I Quit

I quit blogging.
You may have noticed.

I quit because I felt I had nothing more to say.
No witty dialogue on life's foibles; no great accomplishments or inspiring life lessons learned to be shared and pondered in wonderment.

Nothing.

I quit because I was ashamed that nothing felt worth talking about, that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't muster up any commentary that I felt was remotely interesting.  I bored even myself.  And then my world as I knew it shattered and I could not see outside of the dark hole I fell in, nor did I want to.  I could not bare to keep up the illusion of calm on a sea that was drowning me in its whirlpools.  There was no consolation... no 'happy place' to go and I knew that if I started to write it all down, if I opened those floodgates and purged all inside, I may never stop and then what would you see?  A broken, bitter shell of negativity and despair.

And I couldn't do it.  I couldn't to it because regardless of what I was going through, or how useless I felt, I had just enough ego left in me to not want that to show.  I feared, as I have always feared, how I would be perceived. Will people still like me?... will I still have any friends?... will my family disown me?... will I be a disgrace?  Will I be of any value and worthy of love?  Somehow, it was just easier to hide away and lick my wounds.  And that worked... for awhile.

The reality is there really is no escape (outside of death) to the sometimes cold, hard realities of life.  There are those people who never seem to struggle, but that is not the path God has chosen for me.  I keep wondering 'why', constantly searching for a reason behind it all, always worried I've missed my point in life, grieving all those missed opportunities and replaying the 'what if' scenarios stockpiled in my brain.  Somehow, I've never felt good enough just being me.

My parents encouraged me to be a secretary when I was young. Nothing more. I always felt rather insulted by that (nothing against secretaries!), because I really wanted them to believe I could be more... do more with my life.

I've been told I'm over-sensitive, over-dramatic and hyper-critical. Yup; they're probably right.

Now, I'm just tired. 
Of everything.

Dark

I cannot cry
nor can I write
for the light has gone as I fade to black

I must have fallen,
tripped, head first into the hole
that I've seen before
so often, but why?
ah, my eyes are cloudy
dirt dusting them boldly.

I understand the truth
in hesitation
you cannot avoid
what is never seen.

Babies in a barrel

I haven't been vocal for awhile, but I recently read an article and ensuing comments that made me want to punch a wall... twice.   It was a horrifying news report about a Russian fisherman who came across a number of barrels ditched in the woods.  Upon inspection, they were found to contain human fetuses... 248 of them, all tagged with names and dates; the bio-waste from a hospital in Ekaterinberg.   (http://thestir.cafemom.com/in_the_news/140852/248_human_fetuses_discovered_by) As you can imagine, this gruesome discovery caused a firestorm of vitriol from readers around the world. '...how could this happen?', '...those poor babies', '...they deserve more respect', '...that would never happen in America', etc.  All of a sudden the topic was veered off into the various respectful ways that hospitals in America honored these lives with birth certificates and burials. I was pretty much in agreement with most of the commentary until I reached one that chose not to attack the perpetrators of the crime, but rather to lash out at someone who chose to refer to the fetuses as 'babies', calling her out for being a pro-life extremist who needs to 'wake up'.  The comment was so random and unexpected that I had to stop and ponder it for awhile.   It was then that my blood began to boil...

At that moment, I saw just how distorted our perception of life has become and what a blatant double standard our society has for it.  Let me explain:

Example A: A woman who wants a child miscarries in her 20th week of pregnancy . Her baby is issued a birth certificate and either takes the body for a private burial, or the hospital provides a burial in a special cemetery for that purpose.  The baby is considered a human and is given its due respect.

Example B: A woman who does not want a child goes for an abortion at 20 weeks.  The 'thing' is chopped up and sucked out of her body and down the drain of a bio-waste disposal system, treated like a malignant tumor.  No remorse as it's not a 'life', so no respect is warranted.  The pregnancy is done and forgotten.

Pardon my language, but WTF??  I'm pretty confident that this little blog will stir up a hornets nest of controversy but I can no longer handle the supreme contradiction of it all.  If the child is wanted, it is considered a life; if the child is not wanted, it's considered not a life and therefore not subject to moral or ethical laws, let alone judicial ones.  Have we become so self-absorbed that we cannot see the conflict here?  And if we do see it, why are we vilified and berated for speaking out about it?  Why do the extremists of the 'pro-choice' movement crucify us for questioning the right to life?  It's not about choice... there are plenty of choices out there.  Just ask the thousands of couples who go to great lengths and exorbitant costs to have a child; the countless people waiting years for the privilege to adopt.  As a society, have we become so complacent that we'll just continue to allow this process to continue because we don't want to rattle cages and look like the bad guys? Because we want it 'dealt with' today? If so, we are doomed to allow ever greater acts of injustice to permeate our lives.  We'll become immune to its infection while deceiving ourselves to its danger.  Eventually, all morality will ultimately break down and we'll have no one to blame but ourselves.

