I am spending New Year's Eve alone.  By choice.  And I am feeling pretty comfortable with it, even though people are now posting on Facebook the exciting things they are doing tonight.  But I know that it's just my FOMO, (fear of missing out), that is making me feel that way.   This is an important night for me.   It's a symbolic start to a year of being with myself and sitting with the loneliness of not having a "significant other".  I have pledged to be relationship free for one year, no matter what.  Not interested or open to any romantic attachments.  It's probably the most important thing I will do for my own mental health and spiritual growth.   So on this night of high expectations to spend it with friends and party hard, I am opting out.  I am here at my computer, playing sad love songs, eating almonds and watching the candle burn down the past year.  Sound pathetic?  It's not.  It's healing, and empowering.   Later I will watch some really crappy YouTube videos or a silly movie.   I will smoke a bit of pot.  I will feel all there is to feel.  I might colour.  I might have a hot bath. At midnight I will go outside and walk the dog and listen to the neighbourhood.  But I won't indulge in regret or self pity.  I am done with that.  The choices I have made in my life have brought me this far, and created this person I am, and I am okay with that.  

A friend of mine said each New Year she chooses a word to symbolize the coming year.  I really like that idea.  I don't make resolutions anymore.  They are just set ups for disappointment and shame.  But to have a word that expresses what I want to focus on just makes sense to me.  And I think, in keeping with my feelings expressed in the previous paragraph,  my word will be friendship.  Friendship.  That's a word that gets bandied about as much and as disrespectfully as love.  Friendship.  So easy to use that word.   Hey friends!  Tell your friends!  Why can't we be friends?  What does it mean though, really?  That's something I need to learn about.  I am good at being friends, but not as good as I could be.   I tend to take my friendships for granted and I will let them fall away if the other person doesn't help to keep it connected.  I want to change that.  I want to be a good friend, have meaningful connections.   And connections that aren't based on my need to vent, or be supported through a tough time with whoever I am in love with at the time.  My friendships need to be more meaningful, deeper, more sharing.   I need to work on being more loyal and forgiving.  And more open to receiving, to letting my friends care for me, and come in to my heart.  That's a hard thing for me.  It's a vulnerable, scary place to let someone in.  And right now, it's also a raw and broken place. My social anxiety mars my friendships with insecurity and self doubt.  So afraid I will turn them off, chase them away, not be the person they thought I was. I need to let go of that.  Believe I am lovable.

I am wishing everyone who reads this a truly blessed year ahead, may you have the serenity to accept the things you cannot change, the courage to change the things you can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Oh the Weather Outside is....Delightful

I want snow!  I know, I am a crazy person, and most definitely in the minority.  But I really do.  For many reasons, the least of which is the approaching Yule.  First of all, usually when there is snow, there is also sun.   Not warm sun, but illuminating, brilliant, need your sunglasses sun.  And the world looks cleaner and brighter under a blanket of snow.   I love the smell of it, the feel of it crunching underfoot and I even love the challenge of driving in it.  I don't have to shovel it, living in an apartment as I do, but I never really minded that either.  I love bundling up in sweaters and being cozy at home.  I love sitting in front of my window at night, or better yet going out for a walk when the snowflakes are falling thick in and lazy on a silent night.   There are drawbacks of course, as there is in just about everything in life, but for the most part snow is my friend. We need the cold temperatures and the snow.  The trees are confused and budding,  the birds don't know what to do, people are getting sick because germs are not being killed off by the cold and the fluctuating temperatures making it challenging to know how to dress.   And having it at this time of year makes the Yule season much more bearable.  So LET IT SNOW!!  

This year, more than other years I am not feeling the Christmas spirit.  And it's more than just the weather.  I usually go kicking and screaming in to the season, but eventually I come around and get in to it.   I refuse to even discuss Christmas before December 1.  I am not Christian and even if I was our society does not promote that aspect.  And I am not a consumerist.   Christmas baffles me.  I don't know why we continue to put ourselves through it.  And I say it that way because the whole attitude seems to be one of Christmas being a chore.   Almost everyone I know complains about it.  They drag themselves through their shopping.  They "have to get their baking  done".  They dread the coming visits with family.  So why do we do it?   We chase the carrot that the retailers dangle in front of us, telling us if we buy this gift, Christmas will be perfect.   And we buy more and more and more trying to recreate a magical thing that can't be bought.  If you ask anyone about their favourite Christmas traditions or Christmas memories very few of them will ever mention the gifts they got.   Most people will talk about the music, or the lights, or the time they spend with friends and family.  So why can't it just be that?  What would happen if everyone just decided to stop the insanity.  To take the parts of Christmas they cherish and stick with that?   Imagine it for a moment.  Doesn't it sound wonderful?  

I stopped the insanity a few years ago.  Now that I am a Unitarian my focus is on Solstice.  I don't have a tree.  I don't go crazy with gifts (having no money helps that) and I don't bake.  I look forward to spending time with my kids and grandkids and I like a good carol sing.   This year I didn't even decorate my apartment.   The decorations are still in the storage shed.  I spent a few days thinking I "should" go and get them and decorate.  But why?  I don't have visitors very often.  And for me, it's just trading one mess of clutter for another.  Too much work.  I enjoy other people;s lights on my nightly dog walk.  I can't eat any bakes stuff and I don't have a place to put a tree.  So...other than  wreath on my door I will just leave it at that.   And it's okay.

