaths were being laid, I thought back on the days when I was in my 20’s and I’d take the day off work to be in the Colour Party for the Legion, then go back to the branch and bartend for a few hours. None of the men and women I marched with are still alive, as they were in their 60’s and 70’s back then. I’m in my 50’s now.

Jennifer and her husband drove me home and I came in, got out of my formal clothes, pulled on my favourite house socks and did some work. About 3:00 pm I decided my work day was over and I found the movie Passchendaele. I had not watched it before. I’m glad I watched it today.

This was a Remembrance Day unlike any other I’ve experienced. And one I will remember forever.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old.

Age shall not weary them, nor the year’s condemn.

At the going down of the sun, and in the morning,

We will remember them. We WILL remember them.

I’m having the kind of week where it seems I’ve forgotten to recharge my brain and the battery is in the red zone. Every time I leave my flat I make at least one visit back because I’ve forgotten my keys, my purse, my mask or the list of things I need because without it, I’ll invariably forget. Ugh.

We have entered the season of Remembrance. On Sunday we celebrated All Saints Day. At the conclusion of service I switched on a battery powered candle and wrote down the names of those who have died since November 2019. That candle continued to “burn” until this morning.

Last night we had our first “virtual” All Soul’s Service for those who have sustained a death or are simply needing a place to come together and grieve. I lit 30 candles, as that was the number of names I had for those who died recently, and those for whom we had been asked to remember.

The service usually contains a time for individual prayer with anointing and Eucharist. We could not have the full service in Church because it would be longer than the recommended 40 minutes. We are not allowed to touch, so anointing would be out of the question. And online Eucharist is not yet been approved in the Anglican Diocese where I practice my ministry.

So the online service ended up being about 20 minutes, but it also gave us an opportunity to speak to each other.

I’m feeling irritated today, like I can’t focus on the work I need to get done. Part of it, I’m certain, relates to being an empath and feeling other people’s grief and sorrow.

But I suspect part of it is feeling folk’s anxiety about the U.S. Presidential election. I’ve intentionally not listened to any news outlets today. I’ve received multiple emails from different sources reminding me I can “tune in live” to hear the results of the Presidential election. But I’m not going to.

I am going to relight the candles I used last night and sit with them, reading, perhaps journaling, until they extinguish, then I’ll likely go to bed.

The reality is, I’m weary, as I was in my last posting. I slept a lot yesterday and it helped, but I need more.

My flat is a mess, my housework is accumulating, but honestly, I can’t be arsed. I know I’ll get the gumption back up at some point to get it all done. But likely, it won’t be today. And it may not be tomorrow.

I’m going to make a list of things that must be done, as far as worship, the baptism on Saturday, meetings that I must attend this week. And the rest will wait so I can rest.

I have a feeling I’m going to feel irritated until I return my home to order, but right now, sleep and rest is more important than irritation.

I feel that right now I should come with a warning sign “Beware, she’s irritable. Approach with caution”. Or something like that.

But I’ll get there. I always do. (shrug)

Weary…

I’m not sure if it’s COVID-19 fatigue, if it’s mental exhaustion, if it’s too many hours in front of a screen, if it’s too little hours asleep, if it’s a CFS/ME flare or just what it is…but I’m weary.

I talked to my counsellor two weeks ago and she asked how I was doing. I default to talking about work, and she always steers me back to how I am doing, outside my vocation. Outside the busy-ness of my life. And I told her I was exhausted. And she gave me the BEST advice.

You see, many of my colleagues, from both denominations, talk about being outside and active. They talk about hiking and boating, of running and kayaking…and I have difficulty finding the energy to shower. My get up and go has got up and gone.

My counsellor told me I need to rest. I need to sleep. I need to listen to my body and when my body tells me to rest, that’s what I need to do. And to stop comparing myself to my colleagues. Also excellent advice.

I’m an empath. It’s difficult to live into this reality when we are not in a time of pandemic. Besides feeling my own “stuff”, being an empath means I feel other peoples “stuff” too. In the last month I’ve had four funerals (three of them in 10 days), and many of them were very challenging.

