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Vanity

2011-06-08T14:57:00.003-04:00

Only vanity makes me believe
I can remain untouched by your grief.
Healed wounds though only just scabbed over
Make me invincible.
I fight dragons and rescue maidens
And will not get caught up in emotional distress.
Riding the white horse into the sunset
I am my own hero --
I even wrote a theme song quietly strumming
As I attempt to tease Quixote away from the text
His collision with a destiny mirroring our own
Magnifying the dark.

Dreams

2011-04-30T17:02:00.005-04:00

My son asked if we could 'have a talk' the other night.

'Of course. What's up?'

'Well, know how our cat likes to sometimes sleep under the covers with me? You know how he drools?'

Yup. Our cat drools like a Saint Bernard watching a barbecue. He drools big globs of goo any time you are petting him. It's his sign of contentment. Not unlike some dudes in my past but I digress.

'Yup.'

'Well, I woke up and I was all wet.' pause 'Down there.' he pointed.

'Hmmm. You don't think it was the cat do you?'

The boy shook his head.

'And you didn't pee either did you?'

'No. So, what happened mom?'

'Ahhhhhh. Well, remember when you had asked about sex and I told you that seed called semen came out of the man's penis? Well, your body was just going through a check list to make sure it was working properly and from the sounds of it, it's all in working order. What you had is sometimes called having a wet dream.'

The boy paused and absorbed this.

'What does sex feel like mom?'

'Hmmmmm. Well, it might feel different for a man and a woman. For example, I don't have a penis so I wouldn't know how having one would feel. Would you like to talk to your father about this?'

'I tried but he told me that talking about this was inappropriate.'

I held my tongue. Really. But for f&^(k's sake! If a child is wanting to talk they are ready for an answer and nothing about our bodies is f&*^&^king inappropriate!

'Ahhhh. Well, I'm glad you are asking me and I'll do my best to answer. Sex can feel very nice and sometimes it can feel not nice. In order to have it feel nice certain things have to be in place. First, your body needs to be ready.'

'How will I know?'

'Well, you see that your penis is beginning to work on its own right? Your physical body is starting to get ready but your mind really has no control over it right?'

'Right.'

'Well, let's see. Have you ever looked at anyone and thought that it might feel really good to kiss them on the lips?'

'Yuck! No way!'

'Ok, that kinda shows that your mind isn't really ready. One day, you might look at someone and want to kiss them and they might want to kiss you back and when you do, it will feel very nice.'

The boy eyed me with skepticism but said 'ok.'

'Well, you might then want to get closer to this person. You might want to hold their hand, stroke their cheek and well, just touch them. At this point, your penis might say yes (it might rise up and feel different--kinda 'tingly') and your mind might say yes but there still might be a part of you that says no. This is an important part to listen to. If you feel, at any time, that part of you isn't ready then it's safe to say that you aren't ready and that's ok.'

The boy nodded.

'Now I'm going to tell you something very very important. Even if you think you are ready, you need to be sure that your partner is also ready. This means taking your time and communicating with them in order to make sure that they are ready.'

'It wouldn't feel nice if they weren't ready too.'

'Exactly kiddo. As well, I want you to know that if you ever have questions/concerns about any of this you can always feel free to talk to me about it. Ok?'

'Ok. I love you mommy. Ummmmm. What do I do if I have another wet dream?'

'Well, you put your wet jammies/sheets in the hamper, if you feel sticky, wash yourself and that's about it. You don't have to tell me about it kiddo. It's just a part of life.'

The boy smiled and with that I kissed him good night, turned out the light and left him to his dreams.

Spaces Inbetween

2011-02-15T14:47:00.006-05:00

Love comes to you and you follow

When I was much younger and living with the family I grew up with I remember climbing the stairs to the loft space shared by my brothers. My eldest brother, Eric, was listening to music. Stereo parts and wires were strewn haphazardly on his desk, the floor and his bed. Music filled the entire space. The song was 'Heart of the Sunrise' by Yes.

Lose one on to the heart of the sunrise

The sun was streaming in through the window and shadows of blinds were etched onto Eric's face. His eyes were closed as he sang:

SHARP--DISTANCE

Time stopped. I remember the intensity of the moment. I remember how beautiful and raw his face was. Exposed. I could not know what he was thinking but I knew fully and completely what he was feeling. He was in his final year of High School. He was getting ready to leave home. He was caught in the space between now and then.

How can the wind with its arms//all around me

Two nights ago I received a phone call from an unfamiliar long distance number. 'Hello' said a strange voice. 'I have a young boy here who really wants to speak to his mommy.'

Lost on a wave and then after

My mind rationalized the situation immediately. My son was with his father. My son was safe. This stranger calling me must be a friend of my son's father.

Dream on on to the heart of the sunrise

'Mommy' my son whispered. His tears froze my heart. 'Mommy, I don't know where I am.'

SHARP--DISTANCE

I pressed the phone to my mouth and my ear and if it would have been possible I would have swallowed it whole in order to bring my son's voice and self closer to me. 'Honey I'm here. It's ok. You're ok. It's going to be ok.'

How can the wind with so many around me

'Mommy, I'm scared.'

Lost in the city

Time stopped. I remember the intensity of the moment. I do not remember thinking but I understood fully and completely what I was feeling. I was caught in the space between now and then.

Lost in their eyes as you hurry by

I have spoken to folk recently about frustration and the illusory nature of power and control. We label and define our worlds in a vain attempt to exercise our control over it.

Counting the broken ties they decided

We form relationships in order to have ourselves and our experiences reflected back. To know who we are. Some relationships we are born into. Others are chosen.

Straight light moving and removing//Sharpness of the colour sunshine

There are so many stories to be told and to be heard. When we open up and allow another in we breathe in their stories, their voices, their experiences, their joys and their pain. We do this in order to somehow make sense of what is ultimately senseless.

Straight light searching all the meanings//Of the song

My son was found. My mind dances around the cliff of 'what if' but I shy back from the edge out of necessity.

Long last treatment of the telling that//Relates to all the words sung

Right now, it is enough that he is safe. I have touched his body, smelt his hair, and heard his heart beat, looked into his eyes and tasted his skin. My senses are made believers.

Dreamer easy in the chair that really fits you.

Love comes to you and then after

This morning I received word that a friend's mother survived a major operation and the prognosis is good. I sent out a prayer of thanks into the ether. My friend was in the space between now and then.

Dream on on to the heart of the sunrise

This morning I got word that an old friend passed away peacefully at 5:45am.

SHARP--DISTANCE

I laid my head on my desk and watched as tears formed small puddles after bouncing on the concrete floor. His widow now inhabits the space between now and then. Her name and my favourite flower are the same. Funny what images come to mind.

How can the sun with its arms all around me

I remember one time when I climbed the stairs in the house I grew up in, I caught my brother in the act of singing.

SHARP--DISTANCE

The moment took my breath away. We shared an intimacy even though I'm pretty sure that he had no idea I was there watching as he let go.

How can the wind with so many around me.

I feel lost in the city.

(Lyrics in Italics from 'Heart of the Sunrise' by Yes)

A Night on the Town

2011-01-10T21:21:00.004-05:00

Went out the other night with a girlfriend. We were chatting over a couple pints and dude #1 burst into the conversation when I started to talk to my friend about the Romanian government's recent decision to tax witches. He carried on with theories of magnetic disruptions and global 'wobbles' that were causing the recent death of birds world wide. He wasn't interested in us but wanted us to acknowledge his theories. He was amusingly harmless and gallantly shook our hands when he left.

Shortly after the departure of dude #1, dude #2 came to sit beside us. (I get that bars are social places but it always amuses me how dudes feel it ok to just join in on conversations without any introduction whatsoever, but I digress).

Dude #2 was witty and charming and not just a little flirtatious. He too talked about birds (bird watching this time, not birds dropping dead from the sky), curling, and his love of the outdoors. As he kept talking, however, I noticed that he would sometimes change his personal pronoun from 'I' to 'we.' This is a pretty clear indication that dude #2 was not single. Hmmmmm. He talked on. He mentioned that, according to his friends, the local Bridgehead that I frequented was a cougar haven. I guess I should have been flattered that he seemed to lump me into the group of 'good looking ladies' that congregated there but, instead, I explained to him that I found this particular term to be pretty darn offensive. I asked if any of his friends had ever 'picked up' at the Bridgehead and he told me that they had not because they were too shy. I suggested, based on personal experience, another theory that centered around the possibility that perhaps the women who frequented the Bridgehead were doing so for nothing more than the coffee. The dude then told me that he could see my point and that I was quite the 'firecracker.'

The dude then ordered a round of tequila shots for the three of us. After the round, I asked him how long he had been married. He looked at me with a bit of shock and then admitted that he had been married for 15 years. He also mentioned that he had 2 kids aged 14 and 11. He then asked for advice. I could see my friend roll her eyes. We both knew the deal. We were no longer women he could pick up. We would now have to fulfill another womanly role for him -- that of nurturing care givers. He asked how to deal with the fact that his wife had had an affair 15 years ago. What could have been wrong with him? She had admitted to this indiscretion a year before and he was finding it hard to get over it. Sigh.

My filter, I must admit, was no longer on at this point. I had had tequila. I said something like 'get over it. Seems that you are creating a problem out of nothing and transforming yourself into a long suffering victim in order to justify your own need to cover up personal feelings of inadequacy. It was 15 years ago. You are still together. You have known about this for a year. The fact that you are still together kind of shows that you can live with it. Go home, and hug your wife and think yourself lucky that she decided to stick with you even though you are spending an evening in a bar buying tequila shots for strange women.' My friend and I then got up to leave and said 'thank you for the tequila' cuz we are polite.

My father fell down the stairs. Part II.

2010-11-23T11:16:00.004-05:00

Remember when you would call me your only son?
Remember when I piled up boxes and stools to reach the top shelf of my closet and it all came crashing down on top of me and it had woken you up and you came into my room and gave me my first and only spanking? Remember the bruises I had and that you had thought were from your hands but they had been from my fall?
Remember when you would bring me to the track with a stop watch? I wish I could have run faster.
Remember when mom left and you cornered me in the porch to let me know that my mother was a whore and I was just like her?
Remember showing me that Linden tree leaves in the springtime taste like fresh green beans?
Remember when you told me that music was a good hobby until I got married? I'm divorced now. Can I sing again?
Remember how you wished I would become a lawyer?
Remember that night when you and mom's boyfriend stood face to face and I took my brother out of the mix and dragged him to the backyard and held his shaking shoulders while he puked?
Remember how you laughed when I told you that I would one day have a job I loved wherein I could support myself and choose my own hours?
Remember how you would never call me pretty or beautiful because those terms should not be used when describing a daughter. Did you know that I still don't trust those words when I hear them today?
Remember that night when you lit my cigarette for me?
Remember when I caught my first pike and set it free because it was a fighter and I believed that it deserved a better fate than being caught by a girl.

Did you know that what makes me most angry and upset right now is that you got drunk and fell down the stairs? Did you know that stored within that one event is a lifetime of memory?

Weekend Wonders/Wanders

2010-11-21T19:20:00.009-05:00

Met a friend at the train station. I arrived early having misread the 24 hour clock. Not misread. Mistranslated. Sat with a book on my lap while waiting, curiously watching a large number of single/stay at home dad types with daughters wandering around. Thought it uncharitable to despise them. Decided that train stations are decidedly unromantic places. Thought about my favourite movie -- Waterloo Bridge -- and imagined Vivian Leigh's character walking towards the platform not realizing that Robert Taylor's character would soon return from the dead and take her in his arms. He would hold her and babble on not realizing that she had fallen long ago and could never be his.

Showing friend my home. She's never seen this place. Through her eyes I feel free to love it. Validation through reflection.

Long walk. Long strides. Stopping at the perfect place for Irish coffee and chocolate beer. More walking. Slept free of remembered dreams.

Next day. More walking. More talking. My 'hood.' Stepping into shops when cold and back onto the road when too warm. Perfect finds. Delightful treasures. At one point my friend stated that she wanted to buy some tea. I immediately turned into a shop. 'Where are you going?' 'Into this tea shop.' Serendipity. Received a detailed lesson on tea. Chrysanthemum tea. Green tea. Boil the water and pour it into a container. Let it sit for 2 to 3 minutes. Pour water over loose leaves in pot. Do not trap leaves in a tea ball. The green tea should steep for 2 minutes only before drinking. Art. Lovely.

Final day. To market to market . . .
Leather art: walked into leather shop. Beautiful coats and bags. Saw a purse and knew it was mine. An exorbitant splurge?
Book art: Favourite bookstore/gallery closing. Retirement sale. Sad but glad I had the chance to say goodbye. Touched the books. Years ago when I visited, the gallery used to leave me both light headed and heavy. Many depictions of spirits and gods. This time most of the gods had been packed away. The feeling however was still present. Not negative. Not positive. Just present. A presence.
Light bulb art: Lovely shop which my friend said reminded her of my home. It felt like home. I looked up. The owner was using old light bulbs as vases for plant offcuts. Brilliant! Will do this with my children. Bought incense which was then placed in a bag made out of folded page from a magazine. Nothing wasted.
Chick Pea curry: Walked into and then out of a diner. Walked down the road and saw small curry place. Walked in. Young fellow served me then his dad came and asked for my plate back to fill it 'properly.' Taste buds dancing.

Train station. The end is the beginning. Standing in line for coffee. A stranger approached and spoke. Lovely woman with curious eyes. Ethnomusicological connection. She was friends with the woman who was my mentor in university. Both ethnomusicologists. We talked and we exchanged cards. She's an urban nomad. I recognized her spirit and I think she recognized mine.

The weekend was magical. Full of wonder. Came home to an email from the woman at the train station. She had already sent and received a response from my past mentor. Connections. Roots. Despite my sometimes desire to run away I am reminded and I recognize that I too am a part of the whole. I am, in Siberry's words, 'bound by the beauty.'

My father fell down the stairs.

2010-11-17T16:36:00.003-05:00

I've been down lately. Not melancholic or whimsically nostalgic but down. Real deep in the depths of lowdown down. Weird thing is that I haven't actually been feeling depressed or even sad. True, tears have appeared in my eyes on a frequent (near daily) and unannounced basis but if I was to state how I have been feeling I really couldn't say that I was depressed. Just down. Perhaps I would also include a dash of frustration, a measure of loneliness, a modicum of anger, and a pinch of exhaustion. My own personal recipe made to order.

I really don't mean to get into reasons or rationalles at this point. This preamble is only to set the stage for what happened next. Leading us to the title of this particular blurb. Last weekend my kidlings and I cleaned house. Working together in order to achieve a common goal is a lovely way to pass a Sunday--good old Protestant ethic. By the time early evening arrived I was ready to indulge myself. It had been ages since I had a long soak in the bath and with a freshly cleaned tub and sparkling faucets I looked forward to reacquainting myself with the idea of relaxing.

So there I was, thoroughly enjoying the experience when I heard the phone ring. Once. Twice. Then it stopped. The girl child had answered it. I heard her voice. "Yes" "Ok" "Just a minute" "I'll get her". I heard her climb the stairs to bring me the phone. I figured I could continue my indulgence and talk on the phone at the same time. No harm done. I am a multi talented individual. My daughter informed me that it was my aunt. "Hello!" I exclaimed purposefully filling my voice with sunshine and happiness.

My aunt replied with a quick hello followed by a "don't worry everything is ok." My father had fallen down the stairs. My father is 78 years old and lives alone in a bungalow an 8 hour (when I'm driving) distance from where I sat soaking in my bath. The water started to feel rather cold. I got more information. My father had fallen down the stairs the night before. He had lost consciousness. When he woke up he had crawled upstairs and went to bed. In the morning, he had called his brother, my uncle, and my uncle and aunt had taken him to the hospital. 7 hours and many tests later he was home. Nothing broken but morphine coursing through his veins to help him deal with bruised ribs and sore everywhere else.

My aunt continued to say that he was alright but was very lucky. There was no sign of trauma on his head so his loss of consciousness was not from him hitting it. I listened and gathered more information. I know that my aunt would prefer that my dad go to a home. That might be the best thing for him. How much of what she says is in my dad's best interests? How much of what she says is in hers? I listen and take it in. She asks that I call my brothers. I am not surprised that I am the one she called. An ally? I say I will call them and thank her for calling me. I ask to speak to my dad. I hear his voice. It sounds strong yet tired. Understandable. Something else is in his tone. Embarrassment? Fear? I listen. I joke. I tell him to get some rest. I hang up the phone and step out of the bath and drain the tub.

I call brother #1. What can he do? He lives 1 hour from my bath and 12 hours (if he drives) from my dad. Leave it to the uncle and aunt he says. I suggest that perhaps it was kind of our responsibility too. He agrees and can ensure that all future monetary commitments would be met. Ok. The venture has financial backing.

I call brother #2. He's working on his PHD. He has no time to think about anything else until it is done. He also informs me that he had been speaking with my dad the night he fell. My dad fell down the stairs because he was drunk. I should, therefore, not worry. It wasn't medical. He also told me that I was better at dealing with personal issues with folk so he would leave it up to me to talk to my dad about options. But, I wondered, you are the one with power of attorney here.

I don't call brother #3. I don't know his number. I don't know where he is.

Feeling a bit like Le Petit Prince I put the phone away. I think about how strange people are. I think about how I do not find this strangeness surprising. While I do not understand my brother's reactions, their reactions are, to me, predictable. I can see them coming a mile away. When did people become so archetypal? When did I? The level of self-absorption witnessed all around me leaves me feeling deflated. Down. I wonder how to write this out. I wonder how to examine the subjective objectively. I wonder how to make it all about me when it was my father who fell down the stairs.

A Fairy Tale

2010-06-20T21:38:00.002-04:00

Once upon a time, not so very long ago, when I was a little girl, I believed in magic. I believed in magic so much so that I saw myself as a mystical being that could do wondrous things. Because I embodied magic and could do magical things it only made sense to me that I would be surrounded by symbols of magic. Thus began my first quest. At the ripe age of five I set out into the vast expanse of my backyard in search of a magical symbol. I began to look for a four leaf clover. I searched for hours. I searched for days. I didn’t search for weeks. I was five and had not yet developed the art of long term obsession.

He picked you up from the dentist. You had had a root canal. Together, you went for a drive across the river and into the hills. He was quiet. So were you. Your mind was numb like your jaw. When he stopped the car you willed for it to keep going. He got out, started walking and beckoned for you to follow. You didn’t want to go. Things were going to change and that terrified you. He told you that he had been doing a lot of thinking. Specifically, he had been thinking about the relationship. You remember thinking ‘here it comes.’ He asked if you would marry him. You remember being surprised but not. Your face was reflected in his sun glasses as you said ‘sure.’

A few weeks later I had a dream. I dreamt that I was running across the backyard wearing my night gown. Freshly cut grass covered in dew clung to my legs. I reached the apple tree and pressed my back against it. I could feel the bark on my back. With my right heel pressed firmly against the tree I placed my left heel in front and walked heel toe heel toe heel toe. I bent down to look and right there by the big toe of my foot was a 4 leaf clover!

You got married outside. His shoes cost more than your dress. You remember thinking as you danced that you were lousy dancers. Two months earlier he had come clean about having had an affair. It had happened before he proposed. You remember being angry, not so much about the betrayal but because it had happened so long ago that you no longer cared. The right to anger had been taken from you. Coming home from the honeymoon and looking around the apartment you wondered if you would ever feel really real? Life all seemed a bit make believe. A story witnessed from afar read from a book that could be closed at any time.

I woke up and ran outside. My father had cut the lawn the day before and fresh cut grass covered in dew clung to my legs. I reached the apple tree and pressed my back against it. I could feel the bark on my back. With my right heel pressed firmly against the tree I placed my left heel in front and walked heel toe heel toe heel toe. I bent down to look and right there by the big toe of my foot was a 5 leaf clover!

You both wanted a family. Did you? Didn't you? Yes. But that night you said no. Did you actually mean it? Yes. Really? Weren't you playing hard to get? No. You fought. Really? Never mind. It doesn’t matter. The scene was reenacted. Do it again but this time with feeling! Change the past and rewrite history. The end result is what matters. Why look back and focus on the negative? Just let it go. Count your blessings. Make sure it's completely swallowed lest you choke.

I was distraught. This was not how I dreamed it would be. The story was all wrong. I made a rash decision to change it so the ending would fit. I removed one of the leaves and transformed my 5 leaf clover into a 4 leaf clover. It took me many years to retell the story as it had really transpired.

Recently I told my daughter of my search for a four leaf clover. I retold my dream and its outcome. I admitted to her what I had done when the ending I sought hadn't occurred as I thought it should. Since then she has come home with 14 four leaf clovers. I have them pressed between the pages of ‘The I Ching – or book of changes.’ She is gifted with seeing what she is looking at and accepting what is there.

Will she one day feel the need to pull off a leaf to create her own 'Happily Ever After'?

Pixie Stix

2010-04-07T19:45:00.003-04:00

Out for a walk with the twinlets this evening I passed a garbage can in a park overflowing with the coloured wrappers of spent pixie stix.

I remembered Charlie. Charlie brought me pixie stix every day. I don't know how Charlie knew they were my favourite. I don't know where he got them. Charlie was blonde with buck teeth. I don't remember ever really talking to Charlie except to say 'hello' and 'thank you'. My friends all assumed that Charlie was my boyfriend. I guess I thought that too. Why else would he bring me pixie stix? He never gave any candy to anyone else. Not that I knew of. We were five years old and in kindergarten. Already independent enough to take the bus to school on our own we were putting our own stamp on the world. Every day Charlie would find me on the playground and he would give me a pixie stix -- the red and orange ones were my particular favourites. I would rip open an end, tilt my head back and let the powder pour into my mouth. I actually don't remember ever having had pixie stix before meeting Charlie. I don't remember ever having them since that year.

35 years later, walking in a park, I remembered Charlie, the taste of pixie stix and how good it felt to not question the intention behind a simple act of friendship.

Black and White

2010-04-05T19:59:00.004-04:00

Hmmmm....working on an idea here. It's not 'done' but I'm not up to editing it further. 'It's my blog and I can post incomplete gak if I want to.'

Soft caresses and bruised thighs.
Dented walls and gentle sighs.

Forgiveness is a difficult concept. How does one begin the process of forgiveness? "I forgive you." These words, uttered with intent and infused with feeling are just words. What do they mean?

Let it go and don't look back.
Knick and Knack and Paddy Whack.

"I forgive you for . . . ." For what exactly? Ripping the rug out from under my feet? Violently changing the course and direction of my life? But out of this violence came somthing beautiful. A birth. Two births. Rebirth.

Childhood rhymes set to repeat.
Simple chords, a vibrant beat.

"All is forgiven." A blanket statement that covers all bases. Does forgiveness lead to trust? What does it really mean to lose trust? Is trust possible after it's been broken? How can one negotiate without trust?

Rainbows painted large and bright
Remind us that it's never just black and white.