I invite anyone reading this to really think this holiday through and what it means to you.  Cut out the "shoulds" and hold on to the things you treasure and have a true, authentic celebration with those you love, be they friends or family.

My Lump of Coal

Well it has begun.   The yearly "Merry Christmas" debate.   Like most things these days that are based on utter stupidity and ignorance, this subject just makes my blood boil.   It's the arrogant, self righteous attitude of Christians that they alone own the holiday season.   According to educationalworld.com these are the events and celebrations that occur in the month of December:

 ·  Ramadan (Muslim)

·  Eid al-Fitr (Muslim)

·  Saint Nicholas Day (Christian)

·  Eid'ul-Adha (Muslim)

·  Fiesta of Our Lady of Guadalupe (Mexican)

·  St. Lucia Day (Swedish)

·  Hanukkah (Jewish)

·  Christmas Day (Christian)

·  Three Kings Day/Epiphany (Christian)

·  Boxing Day (Australian, Canadian, English, Irish)

·  Kwanzaa (African American)

·  Omisoka (Japanese)

·  Yule (Pagan)

·  Saturnalia (Pagan)

This proves, in my opinion that Merry Christmas is NOT the be all and end all of season greetings.  Furthermore I have NEVER heard of anyone being told they cannot use Merry Christmas if they so choose.   We live in a multicultural society. Christianity is not the only religion in our country.  Say whatever suits your needs.  But also understand the need for an all encompassing greeting that INCLUDES everyone.  Seasons Greetings, Happy Holidays, Peace On Earth might be a great one for these trying times.

People shout "To hell with being Politically Correct I am going to say Merry Christmas and you can just deal with it."   How wonderfully loving of you.   It's not about being politically correct!  It's about being inclusive.  It's about respecting the differences each of us has.   The word Politically Correct implies that not using a certain term would result in offense to someone.  Where is the offense in any of this?  What if someone said Merry Christmas you said Happy Hannukah back.  Would the world end?

Someone even said to me today  "..it's an AMERICAN tradition by our founding members..".  Seriously??  Where does this person think our founding members come from???   If we really want to honour our American tradition (and by American I mean all North Americans) we should be celebrating Winter Solstice and not Christmas at all.  In fact, the Indian blood coursing through my own veins abhors the thought of anything Christian while the European blood loves the lights and the music.

This whole debate just annoys the hell out of me because it goes against the meaning of the whole season.  Peace on earth and love for your fellow human beings.   Why such vitriol and hostility about a statement?

Businesses and government institutions should be required to honour all of their retail demographic and their taxpayers by using all inclusive...not politically correct....phrases to celebrate the diversity of  Candians.

My Unitarian beliefs encourage me to respect the inherent worth and dignity of all people.  And I try to do that. We honour all of the religions in our church.  So if someone comes up to me and says Merry Christmas, I don't feel offended because I don't celebrate Christmas.  They aren't wishing me ill.  It's a positive greeting, for a season of fellowship and love, no matter what you call it.

Back in the winter, I was intrigued by the appearance of bike racks at various spots throughout the city.   I figured it was to encourage people to ride their bikes more and provide a place to park the bikes other than parking meters.   It reminded me of hitching posts back in the day (not a day I was part of mind you).   Several weeks later I was quite excited to see trucks full of  wonderful bright blue bikes being installed in the bike racks.  In the snow.  The bikes have the words SoBi on them and I looked it up on the internet and discovered that my city now has a Social Bicycle program.   Bikes that you can use for an hour at a time.  Bikes that you don't have drag in to the elevator and haul through your apartment to leave on your balcony and never ride because it is too much of a hassle.   I wanted to ride these bikes in the worst way!

 As a child and teenager I loved bicycling.  I always felt so free on my bike, the wind blowing through my hair and the soft swish of the tires, on the road, the tick tick ticking of the gears.   Forgotten were the numerous spills and the agonizing moments of pulling my pants or socks out of the chain.   I wanted to recapture that glory and here were these blue beauties just waiting for me. There was a rack of them right outside my building!

 Now those who know me know that there is often a great deal of time that elapses between me saying I am going to do something and me actually doing it.   They also know there is a great deal of discussion, on my part, of how I am going to do it, where I am going to go, all the wonderful benefits of doing what ever it is I am planning on doing.   So it was with the SoBi.   First of all I had to wait for the snow to melt.  That took a while and it took longer for the weather  to actually warm up.  You can't ride a bike in the cold, I told myself, it's bad for the lungs...or something I think I read somewhere.   Then I had to buy a helmet.  It is ridiculous to even consider riding in the city with no helmet.   And that presented it's own set of problems, having to go to the store and pick one out,  knowing what brand to buy, and overcoming the total dork factor of wearing one  I finally bought a lovely turquoise and white one.  Just as the intense heat wave hit.  So I waited it out.  Dreaming of the day when I would pop my little dog in the basket and take off to parts unknown.   I had a plan.  We would practice under cover of darkness so I could get my bearings with out anyone watching.   I usually walk the dog late at night anyway because of her attitude towards other dogs.   And the traffic is lighter.  It was going to be wonderful!

