Wednesday 31 December 2014

On The New Year

There's something to be said for the end of the year... that moment of simultaneously looking forwards and back.

If I knew what I know now at the end of 2013, I would have spent more time in the looking back than the looking forward.

Alas that was last year and time, as we know, waits for no man. So we stand on the cusp of 2015 and I look backwards with the clarity of one whose glasses are tinted by time and also with joy and disappointment.

I look forward with a hint of skepticism, remembering the heart-thumping anticipation of past New Year's Eves and how much of it was more optimistic than warranted.

Looking back more than forward, however cynical it sounds, gives me a chance to review.  To look for the lessons I learned and the ones that I missed.  To consider the roster of people I have spent my time with and those who I allowed to fall by the wayside. To reconsider the choices I made from the light of a new day and reveal how emotion, or lack thereof, influenced me duly or unduly.

Looking forward, in this moment, I wish I was one who believed in New Year's resolutions.  Who with hope and good intention could vow to be or become something. But I have never been this person and really, if I have to wait until December 31st to make vows to myself and the universe, how important could they be?

I would like to say that I learned a lot in 2014.  I hope I have.  Some of the lessons have been hard, some of the teachers have been unexpected, some of the pathways have been dark and treacherous. I would not like to revisit some of the emotional roads I have traveled but 2015 awaits and with it, I'm sure, new lessons and teachers and roads.

You who have been a part of 2014, thank you.

Those with whom my path will cross in 2015, let's go!

Happy New Year to you all!

Friday 5 December 2014

The Wind

The Wind


Wind hurls
against window
Shakes walls
Rattles pane
Scurries children
Alarms adults.

Strong gusts
Compete,
Dance,
Probe,
Seek,
Retreat.

Return determined
Tree limb held aloft
Glass breaks
Allowing
Winds of change
To enter.

- Vera

Wednesday 3 December 2014

Black Friday...Still?

I get the Black Friday hype...I get that people want to make as many Christmas purchases as possible as cheaply as possible.

In a country with minimum wages which run from $5.15 an hour in Arkansas to $9.50 an hour in DC*, lining up for 6 or even 12 hours to potentially save hundreds of dollars on electronic items is well worth sacrificing sleep for.

There have been many years that I have considered crossing the border to experience the energy and excitement.  Imagine hundreds of people in a frenzied dash for a limited number of items that they can't afford and or don't need.

The desperation alone of trying to make their dollar stretch as far as they imagine the child/ren's smiles when they unwrap that coveted item from under the tree is both attractive and repelling. I have never managed to convince myself that I wanted any single or combination of items enough to witness such sheer desire for stuff.

In the last few years, Black Friday has managed to creep its way across the border. I forgive Canadian retailers for jumping on the bandwagon in an effort to exploit the US holiday and boost their sales.

I have a problem though...it's Wednesday and I am still hearing Black Friday ads on the radio!

Black Friday savings are supposed to be rock bottom unsustainable prices that are so big and so deep that they only come once a year...for one day, sometimes two...three max.

After that, it's just your everyday run of the mill weekly flyer sale.

After that, they're telling me that I'm a victim of their marketing scam.

I don't like being victimized. Any retailer I hear still running Black Friday (radio or print ads) will go on my boycott list and have to sustain itself without my measly dollars.

Take that!


*http://www.ncsl.org/research/labor-and-employment/state-minimum-wage-chart.aspx

Sunday 23 November 2014

That Sliver of Truth

We all want what we want.

When we try to settle on what we have or on what other people tell us we should have, the truth is there.

Sometimes we manage to push it deep down in the recesses of our hearts and minds but in spite of ourselves our truth struggles to be acknowledged and fulfilled.

The great and terrible things about truth is that it has a way of nagging the soul and tickling the conscience, keeping us uneasy and unhappy unless and until we live it.

Those of us who are lucky one day find, like the sliver that emerges from the depth of a festering finger, the truth has risen. Though we are nervous and a little uncomfortable watching it emerge, as we pull out and examine it we recognize what it is and what it means.

Like the sliver and the finger, though it pains us, we must each eventually learn that living truth, whatever that truth may be, is much healthier and happier than continuously plunging it back to the depths.

What truth have you been avoiding and why?

Wednesday 19 November 2014

Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow

Wait, what?

Snow? Nooooo!

With the freezing cold temperatures of yesterday still embedded in my bones, today is not only equally cold but it is also snowing.

Who called for this?  It's still, generously speaking, mid-November!

It's not really the snow that I mind. It's digging out all the snow related gear my four kids have to strap, snap and lace on before heading out the door, the cold-nosed kisses they bring back home with them and the puddles they make because they somehow always fail to remember to take the boots off  on the mat.

It's the snow-shoveling and having to remove ice from the windshield because my van is too long for the garage, though I confess that for about an hour this morning I tried to pretend that it wasn't.  This means I drove it in and left the rear end hanging out, even went so far as to partially close the electric door before I realized I felt way too guilty to leave it that way. I mean imagine the amount of heat that would get sucked out!