The Unknown

2010-04-02T23:09:00.004-04:00

Into the Unknown

A spider’s web
The perfect union
Of strength and fragility
Beauty and deadly intent
Can withstand a summer storm
In all its ferocity
But falls apart
When a careless passerby
Walks through it
Oblivious

Confessional

2010-03-29T20:55:00.004-04:00

My father is 78. He is an old man. His life was already half lived before I was born. I always listen closely when he speaks about his life--the life he experienced before me. I absorb each story and weave it into my own history creating a connection from shared memory. A tapestry of a family that exists within me and extends outwards to the past and the future. I use his memories to know myself although like adding breath to the wind the questions I have resonating within me are released with no echoing return.

I had never met his father. My grandfather was taken away when my own father was only five years old. His mother began the journey of single mom at that point. I think of her and make parallels to my own present situation. Any perceived trials I endure pale in comparison. She had four boys. She worked hard and brought them through the war alive and self-sufficient. Who could ask for more?

My father was the second youngest. His younger brother was less than a year old when their father was taken. He has no memories of him. I have always wondered about the connection my father has with his younger brother -- my uncle Topi. I know that my father has always felt protective over him. They both left Finland together in 1959 to settle in Canada. They both worked together in the same lumber mill. My father had not received any education past public school. He and his older brothers needed to work in order to provide for the family. Topi was the one who received the education. When he and my father arrived in Canada, my father became a worker in the mill. Topi became a foreman. I have heard Topi tease my father with an air of superiority and I have watched as my father has taken it. I wonder, at times, who my father would have been had he received a formal education? Would I have been different?

Lately, my father is keen to tell me more stories. I know that my time with him is nearing an end. I call when I can. I listen. I know that that is what he wants more than anything right now. He wants to be heard. He wants to be understood. He wants to live on. Don't we all?

The last time we spoke he told me a story I had never heard before. When he was six years old, his mother had to leave her boys at home in order to go to work. She left a list of chores for her sons to do. Each task had to be completed before any free time could be had. My father asked, rhetorically, if he had ever had the chance to be a child? They swept the floors, did dishes, sawed wood for the stove, made dinner and looked after Topi. How did his mother feel when she left their one roomed home each morning?

I heard a change in my father's voice. I heard a six year old boy. One afternoon he watched as Topi was playing in a sand pit. Topi was too small to get out so was relatively safe. My father saw his older brother run off to the creek? river? lake? I cannot remember how my father described it. The important part was that the boys went swimming. It was hot. My father felt that if the older ones could go swimming so could he. He left Topi in the sand pit. When the boys got back they saw that Topi was covered in blisters from the sun. They quickly brought him inside and when their mother returned home she gave them all royal hell for not looking after him. For almost getting him killed. How much of her anger stemmed from guilt?

My father's voice pleaded to me from out of the past. 'But I was only six!'
My uncle's scars from this incident remain. As do my own father's.

It was about twenty years ago when my father was reading a magazine article that suggested a link between childhood sunburns and skin cancer. My father was always reading. Always wanting to learn more. My father, still protective over his younger brother, watched for signs as they sat together in the sauna. One day, my father noticed that one of the blister scars on Topi's back was discoloured. He had to fight with his brother to get him to see a doctor. He told him that he bore responsibility for it but would be damned if he let his brother not get it checked out. It was skin cancer. The spot was removed. The cancer had not taken root.

My father blamed himself while simultaneously trying to forgive himself. 'I was only six!' Old man and child facing a memory together. A timeless confrontation.

My father then went on to tell me about the cancerous mole he had had removed from his own neck ten years ago. He mentioned it as a matter of course. Shit happens and he dealt with it. The irony escaped him. I realize at times like this that I have more of my father in me then I would be likely to admit.

My Reality is Not For Sale

2010-01-23T11:35:00.002-05:00

So many things in this world that I don't understand. Reality being manufactured and sold as a commodity is one of them. Advertisements used to sell products are one thing. I get that if an attractive person is shown eating, drinking, wearing, wiping, riding or just walking by a product, chances are good that that particular product will 'sell' at least in the short term. One hopes that any future sales of this product may be attributed to the quality and value of the product. One hopes that the wheat will rise from the chaff or, better yet, that things that suck won't sell. This is not always the case (think lite beer) but there is no accounting for some people's taste.

Selling a product placed within a particular made up 'reality' is one thing. Selling reality itself is another. Entertainment shows are being created that analyze other entertainment shows. So called 'reality' programming proliferates our airwaves. 'Real' people doing 'real' things are followed around by cameras and film crews so that our self referential voyeuristic needs are met. How do our own personal realities compare? Can they? There exist self help groups for people who are genuinely bummed out that the world depicted in the movie 'Avatar' is not real.

People are attempting to create space for themselves within this new market. Remember the boy in the balloon? As people watched this 10 minute crisis unfold over the airwaves the parents were figuring out how they could swing a sequel. In today's paper, a short corner of page article told of a woman in the UK who had forced her child into a wheel chair in order to pass him off as the 'sickest boy in the world' in order to gain free trips for them both to Disney World. She injected him with glucose to simulate diabetes and ... ok, I stopped reading at this point because it was causing the Americano I was drinking to curdle. It boggles the mind and sickens the heart.

I was given a television last year because it was noticed that the one I used was too puny. It never bothered me but seemed to bother my friend that I was living in the dark ages. Even this 'new' tv, however, would be seen by many as passe. It is not a flat screen. It is not HD. I don't feel a need to own HD. When I want to see something 'real' I look out the window or, better yet, walk outside. Now with the current influx of 3D movies (what, is it the 70's again?) new technologies are being created to provide folk with yet another 'can't live without it' product. 3D television sets! With the market already saturated with HD I wonder how these will sell. There are also potential dangers linked with this new device. Apparently, watching a lot of 3D may make one experience nausea (although I tend to feel nauseous already when watching my 'normal' tv but that could be linked to a combination of horrible acting, pitiful writing or the graphic prime time violence depicting decapitations, gun shots and brutal torture scenes).

I was weirded out when water started being sold in bottles. I raised a sardonic eyebrow upon hearing about oxygen bars. Reality as a commodity seems to be an all time low. Thing is, it started off so slowly and innoucously that it was hardly noticed. What is now considered the 'norm' was once dreamed of only in sci fi texts. I shudder to think of what is coming next. Until then I guess I'll put on my coat and boots and take a walk in the sunshine and just be real.

No Me for the Wii (for Kate)

2009-12-23T18:23:00.004-05:00

Filled with glee
She came home to see
Her lad with a book
Reading A B C's

No more T.V.!
She thought wistfully
As her boy flipped the pages
With quiet intensity.

But then entered hubby
And he was quite merry
He unpacked and set up
What looked like a monstrosity

'My darling wifey,'
He mentioned with revelry
'Your sister dropped off a great game
Will you play with me?'

She stared at the Wii
Asking quite cautiously
'Did you see that your son
Is beginning to read?'

Non plussed was the hubby
As he fussed with the packaging
'The first thing you need to do
Is create a 'me' for your 'Wii';

'A 'me' for a 'Wii'?'
She asked a bit shrilly
'Why would I want to create
A me for a Wii?'

'I have a me for the Wii
Just wait 'til you see
How much fun we'll all have
Interacting with the T.V.'

She noted dejectedly
That her son threw down the A B C's
And seemed transfixed by this gadget
That was being played by his daddy.

'I will not create a new Me'
She stated with unhidden hostility.
'I will not play with this new fangled gizmo
I will not create a new me for the Wii.

Let me speak clearly
So that you can hear me truely.
I have absolutely no interest in playing this game
And I will not be making a me for this Wii.

I must state emphatically
Although I love you dearly
We differ in ways as good couples do
So I will not be making a 'me' for this Wii

Looking dejectedly
Feeling defeat
She watched as her son
Left a book by her feet

But then quite excitedly
He picked up his ABC's
And flipped through the pages
And turned to his mommy.

As time goes on inevitably
The boy and his daddy
Interact and enjoy the games
As they play with their 'me's' and the Wii

But what warms her heart magically
When her son picks up his ABC's
And he finds the warm spot on the couch and asks,
'Mommy will you read with me?'

Portrait of a Girl

2009-12-19T22:28:00.003-05:00

My daughter is special. She speaks in terms of hearts and spirits and love. She is intelligent, insightful and wise beyond her years. She is a girl who embraces being a girl. I want her to hold on to that. When I was her age I thought girls were pretty useless. I liked hanging with boys. I understood boys. Girls made no sense to me. When playing games on the school ground -- boys against the girls -- I always played for the boys team. My daughter's love of pink, fashion, teeny bopper television is not part of my own experience but, through her, I am coming to understand not only her but myself.

The other day we watched an episode of 'The Jonas Brothers.' She really wanted to watch it and said she loved it. I am not a fan of the Disney channel or the tweeny pop aesthetic that proliferates its airwaves. Everyone is different though and I love the chance to snuggle with her on the couch. I asked her what it was about the show that she liked. She laughed and was embarrassed. She's young. I wondered if she was already getting caught up in 'crush' land and teen idol worship. (Can't be! I thought. Not yet please? She's not quite 8 years old.) I asked her if she thought the boys were cute. Her answer was immediate and honest. 'No!' She paused and explained. 'I like the colours mommy.' I continued watching. The colours used are bright and vibrant. Each scene has a different palette. It's actually quite cool to watch the show in terms of colour. She pointed out different shades at work and how the character's outfits always seemed to work with the background walls. 'The acting is pretty good too mommy.' Hmmmm. I disagreed with her on that point but noted that it wasn't worse then 90% of the dreck passed off as evening adult programming.

My daughter once mentioned that she wanted to be an artist when she grew up. She then said that she already was an artist. I love seeing the world through her eyes; the eyes of an unapologetic girl who embraces the beauty of the world around her.

I want to tell her to remain free of guilt. I want to let her know that it's ok to cry and that showing emotion is not a sign of weakness. I want her to be able to love freely. I want to tell her that although there will be many folk who will try to label her, pin her down and make her feel in someway wanting that she should just shrug it off and continue to just be. I want her to feel the strength of her grandmothers within her. I want her to never feel threatened by forces beyond her control. I want her never to feel threatened period.

The strength that she shows me each day astounds me. Her insight teaches me. Her love centres me. Her spirit guides me.

My Left Needs a Break (before it breaks)

2009-12-17T10:56:00.003-05:00

Just over a week ago I went to class early in order to run through some lock and rubber guard techniques. Got my left calf squeezed pretty tight and by the end of the class I was limping a wee bit. No biggie I thought. Working the techniques at a seminar 2 weeks ago did a number on my right calf but the soreness went away after a couple days. I could feel a bruise forming but thought nothing of it.

Saturday I went to class a bit worse for wear. I had enjoyed a lovely evening with a gf the night before but I indulged in a few too many pints. We were set to call it a night but then this Irish dude started chatting and bought another round. Blame the Irish indeed. I survived the class. Actually, by the time class came around in the afternoon I was no longer feeling ill -- just tired. The kidlings had gymnastics in the morning and I had a short shift at the theatre. Dropped the kids off, rushed to work, came back to pick up the girl, we went for a quiet hot chocolate, went to get the boy and got home for a short nap. My daughter made lunch for us -- one of the best sandwiches I have ever had. Very nice to feel pampered.

Oh this is a bit of a ramble but I want to mention the hot chocolate that my girl and I had. We went to a place called 'Truffle Treasures' and asked for hot chocolate. We were asked what type we would want. Type? There was a ginormous list! Ok. I chose Aztec (with chili spices) and the girl chose Peppermint. Then we were asked if we wanted dark, milk or white chocolate. Ok. The drinks were fantastic but I never realized that hot chocolate had become as diverse (and expensive) as coffees. Thing is, I'll probably never want to go back to the plain old hot chocolate served in styrofoam cups. Sigh.

Class on Saturday went well. Lot's of people and not too much stress. That evening, however, my calf started to swell and turn a garish purple. Sunday came and the calf got bigger. I figured it was time to bite the bullet and have it checked out by a medical pro. Monday morning I called my supervisor and informed him that I was going to go to emerg. He figured it was a good idea. I got the kids ready for school, sent them on their way and got ready to head out myself. I then remembered that there was work on stage that had to be done before a new screen was installed. I called my supervisor and told him I was going into work first to get job done.

Funny. I was climbing up and down the ladder humping lights and my supervisor was chatting to a contractor saying 'she'll finish these lights, the two of us will move the gear around in the booth and then I'll send her to the hospital.' Job dedication? Stubborn pride? Anyway, I got er done and went to emerg. It turned out to be a very pleasant 6 hour stay. I had a good book, they powers that be assured me that I would be done before having to be home to meet the kidlings and time passed in a restful almost serene manner.

Turns out I did not have any clotting (although I'm to check with my GP early next week to make sure all is still well). I had, however, blown a couple blood vessels which made the leg swell and turn a ghastly shade of dark purply green.

I went to class on Tuesday wearing a tensor bandage. I can do the aikido but am staying away from the jiu jitsu for a couple weeks (Dr. says a month and a half for the healing -- we'll see). Class went well until I turned over on my left ankle and hurt the left side of my neck with a bad fall.

So now I have a bruised leg, bruised/sprained ankle, bruised toe and stiff neck all on my left side.

Guess the Christmas break has come at a good time.

Reading (Into) the News

2009-11-28T20:53:00.002-05:00

So if Dubai reneges on a $60B debt will the recovering N American markets go to crap again? Perhaps they should have thought twice before building an indoor downhill ski slope in the middle of a fracking desert? The very fact that such affluence appears to breed a contempt for common sense and human decency serves to scramble my temporal lobe. Carleton University is spewing sewage into the Rideau River because of a number of aged/cracked pipes that haven’t all been accounted for. New buildings are being erected but the bare bones nuts and bolts maintenance is being accomplished with gaffe tape and concrete bandages. If the foundation is not strong, when problems arise (inevitable that they will; naïve to believe otherwise), the structure will implode upon itself into nothing. This appears to apply not only to physical structures but to economic, ideological, emotional and spiritual erections as well. After the shit hits the proverbial fan and the knee jerk recriminations, name callings, selfish cries and quixotic head banging’s pass, it is the foundation, or lack thereof, that will remain. Foundation or not, (re)growth is possible. It’s just that with a solid foundation the growth may occur just that little bit faster and be, perhaps, just that little bit stronger because at least there is an actual point of departure and reference.

There I Was, Tied Between Two Coconut Trees

2009-11-12T09:54:00.002-05:00

A variation on Snoopy's 'It was a dark and stormy night.' A friend introduced me to this phrase in a letter he once wrote me and we have used it since as an opening conversation ice breaker. Better than 'hello' it pretty summed up how we were feeling--trapped. Yes, we happened to be trapped in paradise but we were trapped all the same. Perhaps I read too much into things (no perhaps about it really as I know that I do read too much into pretty much everything. I am a victim of a liberal arts education after all) but the idea of feeling pinned down and trapped while in paradise is appealing. The inherent contradiction and instability that is evoked by this image calms and soothes my soul. The recognition of the need to break free from convention, however seemingly peaceful/wonderful, is something to be embraced.

I tend to not trust when all is well and going smoothly. That and I get bored. Although I have been called self-destructive (among other things) this is a bit unfair. I require a certain amount of chaos in my life.

A couple years ago I went to a Cuban spa with my mother. The first couple of days were unique and strangely surreal enough to keep me occupied. As time passed, however, a sense of complacency came over me. I relaxed into the routine of daily cardio, 'treatments' and such. The days went like this:

Wake up and dress for breakfast.
Eat breakfast in dining room and order eggs (that's all they had).
Go back to room and change into bathing suit.
Go to 'doctor' for blood pressure check.
Go to 'gym' for cardio
Go outside and stand while someone took a paintbrush and slopped mud taken from the back field all over your body.
Stand in sun til mud dried.
Stand in cold outdoor shower to remove mud.
Jump in very hot salt water pool for 15 minutes or so.
Go to 'rest room' and lie down on a wooden slab and be served tea.
Go to water treatment room. Water treatment consisted of lying in a hot bathtub of water and having a high pressure hose jet water over your body. After the hose one is to stay in tub for 20 minutes.
Go back to rest room
Have massage. I did this only once. Carlo's hands wandered a bit too much :P No quiero.
Go to sauna.
Go back to room and have lunch consisting of chicken and rice or rice and black beans--Moors and Christians.
Afternoon = rest/quiet/relax time.
Dinner.
Bed.

Alright. After one week of this I went to the 'doctor' and was told that I could not participate that day in any spa treatments. My blood pressure was at an all time high. Go figure. With that much mind numbing relaxation I was ready to do harm. I was, in effect, tied between two coconut trees.

I convinced my mom to walk with me to the next village -- 17 km away. We hitchhiked on the back of a truck carrying workers, had a beer in the village and walked back. When we finally got back I jumped straight into the pool. The next day my blood pressure was normal.

Do your worst to me. Just don't bore me. That just might be my end.

Singing REM and I Feel Fine

2009-11-09T22:10:00.005-05:00

I talked to my mom on the phone the other day. Always an interesting experience. She will usually tell me about how busy she has been, what her dogs *kids* have been up to and how although so and so or such and such has somehow let her down she has managed to prevail. We all have our coping mechanisms.

This particular conversation led in a different direction. She had been watching a television show on Nostradamus and Edgar Cayce which delved into the upcoming 'end of the world as we know it' posited by the Mayans. Well there is a movie about it. It must be true.

Seems that Cayce would put himself into a hypnotic state and once there would begin to speak. Speak the truth. At first folk would take advantage of him as they asked for lotto numbers and winning horses. Self gain. Cayce didn't like that and so had his wife be the only one to ask the questions. The questions had to be the greater good. Apparently, heads of state and other such important world folk were given the opportunity to ask him questions. His answers were always true. Hmmmm. This process would take a lot out of him but he continued to put himself in this trance up to 7 times per day. Later he died of a stroke but not before relating that the Mayan calendar was right.

The world will shift on its access in 2012 and life as we know it will end. Japan will be gone. The East Coast of Canada will disappear. Rome will fall. Again. My mother continued and mentioned something about Atlantis and a new continent etc. etc. Then she told me that she was sorry if she had worried me. I told her that I wasn't worried. She then went on to say that she was working on a plan to get the whole family together at that time because when the chaos finally erupted she wanted us all to be together because it would be difficult to have contact otherwise. Hmmmm. She was also trying to figure out a way to get my brothers away from the East coast. It was beginning to sound more like she was planning a grand family reunion then preparing for the end of the world. I guess it's difficult to actually plan for the end though eh? Gotta make sure there's enough milk for the coffee.

Ok. 2012 is coming. I agree. Time passes. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Months. Years. Neatly divided. 2012 is over two years away and already the hysteria is beginning. I fear that it will be a very long couple of years as varying camps discuss the end and how to prevent it and/or survive it. I wonder how long it will take before the canned goods are stripped from the shelves, folk start building survival shelters and basic trades classes get overbooked in local colleges.

I also wonder at people's seeming hyped up joyous? elation at the thought of mass destruction. Or even over 'little' destructions. Joyous is the wrong word but there's a feeling of nervous excitement in the air. I've felt it during this current H1N1 pandemic. People are dying. People are getting sick. Yet there is a perverse almost celebratory energy as folk are talking about it, coughing into their elbows and washing their already washed hands. I don't believe that folk are happy that others are suffering but something is odd. Similar to the feeling I had as a child when watching the parade of people who would follow fire trucks and then gathered and tut tutted as walls burned down and bodies were carried away I also wonder if this same feeling could explain the mentality of people who would gather around the gallows in order to witness executions.

I wonder how this whole 2012 thing will pan out. I feel that the lead up will be far more interesting then the 'event' itself.

Punishment

2009-11-08T18:26:00.003-05:00

It really isn't a punishment. It is not a punishment to have my kids returned early. It is not a punishment to make them dinner. They ask me if they can have a Sunday dinner with you. It's ok with me if you do this but it is not a punishment to have them help me throw together a dinner that we will all take into the living room and have a special Sunday evening watching some bizarre cartoon creatures prance across a screen as we giggle together. It is not a punishment to have more time with them. It is not a punishment to look through their bags when they get home and discover homework incomplete. We spend extra time going through the science questions. I'm learning things too. Tonight we planted some trees. It is not a punishment to be a part of and help with their education. It is not a punishment to pack their lunches. It is not a punishment to do their laundry. It is not a punishment to run their baths. It is not a punishment to stay home with them when they are sick. It is not a punishment to have more time with them. It is not a punishment to have them with me for all but one weekend per month. They ask me why they can't see you more. They wonder why they can't spend more time with you. They answer themselves saying they know that you are very busy. Your job takes up a lot of your time. They are making themselves understand.

Well. At least, I'm not the one being punished.

Looking Past

2009-10-31T23:49:00.003-04:00

Another Halloween did and done. Boy was a mad scientist zombie. Girl was a black cat. Rain stopped around 4pm and the sun came out. Dinner consisted of spinach and cheese ravioli with Alfredo sauce tinted green with food colouring and some extra drops of red fc for blood. Trick or Treating went well. As we walked around from house to house my mind wandered into my mind's archives dredging up ghosts of Halloween's past.

I remembered being too young to trick or treat but not too young to remember my brother's costumes and that my mom would put their candy in the pot we used to boil potatoes. The pot was put on the high shelf in my parents' closet.

I remembered going out with my 3 brothers and mom one year and looking down to discover that there was a hole in my bag and I had lost all of my candy. The next day walking to school I say candy strewn around the road and in yards and I felt that I felt strangely proud of the mark I had left.

I remembered that our costumes were always last minute, homemade and, each year they were the 'best costumes ever!'

I remembered going to a Halloween sleep over at a girl's house that I didn't want to go to and my mom didn't want me to go to (she thought I would be too cold) but I went anyway because I knew I would probably be the only person to go. I was. Her mom had made many treats but she wasn't popular. We had fun. I remember thinking that the rest of the people in our class were jerks.

I remembered not being allowed to go to a Halloween party one year because I hadn't believed my parents when they had told me to be home by 7pm the night before. I had never before had a curfew. This was as close to being grounded as I ever got. Looking back, it was worth it.

I remembered my mother making peanut brittle to give out to the kids and having to put her name and phone number on the bags so that parents would feel safe to let their own kids eat a homemade treat. I remember that Jimmy loved the peanut brittle and my mom would always give him more than one bag.

I remembered putting on green eyeshadow as I prepped to dress up like Peter Pan. I explained to my older brother that even though Peter Pan was a boy it was good to accentuate the eyes. I remember feeling that not only did he believe me but he was actually listening to me. I suddenly felt quite grown up.

I remembered being asked to sing for candy at one house. I sang a French song I had just learned. I still remember part of the melody.

I remembered trick or treating in the rain, the snow and the wind. I loved all the weather cuz Halloween was always a night of magic. My favourite time was that period before dark where one's eyes would play tricks and the light would enhance and make unreal our everyday surroundings.

I remembered dumping candy onto the living room floor, sorting it and then proceeding to trade with my brothers to get the best deals. Chocolate was worth most. Those toffee 'kisses' that looked like dried up dog turds were worth least.

I remembered the different houses we would go to and the order/path we would take. Always the same. Each year the same house would be skipped and we would whisper in incredulity as we passed it: 'they don't celebrate Halloween.'

