Author Archives: terryannewilson

About terryannewilson

I'm a writer who enjoys traveling, diverse cultures and tales that inspire.

Apr24

The emptying of a nest…

Posted on April 24, 2014 by terryannewilson

I have three sons and in precisely five days, my eldest will fly away with a backpack and an itinerary with destination points such as Bangkok, Phnom Penn, Hanoi and Luang Prabang. He and his girlfriend have earned their degrees, worked and saved for a year, now they’re off!

How can I not be thrilled for them, I did the same when I was just a few years older than they are now. At the time, I promised I’d be back in six months, yet didn’t return to live until last summer. Some twenty-four years later and that’s what I am afraid of, and yet not.

I’ve just had the pleasure of living with the ‘vagabond to be’ these past nine months. After four years of separation while he was at university on one continent and I on another, it was a joy to have shared this time with him. The fact that he worked at a wine boutique was an unexpected bonus. I’d often be preparing dinner and receive a text asking what was on the menu so the wine could be paired. I shall miss that, and him, as we would chat about life over a glass of Grenache or Merlot until well past bedtime. Yet, I’m faced with the realization that once this young man steps on that airplane, he will have officially flown the nest. Grad school in Sweden awaits after the trip and I stoically write… it is how it is meant to be.

Almost five years ago, our nest dramatically emptied by two. It was arguably the worst months of being a parent that I’ve known. I ‘lost’ two kids in the space of a week and moved to a new country just to top it off. With my husband and youngest son already relocated to Norway from Houston, it was I who had the daunting task of settling the other two in Canada. It was their home country and yet they had never lived here which concerned us greatly. Our middle son went to a boarding school in the West and the eldest to university on the other side of the country. Those of you who have experienced this know how utterly difficult it is to walk away and leave your ‘babies’ to fend for themselves. It definitely is not how it’s portrayed in the movies with smiles and a quick hug goodbye. No, it’s wrenching and traumatic. After the second ‘delivery’, I drove through tears to the Toronto airport to catch a flight to my new life in Stavanger. All the while, vowing under no circumstance would I deliver the third son alone to university when the time came.

My view that cheered me

After collapsing in my husband’s arms once I arrived across the ocean, I spent many days of those first months curled up in a ball. With the rain pouring and the wind howling around me, I struggled to cope. Not only was I dealing with transition, I was in the throws of empty nest syndrome. I remember feeling as if part of me had been amputated.

Evening dinners were the worst. Three places set instead of five. Three of us struggling not to pine for that busy household of five. It was too quiet, too lonesome and many nights I would burst into tears, not able to contain my emotions. The beautiful surroundings and our view to the fjord helped somewhat. However, our youngest was also in turmoil and yet it was his humour that got me through the worst of it. He was suddenly an ‘only’ child with no bros to hang out with or kick a ball around with on a whim. No, now he got all the attention; just he alone which isn’t exactly what a sixteen year old finds ideal. It is well known that the effects of an empty nest also impacts siblings and they also can deal with a sense of loss and bewilderment. They require attention and understanding as they cope with new family dynamics. I remember many chats and hugs as the three of us did our best to adjust.

The reality is that nothing can truly ready us for this new phase in life and the advice I can give is thus; prepare yourself. With the relative ease of having only one teenager at home instead of three, I made the conscious decision to take on new challenges. It was essential to the process of moving forward. I wandered off to a writing retreat, studied art in Florence* and started a book club. I also took on a job that I adored. The silver lining is that it gives you the green light to do something different once that role of motherhood is more ‘part-time’. It may be trying something new such as a class, volunteering or finally finding time to complete projects that you’ve put off. I have friends that have taken up quilting, produced photo books and learned a new language now that they have more time on their hands. Some of us also started power walking which helped me cope as we walked, while we talked and talked. A number of dear friends helped me get through the worst of it. They know who they are and I will always be thankful for those long walks along the fjords and through the mossy woods.

A break from studying in Florence; enjoying some new found freedom.

At the recent #FIGT conference*, empty nest syndrome was mentioned a number of times as women cope with the realities of their changing role. However, some of us agreed that it was also liberating. It was allowing us to explore new experiences and even job opportunities. I whole heartedly agree with Robin Pascoe in her excellent book, Homeward Bound.* She writes, “Your life is your career. Women would better serve themselves by defining the word career as a path through life.”

How true, being a mother is a ‘job’ that we have for life and the skills that we gain are endless. Yet as the saying goes, there are two things we must give our children; roots and then wings with which to fly away. As mothers we have to be prepared to pat ourselves on the back for the good job we’ve done, yet try to move forward.