So I trudged back out, yes in this cold! Backed the van out onto the driveway, slammed the door and went back inside to boil the kettle, damning my conscience all the while.

Today I don't have the ability to grab hold of my gratitude. I am in a warm house, sipping tea and working on my computer while watching the snow swirl outside the kitchen window.  The flakes themselves are beautiful, really, as are the first snow falls during which the neighborhood is seemingly transformed into a picture from a child's story book.

Other than to drop my younger two at school (only because I absolutely refused to walk the two blocks to the bus stop and I had pictures of my 6-year-old rebelling against walking  in the toe-numbing -19 degree temperatures and then my 11-year-old having to figure out how to manage this moral dilemma), I didn't leave the house.

I encouraged the older two 17 and 15, to make the 20 minute walk to their bus stop.  Other than a surprised Oh, you're not going to drive us?, there was no resistance. They're hearty, I told myself, even as I mentally rearranged my day to stay at home.

Now it's mid-day, the snowflakes are getting bigger and falling a little more frequently. Soccer practice was cancelled (how could it not be, unless the coach was some kind of sadist, it was meant to be an outside practice) and I'm hoping my daughter will forget that today is the last day of acro class.  The day they do their mini recital and parents have to, I mean get to watch them somersault and back bend their way around the room.

I should pick up the little ones from the bus stop, anyway, I guess (I know the older ones will get a ride from the father of a friend who is constantly mortified that I actually expect things of my kids).  Once I'm out and in the car it might not be too bad to go to acro. I also have to go to the mall to get boots for a pair of I'm-never-stop-growing-15-year-old feet.

Let's see, that would be 5,6,7, times in and out of the van, however quickly I run and rush I will get cold and the van will need to warm up again.  If I just pick up the kids and go to the mall I can cut that down to four times including leaving and arriving back home which may be doable.

A new bean filled toy ($6 - max) for the 6-year-old will help her forget that Mommy forgot to take her to acro.

More than worth it!

Friday 14 November 2014

My Best Seller




A simple mug my daughter gave me, when I turned 44 this week, has got me asking questions that I don't like all the answers to.

"Life is a story
make yours a best seller"

As I waited for the kettle to boil, I stared at the words recognizing not just the encouragement but the challenge.  The words reverberated in my psyche, taunting me and asking Are you living up to the challenge?

Before I could answer, I had to create the criteria, what would it mean to live a best seller? Let's see...

Do I give? Too much to too many.

Do I know how to receive? Not graciously.

Do I make time to do what I want? Not enough. It's easy to put other people's priorities above mine, especially when they are louder and more insistent or have big brown eyes shiny with tears.

Do I say yes to adventure? I could be more adventurous. Sometimes I talk myself out of wanting things or out of doing things.

Do I dream? About so many things.

Do I honor truth? As long as it doesn't cause me to hurt someone else. When I would rather take a long hot bath than spend 20 minutes playing a game of sorry with my 6-year-old I usually cave because I know that these days are evaporating as rapidly as raindrops from an August sun shower in Florida.

Do I connect with my inner self? Quieting the voices from outside of me is difficult. When I find myself with time to spare it takes a while for me to unpack my brain and identify the voices behind the thoughts.

Do I look for the blessing? Yes, well mostly. I have a great ability to connect to the blessing and the lesson in most situations. Some take me a heartbeat longer to identify than others but I come to the blessing quickly.

Whether I succeed as a writer or not (whatever that means) and whether I capture my story on paper or not, we are all called to create lives which, if written down, would contain bestselling stories of all kinds.  Love stories, tragedies, comedies, stories of perseverance that inspire.

We should live stories that would entertain a group of friends (and a handful of strangers) at a bar, stories to whisper quietly to a loved one over wine and stories to share with our children as we tuck them in at night.

Good thing I'm young, I thought as I lowered my empty mug and banged it satisfyingly on the counter top, plenty of time to collect more stories.







Tuesday 28 October 2014

Space (for Marty)



In your arms
Space disappears
Between
You and I
Between
Who and what
I am
Between
What I think and
What I know
Between
What I want and
What I have
Between
Heaven and
Earth

In your arms.



Canterbury Hills

We went to the woods because it's what we sometimes did on a Sunday afternoon when we didn't attend church.

The morning was spent lingering over bacon and eggs. The aroma of apple cinnamon breakfast pitas hung in the air, mocking me. Marty and I, had committed to avoiding carbohydrates, at least for now, but Maggie, Miles and Athena had toasted the sweet dough which lay on their plates. I think that is the worst part about the new nutritional plan. Items like the pitas, frozen pizzas and packets of pasta could be found in the freezer and on the cupboard shelves.

I still made sandwiches for the kids and poured them breakfast cereal while I waited for the carbs to run out and debated what my move would be when they did. After breakfast, the kids grabbed their pumpkins from the porch and began transforming them into works of art. They toiled in amiable companionship, these three, while Antonios watched from his perch at the counter waiting to carve his with Zoe who had since left for her shift at the local hamburger restaurant.

