It's late, or early if you want to be specific...closing in on 2 am. Sitting in a Ramada in Camrose AB with eyes glued to the TV, impatiently waiting for THE wedding of Prince William and Katherine Middleton. Knowing I am in the company of millions of others makes me feel less tragic as we all live vicariously through the amazing love story of these two people. I keep asking if this is a "girl" thing, this dreamy obsession with the fairy tale idea of our Prince in shining armour coming to take us away into a life of regal devotion. I know all girls don't think this way, but I'm pretty confident in saying that I believe a great portion of us can and do so easily get swept away in the fantasy of it all. The interesting thing here is that it's not just that we would dream for this to happen to us, but rather that we are quite satisfied to just be spectators. It's as if it's enough just knowing that someone is experiencing this fairy tale proves that it can happen... it gives us the permission to continue to keep the dream alive. A prince marrying a commoner is a possibility, and in fact a reality. We aren't crazy after all.
I love royalty and all the pomp and ceremony that goes with it. I don't really care that they have no real purpose anymore, I just like the idea that some people are just born with blue blood; that they are somehow elevated above us regular folk. I know this is a falicy... they burp and sweat just like the rest of us. It's just kinda fun to think that maybe, just maybe they are special enough to have somebody in their retinue who does that distasteful stuff for them.
I know I'll have much more to say about this after it's all said and done, but for now, the TV is calling and I just don't want to miss any of it.
Happy wedding Will & Kate!
Friday, April 29, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Seasons of Dad
It's Easter weekend once more and for the first time in a long while we had a lovely warm and sunny day. I love spring and everything about it... the sounds, the smells, the feel of the sun on one's face and the subtle warmth it leaves there. It continues to be my season of choice after coming out of a long, dark winter.
Spring always tends to remind me of my dad. He was an avid gardener, and by this time he would have all his plantings planned out for the season, using every opportunity to be outside pruning and digging in the freshly thawed dirt. It was his passion. He took great pride in his landscaping and probably spent way too much money planting, then pulling out various shrubs and flowers only to replace them with something better that caught his eye. My dad was not a good reader having only had a grade 5 education (and a questionable one at that!), but he would spend hours and hours pouring over gardening books and rose catalogues, researching and marking those particular varieties he just had to try. Then, once planted he would care for them with great tenderness and love. There were times we would become exasperated with his gardening obsession as it was his number one priority, yet there was something rather moving about this man's love of the land and the beauty it brought forth. To this day I can't look at a rose without thinking of him.
Easter is a heady time... it holds so much emotion, so much promise. It was both ironic and fitting that my dad passed away on Easter weekend 5 years ago. It was a beautiful day then too, with the sun shining and flowers in full bloom. His other passion was for birds and when he wasn't gardening he was watching, feeding and building bird houses for them... he even sacrificed a thumb in the throes of construction! I still have one of those treasured bird houses. When he was on his last breaths I remember them singing outside his window in the hospice. It seemed as though they knew, and wanted to honor him the way he had them for many years.
I find the tears flow much easier at Easter; I have moments of grieving, for even though much time has passed, I miss him and all the good that he embodied. I miss his easy laugh and generous spirit. Still, I know I'll see him and mom again, so it's only a matter of time till we're reunited. In the meantime, I'm sure he's busy working on the roses and tending the gardens in preparation... for it's the gift he glories in giving.
Spring always tends to remind me of my dad. He was an avid gardener, and by this time he would have all his plantings planned out for the season, using every opportunity to be outside pruning and digging in the freshly thawed dirt. It was his passion. He took great pride in his landscaping and probably spent way too much money planting, then pulling out various shrubs and flowers only to replace them with something better that caught his eye. My dad was not a good reader having only had a grade 5 education (and a questionable one at that!), but he would spend hours and hours pouring over gardening books and rose catalogues, researching and marking those particular varieties he just had to try. Then, once planted he would care for them with great tenderness and love. There were times we would become exasperated with his gardening obsession as it was his number one priority, yet there was something rather moving about this man's love of the land and the beauty it brought forth. To this day I can't look at a rose without thinking of him.
Easter is a heady time... it holds so much emotion, so much promise. It was both ironic and fitting that my dad passed away on Easter weekend 5 years ago. It was a beautiful day then too, with the sun shining and flowers in full bloom. His other passion was for birds and when he wasn't gardening he was watching, feeding and building bird houses for them... he even sacrificed a thumb in the throes of construction! I still have one of those treasured bird houses. When he was on his last breaths I remember them singing outside his window in the hospice. It seemed as though they knew, and wanted to honor him the way he had them for many years.
I find the tears flow much easier at Easter; I have moments of grieving, for even though much time has passed, I miss him and all the good that he embodied. I miss his easy laugh and generous spirit. Still, I know I'll see him and mom again, so it's only a matter of time till we're reunited. In the meantime, I'm sure he's busy working on the roses and tending the gardens in preparation... for it's the gift he glories in giving.
