A boat name to sail on

Since the moment I made the decision to buy my sailboat, I have dwelt a lot on what defines me as I sought out a name for it.

I’ve brainstormed names, picked one, then another, and second-guessed them all. It’s nearly been a daily think tank for three and half months.

However, I’ve made a final choice. Quite simply the best name ever.

I was nicknamed “Little Miss” by a friend of mine who understood me and my journey through some tough hardships. “Little Miss” is the name of a 2010 country hit song by the duo “Sugarland.”

Both the band and the song have been long time favorites of mine. To his credit, my friend was fairly accurate calling me “Little Miss.”

I’m tough, I do my best, I never rest. Sometimes I do give up, hide my scars and yet, I go far. And I am so much more than I like to talk about. I have had more than one brand new start and I believe that sometimes “you gotta lose til’ ya win.”

I am defined by all of it, but “Little Miss” isn’t the name I chose for my boat.

I love my country of Canada. I passionately love where I live in it and I cannot imagine moving away from Rainy Lake, ever.

The sunsets here are spectacular, the air is fresh, and there is a world of adventure at nearly every turn.

“Canadian Skye” is another of my favourite songs. It makes my heart leap when I hear the band “Spirit of the West” sing it.

But “Canadian Skye” isn’t the name I chose for my boat either.

“True North.” I am a northerner. I am true. I try to wear my heart on my sleeve as much as I can, because life is short and I don’t want to waste it by hiding—even if its risky.

I am my own “True North.” Certainly that does define me.

But “True North” isn’t the name I chose for my boat either.

I want to live and cruise on my boat and take it all in.

“Vista Cruise” was a dead ringer for me. It encapsulated the two words that depicted why I bought the boat in the first place.

But alas, one day I would be sailing near Belize and come under the shadow of the future “Carnival Vista Cruise liner.” That just wouldn’t do. 

So of course, “Vista Cruise” isn’t the name I chose for my boat either.

Between 1920 and 1922 my grandfather John Murdoch Caldwell wrote love letters to his sweetheart and fiancée Pearl Davis. I have 60 of those love letters still in their original envelopes.

The loving words my grandfather wrote to my grandmother are exquisite. Every one of the 60 letters, still as legible as the day he wrote them, speak volumes about what a kind, gentle, loving soul he was. 

Sometimes he slipped violets in the letters, and there they remain, pressed between the notes of his heart for 94 years.

He began nearly every letter with “Dear Buddy.” I will never know where he found that term of endearment for my grandmother, but by the looks of the envelopes torn open by her fair hand, she could hardly wait to read what he’d written.

Grampa Caldwell was a gunner with the 35^th Battery of the Canadian Field Artillery in World War I. He fought in Europe and he survived to come home, fall in love, and raise a family of five children, one of whom is my father, Bruce.

I was lucky to be able to spend summers of my youth with my Grampa Caldwell. I loved him and he loved me right back.

60 love letters to his sweetheart, some of them signed “Johnnie,” but most were signed with a name that I can only imagine defined him in the war, and once home, as my grandmother’s loving watchman.

“Scout.”   Quite simply the best boat name ever.

A few words about motherhood

When my daughters were “littles,” I would show them their reflection in a mirror and had them practice saying, “I love you” to them.

At bedtime when it came time for prayers of gratitude and lists of whom they loved, I cued them in as first on their lists.

There are countless philosophical quotes that preach loving yourself first.

I can’t write a better one than to encourage you to look in the mirror at yourself, really stare into those eyes, be you man or woman, and tell yourself “I love you” until you believe it.

Like most moms, there were times when I was sure I had failed other courses in the school of motherhood consecutively and bigger than a certain Canadian hockey team.

All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own. This I know for sure.

I am the luckiest of moms. Thank you Heather for writing such a wonderful tribute to me for Mother’s Day on behalf of yourself and your sisters.

“You are beautifully written.
You transcend the wisdom of your favourite books, and your favourite quotes have nothing on the knowledge that you feed back to people.
You are everything good in the world.
You walked into my room and told me your heart was in perfect condition- proof that fractures heal.
You are not to be held back.
You are strong, you are mighty.

I swear you were a Greek Goddess of resiliency in another life.
In the face of adversity, you do not cave.
You let yourself feel what the world has given you, turn it around and teach us lessons of courage.
You helped us grow and never failed to give us exactly what we needed.
There are things I’m sure you wished were different for us, people we never got to fully experience.
Please never forget Mom,
You raised three girls into three women.
 If you ever have doubts, fears, worries about who we will become, take a look in the mirror. 
We have your blood running through our veins, filling our bodies with life.
There is nothing more we could ask from you.
We are not perfect but we have something to aspire to when we look at you.
Thank you for taking care of us when we were sick, and loving us despite our hormones.
Thank you for always favouring us even when you needed it more.
Thank you for loving me even when I don’t want to wash the dishes.
I wish you so much happiness that you can’t even contain your smile.
The words I have to describe the love I feel for you are simple because there is nothing complex about loving someone so easily.
I hope you can see you are cherished.
You are loved beyond measure.”

 

Stop, look, listen, time out

I looked out my kitchen window just now and there was my black cat sitting like a statue in the driveway and staring at me with her telepathic flat stare that said, “You must let me in.”

I think “Millie” is feeling the pinch of neglect these days as I race around here like the human version of racehorse “American Pharaoh,” winner of the Kentucky Derby.

I put the spring in “Spring” and the get up in “Go.” I am a machine—the female underdog shadow of middleweight boxer Manny Pacquiao as I fight my way through the chores and to-do lists that multiply like rabbits on my kitchen table.

My cats miss me, my daughter who is home from University for the summer certainly has cause to ask me if I remember who she is, as we pass each other in the porch doorway with my spring causes stuffed under both arms and in my hands. 

And the causes that do not fit there, are thrown in back packs and slung both shoulders. I have lists in my jean and shirt pockets, in my shoes and two wrapped in pencils shoved along the top of each of my ears.

I make a beeline for the barn to do my chores there and I can feel my Grampa Joe’s mission-style focus teeming in my stride.

I was in the grocery store after work tonight, nearly hell-bent on getting home to attack “The List” that my pace nearly put two car lengths in between my and the daughter who’s home for the summer. “What is your name again?”

As I type this Bruce Cockburn popped into the stream of music playing on my laptop with “Last Night of the World.” 

“What would I do that was different?” he chimes, strumming that beautiful guitar of his.

The first thought I had was that I’d bargain for more time, because I’d have too much that I wanted to do on that last night. Then I laughed out loud and said, “Beth, you just don’t get it.”

And then I really got to thinking about what I would do on the last night of the world. 

Here goes;

I’d listen to guitar music while facing the sunset. I’d say the words “I love you” a lot, to a lot of people I care about. I would meditate a little, say thank you a lot and try that expensive red wine I’ve always wanted to taste.

I would watch birds fly and listen to them sing, because they sing anyway. I like that about birds. They are among the most genuinely positive creatures on earth.

I would eat chocolate and write some good thoughts about my life. I’d listen to the late Louis Armstrong sing “What a Wonderful World,” I’d burn my to-do lists and I’d laugh in the face of my misgivings.

And to think I wasn’t even going to slow down long enough to write this column.  

Slowing down is on my list too.