Opportunities lie ahead for us, just as they do for our young adults. I know my parents gave me their blessing to move away and as painful as the separation was at times, they’ve seen places in the world they wouldn’t have had the privilege of doing so. They’ve scoured beaches in Oman with us, rode camels in Qatar and happily sweltered at baseball fields in Texas, watching their grandchildren play ball. All part of where that road may lead when we leave home for a path unknown. It’s brave to recognize that leaving the nest that we’ve been raised in and comfortable with is part of life’s rich tapestry, if that is what is chosen.

The three that will soon have flown the nest

At the end of this summer, we’ll be empty nesters. Will we miss these three guys of ours, yes most assuredly. However, I’m excited about their next chapter, as I am my own. A few years ago my sons gave me a mother’s day card that I cherish. It’s elongated and folds out to the shape of Cleopatra. Listed on her dress from A to Z, is what my role has been these past years. What we’ve all achieved by being ‘just’ a mother. And it reads;

Accountant Babysitter Chauffeur Decorator Educator Fashion Guru Guidance Counselor Head Chef Interior Designer Janitor Kitchen Supervisor Landscaper Mechanic Nurse Officer Psychiatrist Quality Control Director Referee Storyteller Travel Agent Underwater Swim Instructor Valet Warden X-pert Caretaker Yard Technician Zookeeper

Yes, just a few skills for that well honed resume we acquire through the years of raising children. A priceless and noble job, but also one that we can use as a stepping stone to a continued, fulfilled life. Also, we can be consoled by the fact that we are always home, meaning we parents endeavour to provide a nest for those kids to come back to, whatever the age. And that’s a wonderful thing.

And, so as I write this I’m thinking of those two young university grads setting out on their adventure of a lifetime. They’re elated and I know we all wish them, simply…the time of their lives!

P.S. Hubby was indeed with me to take the youngest to University of Victoria last summer. How could he refuse as we dallied in Canada’s wine region on the return, the beautiful Okanagan Valley. Thankfully, it was all just a little easier the third time round!

*Renaissance Art at the British Institute of Florence

*FIGT as mentioned in my first blog

*Robin Pascoe is the author of numerous books on the subject of global living. They can be found at expatbookshop.com

Apr9

A local hero and his Olympic Gold medal….

Posted on April 9, 2014 by terryannewilson

Standard

Nestled away in our mountain home for the past week, I pondered over Sunday breakfast how to capture the feeling of this picturesque ski town. I could write about its beauty as we ski down the hills, the snow capped rocky mountains stretching before us. One could mention the tranquility of skiing the cross country trails, winds whispering through tall pines. Perhaps I could boast about the community spirit of the locals that proudly call Kimberley their home town, many with European roots. Where once, people came to work in the world’s then largest lead and zinc mine, young people now forego city life to raise their children here and enjoy nature’s playground. I had no shortage of inspiration but yet that morning, a chance encounter would uplift me in a way that not even mountain vistas can compete with. I would soon be holding an Olympic gold medal and meet the skier that won it; a local ‘boy’. I would know precisely what I wanted to write about.

Having the honour of holding Olympic Gold

Josh Dueck had returned to Kimberley this past weekend for the annual end of ski season festivities. Not surprisingly, he had been celebrated at the ski hill for his silver and gold medal wins in Sochi. That morning as we strolled through the town and into the charming store of Velvet and Ginjer, we had the privilege of meeting the Paralympian. From his wheelchair, with his young wife at his side and his baby girl resting on his lap, Josh conversed with people in the store. His daughter laid peacefully on daddy’s lap and I recalled reading that a picture of her had been tucked away, close to his heart when he competed for his country.

In 2004, Dueck had gone for a front-flip off of a jump but overshot it and fell nearly one hundred vertical feet, severing his spinal cord on impact as well as breaking his neck. The injury left him a paraplegic. He was told he’d have to ‘rock the world’ in a sit-ski and he’s done just that. In 2012, he received international acclaim when he became the first sit-skier to complete a backflip. He’s also the proud, but humble winner of three Olympic medals having also won in Vancouver.

Not wanting to disturb the Olympian, I walked past and offered a polite ‘congratulations’. Minutes later, Josh and his wife would not only chat with us but insist that we hold his gold medal. It was heavy and shiny, and the realization of what it meant brought tears to my eyes. Simply, it was an honour.

Olympian Josh Dueck with my mother and myself

Josh conveyed to us how emotional it had been to receive his medals on the podium in Sochi. To hear the national anthem play against the backdrop of the Canadian flag. To proudly represent his country. His lovely wife Lacey, insisted we take numerous photographs. Their openness and generosity can be summed up by Lacey’s words “This medal isn’t just Josh’s or ours, it’s for everyone!”

I was reminded of another inspiring man I met recently at my gym. As we chatted, he looked up at me from his wheelchair and said “MS put me in this chair twenty-five years ago and a stroke made sure I’d never get out of it, but life is really good.”

