Today I met the lady who feeds the birds

It was a chance meeting.

Along the aisle in a supermarket.

I flashed her a smile as she walked towards me.
She stopped and asked, "Why are you smiling?"
I answered "Because life is good."
She laughed; and before I knew it, she was telling me about needing peanuts, for the birds she feeds, because they like peanuts. She feeds them. The pigeons often land on her hand allowing her to to stroke their wings. She knows it's because they want the peanuts.  I think they like the warm, kind touch too.  I watch her as she speaks. She reminds me of the lady on Home Alone II who fed the pigeons in Central Park.
She pulls out an almost empty bag of peanuts. The bag that needs to be replenished. I thought she was done as she pointed to the selection of peanuts, but that was only the tip of the peanut shell.  I learned where she was from, where she had lived, people she had met. I learned her name, Anne Marie. She asked me if I knew her heritage. "Scottish" I answered apprehensively. I was right. She said that  all her Italian friends call her Anna Maria.
I sensed that she had so much more to share.
She did.
After several minutes we found a moment of silence, bid each other a great day and headed in separate directions.
Only to find a few minutes later she was heading right for me and began a new conversation. The diseases she once had and the miracles of healing she experienced. She asked, "Do I believe in Saints?" I answered,  "I sure do"
I noticed that she had her container of peanuts, but she wasn't in a hurry to feed the birds. I learned more about her health issues and got advice on the many products I shouldn't buy because they caused cancer, diabetes, and other serious illnesses.
Another brief moment of silence.
I wished her a wonderful day.
She did too, and she continued to walk with me. We talked some more.  Then as quickly as we began our conversation she ended it. She saw a familiar face, called out and rushed to him. He welcomed her and her stories.
I wished her a great day and made my way. She flashed me a smile and wished me a great day too.
I could hear bellowing voice. She wasn't at a loss for things to share.
I continued down the aisle. Her voice was fading.
And just like that, she was gone.
I thought about what her life was like. Did she live alone? Were these conversations her only connection with others. Would she remember me?
I don't know if I will ever see Anne Marie again.
I'll keep an eye out.
Who knows, maybe one of the pigeons she feeds will lead me to her.

MammaNon (My Grandmother)

She was there for my first breath; my grandmother (aka MammaNonna; I called her MammaNon)

I was one of the lucky ones. My grandparents lived with us. Yes, it was a full and busy household, but it was rich; with family.

Growing up, I spent a lot of time with MammaNon. I hung off her apron strings learning the art of pasta, pizza and sugo (sauce) making. We shared many breakfasts and lunches alone, together. She insisted I have my egg yolk with sugar and marsala every morning and a few sips of red wine at lunch (to put a little colour on my face LOL :D I watched her hands hard at work, gardening, peeling fruits and vegetables, preparing meals, cleaning... I sat with her and watched Lawrence Welk, Johnny Lombardi, Donny & Marie, Jesus of Nazareth, Tiny Talent Time.  She took me to church and on bus trips downtown. She held my hand and kept me close. I became a part of the neighbourhood ladies gatherings and colourful conversations. We laughed, we loved and she shared bits of wisdom at just the right time.

I got older and so did she.

Our bond only got stronger as I married and had children. What a gift. My children would have the honour of knowing their great grandmother!

Then it happened. There were some signs over the years but it wasn't until MammaNon fell and broke her hip that it made its appearance, Alzheimers. Life as she knew and we knew would change. The difference was we remembered and she didn't.

I watched the transformation. This strong woman, both mind and body began to weaken.  MammaNon came to live with me for some time while my mom had surgery. We shared many breakfasts and lunches alone, together. Our conversations hinged on the clarity of her memory. She watched my hands hard at work. We sat watching some of the programs I knew she used to enjoy. I took her on short walks. I held her hand and kept her close.  We laughed, we loved and I told her everyday how much I loved her. When I tucked her in bed at night, she looked at me with her tear filled eyes. If she remembered me, she would tell me how grateful she was that I was caring for her and I would tell her how grateful I was for her.

Eventually the disease stripped MammaNon of any memory. She knew we loved her, but she didn't know who we were. Her body weakened further until she needed hospital care.

Things were deteriorating rapidly. Everyday I visited. She did not speak anymore but I knew she would want to pray. Everyday I helped her make the sign of the cross and she listened to my words. We prayed together.

