Wednesday, December 1, 2021

Sometimes a lot ...

There are many moments in life that, if you notice them and let them guide you, will lead you to the secret paths and places of your heart. To the doors that want to be opened, to the spaces that want to be seen. Sometimes you are missing something so profoundly and you don't even know it. It was a beautiful and cold winter day. The first of December. The sun sparkled and warmed my face as I was driving to go and take some precious art to get laminated. I went in, explained, gave my things to the young man at the counter and left, hoping they were in good hands.

I got in my car and was instantly aware of a strong impulse. I needed to make a Romanian soup that my father used to make for us and I needed to make it immediately. It just so happened that I was a few minutes away from the Romanian store, so I drove there. I just went in for sausages. The smoked and dried kind that you put into Supa de Fasole. I was in the store for less then a minute when I felt this welling up inside of me. It was the music that was playing. I continued to look around for a few minutes and the music, this music, spoke deeply to my soul. It was unlike any Romanian music I had ever heard. I was so moved that I went to the counter and said to him in Romanian, "Excuse me, could you possibly tell me what is playing? I find it incredibly beautiful." He looked at me in an odd way, a good odd, and said in Romanian, "Yes it is 'Andra, Spectacol Traditional'. I said thank you and continued my shopping. The music continued its effect on me. I went up to the man again and said, very emotionally, how much I could not get over this music. He asked me how long I had been in Canada and complimented me on my Romanian given how long I have been here. I told him it was really nice to speak Romanian because I did not have any Romanian friends or family where I have the opportunity to speak it with. It was in that moment that I noticed a deep longing within me. 

He asked I if I had been back to Romania recently. I told him it had been about 18 years since I had been back. And then I started crying. I said I'm sorry and turned around and walked to the refrigerator pretending to look at something while I composed myself. But before I turned away, I saw understanding in his eyes.

I gathered myself a little and went back and said I'm sorry again and it was the music that was bringing up many things for me. He said, "There is nothing to be sorry about, that is what it is supposed to do. It is one of the most beautiful Romanian pieces out there and is performed at Sala Palatului." Then he said, "You know it's the Romanian National Day today don't you?" I said, "No! I had no idea!" He said, "Yes, that is why I have this piece playing today. For this day. And do you know the traditional thing served on this day is Ciorba de Fasole cu Cirnati?" And I'm like, "No! That is exactly what I came in here to buy ingredients for today." He smiled knowingly again and said, "I'm going to give you some. We just made it. How many are you at home?" And he proceeded to fill two big, family size containers for me to take home. I said to him, "As immigrants, so far away from the land where we were born, our souls always miss something deep down I think. This place, this food, I want my children to know it. I want them to know the language, the land."

As I stood at the cash to pay, he said, "Before the pandemic, we used to organize a lot of community events. When the pandemic is over, you should come." I can't tell you how much that meant to me and how much his kindness and understanding filled my heart with gratitude. I thanked him so very much, told him I would come back with my family, we said, "La revedere", and I left, with a knowing that I was led here on this day for this experience. 

This man, he is one of those special people in life who Know. Who See. Who Guide.

I have always believed that the place where we are born is in us. It is, in literal form, in the makeup of our cells. The land of a place, its sounds, its waters, its air, the moonlight in that place, the sunlight in that place, its food, all the things that nourished our grandmothers and mothers as we were being made and growing inside of them, that is what we are made of. If our lives take us far away from that place, even though our lives are wonderful in our new home,  "home", the home of our cells, the home we are made of, is always missing a little. Sometimes a lot. Like today. 

Happy National Day, my beautiful Romania.


My beautiful Romania. 





Friday, May 21, 2021

I am out of practice ...

I will never forget the moment I started writing in this space. Well, not so much started, as pushed the publish button. Well, not so much pushed, as scrolled over the place on the screen where the publish area square is and, well, you get the idea ... 

Anyhow, picture it, Barbados, 2010. If you know, you know.

There I was, sitting on the bed, staring at the computer. In Barbados! I know, I know, I should have been on the beach. Toes in sand! Breeze on face! Salt! And sun! On skin! But, I wasn't. I, dear readers, was, well, I already mentioned the was so now, let me get to the why. The why, was a piece of bread, a piece of butter, a chunk of garlic, a chunk of cheese and a potato. A potato chip, many, potato chips. I was sitting there staring, and wondering, if my first post, my first shared recipe, was actually going to be a chip sandwich. Could it be? Would I be ridiculed? Would people be aghast? Would anyone ever look me in the eye again? Would I be staring at this computer much longer, IN BARBADOS, instead of being at the beach?

As it turns out I wouldn't, because with trembling hands, and some nausea, I pushed publish, closed the laptop immediately afterward, and what is Starlight Moondance (nee dishchronicles), was born. Just like that, with what I now know to be a 'Chip Butty'. But mine was a gourmet one, of course. And technically, I had created it of course, because I had never heard of said Chip Butty before. Do I use too many commas?