I learned today of the death of a colleague by suicide and it broke me open. Many of the people I am in contact with in this small community I call home are struggling with mental exhaustion. A colleague framed it this way…he said mental illness is something that can be treated, while mental exhaustion is something completely different. It is something for which there is no cure or fix. And that’s exactly what I’m feeling.

I’m planning a week’s retreat time at the end of November where I’ll escape to the magical place of Away. Vinnie has been interviewing sitters and he’s found a lovely young lady (and her Mum) to order around while I’m away.

My flat is a mess. I have chores to do. And usually these chores would be done in a couple of hours. But it takes me days to do what I could do in little time. I will get it done, because I do not do well in chaos.

Tomorrow I have another appointment with my counsellor which I know will be good. And tomorrow night I’m attending a COVID compliant community event that I’ve been really looking forward to. And that means I will need to rest myself during the day so I can function to make it to the event.

These times are challenging. They are downright exhausting. But I’ll get through them. Because even though I’m weary, I’m hopeful.

And that’s got to be worth something, right?

I’ve been interested in zero-waste living for a while now. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go completely zero-waste, yet I am making strides. One of the first things I switched over from was from plastic to bamboo toothbrushes. I used to have a subscription which delivered a new toothbrush to me every two months. Then I started figuring out how much pollution was being caused with a single toothbrush shipped every two months, as opposed to ordering six toothbrushes at a time…a year’s worth, if you will. The other day I came across bamboo toothbrushes with removable heads. That needs more investigation…

Today I took my last plastic bottle of laundry detergent to the Transfer Station for recycling. I’ve got some pods to use and then I’ll be starting laundry “strips” which are organic paper-like matter that you throw into the washing machine with your clothes and voila! I’ve been using wool dryer-balls for awhile, and I love them.

My goal is to reduce single-use plastics from my home as much as possible. With COVID-19, it’s a little bit difficult because we aren’t yet allowed to use reusable produce bags at the grocers. A benefit though, is I use the disposable produce bags when I go to the gas station.

A few months back, I switched to shampoo and conditioner bars and they are amazing. I’ve switched out body wash for artisanal soap. When I finish up the remaining face wash I’ll switch to using bar soap on my face.

This week I ordered zero-waste deodorant. It’s called “No Pong”. The name itself made me laugh out loud. The skin under my arms is very sensitive and reacts easily. I’m hoping this deodorant that I apply with my fingers will do the trick.

So now, instead of a bunch of bottles in the bathroom, I have one. Face wash. The rest are all bars. Soap, shampoo and conditioner. The razor I currently use is a metal and plastic handle with a removable/replaceable head. I don’t know that I will be able to handle a Wilkinson-style razor with razor blade…my hands shake and my balance is bad, I don’t want to inadvertently cut an artery.

In the kitchen, my storage plastics have been replaced (as they lived out their life expectancy) with glass bowls and silicone lids. I just bought a microwave popper to keep excess packaging out of the landfill/transfer station.

I use beeswax cloths instead of plastic wrap. I buy milk in glass bottles. I’m going to buy juice in a frozen concentrate rather than a plastic bottle. I use parchment paper instead of aluminum foil whenever I can.

Toothpaste. I’ve tried tooth tabs before and I can’t stand the gritty sensation. I’m not a fan of carbon toothpaste and am looking for tooth powder that is healthy for my teeth and gums and zero-waste. I don’t love brushing my teeth, so I need something that doesn’t suck…and doesn’t taste like garbage.

My cat’s litter is made from a recycled corn byproduct which makes it biodegradable. I’m still putting it in plastic bags to get it to the garbage, but I’ll figure out something to address that.

I buy pop in cans instead of plastic bottles when I’m traveling, or better yet, I bring a reusable water bottle. Again, with COVID-19, where I would bring a re-usable mug when I bought tea, they aren’t permitted currently.

