Hot flashes and pet drama fill this empty nest Photo courtesy Mother Nature

Last Word with

ISABELLE SOUTHCOTT

Dear Powell River Living readers and friends, Well, it’s time for the dreaded Christmas letter so grab a beer, a bong or a glass of something and get comfortable. The year went by in a flash and I don’t mean a news flash. It was more the hot kind of flash. You know, the kind of flash that middle aged women and their husbands are familiar with. Turn down the heat, open the door, turn the heat back up, all in the space of two minutes.

I was shocked to discover that I’m no longer middle aged. A good friend reminded me that boat sailed several years ago. When you’re between 55 and 60, you’re more like a pre-senior and that’s not a bad thing. It sounds hopeful doesn’t it? Kind of like you’re still young and just embarking on something grand.

The year started badly with my partner landing in hospital in January. Or was it February? I can’t remember because I’m over 55 and I have a hard time remembering all the things I’m supposed to remember. Anyhow, Dwain had to spend a few days in the Powell River General earlier this year. Thank God we got all that sorted out!

Here I go sounding like one of my friend’s elderly relatives. You know the ones. The kind who, when you ask them how they are, they pull a big sheet of paper out of their purse and proceed to tell you all the things that are wrong with them before listing off the 12 different prescriptions they have to take. By the time they’ve finished your eyes have glazed over and so much time has passed you’ve forgotten what you asked them about in the first place. I promise I won’t do that. At least not this year.

My new year’s resolution to exercise and lose weight started splendidly in January! By mid- month I was running five kilometres, five days a week. By mid-November I was walking three blocks five times a week. Not sure where I’ll be by the end of December. It’s not my fault, honest. I blame it on our new family member.

Becoming an empty nester was traumatizing. My youngest son Alex moved out in April to attend BCIT’s commercial pilot program in Richmond. I cried for a week. Then I bought a puppy.

Scotiapride’s Acadian Jig (“Jigs” for short) joined our family in October. I flew to Nova Scotia to get her. Well, that’s not exactly true. I hadn’t been home to visit friends in many years so I combined a visit with picking up a puppy.

They say Jigs is a Nova Scotia Duck Tolling retriever but I think she is really a landshark with very sharp teeth. Grandpa Hunter (my senior Duck Toller, pictured above) tolerates her, but he sometimes looks at me with his big, sad eyes as if to say: “Why. What did I do to deserve this?”

Meanwhile Boots the cat just hisses and gives her a good swat when he’s had enough.

I’m happy to report that Jigs is now semi-civilized. My father used to say that toddlers were mobile with no common sense. The same can be said for puppies. But all is forgiven when you look at sleeping babies and sleeping puppies.

Two Grade 12 students from Beijing came to live with us last month and helped solve the empty nest dilemma. Luckily, Lucy and Theresa don’t mind animals. Jigs loves the teens but she thinks their big, plush elephant slippers are really stuffed animals they just happen to wear on their feet! The girls often have a puppy hanging off their feet when trying to walk around the house. It is really quite funny.

Dwain retired earlier this year. It lasted all of six weeks. Then one of our kids needed something so he went back to work. (We have five kids between us age 20 to 24 with three still in post-secondary so it wasn’t a big surprise.) He began working part-time for Mitchell Brothers. Since Dwain “retired” he is doing the lion’s share of domestic duties. He does 95 per cent of the grocery shopping and cooked dinner 363 days this year. I cooked twice.

We visited our Kamloops kids in July and took Boots, the cat, with us. I figured he’d like wearing a little red harness. I tried it on him the day before we left. Everything was good for a while but on the way home, the cat started panting and hid beneath the seat. When we stopped at a campsite near Boston Bar, I put the harness and leash on him. I didn’t have a handle on things when I was doing it and the door was open a crack. Yup, you guessed it. Out the door went Boots, harness on and little red leash trailing behind him. Gone. Lost. Doomed to certain death in wilderness far from home. Last I saw of him he was hightailing it through the woods.

I ran after him as fast as I could but he had vanished. The campground owners said there were cougars and other wildlife in the woods. I felt sick. His imminent death was on my conscience. He would have had a chance without a harness and leash but he’d get caught in a tree and be supper for some animal with that rigging on. Dwain and I searched high and low. We rattled the kitty treat bag calling his name but we heard nothing. We got up every couple hours through the night to search for our kitty. Twenty-four hours later and Boots was still missing. I tried to keep the faith but it wasn’t easy. I remembered my grandmother saying: “Without hope, there is nothing,” so I did my best to keep my candle of hope burning bright. It was but a weak flicker by 9 pm the second night when I set off to search yet again. “Boots, here kitty, kitty,” I called, tearfully rattling the kitty treat bag. By now, almost 30 hours had passed and I couldn’t stop thinking that he was dead. “Here Boots,” I called again. I poked around the old junk yard above the campground and lifted the edge of an old truck cap. The prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen stared back at me and out walked Boots! I thought my heart would burst. I scooped him up and went back to tell Dwain the good news. The cat was back! It was like Christmas in July.

My youngest son and I traded cars last month. He was having problems with his beater but didn’t have time to get it fixed because he’s at school in Richmond. I envisioned him breaking down, stranded by the side of the road, so I suggested that we trade vehicles.

I am now the proud owner of a 2003 Honda Civic. Meanwhile, Alex has a 2007 Toyota Camry. The Camry has been well cared for and well maintained. The Honda, well let’s just say it was a pizza delivery car and owned by a teenage boy. My oldest son put it succinctly. “I know who got the best end of that deal mom and it wasn’t you!”

Well, it’s time to take a bubble bath and dream about all the weight I’m going to lose after Christmas. If I close my eyes I can picture myself in the gym or running a marathon or two. Oh wait, I did that when I was actually a middle age 40-year old.

Life is good but it is not perfect. My social media accounts don’t portray this perfectly polished, curated life, but they do show someone living the best way she knows how while running a magazine she loves and living in the best community on earth.

Merry Christmas everyone! And thank you for reading Powell River Living magazine.