Finally last week I decided I would have to get out on that bike or wait till spring.  So.  I got a little basket for Sadie, and we headed across the street to the racks.  I forgot the helmet but knew if I had to go back up and get it I would  lose my resolve.  The basket fit perfectly in the bike's carrier basket and I lifted her and she lay down, puzzled, but cooperative.  Putting in my account number and unhooking the bike was much easier than I thought it would be.  Off to a good start.

Now we come to the part where I wish a friend had been there to video tape me.  I could not get that damned bike going!   I could not get enough speed to get my balance and pedal.   I was terribly frustrated.  The whole fiasco lasted about 5 minutes with me in the middle of the intersection, bike between my legs, one foot on the road, one foot on the pedal and pushing to get started. And failing.  Every time I tried to get going the bike would over balance.   I tried from the curb.  I tried on a hill.  I was both cursing and laughing and I was sure there must have been some people sitting out on their balconies having a good laugh.  I tried not to think about that.

Finally I realized the problem.  It was the dog in the basket.  I have never been good at physics.   The dog in the basket was unbalancing the bike and preventing me from riding it.  She was perfectly still.  But the weight of her was working against me.  So, I gave up and walked the bike over to the rack, parked it and walked home, tail between my legs so to speak.

As for the dog?   She took it all in stride, but I am sure she is wondering about that strange walk we had the other night!   I will try again another time, when the rain stops.  Without the dog.  And maybe in another neighbourhood.

Grief and the Very Young

The little boys were at church today with their grandparents.  Their father is too distraught to do much of anything.   When I saw the boys walk in to the church my heart lurched.  Their mother died just over a week ago, after a brief illness.  I had no idea what to expect.  Sad, crying little boys?  But during the first part of the service they seemed fine, typical 7 and 5 year olds in church.  

The time came for us to take them back to the Sunday school with us.  It was a small group, only 5 children, everyone else gone for summer.   We sat in our usual circle and passed the chalice to talk about our sads and glads.  I held my breath, prepared to offer words of comfort for the inevitable sads.  But they didn't come.  The boys were in great spirits talking happily about their life.  I was both surprised and relieved.  

We all sat at the table and created sculptures from plasticene, and talked about our summer, and what we were creating, and about school starting and about funny things that had happened to us.   The boys remained cheerful and no mention was made of the mother they had just lost.   And it occurred to me that they are too young to fully comprehend their loss.  Not in the way we adults do.  Not the finality of it.  Not the devastating sadness of a woman taken too young, from little boys who need her so much. Not the anger at the injustice of it all.  Children's lives are immediate.   They live in the moment.  And there will be many painful moments  of missing their mom.  Bedtime, when they get hurt, when something reminds them of her, when daddy says no and they don't have mommy to appeal to.  And they will feel sad and they will cry, but it will be momentary.   They will find themselves feeling angry and they will act out, but they won't understand why.  

As they grow, her memory will fade, but they will grieve her differently throughout their lives at different stages of development.  They will grow up with only distant memories of her.   She will live in their psyche, and in their hearts, but they will mostly remember her through stories others tell them.   I am so grateful for the blessed innocence of their youth, that protective layer that lets them continue to believe that nothing bad can really happen, that mommy isn't really gone forever.   And I wish for them a happy life, full of love and nurturing and in their heart that little ember from the love of the one who was there at their beginning.

A few months ago I attended a Blanket Exercise to raise awareness of the Aboriginal Truth and Reconciliation commission that has been talked about in the news lately.  About 30 of us gathered in the back hall at our church.  We all sat in a circle and the facilitator spread several blankets all over the floor in front of us.   There was a brief introduction of what we could expect and then the exercise began.

We were all instructed to find a blanket and stand on it.  The blankets represented all of the territories that were occupied by Indians before the Europeans came over (literally all of North America).   We were encouraged to walk freely among the blankets.  We heard about how the Indians had lived together peaceably on the land.  They hunted and fished for only what they needed to survive.  They worshiped the land and celebrated and gave thanks for its bounty.  And they gave back.    


And then the narrators read through the time line of all that happened once the Europeans came.   They saw these peace loving natives and saw only weakness.   They offered treaties that were misleading and full of lies.  They gave them blankets that were deliberately infected with small pox that killed hundreds of thousands of natives.  Each time something happened, each time a treaty was broken, a blanket was removed from the floor and the people had to move on to other blankets.   Some people had to sit down because they had died from small pox and starvation.  Some had to leave their blanket because they had been sent to residential schools.  Some families were separated because the boundaries of their land were changed.  One of the facilitators was walking around us, making sure we weren't standing on one single piece of blanket more than we should have been standing on.   And by the time the exercise was over, very few blankets and very few people remained.   There was huge gaps between the blankets.  Some were empty.  some had so many people on them they could barely move.  

