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.

Snowday

Well, there's just no denying it... winter is upon us.  As I sit here and look out at the falling snow now covering the lawn, the driveway, I have very mixed emotions.  I don't like cold, yet I do love what snow does... cleans and softens the grey of early winter.  Somehow, it creates a calm; it's quieter and more peaceful.  Snow gives us the opportunity to stop what we're doing and just watch as it transforms our landscape.  Snow, in and of itself, is non-violent in its delivery.  Even rain can come down hard and sharp, stinging and heavy on its own, leaving mud in it's wake, but never snow. 

Snow falls softly... even when it comes down hard.  For that I am thankful.

Snow, in it's whiteness and purity makes the winter somewhat palatable from an aesthetic point of view, but it needs to know when it's worn out it's welcome.  If you divide up the year into seasons, we really should not be dealing with snow for more than 3 months... Dec., Jan. and Feb.  After that it is purely annoying.  March, April and May are spring... everyone knows that, so when we are scraping snow off the windshield in any of those months it is a travesty... it only serves to make us hate winter all the more.  This is why so many of our country escapes to southern USA; not because we strive to be American, but rather we cannot stomach the cold for more than the allotted months, and lately winter has been hanging around way, way longer than it was ever meant to be.  

There will always be a love-hate relationship between myself and winter.  In all honesty, I couldn't live in a country where there was no winter; I like having the 4 distinct seasons, it just feels logical somehow.  And yet, if winter would just play by the rules and only last 3 months, it would be a no-brainer to love the season of white.

Unfortunately, we have vastly different rule books. 

The tragedy of MJ

Finally, the trial is over, a verdict reached and the blame laid at the feet of Dr. Conrad Murray for the early demise of the "king of pop".   The grieving family can have some peace now that justice has been served in this bizarre tragedy that was the life of Michael Jackson.


I know I am not alone in recognizing this was a deeply troubled man; that mixed in with his incredible talent were demons he could never break free from.  It is sad to think that at age 50 he was still wetting the bed; leftovers from trauma suffered at a very young age.  He seemed to spend his whole adult life trying to erase anything "Jackson" from his face while his sycophant family hung on for dear life to their gravy train.  That they are still, after all the testimony from the trial, declaring that MJ was not an addict is both horrific and embarrassing.  Just once I would like to hear them take some accountability for his crippling mental and physical decline.  His mother has kept her head in the sand her entire married life and allowed Joe to brutalize her children to the point of breaking.  She needs to come clean.  She needs to own her culpability in her son's disease rather than spend time making shady deals to capitalize on MJ's legacy.   It appears the Jackson family are now grooming Michael's 3 kids for a life in show biz... may the circle be unbroken...


I loved much of Michael's music.  I grew up listening to the Jackson 5 and still have the 45 of "I Want You Back" that I got on my 13th birthday.  There is no doubt he was an amazing singer, songwriter and dancer.  He made a lot of money, and he gave a lot away but he also spent recklessly to fill the void in his life. He hired women to have children for him and it appears that he is the biological father of none.  I think he was afraid of passing his genes on for fear of perpetuating any psychological deficiencies.  He paid for children to keep him company... a fetish that would rear its head over and over in his life, creating unhealthy and highly erotic attachments to them.  His life became a literal circus.  


But we all know that.  We who were admiring but not idolizing could see this would not end well.  I believe that MJ probably welcomed death, knowing he was in no condition to do 40 odd shows in London, yet not able to admit that to his adoring fans.  Yes, Dr. Murray made the process a whole lot easier, but as a highly addicted drug seeker who did not eat and could not sleep, his days were numbered.


I think now, for the first time, Michael is truly happy.

 

11:11:11

There really is no way to avoid addressing the significance of today.  I have pondered what would be the best way to honour this day in a way that would prove worthy, and I have come to the conclusion that the best way is to talk about it... to acknowledge what it stands for and what it will continue to stand for if we do just that. We have to remember...