Friday, April 22, 2011
25 To Life: Part 2
OK... where was I? Oh yes, we were discussing money and spending styles. I don't want to give the wrong idea here; I can spend money frivolously like the next guy, but I like to think I am a bit more conscious of how that action will trickle down in the end. I kinda understand where Gord gets that from. He was raised in a military family and money was an issue growing up. His dad was brutal at pinching pennies, and would never part with his money without a fight... much to the frustration of the rest of the family. I, on the other hand was raised in a family that also had very little money. My dad, though, had no real issue with spending it as fast as it came in. He never hesitated to help someone out (us kids especially) and when he passed away he had precious little left in his account. But, (and this is important) he was happy. He really never worried too much about money; he just enjoyed it while he had it. Both these examples have impacted our lives; Gord wants to spend and not bother with hoarding cash like his dad, and I feel more comfortable when there is a little 'safety net' in the bank from never having one with my dad. (Funny, it just dawned on me that both our mothers took on the role of providing that 'extra cash'.) But I digress... let's get on with the story.
So, we're sitting down after our Costco shop enjoying the requisite hot dog, when Gord gets all quiet and nervous looking. After 25 years you get to know when something is smelling off. My mind started to imagine what would be going down that would make Gord look so, well... guilty. Did he do something illegal? Was he having an affair? Did he have some horrid disease? What?? When faced with impending bad news I have to take a moment to prepare myself so I don't completely loose it right out of the gate. I'm kinda methodical in that way. I stopped; stared him in the eye; took a deep breath and asked the question...
"What's going on?"
The jig was up and Gord was squirming in his seat. He started off by saying, "...now I don't want you to get mad... I wanted to keep this secret..." Not a good sign. At that point I planted both feet firmly on the ground, grabbed the table and waited for the blow to connect.
"I've booked us a cruise for our 25th anniversary to Scandinavia and Russia. We leave on the 14th of June..."
I should have suspected something when he had an interest in the luggage on sale at Costco. My mind went blank for a moment while I let it sink in...
St. Petersberg? REALLY? Sweden?, Denmark? Germany? Estonia? Amsterdam? I was struggling to absorb it all before I started slinging questions. Then it hit me! "How can we afford this??" Gord assured me it was all paid for (he had been squirreling money away for awhile), and all I had to do was pack my bags.
I was speechless... and weak in the knees. I, as you may or not know, am a HUGE history freak. And I am particularly fascinated with Russian history. I've read everything I can find on the Romanov dynasty and it's demise. Now, I was going to have the opportunity to see it with my own eyes! Unbelievable. But that's Gord for ya...
My problem now is whether or not I have a right to be angry about this... after all, that money could have been put to a more practical use. Yet, how do you get angry about something that is done in love for such noble reasons? I've kind of resigned myself to the fact that it's a done deal and fretting about it will just sully the experience. So, I won't. I'll go on that cruise, dang-nabbit, and I'll enjoy every minute of it, hugely grateful for the experience.
I'll worry about money when we get back.
So, we're sitting down after our Costco shop enjoying the requisite hot dog, when Gord gets all quiet and nervous looking. After 25 years you get to know when something is smelling off. My mind started to imagine what would be going down that would make Gord look so, well... guilty. Did he do something illegal? Was he having an affair? Did he have some horrid disease? What?? When faced with impending bad news I have to take a moment to prepare myself so I don't completely loose it right out of the gate. I'm kinda methodical in that way. I stopped; stared him in the eye; took a deep breath and asked the question...
"What's going on?"
The jig was up and Gord was squirming in his seat. He started off by saying, "...now I don't want you to get mad... I wanted to keep this secret..." Not a good sign. At that point I planted both feet firmly on the ground, grabbed the table and waited for the blow to connect.
"I've booked us a cruise for our 25th anniversary to Scandinavia and Russia. We leave on the 14th of June..."
I should have suspected something when he had an interest in the luggage on sale at Costco. My mind went blank for a moment while I let it sink in...
St. Petersberg? REALLY? Sweden?, Denmark? Germany? Estonia? Amsterdam? I was struggling to absorb it all before I started slinging questions. Then it hit me! "How can we afford this??" Gord assured me it was all paid for (he had been squirreling money away for awhile), and all I had to do was pack my bags.
I was speechless... and weak in the knees. I, as you may or not know, am a HUGE history freak. And I am particularly fascinated with Russian history. I've read everything I can find on the Romanov dynasty and it's demise. Now, I was going to have the opportunity to see it with my own eyes! Unbelievable. But that's Gord for ya...
My problem now is whether or not I have a right to be angry about this... after all, that money could have been put to a more practical use. Yet, how do you get angry about something that is done in love for such noble reasons? I've kind of resigned myself to the fact that it's a done deal and fretting about it will just sully the experience. So, I won't. I'll go on that cruise, dang-nabbit, and I'll enjoy every minute of it, hugely grateful for the experience.
I'll worry about money when we get back.
Monday, April 18, 2011
25 to Life... Part 1
It happened, of all places, in Costco.