To say that this was a profound experience would be an understatement.  I have never been so deeply moved.   Afterwards we sat back down in our circle and had a debriefing.  A "talking shell" was passed around giving each person a chance to share their thoughts and their feelings without interruption.  And the choice was given to pass and say nothing.   Quite a few people passed.   Most people only spoke briefly and poignantly about how troubled they were, how ashamed they were that all of that had happened.   Very few of us had realized the terrible injustice done to the people who occupied our country first.  We didn't learn it in school.   We were given the white washed European version of history.  How wonderful it was the Columbus came and discovered a brave new world.   Nothing was said of what they did to that land and the people on it.   We learned about the 'savages'.   And we saw in t.v. shows that the Indians were bad people and if you played cowboys and Indians as a child, you never wanted to be an Indian.  I left that day feeling a deep sense of shame and sadness.   Too often today we see natives as being drunken, lazy, people living on reservations, that pay no taxes and sell cheap cigarettes.  To think of all that they had had, it's no wonder they may angry and bitter.   To have been sent away to residential schools where their whole way of life was erased from them and they were made to learn the white man's ways. Any aspect of their upbringing, of their culture, their language was beaten and brain washed out of them.  When they returned to their families after being at the schools, they found they didn't belong anymore.  They had become too different.  Some families rejected the "white" children and wouldn't let them return home..  And yet they weren't white enough to be accepted in to the culture into which they had been indoctrinated.   It was a terrible tragedy.  And so desperately unnecessary.

I had no idea what to expect when I signed up for this Blanket Exercise.  I saw the sign up sheet on the bulletin board at the church, and I thought it was a native ritual much like a drumming circle.  I had missed the service leading up to the exercise, so I had no idea what I was in store for me .   When the talking shell came around to me I was almost speechless and I wanted to pass it on.  It took me a few seconds to find my voice.   What struck me the most about this exercise was the total helplessness I felt while standing on that blanket, hearing about all of these atrocities, having all of these things happening around me that I couldn't stop.  And the devastation left on the floor at the end of it all.   The Europeans came to a land occupied by friendly, peaceful people who loved the earth and respected it.   who believed in the Great Spirit and honoured Mother earth.   They knew no other way.   The believed and trusted that the Europeans were honest and fair. They were dazzled by their fancy tools and technology.   And they were tricked and abused, and slaughtered time after time after time.   Of course they fought back but their primitive weapons, their bows and arrows were ineffective against the weapons of the Europeans.   And as I sat there digesting all of this I felt the native blood that runs through me, the blood of Joseph Brant, who was a very important figure in the history of our country.   And I also felt running through my veins the Scottish, English, and Welsh blood of my other ancestors.   Unsettling to say the least. I am both victim,  and perpetrator.  And I am not alone.  There are many people like me with such a history. 

 I think everyone who has a chance to take part in a blanket exercise should do so.  It will open your eyes.  It will make you stop and think about how you came to have everything you take so much for granted every day.  And you may feel anger, or shame, or sadness, but you will not feel pride.

Call Me Nana

I never saw myself as being one of "those" grandmothers.  The kind that talks endlessly about their grandchildren and pulls out pictures of them to show to anyone who is either a captive audience or shows the least bit of interest in your stories.   However I am both proud and slightly embarrassed to say that I am just that.  Do you want to see picture?

While being a grandma doesn't define who I am and it is not my whole life, it certainly is a highlight.  The time spent with them is always delightful and wondrous and amazing.   I have three granddaughters, Shyann who is 8, Arianna who is 4, from my son, and Grace who is 18 months from my daughter.  Shyann and Arianna live an hour away and I don't see them as often as I would like to.  Grace lives close by and I babysit her once a week.  They are delightful girls, well behaved, smart and funny.  No bias.  Grace is adopted and has been a source of love and healing for myself and my daughter after many years of strain and conflict.

The first time I saw Shyann I was overwhelmed with such emotion.  Here was a part of me, and a part of my own child, alive in yet another human being. It was  mind boggling.  And it has continued to be so for all of them...even Grace who is not blood but often makes us forget that by doing things her mother or her father or uncles did as a babies.

Being a grandmother allows me to be a parent all over again in a sense.  And now that I am older and wiser I am a much better grandma than I ever was a mother.   I love to watch my children as parents. They are good parents, patient and loving.  And it's funny how everything those girls do reminds me of something their parents did as children.  Shyann is at the age now where she wants to hear all about daddy as a little boy.  Sharing those stories with her is so much fun.

For some women becoming a grandmother is a sign of old age and they don't like to talk about it.  I have never felt that way.  I don't feel old.  I feel blessed.   The stereotypical image of the gray haired granny sitting in a rocking chair is no longer valid these days.  Most of the grandmothers I know are active and young at heart with busy lives of their own.   And most of them babysit their grandchildren.  Nana is the new mom.

So here's to all the grandmothers.  Whip out those pictures, and share those stories.  You earned it!