For reasons I do not know, and for as long as I can remember, I have had a fascination with the World Wars, especially WWll.  Maybe it is because I had a number of uncles serve in that war? That would seem logical, however not one of them would ever talk about their experience, so I was only privy to the bare basics.  I do know that one uncle was wounded and in the confusion of the battle crawled back into enemy territory thinking it was his regiment.  He was a POW for only a short while though as the allied troops managed to overtake the Germans and his freedom was won... but he would never talk about it.  He could not bear to watch film coverage that was shown on TV; there was still so much trauma involved.  Another uncle was serving overseas repairing fighting planes and was called into the office one day as he had a phone call from home to let him know that Grandpa had had a stroke.  As he turned to head back to the plane he was working on, a bomb dropped and destroyed it along with his best friend and other workmates.  But for that phone call, it would have been him.  He struggled to come to terms with that reality, and was plagued with migraines throughout his life as a result.  So, this war was somewhat personal to me by extension.  And yet that fact was not what really created my obsession; what caused my interest was in the 'WHY' of war.  Why did a relatively progressive country get duped by such evil?  Why did they feel they had a right to rule Europe? How could they not see the depravity of it all? Why did they fall for the same propaganda that brought on the first war only to relive it in the second?  There is a part of me that feels sorrow for Germany as they will never be released from this history; and yet to insure that it never happens again, they should not be.  'The sins of the father shall be visited upon their sons...' 


There are some things we must never forget.


I watch a lot of documentaries about the great wars and each time I am humbled by the devastation left in it's wake.  Cities in ruins, bodies lying everywhere; even the horses and cattle are left burning and bloated in the fields.  Then there are the veterans who carry their stories to the grave, each year given the opportunity to re-live the pain and shock of killing or be killed.  Watching friends and brothers blown to pieces before their eyes.  That is their nightmare; that is their reality.  

I have always had a very difficult time watching my son play war games on video or computer.  To me it somehow glamourizes something that is not meant to be pretty. I see young Muslims ready to blow themselves up because they are led to believe it's glorious.  They have their whole lives ahead of them and yet they choose the 'war is honor' code.  Funny how you never see the Muslim clergy stepping up to that plate... no, it's the innocents that bear the weight of our conflicts.  It's the 10 year old boys carrying the guns and shielding the warlords.  Our wars are fought for oil and money; not freedom, not democracy. This is the hell that we have to face.  This should not be our legacy for our children. 

I am feeling particularly sensitive this 11:11 as we are soon to see our oldest son enter into military service.  A mixture of pride and fear sometimes overwhelms as I struggle to maintain composure.  I will have to say goodbye for a very long time and that will not be easy.  Still, I know he is doing the right thing for him, and for that I am proud.  He will be serving our country, and for that I am grateful.


May God keep us out of war.

Embracing the Pale

If you are one of the lucky people who happen to know me personally, you'll no doubt know that I come from Scandinavian stock.  2/3 Swedish, 1/3 Norwegian. Both of these countries, along with Denmark and Finland make up the quadrangle that is Scandinavia.  If you look at these countries on a map you will see that a large part of Norway, Sweden and Finland are located above the Arctic Circle.  That means they are cold.  Very cold.  And the winters are long and dark.  Which means, the people who inhabit these countries don't get a lot of sun time.  (Can you see where I'm going with this?)  So, in adding all these facts up you can understand why they would be kind of a pale people, right?  It just makes sense.  


While I'm a couple of generations away from these roots, I do have the genetic make-up and therefore I am rather... shall we say, pale?  Actually, I think a more fitting description would be pasty white and it's been the bane of my existence. I know it sounds stupid, but we live in a country that worships the golden tan god, and when you're not blessed with color, you feel unworthy.  My sisters and I spent every summer slathered in baby oil and laying in the scorching sun just to for once, have a little color.  It seemed like a good idea at the time...


Now, skip forward a couple of decades and all that fun sun time has caught up with me, showing the damage that's been done for the sake of vanity. Now I spend my time slathering anti-aging creams and lotions on in hopes of keeping the beast at bay. If I had only embraced the pale that was me...


We are lucky now in the sense that pale is being courted by Hollywood and the Fashion world.  It's been given the green light and people such as Nicole Kidman, Rene Zellweger, Michelle Williams, Dita Von Teese and a host of others are protecting their paleness and wearing it proudly.  And though it may be too late to save my face, I too shall love my pasty whiteness and let the world see the real me.  So what if I resemble Jack Skellington, I shall hold my lily white head high amongst the tanned masses.  And if all else fails, I'll move to a remote village somewhere in the Amazon where they'd revere my lack of pigment and hold me in high esteem.


A girl can dream, can't she?