Two hours in, pumpkin seeds and pulp had made it's way off the table and onto several chairs and the floor. we had a skull, a bat and a toothy jack' o' lantern ready go. We also had three kids in need of some fresh air.

This is where the woods come in to play. Canterbury Hills, is a 72 acre conservation area in the Dundas Valley and our local hiking spot of choice.

We parked in a designated lot at the end of the path and began our walk. Less than five minutes in racing challenges began.

“Ok,” I said. “Athena gets a five second head start. First one to touch the sign wins.”

 We lined up across the leaf-strewn path, Maggie, Miles and I, five measured paces behind six-year-old Athena.

“When I start to count, Athena runs,” I instructed. “When I get to five the rest of us can go.” I was hoping the five paces and five seconds would give Athena enough time to get out of the way. I knew we would all be running flat out, trying to best each other on this beautiful day.

“One, Two, Three, Four, Five!”

I ran. I ran trying to best a 13-year-old who does track and an 11-year-old who plays select soccer while trying not to run over Athena, who we had all underestimated because she won. Miles ran past the sign he was supposed to touch and sprawled in the tall weeds beyond it while Maggie touched the sign and gingerly veered off to the right, finding a patch of sunlight in which to catch her breath.

Marty, who had left the trail, and our field of vision, reappeared. “Are you guys racing?” he asked.

“YES...And I won,” Athena answered.

“I came in second,” Miles and Maggie both chorused.

It takes a few minutes for me to explain how we all ranked then we lined up again for race number two which saw Marty as the starting gun, end-point and overall judge. When Marty said go, I was determined to win. I propelled myself forward flying past yellow, green, red, gold and orange trees. My feet kicking up leaves and gravel dust as the distance between me and my partner closed. I could hear the kids breathing.  I watched from the corners of my eyes hoping not to see either of them inch past in the last few paces of the race, they didn't.

For the next few hours we traveled the woods, fluidly changing formation. We left the path to explore the river, lay down on carpets of vibrant green moss, buried children in the leaves and threatened to come back for them in the spring and pointed out deer tracks while trying to avoid their poop.

Each of us took a turn helping Athena through the burs or up a hillside.

“Look at that, that's a great place to go tobaggoning,” Marty said pointing to a long and not so gentle slope to the right.

“We'll have to get another sled for the winter. I'll try and get one like the other,” I said.

He nodded and let go of my hand then sprinted ahead to catch up with Maggie where he slung an arm across her young shoulders. I watched her tilt her head toward him as they walked and smiled.

When we returned to the van energy spent, eyes were twinkling, cheeks were rosy, fall coats which had long since been removed, were being de-burred.

I looked back on the woods, leaves afire with the business of preparing for winter, and snapped a picture for my mental memory bank.

Life is not long but sometimes it is good.

Thursday 23 October 2014

Hardenening My Heart

It's interesting...

I recently started practicing what some would call "tough love" on my 17-year-old daughter.  She had, unfortunately, stepped over the line one too many times. In spite of several civil conversations and mild attempts to help correct her, she has thus far refused to reform.

So, time to step it up.

I asked my lovely daughter to make me two lists: one of all the things I have to do for her, and one of all the things that I actually do for her.  Zoe's a smart girl.  Her have to list was short and sweet - food, shelter, clothing... While her actual list acknowledged both the big and small things I do to make her life more comfortable.

To remedy our disagreement my plan was pretty simple.  Zoe could ask for anything on her short list.  The items on the long list, however, including laundry, cooking, and transporting to work, school, her boyfriend's and early morning rowing practice, were inaccessible to her until she apologized and committed to better behavior.

I forgot who I was dealing with.

My daughter is very stubborn.  She is also very resourceful.

On Monday when I drove her brother to their bus stop I passed Zoe walking resolutely down the road. Having dropped him off, I headed home and found myself in her direct line of sight. I waved a hearty hello and kept driving. I felt my heart harden with resolve.

On Tuesday, even though she sat at the table, I served dinner to everyone except her. When I took my seat she realized her blunder and rose to serve herself.

On Wednesday morning I got out of bed and made my way downstairs to drive her brother to 7am rowing practice.

"How are you getting to rowing?" I asked her.

"I thought you would drive me since you're going there anyway," was her hopeful reply.

I looked at her.  Just looked and as I saw it dawn on her that I was not going to drive her, I also again felt something in me harden.

It has been five weeks or so since this standoff started.  Zoe has proven herself more resourceful than I could have imagined walking everywhere she needs to go or taking the bus.  At home we engage in friendly conversation and except for the nights that she still occasionally forgets to wash the dishes, she observes all the rules of the house. 

I'm not sure if it's right or wrong but part of me is proud of her for standing up for what she believes in and not allowing outside pressure, even mine, to change her. The other part feels frustrated and ineffective. Whatever it is, we seem to have entered into a new phase of our relationship. One in which she is more mature and self-reliant but also one in which I am less of a soft place for her to turn.