I was completely blindsided and according to Gord, apparently the last to know. It was a busy afternoon and people were all around so I couldn't make a scene, at least until we got out of there. I didn't know if whether to laugh or cry and I am still trying to come to terms with it.
Let me give you a little back story. It all comes down, really, to cash. Do we have it? Can we get it? If so, should we save it or should we spend it? The eternal dilemma in these tough economic times. As you may know, Gord is in business for self as a mortgage broker. When the bottom fell out of the economy, it also fell out of our livelihood as the financial institutions put the brakes on lending money... especially mortgage money, in fear of repeating the American mortgage debacle here in Canada. In what appeared to be overnight, the banks put up their 'Closed for Business' signs, and getting a mortgage approved without putting up ones first born as collateral was impossible and, as we only have one firstborn, we didn't get very far. Months and months of this almost brought us to our knees and many times our bills were paid on credit. So flash forward to today and though the banks are a little less panicked, we find Gord is still having to fight for every deal, often to the detriment of his earnings. What a lot of people don't understand is that a broker does not get paid by the customer, but by the financial institution, and only when a mortgage is advanced. So, Gord could work on a file for weeks, pay for appraisals and credit bureaus, and still have it ultimately turned down because the institution wasn't feeling it, or the customer will take all his work to their own banks who will match the deal so as not to loose their mortgage customer. Now instead of a pay check we're left holding the bill! Frustrating to say the least. I'm not sure a whole lot of people understand how that all works, and there is nothing we can do about it but tighten our belts and never take a paycheck for granted. 'Tis sad, but true. A few months of that kind of drama and flippin' burgers at McDonald's is starting to look like an option... at least you know you'd make some money for your effort. A little bit of some is better than a whole lotta nothing.
I've offered to take my shaker egg and busk on the corner, but Gord doesn't think it will help as no one will know what song I am shaking to. Phhhtttt... details!
So, to sum up this diatribe, let's just say that money is an ongoing rollercoaster in our house. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, and sometimes it's downright ugly. This whole situation makes me real skittish around spending and worry we aren't saving enough for those emergencies of life. Gord thinks I worry too much, letting it suck the enjoyment out of life. It's one of those ongoing 'we-agree-to-disagree' arguments that I so enjoy. The facts remain; I like to save, he likes to enjoy...
To be continued...
I was completely blindsided and according to Gord, apparently the last to know. It was a busy afternoon and people were all around so I couldn't make a scene, at least until we got out of there. I didn't know if whether to laugh or cry and I am still trying to come to terms with it.
Let me give you a little back story. It all comes down, really, to cash. Do we have it? Can we get it? If so, should we save it or should we spend it? The eternal dilemma in these tough economic times. As you may know, Gord is in business for self as a mortgage broker. When the bottom fell out of the economy, it also fell out of our livelihood as the financial institutions put the brakes on lending money... especially mortgage money, in fear of repeating the American mortgage debacle here in Canada. In what appeared to be overnight, the banks put up their 'Closed for Business' signs, and getting a mortgage approved without putting up ones first born as collateral was impossible and, as we only have one firstborn, we didn't get very far. Months and months of this almost brought us to our knees and many times our bills were paid on credit. So flash forward to today and though the banks are a little less panicked, we find Gord is still having to fight for every deal, often to the detriment of his earnings. What a lot of people don't understand is that a broker does not get paid by the customer, but by the financial institution, and only when a mortgage is advanced. So, Gord could work on a file for weeks, pay for appraisals and credit bureaus, and still have it ultimately turned down because the institution wasn't feeling it, or the customer will take all his work to their own banks who will match the deal so as not to loose their mortgage customer. Now instead of a pay check we're left holding the bill! Frustrating to say the least. I'm not sure a whole lot of people understand how that all works, and there is nothing we can do about it but tighten our belts and never take a paycheck for granted. 'Tis sad, but true. A few months of that kind of drama and flippin' burgers at McDonald's is starting to look like an option... at least you know you'd make some money for your effort. A little bit of some is better than a whole lotta nothing.
I've offered to take my shaker egg and busk on the corner, but Gord doesn't think it will help as no one will know what song I am shaking to. Phhhtttt... details!So, to sum up this diatribe, let's just say that money is an ongoing rollercoaster in our house. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, and sometimes it's downright ugly. This whole situation makes me real skittish around spending and worry we aren't saving enough for those emergencies of life. Gord thinks I worry too much, letting it suck the enjoyment out of life. It's one of those ongoing 'we-agree-to-disagree' arguments that I so enjoy. The facts remain; I like to save, he likes to enjoy...
To be continued...
Friday, April 15, 2011
Happy-Fun Boy Day
Life was good today. While everyone in the country was complaining about yet another dump of snow, we had us a bit of sunshine and warmth. I know that fact may irk some of you, but I also understand that NO ONE is safe, and we could be under a heap of the white horror at any moment. Stupid global warming...
My day started with my son Simon coming over and we decided to go to Starbuck's for a coffee. Now, this may seem rather ho-mum to you, but for me, it was a delight! It seems like I just never get any chance to just sit and talk to my boys anymore... their lives are busy and often chaotic. This was just 2 hours of catching up and really talking to each other. No drama, just communication. Pure mom heaven.