I remembered going to bed with my candy bucket on the floor beside me. My mom had stopped keeping the candy away from us when my little brother and I began trick or treating. We were all responsible with our own.

I remembered the unspoken competition between us as we all tried to see who could keep their candy the longest. It was not unheard of to still have some Halloween candy kicking around over Christmas.

I remembered being old enough to be the one to give out the candy. I would sit in our porch, read a book and wait.

I remembered giving out candy as a 'grown up' from my own various apartments pre children.

I remembered my children's very first Halloween.

I remembered that the path we took this year was the same as the one we took last year, the year before and the year before that. My kids' memories will be of this neighbourhood. My memories are enriched by theirs and the cycle of my life is entwined with theirs. Separate yet united.

Had a Thought but it Left so I Wrote this to Write Something

2009-10-30T20:26:00.003-04:00

Pumpkin is carved. Seeds are roasting in the oven. Costumes are ready. The boy is getting over the flu. Hopefully he'll be ok to trick or treat tomorrow night. I'm just happy that he's feeling better. Happy is not quite the right word to describe the feeling. Overwhelmingly relieved? It has been a tough go. Not sure what type of flu nor do I really care. All that matters is that he's on the mend. Hopefully the girl will not get this one. This week I've been home and at work and at home and at work. Trying to care for my wee one but not letting other stuff slide. Selfish? Perhaps. The work keeps my worry for him at bay. Holding him puts the work worries into perspective. I'm not good at staying home. I'm not good at staying still. I'm most content when I'm juggling.

My voice is stronger. My singing voice. I've been singing more. Different styles. I'm being nudged to do something more. We'll see. I would want to do it right. Thoughtfully yet impulsively. Work and play. It has be the right time and place. I've been asked to record some stuff on my own and pass it along. The first step is sometimes the hardest. Leap of faith.

My inner dork is resurfacing as well. I did a routine reminiscent of vaudeville for the boy. He joined in by the end. So much fun. Joy. Finally feeling safe enough to be myself. Keeping the critical voices in abeyance--voices from inside and outside of my being. Damn but I can be a flake sometimes.

It's been a tough go as of late. I'm seeing the light though. I'm moving forward. I have no idea where I'll end up but I'm curious enough to keep going.

Home

2009-10-25T20:07:00.003-04:00

Today was a day off. Beautiful blue sky and sunshine. Got lots done. Went to the market with the kidlings to the Lush store for bath bombs, bubble bath and shampoo followed by a quick trip to the grocery store. Then we gardened. Cleaned up and turned the veggie garden, raked leaves in the back, put the tarp on the barbecue, struck the hose, put summer toys away etc. Back then to the grocery store to get the two things we went to get in the first place but forgot -- oatmeal and butter. Home again to make apple oatmeal muffins. The girl read the recipe from the computer as the boy and I mixed the ingredients. They turned out fantastic. Then I put a chicken in the oven with a thai/peach glaze. Dinner was chicken, rice and a spinach salad with a warm goatcheese dressing. Three loads of laundry and kids in the bathtub. Bedtime for kids, tea for me and watch tele 'til a gf arrives later tonight. She wants to move to Ottawa and will crash here for a while until she gets things sorted.

I finally feel at home and it feels very good.

Pulling Punches

2009-10-23T11:18:00.004-04:00

Interesting class last night. One moment brought to the forefront an issue that lately has been swirling around in my brain. Ok. Not an issue but a lens through which, after blowing on it and wiping away extraneous environmental and social crud and and then peering through, revealed a beautifully laid bare illustration of some of the crap that one has to go through to be a functional woman in a dude's world.

We were practicing a move wherein the attacker is thrown backwards after being pushed in the chest. I attacked and was pushed back. Sensei stopped to make a point. The fella that pushed me was told to 'be careful when practicing with a woman' so as to not, I inferred, hit the squishy bits on my torso. He should 'ask first' before touching me but even better should alter his technique so as to not risk touching/damaging? my breasts. (The squishy bits were not named but were merely alluded to. To name them I guess posed a further danger to my fragile self?).

Huh. First off. When I enter the dojo and step onto the mat I am giving implicit and explicit consent to have my body pushed, pulled, pinned and thrown. You don't have to ask me special permission cuz I have tits just as I don't expect to ask the dudes if it's ok to push, pull, pin or throw them. It's a martial arts class. Physical contact is part of the program.

Now, in class, I won't go around and punch or kick a dude in his 'junk' (that would be rude) but that does not stop us all from learning techniques that, if a dude puts his genitalia in harm's way the potential for it getting punched or kicked is pointed out. Many positions are explained in such a way as to tell the dudes to protect their valuable assets. Instead of telling my attacker to avoid my breasts, why not show me how to better protect them (ya, they are sensitive to being hit as is my face) and that way we can each learn to practice on a more even keel. Each body is different, male or female, and practicing with various sizes, abilities, sexes is a privilege. The attacker and receiver must each learn to protect themselves from being hurt. Ultimately, it becomes a personal responsibility. Protect your own body.

If we are practicing and you are stronger then me or have more experience, then yes, pull your punches. I will also pull mine if I am practicing with someone weaker or with less experience than myself. It is a sign of respect. Respect for the human being. It is also a part of a good practice. We learn from those more and less experienced then ourselves. If I get hurt, I look to myself to see what I had done to not better protect myself. If I hurt someone else I look to see how I could prevent that in the future. The point of the practice is not to disable someone but to learn the techniques. Ok. There are times when people are arseholes and go out to cause pain. They aren't fun to practice with but face it, if one is going to be attacked on the street is the attacker going to watch out for your delicate womanly/manly bits? Isn't it best to learn to protect oneself from all manner of attack?

Treat me like a human being and I will return the favour.

But wait, there's more! I have been so guilty this past while of complicity. Trying to play and be accepted in this dudely world where because I have tits I am, whether I like it or not (and I don't) shoved into the sex class. I am ashamed to say that I once convinced myself that being called 'fuckable' was a compliment. I listened in silence (actually my mind was playing the 'I Dream of Genie' soundtrack on full volume) as I hung out with dudes who claimed a distrust of woman because of their inherent duality and that women who expressed interest in some of these dudes were immediately labelled as prostitutes/whores cuz they couldn't possibly be out dancing at a bar without an ulterior motive. This unspoken motive was to somehow/someway screw said dudes of money, self respect or both. Geesh.

When I dared speak up I was told that my reaction was 'not intended.' Huh? Ok. One's intentions may be important but even if you don't intend to hurt someone and you end up hurting someone you have hurt someone. The hurt has been done. I will accept that I need to learn to protect myself from being hurt as I learn to protect myself physically in class. I'm not quite sure, in cases like this, how this may be accomplished. I could ignore the words/vitriolic/misogynistic sentiment, develop a thicker skin or even 'lighten up' but that just adds to my complicity. I could speak out and be beaten down time and time again for not buying into the dude perspective but this gets tiring.

In life we are taught to pick/choose our battles wisely. It doesn't make sense to kill your spirit over something that, at this time, may be unwinnable if you are left with nothing with which to carry on. At the same time, perhaps I have been seeing my attackers as somehow weaker or less experienced then me and have been treating them with an undue (and in keeping with dude centric compliance), maternal/nurturing gentleness. There are times, even in class, when a more experienced person will 'teach a lesson' to a less experienced one by going a wee bit harder/more martial in order to illustrate where the technique could lead.

Perhaps, it's time for me to stop pulling my punches.

Letting It Pass

2009-10-14T10:21:00.003-04:00

The other day my son and I discussed lonliness. In the course of this talk I asked him if he were ever lonely. Looking at me with surprise he said 'of course mommy. I feel lonely all the time.' I was taken aback. I asked him what he did to make himself feel better when he felt lonely. He responded with yet another look. This time it was one of incrudulity.

'Mommy. There is nothing you can do when you feel lonely. You can only let it pass.'

Huh. How many people spend thousands of dollars on therapists or bang their heads over and over again on metaphoric brick walls before they come up with this answer. Honest. Elegant. To the point.

A Relationship Thing

2009-10-04T12:12:00.003-04:00

Sunday. Slept in. Nothing really to do today except shower, laundry, groceries, water plants, sweep and wait for the return of my children. A busy weekend up til now to be sure. Three shows. Each with their own quirks but overall filled with delightful people. Went out for drinks with a gf last night. Saw an old friend who has recently been married. He stood up with me as a bridesmaid when I was married. Prior to that we had an on again off again 'thing.' He had called me a 'pain in the ass.' He had once asked me as we were both heading up the stairs to his apartment what I was going to do when he found a real girlfriend. I replied that I would find myself a real boyfriend. The next night I met Xman. After the birth of the children I lost touch with him. Family responsibilities kept me at home. Well, not just the responsibilities. I loved being at home. Being in a family.

People come and people go. When they reenter one's life I get the idea that there is something more to the relationships overall. These people who are in and out of my life are extraordinarily special.

I have just ended another 'thing' with another special person. He also called me 'a pain in the ass.' This 'thing' ended with hurt and anger. Accusations and name calling. According to him, I caused him to be rude to me. I am therefore a rude person. I know I'm pushy. Head strong. I was called rude and insensitive. Probably. I can see it. I can also see that these qualities have allowed me to survive. I work in an industry where being acquiescent and nice must be tempered with an ability to say 'no' regardless of who's feelings might be hurt. I work at saying 'no' in a nice way but this is not always possible. It's also a gender thing (what isn't?) and being a woman in a man's world comes with its own issues as one tries to navigate an unfamiliar and dangerous terrain.

After telling me that he wanted solitude and was not going to be involved with anyone he has started a relationship. I saw it on my facebook homepage. (Facebook is a whole other topic!) Yes it hurt. It caused me to question the 'thing' we had. What we had wasn't a relationship. It was a 'thing.' An amorphous undefined thing. Same type of thing as I had had with the fellow I saw last night. I questioned what this particular 'thing' was. This questioning caused more anger. More hurt. I questioned his intent. I questioned mine. Thing is, even though I knew from the outset that this 'thing' could not ever be more then a 'thing' I knew that it wasn't enough. So did he. Even though we both tried, at the end of the day a 'thing' is just a 'thing.'

What is the difference between a thing and a relationship? I don't know if it can be explained. If one is being honest, the difference is very obvious. One knows the difference. It's more of a feeling however then something that can be expressed in words. Can 'things' become relationships? I don't think so. Does this mean that one might not wish that they could? No. That's where the problems arise. Fervently wishing that things could be different but knowing full well that they can't. One tries to make the 'thing' into something else. Not wanting to lose the good part of the 'thing.' 'Things' must end though and usually end with unsettling feelings. Since the 'thing' can never really be defined, when it ends, one is at a loss as to what and how to feel about it. I don't think a 'thing' is less important then a relationship. 'Things' are necessary. Why? I'm not exactly sure. For myself, 'things' have coincided with periods of personal growth. I don't regret the 'things' I have had. Some of my fondest memories have arisen out from 'things.' Strange that I don't harbour any ill will for those I have had 'things' with but do tend to feel more antipathy toward those with whom I have had relationships.

Some past 'things' I have had have grown into friendships. The fellow I saw last night is one such person. We instantly hugged and bridged the time and distance that had separated us. Time has been required before this could occur. What made the 'thing' the 'thing' has had to fade before anything like a friendship can be allowed to grow. Will this latest 'thing' fade and grow into a friendship? Hard to say. Maybe. Maybe not. When put in the situation where I find myself involved in another 'thing' will I call a halt to it as soon as I realize what it is? Probably not. Interactions between people are complicated. Nothing is ever black and white. Reason, logic, emotions, spirits, personalities, past baggage, personal circumstances, and the like make most relations between folk difficult to say the least.

Why persist? For those moments of beauty. The joy that can only come when a moment of beauty is shared. And we realize that despite everything, we are not alone.

Living By Candle Light

2009-09-19T19:37:00.003-04:00

Becoming more and more silent. Talking when being talked to. Answering questions. No longer really wanting to offer much. A bit, yes but offering nothing to put me out there.

Kidlings started gymnastics again this morning. Home for lunch and then I went off to class. Class went well? I don't know. Still not feeling the joy. Hope it returns again one day. Doing my best not to feel at all really. Home from class...hung out and played then made dinner. Hotdogs and Kraft dinner. Kids were excited. I make my hotdogs and Kraft dinner in a bit of a gourmet style. Why not eh? Fry up some onions, add chopped up hotdogs, add green beans, baby tomatoes, spices and then add the cooked Kraft dinner to the mix. Kids suggested that since it was such a good meal we should have candles. Why not? It was lovely. Talked about how they were as babies. Showed them a 'trick' as I caught the candle flame in my fist (they know not to try it). Giggled. Had fudge for dessert.

Yes this is boring. Feeling a bit less than inspired. Will stay in tonight. Another Saturday night. I don't want to go out alone again. I've tried. It sucks. Well...it doesn't really suck but I come home and feel unaccomplished and more lonely then when I left.

What I miss most? Someone to do nothing with. But the kids are great. And we had a candle light dinner. And I guess I really don't have much to complain about at all. So be it.

And She Put on a Happy Face

2009-09-17T14:41:00.004-04:00

Incredible really. The ability to carry on. I sit at my desk and answer emails with a 'cheers' and 'thank you' as tears roll down my face. I get up, wash my face and meet with new clients on the stage and provide advice, encouragement and tell them all that I'm looking forward to their events. And I am. I love the people who enter my theatre. Theatre of the absurd. All the while I know I should be counting my blessings. I have a good job. Am in relative good health. My children are brilliant, kind and wise. So why the tears? Damned if I know. Kinda feel like a magazine subscription that has not been renewed. Kinda feel discarded. Kinda feel as worthwhile as a dried up glue stick. Kinda feel like I wish I didn't feel anymore. But this is just maudlin.

My dad broke his ankle. He was walking and misjudged a step. Innocuous eh? But weeks before he had been complaining about his medication. It made him dizzy. Not himself. I remember thinking 'what will it take before his doctors take notice? Will he need to pass out on the street?' I got a phone call last month to say that he had passed out on a sidewalk while watching a parade. His medication was not changed even though the doctor at emergency told him he should. His regular doctor just lessened his dosage. Now he 'misjudged' a step and is in a cast for 6 weeks.

I visited friends last week. Their cat had liver disease. The cat came up to me and actually told me that it knew it was going to die. As I looked at it I knew and I knew what it was telling me. He died. Another spirit set free.

My pending divorce is still pending. Even when it finally arrives I have come to realize that I will always be stuck with Xman. The father of my children. The connection, for 'better or for worse,' will be there until 'death do us part.'

A person whom I trusted, more than Xman really, to not bring me pain, has through no fault of their own really. Why the trust? I dunno. Because I felt they understood how fragile I was. How insecure. That I needed to grasp onto things beautiful with all my might because of the ugliness surrounding me. I was asked once how it was that I could seemingly make the best out of any situation? The answer? Because the alternative was unthinkable. Too dark. I wish I could feel anger but I can't...except at myself. I am my own worst enemy. I feel toxic. Don't come too close. You'll only get hurt.

Why am I writing this? To try and get some of this out. I won't talk to you about this. I won't trust in you enough to share. When you meet me on the street I may even be singing as I skip along. A light little ditty with a smile on my face.

The Best and the Worst (or so I'm told)

2009-09-07T16:41:00.004-04:00

Waiting for Xman to return the kidz. After the drama prior to this weekend he is going to drop them off himself and no longer demanding that I pick the kidz up at '5pm sharp.' Sigh. I work in theatre. I understand and get drama. I also realize how fake it is. I work behind the curtain and see the wizard bare on a daily basis.

Today I managed to can 12 jars of peaches and cleaned the upstairs bathroom. Yay for me. I spoke to my mother briefly on the phone but other than that I have been devoid of human contact except for the radio -- CBC of course. Haven't spent a day listening to the radio in ages. It's like I've been reunited with an old friend.

I'll be going to an Aikido seminar in Montreal next weekend. My mother is flying up on Thursday to watch the wee ones for me. I am no longer invited to travel with the group from my centre. Long story. Another drama. I'm so so so very tired of drama. I am not exactly sure where it is that I'll be staying but I'll figure something out. I may just end up driving there and back each day. Why not. Seems that I have an innate ability to, when I'm being myself, bring out the very best in folk and the very worst. I guess it's a talent? A gift?

I'm really not sure what I should be doing differently. I'm told to stop resisting. I'm told to not ever give 100% of myself. I should always hold something back. I'm told I'm greedy. I'm told I give too much. I'm told I try too hard. I'm told I don't try hard enough. I'm told I'm intelligent. I'm told I'm obtuse. I'm told I'm a good person. I'm told that I should work at becoming better. I'm told that I dictate right after I'm told exactly what to do. I'm told I write well. I'm told that words are worthless. I'm told that my intentions are obvious (even when I have no idea what it is that I am intending). I'm told that I'm strong enough to deal with all of this on my own and by myself. I'm told to make an effort to bring other people into my life. I'm told to move forward. I'm told to become still. I'm told to control myself. I'm told to let go.

I've had enough of being told. Is it too much to have y'all listen? Just for a moment?

I'm telling ya.

Credit Where Credit is Due

2009-09-06T11:18:00.002-04:00

So. Well then.

It's been a crazy couple of weeks fer sure. Work is great. Doing two jobs makes the days fly by. I'm getting a handle on the invoices and the contracts. Had 3 large shows last week. An East Indian dance troupe from Toronto came in. Lovely people. I got to be a 'tech' and fixed the electrical on a couple chandeliers. It wasn't hard but being the only one with the 'know how' on site to do it felt good. When I went in the next morning there was a case of beer and a gold leaf on my desk left in appreciation. Nice that some touring folk still follow the 'old school' ways.

The second show was a Mongolian Jazz group made up of some musicians from Mongolia mixed with Canadian jazz musicians who were touring Canada. The sound was beautiful and haunting. I love the sound of the urhu (2 string cello type instrument) and the male throat singing was incredible. I put on my chauffeur hat and whisked one of the musicians off to get food for the troupe after sound check. We had only 40 minutes but I got him to the shwarma shop and back in less than 1/2 hour.

The third show was a Christian rock worship event. It was a huge band but sound check went well and but for a small incident involving a faith leader stalker, all was good.

A couple management meetings rounded off any spare time I might have had.

Now it's the weekend and I'm kidless as the wee ones are with Xman. No shows in the theatre so I actually have the weekend off. I went to a band last night. What a difference a good sound engineer makes. I saw this same band the week before and the sound was horrible. Last night, however, the band was in excellent form and the sound was excellent. I went alone and enjoyed myself. It was a bit weird. The person who I had gone to events like this for the past year was there...also on his own. Not sure how I feel about things. I miss being able to babble on with this person but in a weird way, even when I was with him I was essentially alone. Being with him, however, kept other folk away. As it was, I was chatted up by a few other folk last night but really had no interest in them or what they were doing or who they were. It will be quite a while I think before I am ready to let anyone else behind the curtain.

Funny how one fella thought it was necessary to tell me that I shouldn't be there alone and that spending more than 10 min per day alone was a sign of a sick mind. He said this after I politely answered his questions but offered nothing more. When folk don't get what they want it seems they feel a need to immediately go on the attack and find fault. Ok. I'm in the wrong. I'll accept that. I've been in the wrong pretty much all my life. I'm used to it really. I will take full responsibility for you not being able to get from me what you want. Feel better now? Now just leave me alone and walk away knowing that you are the better person and although you made an effort to save/reform/rescue me from myself you can know in your heart and mind that I am too far gone and I will not be grabbing that life buoy of salvation that you have gallantly chucked at my head. If I drown it will not be your fault and if I manage to swim to shore feel free to take the credit.

In Trust

2009-08-25T10:13:00.001-04:00

Why do people lie?

It is in my nature to trust folk. I don’t want to distrust folk. Even after being lied to time and time again I hold out that possibility that this time they are telling the truth. I assume that instead of lying there are instead misunderstandings. Miscommunications. (Please note that I am not referring to you…as far as I can tell, you have not lied to me and in this my gut agrees).

I try to trust myself and my gut instincts (some call it Ki). But when my gut activates my spidy senses I tend to feel that I am wrong. In the wrong. I tell myself that I must be wrong. And then, once again, I am put in the position of the goat. By not trusting myself I put myself in that position. I know this. Yet I want to trust in others before myself. Not hold anything back. But I need to protect myself and only I can do that. It’s a perverse game. A form of violence.

Yes, the saying goes ‘trust must be earned.’ Why? Why must trust be so fleeting. What many do day to day is, as far as I can see, based on trust. Deals are created and work when folk trust each other. You need, however, to add ‘carrots’ – a sort of ‘you can trust this person cuz if they back down they will lose $$ so therefore you are safe’ kind of thing. Trust is shored up. But that’s not real trust is it? Can trust really be bought and sold? Is it a commodity? The cynic in me states that ‘one can trust folk to act as they act in accordance with human nature.’ But shouldn’t it be human nature to desire harmony?

But then again, as I’ve already stated, I don’t trust myself. Perhaps that’s the first step. Trusting in myself. I've been called greedy. Yes. Greedy for a reflection that I could trust. Using that reflection as a form of self validation. I sincerely wish that I had come to this point sooner. Perhaps I wouldn’t have pushed some folk away. But then again, without having these folk as a mirror I am now forced to look inward. This is actually the hardest thing I have ever done. Going inside. Beyond the memories and the stories and the (re)creations. Facing and seeing myself. Warts and all. I need to allow myself to see through my own eyes.

Cuz Only You Would 'Get' This

2009-08-17T18:57:00.001-04:00

My boss was chosen today for jury duty today -- Andrew Stevenson murder case -- meaning he'll be off for 6 to 8 weeks. I get two jobs now. Human resources doesn't think that this means I should have a raise at all as it falls under 'other duties as may be required' in my job description. At least there will be at least one sane and level headed juror.

The new electrical panel in the booth (same place as the old one) doesn't pass inspection cuz our sound board is in front of it. Against code (though it's been this way for over 15 years). I now have to shop for and purchase a small digital console 'in my spare time' at work and strip the fucking booth again. At least we'll go digital.

Had to fire a sound tech on Sunday. Did it gently...encouraged him to go out and learn his craft but that he wasn't 'there yet' in terms of working in our space. He cried. I did a show. At least this show went well.

Just ran out of propane for barbecue and can't go out cuz the meat man is scheduled to arrive between 5pm and 9pm so I'm nuking my chicken (too hot for a stove). At least I have chicken (and a good excuse to stay in).

The score for the piece that the bride to be for the wedding I'm playing at next month wants to walk down the aisle to is crap. Starts well but gets very chunky. I'll be rewriting sections. At least I have a bit more than a month to learn it.

What I miss most? Sending stuff like this to a person who I know 'gets it.'