I am also finding it difficult not to apply this new found hardness to other relationships in my life and I'm not sure I like it. I'm not sure if my experiment is worth it or even if I can call it successful if I lose some of what I love about myself and some of who I am in the process.




In Four, Three, Two and One

I recently had a little meltdown. One caused by trying to do too much for too many people and not feeling as though I had time to catch my breath in between. Caused also by a series of new challenges that arose in many different aspects of my life.

People who know me, usually know when I am struggling. Not because I am forthcoming but because the complete opposite is true.  I get very quiet and as much as possible withdraw from everything and everyone. From my quiet space, I evaluate my options, emerging only when I firmly settle on a solution that feels comfortable and right.

Not everyone appreciates my need to withdraw or understands how I emerge renewed, determined and focussed. Some would prefer it if I talked to them or if I wanted input and support. I recognize and respect that as a completely valid method of dealing with life's challenges.  It's just not mine.

Rather than try to become what I am not or continue to frustrate and alienate, I decided to post a few phrases that are sometimes useful for reminding me that I don't have to do it alone.

Four:  How can I help? or What can I do? or my favourite What do you need?

Three: Take my hand, Let me help or, my favourite I am here. 

Two: I understand

One:  Wine?


Monday 20 October 2014

Eleven

What do you believe in when you are eleven?

Santa, the tooth fairy, and the switch witch have been demystified. You are now one of the keepers of the magic who can help create the facade for those younger than you.

By eleven you have figured out that your parents are far from infallible and their expectation that you act more like a young man and less like a toddler is sometimes a pretty tough row to hoe. You're pretty sure that your parents love you but you're less sure that they always know what's best for you. In your mind, they proved that when they made you come in from hanging out with your buddies to spend time playing your guitar and proved it again when they made you go to your grandmother's even though you wanted to play soccer.

This week, this little guy turned eleven. We celebrated the way that we always do with the birthday boy choosing what we would all eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  Miles arrived home from school all pumped up for hamburgers which he, for the first time, formed with his own hands .  His willingness to participate came complete with the requisite sounds and expressions of disgust.

Usually the birthday person gets to choose the activity we engage in.  Birthday or not though, I had a parent's meeting with Miles' soccer coach. In spite of playing just one season of house league, his skills were outstanding enough that he had made it through five tryouts and landed a spot on the select team for 2015.

I dragged him away from friends and off to the meeting with me where he sat alternately fidgeting and silently begging for access to flappy bird on my smartphone. Forty-five minutes after the meeting began it ended.

"Race you to the van," he said when our feet hit the pavement.

 So we ran in the darkness, laughing while the cool evening wind slapped at us.

"I win," he declared delightedly when I caught up to him.

"Yes you did," I conceded graciously, it wasn't that long ago when I had to deliberately hang back to let him win.

On the way home, we made a quick stop at the grocery store.

“Race you,” he said again and again we ran. This time, however, he ran past the entrance to the store and off to a place I couldn't see him.

“Hey!” I called. “I win...you missed the entrance.”

He came racing back and entered the store behind me.

As we walked the aisles he asked “Mom, can I have 5 or 10 dollars of my own money?”

“What for?”

“It's not what you think," he said. "When I ran past the entrance, I saw a homeless woman.”

I was a little ashamed that I had immediately thought he wanted the money for candy then touched by his ability to see this woman when so many people find the homeless invisible.

When we got to the register I realized that I had only a ten dollar bill with me and I had left my bank card in the van.

“I can't give you ten,” I informed him. "I can only give you the change."

"Can you use your bank card and give me that ten?" He asked eyeing it.

"I left my card in the van.  It's the change or nothing."

"Ok."

When we left the store, I handed him the $7 left from my purchase. He pointed to the homeless woman who was seated on the bench of her walker holding a sign that said “Please help." I deliberately stood back and watched him deposit first the bill then the $2 coin into her outstretched hand.

The woman thanked him then made eye contact with me and said “Thank you.”

“That was his money," I informed her with pride. "His money that he earned, not mine.”

As he walked from her to me, I noticed a little swagger had entered his step.

“Thank you and God bless,” the woman called out after him.

He stopped and turned to throw a hearty “You're welcome," over his broadening shoulders.

Together we walked to the van in silence. I looked at my son.

“Not everyone would do what you just did. Even some adults with more to give would walk past that lady and not want to help her.  I am proud of you and proud to be your mother. No matter what else you believe in, believe that you are a good, kind and loving person."

In that moment we both knew it was true. I hope that it remains so forever.


Sunday 12 October 2014

Six




This week our youngest turned six.

It's interesting watching this small child develop, seeing the strengths and weaknesses come to fore, watching the personality correct and assert itself. Having so many older children in the house, I sometimes forget how young she is then something will happen to remind me.