I'm looking for my voice. Jarring segue, right? Not super smooth. I know. I am out of practice.

If you were wondering why I am here reminiscing about the origins of my blog, it's because I am looking for my voice again, dear readers. Do you remember it? I have so many things to say, about so many things and they are all in my head. And it has been so very long, since I have said them in anything other than a few sentences, in a post or comment. I deeply long for (and need) lengthy, rambling prose ... meandering words, long journeys on a page (screen, we all know it's screen but screen sounds much less poetic, no?) ...

But I am much out of practice, because for many years now,  my brain has become accustomed to the short and the quick, when what I need, and long for, is the depth. I have recently weaned, after breastfeeding for about 6 straight years (there is that jarring segue again; that is how it is in my mind at the moment; jarring segues). It feels so incredibly personal to write this. It makes me feel very exposed. I wonder if it is even fully mine to share. When I think about it, I know it is not fully mine to share but I will share a little part, of my part of it. For now, I am going to go to bed. 

Jarring end, right? Not super smooth. I know, I know. I am out of practice.

But not for long.


Weaning ~ Oil Pastel ~ By Me





Thursday, April 1, 2021

I have hope ...

I was waiting for a good time to tell this particular story. We do that a lot, don't we? Wait for a "good time" to do things? Then I realize (if I am lucky this realization comes sooner than later for most things), that this is a good time. Right now. While my little one watches Daniel Tiger and eats strawberries, while my other little one is at school, while Aksel works in his office at home. While I have countless things on my mind. While I am sleepy.

A year ago around this time, I was standing at the kitchen counter doing dishes and I thought I was going to collapse. My heart was racing, then very slow, I was sweating and I felt as if I would just fall down. I stopped and went to lie down. This scenario was now a familiar one to me. For the last three weeks, I had been taking care of my family who were all sick. One little one had had a fever, then a cough, my other little one had a cough non-stop, my husband coughing and coughing ... I remember thinking if I never hear another cough in my life, it would be good. While they were sick, I was terrified. Scared of COVID, without help. We went to the hospital twice with my littlest one during this time because she was on puffers every hour at one point. Each time, they said we were doing the right thing and just to monitor her. The second time they gave her dexamethasone to help her lungs recover faster. It worked.

All this time I was trying not to get what they had, so that I could take care of them. I had no cough, no fever, nothing. I had a different version of COVID. One that is not being spoken about enough. One that I did not realize I had until months later, when I drove myself to the Jewish General hospital, barely being able to stand. This is why I decided to share my story. To raise awareness and to advocate. This is what happened to me, this is the version that I got. 

While caring for my family during the last three weeks of March, 2020, I lost 25 pounds in three weeks. I had no appetite. My heart would race to 170 beats a minute without warning. I had squeezing in my chest. Sour taste in my mouth. I would start sweating. I couldn't sleep at night and would be up for three, four hours at a time in the middle of the night. When I did sleep, I would be woken up out of sleep with a racing heart and sweating. I was so scared I was unable to go back to sleep. Then after a while, my heart rate slowed down enormously. At one point it was below 45 beats per minute. All of these things happened every single day and every single night. For six months.

Around month three, after numerous telehealth and one in person doctor visit, continuing weight loss and complete exhaustion, the likes of which I have never felt before, I got in my car and drove myself to the Jewish General Hospital. I could barely walk from fatigue. They saw me and took me in right away. At this point, one of the doctors there had seen this type of COVID presentation and had me tested immediately. They did abdominal ultrasounds, EKG, echocardiogram, every blood test available, an x-ray of my heart and lungs. All the tests came back normal, the COVID test, negative. I remember the doctor coming in and he said "I have good news and bad news. The good news is that everything is normal and the bad news is that everything is normal. We don't know what is causing this." 

We now know what is causing this. It is post-viral syndrome. Also known as Long Covid or Long Haul Covid. In my case (and tens of thousands of others in Canada that we now know of) it presented as post viral Dysautonomia. Dysautonomia does not show up on the tests. It shows up as the debilitating symptoms that I was experiencing every single day. Post-viral syndrome is not new, nor is it exclusive to COVID. It becomes a problem now though because of the sheer amount of people being infected by COVID and the amount that will go on to develop post-viral syndrome and the demographic that it is affecting. So far, the estimate is that up to 1 in 3 people will have some form of post-viral syndrome, or long covid after COVID infection. It is presenting very much like Myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS). The demographic for post-viral syndrome seems to be mostly women, between the ages of 25-45, in good health prior to infection, with initial COVID presentation being usually mild in nature. 