What a Difference a Year Makes

2009-08-16T09:15:00.004-04:00

So I ask myself. Have I been wasting my time this past year? The answer lies somewhere between and outside of 'yes' and 'no'. After Xman left I was crushed. Vulnerable. Insecure. Taking care of two wee ones day to day and finding the approach of each new day to be difficult to say the least. Last summer (around August) I met someone with whom I could talk about my feelings and as we chatted (primarily through email) I found myself thinking less about Xman and more about the possibilities of life. I started going out with this person for coffee. Then we began attending music events. To go out and be as an individual person--not a mom, soon to be divorcee etc.--was wonderful. I knew from the onset that this person I was hanging out with was not 'the one' yet I enjoyed the company. My feelings turned to love. Slowly. Tentatively. As I felt my ability to trust return I eagerly awaited the arrival of each new email in my inbox. It was not all good. His issues/wants/needs and my issues/wants/needs would clash. Mutual insecurities and past betrayals haunted us. I was helped by him though. And I was hurt by him. Differing views on what constituted friendship made the whole thing lopsided. I got to know him well. I don't believe the same can be said for his knowing me. At least his actions/words etc. did not reveal any empathic understanding of who I was. Only of who he thought I was. That said, this past year was 'gotten through.' Now, once again in August, I find myself with and without that person with whom I had gained some solace. I am still with him because I do know him. We, because of what we are involved with, will out of necessity see each other each week. I am without him because any other communication besides that which will occur when we must see each other is over. My girlfriends told me that if I hung out and went out with him I would not be approached by any other possible suitor. That was ok by me. I was enjoying the moment and not all that interested in the future. He was recently begun going out again solo. Ladies who had kept their distance from him because of me are now making themselves known to him. I hope he will find what he is looking for. I guess when push comes to shove I really wanted him to see me and know me. To act as a true reflection of who I was because I found it very difficult to see myself. Now I see that the reflection he presented to me was not real. For whatever reason he could not/would not see me for who I was--for who I am. It was for that reflection that I pushed. Funny that the basis of our relationship occurred through email and text. Funny that he would tell me that he wouldn't speak of these things to me face to face. Funny that I have always loved and used words in text to express myself. Funny that from the onset he tried to instill in me a sense that words were basically useless in terms of gaining a true understanding. The glorious contradictions of life. I have a file in his name in my email account that holds all of our correspondence throughout the entire year. A year's worth of correspondence. Exploration. Wrath. Humour. Exasperation. Wit. Love. Like other memories, I'll keep it stored away. Not to dwell but to cherish. Bitter sweet. All in all, it was a pretty good year.

I Hugged My Kids

2009-08-13T18:38:00.002-04:00

Barbecued honey glazed and garlic chicken with a wee bit of Thai chili paste alongside steamed basmati rice and barbecued broccoli gently sprinkled with soy sauce. Belly is full.

No sitter tonight. No class tonight. Good to take a break. Must be the way it's supposed to be.

Had a scary moment on the phone with Xman. Seems that he got it in his head that if he takes joint custody of the children he won't have to pay support. He screamed and yelled and I hung up the phone. He spoke to his lawyer who told him that he was wrong. Hmmmm....I wonder. Will he still make an effort to see the kids more often now that he knows his financial responsibilities will remain the same? Time will tell. I won't be holding my breath.

It was good that this happened in a weird and perverse life lesson sort of way. I immediately reverted to my good ol' fight/flight instinct. I felt that my back was to a wall and my children were behind me holding on to a leg each. I freaked out. I was terrified. Terrified that he might get away with it. Terrified for the kids. They need/want to spend time with him but he has a whole lot of fence mending to do before they would be in any way shape or form ready to spend half of their time with them.

To be fair, I asked them. They consider home to be with me. They don't want it disrupted. Ok. For now I will stay the course.

As it stands, the kidlings will be off to stay with him on Saturday for 2 weeks -- part of their summer vacation avec daddy. I will miss them (once again...'miss' is a totally inadequate word) but we shall all get through this. I just might go out and discover some new friends? Who knows. At least I know that my fight/flight, even when triggered, won't last long. A short time after the phone call, a coolness came over me and I started to cover my bases. Contacted my lawyer. Made arrangements for additional child support (in case XMan were to pull out now completely). Hugged my kids. Hugged my kids. Hugged my kids.

Just Getting Some Words Out

2009-08-12T10:16:00.003-04:00

Week off with kidlings. Just hanging out. This and that. That and this. Nice. Haven't slowed down and just allowed myself to 'be' in a very long time. Kidlings will be off at their dad's next week. It'll be hard but . . . we shall persevere.

Xman wants to discuss something in person with me this week. Ok. Not really wanting to face whatever it is but I guess it's necessary. It'll have to do with access or $$. Sigh. I have to remember to not fall into the trap that this is somehow my fault. Guess I'll let him know that he can drop by tonight after the kidlings are in bed.

Had a dream about the King of Wands upside down. A friend who wants to be solitary. Well then.

It hailed yesterday. Strange. Large chunks of ice pelted down.

Practice is going well. Was told that I was beginning to become a 'pain in the ass.' Nice to hear those words again. I'm physically stronger then ever before. Long, hard, sweaty practice last night and I've woken up with nothing sore. Nice.

Playing guitar again. Doing a wedding end of September. Working on getting pieces under my fingers again. Opening up the neural pathways and building up the strength so that the music can come out. Approaching music in a different way. Hard to explain. Letting the sound reveal itself.

For the rest of the day? Not sure. Will see what unfolds.

Wanted?

2009-08-03T12:42:00.002-04:00

Kidz home. Sanity returns? Training for eventual empty nest syndrome.

Quotes from the boy:

"I don't mean to be mean but I don't really like daddy much. He didn't have much time for us. He worked and when he was home he spent most of his time on his laptop. We were told to go to our room and watch tv. His girlfriend is nice but she gets headaches everyday and needs her quiet time."

Talked to him that it was ok to express his feelings and no he wasn't being mean or bad. That he had every right to feel the way he was feeling. I asked if he tried to talk to his dad about how he was feeling. He said no. I said it was ok to talk to his dad about these things too. It might help?

"Mommy, why can't you just go out and find us a new daddy...one that can live here with us?"

This one threw me. I've been trying to keep my 'personal' life (not much of one to tell the truth but . . . ) personal. I've not wanted to bring anyone into the kidz lives right now. I've really not wanted to bring anyone deeply into my life right now. Hmmm.... Guess I should put an ad in a local?

"Wanted:

Single but difficult mom seeking man to share her life and take on the responsibility of aiding in the care and growth of 2 exceptional children. Must be low maintenance and not become liken to a '3rd child.' (Been there....done that). Should be tender and affectionate yet able to throw her hard. Must be independent and self sufficient. Humour is an asset."

Forever And A Day

2009-07-31T22:00:00.003-04:00

So tomorrow, August 1st, will be my 10 year wedding anniversary. Well, it would be if I were still married. Technically I am still married but, other than the paperwork and some other niggling details yet to be sorted, that particular 'forever' commitment ended two years ago.

Funny how 'forever' has become, like most things, a disposable commodity like machines with plastic parts, paper napkins and items bearing 'made in China' stamps. Nevertheless, folk still buy into the dream of forever. Buyer beware. Like the Highlander they want to believe that their love will last throughout all of time. Forever love. But if we take time to be, essentially, a creation or social construct or mass hallucination or even if we merely take it as a point of reference, a belief in forever is as much a fantasy as believing that there is a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

A friend told me the other day that a rainbow, when seen from space, is actually a circle. No beginning. No end. That's actually a 'forever' that I can take stock in and believe. Thus, if something begins 'out of the blue' chances are, it's going to end. Yes, some marriages actually make it to the 'until death do us part' bit but, there's still an ending. Are some spirits 'reborn' and meet somewhere 'in time' again and again throughout what we try to perceive as eternity? Perhaps.

I believe that I have been blessed with meeting at least one such being during my life thus far (and no, it wasn't the man I married). How do I know? As much as this person told me that I had no idea what they were about or who they were and that I knew nothing about them, I had already recognized their essential self. I knew them despite the affectations, scars and defensive posturing we are all guilty of embodying as we deal with the day to day crap that gets thrown at us time and time again. It's because of this recognition that I began to question notions of forever in the first place. That said, being only a foolish and silly human, notions of eternity and infinity are too large for my wee brain to comprehend -- thus the need to create 'time' as a reference point in the first place. Order out of a perceived chaos as it were.

Regardless, at this particular point/moment in time I feel like shit. I waver between demoralized abject despair and not wanting to care about anything anymore. (Phil Collins' lyrics scream through my head along with Max Webster's 'Bust the Busters.') Each is incredibly self indulgent but since I neither have a pint of rocky road ice cream in my freezer nor some homegrown organic to smoke I should be allowed instead a bit of time to wallow in self pity. Besides, at least I know this feeling won't last forever.

And tomorrow is just another day.

Vanishment

2008-10-31T22:31:00.003-04:00

I disappeared the other day. It was something that I wanted. What I asked for. The result, however, was unexpected. I arrived at work on Thursday and checked my bank account. It was payday. I'm never quite sure how much my end of month pay is because I never bother to calculate my overtime in advance. I like to keep the extra dosh as a surprise. I was surprised. No pay had been deposited. I called payroll. The woman who answered the phone asked me to hold the line. When she returned to speak with me she told me she had no idea what happened. She had to check with her supervisor. I hung up and waited. Well. I carried on doing my job. Kind of. I had a sneaking suspicion. I suspected that something was up beyond my comprehension. I had recently looked up at skies and said 'Bring It!' I've been frustrated. Lonely. Fed up. 'Just Bring It!' Whatever was to be brought I figured I could take. I sent a message to a friend and among other pitiable things I whinged on about, I wrote how I wanted to disappear.

The payroll supervisor got back to me. She didn't really know how it happened but apparently I had been disappeared from the main database. Not only me but my job as well. There are various checks and balances in place at the institution where I work to prevent this from accidentally occurring. Whenever someone is deleted, that name is to automatically go on to other lists so that other folk can verify that that someone is indeed supposed to disappear. It seems that my records had been deleted but that my name hadn't automatically gone to any lists. The payroll folk have no idea how this could have occurred.

No harm no foul. It was only money. They cut me a cheque. Nothing bounced.

Strange tho' that I could disappear so quickly. Strange that the timing of this happened just after I had decided to challenge fate? the gods? universal energy?

The same friend to whom I had written my whinge list suggested that I might now need to be careful of what I ask for. Much like the folk in stories who meet up with a genie I should take care when asking for anything because I just might get it.

I've been thinking about what I would want to ask for. I'm stymied. I may not be satisifed entirely with my current situation but I can't really come up with anything that could make it better. I kind of like the journey and the sense of adventure that is wrapped up in my not knowing what is coming up. I guess I continue to have hope and faith in tomorrow. Hope doth springeth eternal. At the same time, despite my whining, I'm doing ok. The choices I've made in the past that have led to where I am now are ones that I probably wouldn't have made any differently if I had the chance to make them again.

I do believe that I will stop yelling at the sky. At least for a bit.

Seeing

2008-10-17T12:16:00.002-04:00

My girl has a ‘lazy’ eye. There is nothing physically wrong but her strong eye has taken over the responsibility of seeing. Her weaker eye is getting weaker. We have used glasses, eye drops, adhesive patches and the like. It’s been a frustrating process. Invasive. It's been about five years! My daughter is incredibly strong but enough is enough. We went to the eye doc again yesterday and I asked him about possible alternative visual therapies…a wee bit of internet research has revealed the existence of such approaches; the caveat being that the closest practitioner is in Cambridge, ON. The doc, as should have been expected, dismissed the idea right away saying that what we were doing was right and sometimes it just didn’t work. Maybe.

So I got her a pirate patch to wear after school and on weekends over her strong eye instead of the adhesive bandages that cause a rash and hurt her skin when removed. She’s happier with that. Her words after viewing herself in the mirror ‘Oh mommy, I look absolutely ridiculous! I love it.’ I have also started to work with her in terms of relating the images she sees with her weaker eye to her brain. Instead of just letting her ‘carry on’ I’m trying to be a bit more pro active. (While simultaneously attempting to ignore the rising waves of mommy guilt for not trying to do something about this sooner). We are looking at things together and I am asking her to describe for me the details she is seeing (describe the veins of a leaf…what do they do for the leaf…what do they remind one of etc. all in an effort to make her have to consciously see through that eye and interpret the images) I’m thinking that physical therapists don’t just ask folk to walk on the sore leg until it heals but offer techniques to strengthen the leg. I’m trying to work out ways to strengthen the connection between the visual input and her brain. I can’t move to Cambridge (or can I?) but I need to try something new. At least, according to the doc, there is nothing physically wrong with her eye or the optic nerve. I need to try something but the invasive crap feels wrong.

Perhaps I’m too close to this. I have a healthy distrust of doctors so my biases may be blinding me. Our next appointment with the doc is in December. Until then, I'll work with her and wait & see.

A Little Knowledge . . .

2008-10-11T21:23:00.004-04:00

New people have entered my life. One has entered slowly yet, simultaneously and contradictorily, the entry was immediate. I just didn't recognize the impact right away. But, at the same time I did. It needs time. Hmmmmm......

Others have been filtering in. A new balance is to be achieved. I feel that everything that is going on around me is right. It's supposed to happen. I don't know why. I'm not sure if I'm really supposed to know why. Maybe why isn't the correct question? I am feeling more centred. Peaceful.

A recent meeting with a postive thinker has provided me with much needed, and free, childcare. A quaker I met today brought me messages of peace as well as information on upcoming meetings. I will not go but it's nice to be asked to the dance. Dads are coming up to me in the playground to talk. The commonality between all? They are all searching. Actively or passively. Searching for answers. Meanings. Understanding.

I've been thinking about knowing. What is knowing? We use our senses...sight, smell, taste, touch and hearing. Then our minds do the requisite calculations and voila...we know something. Doesn't this put the act of thinking right up there with seeing and smelling in terms of sensory observation? If thinking is a sense does this change how the world is perceived?

Certain things are going on in my life that, when I actively attempt to think about them, my understanding/knowledge of them lessons. I know that I can't know these things through thinking. How do I know this? I don't know. But I do know. You know? It's a knowledge linked to feeling. A combination of the senses I recognize with, perhaps, some senses that I don't. These unknown senses don't need to be understood to do their job. I don't know exactly how my heart and lungs work but I know that they are doing what they are supposed to be doing. My body/myself remain alive. I am more than my body. It makes sense that other parts of me, be they emotional, spiritual, soulful or other, would be, when functioning at an optimum level, not have to necessarily involve my conscious input to do what they do.

So I'm thinking about stuff lately. Not exactly sure where, if anywhere, it will take me. It's fun. Keeping me off the streets (for the most part). Regular scheduled programming will continue at a later date.

Is Your Mechanism Working?

2008-09-28T16:14:00.003-04:00

Driving home from the kids' dance class today I felt on edge. Strange. A whoosh of heat came through me. My mind was wandering. Floating. Walls have come down and I'm picking through the rubble. I'm working on teasing out emotional knots that have accumlated over the past couple years. I thought I had dealt with most things but now realize that I had dealt with the external factors--kids, finances, loss of partner etc. The internal factors had been shunted aside. First things first. Now, I guess, is the time to start dealing with the other crud. The nitty gritty. The essence of who I am beyond what I have experienced. Been through.

Traffic slowed in front of me. A car was stalled. The woman in the car was leaning back with her head in her hands. Waiting. Traffic pulled around her and waited at a red light. I looked left. Another woman jumped out of her car and fussed with something in her trunk. When she moved on there was yet another woman out of her car. She was shaking her head. Her car had started to make a strange noise and she didn't want to continue. Her girl friend, driving in a car behind her, got out to help. I carried on on to the highway thinking 'that was strange.' I kept driving and my mind flew away again. I made it to the off ramp and faced another slow down. When I got to the corner there was another car sitting at an intersection. Another woman in the drivers seat. Stalled. Hazard lights blinking.

I continued home. I haven't stalled.

Icarus

2008-09-27T19:40:00.004-04:00

So I reached out and touched the sun. And. And what? Of course I got burned. If only it were a flesh wound. I'll take a couple of days to lick my wounds. Add salve to my ego. And. And what? Continue. Of course.

You see. I needed to know. I already did. But I needed to be told. Straight from the horse's mouth. I was told. I was told that he couldn't. Not wouldn't. Couldn't. He went on for a bit. Explanatory circles. In the end, he had to go. "Ok," said I. "Cool," was his response. So clean. So neat. He hadn't been anything but himself. Sure. I get that. I hadn't been anything but myself. How could I be? How could he? I remember, however, the incident last year when one of my stafflings nearly fell through the ceiling. He had been told where to walk. He had been told to be careful. I was still responsible though. If he had been injured or killed my responsiblity would have been much more palpable. He wasn't hurt. I was still responsible. Life or death.

So.

At least I know I am capable of feeling. Capable of putting myself 'out there.' Not as scary as I thought really. Despite the outcome. The past few weeks were fun. I was happy. I don't know if I'll be quick to try again but I must take care. Take care not to sink. Too far down. He said that he used to try to fly. He keeps saying stuff like that. Stuff that resonates as truth inside of me. A reflection of myself. I'm hoping that I don't lose that part. That truth.

I too need to fly. If only to keep myself at arm's reach to the sun.

Caught You Looking

2008-09-22T21:48:00.002-04:00

Mirrors mirrors on the walls . . .

Catching fleeting glimpses of myself doing things that I have never before been able to see is unnerving. Unsettling. I feel like a voyeur of my own life. I, like many others I suppose, am uncomfortable with myself. I cringe when I hear recordings of my voice. Photographs rarely come close to capturing who I feel that I am. I would probably run screaming into the woods never to return should I ever get caught on film during sex. It's not that I carry a bad image of myself. I just prefer to see myself through your eyes than through my own.

So I face the mirrors and look above myself. I focus on a spot beyond where I am. I can see myself but am not the central image. I am one of many. I can work this way. Then I realize that I have done the same with you. Only occasionally do I look straight at you. Take your gaze. Create a oneness. I now recall that you have never looked away. You have met the gaze but haven't challenged it. You have accepted it and, allowed it to go its merry way when I needed to change my focus. You have been patient. And gentle.

There are so many reflections. Many types of reflections. Reflections upon reflections. Reflecting light. Reflecting Sound. Bats use sound waves to situate themselves. They send out signals that bounce back to them. The faster the signals are reflected back, the closer the object is. There must be a physical sensation/feeling attached to these signals. Wouldn't the bat need to 'know' if the surface is hard or soft. If the fruit is ripe or not? Otherwise, this navigational system would be too simple. Unelegant. When the natural world appears unelegant I tend to think that it's my perception that's flawed. I'm missing a piece of the big picture.

Memory is a reflection. So are moods. Emotions. Thoughts. We sit. We reflect. We reflect upon our world. We reflect upon our moods. Ourselves. These reflections feel incomplete. That perhaps we are only acknowledging part of what is being reflected our way. We see the reflection. Or touch it. Smell it. But we don't fully experience it. Actually, at some level we must be experiencing it fully. We just aren't aware of it. We stop at the image and get scared. Scared that someone else might be there. Looking.

Crackers

2008-09-17T17:28:00.003-04:00

I've taken to getting myself a bowl of soup at lunch time while I am at work. It's not the greatest soup in the world but, it's hot and relatively inexpensive. $2.14 will get me a large bowl of soup and 2 packages of crackers. Thing is, I can't eat soup without at least 5 packages of crackers. I like the texture to be mushy, not runny. When the consistency can be equated with baby puree I am happy. When the soup of the day is Thai red chicken curry or French Canadian pea, I am ecstatic! So what do I do? Instead of picking out the allowable 2 packages of crackers, I take 5. This always leads to some form of discussion at the cash.

Cashier: You know I have to charge you more for the extra crackers.
Me: Yes, I understand that.
Cashier: You get 2 packages free with the soup.
Me: Ok.
Cashier: Do you still want the extra crackers?
Me: Yes, please.
Cashier: I'm afraid I will have to charge you and extra $.30.
Me: Ok.

The cashier will then shake her head and hand me back the change and offer me a soup club card.

Cashier: If you get this card stamped 10 times, you will get a free soup.
Me: Does that include the extra crackers?
Cashier: Ummmm....I don't know. I don't think so. But you get 2 packages free.
Me: Never mind. I'll do without the card.

Thing is, I used to try to use these cards for shoes, coffee, soup, books and the like but I would invariably lose the card and have to start over again. I don't do cards anymore.

Today, when I got my soup, the cashier looked down at my bowl and 5 packages of crackers and then after ringing in my purchase whispered:

I haven't charged you for the extra crackers today.

I thanked her and left a $.30 tip.

Cue Music

2008-06-06T12:29:00.005-04:00

Picture this if you will. Last night at approximately 9:30pm I went upstairs to deliver the final 'go to sleep' message to the wee ones. The boy was in the girl's bed and I separated them in order to help bring peace and quiet.

At 9:32pm I heard footsteps coming down the stairs and going to the back door. The boy, in his jammies, put on his shoes and his bright yellow raincoat and proceeded to go outside clutching his two stuffed frogs -- Reebeet and Peebeet -- tightly to his chest.

'Where are you going?' I asked.

'Away. I'm going to live with my daddy. He left so why can't I.'

It was raining. Lightly. I followed him outside. I suggested that he come back in and we give his dad a call.

'No. I don't want to talk to him. But I'm serious. I'm leaving.'

Tears welled up in my eyes, fell down my cheeks and mixed with the rain. Barefoot, I walked with him as he approached the road and turned to continue down the sidewalk. He kept a few feet ahead but stopped every 4 or 5 steps in order to turn around and make sure I was still there.

We walked like this for awhile in silence. We turned the corner and a car stopped and the driver and passenger asked me for directions. It was surreal. My son and I both stopped and seemed to break out of our trance. I provided the information and turned, once again, to look at the boy. We stood facing each other in the rain. Neither of us were moving. It was not so much a stand off but a recognition of the distance between us. A recognition that he was angry, scared, confused and frustrated; that we both were. A recognition that getting older was hard. A recognition that even the relationship between a mother and son required attention. Work. I held out my hand and, at first, he backed away.

I remembered a favourite poem of mine (of course I can't for the life of me remember the author or title right now). The poem depicted a scene wherein a mother and son are outside and the son goes too close to the edge of a cliff. The mother could not cry out for fear that her son, becoming startled, would fall. Instead, she opened up her blouse revealing her breasts. The boy, seeing this, runs towards her into her embrace and safety.

I told the boy that I loved him and that I would not leave him. I told him that I would stay with him regardless of how many 'even ifs' he could come up with. He reached out and grabbed my hand. We walked, side by side back to the house. I brought him up to his bed and held him until he fell asleep.

Tears and rain remained moist upon my cheeks.

Boys and Girls

2008-05-27T13:24:00.002-04:00

The other night in a bar:

Him: Girls are very complicated.

Me: Really? I don't think so.

Him: So you think you're not complicated.

Me: No. What I want in a fellow is pretty simple. I want someone who is good at what he does but isn't what he does. I want someone who is kind and sincere. Stupid folk need not apply. I'd like someone who will stand up for himself, his ideals and me and, who will stand up to me when warranted.

Him: I'd like her to be pretty and in to me...but not stupid.

