Week 9: Then suddenly our hair falls out ...

I'm having one of those senior 'moments'.  It's lasted all week.  What to do...what to do?

Every time I think I have this 'age thing' figured out and feel all peaceful again about it, something new riles up the stew.  This week it was a photo.  Of  moi.  I just could not reconcile the mental self-portrait I have kept protectively locked inside my head with the (oh-ma-gosh-can-it-possibly-be-true?) photo someone else had in theirs when they snapped my pic last week.  I'm in shock. Okay, the spreading hips, I knew about.  Even the chicken-waddle chin.   But going bald?  There it is in living photo-colour:  a deeply receding hair line.  I've been down in the dumps all week about it. My hair falls out  everywhere these days; I knew that.   I now shed more than my old long-haired calico ever did;  knew that too.  But I THOUGHT it was growing BACK IN,  replacing itself, keeping up the time-honoured practice of RENEWAL.  As it always has. Always DID. Oh, my VERY SINCERE apologies to you brother Paul  (and to all men) when I ribbed you years ago as you became obsessed (I thought) with growing baldness.  I said you looked handsome, distinguished. I  told you it shouldn't bother you.  I said, 'For goodness, sakes, what's a little hair, anyway?' I take it ALL BACK!  This week I understand.    

It's vain, I know, but it's more than vanity.  I've really had enough of this growing old 'gracefully' business.  I admit not much can be done about it.  I  admit it must be accepted.  What is hard, very hard, is accepting one's perception of self during the dramatic paradigm shifts of age.  We go through  change of one kind or another all our lives and it's pretty much okay up to an extent.  We leave high school for university.  We leave university for jobs.  We  leave our singlehood for marriage.  And we leave our free time in favour of the full involvement of children and families.  Sometimes we leave our jobs for  other opportunities, leave our towns, our homes, even our countries and move on.  Throughout it all we are changing, in ascendancy, moving TOWARDS newness, new experiences, enriching our lives. It is all FOR something and we continue to GROW.  When we let go of some things, it's to receive something new in return that helps us move along further in our lives.

Then suddenly our hair falls out.  And we feel empty-handed. Life's path takes a turn and there is no choice but to stop and view the 'picture' acknowledging something  new is afoot here.  It's been a few days now and I am almost over the hairless-babe photo-shock.  I'm thinking one of the things that makes our acceptance of age-related change more difficult is the prevailing language and perceptions about what is happening at this time of life. We always  concentrate on 'loss'.  We speak of 'losing' our memories, our eyesight, our hair, our hearing, our mobility, our self-reliance - even our teeth!  We 'lose' our  children as they leave the family nest and make their own way in life.  We lose our jobs in retirement and sometimes along with them our sense of selves, prestige, worth, collegial rapport.  And, sadly, we lose members of our own family and our very dear life-long friends.  No wonder we feel we are somehow diminished and have arrived at the beginning of a depressing 'end'. 

What we need to do, what I am going to try hard to endeavour to do in the months ahead, is let go of what is lost and get better acquainted with what has been GAINED and what is AHEAD in life. There is a lot building on that 'plus' side of life's score sheet besides a spreading butt and hips.  There is deeper perspective, patience, experience and depth.  There are widening terms of reference in our lives.  We have greater clarity, certainty, compassion and insight.  We often are blessed with more time. We see things in broader, more universal terms and along a stretching continuum. We have greater humour - we have finally 'gained' the ability to readily laugh, foremost at our own serious selves.  And, we have learned by a certain age that we can now no more live like two-fisted cookie eaters than we could as kids.  With both hands full, how can we eat?  So today I am letting go of all the old self-perceptions - hair and all - focusing instead on the plus side ahead and looking forward to taking a big bite out of the cookie of life.  