I my case, I have experienced good health and never had a digestive issue in my life. Through two pregnancies, I never had a day of nausea or indigestion. My whole life, I have thankfully been able to eat and drink anything and everything I have ever wanted. We eat small farm organic foods only and have done so for over 15 years. I have a garden and grow things. Since last March, I have only been able to eat salad and meat. Anything else gives me bad acid reflux. At one point at the beginning, even water was difficult to drink because of the reflux. For someone who had never experienced this before, I can't tell you how hard it is to experience pain and discomfort with every single bite of food or sip of water, all day, every day, day in day out. After months of this, I would often cry after eating. 

One night in particular stands out in my memory. It was about three months in. I had just been woken up from sleep by a racing heart and sweating. By this time I was afraid to fall asleep at night because of how scary it was to wake up like that and because it happened every single night. I was not eating because I couldn't. I was still nursing. I was exhausted to the core. I remember being on the couch (I slept, and still sleep on the couch now, because I could not lay flat on the bed anymore without acid coming up) and being thirsty. We have a Berkey water filter in the kitchen within view of our couch. I remember looking at the Berkey and bursting into tears because I was so tired, I did not know how I would gather the energy to get up and walk to the kitchen to get myself a glass of water. I cannot describe this level of fatigue to you. I could not have imagined it myself. Not even being an older mom to a new baby and young children comes close. 

I can tell you many stories of young people I know, who are going through similar things right now. 

It is over a year now and I am starting to feel better. A few months ago, the heart racing and sweating stopped and I am able to sleep again. I cannot tell you how relieved I feel. In the last month and a half, my energy has improved beyond words, my appetite has increased, I am still experiencing reflux but not as badly as before. I HAVE HOPE. I have joy. I have enormous gratitude.

I write this, and share my story, because I don't know what I would have done if I was a single parent, or had to work, or had a different family situation, or had a spouse that lost a job, or a business, or if I did not come from a family with a medical background and was able to advocate for and help myself, or in countless other situations. 

I am home raising my children by choice. I have an extraordinary husband who has been working full time, taking care of our children before and after work and all of his lunch periods and free time, taking and picking up our little one from school, and cooking for us every single day, every single meal, for a year, because I just could not. This is the kind of dedication and care he has given our family. This is what has allowed me the rest required to recover. 

Most people do not have this situation. People need help. People are having to sell their homes because they cannot work and they cannot get financial help. They are being misdiagnosed. They are trying to push through it only to have debilitating symptoms return from their exertion. The thing with this is that the only way through is rest and time. It can take anywhere from a few months to five years to recover from post-viral syndrome. What do you do if you cannot work because you literally cannot get up and Long-Covid is not an officially available diagnosis for any government aid or benefits. Where do you get help? How do you pay your bills? How do you keep your hope alive? Where do you go for rehabilitation? These are just some of the questions we need to answer.

What I wish to see first and foremost is an information campaign directed at the medical community regarding post-viral syndrome after COVID infection. They need to know what to look for and how to use existing protocols and best practices to advise, treat and follow people through to recovery. This for me is the fastest, easiest and least expensive way to help people through this, from a health standpoint. At this point, I do not expect Long Covid clinics to materialize in time here. At last count, the UK is up to 85 clinics specifically dedicated to treating people with post-viral syndrome after COVID infection. If we cannot go that centralized route, it is imperative that the medical community be informed of the most current and accurate protocols in treatment and that these be recognized and applied immediately.

Well, I think that is about it for now and I have come to the end of this story on this post. I will end it by saying this to you, the people you think are recovered, so many of them, are not as recovered as you think.


Sunrise. Every day. There is always hope. Never forget that.




Sunday, August 9, 2020

To save ourselves ...

To get right to the point, as those of you who know me, know I love to do, I want to talk to you today about disposable masks and hand sanitizers.

These items are in our world right now in, and here it is again, unprecedented (I imagine you have been hearing this word a lot lately) amounts. The plastic pollution was already an enormous problem before Covid-19. The world was on a path to ban single use plastics, plastic water bottles and the such. Many of you were outspoken advocates for this and it was and is necessary.

What I am not hearing now, is any conversation about the enormous amount of plastic waste, that disposable face masks, plastic hand sanitizer bottles and the like, will add to an environment already burdened by so much human generated pollution. The masks have an environmental lifespan of 450 years, as do the plastic bottles.

United Nations Trade And Development projects that disposable face masks are set to go from $800 MILLION in 2019 to $166 BILLION in 2020 and even higher after that. Please, let that sink in. 

Image - 'The Guardian'

How can we talk about protecting our elders and most vulnerable in society from Covid-19 and not talk about environmental responsibility in ensuring that there will be a healthy planet for us to live in after Covid-19. It is myopic, at best, to worry about the current pandemic and associated behaviours if the environmental responsibility of keeping surgical masks, plastic gloves, plastic hand sanitizer bottles, medical PPE's and sanitizing chemicals out of our land, rivers, lakes and oceans is neglected. 