I Am Only Human

Two weeks ago my girlfriend underwent a radical bilateral mastectomy and reconstruction because she has the BRCA2 gene that predisposes her to breast cancer.  It's a brutal surgery, with three sites.  She is cut from hip to hip, and both breasts have been removed and reconstructed using fat from her abdomen.  Arteries had to be threaded up through her body to the breast, which involved moving around ribs. Her navel was lifted up and then stitched back in place.  So, she is battered and bruises and scared.  And she is exceptionally strong and brave.  The surgery took 8 hours and she was in the hospital for 5 days.

My role as care taker should have been fairly easy.  Just do whatever I can to make her comfortable and take care of the chores she is not able to do.  I packed a bag and moved in to her place for as long as she needed me.  Long days were spent by her side at the hospital, making her comfortable and doing what the nurses were too busy to do.  Little things.  Finding clean linens and refilling the ice water.  I read to her and we talked a lot.  It was hard to see her so uncomfortable and in so much pain, but her spirits were good.

Last Friday she came home.  We were both exhausted and emotionally drained.  She had had a bad night the night before and it broke my heart to see her suffer so much.  It was wonderful to get her home and I figured the worst was over.  I was wrong.  I consider myself a fairly compassionate person and my natural instinct is to "care take" others, neglecting my own needs.  I knew I was tired but I thought I was okay.  I was shocked and upset to find myself irritable and overwhelmed and bitchy.  What was wrong with me?  I was tearful and often angry.  I felt like such a failure and when she said she was going to get help because it was obviously too much for me, I was devastated.  I wanted to do it all.  I needed to do it all.  I am not sure what was in place, what was going on.  All I know is that there were more triggers than a gun shop.  I am still trying to process it all.  Now that she is getting better and needs less attention from me, I am able to handle things better and things are settling down.  I have even been able to move back to my own place and just come and be with her during the day.

Here are the things I have learned about being a caretaker of someone you love.

1.  Any issues you had before the surgery or illness will not take a vacation until your loved one recovers.  They will be magnified, and you won't have to the energy or emotional resources to deal with them.

2.  You may feel it should not be about you as you are not the one having the surgery.  But it is about you, it affects you and you will have emotional reactions that will surprise you.  I am still dealing with the trauma of seeing her in tremendous pain only to have a nurse come in and thrust the cumadin intra muscular needle in to her thigh, causing her to scream out in agony.  It rings in my ears.

3.  Hospitals are awful, crowded, noisy, smelly places with little privacy and absolutely no dignity.  They take their toll on both patient and family.

4.  If you have health issues of your own, you need to pay attention. Take care of yourself.  Get rest.  You cannot expect compassion from the patient.   Any sigh, grunt, or stiffness when walking will be taken in by the patient and they will attempt to do things they shouldn't because they feel guilty.  This was the hardest thing for me.  That I was expected to be perfect.

5.  Accept help from others.  And be grateful. No one expects you to do it all.  Except you.  Let that go.

6.  Humour is a lifesaver.   If you cant' laugh, you will go crazy.  And we have laughed a lot.  We have had many disasters and crises, not all surgery related.  But we managed to handle them with humour and it made all the difference.

7.  And last of all, this is temporary.  Things will improve.  Remember that.  Remember how much you love the person you are taking care of, and realize that the way they are now is not the real person.   It's a wounded, sick, recovering person who has been through hell, with you walking beside them, for better or for worse.

Relationships

In my family,on my mother's side,  almost every single person has been divorced.  My parents, my mother's parents, and my mother's siblings.   Most them remarried successfully...as in they are still married to their second spouse.   When my parents split up, my mother dated for a while and then that stopped.  Years later she told me she stopped dating because every time a man came over I thought he was going to be my new daddy.  How embarrassing for her! I spent most of my childhood with a lonely, depressed mother. Shortly after I married my first husband, my mother got remarried to a man who controls her every movement, and she is enjoying her misery 37 years later.   My mother, being a depressive person, had few friends, and seldom socialized.  She came to life when my soon to be stepfather would come to visit (it was a long distance relationship for many years) and shut down as soon as he left.

My father's mother married a man 40 years her senior, when she was 18 years old.  They stayed married till my grandfather died and my grandmother never remarried.  She had spent most of her life taking care of an elderly husband.  My father was the only child.  He disappeared from my life shortly after he left our home, when I was 10.  There was no warning of his leaving (I was doing dishes at the kitchen sink while he was walking by me carrying his clothes, saying he was going on a a business trip), and no reason for his abandonment of my brother and I.

I am writing all of this to give some background as to why I have been an absolute failure at relationships all of my life.  Not because I am a bad person, I am not any worse than anyone else. Having had virtually no role models for healthy relationships, I choose inappropriate partners for all the wrong reasons.  They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.  I have determined that when it comes to relationships, for me, insanity is the name of the game.

I have had three husbands (one was common law).   My three children all have the same father.  They have had to endure the loss of three male figures in their lives.  When they were adults, I came out, and I have had three long term girlfriends.   So my children  have endured the coming and going of a LOT of people, as well as having to cope with a pretty fucked up mom. I was a good mother, don't get me wrong. My kids were cared for, and loved. There was a lot of togetherness, and humour, and meaning in their lives.  But my issues are a source of deep shame and guilt for me that has coloured my relationship with my children and still does even though they are adults.