I find myself thinking back to when I was as their age; how much did I communicate to my mom, and I realize it probably wasn't a whole lot. My mom was not a big talker, so I never remember any real deep down heart-to-hearts. We forget that we were once in our kids shoes and that pattern doesn't change that much from generation to the next. Unless, of course, we break that pattern. In my case, I think it skipped a generation with my oldest. I'm a talker and love those deep, soul searching convo's. Simon... not so much. He holds his cards real close to his chest and it takes a lot to get him to reveal too much. I often wondered if this was just indifference, but he has a big heart and I know stuff is percolating in there. When he's not zoning out with video games, he loves to read and with reading he becomes a thinker. Still, he tends to be very black and white which throws me as 'I = opposite...' I analyze and romanticize everything which is on a totally different plane. It's so different to me that I find we often struggle to understand each others perspective and so push each others buttons. Hence, the drama. (...this is where I espouse how I can't wait till he has kids of his own.) Oh, that karma, she is a bi-otch!
My younger son is completely opposite. He "gets" me! We have many a long conversation over things in his life and things in mine. Where Simon's go-to parent of preference is Gord; I am Dan's. It's kinda funny how that worked out... at least it keeps everyone feeling needed! As both boys are out on their own now, it makes it more of a challenge to keep that need there; I dread becoming obsolete. I guess that's why we (God willing) become grandparents, so as to keep us connected and needed in our children's lives.
Now, if I could just get them married...
My day started with my son Simon coming over and we decided to go to Starbuck's for a coffee. Now, this may seem rather ho-mum to you, but for me, it was a delight! It seems like I just never get any chance to just sit and talk to my boys anymore... their lives are busy and often chaotic. This was just 2 hours of catching up and really talking to each other. No drama, just communication. Pure mom heaven.
I find myself thinking back to when I was as their age; how much did I communicate to my mom, and I realize it probably wasn't a whole lot. My mom was not a big talker, so I never remember any real deep down heart-to-hearts. We forget that we were once in our kids shoes and that pattern doesn't change that much from generation to the next. Unless, of course, we break that pattern. In my case, I think it skipped a generation with my oldest. I'm a talker and love those deep, soul searching convo's. Simon... not so much. He holds his cards real close to his chest and it takes a lot to get him to reveal too much. I often wondered if this was just indifference, but he has a big heart and I know stuff is percolating in there. When he's not zoning out with video games, he loves to read and with reading he becomes a thinker. Still, he tends to be very black and white which throws me as 'I = opposite...' I analyze and romanticize everything which is on a totally different plane. It's so different to me that I find we often struggle to understand each others perspective and so push each others buttons. Hence, the drama. (...this is where I espouse how I can't wait till he has kids of his own.) Oh, that karma, she is a bi-otch!
My younger son is completely opposite. He "gets" me! We have many a long conversation over things in his life and things in mine. Where Simon's go-to parent of preference is Gord; I am Dan's. It's kinda funny how that worked out... at least it keeps everyone feeling needed! As both boys are out on their own now, it makes it more of a challenge to keep that need there; I dread becoming obsolete. I guess that's why we (God willing) become grandparents, so as to keep us connected and needed in our children's lives.
Now, if I could just get them married...
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Dog vomit
I've been silent for awhile. Writer's block... that and the dog barfed on me 3 times yesterday. I don't like stomach regurgitation on me or anywhere near me for that matter. Makes me want to join in. I'm not a joiner.
Let me tell you a bit about my wee pup. My doggy's full name is Puddy Dougie Grue Shepherd. We just call him Puddy, or Puds for short. First and foremost, he is a Pug. Being a pug makes him uber cute right out of the gate. Second, he is soft which gives him extra marks. Third he is cuddly, and who doesn't want to cuddle a pug? So, all in all he's pretty darn magnetic. However... he can irritate like no other. Case in point: It has taken us a full year to get him potty trained. Many a day we'd wake up to chunks-o'-poo neatly piled under our dining room table. It came to be his favourite place of delivery. (Note to self: Do not disclose this fact to dinner guests.) This got us so irritated that we began to make lists of who we could pawn him off to. Then to add to our ire, when winter was in full swing and it got mighty cold outside, he decided that peeing inside was much more convenient.
DOG pee!
INside!
ON hardwood floors! The SPCA was soon going to have a new boarder!
Now li'l Puddy Dougie was getting on our last nerve when in February, after his first birthday, seemingly overnight, the light bulb went off in his little puggy brain and he got it! Poo & pee = outside activities! Hal-eh-friggin'-luia. His little arse was saved in the nick of time! Oh, he can still irritate to some degree, but it pales in comparison to pre-training. Even the dog vomit is excusable... I blame Gord for that one anyway. In his quest to bestow adoration on his pups, he gave Puddy a chewy treat that did not sit well with him. Probably didn't help that the doofus almost swallowed it whole. Did I mention that pugs love, love, LOVE to eat. Anything and everything. It's the one thing we have to monitor closely as pugs get fat real quick since they never know the meaning of full... not unlike my boys. Also, because they love to eat, they eat very fast. That, coupled with the shape of their faces makes them take in a lot of air when they eat. Pug + ingested air = fart. Lots and lots of farts... the kind that makes your eyes burn. Not a big crowd pleaser.