Me: Ya, I guess girls are a bit more complicated. You win.

Just a Moment

2008-04-28T21:48:00.004-04:00

It's about the moment. A moment in time. Stretched out. Examined. Experienced. Lived. A moment that, once past, will never be repeated. Even in memory, the moment is a mere echo. Less substantial. And then . . . poof . . the moment is gone. Like live theatre. One off shows. How can I appreciate the moment when it occurs? How can I make time stretch so that I can touch and see it. Smell and hear it. Taste it. Rub my back against its shoulders and feel its weight drop to the ground. I don't want to control it. I want to be fully engaged within it. A part of it. A moment where I feel energy coursing around me, through me, within me and out from me. The exact point where energy is both given and received. Kind of sounds like an orgasm eh?

I am, of late, feeling pulled in numerous directions. It's difficult to be fully present in the present as strange as that might sound. How can I expect the metaphorical sex to be any good when my focus keeps being drawn to what's happening outside the window, or, worse yet, what's not happening on the ceiling. On Saturday, I did my 5th kyu exam in Aikido. I had a good time. It brought back feelings of performance. I felt, for the first time in a long time, that I was centred. There. Fully present. As soon as I was finished, my euphoria continued for a brief time but then I looked at the clock. I started wondering when the rest of the exams would be complete. Would I have to leave early? What was the protocol? I had to get my kids. I tried to lend my support to the others being examined but my energy was divided. I was already gone from one moment and living in the next.

I wonder if this 'dog chasing its tail' mentality is part of a larger societal problem? It seems that folk are constantly running towards something that can never be achieved. Much like imaginary numbers. I was first introduced to the concept of imaginary numbers in Grade 11 math. They struck me as hugely problematic. It was explained to me that if we take steps towards a wall and always half the distance from one step to the next, we will never reach the wall. I wondered how math could ever be used to create an elegant equation to explain everything if an end result could never be achieved except through numbers that didn't exist. I was told to accept the equations as fact and not to question how they came about. My aptitude for math dropped that year from a 95% to a 60%.

Perhaps it would have made more sense if I had thought that imaginary numbers were like fiction (please note that I am in no ways a mathematician and am probably completely misunderstanding this entire concept...I do like a good metaphor however and I'm going to run with it). A fictional tale does not pretend to tell you what really happened. Nonetheless, a fictional tale can reveal truths not necessarily evident if one were to relate exactly what happened in real time. Fiction allows one to stop time. Examine the moment, as it were. (I might like to add here that I am a fan of both fiction and non fiction and find their differences to be not that great. The best fiction reveals universal 'truths' that help to explain, unveil, reflect or reveal the world around us in a new and, perhaps, yet to be examined light. The best non fiction tells a story that does the same. I see the dividing line between the two groups to be blurry at best).

But, back to the moment at hand. It is too easy to get distracted. Perhaps this is where meditation could work? Learning to relax one's mind to allow for the moment to be realized fully? I dunno. I just feel that I and many others are missing out on moments when we dwell on past echos or imagine future scenarios. There is a saying that states that one should 'live in the moment.' Easier said then done I think but, probably well worth striving for.

What Helps Make My Job Worthwhile

2008-04-25T14:38:00.003-04:00

Me: Hi There. I'm just calling to confirm your booking time and your technical requirements for your upcoming event. We have you scheduled from 6pm to 10pm. Is this correct?

Client: Yes. That is correct. We will be there at 6pm. My wife and I will be there earlier to set up. You have risers?

Me: Yes we have risers. At what time will you and your wife be arriving?

Client: 5pm

Me: Ok. I'll change your booking time to reflect a 5pm start.

Client: That is good. We have told the musicians to arrive at 5:30pm for their sound check.

Me: Ok. How many musicians will there be?

Client: Only one. Guitar, tabla and harmonium.

Me: So there will be three performers?

Client: Yes. That is correct.

Me: Will the guitarist need a vocal mic? Will he be speaking to the audience?

Client: No. He won't be speaking to the audience. He will only say a few words before each number.

Me: Maybe we'll have a vocal mic on stand by just in case?

Client: Yes that will be good.

Me: Ok. I'll see you at 5pm on Sunday.

Client: How much earlier than that can we get into the theatre?

Me: ??

It's Hard

2008-04-23T21:53:00.003-04:00

It's hard. It's hard to bring him up. It's hard to discuss. It's hard to acknowledge.

I want to thank a friend. Many actually. One in particular. My son and I went over for a visit. Bringing candy. With no discomfort she, my friend, brought up my son's dad. In a good way. There was no hesitation. She mentioned his dad in a way that made my son proud. A way that gave my son a feeling of connection with his father. A connection that was ok. I found that I could bring him up with more ease then too.

I'd stopped doing that. Stopped bringing him up. Stopped discussing him. Stopped thinking about him. I tried anyway. Consciously. Unconsciously. When we first split up I tried to keep his name in the open. I tried to keep a relationship current between him and the kids. It was hard. I felt that I was fighting a losing battle. I thought it was important to keep bringing him up for the sake of the kids. I wanted him to call more. See the kids more. I eventually stopped. It was tiring. On the occasions that he did call, I found myself becoming irritated. Feeling interrupted. It was easier for me, as time went on, to just pretend he didn't exist.

My friend opened a door. By bringing up my son's father nonchalantly in conversation, she acknowledged my son's history. His lineage. She acknowledged that his father was a part of his life. This was good. This is good. This is something that I can do. Should do. I am starting to tell stories to the kids about my past. Their dad is a part of my past. Our past. I no longer feel the urge to censor things. I can tell them funny stories. Loving stories. Life stories. What's different is that I don't have to depend on Xman to make the effort to take an active role in their lives. I can't make him call. I can, however, give my children a sense of belonging. A sense of history.

*****************************
Coda:

I took the 'missing' posters down from the office walls today. 'I guess she's not missing anymore,' said my boss. 'Yes she is,' I replied. 'It's just that the posters won't help to find her anymore.'

The Lost Compass

2008-03-30T09:47:00.005-04:00

The other night my son woke up screaming. He was having a nightmare. As tears streamed down his face I did my best to hold him. Console him. As he tried to catch his breath through heart wrenching sobs he told me what was upsetting him so much. He told me that he had lost his compass. I was lost. What compass?

'My compass!' he shouted. 'My old compass. The compass my daddy gave me. It's lost. Forever. I want it back!'

I have to admit that I had no idea what he was talking about. Had his dad given him an old compass? I asked him what he thought happened to the compass.

'I think I gave it away. To a friend. I want it back. '

I asked him who he had given it to?

'I don't remember!!! My compass. It's gone. Daddy gave it to me. It was old. It had rust on it. I gave it away. I lost it. I want it back.'

I remembered having a couple compasses. I described these and asked if these were the ones he had lost.

'No! Those are new. The one I lost is old. Rusty. From my Dad.' His cries took over his voice. Words were impossible.

I held him. I rocked him. I told him that everything was going to be ok. I told him that I would help him look for his compass in the morning. I was grasping at straws. I felt helpless. I was clinging to him as much as he held on to me. I was able, eventually, to calm him down. He sniffled and snuffled in my arms and his breathing became more steady. Regular. He was almost ready to go back to sleep. As his eyes began to droop closed, he said that there was another thing that was bothering him. I asked him to tell me what it was.

'I see my daddy going down a long dark tunnel. You are going down another tunnel and my sister is going down another. I'm not sure what tunnel to go down. Who should I follow. Should I go with one of you or am I supposed to go down my own tunnel? By myself?'

Ok. I was floored. My son is six. 6. What the Fuck? I got him to start to think about things that would make him smile. I sang a couple silly songs. He giggled. He turned his face toward my chest and fell asleep. The next day, nothing more was mentioned about the lost compass or dark tunnels.

What am I to think about this? Freud and his ilk would have a field day to be sure. I know that my son misses his dad. I know that he hasn't seen him much lately. Xman has been too busy. My son did, however, see xman briefly on Easter Sunday. The nightmare occurred the next night. Ok. My son feels a bit lost. Directionless. I get that. It appears that my son also has an inner well of metaphor deep within him out from which his subconscious draws understanding. I find this to be both extremely cool and vaguely disconcerting.

How do I feel? I feel that I'm doing the best that I can. I feel that I'm living day to day to the utmost. I feel that I'm groping down a long dark tunnel without a compass.

Missing

2008-03-22T09:56:00.005-04:00

For me, it started with a message sent to my inbox at work. At the same time both innocuous and niggling. A girl was gone. Missing. There was really no other information. Just a request to keep one's eyes open. A couple days later, her picture was everywhere. Covering the walls. A beautiful girl. Missing. Gone. Drawn to the picture, I gaze at her eyes. Searching. For insight? Understanding? Who is she? Her eyes reflect strength and vulnerability. A sense of humour and a serious streak. Mischeviousness and sorrow. The eyes are haunting. Her expression relaxed yet I know that after the picture was taken she would have gotten up. Moved. No longer frozen. Disappeared from the frame. As I look into her eyes I begin to see myself reflected. That's a danger. I don't know her. I only see her picture. What I am reading into the picture is coming from myself. My own fears. Insecurities. Hopes. Dreams. Slowly news starts to trickle in. She went skating. She was angry. She was depressed. She left her computer on. She left her wallet. She left her cell phone. Left them behind. Police are on campus. Searching the river. Searching the shadows. They are as shadows themselves. They work alongside us but make no contact. They are both in and outside of our world. Parallel. Like her. Now that she is gone. Missing. Her family has made pleas. Heartfelt. Heart breaking. That she left with no word is uncharacteristic. Not her. The police don't suspect foul play. We all, however, are peering into shadows ourselves. Into mirrors. Aware that the boogie man exists. He hides behind corners ready to jump out. He is beside us. He is within us. Ready to take us. Do damage. Steal. Remove us. Make us gone. Missing.

When I was in the Sault I examined two pictures in my father's house. They are pictures of his father. My grandfather. I have looked at them in passing over the years. I had never really looked at them in order to see. One of the pictures depicts my grandfather, my grandmother and my uncle posing for the camera. This is the only picture that survived the war. The only picture that exists from the time when my father still resided in the village where he was born. The second picture is of two headshots side by side. One of my grandmother and the second of my grandfather. The picture of my grandfather was taken from the family portrait. There is only one image of my grandfather left. Someone had carefully drawn in a shirt and tie to his headshot. Funny that I only noticed this now. I examined his eyes. Trying to find myself in his face. In the past, I remember looking to my grandmother for this. His face never really drew me in. He seemed inconsequential. I asked my dad about him. Apparently, my grandfather had a reputation of being tough and fair. People looked up to him and followed his lead. When the communists came to their village, he was chosen as a farm leader. A spokesman. The people of the village didn't care much for the communists. To them, communism was an excuse for laziness. One day, my grandfather was taken away by a couple men driving a black car. He was never seen by his family again. He was gone. Missing. My grandmother tried to find him. She searched. She asked questions. She demanded answers. Finally, she was told. She was told to let him go. He was gone. Missing. If she continued, she too would go missing. Be gone. She should focus on her family. Her sons. She took her family away. She left the village and went to Finland.

I look at the face of my grandfather. His image. His jaw line appears strong. His hair thick and full. His eyes are bright but narrowed. Are they mean? My father says no. His frame is light. I see my son's structure in his. I asked my father if he remembers hugs. Play time. My father's memories are sketchy. He remembers being held after falling off a wagon into horses. He was held and comforted. The gash in his forehead tended to lovingly. My father remembers getting punished with a belt after knocking over a bag of salt that he had been told explicitly not to touch. What memories will I carry with me into old age? What will I discard? What will be taken from me? What will be stolen?

The village where my father came from no longer exists. Its people scattered. Missing. Gone. The language too no longer exists. No longer spoken. No longer heard. I know only a couple words. Out of context. I repeat them in vain. Mayaa. Sayaa. Me. You. I don't know the word for us. The connection to my past is gone. Missing. I am left with only a few clues. A few pieces. A picture. An image. Scattered memories.

The Passage is the Journey

2008-03-17T22:22:00.004-04:00

I love driving. I especially love driving long distances. This is something I didn't really know about myself. I should have. Speed. Music. Meditation. Control. Yes, I do in fact own the road. Deal.

It all came together for me this past weekend. I made a driving cd for myself. Welcome to the 20th century! A good driving cd must take into the account a need for a good rhythm section. The beat has to vary however because too much of the same thing could cause road hypnosis. I am a bit of a classisist at heart so my disc has a good sense of form--kind of an AABBCCAA type of structure. Yes, I am alone a bit too much. Being a bit anal comes naturally.

There is a new overpass leading into the Sault. An American style highway. I don't like it. I was looking forward to passing familiar landmarks. The turn off to camp. The giant Loonie at the side of the road. Shinwauk Hall. The railway bridge that has 'This Is Indian Land' written on it even though for years people have tried to wash it off. It just keeps getting rewritten. It needs to be there. Instead of these signposts leading me home I found myself travelling way too fast, too far from the river, too close to the hills and unable to orient myself. When the highway finally reached the end I was there. In the Sault. I felt cheated. I had missed out.

I started thinking about childhood drives. When my family would travel past Sudbury, we would invariably stop at the Big Nickel and have lunch--smoked whitefish from Clarence's fish and bait shop--and take photos. We would bring visitors there. It was a landmark that everyone stopped at. Yes it was kitsch. It was familiar kitsch. It was a part of our collective experience. The Big Nickel was special. When the new highway was made I remember cheering it. It really did cut the travel time to Ottawa not having to pass through Sudbury. Now I think about what has been lost. I haven't once visited the Big Nickel since the new highway was built. My children have travelled the highway many times and not once have we stopped at what used to be for me a trip highlight. I'm sure it would be a highlight for them too. I can't even see where the Nickel is now from the road. It's like it has disappeared completely.

I have a friend who comes from New Brunswick. When I first visited her, I was in awe that we had to travel over a covered bridge to get to her home. She lived on an island. The bridge was lovely. A few years later when I visited again, we drove past the bridge. A new highway had been built. The old bridge was rarely used. I remember thinking what a shame. When her dad drove me off the island for the last time he turned off the new highway and drove slowly over the bridge. I remember feeling like I could burst out laughing or burst into tears at that moment. I knew that some things would never again be the same. Such is progress?

When I left the Sault yesterday, I made a point of not taking the new highway. I drove over the old path soaking in the landmarks that would be all too soon relegated to history. The beach where we would sneak out to at night with bottles of alcohol and cartons of smokes deftly stolen from our parents' cupboards. The trees that had stood the test of time. Ugly. Knotted. Beautiful. The diner that made the best grilled cheese sandwich I have ever tasted. The bridge separating the reservation from the village. The farms. The cows. The giant Loonie. The river that has always been a part of my life.

Driving home I started to think about how much I enjoyed the travelling. The journey. I also started to think about how much joy I would lose if the journey became sterilized by bypassing all the communities that helped to bring the road to life. The journey is made all the more special because of how the highway connects disparate people. The road shows us how we are all connected even though we stand unique and individual with our Big Nickels, road side blueberry stands, giant apples and the like. The super stops one finds on the larger highways don't have the same heart. A McDonalds grilled cheese will never compare to one made at a small diner in Echo Bay.

Do I want to stop progress? No. Do I want to hold on to the past? Perhaps. More importantly however, is that I want to remember and be reminded how unique we are. In some ways, I believe that it's our differences that bring us closer together. When we strip away our individuality and reveal only what is the same, we become more isolated. Alienated. So far apart from each other that no highway can bridge the distance.

Another Dress Rehearsal

2008-03-13T08:50:00.003-04:00

The set revealed itself tonight as a woman giving birth. Birth to a band. Birth to a musical. Birth to a Bat Boy. I mentioned this to the designer. Although it wasn't planned, he was pleased with the outcome -- yet another instance where post justification usurps intent and a new reality is created. Perhaps his sub conscious was guiding the process? Perhaps it was dumb luck? Whatever the cause, the outcome works.

The lighting has moments of beauty. My problem overall with how the piece is lit is that it sways too much between realism and stylization. I think the production would be better off lit in a stylized over the top fashion. It's a musical about a bat boy. I think it's ok to leave realism at the door. The scenes that worked were highly stylized with broad strokes of colour. I believe that the designer was trying for more stylization in other scenes but it needed a bit more ooomph.

When performing music, one needs to be aware that any dynamic changes made need to be exaggerated before they are registered by an audience. One of my favourite examples of this occurred when I was performing at a masterclass. I had a huge crescendo at one point and I thought I had really sold it. When I finished, the person hosting the class mentioned that he felt that a crescendo would really have worked at one point (the point where I had thought I had added one). I had only added enough of a dynamic change to make the listener feel that a change would be needed. This is the feeling I was left with in terms of the lights for this show. The ground work is there but I am left wanting a bit more.

How was the show itself? Entertaining. Yes there are some weaknesses and it probably could use a bit more time to fine tune some details before opening and although I didn't walk away singing any of the tunes (something I find a bit unfortunate but none of the tunes was particulary memorable to me) the show is a campy piece of rollicking fun. It's irreverant -- poking fun at itself and the world around it. The audience will enjoy it.

Back to Bach

2008-03-11T21:18:00.003-04:00

The trick to playing Bach is to trust the notes. You don't need to infuse it with anything. Although technically difficult, if you play the notes clearly and cleanly, the music will be there. In a sense, you almost have to strip away all of your personal affectations until you are left with a stark, humble and often painful honesty.

I once told a man who was to become one of my mentors that I didn't care much for Bach. I was taking private lessons in music theory at the time. The next week when I came for my lesson, this man, my teacher, sat me down with a score -- The Goldberg Variations -- and then pressed play on the cd player he had brought in. As I watched/read/listened to the score unfold before me I was mesmorized. I was taken away. I felt simulataneous joy and heart break. Of course it was Gould. When the music ended, the man took the score from me and informed me that he wouldn't charge me for the lesson. Ironically, I learned more about music on that day than I had during any of the weekly lessons leading up to it.

I have just spent the last two hours reacquainting myself with my guitar. My fingertips on my left hand are sore. Grooved. I have been working on remembering the Prelude for Cello Suite No. 1. It took awhile but my hands remember. It amazes me how my fingers can do things so easily without my consciousness being aware. Instead of focusing on my hands, I am free to sing the music so that I can hear it played the way I know it in my heart.

When I was younger I would watch my mother draw. I yearned with all my heart to be able to draw like she did. She could bring lines on a paper to life. I wanted to be able to draw what I saw in my mind. In my heart. I couldn't. It took a number of years for me to realize that my desire wasn't so much to be able to draw as it was to express myself in such a way as to give a voice to a something larger than myself. A something that couldn't be readily defined. A something that I would occasionally notice out of the corner of my eye when the sun caught the side of a building and a reflection could be seen in a drop of dew. A something that can be revealed when the right shade of light is used to capture an actor's expression on stage. A something that sounds like Bach.

Splitting Roles

2008-03-07T20:55:00.007-05:00

I'm feeling good. My job, in many respects, puts me in a position wherein I have to train/guide folks. This isn't always easy. I am fully aware of my own limitations in terms of patience, ego and insecurity. I do, however, love a good learning opportunity. I'm constantly learning. Today I fell in love with rosco 378 and a blend of rosco 24 & 27. Nice. I sense a change to my house plot in the near dance future. I also made head way with a young designer who, turns out, has a great deal of potential and, when egos are set aside, is a damn fun person to work with too. There were a couple of amusing bumps:

Him: Can I see your wash colours?
Me: Ok. Here.
Him: Ok. Now I want to see mine.
Me: ??
Him: I'd like to see mine so that I can compare. Bring them up please.
Me: We've only just started the hang. Nothing has been focused. Your colours aren't up in the air yet love.
Him: Ahhh. Got you. Ok. We'll use your wash then.
Me. Ok.

I love pre show energy. I especially love pre show energy when younger folk are involved. There's something to be said for inexperience. They take more chances cuz they don't know that 'things aren't done that way.' Maybe a youth orientated theatre company could fly in this city? Something to mull.

I've started work on the next show. Opera. The director wants to fly a doll house in and have it float 6' above the stage. He asked me if it were possible. I said yes because I totally want to see a floating doll house glowing above my stage. How cool is that? How...How....Opera? I love opera. It's totally garish and over the top. It makes no excuses. It doesn't need any.

*******************************************************************************

The other night I took the kids to a fire station. The girl's Sparks troupe was taking the tour and the boy and I tagged along. I'm a fan of the burly fire fighters. One of the fire fighters asked the group if any of the kids smoked. My girl blurted out 'my daddy smokes.' The fire fighter said, that that was too bad and he wouldn't be able to hang out at the house if someone was smoking. My girl responded, 'that's ok. My daddy doesn't live with us so you can come any time.'

A little later, the same fire fighter asked if the kids knew whether or not their homes had smoke detectors and if they were tested regularly. Once again, my girl raised her hand. 'We have one. It goes off everytime my mommy cooks dinner.'

A mom came up to me and said 'you've been totally outed as a single mom who burns her food.' Sigh.

I've also tried to sew the wee ones' snow pants. I can't justify to myself purchasing new ones this close to winter's end but...my sewing sucks. At least the wee ones are still young enough to think that my frankenstitching is half decent.

Today is the first day of march break. My mom and her fella are driving up from the Sault tomorrow -- I'm a bit more than a wee bit concerned...there's gonna be a huge storm -- and they will take the wee ones back to the Sault with them on Monday. I'll have 3 days kid free. How do I feel about it? The best word would be conflicted. Glad for the break but I'll be missing them. Perhaps though, I will actually make time for me. The non mom non td me. Who is that exactly?

Random Excerpts from a Morning in the Life of ...

2008-02-29T12:36:00.006-05:00

It's cold outside and I know why. Xman is taking the kids overnight. Hell must officially be freezing over. I jest. It'll be good to have a night off. Now, I'm searching for someone to share a pint or two with. I'm working until 7:30pm ish. If I'm unsuccessful, I may just go home and do my taxes.

I have had two visits in the office this morning from staff I don't see much anymore. Both have said that I look better and more relaxed than ever. I embrace the compliments but wonder how crappy I have allowed myself to appear in the past.

A stranger is standing beside the stage. I wonder if he is considering leaping upon it to do a bit of on the spot performing -- thinking that he is completely alone and unobserved. That would be cool. Nope. He left. Stage fright I guess. I enjoy my voyeuristic vantage point a bit too much sometimes.

I have a meeting at 1pm with people from a group doing a 'fund raiser, variety, film, speaker, play, musical performance type thingie' on Easter Sunday. Here's hoping I can narrow them down a bit.

This morning I met with a fellow about the booth window. We have the funding for a new one. One that can open up completely. That will be good. Question now is how to do it. I have a feeling that the funding provided might not cover the actual costs. The way the fellow was talking I may as well have been asking for a dissolvable force field used in many an old Star Trek episode to detain prisoners. It'll be interesting to see what he can come up with.

I went down to the carp shop to see how the set build was going. The lumber is still there in neat piles wrapped in tape. The load in is on Sunday.