I used to bring my prescription bottles back to the pharmacy for re-use, but right now that’s not allowed. So I’m amassing quite a collection. I’ll find a use for them, I’m sure of it.

One step at a time. One choice at a time. One item at a time. I’m very mindful of packaging. And of shipping. I try to buy local wherever I can, or if I need to go to the next city to buy something, I’ll combine errands to save on unnecessary trips.

With everything that is going on in the world, it may seem silly or unnecessary to be concerned with single use plastics. What I do know is I can make a difference. Even though I am one person.

I have paper towels but rarely use them. I have tissues, but also have ladies handkerchiefs which I carry when I’m out. I have washable dusting cloths and cleaning cloths. I try to buy with the least amount of pollution wherever possible. The mop I use has a removeable, washable pad.

Now, I love the dishsoap I use. And I’ve used the same bottle for the past 3 years, buying refills for it. I know there are solid bars I can use for dishes, but I’m not at that point.

I no longer colour my hair. It’s not to say that I won’t ever do it again, but right now I’m enjoying watching the Artic Blonde come in. I love the silver highlights. And I’ve earned every single one of them.

When I’m out and about if I stop for a cold drink I politely refuse the straw. I have bamboo cutlery and glass straws for when I travel.

It’s not everything, but it’s something.

He’s 68 years old, roughly. He’s a redhead. With hazel eyes. He can be very loving, but only when it’s on his terms. His name is Vinny. We sleep separately yet love to cuddle together in the mornings. He’s particular about his food and when he wants it. He can get whiny and demanding. And he sheds a lot.

Oh, and he’s a cat.

I inherited him from friends of mine who are moving from British Columbia to Prince Edward Island. He doesn’t like to travel. He especially doesn’t like his canine brother. And given Vinnie’s advanced age (13) he’s getting a bit cantankerous in his dotage. Car rides are NOT his thing.

So far we are getting along well. He rubs his head against me when he wants attention. If he feels he’s not getting enough attention he’ll pat me with his white paw. Then he’ll scratch a bit. Then he’ll bite.

He meows in the morning, I think he’s demanding food. He only meows when he wants food. Other than that it’s mostly disapproving looks. And yet, somehow, he knows when I’m having a rough day and he’ll sit right beside me and will allow me to pet him. He loves being brushed, he loves to nap and he loves blankets warm out of the dryer.

He dislikes being told no. He dislikes a closed door. He dislikes when I don’t understand what he’s demanding. He also dislikes strangers. And thunder. And loud noises. And dogs. We’ve been together about a month and so far so good. We’re both still alive. I’ve got a few battle wounds and he’s been cursed at, yet we are slowly settling into a comfortable rhythm.

Kind of like an old married couple. Kind of.

Since lockdown began, I have lost and gained the same seven pounds. Well, I cannot be absolutely certain that it is the SAME seven pounds. Let’s just say they’re not far away from my body at any given time. I am walking every day. I am stretching, eating mostly good food, and spending time outside most every day.

I have tried changing what/when/how I eat. No difference.

I’ve tried intermittent fasting. No difference.

I have tried two different “eating plans”. No difference.

If I read or hear one more time that I need more “willpower” someone will get hurt.

The reality of the situation is this: I am an addict. I have very poor impulse control. I cannot eat one cookie or one potato chip. I eat them all. Maybe not in one setting, but most often. So I try not to keep junk food at home. The cravings get awful.

I have made the conscious decision not to drink alcohol. I used to love drinking alcohol. Like, REALLY enjoy drinking. And, like junk food, if I opened a bottle of wine I would drink all of it. Sometimes I’d open a second bottle. I’d buy a growler of beer. Then I’d drink most, if not all of it in short order. Then I decided I didn’t need to do this to myself…so I stopped.

When I was recovering from surgery at the beginning of the year, I was offered a glass of wine. I agreed. It tasted awful and it wasn’t the wine, it was me. I went out for dinner and ordered a beer. And again, it tasted awful. Ick. So I made the decision to stop drinking, aside from communion.