Chatting with a local hero

To not only accept but to move forward from positions such as these is food for thought for us all. Besides being an Olympian, Josh works with a foundation called Live it! Love it! It provides outdoor adaptive adventure opportunities for people with disabilities, with the mission of making it accessible and affordable for all. It’s a humble reminder to endeavour to make a difference in other people’s lives; as insignificant as each action might seem, it’s important. It’s also a note to ourselves to appreciate life and to not take it for granted.

Meeting this typical ‘nice Canadian hometown boy’ was an unexpected pleasure for all of us that morning. Beyond the excitement and the accolades, we’re reminded that it’s all about people. It’s always an honour to meet an exceptional individual; someone like Josh.

“What’s your next challenge?”, my husband asked Josh as we were about to leave. Motioning over to his tiny baby, he confirmed what we had already guessed. That little girl is now foremost on his mind. He gave his heart and soul to compete for his country, but his family is the best prize any local hero could ask for!

Mar31

So You Want To Be A Writer…

Posted on March 31, 2014 by terryannewilson

Standard

I have to admit, being announced as a writer at the recent #FIGT conference was a proud moment. It had long been a dream of mine and my eventual epiphany was inspired by a borrowed book. That book would eventually lead me to a writing retreat in Tuscany, led by Jo Parfitt. At the risk of sounding over-dramatic, it changed my life.

Becoming a writer…in Tuscany

I’ve always been envious of people who are diligently committed to their writing, as opposed to simply proclaiming their wish to be a writer, as I had done for years. Having lived and travelled for twenty-three years in countries strung across the globe, I have nevertheless written every step of the way. Though up until now, those experiences have languished in my journals, begging to be released. They attest to adventures such as safari by camel in Rajasthan, truffle hunting in the Arabian desert, and trekking in Nepal. To be fair, a few of those diary pages made it to published articles; Fleeing Tiananmen Square was one and thankfully, on a happier note, Shopping in the Silver Souks of Oman. The latter is definitely a lighter read!

Yet there’s still no book to speak of despite pleas from my ever patient husband and even a grandmother’s admonishment to, “Please write that book dear so I’ll know what you been up to all these years”. Sadly, she’s no longer with us, which reminds me that time is knocking at the door. It seems there hasn’t been that all consuming desire to lock myself away and write, that persistent need to tell my story. I could blame it on raising sons on different continents and working part time which kept me more than busy. No excuse, countless writers produce a manuscript with far less ‘crippling’ situations than mine. I now appreciate that perhaps we need to grow into things, to arrive at that place more experienced, more poised, and to forgive ourselves for ‘lost’ time.

While living in Norway these previous four years, I finally heeded my husband’s protestations and “find something I was passionate about if I wasn’t going to write that darn book”. I did cultivate my passion for history and became a tour guide. And I did write, so to speak, with verbal narratives. I can tell you everything you want to know about the Vikings, shipping fleets and herring exports, or why most of the wooden houses in Norway are painted white. In fact, I would tell stories for three hours at a time, weaving history and local culture into rich tapestries, but alas they’re not on paper. My stories were informative and entertaining, but ephemeral nonetheless.

And so it was through a book lent to me, written by Maggie Myklebust, that I finally became committed to writing. Maggie had an inspiring story to tell and she was brave enough to do so in her book Fly Away Home. It touched me on many levels, but mostly Maggie’s determination to become an author, something she could not have envisioned. Her publisher was Jo Parfitt of Summertime Publishing, who would that autumn lead a writing retreat in Tuscany. After years of dabbling as a writer, I dug up the courage to put my proclamations to the test. And if it all failed miserably, at least I would have had a week in beguiling Tuscany.

The Tuscan Writers

Eleven strangers had chosen to be thrown together. Eleven strangers who shared a love of words, poetry and story telling, but could we write? We all had doubts as to why we had taken this plunge; frightened, yet excited with the possibilities of what the week would bring.

Writing at the Vine Terrace

The group was mostly British including eighty- four year olds, Pamela Mary and Peeta. These lovely ladies arrived together, their sun hats set firmly atop their silvery coiffures. They had been raised by nannies and servants in Her Majesty’s far flung colonies while their fathers served the British Empire. Both were eager to record their stories from a bygone era for family and posterity. They only wrote with pen and paper, no lap tops, and their penmanship was beautiful, of course. We were inspired that they had the courage to begin the journey of writing their memoir, confirmation that it is never too late to fulfill a dream.

The Watermill at Posara was the ideal setting for a writing retreat. The Tuscan sunshine, superb hospitality and gorgeous surroundings welcomed us with open arms. With the back drop of a cobblestoned courtyard and terracotta pots stuffed with bouganvilla, we embarked on six days of lessons and inspired writing. Most of our work took place under the Vine Terrace. Shaded by a mass of grape vines, their plump grapes poking through the trellises, the terrace welcomed us into its safety. It is here our writing would evoke emotions of sorrow, joy, disappointment and laughter, along with tears.

