First Signs of Summer

I am pondering the first signs of summer today.

June, for me, is all about the senses: sight, sound, smell, touch, and taste. Summer never arrives all at once. It arrives in pieces and threads, in bright colours and beautiful scents, in small moments that quietly announce a change of season.

The sights are the things that tend to catch my attention first.

One of the earliest signs of summer is the appearance of dandelions. After them come the lilacs, and then the strawberries. Sadly, there will be no strawberries in the garden this year. They were choked out by a vine last season, and no one has reseeded them. Even so, there is no shortage of colour.

The tulips and daffodils of spring have faded, replaced by apple blossoms, peonies, catmint, and the soft purple of lilacs. Everywhere I look, something seems to be blooming. The greens are deepening too. There are shades of green I don't notice at any other time of year.

The sounds of summer arriving are just as familiar.

I hear children playing outside. I hear the soft buzz of neighbours' voices as they gather on back porches to enjoy the evening warmth. I hear the rush of the river at its fullest and the gentle patter of rain against the window.

Some sounds have not arrived yet. I haven't heard the crickets or the June bugs, but I know they are coming.

The scents of early summer are everywhere.

Lilacs are the first thing I notice, followed by the smell of wet earth and fresh growth after rain. Sometimes there is the scent of someone barbecuing supper nearby. Even the air seems greener somehow, carrying the smell of leaves, grass, and gardens waking up.

Touch is perhaps the easiest sense to overlook, yet it is woven through many of my favourite moments.

There is the warmth of the sun on my skin and the cool softness of leaves as I run my hand through them while walking past. There is the comfort of a hug from family while spending time together outdoors.

And then there are the tastes that belong to summer.

The first vanilla iced coffee of the season is always a treat. So are strawberries and apples fresh from the orchard. Some foods seem tied to a particular season, and they never taste quite the same at any other time of year.

All of these things tell me that summer has arrived as much as the heat or the longer days. There are a dozen shades of green outside my window and so many pinks and purples in bloom that sometimes it feels dreamlike when I am out wandering. 

Summer never arrives all at once.

It arrives in pieces—in flowers and rain, in laughter and birdsong, in the scent of lilacs and the taste of iced coffee. It arrives one small moment at a time until, before I realize it, the season is fully here.

Looking Back, Not Staying

"I looked back, but I didn't move backward."

 
There are times I look back at my life and go what the hell? We are what we were raised to be even when we fight against the things we went through ourselves. We either emulate what we knew growing up or we do everything in our power to go in the opposite direction. Either way we are shaped by it. We carry pieces of it with us whether we want to or not.

For myself there are memories I keep and others I avoid as much as possible, but lately some things from my younger years have been making their way back into my thoughts. Certain decisions I made in my twenties have come back around and I have found myself responding to them differently than I did then. Some of that is simply lessons learned. Some of it is pain given and received without closure. Either way I have been looking back more than usual.

Part of that happened because my family and I have started looking seriously at leaving Peterborough and moving somewhere healthier for us mentally and physically. We have been looking toward the Niagara region and trying to think about what that might actually look like. Funny thing though, before we could really think about where we were going, I ended up looking at where I had been.

When my kids were little we lived in Housing for about a year and a half. There was damage to the kitchen after a pipe burst one winter and after that I seemed to get turned down every time I applied for housing. I never really knew why. I always assumed I owed money and I thought I had taken care of it years ago when I paid off old debts after my dad passed away. Still, I never checked. The denial simply became a fact in my head. It became one of those things I just accepted as true.

Now that I am sixty-five and considering another move I thought I would ask. It turns out I had paid the arrears and Housing had no record of me owing anything. There was a note saying money had once been owed but nothing outstanding. I was encouraged to apply again and I cannot even explain how much relief I felt hearing that.

What struck me afterwards was realizing that I had carried that around for years. I had accepted it without questioning it because I thought I already knew the answer. Looking back did not change the past, but it did change the story I had been telling myself.

I think I have been doing that in other areas too. I switched Pinterest to a business account because I was curious if anything I was doing was connecting with people and I discovered the Things I'm Learning series has been getting a lot more attention than I expected. I was surprised by that because while I enjoy creating pins, the truth is they are part of how I cope with things and work through them.

The poetry has been harder. Those poems came out of one of the most difficult periods of my life and sometimes working through them means revisiting things I would rather leave alone. Still, each time I finish a set of pins for one of the poems I feel a little lighter. I am dealing with difficult things, but they are reminders of what was, not what is.