A few weeks ago the reminder came when Athena returned home from school excited because her tooth was loose.  It took me a minute to remember that, for her, this was a major discovery and milestone.

Over dinner, she told her 17-year-old sister "I'm a big girl now, my tooth is loose."

"No....you're little because your tooth is loose."

"Little girls don't have loose teeth," Athena reasoned.

"Only little girls have loose teeth," Zoe countered.

This conversation went on for a while, the two of them bantering about what made a girl little versus big.  I listened, a smile in my heart stopping my desire to tell them that they are both very very little.

A few days later, when the tooth fell out, Athena chose to keep it.  Which we all know meant she chose to lose it.  For the first few days she carried it around in one of her many purses before moving it to a small treasure box that her brother gave her.  Where it went after that, I cannot say.

A week ago when tooth number two fell out at school, Athena was ready to see what the tooth fairy was all about.  She brought it home in a keepsake box the secretary had given her and after showing it, and the new hole in her smile, off she put it under her pillow.

At my house the tooth fairy is notoriously finicky.  Which means she sometimes fails to show up. Which means Athena woke up in the morning and the tooth was still there.  Which means I had to explain to her that the tooth must have been too far under her pillow for the tooth fairy to reach. Which means when I tucked her in on night number two, I had to remember to make a big deal about tooth placement.  Which also means I don't really deserve it when she tells me I'm the best but who am I to burst the bubble?

By morning number two Athena had made her first successful exchange with the tooth fairy.  The yellow treasure box had disappeared from under the pillow and in it's place, a shiny purple $10 bill.  She showed the money to everyone in the house. She carried it around for two days before deciding to put it in one of her purses.  Where it is now, I can't say.

Six.The last time we will ever have a six-year-old.  The last days of having a child small enough to carry around. The last years of bedtime stories and eyes that grow big with belief and wonder.  The last years when laughter bubbles up before reason.

Six years piling one on top of another, eating away at the magic. Teeth number three and four are already loose. Chapter books are rapidly replacing the the former favourite fairy tales which overflow from the bookshelves.

Six... bittersweet to see Athena on the doorstep of childhood's middle years, to know that soon Santa Claus and all the fairy friends will disappear with the dolls and safety scissors.

Even as a grumble about the mess she makes playing dress up, for the next 362 days I will enjoy having a six-year-old.







Thursday 2 October 2014

Progress



Foot.
One Foot.
Forward.
One foot forward filling space.
Closing distance between here and there.
Moving.
Causing momentum that
carries another foot forward.
One forward foot,
then another.
Propelling.
Closing the distance.
Changing there into
here and here into
there.
Creating a new
horizon and new
destination.
Foot.
One foot forward.

- Vera

Tuesday 30 September 2014

The Fish Bowl








That used to be me.

Swimming around in a fish bowl I had grown too big for and had become too restless to remain in happily. For years I stayed knocking my head against the glass, always grateful when I was able to render myself unconscious and always incredibly shocked and highly pissed when consciousness came back and I was still swimming in the same confined waters.

That's what I see her doing now... swimming around in water that has long grown cold and dank, that has long failed to hold the nutrients she needs to thrive.  Knocking herself unconscious with new jobs, new friends, new hobbies, new cars, new toys and "minor" outside flirtations.

Everytime she comes to, there is a flurry of texts, a panicked phone call, another confession of how close to the edge she is.

What I didn't know and couldn't see was the same thing she is blind to now - the ocean and how close the fish bowl is to it.

One giant leap of faith and it will embrace and sustain her.

I wait and I watch her swim and tire and be unconscious.  I wait for the day that she leaps but I wonder..will I be the idiot who says, "What the hell took you so long?" or will I be compassionate enough to say "Welcome! Beware the sharks!"



Monday 29 September 2014

Friendship


This morning I picked up my cell phone and noticed that I missed a call last evening. When I clicked on "recents" I saw that it was from a lifetime friend named "Mary" I hadn't spoken to her since May when I called to say "Happy Birthday."

She'd left a message which I don't generally like and don't always listen to.  This one I did.

"Hey Vera it's "Mary".  Ahhh...just giving you a call...I just have some news I need to tell you so if you want to let me know when a good time to call you back is that would be great.  My number XXX-XXX-XXXX. Talk to you soon, bye."

In the message she sounded excited, the kind of excited that was reminiscent of expecting a baby or getting engaged but since we're both past the point of wanting babies and she's very much married, my mind went down a generation and I considered her children.  I knew that they both already have young kids but also that they both had entered new relationships in the last few years.  "Oh, her daughter must be getting married....or maybe, but less likely, her son," I reasoned. Happiness for her began to bloom inside me.

A glance at the clock, told me it was too early to call.  Assuming she was still at the same job, 7:30 was "go time"  Since she had left her home number (which I happen to know by heart anyway) I scrolled through  my contacts, confirming that I have her lesser used cell number listed. I hoped was still her number then clicked off the phone and put it aside until later in the morning.