I was there for her last breath; her grandchild (aka Nipote)...

Molly and Tiger

When I was a child, my parents rented out the basement apartment in our bungalow.

We only ever had one tenant, Molly and her dog Tiger.

I remember it so vividly the evening she arrived. I was in my pajamas dunking chocolate chip cookies in my milk when a knock at the door followed by a bark summoned the whole family to the door. I hid behind my mom to assess the stranger and the dog. Her laughter, loudness and excitable dog quickly drew me out to the front of the group. With cookies still in hand, I tossed a couple to the dog. He gobbled them up and wagged his tail happily. The entire family led her down to her apartment grabbing bags along the way.

Molly and Tiger wouldn't be just tenants. They became family.

I knew because Mom started sending me down to bring Molly a plate of pasta or whatever we had on the menu that night. Molly LOVED Italian food and in a short time, us. We loved her and Tiger back. She rarely kept her door locked, and even when she did, that didn't stop us (the kids that is). The windows were held shut with a single latch that we were able to slide open. We easily slid into the room and made ourselves at home. Why? We loved to hang out with Molly and Tiger.

She would take us for walks to the park,we played for hours, stopping at the Dairy Queen for an ice cream. She took us skating and shopping. She shared her world with us and we did the same. On our birthdays she always gave us $1. That $1 meant more than you can imagine. One year she splurged and bought us each a huge pillow. We kept it in her apartment to sit on when we hung out there.

Molly became a part of every celebration. Communions, school concerts, birthdays, Christmas, Easter and Thanksgiving. She even helped out with the sauce making. I remember her telling people who visited her that we were 'her kids.' :)

Then the dreaded day arrived, Dad had to ask Molly to leave because we had outgrown the space upstairs. I remember her pleading with dad that she would be happy with even one room; but they both knew it wasn't realistic.

We were heartbroken. My parents were able to find her an apartment with another family member only a few blocks away; but it wasn't the same. We still visited often. Molly would make us Kraft macaroni and cheese which would be quickly intercepted by my grandmother and made into a real Italian meal.

School, jobs and life started to fill our days and before we knew it, Tiger had passed on and Molly moved to another place, further away. We kept in touch by letters, cards and the occasional phone call.

Then the cards stopped. Our letters went unanswered and her phone had been disconnected.

We went to great lengths to find her only to discover that Molly died of cancer. She never told us she had been diagnosed. We all died a little that day.

When I think back, I don't know who needed who more. We were the family Molly didn't have. Molly and Tiger were the family we didn't have. My parents were immigrants still learning the Canadian culture. Molly infused many lessons without us really knowing it. We embraced her as she embraced us.

I still remember that day when I stood at the top of the stairs, chocolate chip cookies in hand...

Stay With It

Ever listen to that voice in your head? I mean really listen to it? It's a never ending one sided conversation that questions, challenges, defends, nags, pretends and convinces. It is relentless. You pay attention; or so you think. Or should I say you're not really thinking. Your mind goes on auto-pilot and plays the same conversations over and over again. Guiding and manipulating. Getting pleasure in taking you where it wants to go.  Its really quite brilliant.  Able to pull points of reference from a storage of memories, skewed by time. It relies on your emotions to support its messages. You go about your day unsuspecting that this voice, these thoughts are steering you...creating your life.

That voice is YOU. Your mind. Your soul.  Your spirit. An untapped, uncontrolled resource that can and WILL create the memorable moments, successes, happiness, health, love...life.  It's not a science. It doesn't require a higher education or some special talent. It's a GOD given gift that is overlooked everyday. Monkey mind is right. It does what it pleases in the confines of your head and it has been shaping your experiences and life.

So stop and listen...very closely. Let it rattle on. Don't give it any inkling that you are on to it. Then without warning take control. Feed it the thoughts YOU want to hear. There will be resistance. Lots of it. But don't worry it will relent. It will listen and before you know it, YOU are shaping every moment.

Stay with it ... and watch as a whole new world opens up to you.

If only...

Why is there a tendency to spend a lot of time in the 'if only..." zone?
If only I had done this.
If only I had said that.
So what "if"?
It's only speculation after all.
The "if" creates the ideal scenario; the "would have happened ..." We know very well life isn't a Hollywood movie where we can step back and change the circumstance or action to see how things would turn out.
So we hold onto "if only" and it becomes an anchor wrapped tightly around ankles.
The more we feed the "if only" the heavier the anchor and the harder it is to move forward.