Tonight's concert is East Indian music. Should go seamlessly. We'll see. I'll help get the staff set up and the sound check running. Then I'll rush off to pick up the kids and bring them over to xman's and turn around and get back to the theatre.

My car is beginning to sound a wee bit like a single engine bush plane. Should I be concerned?

Solitaire

2008-02-28T21:49:00.004-05:00

I used to love playing cards. I'm sure I still do. I haven't, however, played in years. I played cribbage, war, crazy 8's and rummy with relish. I would also play a couple games with Finnish names that I know how to pronounce but haven't a clue how to spell. With a deck of cards in my hands I could be entertained for hours.

My dad used to tell me that his mother was very much against card playing. She believed that cards were linked with the devil. Yet, when I visited my grandmother in Finland -- I was ten years old at the time -- she revealed a deck of cards that were tucked away in a drawer in her sitting room. She handed them over to me and winked. This was the same woman who demanded I accompany her to Christmas Eve service but when she noticed that I was a bit figidity -- I had never gone to a service before and this one was all in the Finnish language -- she opened up her purse and slowly unwrapped a hard candy making sure to make more then her share of crinkly noises with the paper. She winked again as we both noticed others in the congregation turning around to give us the 'be quiet or else' stare and giggled along with me as we both popped candies into our mouths.

My grandmother had to be stern with my dad and his brothers. She was their mother. She raised them on her own after her husband had been stolen from her by the Stalinist's. She led her family out of occupied territory during the Second World War to the relative security of a new country -- Finland. She worked many different jobs to keep food on the table and clothes on their backs. I didn't know any of this when I met her. I only knew what my dad had said about her. When I finally stood before her for the first time my preconceived ideas disappeared almost immediately. This woman was a jokester filled with giggles seemingly always on the cusp of bubbling out of her. Her eyes were bright blue and sparkled with mischievous warmth. Most importantly, this woman was my grandmother. The hug she gave me when I first stepped into her apartment was one of the best I have ever had before or since. This was love unconditionally given. I felt grounded by her arms and her history. Centred. Whole.

Years later, I saw her again. This time, she was in a home. This time she didn't know me. Once again I had to juxtapose the image before me with preconceived notions held in my heart. She spent the entire visit dipping sugar cubes into coffee and sucking them into nothingness. This action was made all the more poignant when examined as a metaphor. Her eyes were still bright but instead of being warm they were cold and sharp. Distant. My grandmother was gone. Away.

My memories of her will remain with me for as long as I am. I hope to pass these on to my children so that they too may feel rooted in a history that reaches out beyond their immediate perception. Our histories are made up of so many collective and individual experiences: wonderful, enchanting, terrifying, heart breaking, ugly, beautiful . . . . Although the order of these experiences appears random I have to wonder if this is really the case. Maybe it just seems random because we are using a newly shuffled deck and are only dealt a few cards at a time. Is it up to us to make sense of it all or should we just concentrate on playing the game?

Silence of the Heart

2008-02-27T21:18:00.006-05:00

I dunno. He was told. He was told that if he approached me with a cocky swagger. If he approached me with a cocky swagger and a know it all attitude. A cocky swagger, a know it all attitude and a penchant for pouting. He was told. He was told that I'd be less than helpful. Less than understanding. I'd probably slay him alive. Too true. Art be damned.

But, on the other hand. If he approached me with some humility. A willingness to learn. An understanding that he wasn't all that and then some. If he approached me and asked for guidance. Well, I'd bend over backwards to help. I'd make sure that his work looked good. That's my passion at play.

What happened? He chose the former. 'I'm the TD of this production,' said he. Ok. Good. I was hopeful. Having a TD for a show is a good thing. But wait. There was more. 'I'm also doing the set design.' Not out of the ordinary. Could be done. 'I'm also doing the lighting design.' My spirits began to flag. 'Here's the production schedule.' Great. He's also the PM.

Hmmm.... I read the schedule over. The times didn't correlate with bookings. This could be a problem. 'Well that's fine, we'll work around your schedule and that of your staff.' Really? Hmmmm... I asked him about the designs, the instrument lists, the wireless mic requirements, special effects, firearms and the like. After being met with a look closer to blank than one reflecting deep thought I then suggested that perhaps he had bitten off more than he could chew. 'I know what I'm doing.' Ok.

After a week of not getting answers to questions I was asking he came to me and said: 'You know, I work 30 hours per week and I've been working on this show and these designs and I'm doing the best that I can. Unlike you I'm not getting paid to do this.' Ya. He went there. My response? 'Well, I work full time dealing with schedules, designs and inexperienced wannabes who want to play theatre with no real understanding of the work/time involved so that I can provide hot meals for my kids at night and I won't get paid any less if your show doesn't open. That being said, I'll need the designs by Sunday or you can use rehearsal blocks and our house plot.' Sheesh.

Hopefully things turn around. I'm optimistic really. He's young and green and has too much heart...but that's all about being young and green.

When I was doing my ethnomusicology stint, I read a wonderful article by a man who was studying drumming in Western Africa. He watched as a group of drummers played. He noticed that some of the drummers were doing incredibly complicated rhythms at fantastic speeds. He then noticed that the drum master was only occasionally hitting the drum. Every now and then a 'thuk' could be heard. The student went to the master and asked why it was that the other drummers were doing things that seemed so much more complicated but that he, the leader, was in control while only hitting the drum with an occasional 'thuk.' The response? The master gestured to the others. 'They over there are young. They have too much heart. They fill the world with sound. They play the sound. It's only when you get older that you have the ability to play the silence.'

This musical probably won't be filled with a whole lot of silence but there is potential for a great deal of heart.

That's ok too.

Gerund My Day

2008-02-26T20:57:00.003-05:00

Hunting down production schedules kept locked away tighter than state secrets, watching folks unwilling to make the effort to get doors unlocked, witnessing other folk holding back on getting the right keys cut, brewing espresso, crossing a field and a snow mountain to get a key attached to a wooden stick, coming across gak inadvertently left behind, testing a video line and having it work 'latency free,' buying milk, getting info together for upcoming one night wonders, dealing with a cancellation, trying to get some time on the stage, meeting clients in the lobby, listening to Alison Krause, being out with the wee ones as they skated, sewing a new button on my favourite jeans, handing out hours like candy, making a dinner for three from one pork chop, doing laundry with a machine leaking its transmission, cleaning off 1/3 of my desk, trying to figure out how to juggle yet another weekend of kids and work, carrying the girl down a rickety set of stairs underneath a pizza place, sorting out the carp shop, wondering why every room I walked into at work was playing live feeds from the NHL trade day, making lunch for tomorrow, waking up running in the morning, burning incense, emailing, telephoning, skipping, singing, driving, yelling, caressing, scheduling, loving.

Bye and Bye

2008-02-25T21:43:00.003-05:00

So I actually went out on a 'date' a couple months ago. I'm thinking about it now because I just finished a wonderful Aikido session--new bruises! what fun!--and the school's instructor stopped by to watch and when my class ended informed me that I would have my first examination at the end of March. I never really considered examinations as a possibility. I only go once a week but, I guess I'm improving. To be frank, I am mildly obsessed with it. What has this to do with the date? The person I went out with was in one of my classes. He asked me out for coffee and, after checking with my sitter, I said 'yes.'

We headed to the local Starbucks -- him in his car, me in mine -- and when we entered I started grooving off Bob Dylan's take on 'All Along the Watch Tower.' The fellow I was with immediately started to whinge and complain stating that Dylan had ruined the genre of folk music. 'I like him,' I said. 'Didn't he kind of open up the genre of folk music?' 'You too have been snowed by a mass marketing machine,' he replied. Then we sat down -- he paid for his and was a bit put out that I bought my own but I was thrilled that my magic car had had a couple dollars hidden deep in the ashtray which I thought was a sign that I should be self sufficient and get my own -- and he started to tell me about his life while I started to hum 'Lay Lady Lay.' He talked about his divorce. (I started to think that his ex wife and I would probably get along) His kids. (They weren't really living up to what he felt was their true potential) His schooling. (Sociology...need I say more? Along with philosophy, art history, linguistics...a true Renaissance Man) His personal philosophies/convictions. (I like independent thought. I am also not one to shy away from a good argument. I can indulge in mental masturbation with the best of them. A good argument, however, has to leave some room for dialogue).

It wasn't all about him though. To be fair, he did bring me into the conversation. It went kinda like this:

Him: Do you know what your problem is?
Me: I have so many I feel it quite unfair that you are determined to focus upon only one.
Him: You aren't relaxed enough. You weren't able to knock me down.
Me: Was I supposed to? I thought we were working on the mechanics of the technique. Besides, you act like a big rock. I'm not interested in forcing things.
Him: You should practice opening doors in a relaxed state.
Me: What?
Him: Use your wrists.
Me: Using my wrists to open doors will make me more relaxed?
Him: Try it.
Me: I think that I might just follow what the Senpai is showing us for now.
Him: You should really take advantage of what I can teach you. I have experience.
Me: I see.
Him: You are a guitarist? I love the guitar.
Me: Ok
Him: I bet I can ask you some questions about the guitar that you can't answer
Me: I have no doubt about that.
Him: I think you should know as much about your instrument as possible. How much do you play?
Me: I don't play very much at all anymore.
Him: If I could play I'd never stop.
Me: I guess you'll never know for sure eh?

An uncomfortable silence followed. I started humming 'Everybody Must Get Stoned' and checked the time.

Me: I've got to go. My sitter will be wanting to go home.
Him: Ok. See you next week.

Thus endeth my first post nuptial date. He showed up to class the next week and I did throw him and he ended up elbowing me in the face and stabbing my leg with one of his overgrown toenails. He has not since returned. The dojo is a happy place for me. I'll be ready for the exam. I wonder if I'm ready for another date?

Crossroads

2008-02-24T20:56:00.003-05:00

Ok. I am actually 38 years old -- not 12. I will consider last night to be a minor blip on the radar. This morning was rough. Too rough. I considered blowing my brother off and not meeting him at the airport but my sense of personal responsibility told my irresponsible self to suck it up and keep in mind that the airport had public bathrooms if I had the need to puke some more. We went out for lunch at a favourite pub of mine and I indulged in a chicken filled boxty (potato pancake). It stayed down. Thankfully. The kids were being their charming selves and my big brother is still my big brother. Me? I was the chirp :)

What did I figure out last night? I feel like I'm standing at a crossroads. I desperately want change but I don't want to risk losing what I have. One summer, when I was in university--I think I might have been doing co-op at DND around that time or I was living the good life on EI and taking night courses, it doesn't really matter I guess -- there was a man who could be found around the neighbourhood who would be dressed in a dark suit and would be holding a briefcase. Our neighbourhood had its share of those with particular forms of mental illness. There was the woman who walked around with her doll baby, there was the man who kept checking banisters to ensure that they were straight, there were the odd folks wishing all passers by to listen to Jesus and there was this man in the dark suit. This man would stand at intersections. For a while, he chose to take his daily stand at the intersection by our apartment. He would stand at the corner watching traffic pass him and, when traffic let up, or he was at intersections having crossing signals that changed from don't walk to walk, he would shift his position so that he was once again facing the static red hand. He would stand there for hours. He did this, as far as I know, all summer. During the summer his suit started to hang on him. He lost a great deal of weight. His skin, subject to the elements, became redder, more wrinkled and dry. I personally never saw him arrive at the corners nor did I ever witness him leave. I remember trying to write about him and how he seemed to stand at the corner of chance and choice. He was less a human being to me and more liken to an organic allegory.

After having my marriage fall apart I've been feeling more and more like I've been snoozing for the past 10 years. Yes, I had kids and have grown in my job and such but I feel that other facets of my life have been lying dormant. I think I'm ready to wake up. I'm just not too sure what road I should cross.

Ya I Was Drunk

2008-02-23T20:20:00.002-05:00

It's totally time for me to be up for another nomination for mother of the year. It's a Saturday night at 8:20pm and I'm 3 or 4 sheets to the freaking wind. I just played a game of chess with the wee ones (I won but really...I'm not that drunk) and have put the kidlings to bed. For some reason I decided to have a glass of red wine with dinner. I haven't eaten anything else all day -- no reason, just not in the mood -- and I opened a bottle from my mom's shop. It was only a 1/2 litre but right after dinner my brother called and started speaking 'physics' to me. Really, do you blame me for opening another bottle as he discussed in detail the strategic quantum idiosyncratic something or another that has to do with neutrons but ends up spelling the word 'squid'? A true acronym.
So the kids are in bed now. I'm glad I learned to touch type. Grade 10 with Mrs. Robbins wasn't a complete loss. They are listening to a recording entitled 'Live Tracings/Empreinte Vivante' that a buddy and I made years ago. We got it into our heads to record the concerts of the UofO music department and create, market and sell a cd. It was a success. We got the visual arts folks in the building next door to create the name/cover for our work. Too bad the administration decided that this project would only be a one year event. M & I both received an A+ for our work along with a nice 'thanks but no thanks' letter. I am sooooooo missing stuff like that right now.
So my brother is coming into town briefly tomorrow. The kidlings and I will take him out for lunch before he is headed off to Chalk River to play at the nuclear power plant. (just a note...I'm making typos left, right and centre but am correcting as I go...I have a feeling that since I am actually drunk as I type this that I will have fewer actual errors when I publish it because of my self consciousness...let this be a lesson to corporate execs world wild...let your people drink! You'll end up with far fewer errors. Anyone who has had a mom will respond well to guilt).
Damn. There's a scratch in the disc. I wonder if my mom kept a copy?
I have done nothing today. I attempted to clean the living room. I ended up taking the kids for a long walk/run (ie. I walked and they ran). I tried to call a friend who I have considered my brother since I met him over 15 years ago and haven't been able to communicate with for over 3 years since his wife decided to hate me...honestly I really have no idea).
I guess, in essence, I am grasping at proverbial straws. While I long for comfort and complacency, this is not -- obviously--to be the case.

Cheers

2008-02-22T23:08:00.003-05:00

I went out for an after work drink tonight. It's been a long time but I really needed this one. It's been a long week...a long month...a long year. Strange though. I realized tonight what it feels like to have a curfew. I had a sitter looking after the kids today and I therefore couldn't stay out longer than 8:30pm. Work ended at 7pm ish so that only left room for a pint. I started thinking how nice it would have been to just turn to the waitress and ask for another and maybe a couple more after that.

I'd end up flirting with a cute graphic artist type who would be so wowed by my cheeky personality that he would suggest we go mountain climbing together and I'd say 'sure' and that I'd pack a snack to carry along and we would stay on the mountain top until sunrise and wipe the dew from our self satisfied smiles as we surveyed the poetic landscape of our lives . . . but then I'd remember that I still had laundry in the dryer that I was too tired to deal with the night before along with several piles not yet washed, that Shark Bait our resident Platy fish needed the algae cleaned from his tank, that the cats needed feeding and their box would need to be shoveled out, the children needed to be tucked in, that the house was in a tip, that the bird feeder I had started to build in the basement wasn't going to finish itself, that I needed to get up early to bring the kids to swimming class, I still had notes to rewrite for a negotiating meeting I co chaired last Wednesday, my son's favourite pants needed to be sewed with my fine franken'stiching ability, that although I now had two days off from work in front of me I would still probably run out of time . . . so . . . I would take a raincheck and promise myself another drink another time.

When I was growing up, I never had a curfew. My mom's rationale was that since most of my friends did have curfews I wouldn't need one since I wouldn't really have a reason to stay out once my friends had to go home. It was logical and pretty much right on the money. In my later teens when I started working tech at the theatre, my mom's rationale was that as long as I was with theatre people, I would be safe. Not so logical there mom but, once again, pretty much right on. No harm befell me.

Now, I find it mildly amusing that the curfew I had so successfully avoided having to adhere to in the past has come up and bitten me in the ass. But the Guiness was good and there is something to the saying that one should leave while one still wants a bit more. Makes for better memories I think. And fantasies.

Not a Review

2008-02-21T18:59:00.005-05:00

I really love Hamlet. I have had the recent privilege of working on a production of Hamlet in my theatre. This production has made me think about the play in new ways while forcing me to examine what it is about the play that I love. Simply put, I love the characters in Hamlet. While some performances have depicted the people of Elsinore as caricatures and archetypes (is Freud to blame?) I have always felt that the characters in the play had more depth. More frailty. More reality.

The tragedy is set within the parameters of various narrative dichotomies -- love vs. lust, ambition vs. greed, murder vs. suicide, madness vs. sanity, youth vs. age, natural vs. supernatural, and the list goes on. It is easy to play upon these obvious dualisms yet, what I found more satisfying with this production is that the characters are never reduced to them. The characters are never more or less than human. Plural. Like you or I.

The set for this particular production is simple -- my favourite type -- and evocative. Moving doors open and close scenes. That scenes are cut isn't an issue because we, the audience, are provided with glimpses into, not just the action, but into the characters themselves as the doors are moved, spun opened and closed across the stage. Bridging space and time. While we are directed to look through one door we intuitively know that action is occuring behind another yet are never in any way left behind.

The reflection and refraction of the mirrors break up the stage and act to unify it. At one point the light reflected off two mirrors appeared to show the reflection spilling out onto Hamlet himself as if Hamlet's own reflection was now made real. His essence exposed. We in the audience were also reflected in the mirrors. What was going on on the stage could have been happening to any one of us. Indeed, it was.

I have more thoughts on this. More thoughts yet to be thought I'm sure. I love the feeling I get after witnessing/being party to something larger than it's parts. This is why I love what I do. This is why I love art. This is why I love Hamlet.

In Case of ... Please Break Glass

2008-02-19T20:04:00.003-05:00

The view outside of my living room window late this afternoon depicted a scene that could have come straight out of a snow globe after having been gently shaken and set down. It was gorgeous. Large fluffy flakes floated to the ground. An insulating silence enveloped my home and I felt the comfort of the scene reaching out to blanket me. Cover me.

Although peaceful, the scene didn't mirror what I felt inside and I rebeled against it. I felt alienated from the beauty. My living room window was a barrier instead of a way in. I felt agitated as if I had been the one shaken up and set down forced to watch beauty from afar. Art was happening beyond the glass and I was merely a witness but not party to it. I wanted more.

I want more.

I had a sleepness night yesterday. I was wired. I had called a hang & focus and for the entire evening I had not been able to reach my groove. My rhythm was off. I was making silly errors. I was hyper and anxious. I was trying too hard. When I got home, I couldn't turn my brain off. I hate nights like those. My bed felt foreign. For the first time in a long time I felt lonely. Not only lonely in the sense that I am currently physically alone but lonely in an artistic and emotional sense.

I've been living day to day and making do. I've been surviving. I've been doing more than just scraping by but to be honest, I haven't been fully involved. I've been hibernating. Stagnating. The past couple days I've been feeling that I have been just a witness for too long. It's time to be a participant once again. I'm just not entirely sure how to go about it. All I know is that I shouldn't be pressing the snooze button for very much longer or I risk becoming permanently incased in glass.

Dear Ms. E de Groot:

2008-01-16T12:59:00.000-05:00

I've never written a letter like this before. Frankly, I'm not writing one now. Not really. You will never read this. It really has nothing to do with you anyway. I'm afraid that your role in all this is quite minor. I do, however, feel the need to get a few things off of my chest. But, I ask myself, where to begin? Begin at the beginning? When was that exactly? All I know for sure is how I feel right now. Even that is sketchy. My feelings are in a constant state of flux. At this moment, I am leaning towards anger. I am angry. This is not to be confused with frustration. Nor is it merely hurt masquerading as pique. This is full blown red fueled anger. Anger at being alone. Anger at seeing my children hurt and not being able to do a damned thing about it. Anger at his alienation from reality. Anger at the betrayal of trust. Anger that I thought it possible for him to grow up. Anger with the role alcohol played in all of this. Anger that I went to yet another meeting just yesterday where the idea of technicians drinking too much was viewed with a high regard. Angry that I didn't speak up and out against it.

The mythology surrounding booze and theatre is inescapable. There are those who 'play along' -- smile and nod and silently curse the post opening hang over. Others, like xman and many like him, buy into the myth. Hook, line and sinker. There are many reasons and non reasons for this. A need to belong? An unhappy childhood? A predisposition to alcoholism? Whatever the case, the myth exists. People buy into it and are subsequently applauded for it and then simultaneously ridiculed. It's the good 'ol theatre 'hug and stab' that occurs when people come to give you a warm hug just so they can get close enough to stab you in the back. It's ok to drink but if you can't handle it or end up drinking too much too often you too will be ostracized. Blamed for your own inability to be responsible in a world where personal responsibility is avoided at all costs. If we don't speak against it aren't we complicit? Shouldn't we share in the blame when families and personal lives are blown apart?

Funny thing tho' Ms. de Groot, I'm not angry at you. You are acting like I did and many of my friends did at the age of 17. Your love for xman is noted. I'm sure you believe that it's real. Hell, maybe it is. I'm not angry at you. I'm also pretty sure that I don't and won't feel sorry for you either. You may as well go through what we all did. It's a perverse rite of passage. You won't change him. One day, I assure you, you will wish that he could change. You may get hurt from this. Remember. He left his wife. He left his children. He left his family. Not for you. Don't have any illusions about that. He also didn't leave because of me. He left because he needs to drink. He needs to drink and cannot allow anything to be or get in his way. Not me. Not his kids. Not his responsibilities. You, my dear, are for him one of many escapes from reality. His waking wet dream as it were. Did you know that he has been bragging to his friends about being a 'dirty old man' who is dating a 20 year old? Do you wonder why he can't admit to your real age? Reality can be fluid. Although you are, no doubt, wise beyond your years--this too is a very common trait amongst 17 year old girls--this wisdom is missing real life experience. Alcoholism is an unfortunate part of real life. Sanctioned alcoholism is pervasive in the theatre setting as are affairs with people twice one's age. You may as well gain personal experience in each.

Requiem for EAM

2007-12-28T09:48:00.000-05:00

Rest in Peace.

I met you first. The first member of the family of which I would eventually become a part. You were charming and stern. Wearing white. Your chair was more an accessory than a hindrance. Your beard was trimmed as was custom. You had a twinkle in your eye. You knew I didn't quite fit in. Me with my flowered skirts and long untied hair. I brought daisies and dandelions with me to work. You would smile. Accepting me for who I was. What, I wonder, did you think when your son brought me home for dinner? If you had any reservations, you never let on. You would regale us all with tales from the sea. Your eyes always held their sparkle. You would flirt. Shamelessly. I saw the best of your son in you at those moments.

I remember when the boys had a task of digging a trench in the backyard. I don't know whose idea it was to take a break after digging a couple feet and getting the beer. It was probably a mutual decision. Your face when I came upon the scene was priceless. The other guys ran off and left you to protect them; Take the fall more like. You stuttered and stammered and then just shrugged your shoulders. Boys would be boys. It was a club that I would never be allowed to join. You, however, never made me feel excluded.

I'm glad you are now at peace. I'm glad you are free. You left this world in control. When all control was taken from you, you made the ultimate choice to let go. As you lived, you died. A captain.