OK... I'm done venting.  I'm done punching walls.  I will, however, not forget the 248 dead babies found in barrels and pray we can stop this travesty from ever happening again. 

Pundit in training

We got Dan on the plane for Edmonton today; back to Camrose for his second semester.  I managed not to cry.  He used his holiday to catch up on much needed sleep... and keep up with American politics.

I have to admit, I am not a political animal.  I try and stay informed, but I sure don't put a lot of effort into it.   This fact makes me confused as to why I have a son who is passionate about ours and USA's  governments.  Where did that come from?  What crazy dormant gene decided to assert itself when Dan was in the making?  It's a mystery.

I blame it on Nelson.  That's where it all started.  Onetime when I wasn't looking he decided to join the Green Party.  Apparently the local candidate was busy visiting the schools and preaching the party line to an obvious captive audience.  The kicker came when she started handing out tiny evergreen saplings... what kid wouldn't want their very own tree?  That sealed the deal for Dan and he became a man on a mission.  First he made his way to the Green Party headquarters and got a sign, buttons, pamphlets and the blessings of said candidate.  Then, he gathered his tree, a TV table, his sign and pamphlets and parked himself on main street in order to convert the deceived and undecided. I'm pretty sure that wasn't legal, so we hoped the cops were too tied up with pot busts to notice.  I think he managed to stay almost 2 hours before being encouraged to pack it in before the other candidates complained.  That was the beginning and he never looked back.

This Christmas found Dan glued to the Republican primary.  He's studied every running candidate and staked his ground behind Ron Paul.  He's spend hours on Youtube listening to interviews and debates featuring RP.  He knows all about his foreign and domestic policies,  personal stands on all the hot buttons, and his desire to 'get America back on it's feet'.  He was glued to the TV during the Iowa primaries and no doubt will do the same with New Hampshire.  When RP ended up in third place behind Mitt Romney and Rick Santorum, he sulked for the rest of the night and into the next day.  I hate to think of how he'll react if (or when as most would believe) Ron Paul does not get the nomination.  This is the dark side of major emotional investments in politics, my friends.

Still, when all is said and done, I kinda like that he feels so strongly about the leadership of this country and has not grown cynical like so many of the rest of us.  Maybe that's his calling... after all he is a Drama major!  Naw, I wouldn't wish that life on him.  I'm just happy I have him as a great resource; someone to answer all my questions on the subject. And maybe, just maybe, I'll learn to embrace the process myself.

But I wouldn't vote on it...

New Year

I can't believe it is already January 3rd.  It feels like I lost a month somewhere in the shuffle.  Nothing has changed really, and yet everything has.  We're into another year that, according to the Mayans, will be our last.  That puts a lot of pressure on it to be something spectacular, which makes me nervous.  How do you do enforce spectacular?  It seems like a big job.

No snow.  We have no snow and it's January.  Usually that's when the real winter fun begins and we are socked in for a good 2 months, ending our winter with another month of dirt, slush and sand covering the roads and walkways.  The only positive thing about January is that you know that in a few months, you hit SPRING!  Spring is my most favourite season... I revel in it.  Maybe spring will bring with it my spectacular this year!  I hope so; I could use it.

I guess my biggest challenge now is facing the inevitable: both sons leaving for the long haul.  It'll be hard for me, but they have the right to embrace their own spectacular, so it's good they go.  When I'm not missing them, I am actually really excited for the experiences they will be creating.  I've come to  the conclusion that it's the realization that they are creating them on their own, with no help from us as parents, that throws me off.  This seismic shift of control transfer sends the message that somehow, without your knowledge, you've become redundant... and it happens so fast you become confused and disoriented as to what to do now.  That's where I'm at right now.
Disoriented.  And somehow, once it's all over but the crying, I have to now figure out who am I... what's my job description gonna be?  The unknown always scares me.  

I guess I have no other choice but to forge ahead and hope that somewhere in this life, I'll find a bigger purpose.

Now that would be spectacular.

Life longing

There's something going on... I can feel it.  You know how you get a sense of anticipation, like when you know an event is happening, and yet you have no prior knowledge.  Do people have a 6th sense? I've often wondered...