I’ve not craved alcohol since. Yay!

Before lockdown, I had significantly lessened the amount of sugar/stevia/aspartame that I consumed. I would have a small treat every now and then. I was on the way to kicking the sugar habit. And was really proud of myself.

Then lockdown happened. My grocery bills started increasing because I was determined to eat healthy foods; fresh foods. No processed food. No junk. Excellent plan, not fully realised.

The problem with being a food addict is that you cannot abstain from food. You will never hear at an Overeaters Anonymous meeting: “Hello, my name is Andrea and I’m an addict. It’s been 45 days since my last bite of food.” Food is a very social part of who we are and what we do. If we don’t eat, we die. It will take a long, harrowing time, but we will die.

Eating is a central part to the sacrament of the Eucharist. We gather to share together in the body and blood of Christ. Not literally the body and blood, but a small, round wafer and a sip of red wine. Or a cube of gluten-free bread and a Jesus-jigger of grape juice.

I say often, of the Church, that we gather at the table; either the Lord’s table or the kitchen table. Except right now we can’t. We are unable to gather in our buildings and share these expressions of sacrament and commitment, because it simply isn’t safe to do so.

In the grand scheme of things, being addicted to food isn’t the worst thing, right? Wrong. You can eat yourself to death. You can damage your body, mind and soul from eating the “wrong kinds” of food and abusing food. Many people laugh when I tell them I’m a food addict. Because it does sound funny. How can you be addicted to something that is meant to fuel your body? Impulse control…or lack thereof.

I was talking to a good friend of mine the other day and we were chatting about how I’m struggling with the food addiction. Food carries a tremendous amount of shame for me. I have difficulty eating in front of other people. When I go out to eat, which I haven’t done in a long time, I carefully manage how much I eat.

I am capable of eating mindfully, and when I do, I feel great. Yet when I am under stress I “fog eat” when I sit down to eat something and before I know it the bowl is empty, the container is empty and I have no recollection of refilling the bowl or emptying the container.

Almost immediately I feel profound shame for my lack of control. Why am I so weak and powerless to food? When I keep junk out of my house I’ll be fine for a few days to a week, and then I’ll start craving and it will be horrendous. I can’t function until I tend to the craving. I try all the tricks; drinking water, counting to 10, breathing deeply, having something as a substitute. But none of these tricks work, especially when I’m craving mashed potatoes or cheezies or chocolate cake.

Mashed potatoes are comfort food to me. I make really good mashed potatoes. And I can portion control them, most of the time. But when it comes to potato chips and sweets, I will crave and eat them until they are gone. I’ll make a list and stick to it at the grocery store. I’ll be really disciplined, I’ll be really “good” and then I find myself waiting in line…and the craving begins…just a small bag of chips. You’ve been good. Oh go on, get the big bag, you’ll have a serving and put them away. You can do it.

Except I can’t.

No matter how well I justify “earning” the treat, I cannot stop until they are gone. Not all at once, but within a 24 hour period I will continue to go back to that treat until they are all gone. More shame and self-disgust.

My friend told me, in the grand scheme of things, that overeating, at this point in time, is not necessarily a terrible thing. Yes, it’s self-soothing. Yes, it’s not ideal. But we are living in a time of heightened stress. We are living in a time which is unprecedented for most of us.

I’ve decided to keep a food journal. Not to judge myself, not to punish myself, but to see if I can find a pattern to the cravings and overeating.

So, to that seven pounds that I keep losing and gaining, I say this: “it’s been a slice. How about you go away and stay away? I have no further need of you.”

If only it were that easy…

Wish me luck. Imma need it.

My body is angry. I ache everywhere. I feel like I physically, from the neck down, have the ‘flu. My ankles are “clicking” more than usual. Same with my wrists. I was walking the other day and my ankle seized up. It simply stopped working and hurt a lot.