Thinking this all over I can now breathe again.  In.  Out.  What a relief!  Instead of feeling I have to exercise to keep up and be as good as I once WAS; I  can look forward and exercise to be all that I want and hope to be in the years AHEAD.  I don't need to keep up with anyone, not even myself.  I  discovered this week that I no longer walk 4 miles in an hour as I did half a lifetime ago, sailing through the streets of downtown Toronto back and forth to work - 8  miles a day.  Google Maps tells me I can hike to Wilson Falls and back in seventy minutes.  Google I love you darling, but even adjusting generously for a longish lunch break, I accomplishd little better than six miles in FOUR hours. I can report to you though that in letting go of speed I 'gained' a great deal.  I saw more - a deer sprinting into the forest from a water break down by the river, a racoon curled sleepily in the high up branch of a pine tree, a pair of old-married mallards floating near the fish hatchery, a porcelain white kitty dining on tall tender grasses and a lazy old beaver floating the river's current.  There were wild strawberries growing everywhere.  Orange blossoms to breathe in.  Bird songs to hear.  New trails to explore. And sticky pine resin along the way for aroma therapy.  And I enjoyed it all - every life-giving bit of it - and more than I ever have.  All at this new slower speed; not only age-adjusted but age-enhanced.

When working on quotes for my greeting card line this week, I came across one that sums this all up for me:  "What the caterpillar calls the end of the  world, the master calls a butterfly."  [Richard Bach].  If heaven's caterpillars can negotiate their rather spectacular change of life, then I will plan to try SOARING through my own.  You betcha!

Thanks for travelling with me on my footpath this week ...

Gillian

BBPP Weekly Health Check:

Mind:  Finally getting comfortable with some of the camera's functions.  Working with the landscape button and focus and metre modes. They all do make a difference when remembering to use them, which is starting to happen more regularly and naturally.

Body:  I dieted dutifully and in health all week long.  Walked daily, hiked at least 6 miles yesterday.  GAINED 3 pounds and my bp shot SKY HIGH. Oh, well. Mustn't give up.  Steady course ahead...

The Artist Soul:  There were wonderful connections this week with abundant wildlife on the trails but the best thing of all was drinking in the scent of fresh orange blossoms - my most favourite fragrance on earth.  And I found them just steps away from my front door.  Heaven. 

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Week 8: It is a quiet walk...

Of all the wonderful walks I have enjoyed in Bracebridge, my favourite by far continues to be along River and Wilson’s Falls Roads. Have you walked it yet?  No?  Oh, do!  Stretching about 2 miles from the historic downtown section beginning at Taylor Road right up to Wilson Falls, this section of the Trans Canada Trail takes one gentle twisting turn after another as it hugs alongside the North Branch of the Muskoka River.  It is accessible and beautiful regardless of season.

This trail, even more than others for some reason, seems to be so much about life.   And the seasons of life.   There is the winding river itself and the bustling wildlife maintaining homes along its banks.  And there is the ribbon of trees stretching the entire length of trail - one non-ending string from beginning to end.  I am made freshly aware each hike out that no two trees seem ever to look just alike, no two greens ever seem to quite match entirely.  And the emeralds of the towering pines and deciduous forest leaves reflect back in even deeper saturation up from the river’s still, end-of-day waters.

Everyday there appears to be a new wildflower or weed about to burst open adding a new colour to the mix of the landscape.  And the fragrance – oh, this time of year on a hot sultry evening, the perfume of trees, and wildflowers and wood and water fill you right up full.  There is no perfumery anywhere capable of reproducing the heady fragrances of the woods, banks and waterways along that section of river edge. Beginning with the bushy lilacs at Anne Street still redolent in spring bouquet but sharper now with summer heat, to the very end of the trail at Wilson Falls and mineral scents rising from rushing waters.  Every turn the aromas change as the flowers and wild shrubs mix and re-assort themselves.  There is absolutely nothing in the medicine cabinet or in the wine cellar to equal the healthful mellow and soul-soothing affect of all that.  Now, after walking the trail for some time, I mentally note the small roadmarks along the way – the rough summer docks floating in wait for a canoe or kayak to reappear; a charming tree house ladder leading up to lofty, leafy heights with full river-view seating; the striking drama of the bleached smooth boulders at Bass Rock, and further on, a hidden lookout point, a favourite spot for young lovers sitting closely in peace to talk away into the fading evening hours.

It is a quiet walk.  Somewhere to empty out the days concerns, let go of the weight of worries and free the soul to see and drink in all there is. Tonight, only 2 cars pass, 5 people and one very special golden retriever, panting in obvious delight at the start of summer and new things to chase.  And a lone beaver out for a swim, more of a float really.  Have you noticed what graceful swimmers beavers are?  How expertly they dive straight down deep into their den vestibules?  This little guy tonight seemed content to let the river carry him effortlessly along.  Until suddenly, his attention caught by something entirely unseen to me, he scrambled up onto land, scarcely two feet away.  Thankfully his interest didn't stop at my feet but rather he found something beyond my vision and carried back his secret prize to water’s edge, diving sharply home with it below.