Now I am in another relationship, and it is very much like the others, but there is no abuse this time.  My girlfriend is a sweet and decent person, with enough emotional baggage and issues to warrant years of therapy which she is not getting.

And that's what draws me.  Emotionally unavailable men, and emotionally unstable women.   I want to rescue them, I want to be the person that makes them happy.  To love them when no one else does.  I choose women with no family, or estranged families. I come to the rescue and they are grateful and appreciative. I am kind and compassionate, and loving and selfless.  And then because I don't think anyone can love me if I don't sleep with them, I sleep with them, and then after a few months,  I realize I have made another mistake and I am stuck. The neediness that drew me in, makes me irritable and impatient.  

At least this time I didn't move in with her.  At least this time we have agreed to be friends before we destroy the relationship beyond repair.  I am a MUCH better friend than a partner.  I cannot live well with others.  I feel I have to fix everything, and be responsible for everything and I burn out after a year or so.  And then I stay while I try to salvage something that was doomed to begin with.   And my children pay the price for that.

My daughter doesn't want me to bring around any new women around if I can't guarantee that it is going to be permanent.  I can't do that.  I always intend for it to be permanent, I always have the best intentions, every one of them has been "the one" and it's always "different this time".  They are understandably skeptical.   My daughter has a baby, 16 months old that my current partner loves dearly.  But because we have decided to have a friendship instead of a partnership my daughter has told me she no longer wants my girlfriend around the baby or at family functions because she doesn't want her daughter to go through what they had to go through because of me.  In her words "parading people through our lives that aren't going to stay".  I tried to explain, to no avail, that the chances of my "friend" being in my life long term is much greater than my "partner" being around long term.  I am still in touch with all but two of my exes and we have very civil relationships.  But she is scared, and she is protective of her child, and  unable to let go of the past.

And I don't blame her.  And it hurts me to the core.  And I know it's unfair, and I know it's not my decision because it is her child.  And I know I totally deserve this. And I don't know how to fix it.


 

Singers Gotta Sing

Last night I went to karaoke night at the local LGBT bar.  It's a new place in town and has a really warm welcoming atmosphere.  I hadn't done karaoke in a long time. And I really love it.  It's one of my favourite nights out.  The people there are just out to have some fun and make some music.  Most of the time there is no competition.  It's not about that.

There are many different kinds of karaoke people.

The lonely guy who comes every night and sings, and sits at a table by himself.   I always imagine this guy going on a dating site and telling women he is a singer in a bar.  

The wannabe rock star who gets up there and does all the things they think you need to do to be a rock star, hair tossing, head banging,air guitar, whatever. They are total legends in their own mind.    Sometimes they can sing, often not.

The amazing singer who just hasn't gotten a break yet, or doesn't think they are amazing, or doesn't want to make a career of it.  Those are the ones that make others afraid to go up and sing.  The ones no one wants to follow.  The ones everyone wants to be like.

The tipsy singer who is up there on a dare, spurred on by their equally tipsy fans.  Again sometimes they can sing sometimes not.

The "hobo" singer.  That guy who looks like he just came in off the street.  Ragged, dirty, slightly drunk.  And he brings the house down with his fabulous voice. Shy, nerdy looking people also fit in to this category but are much tidier.

The terrified singer who is going up for the first time.  Trembling voice, shaking, sweating, and then, after the first few bars, the bug bites them and they are totally into it and hooked forever.

The average singer.  This is most of the people who do karaoke, myself included.  I have a good voice, I can hold a tune, and I am good enough to sing solos in my choir.  But not good enough for a career as a singer and I don't want that.  I just like to sing.  Into a mike.  I like the adrenaline rush, I like the way my voice sounds in the mike.  Especially after a couple of drinks...of course that might be a bit of  delusion on my part.

When you first get there, it's pretty tame.  People aren't drunk yet.  The better singers go up then and sing the classics.   But as the night wears on the fun really starts.  That's when you see most of those types of singers.  That's when you might see a drunk guy go up and sing "Tequila" which basically consists of standing there for the whole song, shouting Tequila!  downing the shot and stumbling to their table.  All inhibitions are dropped.  After midnight things get weird, but until then it's great.

If you love watching people, want to have a good time and want to do something really exciting and daring, that doesn't involve heights and harnesses, try karaoke.  I highly recommend it.

Tiny Dancers

Last Saturday I attend the dance recital of my granddaughters, A, aged 7 and S, aged 3.  This was the S's first year and A's second year.  When you attend these things, you don't just watch your own children, you watch ALL of the performances from the very, very young, to the young adults.  It's a long afternoon, but I always thoroughly enjoy myself.  This year S was the 18th dance, and A was the 39.  I had several "ponderings" throughout the recital.