In between feeding the kids breakfast and getting them out the door, I thought back on the voice message. Mary sounded so upbeat, I went as far as to listen to the message again.  At 8:30 I gave her a call.

"Mary speaking," she answered, in her professional voice.

"Hey, how are you?" I said.

"Good, good, I just have some news I want to share."

I decided to hedge my bets, "Who's getting married?"

"Oh! Nobody," she replied.

I was stumped.  I hadn't taken the time to consider other scenarios.

"So, what's up?"  I asked instead.

"I just wanted to let you know that I have cancer," she said.  Just like that. Her voice didn't wobble or change from it's pleasant tone.  She didn't start to cry nor did she sound in despair.

Inside my head I flashed back to the stocky eight-year-old girl with the dimpled cheek and twinkling blue eyes. A combination of the summer sun and chlorinated pool water had turned her shoulder-length hair lighter brown in the summer sun.  The same hair that appeared almost black when she swam under the water.

"What the fuck?" I think before opening my mouth and saying,  "Oh Mary, I'm so sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, I just found out last week,"  as she launched into the details of her cancer discovery a slide-show of our times together played in my head.  It's not that I wasn't listening, more like her words were the soundtrack. Until she said, "The doctor told me that as long as I have surgery within 4 weeks and start chemo within 6 weeks, I should be ok."

"That's horrible," I said.  "So, if it takes 4 weeks and two days you're going to be beside yourself with worry."

"Pretty much," she replied.

I was still dumbfounded by her nonchalance.

"So, where do you think you are in the processing of all this?" I asked. "Are you still pretty much in shock or do you think you grasp the magnitude of it all?"

"No, I'm good." She said.  "I'm not any more special than anyone else, so why not me?  I've pretty much accepted it and just want to move ahead with my treatment."

By chance, if you believe in chance, rather than being treated locally, Mary's operation and treatment will take place at a hospital 40 minutes from her place but just 10 minutes from mine.

Having shared her news, we started talking about stocking her freezer with meals for her return home and for her husband to consume while she is hospitalized.  Mary talked about "getting my affairs in order" and I again wondered if she is still in shock.

Knowing that she's an avid scrapbooker I suggested, "Maybe you can start to document your journey through the making of a memory book...you could add photos of the people you meet along the way who make the journey easier for you."

"Yes, I journal now too," she says "and I started knitting last year so I have a lot of wool that I carry around with me.  That will come in handy for all the appointments."

Inspired I say, "Another thing you could do is knit hats, pink or pink and purple skull caps that you could leave at the chemo centre whenever you go for treatment. It might not make your journey easier but it may touch the lives of the other people being treated there, especially with winter on the way."

Belatedly I realized that was deviating from the real issue, skirting around the perimeter of cancer and perhaps trying to distract her from it rather than helping her meet it head on with all its implications and dire possibilities.

In closing I offered, "Let me know when you get your dates from the doctor, I want to know what's going on with you."

"Yes, of course," she replied. "And maybe we can get together for coffee when I'm in town."  She said it like she was coming for a convention or a job interview.

I laughed a little when I hung up. I laughed until I wanted to cry for what I know lays ahead for my friend. Mary thought she was well along the path to acceptance but I believe she was feeding my bullshit. Having known her for 35 years, I was pretty good at deciphering the fear and knowing that when the realities of cancer and surgery and chemotherapy finally penetrates her bubble of shocked protection that it will hit her hard, taking her out at the knees and weakening her almost as much as the cancer cells that grow inside.

"Fuuuuuck!" I said to the empty room.  I thought of my girlfriend and how she used to return home from swimming lessons and try to show me everything she had learned.  How she taught me not to be afraid of putting my head under the water and eventually got me to sit on the bottom of the pool for "tea" parties and how we used to spend so much time together.  I thought of the day I beat her up because I thought she liked Evelyn Perrone better than me and how I felt so bad afterward that I wrote her a letter of apology the same day.  I thought about how she went to Disneyland one year and brought me back a statue of a pissed off Daisey Duck explaining that it reminded her of me when I was angry and how that made me mad yet I cherished her honesty and friendship so much that I packed that darn duck up and moved it with my belongings from place to place for the next two decades before losing track of it.

I remembered staying at her house for a month when my family was between homes, having sold our old one before the new one was finished being built.  I thought of all the pop tarts she smuggled from her house for me and how I thought she was so lucky to always have so much junk food at her place.  I sat and thought of the year she spent living with her father and how it changed her but didn't take her from me, thought of the late night phone calls, all the visits, all the little babies we introduced into each other's lives.

I retrieved my phone from the kitchen counter and type the words she said to me decades before "I am here for you. I won't let you drown."

Then I sat down to write.

Friday 26 September 2014

Worship

I want to worship
at your temple;
to sacrifice
independence
for the freedom of
your love.

I want to dance upon
your altar
until
tongues are spoken;
until the light
of revelations appear;
until your liquid
warmth soothes
the fire in my soul.