One thing that I am glad for is that Puddy does not snore much. In fact Kira, our pug cross is the bigger snorer. Instead Puddy purrs when he's happy. It's rather endearing. I'm pretty much immune to any night noises anyway as I've lived with Gord for 25 years. No one makes noise like he does. But, I digress...
Puddy continues to make our lives interesting. He loves to run, chew stuff and is almost a pro at fetching. Having Puddy has cured me of one thing though... I never want to go the puppy route again.
Let me tell you a bit about my wee pup. My doggy's full name is Puddy Dougie Grue Shepherd. We just call him Puddy, or Puds for short. First and foremost, he is a Pug. Being a pug makes him uber cute right out of the gate. Second, he is soft which gives him extra marks. Third he is cuddly, and who doesn't want to cuddle a pug? So, all in all he's pretty darn magnetic. However... he can irritate like no other. Case in point: It has taken us a full year to get him potty trained. Many a day we'd wake up to chunks-o'-poo neatly piled under our dining room table. It came to be his favourite place of delivery. (Note to self: Do not disclose this fact to dinner guests.) This got us so irritated that we began to make lists of who we could pawn him off to. Then to add to our ire, when winter was in full swing and it got mighty cold outside, he decided that peeing inside was much more convenient.
DOG pee!
INside!
ON hardwood floors! The SPCA was soon going to have a new boarder!
 |
| ...I'm being forced to take this picture. |
One thing that I am glad for is that Puddy does not snore much. In fact Kira, our pug cross is the bigger snorer. Instead Puddy purrs when he's happy. It's rather endearing. I'm pretty much immune to any night noises anyway as I've lived with Gord for 25 years. No one makes noise like he does. But, I digress...
Puddy continues to make our lives interesting. He loves to run, chew stuff and is almost a pro at fetching. Having Puddy has cured me of one thing though... I never want to go the puppy route again.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Love'n'loss
It's been one of those days where without warning you are forced into introspection. I've taken some time to catch up on blogs I follow and strangely, they both connect in a way. This confirmed that I need to pay particular attention to what they were saying. Both spoke of time... time lost, time squandered, time running out and how we react to that. We live day to day under the assumption that we will continue to be here tomorrow, the next day and so on. We plan for it, we save for it, we put things off for it.
The thing is, we may not have tomorrow. One never knows.
I've got some work to do if I want to leave with no leftovers; no regrets. It won't be easy so my first reaction would be to put it off... ponder and map it all out; to wait for the optimum moment yielding the least pain. Yet that is not the right answer and I know it. The right answer is messy, painful even, and a whole lot of work. The alternative only leaves a trail of unknowns and undones for the ones left behind. I can't tell you the number of times I wish I would have had just one more day with my mom, to ask her all the things I never did... to tell her I loved her and love the way she loved her family. I appreciate her more now than ever. But I didn't, and that knowledge haunts me to this day. I'm not sure how I can reconcile that in my life, but I know I must.
Life is fleeting... There is no do-overs, no reset button. The time to get it done is now.
The thing is, we may not have tomorrow. One never knows.
I've got some work to do if I want to leave with no leftovers; no regrets. It won't be easy so my first reaction would be to put it off... ponder and map it all out; to wait for the optimum moment yielding the least pain. Yet that is not the right answer and I know it. The right answer is messy, painful even, and a whole lot of work. The alternative only leaves a trail of unknowns and undones for the ones left behind. I can't tell you the number of times I wish I would have had just one more day with my mom, to ask her all the things I never did... to tell her I loved her and love the way she loved her family. I appreciate her more now than ever. But I didn't, and that knowledge haunts me to this day. I'm not sure how I can reconcile that in my life, but I know I must.
Life is fleeting... There is no do-overs, no reset button. The time to get it done is now.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Hide to lie
I recently thought of a couple of instances from my childhood that seem to be locked in my memory banks; a sure sign they must mean something deep. The first happened was when I was only about 6 or 7. I was in my parents bedroom admiring some colorful, tiny beads housed in a glass vial with a cork stopper my sister had bought (why they were laying there I have no idea). I was told not to touch them, but somehow the temptation was too much for me. After my mom and sister left, when no one was looking I tip-toed back into the bedroom to study their multicolored brilliance. I was admiring them with great intensity when to my horror, I broke the vial. Hundreds of tiny beads flew in every direction. In a panic, I dropped the vial and high-tailed it out of the room, immediately ran upstairs to our bedroom and hid way back in the darkest depths of our little closet. I stayed there for what felt like hours, hoping beyond hope the discovery would appear as a fluke accident and I would escape punishment and be redeemed. My hiding perpetrated the lie. I plead guilty the moment I ran.