This year we have ventured outside the box and actually have our Christmas lights and deco's up and running. This is totally out of character for me, as I'm always so disgusted with the commercialism of Christmas that I hold off for as long as possible.  Don't get me wrong; I do love Christmas... it's just all the crazy that gets attached to it that I detest.

My dad was always so good to tell us about his Christmases growing up.  They lived on a farm in a very small village in central Alberta called Hay Lakes.  Every Christmas Eve my grandpa would hitch the horses to the big sled, toss in some heated rocks and a bundle of quilts and then all 10 of them would pile in for their travels to dad's grandparents house a few miles away in another village.  As they rounded the bend and approached the house, they could see a multitude of candles that great grandma would put in every window pane to welcome them home... (I can almost see it now!)  Once there, they would have a traditional dinner of Swedish meatballs, lefsa, pickled herring and krumcaka for desert.  Next was the program... this is where every child would recite the verse or part they were given for the Sunday School program recently performed, and then sing carols.  After that, each child got a present from the grandparents.  It was a new pair of either socks or mitts, lovingly made by grandma.  I, by some great fortune, still have one of those pairs of socks that I used to wear when ice skating on the slough.  As the festivities ended, the kids hopped back in the sleigh for the cold trip home.   I know it sounds kinda Hallmark, but it is what really happened, and we loved hearing it every Christmas.  That's  how I'd like to do Christmas; simple, warm and loving.  My sisters and I have managed to rescue some of those traditions but when you live hundreds of miles apart it is hard to capture the feeling of a gathering.  Every few years we try and organize a big family Christmas and it just makes it so special, yet they are getting harder to pull off as kids marry and have families of their own.  With both sets of parents gone, we are left to make our own traditions.

So, here I am, left with a feeling of anticipation that I can't quite put a finger on.  Maybe it's been triggered by the decorations up; maybe I'm anticipating Christmas.  With Dan coming home it will be the last time we'll all be together before Simon heads off to Basic Training, so that in itself makes it special...
and bittersweet.  Change is coming...

I don't know if I'm ready.

Rule of 3

There is a school of thought that believes events, whether good or bad, happen in threes at any given time.  I've never actually counted it out myself, however lately it's beginning to feel that way because recently I've, 1) contracted tonsillitis, 2) had our furnace die, and 3) our dog has a major eye infection all in the course of a week.  It's a bit freaky.  Nevertheless, I still can't quite buy into it because if you really start looking closely at your life, you could probably add up a whole lot more than 3 pros or cons happening at any given time.  I think it should be the rule of... oh, say 9 give or take a few. I've decided to call this the 'Job Syndrome' from the Old Testament story of Job and the horrors he lived through, which could be majorly depressing except for the happy ending. 

I'm pretty sure I've got a case of the Job Syndrome myself.  There's just been a whole lotta negatives going down with nary a positive in sight.  Oh, sure I know that thousands are equally stricken, but that knowledge doesn't seem to temper the feelings of doom and despair.  You're still going through it whether you have company or not.  Still, as humans we often look for people in similar situations to surround us so we don't feel like the ultimate complete failure.  It's when the people in your lives who aren't in this situation start distancing themselves from you that you really start to feel the burn.  But I get it... you become this heavy, black cloud of despair and who wants to be around that?  I know I don't even like being around me when I'm like that!  


Then there's this blog... this place that I come to purge my thoughts.  It is getting harder to keep it up and light because I'm finding it hard to keep up and light. I could so easily pull this right down to the muck and mire, but who (other than possibly myself), would that help?  No, I see that as the ultimate insult to any who read this and I refuse to go there.  Still, this is a part of who I am; there are genetic components involved. If you research into Swedish personality traits, you'll see I have components that fit the profile.  This also proves I am turning into my mother!   http://www.nordicway.com/search/Swedish%20Mentality.htm  
From the Norske side I get my stubborness, objectivity and 'quick wit?'  (Who knew?)  But the thing that ties it all together is that quality of going inward; the quiet art of self analysis and reflection so typical in Scandinavians.  Unfortunately I just never inherited the chip that makes me keep it to myself.  Maybe I go there too much, but if I didn't you would not be reading this now.  It's what fuels my writing, not to mention what gives me the impetus to move from point A to point B. 


So then, after all is said and done, I will survive this rule of 3, or 6, or 9 or 12, etc. And I'll probably write my way through to keep me occupied, regardless of the color of my psyche.  I'll just try not get too stupid on ya, ok?

Here's to happy endings.