I stopped walking, rotated my ankle and was eventually able to weight bear. It scared me. I carefully walked back to my car, got home, elevated, medicated, applied heat and cold alternately and eventually dozed off.

I realised for the past two months I’ve been clenching everything. My jaw, my hands, my body and it’s unsustainable. We are living in a world most of us have never seen before. It’s scary. It’s frustrating. It’s unbelievable. And yet, it is our reality.

When I am at my best I eat three healthy meals a day. I cook at home, I drink lots of water, some decaffeinated tea, a little diet pop, and eat treats sparingly. I can get 8 hours of sleep and awaken feeling refreshed. I have few food cravings. My eyes are clear, my skin is dewy and I feel good.

Not these days, though.

My skin is sallow. I look haggard. I can’t sleep more than a couple of hours at a time. I wake before my alarm and when I decide to try and sleep more, I fall into a deep sleep and have difficulty rousing to my alarm.

I am craving foods I’ve not craved in months, if not years. I’m drinking mostly tea, lots of diet pop and a moderate amount of water. My skin is alternately dry and oily. Everything hurts. Well, except my hair. It’s just growing…fast…and a lot.

My food addiction is bad. I have so much shame about food that I feel humiliated. I am eating 1 – 2 meals a day. I start off with the best of intentions, then end up feeling ravenous, even though I KNOW I’m not hungry. I buy healthy food. Fruit, vegetables, lean meat, multi-grain bread. I don’t bring home a lot of processed food. And yet I crave chips and cookies. And I can’t eat one serving. I eat the whole bag.

I’m aware I’m doing it and I get angry and ashamed. Yet I can’t stop.

I’m currently using two online apps. One is through a wearable device which I really like because it gives advice on what to do as far as exercise in isolation. It’s adapted to the current reality of the world. The other is an online subscription app. I used it a few years ago and it was working well for me, then I stopped. I can’t remember why, but I know it was because I got frustrated with being moved from peer group to peer group.

The program has changed a little in a few years. And not at all since the pandemic. All the “helpful hints” involve getting together with family and friends, of going shopping with your girlfriends. Of going out to dinner, etc. NONE of which we can do right now. So, being the quiet and demure female I am… (you know, there REALLY needs to be a sarcasm font) I sent a message to my personal coach and the Concierge and didn’t receive a satisfactory answer.

I’ve asked questions about dealing with food addiction and been told “in their opinion” that such things don’t exist. Um, what?

I’m debating quitting the online program when my “course” is finished (August). I’m not losing weight, although I am following the course given the restrictions of COVID-19. Ugh.

I was listening to a podcast earlier today and there was woman who was raised by a crack-addicted mother. She was quite judmental with her mother for not having enough self-control. Until she found herself in her mid-twenties eating her feelings…until she weighed over 400 lbs and knew her life was in jeopardy. She joined Overeaters Anonymous and it helped her.

Food addiction is real. It is as valid an addiction as any other. Because I’m in a heightened place of stress, my coping mechanisms are weak…in some cases non-existent. My impulse control seems to be broken.

So, I’ve decided to check out Overeaters Anonymous. There are virtual meetings that I can drop into and drop out of. I think it would help me to talk to people who understand how I feel. Who understand the minefield that food addiction and grocery shopping can be.

Hopefully I can learn, again, to lessen my stress and eat properly so my body will stop being angry with me.

Oh! And then there’s the physical changes with menopause and HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy). I’ll get there. I know I will.

It will take time. It will take effort. And it will take help. Help which I am determined to get.

Watch this space…

I’ve taken up walking. I know, I know…walking. I like to walk, I’m fairly skilled unless there’s a hill, it’s windy or the road is uneven. I firmly believe my centre of gravity is between my eyes. I tip over quite easily, in fact, more easily than a cow…or so I’ve been told.

One of my favourite walk/hikes takes place behind a rest area about an hour’s drive from here. I drove there yesterday, a beautiful day, parked my car, got my water bottle and off I headed. I hadn’t hiked this area in more than a year and decided, instead of going the way I usually go, to take the other entrance, where I usually come out at the end. It’s a loop, so it really shouldn’t matter, right?