The costumes these children wear are gorgeous, and expensive.  The youngest ones, for the most part, come out on stage, in their little tulle tutus and satiny body suits, tiara's on their heads, some of them with more makeup than most adults wear, and their hair up in severe buns.  And a lot of them just stand there looking shy.   Some of them will attempt a few of the moves (they all love the jumping parts) and none of them are on beat in or sync.  It's adorable!  But I can't help thinking about all that money spent for just that.  I suppose it's practice being on stage, you have to start somewhere.  But why not, for the little ones, just the leotard and body suit?   Some of these kids are in 3 or 4 performances, all with different costumes.   And there were a few families where there were more than 2 children.  It's mind boggling.  The costumes are only used once, they don't get passed down.  

There were two boys in the whole recital.  One boy I had seen last year and he was back this year looking much more mature but just as talented and enthusiastic as before.  I love to see that.  I know it takes a special kind of boy and a special kind of parent to be able to do this.  Boy dancers are not as revered as boy hockey players although I think that should change.  

Many of the girls were heavy.  Not fat, although a couple were skirting the edges.  And I only point this out because when we think of dancers we immediately picture tall and lithe young women pirouetting across the stage lighter than air.  But here I saw all shapes and sizes.  And many of those big girls were far more talented than their skinnier peers.  Some of the heavy girls were in three or four performances as well, tap, jazz and ballet, and they were able to do back flips, cartwheels and other very complicated moves with ease.  There were no elephants on that stage.  It struck me that these girls must have to practice constantly, they must always be exercising, and yet they are still heavy.  And they are learning to accept their bodies, and move them and be creative with them.  So much for media stereotypes of beauty.  I saw real beauty on that stage on Saturday.  

You can tell the kids who are feeling the music, the ones who are there because they want to be, the ones who love to move, from the kids who are there because they are living a parent's dream.  It's not about shyness.  It's not about ability.  It's about the heart and soul of the dance.  And when a child has it, it's a sight to behold.  I saw the magic happen for my own granddaughter, A,  this year. Last year she was not so much in to it, wasn't "hearing" the music, dancing but not really focusing.  This year, it was there.  It had clicked.  I was verklempt!   

Many people have a problem with this type of competition.  Comparing it to Toddlers and Tiara's. Calling it elitist because only the well off can afford the lessons, the shoes and the costumes necessary at a time when bodies are still growing.   But I would rather my child be in something beautiful and creative, and eventually spiritual, than have them bashing themselves on the boards playing hockey.

Advice from people who have never been there.

I once heard someone say "I was a perfect parent, and then I had children".  Exactly.  And that's what has prompted me to write this post.    I went to college and studied Early Childhood Education and I worked in day care for a few years.   When I became pregnant with the my first child, I was convinced it would be a breeze.  After all, I had been looking after 10 children at a time, so how could one be harder?   To say I was wrong is an understatement.  My own child didn't go home at 5 o'clock.  My own child didn't stay home when it was sick.  And I never had to get up in the night when I worked in day care, to soothe a feverish newborn.   And it wasn't just the physical demands, those were manageable and there was an end in sight.   What I really wasn't prepared for was the emotional roller coaster of being a parent.  It touches your heart and your soul, not your intellect.

So I have this to say to my childless friends who say to me," I really resent that women don't think I know what it's like to be a mother, just because I haven't had children of my own."  Well, I am sorry to say ...you don't.  I know you are well meaning, compassionate, sympathetic and sometimes helpful, but you do not know what it is like.  Children have a way of making the most intelligent, educated, dedicated parents turn in to unsure, guilt ridden, anxiety fueled shells of our former selves.   Sure, we all know all about child development, and we've read the books, and the latest theories.  But there is nothing to prepare for you that gut wrenching feeling when your child is crying and you don't know why.   Or when they are having a violent tantrum and you do know why, but you are trying to teach them boundaries.  All that intellectual knowledge flies out the window and your responses are visceral and profound.  And it never ends.  

Ask any parent of an adult child who is struggling in life, or suffering from an inherited illness, if we blame ourselves.  Most of us, especially mothers will say they do.  And we will suffer if our adult child is making life choices that we don't believe in or we feel are wrong or harmful EVEN THOUGH we know it's not our life, and not our problem, and it is their journey. 

So to my childless friends....I know you mean well, and I love you.  But when you hear me talking about my struggles with my children, don't negate or minimize my feelings and then say I know it's hard.  No you don't. 

Oh Give Me A Home

My youngest son just bought his first house.  Now all three of my children are homeowners.  I guess I shouldn't really say children, they are all adults now.  Perhaps offspring is a better word.  Or spawn.  Anyway, I am proud of all of them.  They have worked hard to become homeowners.  It's not easy in this economy when you are young.  However I am glad it's them and not me.

I bought a house once.  It was a nightmare for reasons long enough to write a book, and I may one day.  But for now I will list the reasons I will never again be a homeowner.

1. Roofs that need replacing
2. Windows that need replacing
3. Taxes
4. Interest
5. Furnaces that break down
6.  Hydro bills and water bills that will put you in the poor house
7. Plumbing updates
8. Flooded basements
9. Weekends spent on home and lawn maintenance
10. House sitters.