- Vera

Toxic



Angry words
are pushed
down my throat
forcing me to
swallow the bitter
poison contained within.

Belatedly
walls rise
to protect
heart,
spirit,
mind.

Hot
venom
fills blood cells
courses
through veins; is
pumped into then
rejected by heart.

Teeth clench
throat opens
attempting to
keep the toxin
from spewing forth
from mouth.

I marinate in
emotions.
Hearing and vision
distort.
Impaired I search for
meaning,
truth,
kindness,
love.

Failure
thickens walls,
increases toxicity,
increases impairment.

Paralyzed mind,
paralyzed body
collapse
shattering walls,
releasing toxins.
Eyes focus on
the new landscape
within.

- Vera

Thursday 25 September 2014

The Path




Sometimes we know the path to take.

It's a Plant's Life


Time for another confession?  Why not!

I took this picture during my bike ride yesterday.  I said I was going to leave my phone behind but I'm glad I pocketed it - ringer totally off - just because I was able to capture this.

It took only a moment to notice and an equally infinitesimal amount of time to record, yet it stayed vibrant in my minds eye, begging the question:

                       "Do you use all the resources in your life to grow where you've been planted?"

Disappointingly my honest answer has to be no.  I have to acknowledge that, metaphorically, there are times when I am so focussed on the lack of sunshine that I absolutely and consciously refuse to acknowledge the water pooling at my roots, begging me to absorb and utilize it to my highest order. Simply put, if I were this plant, I would be dead!

I imagine that's the beauty of a plant.  it doesn't get distracted from its essential existence...doesn't have to consider the plants around it...doesn't have to even seek out that which sustains it. It simply and intuitively leans into the light, grows roots to the moisture and draws nutrients from the soil and BREATHES.

My lesson?

Be a plant.  Feed my life.  Lean into the warm moments. Consume proper nutrients, DRINK lots of water and BREATHE!


Grade 6

The school year is well underway.  Routines have been set, expectations laid out.

Having moved to Hamilton last summer, this is my second year dealing with this elementary school and, since I homeschooled my older two until they entered Grades 7 and 9, it's pretty much the only experience I have dealing with an Elementary school.

I have a few complaints!

Why are they asking my kids to sell chocolate?  They don't allow cupcakes in the classroom for birthdays or other special events, the pizza that they serve once a week has been specially modified to meet the government's idea of a "healthy" option (where are the vegetables?) and even snacks brought in at the holidays are "strongly encouraged" to be sugar free.

SO, why are they asking my kids to sell chocolate?

According to the Principal, a few years back they took chocolate selling off the fundraising menu and found that they were unable to meet their goals.  "Chocolate sells." she stated when I asked.  "I have some personal problems with it myself, but it sells."

Hmmmm.... so I should teach my kids that it's ok to do anything for money.  That they should put it above principle, logic and personal goals.  "Chocolate sells..." That makes it ok.

I said a few complaints right?

Why are we raising money for the Terry Fox Foundation by encouraging students to throw wet sponges at their teacher's faces?  Better yet, why are the teacher's allowing this?  Again the Principal babbles about "personal difficulties" and then goes on to say that the teachers were "happy to volunteer" for this event.

If she has so many problems with the fundraisers being pursued at the school, why are they running?  Who is in charge and how do I get to them?

"Join our school council," she encourages. "Then you can have a say in what happens here."  I interpret this to mean put your money where your mouth is, or better yet, put up or shut up.

Will I join?  Let's wait and see what kind of minds I will have to win over in order to reform the joint.

Last Complaint?

Grade 6 means EQAO's which I have an intense mistrust of and distaste for. How does this benefit my kid? How does it benefit the school when they have to factor his "0" into their score?  So, again (poor Principal) I speak with the school's highest authority.  She said she wasn't really sure what the school Board's position is on EQAO anarchy but she sees two possibilities 1) She may be able to have him in the office or 2) If he is on school property he HAS to take the test which, according to her means I would have to remove him from school grounds during the testing.

So I asked, "What if I tell him to sit quietly through the test but not to pick up his pencil?" her eyes got noticeable bigger.  I don't think she was counting on me encouraging my kid to disobey any direct orders from the teacher or Principal...

Did I mention in my profile that I'm a reformed home schooler?  Maybe I'm not as reformed as I think...?

Grade 1 is great as are grades 10 and 12.  It's just grade 6 that I seem to be having a problem with.


Wednesday 24 September 2014

Delayed Gratification






Confession time...

yesterday, and the day before, I was jonesing for a bag of Roasted Garlic and Black Bean Tostitos.  Not the healthiest choice but ooooohhh, the flavour...

I'm an adult right? And it wasn't too late, 8:30 or so on a Monday. Blessed with transportation, I jumped in the van and went to the local Avondale to see if I could pick up a bag.  Anticipating success, I practically skipped through the front door and up to the chip stand.  I spotted Tostitos and my heartbeat quickened but on closer inspection, they had limited their supply to the basic Rounds and Scoops.