This time of year the walks are mostly joyful.  It feels so good to walk winter tightness out of bones and muscles and drink in a little natural Vitamin D.  Everywhere there is evidence of nature’s determination to grow, expand into any available nook and cranny and thrive MADLY.  Sadly though, death is also part of life’s seasons and tonight on my way back home there lay a very beautiful and well-fed gray squirrel, dead not more than a few moments from auto impact.  Still perfectly formed except for the small trauma to her head, the mother squirrel lay there bright-eyed with her beautiful white belly exposed. It was hard to believe, looking at her soft gray fur, that her last breath had been breathed.  I lifted her warm body, carrying it over to a tree by the river’s edge, settling her down for a final rest amongst tall grasses and small flowers.  And I covered her.  Every life in death deserves privacy, respect, dignity.

Walking in nature for me rights a lot of wrongs, mends wounds, coaxes out the heart’s joy and opens up the eyes wide to the little things in life I just never otherwise notice.  Now, please, don’t get me wrong.  I am not, repeat NOT, a ‘Miss Merry Sunshine’ kind of gal, seeing light and love at every turn.  I AM a growingly cantankerous woman ‘of age’, thoroughly set in my ways, and determinedly more so every advancing year.  And I plan to remain just so, thank you, kindly.  But these walks in nature surely soften the roughly hewn edges of life.  They are an opportunity in an otherwise busy world to listen, see and feel life with one’s very soul.  To connect with the natural world of which we are part.  To gain a renewed sense of where we are in our own personal continuum of time.  To glimpse for a moment, place and purpose of life.

I hope you will all tie on your runners, pack a water bottle and head out onto the trails near you real soon.

Thanks for travelling with me on my footpath this week...
Gillian

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NOTE regarding the Wilson Falls Trail:

If you are driving there, try any of the many free downtown parking spots near Taylor Road.  However, check any parking limits that might apply.  Or you can arrive by the bright red Santa’s Village Trolley (say hi to one of it’s drivers , Irene, well known for her friendly smile and cheery disposition.  One of Irene's runs is along Taylor Road. She'll point out River Road and the TransCanada Trail if you like - just ask her!  Trolley rides are  just Saturdays for now but start daily runs beginning June 19^th until Labour Day weekend.  The schedules are listed at many trolley stops. Or come by rail via the Ontario Northland service… it arrives just steps away from Taylor Road.  An excellent Ontario Northland bus service to town, arrives at various times daily at the southern end of town (Riverside Inn) closer to 3 other walking trails and a couple of parks that I will tell you about later as summer goes on.  Happy Trails!

BBPP Weekly Health Check:

Mind:  It was definitely a case of matter over mind this week.  I do NOT like the humidity.  Heat's okay; humidity not so much.  Just hours before the heat wave ended last week, I thought my nerves would crack - but a long walk with my camera around Bracebridge Bay removed all the prickly nettles that had been stalking about in my brain!  Walking is good for the body, the soul AND THE MIND!  And so is taking pictures!

Body:  Down ANOTHER 2 pounds.  Yippee!  Blood pressure now firmly lowered into the normal range.  High normal, still. There's a ways to go yet.  But how encouraging.  All without pills.  All from the joy of walking about with nature in beautiful Bracebridge.

The Artist Soul:  There were a lot of moments this week.  A little girl about two years, called Boomie who allowed me to take her picture in all the glory of her pink-everything couture, an older couple with their arms firmly wrapped about one another - still lovers in their older years, looking squarely and quite surprisedly into a beaver's eyes from scarcely two feet distance, drinking in the tree-reflection beauty of a hundred shades of green shimmering in the gentle ripples of the Muskoka River.  But the biggest connection was one with the heady scent as I walked in the damp evening heat along Wilson Falls Trail.  It was filling, fulfilling and carried within it so many stories.

Week 7: What do you see when you look?

Taking photos each week, I am becoming keenly aware of 'seeing' and the many ways in which to see. Our eyes may be the tools we use to see and to take photos but these are informed by our soul and our life experience. We see with love, perhaps occasionally with hate, indifference, compassion, greed, generosity, pride or jealousy, in the context of our dreams and fears, with our eyes wide open - or not, with optimism and pessimism - Is my glass half full or half empty?  It depends on the 'what' and 'how' of our personal vision at any moment in time..