Holiday Update

2007-12-27T23:20:00.000-05:00

The kids spent the day at xman's today. I went shopping with my mom. It was a good day. When I picked up the kids, their heads smelled like his apartment. This is all part of the new reality. Tomorrow we will go swimming. Yesterday, we went to a movie. It was the first time the kids were in a movie theatre. 'Alvin and the Chipmunks.' Kids loved it. I loved watching the kids lovin' it. Saturday will be the wee one's birthday party. It will have a backwards theme. Sunday will be a day of rest. I hope.

Christmas was lovely. Actually. I'm looking forward to getting back to normal though. A regular schedule and a sense of continuity will be nice. I enjoy time off but too much time off is too much like work. I think I'll do some laundry tomorrow. I have to keep grounded.

Fighting Words

2007-12-03T22:10:00.000-05:00

Wow. I'm sore. I'm wired. I'm on edge. I'm in need of something. Wish I knew what it was. I just got home from Aikido. The Sensei actually seemed to take pleasure in my pain today. He applied some nerve techniques to me and told me to 'expect some brusing.' Each time he did it I felt conflicted. I could feel anger rise within me. At the same time I felt something more akin to gratitude. I wanted to thank him for the lesson...even though it hurt. Part of me also wanted to fall back on 'don't be so hard on me...I'm a beginner...I'm a girl' etc. Neither of these would fly though. I happen to be a girl that can bench press some of the dudes in the class. I'm also beyond the 'beginner' phase in that I am now paired with those who are greener than me so that I can practice teaching them. I quite enjoyed the end of today's session. I was working on a new technique with my Senpai. He decided to make it hard for me and wanted me to work for the pin. I did and I got him good. Sometimes brute strength + attitude prevail.

I'm sick. There. I said it. I've been fighting it off. It's a chest cold that has now made me hoarse. I'll still go to work tomorrow but at least I'll admit to being under the weather. I should be there because the theatre's rigging is being inspected. It's my ship. I should be there whenever someone gives it the once over. I should be fine. I just had 3 ibuprofen and an ounce of scotch. One extra strength Neo Citran to go and I'll be ready for bed.

I've been doing some management style training at work. Some of it seems a bit wacky (what colour am I?) but there are parts that actually make sense. Is it strange that I am adding Aikido philosphy to it?
ie. instead of controlling one's team, one should create a sense of balance within the team and other such stuff. (really, the team would still be controlled and guided...just not so heavy handedly...use the energy of the team to get things done thereby using less energy oneself).

I really have to stay away from hard drugs. My obsessive nature would surely get me into trouble.

I Believe

2007-11-28T19:53:00.000-05:00

Another day another ... day. It wasn't a bad day at work. I trained a sound tech on lights. This fellow has been working for me for a couple of months. I think he has a lot of potential. Unlike some wanna be technicians he acts more than talks. All he needs is a bit more confidence and he'll be great.

I went out the other night after aikido. (pause now and take a deep breath of respect for the beloved aikido and senpai) As I was getting into my car a fellow asked me if I could give him a ride. He opened his coat to reveal a puppy. I was instantly conflicted. One shouldn't give rides to strangers. Especially dodgy looking fellows wearing bandanas with long hair in neighbourhoods known to be on the rough side. But, he had a puppy. And I don't like the feeling of being fearful. He also seemed earnest in that 'tough guy not so tough' way. He had a puppy. Nevertheless, I think I surprised both of us when I said 'sure, hop in.' It was snowing huge Christmas time flakes. The puppy was 8 weeks old. Could the scene be more Christmas spirity? He said that he wished he could do something for me in return. I told him to just pass it along. 'Like Karma' he said. 'Exactly,' I replied. He got the puppy from a man on the street. The man came up to him and asked 'Hey, do you want a puppy?' When he had said yes, the man gave him the puppy along with a bag of food. I dropped him and his puppy off at his door. The puppy's name was Maggie. His was Eddie. He was going to be working on a roof the next day. I told him to take care and remember to wear a harness. It was a brief encounter. I'm glad I was there to help and give a ride.

Last week, my girl had a birthday party to go to. The boy and I decided to catch the Santa Claus parade. We dropped the girl off at the bowling lanes and went for a slice of pizza. Then we went in search of Santa. Of course, we missed the parade. Traffic was horrible and by the time I found a place to park, the parade was over. We decided to go for a walk anyway. We crossed the canal on a culvert. We then crossed the road and made our way to the place where the parade was being dismantled. We got there just in time to see Santa come down from his sled. The boy ran over and when asked by the big man himself what he wanted for Christmas, the boy replied 'I would like a magic Christmas sleigh bell.' (for those not 'in the know' the boy was referring to the 'Polar Express.') Santa didn't quite 'get it' either and said 'ho ho ho...remember to add it to your list.' The boy and I kept walking and found a huge pile of snow -- scraping from the nearby hockey rink. I told the boy that Santa must have brought this snow from the North Pole. After a good snowball fight we went into an adjoining building. This building was hosting a huge toy sale. I told the boy that Santa must have brought along one of his warehouses.

When we finally got home it seemed that both children had had very good days. The girl had had a wonderful time bowling. The birthday girl's mother commented to me on how well behaved and polite my wee one was. When I complemented her about it in the car she said 'oh yes mommy. I was polite. I said excuse me after every burp.'

The magic of the day wasn't over yet. My brother came for a visit that night. He brought with him some boxes that he had had with him since the summer. Boxes that he was supposed to deliver to us from my dad and uncle & aunt. I finally got him to bring them over by bribing him with a chicken dinner. When I opened the first box, there lying on the top of some hand me down clothes, was a magic Christmas sleigh bell. The boy's eyes opened wide. He asked me in a hushed tone if I could hear it ring.

'Yes,' I said. 'I believe.'

A Picture May Be Worth 1000 Words But It Won't Make Up For Lost Time

2007-11-24T23:02:00.000-05:00

A wordy title but something I just had to get off my chest. My ex--let him from here on in be known as xman--isn't around much. He's busy. I don't mind for myself. I'm busy too. What with my job and being a single mom and all. When he does call it's beginning to feel more and more like an intrusion. Necessary because of his previous donation of sperm but still an intrusion. I wish I could understand where he's coming from but, as it has been explained to me by one of his friends no less, xman is currently existing in an alternative reality. He's living the dream. The dream in a non existant not real non place.

Yet he wants pictures of the kids. I won't begrudge him pictures. Once I can afford to get some developed I'll be sure to pass some along. These are pictures that I have taken. I've taken these pictures because I've been here. Here with the kids. Taking pictures of the kids. Along with caring for the kids, raising the kids, feeding the kids, holding the kids, talking with the kids, learning from the kids ... get the point?

I'm with the kids. During my most recent conversation with xman his response to my question 'when do you want to see the kids' was: 'I don't know. I have no idea. I'm very busy right now. With work. With trying to get my car fixed. I don't know.'

I guess I should purchase some more film.

Checks and Balances

2007-11-02T16:32:00.001-04:00

"I've been talking to some people who you call your friends,
and it seems to me there's a means to an end
They don't care anymore..."

Thank you P. Collins. Thank you Mr. O'C.

And so it goes. Tonight will be the first night that the wee ones will not be residing with me. The house will be empty. They are having a 'sleep over' at J's. I feel at odds. I want them to be with J. He has not spent a whole lot of time with them and that's not good -- for oh so many reasons. Reasons which, to any sane and functional human being are blatantly obvious so I won't go into detail. Those who can't think of any reasons are probably drinking from the same tap as ... well, why name names eh?

I also feel caged. Trapped. On edge. Ready at a moment's notice to jump up and fight. I dropped them off and drove away. I left them smiling. I'll pick them up tomorrow at 1pm. I miss them more than can be imagined. The word 'miss' isn't correct. It would be like having a leg removed and saying "I miss my leg." A part of me is away. I am not whole. People tell me I'll get used to this???? It's not that I fear for the wee ones in any way. I would not have dropped them off. I would not have driven away. They were smiling. They'll have a wonderful time. It will be a holiday. A holiday from reality to a certain extent. A holiday from real life. Much the same as is being had by ... but again, are names important?

I drove off to see a friend. I needed a shoulder. Like a homing pigeon I found someone who I needed to see. He understood. He understands what matters most. The wee ones. He understands that as much as I want to, I can't protect them from everything. That they will need to go through things and figure stuff out for themselves. He understands that I feel rage, and hurt, and sorrow, and fear. My Id is raw and visible.

I'm off balance. Out of whack.

I had an epiphany during my last Aikido class. I realized that it hasn't been control that I have been after. It's balance. When faced with new situations, one immediately attempts to regain a sense of balance. Although I know that balance will return to me I am scrambling right now. Clutching at air. At ideas. At words. At work. At anything that will bring me calm. Slow down my heart. Unclench my fists. Anything that will let me carry on. To carry on not as if nothing has happened. To carry on, instead, in spite of everything that is happening.

In Absentia

2007-10-28T09:55:00.000-04:00

Halloween is coming. The boy wants to be a transformer. Optimus Prime to be exact. I think the costume will be a success. Our combined imaginations are working in overdrive. A bit of cardboard, a bit of audio packing foam, poster paint, tinfoil and silver face paint should do the trick. The girl wants to be a butterfly. Good thing I have access to a costume cellar. I found some wings left over from a production of Midsummer's. Today we'll pick up some pumpkins.

I remember loving Halloween. I still do. Going out at night and seeing kids everywhere. The night always holds some magic. It's easy to believe that there are spirits joining in the festivities as we race up another strange driveway unsure of who resides on the other side of the door. I especially like trick or treating in this neighbourhood. The houses are beautiful and I love the chance to peek inside.

It's weird this year tho'. Although J never really was involved with our Halloween preparations or with the night itself, he was present. He was there. I'm not sure how his lack of presence will change things. It probably won't ... except for the fact that it's just one more event that he will be completely removed from. In absentia. The longer this separation goes on the more I am realizing how little my life is actually changing. Is this something I should have forseen? Expected? Was J's footprint really only imprinted on sand?

The Way I See It

2007-10-19T20:38:00.000-04:00

Well, the way I see it, if she doesn't matter to you, it really shouldn't matter to you how/when/in what context I bring her up. If anything I say about her bothers you, well, I guess she matters eh?

Not that it really matters either way. It's your own discomfort/guilt that is most telling.

Obsessively Compulsive

2007-10-04T12:31:00.000-04:00

Obsessions have been keeping me away. Not serious ones. Little ones. Obsessions that creep into my daily life and have prevented me from writing. President's Choice spinach dip is one. I couldn't get enough of it for a while. That and greek-styled pita bread. I'm over that one after having smelled it one day and being left with the faintest yet still detectable hint of nausea. I had, I fear, over indulged. Another obession? Making sure that there is a bountiful supply of fresh fruit in the house. It is fall harvest time and I am trying to make the most of it. Keeping up with fall television programming is yet another endeavor. I love pretty much all that showcase has to offer. The rest is well...shit. Not all of it but, I think my addiction to the tele has also seen its day. The Bionic Woman is a remake of La Femme Nikita but more 'techno.' Boston Legal has forgotten why it worked in the first place -- that the characters had some depth. The rest is dreck. I'll watch it. But its dreck.

I am grooving off of Aikido. It's starting to make sense. The instructor's approach to teaching works for me. Bits and pieces of a whole are offered up each week. I come home after practicing a new technique a hundred times or so. I'm a bit battered and bruised in that 'oh so good I used and abused my body and could take it' way. Slowly the different techniques are beginning to make sense as parts of a greater whole. The teaching approach is spherical rather than linear. Plural rather than singular. Repetition appeals to me right now. I'm beginning to know and experience my body in new ways. I actually feel more connected than I have ever been. Strange.

Little tasks make up my work day. Daily chores make up my home life. Things are getting done. Life is continuing.

When I Was Seventeen . . .

2007-09-15T19:02:00.000-04:00

. . . it was a very good year.

Well, that's how the song goes anyway. Although I think back to my teenaged years with some fondness, I am quite happy to be where I am. My kids are brilliant. I know who I am. Life, for the most part, is fantastic.

My neighbour's son is 17. He has his graduated license and the pride in his being when he pulls the car around to pick up his parents is very evident. He's a good kid and looking forward to university. His grown up life is in its infancy. My ex's new 'best friend' is also seventeen. I had the privilege of seeing them together today as I was walking down the street with the wee ones. The kids were happy to see daddy. He was 'at work' using his ears (listening to a band that was inside while he sat outside) and, by the look of things his drinking arm was getting a good work out too. The 'best friend' avoided eye contact. Something to hide sweetie? (when I say sweetie I really mean 'stupid kid' in case any of you were wondering). The connection between the two of them is beyond me. Really, I find it to be a bit icky but, to each their own I guess. It's all too normal. Man has mid life crisis and leaves home, wife and kids in order to hang out with sweet young thing who is just beginning to get her sea legs when it comes to relationships and has no idea what real responsibilities entail which suits man just fine cuz he wants to hide away from his own. Where's the originality?

38 Might Not Be My Year

2007-09-05T19:59:00.001-04:00

Ok. So I spent my 38th birthday at a funeral for the father of a dear friend. The month that followed was a blur of me being stupid busy, J being stupid busy and neither of us being able to communicate without snapping at each other. You all know where that led. J left me after letting me know that he was no longer in love with me and hadn't been for a while. Must have been a relief for him to jump out of that particular emotional closet. Well now, as I type, I am reminiscing about my day. For the first time in my life, I walked a picket line. Yup. The union that I'm a part of is on strike and it looks like this might take a while. So now as I walk for 4 hours everyday--back and forth across the same stretch of road, occasionally switching direction to relieve the monotony--I wonder...what else will there be? Its not that I'm trying in any way to tempt fate or anger higher beings. Its just that as I'm walking this particular street corner--and my strike pay is far less then your average hooker I'd imagine--I am beginning to take this personally. I count my blessings, and I have many to count: beautiful and healthy children, pretty good personal health, an unextinguished sense of humour (bizarre as it might be) ... but, blessings aside. Can I say without courting further personal chaos that the past few months have frankly sucked? I'm sure that things could get worse so I won't even ask. I'm hoping that they will get better. At least I didn't get a parking ticket today having had to park off campus in a 2 hour lot. At least there was coffee made available. At least my shift allows me the time to drop off and pick up my children from school. At least I seem to be able to count on the very least. At least.

Choices

2007-09-01T20:30:00.000-04:00

It's not that I'm complaining or anything but... After I put the kids to bed and settle down for the evening the choices of reading or television or cleaning or other chores and tasks that I haven't gotten to yet for whatever reason ... Well, these choices are starting to feel like I'm just putting in time. I begin to wonder and explore within myself why I am doing anything at all. I sit and stare into space and contemplate lonliness. My lonliness. I can't call anyone cuz what is there to say really? 'Hello, can you come over...I'm lonely.' Unfortunately, I really don't have people around me who are even close to being in the same boat. They have their own lives to live. I hear the kids giggling upstairs and I do my requisite 'get to bed you bums' but even as the words escape my lips I wonder if they will be the last words I utter out loud for the day. It's not that I had a lot of conversations with J. Especially during this past year. It's just that at least there was another big person around. Someone to share this space. Someone who I thought cared. To find out that he didn't...that he was probably just putting in time with me, well...
So I sit. And I think. And I feel. And I hope for a chance at more human contact tomorrow. And I count my blessings. And I breathe deeply until the rising panic subsides. I'll be ok. I can do this. What choice do I have?

Small Offensive Victories

2007-08-30T19:14:00.000-04:00

I finally did it. It's a small thing really. But huge. Really huge. Last night I rolled over and slept in the middle of the bed. Yup. No longer hugging the side I ventured out into the vast emptiness beside me...and it was good. Sooooo good. I woke up refreshed. Nothing ached. The bed no longer feels empty. It's just the right size for me and the occasional night time visit from a wee one and the cats, of course. I'm looking forward to bed as I write this. I can hardly wait for when I get around to switching over to flannel sheets...the sign that winter is approaching.

I fixed a drip in my bathtub. I'm not a wuss when it comes to home repair but plumbing has never been something I've dabbled in. Well, I figured out how to turn off the water and I opened the sucker up. All it needed was a washer replacement and voila! One other thing I can handle on my own thank you very much.

Today the kids had a dental appointment and S had an eye doctor appointment. We went out for lunch and did some school supply shopping as well. All in all a good and full day.

I'm very disappointed with the Canadian War Museum's decision to change its panal display describing the controversy surrounding the bombing campaign of the allied forces in Germany during World War II. Sigh. I guess historical facts don't matter as much as not offending folks.

Speaking of being non offensive, the ubiquitous 'support our troops' propaganda is getting to be a bit much. Seriously. I can't really think that there is anyone who does not 'support' the men and women who are risking their lives in our country's name. But. The question arises (well, it doesn't arise which is part of the problem) that the mode/method for this 'support' is never defined. What does 'support our troops' actually mean? Its hard to argue against such an innocuous statement but its also hard to stomach when one gets the feeling that this statement is both meaningless and chock full of meaning for those 'in the know.' The similarities to the 'choose life' campaign are great. Who wouldn't 'choose life'? Except...whose life. Under what circumstances...etc. etc. The biggest problem with pat sayings and social mantras is that one cannot dissect them and examine them and tease out from them meanings not readily apparent on the surface. To do that is to admit that one does not accept what is being said. One might, oh the horror, possibly cause offense. And to not accept it means that one is against it. If you're not with us, you're against us. And if you are one of 'them' and not one of 'us' you may as well take the train out of Dodge.

What a scary world to live in. And to think, we're the lucky ones who live in a democracy.

Click

2007-08-23T21:52:00.000-04:00

It happened last Sunday. It was quick. Almost immediate. I stopped hurting. I don't know if it was something he said. Or did. Or was it me? I just stopped. A switch inside me clicked off. I haven't really trusted this new feeling. This feeling of peace. Of possibility. I saw my therapist. Funny how quickly I've taken ownership this being our second solo session. She said that what I was experiencing was not unheard of. She described it in terms of my having closed a door to my heart. According to her, the worst is now over. That's a blessing. I would not want to revisit these past few weeks. Brutal. Raw. I told her that I felt a bit guilty that my suffering didn't seem to match what I had lost. She explained that I had probably been grieving for quite a while but not really acknowledging my feelings as grief. Interesting. So now I'm moving forward. Getting things done. Trying not to be too impatient. I'm not in any hurry. There's time. My days are full. A routine is becoming established. I'm feeling stronger then I have felt in a long time.
'A' lost two teeth today so I get to meet the tooth fairy. I think I've solved my childcare dilemma. I'm looking forward to getting a bit of canning done on the weekend. I'm thinking of mixing peaches and pears. I'm coming back.

Title less

2007-08-16T07:38:00.000-04:00

Saw some friends in unexpected places yesterday. Well timed. My baby sitter cancelled for today so I had her come in last night. Yes. I actually got out!! Here's my chinese horoscope for today:

August 16, 2007Small financial problems will disturb you and compel you to postpone your wild desires for spendings. Your religious and philosophical convictions will suddenly be strongly shaken; doubt will settle down in your mind; you'll be seized by a kind of metaphysical anguish which may last for some time. Perturbations in your affective life. You'll feel an almost pathological fear of losing the object of your love; this fear will give rise to crises of jealousy which will irritate your mate very much.

Interesting eh?

Now off to work and on my spare moments make more plans for Summer Party 2007!

And So It Begins

2007-08-14T15:09:00.000-04:00

I got the phone bill today from my work cell. All my loving conversations with J while I was in Chicago. Only $150.

I received a message from J's mom that she is busy this week and can't babysit. She wishes me luck in finding one. I wanted the opportunity to actually go out with a friend of mine who is in town from Hong Kong.

You know. For all those nights when J went out and assumed I'd stay in. For all those times when I told J that I never understood how he couldn't 'get it' that even when he felt caged he had 100% more freedom to do what he wanted when he wanted to do it then I did. For all those times when he said 'hell, why should I come home when you'd be asleep anyway' not bothering to think that it might be nice to be woken up in order to reconnect. For all those times when J assumed that I'd take care of any possible crises on my own and through his absence he'd force me to shoulder the responsibilities. For all those mornings when I'd be the one waking up to take care of the kids cuz J was tired from the night before. For that time in our past when J was insecure about me and calling all the time and my reaction was to do my best to never ever put him through that again because I knew from personal experience how hard that was to take. For being called a cunt and a bitch and me excusing it because I 'knew' he didn't really mean it.

For all those times.

I'm beginning to feel a wee bit pissed off.

Time

2007-08-13T15:51:00.000-04:00

When did I become that person? When did it become ok to make me wait? I'm not talking about time to heal or time to sort things out. I'm not even talking about things that 'happen' such as meeting so and so and losing track of time at the pub. I'm talking about waiting in a real sense. I'm talking about having to wait because someone else is late. And the real reason for their being late is that I have become a person, to them, not worthy of having my time respected. Even now, I do my damnedest to be where I've told people I will be. When someone tells me that they have told so and so that they would meet them at a specific time I will have to say 'go' even though my needs may not yet have been met. I do my best to respect other people and their time. When did I let this slide for me? When did I begin to accept that perhaps my time wasn't as valuable as theirs? Perhaps I should join a growing majority and say fuck it. My time is my own and if you choose not to show up, I'm outta here. But I'm not like that. And I can't just pick up and go. I need to depend on a babysitter...who may or may not show up on time. I think, however, that my time does deserve to be respected. And if you want me in your life, you'll need to show up at the right time.

Strange

2007-08-11T10:54:00.000-04:00

Strange. I feel that I have been plucked out from the world I once new and have been placed in a maze. A maze with sharp corners and the occasional tender caress. A maze that is not only confusing and infuriating but strangely exciting as well. J is leaving for 2 months. I will be alone. But I have been alone. So what really will change? I want him to know how much the kids will miss him. I will miss him. But I have to stop trying to get him to be responsible. That has to come from himself.

Its Not a Poem

2007-08-08T19:35:00.000-04:00

I miss you
More than I thought I would
And missing you feels different
More different than expected
My days haven't changed much
I carry on
I do what I do
But I'm conscious of an emptiness
A hole inside of me
I imagine that its dark
And moist
And hollow
The damp warmth is created out from unshed tears
Choked back
Swallowed
An attempt to fill the hole
Left behind when you left.

My Chinese Horoscope today -- Earth Rooster

2007-08-08T08:37:00.000-04:00

August 8, 2007You must take energetic measures to stop a drain which may seriously unbalance your budget. There'll be risks of brutal rupture in many couples, be they under formation or already solidly formed; to prevent such an event, try to be understanding and tolerant. Your professional activities will seem to you outrageously routine, and you'll be seized by a strong desire to slam the door; try however to moderate your anger, for its consequences might be much more negative than they appear.

Damn! But ain't it accurate eh?