Our mandate was to learn and observe, to write, to polish, to present by 5 p.m. This did not vary. Every day, bar one, we knew at this time we must present a piece of work to be read aloud for all to hear, to ponder and to comment upon. As the sunflowers nodded in the late afternoon sun and the nearby bells of Posara chimed, we ruminated with our words and reached into our souls.

Frightening and challenging yes…

Instructive and inspiring, yes again..

Life Changing, absolutely.

At precisely 6:30 each evening, we were reminded that it was Apertivo time as the tiled table was promptly set with a fruit laden decanter of Aperol and carafes of Chianti. It was a welcome reward for our writing toil, and balm for our souls that we had bared to each other. After a delicious meal, our day would conclude in the comfort of the drawing room. Sinking into deep sofas, we engaged in lively conversation while sipping on chilled, locally made Limoncello.

The only male in our group was a famous British screenwriter (who shall remain anonymous) and we wondered why he was there, though pleased that he was. He would read from his poignant memoir, recently begun but already captivating. He would also regale us with stories of his Hollywood exploits, just as intriguing, I can assure you! We all contributed with tales of jungle treks, of living on a houseboat, of lovers, of simpler times, of loss. Each evening, was more entertaining than the previous. Each evening, eleven ‘strangers’ with different pasts became closer, breaking down barriers that would enable us to bare our souls just a little more in our writing the next day. With the window sashes thrown open allowing the moonlight to peek into our lively gatherings, we would comment that another day had indeed been well lived at The Watermill!

The most integral member of that group and the reason we were all there, was Jo Parfitt. We blossomed under her nurturing guidance, her magnanimous manner and her colourful scarves that greeted us each day. Because of her, we became writers… we became a writing family.

The nodding sunflowers

I had arrived in Tuscany with my sandals, sundresses and my favoured Uni-ball pens firmly packed. I left……a writer.

P.S. I’m finally writing that darn book!

Mar26

It Takes A Village…

Posted on March 26, 2014 by terryannewilson

Standard

It occurred to me at the #FIGT conference, that I had never referred to my three sons as TCK’s or third culture kids.* Listening to the varied educators, authors and specialists at the conference, I came to understand why I hadn’t done this. I wanted them to be ‘normal’.

So despite having lived in seven countries, having had different experiences AND losing their friends every three, four or six years, they were supposed to be like any other child. What I realized throughout the conference is that excellent support and care exists for expat families who live overseas. There is often a need for this. I’m thankful that for the most part, my three coped fairly well. However partly what FIGT is concerned with and facilitates, is that for many children and their parents, this global life can be challenging, confusing and leave kids without a sense of belonging to any country.

Three children raised by a global village

As parents we feel guilty that they may not have a home town to call their own. We worry that they only see extended family during holidays. We fret that they don’t have ownership to any one place, even their home country feels alien at times.

And yet as the esteemed Dr. Fanta Aw reminded us during her keynote speech at FGIT...it takes a village to raise a child. And this is precisely what we do as global parents. We pull out all the resources to ensure that our kids have a sense of home in which ever country they’re living in; parents, teachers, coaches and volunteers all contribute to raising expat children. We all become their village.

My husband and I created a sense of normality (from a Canadian’s viewpoint) by starting and coaching a baseball league in Oman. I wasn’t pleased that my boys may not grow up playing baseball and so with the help of passionate coaches and parents, I started a baseball league. We soon had over one-hundred kids from all over the world playing. Some of these families also helped with the hockey team, also a first to be formed in the stifling heat of Muscat. Our coach, Teppo Virta, will always be a hero in the eyes of my boys.

I was overwhelmed years later when one of my sons depicted me as a ‘hero’ for facilitating their desire to play a sport that wouldn’t have been possible. I had only done what many of us do for our children in foreign lands; form and nurture clubs and organizations of every description. For we know that when children grow up globally, it’s even more important that they belong to something that represents their home culture and identity.

As Dr. Aw, reminded us, “It’s an intersection of experiences, relationships and friendships that become family. It’s the people that claimed you in good and bad.” And that is what a village does. Be it physical or not, as in the case of many global families, our extended family has helped raise our cherished children. We ask so much of these resilient kids; arriving, living and leaving so many countries. And yet if we all do our part to help raise them, the ‘village’ is a pretty good place to be.

I recently asked one of my sons if he would change anything from his overseas childhood. “No mom, look at the experiences and opportunities that I’ve had. Not to mention the friends I have all over the world.”

Yes, all part of that village that we’re fortunate indeed to be a part of.

*Note, a TCK is defined as a person who has spent a significant part of his/her development years outside their parents’ culture. As summarized in Linda A. Janssen’s informative book, The Emotionally Resilient Expat published by Summertime Publishing