We have many expressions for how we see:  "Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder", we say. "Eyes are the window of the soul". Before reaching for the ice cream tub AGAIN we might remember that old adage that at times our "eyes are bigger than our stomachs"!  Then we have foresight, hindsight and insight.  More curious is the expression: 'sight unseen'.  Well, it's nice to have something new to look forward to, so bring on 'sites unseen', I say!  

Often we look to see what others see; sadly there are moments we have a heavy responsibility to share what only we ourselves, for the moment, can see. At the root of it all, for me, seeing is about truth. It is interior silence instilled with free inner 'hard-drive' space in which to receive what's on view.  It is committing time to have a proper look at things.  It is defining our personality's 'measuring tools' which gauge what is important and help us sort what needs to be 'in the frame' and what is superfluous or obstructs our view. It's not all about our eyes but also about sensing and feeling, anticipating and grasping what we are looking at in order to SEE.  It's about allowing in light along with shadows so there can be contrast and chiaroscuro. It's about summing up the sum of one's experience to make a decision that NOW is the moment to click the shutter.

We are all artists inside. We all have artist's sight.  We might not stop to take the pictures or paint them but we 'see' what's important:  the pride in a child's achievement, the bustle of a family meal, the faded comfort of our old blue jeans, healing hands, aging hands, eyes that speak truth, clear blue skies stretching on forever.  Sometimes, not so happily, we see sad sights we'd rather NOT see - an inconsolable child, the polluted gauze settling over our large cities, a forest clear-stripped of it's towering majestic trees.  We do see.  But then WHAT DO WE DO?

This is what is at the heart of an artist's sight - the call, ability and commitment to interpret what is seen.  To breathe it all in, absorb it, reshape it with experience from within the soul and offer it all back again interpreted and re-formed to speak to anyone with the inclination to stop a moment and see - anew.

I invite all of you to share in the 'homework' I have set out for myself this week. To look beyond commonplace-seeing, allowing what is seen to sink into the soul.  To discover more about that which is  seen, to add to it one's experience and insights and 'view'. I don't know what will emerge this week but I will offer up the 12 pictures that mean the most to me after doing this homework and share them with you in seven days time. I will tell you why I chose those photos and what I 'saw' when I took them. Maybe I will look carefully into someone's eyes, be amazed at the chestnut fur running along the chipmunk's back, discover a dozen shades of mauve in this spring's lilacs, or veins full and raised in the spring leaves or bright orange bursting from a carrot. We'll 'see'!  

Please join me.
If you take some pictures, have some thoughts, experience some revelations, report back here so we can share in what YOU see. Meanwhile here are some thoughts to inspire us all:

Samuel T. Coleridge:

My eyes make pictures when they are shut.

G. K. Chesterton:

One sees great things from the valley, only small things from the peak.

Joseph Chilton Pearce:

Seeing within changes one's outer vision.

Henry David Thoreau:

The question is not what you look at, but what you see.

Marcel Proust:

The real voyage of discovery consists of not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.

Mark Twain:

You cannot depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus.

Carl Jung:

Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakens.

Thomas Carlyle:

Stop a moment, cease your work, and look around you.

Thanks for travelling with me on my footpath this week...
Gillian

BBPP Weekly Health Check:

Mind:   Eleanor Roosevelt says it all for me this week:  "You must do the thing you think you cannot do"  Covered with poison ivy, I was faced with a large order to finish on deadline.  And then like the seven plagues, along came a disabling scourge of black fly bites leaving no mobility in my neck.  Thanks, Mrs. Roosevelt.  You have always been a tremendous inspiration and certainly that was the case this week

Body:  Covered in Ivy Poison blisters the size of cherry tomatoes, sunburned, eaten alive by black flies to the point of bearing a frightening resemblance to Alvin the Chipmunk - with mumps! - I have decided it is time to prepare better for the health walks ahead.  I will be adding some hiking tips (including prevention!) on my Bracebridge Photo Project Facebook Page over the coming days.  Thanks to Cousin Dave, from North Carolina who has sent some very useful tips regarding poison ivy.

The Artist Soul:  I am drunk this week on lilacs - the vision, the shade, the perfume of them.