The second memory was when I was considerably older... 12 or 13 I think. I went downstairs when no one was home and proceeded to dig through my older brothers ashtray in search of butts for which I would unabashedly reform and smoke. I was having a very covert good time until my dad decided to come home early and head downstairs. I quickly butted out the cigarette and ran to hide in the closet in another room. I could hide myself, but I couldn't hide the lingering smoke that permeated the basement. My dad subsequently found me and asked me if I had been smoking. I lied. I said no, but I knew I was caught. I hated disappointing him, yet I did so more by lying than by the act itself.
Both these memories are very clear in my mind even though some of the details may be a little fuzzy. They stay with me for one reason: to remind me that by hiding I am in reality, lying. That understanding weighs heavy and is probably why these incidences stay with me. Yet the hiding goes on.
We collectively hide in some aspect every day. Every time one answers the question, " How are you?" with "fine" we are essentially hiding, 'cause do people really want to know what we are actually feeling at that given point, on that specific day? That your dog died and you had a massive fight with your kid, and that your check bounced again, and your husband gambles and you discovered a lump under your arm, or any myriad of examples?? Probably not. By giving out that kind of information we expose ourselves and therefore color the illusion of normality, of the status quo one aspires to, freely giving up fodder for the gossip mills. We hide & we lie to protect ourselves from being authentically human. We fake it to spare ourselves the pain of being 'found out' and therefore less appealing; less worthy of someone's time and interest. We instinctively want to position ourselves as a person of value, one of the cool kids in our friends playbooks. Our self esteem demands it. And I am as guilty, if not more so, as anybody else. I hide all the time, careful not to show too much; to divulge my secrets too freely. I lie by saying I'm fine, when I'm not; by putting spin on my life so it looks much more wonderful than it often is. The irony is that most everyone is doing the same thing, so we really have no idea what is reality and what is fantasy.
I'm a digger. I like to question... no, I love to question, because it gives people permission to talk, and the more people talk, the more I question, because as I do, each layer of them gets peeled back a little more and you start to see who they really are. And then you have the opportunity to reveal bits and pieces of yourself in a safe way. The more that happens, the freer you become as the weight of all that hiding and lying gets lifted off. In the end you find out that we all struggle with the same problems in one way or another.
The hardest thing in life is honesty; firstly with yourself, and then with others. Still, I believe it is the most noble thing we can do for ourselves. Next time someone asks me how I am, I think I will give pause before I answer and do my best not to hide behind a rote answer. I will work to be honest if for no other reason than to not have to carry around the weight of camouflage.
My hope is in doing this, you will still like what you see.
The second memory was when I was considerably older... 12 or 13 I think. I went downstairs when no one was home and proceeded to dig through my older brothers ashtray in search of butts for which I would unabashedly reform and smoke. I was having a very covert good time until my dad decided to come home early and head downstairs. I quickly butted out the cigarette and ran to hide in the closet in another room. I could hide myself, but I couldn't hide the lingering smoke that permeated the basement. My dad subsequently found me and asked me if I had been smoking. I lied. I said no, but I knew I was caught. I hated disappointing him, yet I did so more by lying than by the act itself.
Both these memories are very clear in my mind even though some of the details may be a little fuzzy. They stay with me for one reason: to remind me that by hiding I am in reality, lying. That understanding weighs heavy and is probably why these incidences stay with me. Yet the hiding goes on.
We collectively hide in some aspect every day. Every time one answers the question, " How are you?" with "fine" we are essentially hiding, 'cause do people really want to know what we are actually feeling at that given point, on that specific day? That your dog died and you had a massive fight with your kid, and that your check bounced again, and your husband gambles and you discovered a lump under your arm, or any myriad of examples?? Probably not. By giving out that kind of information we expose ourselves and therefore color the illusion of normality, of the status quo one aspires to, freely giving up fodder for the gossip mills. We hide & we lie to protect ourselves from being authentically human. We fake it to spare ourselves the pain of being 'found out' and therefore less appealing; less worthy of someone's time and interest. We instinctively want to position ourselves as a person of value, one of the cool kids in our friends playbooks. Our self esteem demands it. And I am as guilty, if not more so, as anybody else. I hide all the time, careful not to show too much; to divulge my secrets too freely. I lie by saying I'm fine, when I'm not; by putting spin on my life so it looks much more wonderful than it often is. The irony is that most everyone is doing the same thing, so we really have no idea what is reality and what is fantasy.
I'm a digger. I like to question... no, I love to question, because it gives people permission to talk, and the more people talk, the more I question, because as I do, each layer of them gets peeled back a little more and you start to see who they really are. And then you have the opportunity to reveal bits and pieces of yourself in a safe way. The more that happens, the freer you become as the weight of all that hiding and lying gets lifted off. In the end you find out that we all struggle with the same problems in one way or another.
The hardest thing in life is honesty; firstly with yourself, and then with others. Still, I believe it is the most noble thing we can do for ourselves. Next time someone asks me how I am, I think I will give pause before I answer and do my best not to hide behind a rote answer. I will work to be honest if for no other reason than to not have to carry around the weight of camouflage.
