Through the Window Jan. 20, 2008

I'm rushing around trying to finish up last minute things. Shopping, cleaning the house, laundry and packing. It's the evening before I leave. The next day doesn't turn out much better. I still have a few last minute things to pack, fill the washer fluid in the car, check the oil, drive kids to school, drop off second hand clothing, return rented movies, and then one last stop at home to load the car. My daughter comes home just as I am leaving. I haven't seen her for 2 days. We take time to converse, catch up, and of course, cuddle.

Finally I am on my way - sort of. After filling up the car with gas, I head into Edmonton to stop by my daughter's home. I drop off some homemade goodies, and pick up her video camera and books on tape that are waiting for me at the front door, along with some special snacks and drinks for the road. (How sweet). I leave my daughter and her hubby a note expressing my love, cuddle Onyx the cat, and then I am gone.

In only 10 minutes I'm on the highway with the music cranked. The soundtrack to '300'. The power from the musical instruments stirs my soul, and somehow seems to emphasize the strength of my independence, and renewed freedom. I grab my jug of water and do some bicep curls, and then a few legs lifts. (left side only...no cruise control). Through the windows in every direction the traffic is steady and the horizon flat. As I turn off past Olds about 2 hours later, the traffic slows down and the number of rolling hills increases. I love this part of the drive, and often wish I was in the passenger seat, so I could just stare out the window at all the farmland and homesteads along the way. I turn off the music and put in a Marry Higgins Clark, with the volume much lower.

Before the end of the 2nd CD, I am at the junction with only an hour and a half to go. I turn off the CD. Although this is probably the most dangerous part of the trip, it is my favorite part. Driving up and over Storm mountain gives way for some incredible scenery. The trees are all weighted down with pillowy white snow.

Everything around me is white, signifying purity. Every now and again the river along the highway peeks out from under the thick ice and snow. As I pass the continental divide, I contemplate the meaning of this place.

I arrive at my foster parents just before 5:00, and my foster dad, Nick, meets me in the driveway. I feel swallowed in his embrace. "Better hide the car", he chuckles, " I don't want the neighbours to see those red and white plates in the driveway". My foster mom, Avy is waiting just inside the door. Her embrace is tight and she doesn't want to let go. I'm not in the house 20 minutes before I have to go out and scare away 3 young bucks that are eating from the bird feeders. Through the wall of windows at the front of the house, I can see a group of people preparing ice on the lake for a curling bonspeil next weekend. As night falls, all we see is the stream of headlights crossing the lake.

My few days here are great! Quiet and relaxing. We write, do jigsaw puzzles, walk around the lake, or up town, and Nick and I play crib, and of course practice kung-fu. In the mornings, I sleep in until 8:00, do some yoga, and breakfast is waiting for me when I get downstairs. Twice, Avy and I do some volunteer work at the local thrift shop. Avy starts at 6:30, but she won't let me go that early. She encourages me to "get some much needed rest".

One late afternoon brings a very strong windstorm that knocks out the power. Silence. Even the fan on the wood stove goes quiet. All that's heard is the rhythmic tic of the antique clock on the mantle, and the howl of the wind off the lake. Life seems simple here. Stores are shut down by 6:00 every night, and they never open on Sundays. Through the kitchen window I see 3 woodpeckers at the old stump in the yard. A pileated, a downy, and a flicker are filling their bellies with suet that is pushed into drilled holes in the log. Avy gets out her bird book and enters the number of birds she sees. They keep track of all the birds and how many they see for a Canadian bird foundation.

My foster brother Dale and I head up a mountain one morning to chase a cougar. Dale keeps track of all the big cats here and their well being. Through the window of the truck, we look for tracks, and stop when we finally see some. The snow is up to my thighs and the incline is about a 45 degree angle. We head straight up, and go fast. My endurance slows down. After 2 hours, I find myself repeating "don't stop-just put one foot in front of the other". It may be tough and seem impossible, but I know the final reward is always worth it. I may have slowed but never once did I stop.

As life slows down and has less distractions, it seems so much more like ...well, life. I guess you could call it living, instead of just existing. On the way back home to Spruce Grove I can't stop looking in the rear view mirror. The mountains, and the feeling of absolute peace they bring, are now behind me. Ahead of me is responsibility, in huge bold letters. Kids to raise, bills to pay, 2 jobs to work, house to keep, and obstacles to overcome. Part of me feels a sense of loneliness, but there is a part of me that feels proud and strong. I reflect through the rear view mirror of my life; where I have come from and what I have accomplished. Then I look through the front window to visualize where I am going. I start to review my goals and plans on how to accomplish those goals. Focus. I tell myself to focus, but also to live in the moment.

I am grateful that my home is a very quiet place; my family's sanctuary from the world. Our phone rings maybe twice a day, T.V is rarely on unless we watch a video. We often read or play cards, and everyone is in bed by 9:30. But it's that word "responsibility" that I get caught up on. I work a lot because I have to. But what I don't have to do is stop living life. My mind gets so set on waiting for the next payday, the next day off, the next evening I have free to stay home. I look through the window and usually see tomorrow, but rarely see today. Today is the one that's most important. I end every day with looking back on what I am grateful for in my life. I don't take any of it for granted. I love the mountains, and the way they make me feel, but it's not where you live that counts, it's how you live. As I reflect on my blessings every day, I also reflect on my actions from the day. What kind of character have I portrayed with all of my dealings? Have I brightened any ones day? Am I closer to my personal goals than I was when I got up this morning?

Every single day is full of greatness, and possibilities. Look at Mozart. Mozart looked through the window and always saw possibilities, because he listened to his heart. This was the secret to his greatness. When he looked at a violin, he heard concertos. When he looked at a blank manuscript, he heard symphonies. Yet, his life was very hard, and when he died from a feverish illness, he was buried in an unmarked grave. Mozart lived in poverty. But his hardships never stopped him from always looking at the possibilities.

I've come to realize that there is a thief working overtime to steal my time. Lost minutes stretch into hours, then days. Lost yesterdays become weeks, months, years. I don't want to look throught the window and see lost yesterdays. I want to see treasured moments and no regrets. In 100 years, it won't matter what my bank account was, or what kind of house I lived in. What will matter, and what people will remember, is how I affected the lives of those around me, especially my children. "All the gold in the world cannot buy back either the little delights of the day, or the big pleasures that happen without announcement or plan. You simply have to be there."

Once again, I look through the window of my life, and yes, I am happy with what I see. I know where I have come from, and perhaps more importantly, I know where I am going. If I listen to my heart, I know that I will open many windows of possibilities, and these possibilities will in turn lead to greatness in my life.