I also found myself explaining some things to my granddaughter that I had never really explained before. Not because I wanted to excuse anyone, but because understanding where someone came from sometimes explains why I protect them so fiercely.

Even my weekend away ended up teaching me something. I realized how much I dislike feeling managed or directed around as though I cannot make my own choices. What surprised me wasn't that I felt irritated. It was realizing how strongly I felt it. Maybe that says something too. 

On the brighter side I spent time wandering through stationery stores and walking around a historical part of Toronto. I walked much more easily than I expected. My feet got tired and sore but nothing else did. I knew the YMCA classes were helping, but I had not realized just how much they were helping. I also got to share that time with family this week and it turned out to be unexpectedly fun.

So much happened this week that I kept trying to figure out how to put it into some kind of order, but maybe it is simpler than I thought. I looked back at routines that drifted, old doubts, family pain and old emotions. I kept the parts that helped and carried them forward.

I looked back, but I didn't stay there.

I continued moving.

I continued creating.

I continued showing up.

In Between Seasons

I'm somewhere in the middle of catching up with myself. The last few days have felt busy and full. I am home again now, but I don't feel fully settled yet. Some things are still moving through me while other things have stayed the same. Things are shifting, but not fully. I noticed how much can happen in a few ordinary days. I am still me. I still need rest. I still come back to familiar routines. But something feels a little different too.

Maybe that was the theme of the weekend without me realizing it at the time. Everything felt a little in-between. I was happy to get away, but happy to come home too. I was tired, excited, overwhelmed and interested all at once.

Of all the things I've gone through this month, one thing I'm certain of is that I like my home. Messy as it gets sometimes, I am always glad to get back here. Home feels familiar in a way that few other places do. It feels settled, even when I don't.

This weekend in the GTA with E and GD#1 was busy. We spent so much time in malls. Have you ever noticed that most malls have nearly double the amount of clothing stores as they have anything else? Every time I go to Dixie Outlet Mall in Mississauga I see acres of clothing stores, but then it is a discount mall. I saw so many things I wanted to buy. It's not like I don't have a lot of clothes already, but something about walking into that mall and seeing floral patterns everywhere made me very happy. Nearly every store I walked into had at least one item I liked, and sometimes three or four.

I could have spent a lot of money in them. I didn't though, because E over the years has instilled in me the desire to look at all the offerings before I buy a thing. So instead of coming out with a dozen new dresses, I only got one. It's a medium so I'm not sure how well it will fit, but I loved the pattern so much that I decided to get it anyway. Looking back now, I think that was another little in-between place. Wanting things, but being more careful. Loving something enough to bring it home, but still wondering if it will fit me the way I hope it will.

We went to Square One, but after spending a few hours at Dixie I decided to have a nap while GD#1 explored it for the first time with E. We ate at Mandarin. If you ever get the chance, go to a Mandarin. They have a buffet-style menu that caters to every taste from the most stringent vegan to the confirmed meatatarian. With everything you can eat for a fixed price, even the money isn't really an issue. You can get lunch for $25.99 and dinner for $35.99 most days, though holidays are a bit more expensive. Mind you, for holidays they also add holiday-specific foods to the menu so it's worth it.

It was a little strange this time, but it really proves the point about the value there. There was a baby shower happening in the room beside the one we were in. It was loud enough that you could almost feel like you were part of the celebration even if you weren't in the room. There had to be twenty or thirty people in there including kids. Like I said, if you ever get the chance, go to one.

The next day we went for a walk on Queen Street West. It is one of the oldest areas in the city and the architecture is fabulous. One of the iconic places on the stretch we walked was the Drake Hotel. I didn't get to have lunch there because it can be a bit pricey, but maybe next time. I went to two stationery stores (The Paper Place & Paper Plus Cloth) and picked up some scrapbook supplies. They really are one of my happy places. I could lose myself in one for hours, but E & GD#1 were with me, so I could only indulge a little. We had gelato after the first half of the walk. From Queen Street West we went to First Markham Place specifically to a shop called Oomomo, which had a stationery section that rivaled the other shops we visited, but with much better prices.

Not everything about the weekend sat as lightly as floral dresses and scrapbook supplies though.

The weekend had a couple of emotional incidents as well. I finally got around to telling GD#1 why I make excuses for my son and it made me cry. I don't want to go through it again; suffice it to say my boy got very sick when he was nine months old and it caused changes inside his brain, making him look normal but leaving him developmentally delayed. As he gets older the difference between his physical age and his mental age becomes more apparent.

