The common definition of respite sucks, no matter whether you’re the carer or the cared-for:

a short period of rest or relief from something difficult or unpleasant

Olivia started a two-night respite at Stars for Life today: she left home this morning at 9:45 a.m. and won’t return until I pick her up, 48 hours later, on Saturday morning.

Technically I’m on a respite “from her,” but you could equally say she’s on a respite “from me.” Either way, I don’t think we regard each other as difficult or unpleasant; certainly from my side, I love her dearly, and being her father is a source of great joy.

But, boy oh boy, do I need a short period of rest or relief from time to time.

Parenting, plus grieving, plus working, plus trying to chart a course forward for myself, that all adds up to more time than there is, leaving precious little room for what my friend Mitch calls “unstructured fun time.” Respite time provides a small dose of that, time where I can be the star of my own show for 24 or 48 hours, not simply a member of the supporting cast.

For me the great joy of respite is as much the relief from the punctuation of the clock: it’s 4:30 p.m. as I write this, and simply not having to worry about family supper is about The Greatest Thing in the World right now, followed quickly by the endless panorama of freedom offered by an unencumbered evening. And I get to do it all again tomorrow.

These brief relief periods—Olivia is funded by AccessAbility Support for two nights a month—make me a better parent, and a better person. I’m enormously grateful for them, and I’m enormously grateful to Olivia for having the courage to adventure into her part of the deal.

My own experience, and observing others, suggests that many carers regard respite as self-indulgent, and are reluctant to seek it out, or take it when offered.

There’s a complex thicket of reasons for this including the seeming-necessary conceit that if caring is genuine we should be strong enough to power through without breaks; otherwise the “difficult and unpleasant” rears its head, and who wants to make the cared-for feel that they’re a burden to be briefly unshackled from.

We would be well-served by getting over this, and by raising respite to a level of personal responsibility, recognizing that it is a disservice to those we love and care for to not take care of ourselves.

The official cargo capacity of a 2016 Kia Soul EV is one crated piece of fine art and one steamer trunk.

From a talk Sean Bonner gave at Esalen:

My first job was a dishwasher at seafood restaurant Florida’s gulf coast, I was 14 and I got paid in cash under the table. Some of my friends were in bands and before long we decided they should have records but assumed there was no way any real record company would be interested so I saved up started my own. You could ask “why did you think as a high schooler you could just go start your own company?” and the only good answer I have is I didn’t know that I couldn’t. Over the next 5 or 6 years I put out about dozen albums by different bands, first releases for many and some of whom are still touring, playing live and writing new music today.

This experience had 3 long lasting impacts on my life:

• I realized anything is possible.
• I realized the seemingly small actions of one person can inspire someone else to do something amazing.
• It made me basically unemployable.

That last point is important because knowing the power of the individual and that limits are imaginary is incompatible with most corporate and business structures. I’ve had a few office jobs since then, they were… well, complicated.

Regular readers will be aware of my longtime appreciation for Laurie Brown and her Pondercast podcast.

A part of the Pondercast feed I’d been in the habit of skipping over is the weekly guided meditation, released every Monday. That was folly, as they are fantastic: here’s today’s, for example, Hands Off the Wheel.

If you’re in the habit of practicing guided meditation with an app, I suggest you complement it with Laurie’s effort, as it’s an entirely different and more personal experience.

We made an expedition across the bridge to MacKenzie’s Farmstand on Saturday to attend the launch of my friend Ann Thurlow’s My PEI Cabbage Cookbook, which is a laudable effort on many fronts (cabbage, self-publishing, proceeds to the Little Free Pantry).

You can purchase copies at the Farmacy on Great George, at MacKenzie’s, and through the new Veseys catalogue.

By coincidence the launch happened to bring together three people with smart yellow shoes, Olivia among them:

Two of my favourite artists have released versions of The Parting Glass recently, Henry Jamison and Karine Polwart.

They are as different as different can be, but they are both lovely in their own way.

Of all the money that e’er I had
I spent it in good company
And all the harm I’ve ever done
Alas it was to none but me
And all I’ve done for want of wit
To mem’ry now I can’t recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be to you all

While The Parting Glass is “often sung at the end of a gathering of friends,” the song Wild Mountain Thyme is one of three songs traditionally played to close out the Winnipeg Folk Festival.

And, at least in my mid-1980s teen dance experience, Stairway to Heaven was always the last dance of the night.

From The Guardian, 105 years ago today. I’m feeling connected to the little surge of joy that the editor who wrote that hed must have felt: alliterative opportunities like that don’t come along every day.

When you figure something tricky out, write a blog post about it. Maybe a decade later it will help someone out of a jam:

You are f*cking amazing. I was pulling my hair out in Germany trying to figure this out. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

See alsoe A Triumph for Blogging.

A rendering over coffee today of a useful piece of advice offered by a fellow widower in the Widow Wives Club on Facebook.

You’re Not Alone, from Our Native Daughters, is a good way to start the week.

Rhiannon Giddens, Amythyst Kiah, Leyla McCalla, and Allison Russell reinterpret and create new works from old ones, shining light on African-American women’s stories of struggle, resistance, and hope