Ever the optimist, I circled the stand hoping to find MY chips on the back side but, NO.  Just another assortment of dill pickled this and sour cream and onion that.  How many brands of those does a store really need to carry?

Disappointed, I grabbed a bag of riceworks sweet chili chips and made do.

Fast forward to Tuesday...

Having scratched my itch the night before with the rice chips, I went through most of my day before I was hit with a yearning for Tostitos.  Thankfully, I was at the park with the kids when the itch resurfaced.  A park which is adjacent to a plaza!

When we were locked and loaded in the van, I announced a need to make a pitstop.  I ran into a small grocery chain store and searched the chip aisle for my desire. Same as Monday, this store's stock didn't include the chips I was looking for.  

But it's a plaza, remember, so I was able to go to the drug store and BINGO, what do you know, there are my chips.

I skipped back to the van, (yes, I know, but skipping CAN look cool) and drove home where I got distracted by overseeing the lunch making, bedtime snack eating, tooth brushing and tucking in routine.  By the time I returned to my unopened bag, hours had passed.

I got caught up in writing, then decided to unwind with a long hot bath before hopping into bed with a movie and my Tostitos. Opening credits still rolling, I grabbed the bag and started to rip it open when I'll be darned if I didn't ask myself why I was eating them. I wasn't hungry, it was late and they were probably going to cause me more pain than pleasure.

I pressed pause on the DVD and stared at the chips.

A conversation I heard earlier in the day on CBC about Walter Mischel, professor of humane letters in psychology at Columbia University and his "Marshmallow Experiment" came back to me.  Essentially, the late 1960's study tested the self-control of young children.  Mischel and his colleagues put a child in a room with a marshmallow.  They were told that they could eat the treat or if they waited until the adult returned, they could have two treats. The youngster was then left alone while experimenters looked on. 

The interesting part of the study is what happened AFTER the marshmallow.  The subjects were followed into adulthood to see if those who waited or not indicated who the kids would become.  The conclusion?Self-control can be learned.

My conclusion?  

I'm an adult right? I would like to think that as a child I would have waited for the adult to return and been rewarded with the two treats but really, I'm not sure.

I put the chips aside and lay down to watch the movie.  This morning I was greeted by the unopened bag and smiled to myself for waiting.

Tonight, when I take my 5-year-old to dance I will again be adjacent to the plaza where I bought those Tostitos. I know they're not the same as marshmallows but since I waited, I reckon I'm entitled to run into the drugstore and buy a second bag!

  

Tuesday 23 September 2014

Hello Heat



After a summer of disappointingly cool weather, HEAT!

Like a virgin waiting for the Prom, mother nature has been holding out on us!

The wonderfully ironic part is that the kids are all in school.  Unable to enjoy the warmth of the sun beating down on their sweaty heads as they run through the splash pad.  

Instead they're cooped up in classrooms choking on chalk dust and peering out the windows wishing for recess.

And me?

Somewhat unsympathetic.

WHY?

Because I can enjoy meandering the streets of downtown Hamilton without the listening to my 5-year-old's high pitched whines or my 10-year-old's pleas to head to the park for some mind numbing soccer drills, or my 15-year-old's begging to play basketball or "hang out" with his friends. OR, God forbid, my 17-year-old asking if she can pleeeeeaaaase drive.

Instead I can sit on the front porch in my fabulously red - in your face chairs with my book and my sweating glass of wine.  Or I can fold down the back seat of my van, throw in my bike and go to the beach for some quiet, quiet, quiet riding along the coastal trail.  I can whip out my writing pad and record the thoughts that I actually have to ability to LISTEN to and harness rather than trying to grasp at them as they fleetingly scramble from my brain to make room for something, anything that the world might be trying to shove into it.

Lunch?

Outside of course on any patio that dares to remain open.  I am not above going to Tim Horton's if it means I can lunch OUTSIDE, in the sun, in the heat.

The bestest part? 

My cell phone may or may not come with me; may or may not be heard ringing.  It may or may not make it off the dresser at home or in the cup holder of my van.

The only thing that could possibly make it better would be if my partner wasn't also stuck in a classroom, creating that chalk dust and the endless loops of homework from which our kids learn, but the world is an imperfect place...

Me and my thoughts and the sun which should have accompanied my every summer day but which I am grateful has finally showed up on these first few days of Fall....


Why Not?

So, here we go!

A fresh page and a fresh start to a new blog - as if the internet doesn't have enough of them.

I thought I would use this space to empty my head.  Perhaps daily, perhaps weekly, perhaps just as a dream of mine that someone, anyone would want to read it and learn a little (or a lot) more about who I am and what I am about.

I hemmed and hawed about a blog for a long time, years if I confess truly, here I am finally doing it.

Why? Why? Why?

I got caught up in the "Why's?"  Today I realized there was a "Why NOT?" waiting on the other side.

Read it or don't.  Like it or not.

You will find me and my ramblings spread across these pages.