Always Watching

I have said it before.

I am sure I will say it again (and again).

I am a terrible blogger; the stats prove it. Meh.

No one can read what isn’t there, I get that, and for that I am sorry; however, I implore you all to recognize it is with good reason.

The Nomadic Life

As I have mentioned my family and I are moving.

We sold my husband’s childhood home in the big city, a couple of months ago, and are moving back to my neck of the woods. Not to the actual woods, mind you, just to a smaller up and coming city. Life is full of BIG changes for us and our wee band of misfits. We have taken up residence in my parents’ home (thanks folks!) and our routine has morphed into something we are not yet familiar with and on the cusp of changing yet again when we take up residence in our new home this weekend.

For reasons beyond my diabetic need for routine, I am a creature of habit (though I assume most people are), so to be disrupted and semi-nomadic has really taken its toll on me (and my creativity) in all respects. I have barely been writing (or typing as it were); I have not done any sketching, painting or sculpting. I am a wee bit scared my creativity has gone out for a stroll. I hope it comes back. I need it to. I am incomplete without it.

We moved a few things we have with us into the new house over the weekend. Not much to do that way because all of our things are in storage and not due to arrive until this coming weekend.

Mostly, we cleaned.

We laughed, too, and shed a few happy tears while running around the whole house.

And we cleaned.


Never Alone

I am a firm believer that we are not alone no matter how so we may feel. I personally believe those we love, and who are no longer with us, have a way of watching out for us. Not in a ‘pull strings’ or offer the lottery numbers kind of way, but more like a gentle arm guiding us at times away from harm or small sign to let us know they are still around.

While we cleaned our little guy happened across a ladybug. A point of note, because it is odd to find one indoors (and alive) at this time of year; most of them are buried deep preparing for a long winter’s slumber.

I have a ladybug tattoo (part of my on-going sleeve of nature) in honour of my grandmother but no one (until now) knew that is why it was there. She was a bit grisly and due to her age and upbringing she was also a bit ignorant. We clashed a lot, especially when I was younger. We lost touch for nearly a decade. When we reconnected I was an adult. We quickly grew quite close. I would like to think we taught each other a few things. I drove over an hour to visit her at least 2-3 times a month no matter the weather or schedule obligations. I helped her move twice. When she went into care I was there weekly, sometimes more, and right to the bitter end, there was laughter. Even the day she died we snuck a few giggles in together. I believe that ladybug in our new house was her.

It was really something to spend the weekend cleaning together. We uncovered a couple of neat things we didn’t know about the house, I am sure we will uncover more in the months and years to come.

My husband spent some time down in the emptied basement. There were a few old documents attached to the backside of the furnace, maintenance records and the like, so he removed them. This is what he found buried underneath it all:


I know some of you are inwardly (or even outwardly) saying to yourself, “big deal, its Donald Duck.” And, in some ways, it is just a simple, and very old, magnet that now resides on our fridge. But to us it is so much more than that – those of you who have read We will never forget… will now why it is.

Donald Duck is the nickname we gave our dear friend Brandon because he used to entertain our wee one as an infant with his silly voices; the Donald Duck voice always got the most giggles.

Low and behold the magnet.

And the ladybug.

Always watching. Always.

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