My hope is in doing this, you will still like what you see.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Werther's or not
I recently took a wee jaunt to Costco to see what fun things I don't need or can't afford to buy. A person can spend a lot of time kicking around a Costco... there's just so much stuff to look at. I'm one of those people that likes to go down every aisle with my fantasy list of what I would pick up if I had money to burn. I've noticed of late that Costco is now selling toilets; the eco-friendly low-water, double flush kind. Cool. Oh, and they also sell bathroom vanities to go with them. Add in the flooring they sell and voila! A new bathroom is born. Pretty sure over time you could equip an entire house with all that is Costco, with all the furniture, bedding, kitchenware they sell. I'd still rather do that the Ikea way though. Gotta love those Scandinavian minimalist designs and handy storage ideas. I would gladly fill my house with all things Ikea if we had one here. We don't, and that is my only real complaint about living in Kelowna. The nearest Ikea is 4 hours away. Not cool.
But, back to Costco. There are two really, really good things about Costco; 1) they have fabulous meat, and 2) they have great, individually wrapped toilet paper that they sell in 32 roll packages. One can never have too much toilet paper, unless you are one of the lucky ones who have those deluxe Japanese toilets that wash and blow dry your nether regions after every visit. (When I win my 36 million, I'm getting one of those babies!) The other thing that is fairly awesome about Costco that just barely lost out to the tp for the top 2 spot, is their candy section. They have really big candy. I don't usually frequent that aisle as I'm not much of a candy person, but this last time I did. Unfortunately, I was sucked in by a 1.5 kg. box of Werther's Original hard candy. As soon as I saw it, I knew I was in trouble... all that buttery, smooth, caramel deliciousness for a fraction of the cost to buy it in small doses at the local supermarket. Of the 3 things we bought that day, the Werther's Original was one of them.
Let the binge begin!
You'd think one would get tired of them after awhile, but once you start suckin' on one, you just cannot stop. And it's not about the sweetness. It's really that butter toffee goodness that hooks you like crack cocaine. I fear my teeth will fall out before I finish the box, (ha!... that still wouldn't stop me, cause you don't need your teeth to enjoy them). Problem is, teeth do come in handy if you wanna chow down on any of that good Costco meat. What...to...do, what to do??? *sigh* I shall have to ponder that while I nosh on another Werther's.
Oh, the inhumanity of it all.
But, back to Costco. There are two really, really good things about Costco; 1) they have fabulous meat, and 2) they have great, individually wrapped toilet paper that they sell in 32 roll packages. One can never have too much toilet paper, unless you are one of the lucky ones who have those deluxe Japanese toilets that wash and blow dry your nether regions after every visit. (When I win my 36 million, I'm getting one of those babies!) The other thing that is fairly awesome about Costco that just barely lost out to the tp for the top 2 spot, is their candy section. They have really big candy. I don't usually frequent that aisle as I'm not much of a candy person, but this last time I did. Unfortunately, I was sucked in by a 1.5 kg. box of Werther's Original hard candy. As soon as I saw it, I knew I was in trouble... all that buttery, smooth, caramel deliciousness for a fraction of the cost to buy it in small doses at the local supermarket. Of the 3 things we bought that day, the Werther's Original was one of them.
Let the binge begin!
You'd think one would get tired of them after awhile, but once you start suckin' on one, you just cannot stop. And it's not about the sweetness. It's really that butter toffee goodness that hooks you like crack cocaine. I fear my teeth will fall out before I finish the box, (ha!... that still wouldn't stop me, cause you don't need your teeth to enjoy them). Problem is, teeth do come in handy if you wanna chow down on any of that good Costco meat. What...to...do, what to do??? *sigh* I shall have to ponder that while I nosh on another Werther's.
Oh, the inhumanity of it all.
Friday, April 1, 2011
This bud's for you
Blogging is harder than I thought. The writing is not the problem; trying to come up with something to say that is worth putting out there is the tough part. I have written at least 4 pieces that I've either deleted or left brewing in my draft box. Why? Well, it's one thing to write it, it's a whole other thing to have it exposed. I don't have (m)any readers, yet I still find myself holding back just in case someone may choose this day to check in and then find me in a particularly virulent mood; spewing infection with every sentence. Still, there is a compulsion in me that keeps me coming back here and trying to lock it down, even if just for me.
Feedback would be gravy... I love gravy. Makes those chunky potatoes go down easy, for better or for worse!
When I was taking a writing class a few years ago, it helped to have homework. It forces you to be proactive; it gives you a deadline. I'm kinda using this in the same way... knowing that I need to keep them cards 'n letters coming helps me to stay focused and teaches me writing discipline. I just discovered that a friend has been reading these and notices when I don't post. (Whaaaaat?...I've had no comments!) Who knew?!! That knowledge alone has given me the impetus to forge ahead, if for no other reason that to give that one person reading material!