The Past Lives On

2007-08-07T22:07:00.000-04:00

Today was remarkably normal. Got up. Got the kids ready. Went back to work. Caught up on stuff. Broke down only once. Actually went home at one point. I needed some papers that were in my briefcase. Papers from my Chicago trip. Going through that hurt. And then I recovered. I went to the councillor. Seems I'm actually doin' ok. Will not be going next week. Will see how it goes the week after. Got some advice. Was told that I was functioning very well. Surprisingly well. Came home. Played. Walked the neighbour's dog (am pseudo dog sitting). Made dinner. Leftovers. Ready to do it all again tomorrow. Got some new baby pictures from one of my staff. Wish I could be in that mindframe. My dad reminded me of my great aunt -- Ita. She was one of 3 from the village that my dad grew up in who returned from a Siberian labour camp. One of those that returned went mad and was put in an asylum. Another returned as a corpse. I met Ita when I was 10. I went to Finland and remember hugging her. She was strong. I also remember that she had my picture on her wall. My dad said that he saw a lot of her in me. Just the right thing to say at the right time. My dad is pretty special. So am I.

Traffic

2007-08-05T23:31:00.000-04:00

I'm really starting to get the hang of these solo/solo with kids road trips. Went to Montreal yesterday and spent the night. Had one highway breakdown. No no...the car was fine. I just felt like I had been kicked in the stomach again and started to cry. No danger. I was in stop and start construction traffic.

Montreal was good. Cathartic. Allowed me a bit of mental space? It didn't stop me from calling him tho' ... fuck I wish I could stop. I have to stop. Just stop. Stop. And then move. On. Slowly.

I got back with the kids this afternoon and my dad showed up an hour later with his girlfriend and a 40 oz of scotch.

They just went up to bed. I'm tired. Should sleep well. My neck has been really hurting again.

I was wondering if this could be something to hope for. Although people around me are telling me to beware of the possibility that J might want to come back if he finds it too hard 'out there' I'm hoping for a different scenerio. You see, I want J to succeed. Climb the mountains he needs to climb. Get ahead. Get confident. Then come back and ask me if I would like to join him. Equally. In strength. I know I shouldn't even be caring anymore. But I do. I won't sit around pining. There really is too much to do. But, I will allow myself a little guilt free caring. After 10 years I should be allowed to still care. Wow...this is jumbled. I'm head spinning and foot numb tired.

Maybe I should be taking the here and now as one giant stop for construction. A pain in the arse for sure but, the roads will all be smoother when it's done.

G'nite

Paying the Piper

2007-08-04T08:21:00.000-04:00

When I was in highschool, I had a part time job in a theatre. I had this so I could cover my personal spending. I hated asking my folks for money.

In university, I held down 5 part time jobs, had a full course load and held down an 'A' average.

I have always worked. I have always believed that you get what you put in. Although times were at times tight, I got through it.

Now, I find myself in the position of having to be dependent to a certain extent on a person who does not necessarily share my views on this matter.

When I got married, I got my first full time job. While working at the job, I continued working on my master's degree, I kept the house in order (ie. clean), did my best to keep up with laundry and did my best to find time to go out with 'J.'

Kids came and when I went back to work after 7 months, J stayed home. His choice. He wanted the kids to know their daddy. But, while he was at home and I was at work, I was the one who still did the majority of the housework, while keeping our family finances in order. This was made tougher because I was not only making up for his not working but making up for the months preceding where I was on parental leave -- only 55% of my salary -- and J wasn't bringing in a lot then either. He stayed home for a year and a half and the kids then went to daycare. He took a construction job that lasted for approx. 4 months. It wasn't a great job. He had to commute long distances. He was tired. I understood when he left that job. It wasn't the first time he left a job that no longer made him feel good.

I'm sensing a theme. When the councillor asked him why he didn't want to come home at night, ie. what would happen to him, he replied 'I would be made to not feel good about myself.'
Hmmmmm.

So it's not just me. Certain jobs made him feel this way too. Perhaps its the very notion of responsibility. Being responsible. But he was a husband and father. Two titles that for all intensive purposes basically mean 'being responsible.'

When my dad got married, he was offered several part time contracts as a carpenter and builder. He turned them down even though he loved doing that work and the money was good. He looked and found a full time job with a steady paycheque.
He said that it was his responsibility to look after the family. My mother cleaned houses and law offices. She even cleaned our guitar teacher's house in exchange for lessons. Our garden fed us veggies that lasted through the winter and spring. Although my parents eventually separated when I was in highschool, my memories of growing up are good. Solid. We worked together as a family. My dad said that occasionally after work he'd stop and have a beer but, he was always home within an hour. He and my mom went dancing every weekend.

J has always gotten upset when he is faced with not getting what he wants. While I was doing my damnedest to make sure our bills were paid and we had a bit left over for savings, he insisted on keeping a chunk for himself. My salary has been larger and I have therefore been paying the larger percentage of the bills. I did not mind that because as a married couple and family I believed that we had a common pot and were working together towards the same goal. I didn't believe I was 'owed' anymore.

J told me he believed he deserved more. He deserved to be able to go out with this friends/work colleagues. He deserved to be able to spend 'his' money on climbing gear.

Our marriage died, because he wasn't getting what he deserved and I didn't make him feel good about himself.

Hunh.

I showed him the figures yesterday of what I've been paying and what his share would be if we had an even close to being equal financial relationship. I showed him where, all things being equal, we were short every month and when we had a surplus, it was because I cut out things from my life. The figure floored him. He mentioned that he would have to work 32 hours a week to pay it and keep enough for himself. Well yes. It's almost like having a full time job.

I'm angry. I feel like I have worked my arse off for this family unit. I have done what I can financially. I have done what I can physically. I have done what I can emotionally.
And maybe I'd be less angry if I had felt that he had been really and honestly helping. Helping keeping costs down (ok, whenever I mentioned something the family could do he'd question whether or not we could afford it but if it came to going out with the boyz the money somehow was there eh?), helping with the housework (really it was like pulling teeth to get help and I would be made to feel bad and guilty just for asking), just plain ol' helping. Not making me feel like a jailer. The no fun zone queen.

Now I wonder if I should find a night shift job. Other single mom's do it. I can't bring myself to leaving the kids at home alone though. J mentioned, I'm sure in partial jest?, that welfare might be good for me because then I could spend my time writing.

I know that J will do what he can to support his kids. I'm not sure if his version of doing what he can will mean sacrificing his own wants. He admitted to me before time and time again that he came first. He was selfish. He was self absorbed.

I thought that we would both be able to work hard while enjoying our family. I thought we would be able to look back at the years spent together and one day be able to say 'hey, it was tough going for a while but we made it -- together.'

He wanted me to love him and accept him as he was and I did. I do. But I also wanted him to act and be grown up. To take responsibilty. Not only because it was the right thing to do. But because it was something he could take pride in. To actually make him feel better about himself.

But Tina Turner Had it Way Rougher

2007-08-03T17:19:00.000-04:00

Well. Here I am. Single.
Hunh
Funny really.
I was doing the same things (pretty much) today as I usually do.
The ground didn't swallow me up.
I only felt a little like people could see my new and raw vulnerability. That I was a damaged good returned to vendor. Now placed on the discount shelf gathering dust.
How maudlin.
Took the kids to a beach today. There's a beach just down the road from where we live. A real beach. With sand. And lifeguards. And beautiful water (I'll assume it was tested and its bacteria count was low). Kids had fun. I had fun. I had wanted to go to this beach for the past couple years. I had always planned to go with J and the kids. Now that its just me...well...
I collected some of J's things today. I lost it for a bit when I found old valentine cards from J...all homemade. I have a few (at least) moments like these in my future I'm afraid.
Funny, looking back, that it was all a lie. I was living in a traditional loveless marriage. But that's not true either. There was love. There still is love.
I don't know what to do with his things. A big part of me wants to leave them where they are. They belong. They fit. Another part wants to just move on. Get it done. But...what's done? Why not just take some time to reflect? Do I have to make any decisions yet? Is it ok to wait?
I'll be seeing J tonight. He's looking forward to seeing the kids. I no longer have any allusions that he might want to be seeing me as well. I am, however, part of the package. We will be discussing stuff. The type of stuff that newly parted couples have to discuss. Kids. Finances. Things. Frankly, I'm not into any more drama. I cried enough in front of him. Sure there's the benefit that it makes him feel uncomfortable but geeesh. Enough already. My biggest challenge will be to not be too concerned over his welfare. Wondering how he'll get on. He's a big boy I know but ... why does it have to be messy? Why am I so confused still?
How does one turn off intimacy?

Council

2007-08-02T22:08:00.000-04:00

Him: I don't love her anymore. did you ever? I have hated to come home for the past three years. and I liked being stuck at home? She is a control freak. are you ok with this hon? yes I am, you replied. She was suffocating me. was obviously using the wrong pillow. I didn't want to go out with her because I didn't like spending time with her. cuz I didn't act like a dude. Don't get me wrong...she's an amazing woman and great mother. ok...I agree with you here. I also give amazing head. The women in her family are crazy. check out the men they were with I don't usually drink that much. HA!!!!! She wouldn't let me alone. yup...always wanting more than 5 min. of attention per day. She kept control of all the finances. ummmm dude...do you blame me? Really? I tried to get him involved but ... It's all my fault though. i guess it could have been the water You see, I have been lying to her off and on for over 8 years. really? No wonder she didn't ever trust me completely. I never really wanted her to. ya I know he didn't say these things but really, he may as well have. I wouldn't talk to her about how I really felt. cuz that would be a grown up response. I had a brief affair during the summer I was on tour. I thought we had split up. When I visited Ottawa again, I realized we hadn't. ok...I thought that it was a one night stand and you realized you were wrong when you got to your flat and heard my message that night. I know there's a lie...once again, not sure where. I'm here to make sure she's okay. so he won't feel so guilty? I want to be her friend. really? what's changed. he hasn't really acted like a friend up to now. I love my job. this week My sister and I are getting closer. wasn't he ready to disown her last week? I miss the kids. this, I feel is true. I'm sorry. as am I

Me: Wahhhhhhhhhhhahhahahhhahhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa sniffle...snort...shake...occassional verbage

Post Session? Zee life...it does go on
And on
And on
and on

Happy Anniversary

2007-08-01T07:57:00.000-04:00

Today is our wedding anniversary. Number 8. Gifts include pottery or bronze. Tomorrow is the first councilling session. I don't know what I am. I'm not single. I'm not married. I'm in a limbo land somewhere in between. I really do not have the words available to me to describe how much I miss him. Just knowing that he is there. His armpit. His crinkles. I ache. He didn't call yesterday. So be it. I have to let him be. Just be. I hope he's not focusing only on the bad. It makes it easier to leave if one does though. I've been trying to remember the good times. The best times. Last night I tried to come up with a list of my 5 best memories. In honour of us. Our life together so far.

1) After giving birth to our wonderful children, I woke up in the middle of the night to find him asleep beside me on the cot provided by the hospital. He looked exhausted but, funny enough, he looked content. We had both just been through a huge ordeal. We had succeeded together. Knowing that more ordeals were in our future. It was one of those moments that I felt we could get through anything.

2) One day he got it in his head to buy us a tent. A tent and a football. If ordered on line -- I think?-- a bonus fuzzy Canada flag hat came too. I was leary. Did we need a tent? A football? A fuzzy hat? The goods arrived. That night, he sat on the couch. Defending his decision. Defending his position. The football cradled in his arm. The hat on his head. It was beautiful.

3) Sometimes, when he kissed me, his hair would fall in a particular way taking my breath away. My god, I thought, and he loves ME.

4) One day, lying in the office of our old apartment, he was playing a computer game and I was lonely. I began whining in a squeaky voice: 'Gimme some lovin' ... Gimme some lovin' ... Listen to the ring of pow er' He finally broke up laughing and ran to me.

5) Although with work schedules and children it's been increasingly difficult to carve out time for each other (one of the biggest problems our relationship has I think) I remember one of those perfect days just before Christmas last year. We drove to Manotick and puttered through shops. He bought me a metal flower that stands in a rock. Watching him carry that rock and flower made me glow. We stopped at a cafe located in the middle of a parking lot and shared in some of the best pecan pie we had ever tasted. I was indescribably happy. We were together.

There are more good memories. Many more. There are also some bad ones but I don't want to dwell on those. Not today of all days. I love him.

Happy Anniversary J.

A Thing I Know

2007-07-30T21:15:00.000-04:00

Things I know:

When I told J about not appreciating reading the message from a her he removed the possibility of that happening by removing the automatic log in on the computer. This only removes the possibility of me stumbling across more communications from her. The communication will continue. This I know.

Vomit

2007-07-30T07:16:00.000-04:00

I'm up. It's early. 'J' came and went. Used the shower, changed his undies (left them in the laundry hamper?) and took off to work. Doesn't think he'll be 'back.' Not for a while. He hugged the kids in their sleep. He's kidding himself if he thinks that's anywhere near to being enough. Kids are missing him. But are being strong. 'A' didn't scream 'I want my daddy' for 2 hours last night like he did the night before. He actually came up to me yesterday afternoon and asked if I was sad about daddy. I said yes. He took my cheeks in my hands and said 'Please mommy, can you forget about him for awhile? Let's play!' Best advice I had heard all day. 'S' is desperate to have a happy outlook. She's strong but I see it whirling around her on the inside. If 'J' does come back he'll have a lot of repair work to do. Yesterday, 'A' spoke to 'J' briefly on the phone. After the call he said 'Blah Blah Blah. He was too quiet and I don't know what he said.' 'A' spoke to his Gramps on the phone and went on and on about their conversation. I have written out Gramps' phone # as well as 'J's' so that 'A' can call either any time. 'A' gave up on calling 'J' yesterday when he kept getting the message machine. 'A' is confused and angry. I told 'A' that his daddy was probably at work so couldn't answer the phone.

We went camping. 'J' came home on Wednesday morning after climbing on Tuesday afternoon and getting too stoned to come home that night. Although he was tired and crusty we had promised the kids a camping trip and after only 2 hours of prep work, we were on the road. We went to Achray in Algonquin. It was beautiful. 'J' was surly. 'J' was not happy to be there. On day 2 'J' was nic fitting and got mad at me when I mentioned that it might be a waste of gas to drive over an hour to the outpost to get cigarettes that I would have to pay for. I let him go. What choice did I have? Maybe he'd be more civil. Turns out it worked to an extent. Life at the camp ground became almost happy. The kids had fun. The kids and I went to the beach about 3 or 4 times per day. They loved it. 'A' no longer has any fear putting his face under water...he actually opened his eyes! He was also working hard at swimming by himself. J went on a solo hike. He had a nap in the tent. He came swimming twice. The food was good. I saw a golden eagle. I saw a fire fly. A chipmunk became our campsite friend. Mosquitos were fierce.

On the last night, J and I sat by the fire and talked. J told me that it did no good. He didn't love me. Was there anyone else I asked? What about her? What about her he said. There is no other her. Then he leaned over and kissed me. Not once but maybe twice or three times? Beautiful and soft. Tender and loving. I may be a fool but I know he still loves me. I need to hold on to that hope. I wonder about her though. It was May 28th when he first met up with her again. May 28th when I can, looking back, see a beginning slide to this point we are at now.
All in my head? My head is spinning. Maybe she was just a catalyst?

Driving home was ok...well, not really. S puked in car. Seems she get car sick just like I used to. I stopped for lunch a while later knowing she needed something in her belly. J snarked and snapped. I ran over a median. I blew a tire. J yelled and fumed. I tried to get J to call CAA but he wouldn't. He finally tossed the phone to me (I remember thinking that the reason he didn't want to use the phone was because the battery was low and he didn't want to miss out on more important calls) I took the kids and ran across the highway to a body shop and got some help. A wonderful man came over and helped. J hugged me then and apologized. We went in for lunch. Very good lunch. Drove home in the rain taking back roads. Roads we used to take when we would just go driving for fun.

When we got home, J cleaned the cat box and the kids and I emptied the car. I started the laundry. J went to a work site to get his tools. When he got back he leaned into the kitchen and said he'd be back. I carried on cleaning up after camping and finishing the laundry. I made dinner. J didn't come back until late last night (I heard him come in). He woke up early to shower and hugged the kids and left.

I have a pretty bad cold. My chest hurts and I cough a lot. I have a yeast infection. Wow. Seems that when my defenses are down they really plunge eh? I'm tired and wired. I'm in fight mode but, I don't know which way to turn. I feel that I am on my last legs here.

Maybe I'll be able to grap a quick snooze before the kids get up and we continue doing what we are doing. One day, I guess, it will become clear as to what this is.

Two minute break to wallow while the kidlings eat lunch and then back to being mommy

2007-07-24T13:33:00.000-04:00

If I breathe in deeply, my chest begins to hurt. Shallow breaths make me light headed. Calm is impossible to achieve. I work at making this summer a good one for the wee ones. They are keeping me sane. They are keeping me from running. J wants to see a councillor. Yes. I agree. But. But. But. He has gone to work. Not called a councillor. And he has planned to go climbing. Again. No phone call. No council sought good or otherwise. We are going camping. As a family. A loosely phrased word but the kids are really looking forward to it. They know what's going on. 'A' is acting out. 'S' is withdrawing. I'm trying to keep it together. I have realized that I have been the one trying to keep things together for the past few years. I have been working. Alone. What will happen if I finally just let go? Give up? Throw in the proverbial towel as it were -- after, of course, I wash it and fold it and put it away. J told me once and many times that he would fight for me...for us. Really? I think about Othello, who 'threw a pearl away richer than all his tribe...'
I turn on the computer in the morning and find a post not yet read for J from a her. A her who wrote it late in the night wishing J a good morning and a good day at work. A her who, like it or not, is involved because this her is wishing J good mornings from afar and late at night. A time when J and I were lying together and not together. A her who knew that J was working today. And maybe J doesn't want to tell me about the contact because he wants to protect me. Maybe there isn't anything going on. But it still shows an intimacy that exists between J and a her. A her not me. And even though it was inadvertant--I just logged in not thinking of names...and this message from her popped up...this message benign and innocuous on the surface...this message wishing J a good morning and a good day at work--even though it was inadvertant I felt like the intruder. The voyeur. The one who didn't belong. The outsider. Just another cast off pearl.

A New Day

2007-07-16T15:45:00.000-04:00

And just like that the clouds begin to part and beams of sun break through and the ground I'm standing on is solid and warm. I'm off for a small road trip with the kids. It'll be good. I'm looking forward to it. I'm not scared anymore -- well, not too scared...not as scared. J and I are talking. And holding. And accepting. And smiling. And loving.

Thanks for listening.

And so it goes

2007-07-15T16:48:00.001-04:00

Yesterday we went for a drive as a family. Laughed. Giggled. Played. Went to the chocolate factory. All in all a great day. Except. Now there are exceptions. Big 'buts' (and I cannot lie). Territory has been marked out. Demarcations in the soil. Or is it sand? Home is no longer safe. Things can become uprooted within a moment's notice. Where I used to think that all would be fine and I could trust in tomorrow, I now have doubt. It's not insecurity. It's more like being unsecured. Unmoored. Ready to drift away... I am feeling, at present, a bit like a ghost. Only partially present. I'm doing my darnedest to see him. Does he see me? Is he trying like I am or is he putting in time. He said that he's come to the conclusion that I don't want him and that I would be happier with someone else. He said that he is ok with that as long as I am happy. I think that he should stop thinking and feeling for me and that he should give me a bit of credit. That is, if I wanted someone else, I'd go out and get someone else. When we first met, although we moved in together quickly and outwardly at least we looked like a couple, I really had no idea if he wanted me as a friend or something more. He was good at sending mixed signals. I feel like I've gone back in time. Not knowing. And now its worse because I can't trust myself. The day before yesterday I trusted my feelings. I knew my own heart. If everything around me, however, is in limbo and I find myself beginning to float, what can I really trust?

Shattered

2007-07-14T08:27:00.000-04:00

Today is the first day of my summer vacation. It is the last chance as I can see it for the entire family to spend any vacation time together for awhile. The kids are in Grade One next year and daycare is done for them so, in theory, J and I would have to stagger our time offs to extend throughout the summer. This year, I've taken the kids out of daycare for the next three weeks so we can have a 'summer to remember.' It's not starting well. I have hope but it's pretty bleak. I don't know what to do. My family, my immediate family, is tearing apart. Falling apart works too. It's like I'm falling and tearing at the same time. Tearing and tearing cuz my eyes are flooded as well. I think back to last week. Was it last week? When J and I talked about camping. Going away for a weekend here and there. Perhaps renting a canoe. Saving up $$ by not going to PEI or elsewhere. $$ for a house. a new car for J. $$ for future trips abroad. We also discussed getting away together. Somewhere for just the two of us. A weekend. Even a night. I wish I could go back. Or forward enough to skip what I'm feeling now. Unravelled. Raw. So this is what a breaking heart feels like ...

Dialogue

2007-06-05T15:45:00.000-04:00

Client: I would like to see c 27

Me: see c 27?

Client: That is correct.

Me: What is 'c'?

Client: 'C' stands for 'Cue'

Me: Could you say 'Q' instead?

Client: Fine. I would like to see c cue 27.

Me: ok. Here you go.

Client: What is this?

Me: Cue 27

Client: There are no lights.

Me: Cue 27 is a black out

Client: No it isn't.

Me: Yes it is.

Client: Where are the lights?

Me: Which lights do you want?

Client: Cue 27

Me: There are no lights in Cue 27.

Client: No lights?

Me: No lights. Do you want lights?

Client: I want c cue 27.

Me: This is what has been recorded for cue 27. We can change it if you want.

Client: No. Show me c cue 26.

Me: Here you go.

Client: This is what I want.

Me: ok

Client: In c cue 27.

Me: So I'll record cue 26 as cue 27.

Client: No. I want c cue 27 to be different.

Me: In what way?

Client: Darker

Me: How dark?

Client: Black

Me: So you want a black out?

Client: No. I don't want any lights.

Me: (going back to original cue 27) Like this?

Client: Perfect.

Home and Work

2007-06-04T09:25:00.000-04:00

This morning, my son made breakfast for himself and his sister and also fed the cats before I made it downstairs. His self sufficiency amazes me. I love my kids. They are cool people. The other day, my son asked if I would like to sit with him, drink cappucino and just chat. Watching them each day as they navigate new social and physical challenges is awe inspiring. So much to learn. So much to do. And all of this is taken in stride albeit with the occasional, and very understandable, meltdown.

I had a rather grumpy weekend workwise. I feel myself becoming more crotchety and not able to suffer fools as easily in the past. I've found myself saying things like 'really that's not my problem that you lost a piece of your set' and 'no, I really don't care if your design included hanging lumber over cardboard supports, it's not going up on this stage' and 'dude (yup...I've taken to saying 'dude' way too much) I'm sorry that you didn't have enough time to program your cues but you had 8 hours and we're letting the audience in now so you're done.' (number of cues -- 53. number or cue repeats? -- 20)

Sometimes I feel my life being leached out from me and I'm left with a bitter, shrivelled lump of my former self.

All is better, however, when I get home! The kids keep me sane. J is awesome. He has quit smoking again -- heeding our daughter's advice to pretend that he never smoked in the first place. So far it's working.

The garden is growing well. Beans, cucumbers, carrots, beets, tomatoes, spinach and peppers. As well, we have a wack of herbs on the go. We have a gas barbecue and a freezer full of meat and we're set and ready for summer.