WRONG!

I started off well, stopping to read the signs about the geography of the area, to read about the Indigenous land and Ktunaxa Creation story. And off I perambulated. It’s a relatively easy hike, fairly flat. The path is wide enough to step off easily if someone is approaching, which I did a few times.

At one point there’s a switchback on the trail, which I completely missed. I would up walking on the Trans Canada Trail for about 1.5 kms. I was going in the WRONG DIRECTION but didn’t figure this out for quite some time. You see, I have a poor sense of direction, but it was a lovely day and I had my water bottle with me. I would stop and take photos, sometimes just stand a breathe, marveling in my surroundings. It was a beautiful day.

I prayed for the survivors of the Nova Scotia massacre and prayed for those who died. I prayed for my dear friends who were burying both their mother and father yesterday. And I walked. And I walked. And I veered off the path I was on, thinking it would get me to where I was supposed to be.

Nope.

Another kilometer out of the way.

But it was a lovely day and I had my water bottle with me. And my ankles were starting to hurt.

You see, I’ve not been walking in long stretches since my surgery. I walk for a kilometer or two, usually around a small lake or paved path. And I was getting very sore.

When I finally pulled out my mobile and took a look at where I was on the map and where I was SUPPOSED to be I started laughing…a bit maniacally. I said a prayer for strength and sanity, did a 180 and started walking back to where I had come off the path. I got back to the path and turned back onto the path, in the direction from which I had come.

While all this was going on I came up a foursome riding their trail bikes. I stepped off the path, we said hello and away I walked. When I was walking back down the trail I saw them again. We nodded hellos again.

I continued walking and eventually got back to the spot where I had gone wrong in the first place. Now keep in mind, I had planned to walk for an hour, perhaps two. At this point I’m 3 hours in and still need to get back to where I started. And my hips are starting to hurt.

Ugh.

I now have a decision to make…am I going to re-trace my steps or am I going to try and finish the original loop. In a moment of abject stupidity I decide to try and finish the loop…only to realise after half an hour of walking that I’m not going in the right direction (again).

As I walk towards the switch-back I see the four cyclists again and we nod and smile again. I’m asked “Are you following us?” and I respond “Yes! I’ll see you at the finish line”.

Ugh.

I get back to where I came off the trail initially and follow it back. Just as I’m getting to the mouth of the trail I see the foursome one last time. We smile and wave as I hobble towards my car.

When I got home I headed straight for the Tylenol. Then I had a shower, put on pajamas and relaxed for the rest of the night.

What had started as an easy 2 hour walk became a 5 hour endurance test. I did it. I survived it and other than being sore, I felt pretty good.

I woke up this morning feeling pretty good. Then I tried to get out of bed.

Kyrie Eleison.

More Tylenol. A quick trip to the grocery store. Cleaned up my kitchen and now I’m going for a nap. After more Tylenol.

Moral of the Story…don’t be a dumbass. Perhaps I should carry a compass. And maybe pack a flare gun for emergencies.

Oh, and I did stop on the way home to get some more water.

There really does need to be a sarcasm font. No, seriously.

Since my surgery in January I have been thrust into menopause. I have been peri-menopausal since I was 21, that’s 30 years in a state of peri-menopause. Some of the symptoms PLUS periods. Yay…not.

Now, I have symptoms. The most common for me are hot flashes, night sweats and insomnia. My doctor, in consultation with my surgeon prescribed me estrogen patches. For a month I was on 37.5 mcg twice a week. Last week then went up to 50 mcg twice a week. So far I’m not noticing much of a difference…which I suspect is okay?

Then there’s the insomnia. Given the heightened state of awareness we are all in, I was having periodic insomnia prior to starting HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy). Manageable…I guess.

I thought I had a lot more to say about this, but for whatever reason can’t remember.

Wait! Isn’t that another symptom of menopause?

Oh Yay!