Let go of the "if only."
Grab a hold of the here...now.
That's what is real.
That's where the magic happens.
That's where life is.

Stuff

Isn't it funny how we spend our lives accumulating stuff? Closets and drawers bulging. Garages filled so much so that cars no longer have a place in them. Rooms filled with furniture and decor. Space savers bought in the hope of saving space...but just taking up space.  We upgrade the size of homes to create more space, shift the stuff and continue stockpiling.  Then it happens.  Life serves the next chapter. Empty nesting and other life changes. The kids have taken what they need and want (within reason) and your faced with a house full of stuff that has no place in a smaller space.  You think it's impossible.  The task seems momentous. Then little by little, items find new homes and before you know it, you have achieved the possible.  As you look around you feel a sense of relief and you wonder...what was it all for?  Everyone has their own explanation. There is no right or wrong answer.

For me, the whole process has been liberating and enlightening.  Things that seemed to have so much importance, really don't.  Things I saved because I absolutely could not part with have little meaning because I can't even remember why I saved it. I rediscover things that I was 'going to use' but no longer have a need. The donating and tossing piles grow at a frightening rate and within a few months, a house full of stuff has been compacted to three rooms filled with neatly piled labeled boxes and select pieces of furniture. The time to move arrives and as all the stuff is shifted into a smaller space I find myself saying, I can get rid of more stuff. Within a few days the new space is filled but not bulging. Everything has a home. And so begins the next chapter with a resolution to keep it simple, cause simple is good and life is good.

A day in the life of ...

His feet hit the hard pavement at a moderate pace.  The grunts of impatience though told him it was not fast enough. He could sense the frustration as they sidestepped and moved past him.  All in a hurry.  At the busy intersection he waits his turn to cross. He glances over to his right, people stare straight ahead; many with earphones. He glances to his left; no one dares meet his glance. The light changes and people move swiftly. He lags behind.  He feels each step; the sun's rays dancing on his face; the breeze tickling his nose. Breathing. His pace slows. A few more people brush by. Side way glances of frustration. Down the stairs to the subway. People filing through and lining the corridor waiting for the train. Waiting. He stands among them. A child holding her mom's hand looks up and catches his glimpse. He smiles. She smiles. The sound of the train approaching catches her attention. The train stops and for a moment the people on the inside of the train face the people on the outside. Expressionless. The doors slide open, people rush out and people rush in. Everyone scrambles for a spot. He steps in just in time. The doors slide shut and the train leaves the station. People stare at their smartphones...or close their eyes...or look out  the window to a dark abyss. No words are spoken. No one dares to meet the stare of another...except the little girl. He smiles. She smiles. He makes a funny face. She laughs. She makes a funny face. He laughs. Mom notices and pulls her child closer. The exchange of smiles ends. The stench of loneliness fills the train. How can that be? So many people. So disconnected. The final stop and he exits the train. As he moves down the corridor he sees a homeless man sitting in the corner with a tattered coffee cup in front of him. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some change. He drops the coins in the cup...then sits down. The homeless man looks at him suspiciously. He smiles. The homeless man apprehensively smiles back. They sit together for a while. A few words are spoken. They get up and walk outside, sharing stories. After a while, he bids the homeless man farewell. He smiles. The homeless man smiles. The sidewalk is less crowded. He walks at a leisurely pace. The street is jammed with cars. Horns blaring. Cars rushing in and out of lanes. Everyone is in a hurry. The only human exchange is that of inconvenience. He arrives at a coffee shop. He smiles at the server. She calls out 'next'. He sits in the middle of the shop...watching. Some are alone. Others are not. Every table is filled but there is no one. He heads out, holding the door open for a woman with a stroller.  The child looks up and smiles. He smiles back. He continues to walk. A city full of life yet so desolate. He arrives in a park and sits on a park bench. Birds sing. Squirrels race by. A stray dog approaches and sits near him. He gently pats the dogs head. The dog looks up and smiles. He smiles back. Dusk sets in. He rises and begins to walk; the dog follows. His steps take him home and to the end of another day. A day in the life of...