Category Archives: Canada

Early morning ‘To Do’s

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Canada, Finding Home, Life, Love, Writing by

This morning is waking me up with a mental ‘to do’ list knocking at the door. It first started knocking around 5.30am, but I sent it away through various mental images of babies being put to bed, boats adrift in the water, river currents taking away my thoughts (plus the addition of a shirt over my eyes to block any/all light) and it must have worked because eventually I fell asleep. However, it didn’t work for sooo long, or maybe the t-shirt fell off my face, because here I am typing away at 7.30 am and hoping that the clackity clack  of this keyboard doesn’t wake up Zsolt.

TO DO: Firstly, call the various utility companies and request a cancellation of their services. Unless I want to pay for another month of service, this needs to be done today.

TO DO: Zsolt has to drop by the printers to arrange a hard-binding of his thesis. It’s an expensive errand (most are these days) but the results are forever. For generations to come, his work will sit somewhere in the University of Southampton’s archive of past graduates, and maybe one day – when either he or I become hyper-famous, they’ll remove the book from its shelf and display it in the small gallery tucked toward the back of the library. “And here we have the writing of Zsolt, Hungarian scientist extrodinaire”. Well, regardless of whether that happens, the thesis, hard-bound and pressed with gold leaf lettering, will take a place of honour on our bookshelf.

TO DO: Little Peugeot needs to be sold. This is a must. Today we’ll be taking it around to the used car dealerships to see what type of prices they quote (so we have a sense of its value, but also, if we don’t find a buyer before leaving we’ll get the best of the worst prices, because used car dealers probably wouldn’t offer the ‘actual’ value of a car, considering they need to sell it later and make money from the exchange). Poor little Peugeout, she’s going to be poked and prodded.

TO DO: Sell the blooming mattress. Unfortunately despite being quite comfortable and good quality it has two strikes against its favour: strike one – it’s used, even if only for a year, it’s nevertheless used. Strike two – it’s a king size, which apparently doesn’t jive in this chocolate box land of petite and practical housing.

TO DO: Clean this apartment! Life imitates schedule. I’m busy : my apartment goes bizerk. For the past month things have been quite smoothy running in terms of housekeeping, but as soon as I began my marathon of goodbyes (aka, a great excuse to go out everynight and many mornings), the tidiness of this place has suffered. IF time allows, I’ll pop in a DVD and clean this entire mess up. When cleaning, always have a source of entertainment – whether it be music or a show in the background. For me, who hates cleaning in general (it’s not in my DNA, just ask my father), entertainment is essential.

TO DO: Say more goodbyes, heart breaking stuff. Yesterday I left a friend who I’ve known since my MA days at the Uni – she’s one of those inspiring women I was raving about the other day, and it was quite crap to say goodbye. And today there will be more of the ‘goodbye’ing, no crying, as work begins to wind to a halt. Friday is my last day.

TO DO: Pack. Ugh. Not worth discussing at this point.

TO DO: Write! Which clearly I’ve started on, and will need to continue once a bit of sky breaks in my day of busy activities. Yesterday I had some time alone in the flat, which is a rarity, and was able to use the main computer to begin my article-writing adventure. So far, so good.

Okay, time to get a move on – and maybe draw a picture. 😉

Thank you for your company, and for reading my to-do list. Now that I’ve blurted the whole thing out, it feels far more manageable. Writing as therapy always does the trick. And so, onto the dishes.

Marking time through roses

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Canada, Finding Home, Life by

It is May and the roses are back in Southampton; spread wide in bloom, layer upon layer of petals,  pinks, reds, and yellows, and nearly as large as a grapefruit. And again, despite the memories of last May’s roses, I’m stopping to smell them (smell, drink, inhale, absorb – who can get enough of that rose scent? It’s intoxicating). They are beautiful.

In my alter-ego world, I plant roses in my garden along the gate so other passer-bys can stop and smell. Though roses must be difficult to manage – or at least they look difficult to manage (a similar snap judgement like thinking a person is ‘high maintenance’ – which is such a catty idea, but sometimes these terrible thoughts just jump up into my head and stomp around. It’s not to say these women look bad, in fact, they look incredible, but the amount of time spent achieving that incredibleness must be great. Like the roses. However, gardening is therapeutic, and often time it’s our little morning rituals that ground us best. Who doesn’t benefit from some extra attention?) Besides, in my ‘real-world’ imagination, I’d probably plant a bush instead with the assumption it might need trimming once or twice a year.

But the roses are back, whatever my daydreams, and they’re a signal that I’m nearly one year post diagnosis. A friend told me that you count after the day of diagnosis, not the day after finishing chemotherapy. Interesting. Before she mentioned this idea, I had been incorrectly imagining a post-chemo timescale. Based, instead, on the roses, it’s nearly one year.

Coincidently (and in a new line to recognize the separations of events), I’m also coming up on my wedding anniversary. Zsolt and I have saved a bottle of wine from the wedding, which we plan to drink with his sister and brother-in-law as we drive across Europe toward our Hungarian holiday adventure.

Maybe spring roses will become a marker of time from now on. How many blooms till I’m officially (statistically) cancer free? Their arrival ticks a box in my mind, and I think every time I smell one: ‘you’ve made it this far.’

I’ve made it this far.

And the roses keep on blooming.

Dancing with Aeroplan

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Canada, Life, Travel by

Ah, Aeroplan – we meet again.

For better, for worse, in good times and bad, wrestling with Air Canada’s Aeroplan has become a yearly (bi-yearly, when I’m lucky) tradition. That’s what you get in long-distance family relationships. We live in England, my parents live in Canada. Therefore, about every nine months (give or take several months), I look up flights that can utilize the generous donation of my parent’s flying miles.

Normally this isn’t a problem. London to Ottawa is a fairly steady route – but when it comes to the busy periods, those times of the year when everyone is pushing and shoving to ride a plane, well, flying becomes a bitch.  

Last time it was a Christmas blocked-out period, anxieties over a chemo deadline, and trying to fly when everything and everyone was saying, ‘it’s not gonna happen’. This time it’s far less intense. Zsolt and I will be leaving Hungary toward the end of August, and we were hoping our arrival in Canada would correspond with my parent’s cottage vacation.

Okay, honestly – this is 100% no way like last Christmas. Last Christmas it was essential that I go home before the 15th of December. This time around we’ll be going to Canada whether or not the holiday cottage plans work out. So that’s fine. Therefore, what’s my problem?

Ah, just the same as ever. Every time we have a date (the 25th, the 28th, the 30th) and wait, say, one day to make sure it jives with my family back home-BAM!– Aeroplan does a little dance and the flights for that day are GONE.

Poof.

This is not a life and death situation. I love being able to fly for less. One-way tickets are astronomical in price when not bought with points. I should be thanking Air Canada for all the free (plus tax) rides they’ve allowed me over the years (or rather, thank my parents).

It’s more of an irritation than emergency. Actually, it’s no emergency. It’s like your little brother sitting in the back seat of the van and flicking your ear every five minutes. (Hi, Dan.) Annoying, but ultimately I’ll stick by them.

Eventually this will be sorted. That’s the beauty of life – one way or another, stuff works out. And so, it’s back to the Aeroplan website. After all, every relationship demands a little work; and when it’s good, it’s so very good.