It is another one of those things I don't usually tell because why? What difference would it make? Except now I feel like I don't really have a choice because people are becoming more aware of his differences, and I won't stand people being angry at him for something he can't help.

One other incident caused me to have a bit of a meltdown. E was being stupid and so was GD#1, steering me around and pulling me along as if I was a child. I move where I want and I don't go around people or wait for them to pass me. I own the path as much as they do, and perhaps a bit more since I am a senior. It irritated me to no end because it made me feel like a child on a leash, and I hate seeing that. Why would I want to be that?

Maybe being between seasons isn't really about weather at all. Maybe it is being considered old and frail when I'm not. Maybe it is about the stage of life as much as it is spring drifting into summer or, in my case, autumn fading into winter. Maybe it is that feeling that I have many years ahead and I want to make the best of them. Some things are changing. Some things are staying the same. I still need rest. I still come back home and feel relieved when I walk through the door. I am still learning to be myself, and that is okay.

A Bit of a Shift This Week

Bit of a shift this week. I’m experiencing SAD symptoms even though it’s no longer winter, which is making today’s writing difficult.

I did manage quite a bit after hearing from the radiologist that there is no recurrence of the cancer. Even so, it took me about a week to return to most of my usual routines. During that time, I spent a lot of it working with ChatGPT on pins for my Pinterest boards. I uploaded Awakening and Becoming Visible from Currents of Becoming a poetry book I’ve been planning and added a couple more lists to “Things I’m Learning.”

 

I also started a new board that I still can’t name in any coherent way. It began as Grandmacore (Grammacore), inspired by a set of pins that felt connected to the values I grew up with. An article called Grandma’s Rules really sparked things, and I spent time turning those ideas into pins and building the board around them.

When I stepped back, though, I could see it had drifted off brand. I tend to prefer soft watercolor and pastel tones, but these pins leaned heavily into sepia. It works for a vintage feel, just not the one I was aiming for.

I tried again using my May palette—cream, blush, and moss green. I liked the look, but I still couldn’t find a clear direction. The board seemed to want to be too many things at once. In the end, I hid it and stepped away. If I can’t find cohesion, I’ll likely take it apart and reuse what I can elsewhere.

One thing that did come out of it was experimenting with images. I tried recreating my living room setup and ran into trouble describing a wall hanging my daughter gave me. Uploading a photo instead made a big difference. The first result stayed very true to the space and surprised me. The ones after that were decent, just not as strong.

 

Yesterday I tried using photos from my trip to the Y. Those didn’t work as well, mostly because the photos themselves weren’t great. I’m planning to try again and be more intentional about what I take. I’m not even sure where I’d use them yet, but I’m curious to see what happens.

I walked to the Y yesterday morning for my swim class. I ran out of energy about halfway through but kept going. It was my own doing—I forgot to eat before I left. Even having a grilled cheese after class didn't help. I still needed a ride home and ended up taking a nap. A reminder that with diabetes, regular meals really aren’t optional.

I’ve also been thinking about the people I see around me. Living where I do, most of what I see is Caucasian, with some Indigenous presence. Being French Canadian, I’ve always thought of myself as mixed, though it’s a bit more layered than that. My mother was English with Black ancestry, and my father was White and Indigenous.

It’s an unusual mix, but it has its advantages. I’m 65 and don’t look much over 50—aside from the hair, which shifts between silver and white depending on the day. Slight side step there but matches the way my mind is working today.

It also leads into May, which brings Mother’s Day and a pull toward memory and nostalgia. I’ll likely write more about nostalgia. Memory tends to live in my poetry. Nostalgia, for me, is about continuity—the things I learned and valued growing up, especially the parts that lead back to my mother.

 

If this kind of reflection resonates with you, you’re welcome to follow along. I’ll be leaning into nostalgia and continuity as we move into May. For now, I’m taking this as a week of small returns—to routine, to energy, and maybe to a few things I thought I’d left behind.

Going Anyway

 Not what I planned. But I didn’t turn back.

I’ve been thinking about this whole “small adventures” idea, and I don’t think it looks the way people expect it to. It’s not big outings or full days planned out. Most of the time, it’s me standing in my kitchen trying to decide if I’m actually going to leave the house or not.

This week, I did.

The plan was to go to the Wednesday Farmers Market. Easy enough. Fifteen-minute walk, nothing complicated. I talked myself into it, got out the door, walked all the way down there… and it turns out there is no Wednesday market anymore. I just stood there for a minute thinking, well… now what.