So, for better or worse, I shall continue to offer up my wares in hopes someone will read and, if not enjoy, find things to ponder. And maybe, just maybe... reply.
Feedback would be gravy... I love gravy. Makes those chunky potatoes go down easy, for better or for worse!
When I was taking a writing class a few years ago, it helped to have homework. It forces you to be proactive; it gives you a deadline. I'm kinda using this in the same way... knowing that I need to keep them cards 'n letters coming helps me to stay focused and teaches me writing discipline. I just discovered that a friend has been reading these and notices when I don't post. (Whaaaaat?...I've had no comments!) Who knew?!! That knowledge alone has given me the impetus to forge ahead, if for no other reason that to give that one person reading material!
So, for better or worse, I shall continue to offer up my wares in hopes someone will read and, if not enjoy, find things to ponder. And maybe, just maybe... reply.
Crazy town
Is it just me, or has this world gone completely nuts? It's becoming so bad it's hard to read the news anymore without wanting to throw ones hands up in surrender. In one day I read 2 different headlines that made my mind bend and my heart hurt. Two different tragedies for totally different reasons affecting the same target. It's distressing in a way that boggles the mind.
First off, there was an op-ed piece about the famed retailing giant Abercrombie and Fitch. This is a high end, designer driven company that was rolling out it's Spring/Summer collection for this year. In it they were offering swimwear (not unusual) to a fashion forward clientele that included kids (also not unusual). Where the crazy comes in is with the kids line. This particular retailer felt it was important to include bikini's for 8 - 10 year olds with PADDED bra tops. Padded tops for 8 year olds? Really? Is it important for our 8 year old girls to appear to have big boobs? For what? To appear sexualized and therefore appealing to, who? Other boys? Or worse... to men? To send the message that at 8 years old, you need to be worrying about body image? You need tits and ass to really be empowered? At EIGHT? No, no, nooooooo, no, no, no. This is wrong on so many levels I don't know where to begin. Which brings me to story # 2.
A south Florida man was recently sentenced to life in prison for sexually abusing and impregnating a 9 year old girl. She was afraid to tell her father who did not know until he took her to a clinic for a check up. She carried the baby to term and gave birth at 10 years of age. Now, anybody in their right mind can see this is a horrific story... to be raped and pregnant before you even hit double digits? To go through the drama of birthing by 10? Yet, if you think about this little girl in a bikini with a padded top to give the impression of breasts, you wouldn't have to look too hard to see where she could appeal sexually to a man. It's hard to swallow this kind of information.
When does it stop? This was a little girl. Ages 8, 9, & 10; these are little girls. Little girls should not be put in sexual situations period. Their bodies shouldn't be forced to be an adult. They shouldn't be paraded around in padded swimsuits, and they sure as hell shouldn't be sexually violated. And we, as adults, need to be outraged by both these distortions. We cannot let the world of fashion or celebrity or media dictate what is acceptable behavior. We have to take a stand, or we will lose in the end. We are here to protect the innocence of our children, not rob them of it.
Think about this for a moment. Childhood makes up a mere 1/8th of a lifetime... for the love of God, can't we at least let them have that?
First off, there was an op-ed piece about the famed retailing giant Abercrombie and Fitch. This is a high end, designer driven company that was rolling out it's Spring/Summer collection for this year. In it they were offering swimwear (not unusual) to a fashion forward clientele that included kids (also not unusual). Where the crazy comes in is with the kids line. This particular retailer felt it was important to include bikini's for 8 - 10 year olds with PADDED bra tops. Padded tops for 8 year olds? Really? Is it important for our 8 year old girls to appear to have big boobs? For what? To appear sexualized and therefore appealing to, who? Other boys? Or worse... to men? To send the message that at 8 years old, you need to be worrying about body image? You need tits and ass to really be empowered? At EIGHT? No, no, nooooooo, no, no, no. This is wrong on so many levels I don't know where to begin. Which brings me to story # 2.
A south Florida man was recently sentenced to life in prison for sexually abusing and impregnating a 9 year old girl. She was afraid to tell her father who did not know until he took her to a clinic for a check up. She carried the baby to term and gave birth at 10 years of age. Now, anybody in their right mind can see this is a horrific story... to be raped and pregnant before you even hit double digits? To go through the drama of birthing by 10? Yet, if you think about this little girl in a bikini with a padded top to give the impression of breasts, you wouldn't have to look too hard to see where she could appeal sexually to a man. It's hard to swallow this kind of information.
When does it stop? This was a little girl. Ages 8, 9, & 10; these are little girls. Little girls should not be put in sexual situations period. Their bodies shouldn't be forced to be an adult. They shouldn't be paraded around in padded swimsuits, and they sure as hell shouldn't be sexually violated. And we, as adults, need to be outraged by both these distortions. We cannot let the world of fashion or celebrity or media dictate what is acceptable behavior. We have to take a stand, or we will lose in the end. We are here to protect the innocence of our children, not rob them of it.
Think about this for a moment. Childhood makes up a mere 1/8th of a lifetime... for the love of God, can't we at least let them have that?
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