Where are the people asking questions like 'Is there anyone monitoring the sanitization product levels in our drinking water?' 'In our lakes?' The amount of sanitizer going into our water systems when we wash our hands, clean etc is .. yes, you guessed it, unprecedented. And incredibly toxic. Is anyone testing hospital effluents with this extraordinary increase in sanitization? Is anyone looking at the effects of constant sanitizer use on the skin of very young children and even babies? Is there a similarity with all this sanitization and the overuse of antibiotics? Will it create 'superbugs'?

Since staying home, products being delivered at home are at a historical high (I didn't want to use unprecedented again ...) between online shopping and takeout services, the accumulating plastic waste is enormous ...

We cannot separate ourselves from responsibility of the whole. It is a web, of which we are one part. We must not and cannot take a myopic view when it comes to life and we must address and find solutions for the rapidly accumulating Covid-19 waste in the same way we became advocates for the banning of other plastics and chemicals. We must rapidly make disposable masks that are biodegradable or truly recyclable or something else. I don't know what. I don't have the answer but I know collectively, we do, and we must start looking for it. Fast. We can perhaps fill those hand sanitizer bottles with environmentally sound liquid soap and carry another one of water, so we can wash our hands anywhere, which is the best thing anyway. Or something else. Something other that billions of people dumping sanitizer into our waterways ...

We must ask the questions, investigate and come up with solutions.

To save ourselves. Not the environment, not the planet. The planet will be fine. We must save ourselves. 


Wednesday, June 3, 2020

I lift up my face ...

This misty moment.

Filled with bird chirpings. Great bird noises. Busy bird noises. Bickering bird noises. Everyone going about their bird business of the day, gathering bugs, worms and other things of bird life.

The bright green, dark green, in between green ... trees standing perfectly still. Being. Witnessing.

The noise, the silence, simultaneously.

The countless tiny droplets of mist coats all souls. Filling every available surface with gentle life.
I lift up my face.







Friday, March 20, 2020

The magic in our hands ...

These are my hands. Well, hand ...



I am wearing the gloves because my skin is cracked and bleeding from all the hand washing and dishwashing. My knuckle bled, there is a little paper cut like opening on my pinkie and red dry skin over much of my hands. They sting and hurt when I don't have the gloves on for washing, so, I have been wearing them almost all day today.

The day wound down, as they do, and we put our little ones to bed. I had my gloves on for story time, for countless requests for this and that, for medicine giving and tea bringing and finally, I had my gloves on for snuggling.

As I lay my hand to caress hair and then gently rest on the blanket that covered my little one, I was struck by a remembering of the magic of our skin. The magic in our hands. This thin layer of nitrile, reminded me that every time we touch, when our skin comes into contact with something, especially our loved ones, something incredible happens. A communication you have to be very present for to feel, or have the choice removed from you to miss.

It is an extraordinary thing, all the experiences we take for granted.

I imagined myself not being to remove the gloves, not being able to have my hands, my skin, feel again. It is then that the remembering came. I sit here now and type and periodically stop and look at my hands. Place them together and feel this magic. Then I type again, feel my fingertips on the keyboard and imagine if I could not feel them with my skin. I am so glad I can.

There are so many blessings among the fear. Countless. This is one I wanted to share with you tonight.


Friday, March 20th, 2020 - Quarantine day 7

Saturday, December 21, 2019

A promise of light ...

Have you felt the descent into darkness? Human life mirrors nature, mirrors human life. Each season lives within every moment of our lives. We have only to look. The turns of the wheel are sacred. Are teachers to those willimg to learn. 

This time, feel into this. The darkest dark, given time, given grace, given love, given friendship, given all the broken pieces to be held most tenderly while awaiting a new form, is always followed by the return of the light. 


Always. 


Just as the seasons cycle, we cycle, life cycles, boundless in the micro and macrocosm. Over and over. What do we do with all this? What do we do as we enter the darkest night? We enter, my darlings. We enter the deepest and darkest parts of ourselves. Away from the countless facades and distractions, away from the manufactured busyness, away from the roles we play, away from speaking, away from seeing with our eyes... We enter into the slow. We seek our way back to the lessons of the dark.


We are surrounded by artificial light at all times, literally and figuratively. All to get away from the dark, literally and figuratively. But we cannot escape the dark because it always comes... We must learn to be with darkness again. That we can be. We must learn again how to help ourselves and that we need the help of others in the darkest time. 


Sit with this. See where it finds you. Hold space for the you that exists beyond the doing.


Because here we are. The longest night, brings the return of the light.
As above, so below, as within, so without.


The Winter Solstice is a promise of light, a promise of new beginnings.

Alchemy always.


Happy Winter Solstice my darlings.