 

That would have been a perfectly good excuse to turn around and go home, and I was tempted. But I’d already done the hard part—the getting out the door part—so I kept going. I crossed the bridge into East City, stopped at Tim’s for a few minutes to rest, and then carried on to the spa where GD#1 works to check out those shower steamers she mentioned.

From there I went into Foodland to pick up the groceries I’d meant to get at the market. Not what I planned, but it worked. After that I wandered a bit along Hunter Street, half-looking for a bus stop and half just seeing what was around me. I didn’t find the bus stop, but I did find a Vinnies, so I went in to warm up for a few minutes.

By then I could feel I was done. Not the good tired—the kind where you know you’re pushing it. So I listened to that and called a Y-Drive to get home. And honestly, I was pretty proud of that whole thing. Not because it was big, but because I didn’t quit when the first plan fell apart.

The only picture I took was from the bridge by Quaker Oats. I’d hoped to find a path along the water on our side, but it’s all fenced off now. Still, standing there for a minute, looking out over the river, it felt like I’d actually gone somewhere.

Good Friday was a quieter version of the same idea. I took a longer loop instead of going straight to Jeff Purvey’s—Park to Dalhousie, onto the bike path, around through Townsend and Rubidge. I got there, stood in line for a bit, and nothing was moving. I could feel my energy dropping, so I left and ordered fish and chips instead.

On the way back, though, I ran into Larry and stood there talking with him for a few minutes. Nothing big, just a bit of conversation, but it broke up the walk in a good way. He’s been moved somewhere better, which I’m glad about. He’s getting older now—not as old as me, but getting close.

 

Then Monday came around and I went to Aquafit. Before we even got into the pool, I ended up in a conversation in the change room while we were getting ready. Just a few minutes, nothing important, but those small bits of talking seem to matter more than you think they will.

After class, I went home, rested for a bit, and later in the afternoon I walked down to Brookside Plaza to check out the new Salvation Army. I didn’t need anything—I just wanted to see it. That’s kind of what all of this is, I think. Not big plans, not big energy, just a bit of curiosity and a willingness to go anyway.

When I look at the week, it doesn’t look like much. A couple of walks, a class, a few short conversations. But it doesn’t feel small. It feels like I’m not stuck in the same way.

And if you’re dealing with the same kind of stuff I am—low energy, pain that comes and goes, days where everything feels heavier than it should—you don’t need big adventures. You just need something. Something that gets you out the door and gives you a moment where you’re not just sitting in it. That’s enough.

This week, I’m thinking about trying the bus. I’ve got the pass, and I keep looking at it like I’m waiting for the “right” plan. I might just go to the terminal and get on whatever bus comes first. That idea makes me a little uncomfortable, which probably means it’s a good one.

Small Adventures: Moving Through April Slowly

 Doing what I can. Letting that be enough.

As this month begins, I am doing well.

I go to the YMCA once a week. I walk every day—no less than 2,000 steps—which, if you know me at all, you’ll understand is a big step forward. I’ve gone from 250 steps at the end of December to 2,000 now.

My weight is finally below the 200 lb mark, coming in as low as 196 lb, but mostly around 198 lb. By the end of April, I hope to bring that to a steady 190.

 

How I’m going to get there is fairly simple. My plan is threefold:

1. Continue my weekly Aquafit class and add some chair yoga at home
2. Take a daily walk—sometimes as an adventure, sometimes just to enjoy the sun
3. Prep and eat only what I prepare (no takeout), including a weekly trip to the local farmers’ market

I’ve created a system for food prep, a realistic budget, and a journaling structure that allows me to be both practical and artistic. That part feels steady now.

So this month, I’m turning my attention outward—mainly toward my environment.

The first is getting out in public more often. I’m exploring a couple of groups I can join for social exposure, and one of my small adventure tasks is to interact with people I meet along the way—even if it’s only a nod.

The second is putting procedures and simple checks in place for housework. I’m not looking for a white-glove routine, just something I can live with as I move through a version of spring cleaning.

Fifteen minutes a day is the goal.

 

I want to be as ruthless as possible using the keep, toss, give-away method. My intention is to reduce what I own by half. I don’t know if I’ll get there—but even 25–30% would help me feel less closed in by my things.

The last area I’m working on is self-care—but not in the usual way.

I want to get my hair cut every three months. I’m also considering a simple skincare routine—not because I feel I need it, but because I enjoy things like facemasks. That might be where I begin—one facemask a week.

I’m also rethinking my wardrobe. I recently discovered my colours were done incorrectly, so this feels like a good opportunity to build my first capsule wardrobe.

 

I know I can do most of this.

But if I learned anything from March, it’s this: pacing matters.

I need to go slowly instead of trying to do too much too quickly. So I’ll keep that lesson close—doing what I can, not everything I want.

If you’re also learning to go slower while still moving forward, you’re not alone.

 

🌸Spring Emerging

This is the last post for March, and spring has started to show up in small ways.

I saw a robin at the beginning of the month. This week, the geese came back. Now I’m waiting for the buds and the dandelions.

 

It doesn’t happen all at once.

And I think that’s what this month has been like for me too.

When I started this series, I didn’t expect it to be this hard—or this revealing. I thought I would see progress clearly, something I could point to and name.

But what I’m noticing instead is quieter than that.

The days don’t feel quite as heavy. There are moments where my energy lifts just enough for me to notice it.

Not a big change.
Just something beginning.

This month didn’t go the way I planned.

I thought I could handle more—two Aquafit classes, a couple of studio classes—but it didn’t take long to realize I wasn’t there yet. One week of that was enough to put me out of commission for the next.

So I adjusted.

By the end of February and into March, I was down to one class a week.

Not what I wanted—but something I could actually sustain.

And it worked.

I kept going. I learned the routines. I started to feel a little stronger. It got easier to move around the house.

More importantly, I showed up.

Every week. Even on the days I didn’t feel like it. Even on the days where I spent more time arguing with myself than getting ready.

I still went.

And somewhere along the way, that started to matter more than how much I was doing.

It’s only been three months, but something has shifted.

 

Not in a big, obvious way. But enough that I can feel it.

I’m a little stronger. I have more energy around the house. Things that felt impossible a few months ago don’t feel quite as heavy now.

My blood sugar and blood pressure are slowly coming down. The pain days and low days are still there—but not as often.

And I’m learning.

I’m getting better at reading my body. Knowing when to keep going and when to stop. Accepting that just because my mind wants to push doesn’t mean my body can.

That alone has made a difference.

But the biggest change hasn’t been physical.

It’s been the arguing.

For months, every class meant hours of back and forth in my head. By the time I got there, I was already worn out.

I still showed up. But it was hard.

Somewhere around the equinox, that started to shift.

I decided I was done with the fight.

I’m going to that class. Once a week. That’s it.

And without that constant argument, everything feels a little lighter.

Not easy. Just easier.

March always carries a certain weight for me.

My mother’s birthday falls near the end of the month, and even now, years later, I find myself remembering. The sadness has softened, but the reflection is still there.

We were just beginning to repair our relationship when she passed. I didn’t understand then what my father meant when he said we were too much alike.

I understand it now.

When I think about endurance, I don’t think about pushing harder anymore. I think about staying. About continuing, even when things aren’t ideal, even when the pace is slow.

That kind of steadiness matters more to me now than effort for the sake of effort.

The equinox felt like a turning point—not because anything suddenly changed, but because I made a decision.

I’m done fighting with myself.

I will show up. Once a week. That’s enough.

And for the first time in a long time, I’m actually proud of that.

As March comes to a close, I’m not starting over.

I’m choosing what comes with me.

I’m carrying forward what I’ve learned about my limits—how to work within them instead of against them.

I’m keeping the consistency. One class a week. Movement where I can.

I’m continuing to learn—about my body, how I think, and even small things like French and the programs I use every day.

What I’m not carrying forward is the constant self-doubt.

I’m not arguing with myself every time I need to leave the house. I’m not expecting perfection. And I’m not measuring progress by how much I can do in a day.

That hasn’t worked.

What does work is steadiness.

Right now, I feel more stable than I have in a long time. Not perfect—but steady enough to build on.

And that’s what I want to protect.

With the ice and snow receding, I find myself wanting to be outside more.

I may not be ready for more than one class a week, but walking is different. It’s something I can do at my own pace.

So for April, I’m keeping things simple.

I’ll continue with my weekly class, and maybe add a second—Chairfit, Tai Chi, or yoga. Nothing fixed yet, just options.

Alongside that, I want to move outward a little more.

I’ve been collecting ideas for small adventures—things I can do close to home, at my own pace. Not all at once. Just something to look forward to.

Walking. Exploring. Taking photos again.

Those are things I used to enjoy.

And they feel like a good place to begin again.

Not with pressure.
Just with curiosity.

 

This month didn’t give me a clear result.

What it gave me was something quieter.

A better understanding of what I can sustain. A little more strength. A little less resistance.

Spring doesn’t arrive all at once.

It shows up in small ways.

And right now, that’s where I am too.

Not starting over.
Just beginning to unfold.