When I moved in to my first apartment at age 42, I was anxious.   What if I get mugged in the elevator, or the underground parking lot?  What if I have noisy neighbours? What if my clothes get stolen from the laundry room.  But I have lived in 7 apartments in the last 14 years, and I have NEVER been mugged and except for an incident last summer with the guy across the street, I have NEVER had trouble with neighbours or had my laundry stolen.

Here are the reasons I like renting.

1.  Lock the door and go.
2. Everything that goes wrong is the superintendent's problem.
3.  If I want to move, as I frequently do, I just give two months notice.  No waiting for a house to sell, no having to keep my place clean for endless showings.

So what if I am throwing my money away on rent.   Homeowners are throwing money away on interest payments.  By the time they pay off their mortgages they need a new roof or something similarly budget busting.

I am a happy renter.

Rude Awakenings

So spring has sprung, the grass has riz, and we know where the birdies is.  The temperature is starting to become more stable and we can almost feel safe putting away the warm woollies.  People are planting gardens and putting out flower pots and opening pools and planning vacations.  We wake in the mornings to the sound of birds singing sweetly as they make nests for their new offspring.  It is a sweet and joyful time of year.

But once or twice a week the peacefulness of the neighbourhood is shattered by the hounds of hell that are roaming the country in the guise of  leaf blowers.  Their roar is ear splitting, nerve shattering and totally without purpose.   For some reason the leaf blowers  only  seem able to roar to life  at 7 a.m  Rarely are they heard in the late afternoon or evening.  They start their cacophony even before the grass is cut.  If the fates are kind the noise is over by the time the lawn mower has started, but that rarely happens.  I have seen landscaping companies with three or four employees all armed with leaf blowers and blowing the same pile of leaves and debris!   And don't bother trying to holler at them for silence, they are all wearing protective ear muffs!  And some of them work for the city so they are a different species altogether and better left alone.

What is the benefit of these horrible pieces of machinery?  I have pondered this question for many years.  And the only thing I can come up with is that they are toys for boys.  Men love their machines.  They love their gadgets, especially the ones they can hold anywhere near their waist. (jackhammers, floor polishers, golf clubs)  It's not like the leaf blower is more efficient than a rake.  It's not.  It spews the leaves and litter and dirt and pebbles and small animals all over the yard and onto the street where the whole mess clogs the storm drains.  A lot of the "debris" is food for squirrels and birds...pine cones, and seeds are blown to the street.   Is it a time saver?  Perhaps it's faster, but if you need 3 or 4 people to do one area how much money are you really saving?  And what about the gas and maintenance of those monstrosities.  They can't be saving money.  Raking is a sustainable and ecologically sound way of taking care of the yard.  Has no one realized that?

Here's the real question though.  Everyone is entitled to get their job done in whatever way works for them and if that means blowing the leaves all over the place, then whatever floats your boat.  But why in the name of all that is holy, has no one come up with a way to make the damn things quieter??  There must be some technology that could eliminate the noise and the fumes.   Why are these not outlawed, or bylawed the way cars are.  If you have a car that has no muffler you are required to have it fixed, it's a noise violation!   I have not met anyone who thinks these leaf blowers are great.

I want to start a petition to have these made illegal if they are not made silent.  But this is a first world problem.  There are so many other serious issues to get angry about.  Eventually the noise stops and the fumes blow away, the squirrels carry the pine cones back to where they were, and the birds find the seeds.  And I take advantage of the early wake up call and write rants about the leaf blowers.  Something for everyone.

Oh Give Me A Home...

Last Wednesday I attended a presentation about homelessness hosted by HOPE  (Hamilton Organizing for Poverty Elimination), and I have been deeply disturbed ever since.  I had no idea the desperateness of this situation.   I was shocked at the number of people who are homeless. I knew it was serious, I just didn't have any idea HOW serious.  You see homeless people on the streets here and there asking for change, but there are thousands we don't see...in shelters, or staying with friends short term, or in hospitals.  Many of the homeless are youth who have reached the age where they are no longer eligible for foster care and they are forced to leave.  And there's no where for them to go.

 I was even more shocked at the amount of money homelessness costs in tax payers money.  Homeless people usually have a variety of medical issues and most of them use the hospital as their primary health care place, ...they have no family doctors.  We spend more money on the homeless problem than we do on providing housing for them.

I don't have a head for statistics and can't really remember the exact numbers.  A lot of statistics were mentioned by many different organizations.  I just know how hopeless I felt coming away from that meeting.  Because I know that if it weren't for the generosity of my former partner, I could very well be on the streets myself and it terrifies me.  Most of us are one pay cheque away from being in the same situation.   One illness, one accident, one job loss, one marital break up....we are precarious.  One statistic I do remember is this:  OW pays 602.00/mth/couple for housing costs.  The average one bedroom apartment in Hamilton is 749,00. It boggles my mind that the government doesn't see the absurdity at this situation.  Or they see it and choose not to do anything about it because homeless people don't vote and can't possibly compete with the big corporations whose  asses the government loves to kiss.

There are many organizations who are gathering forces to make a change.  Medicine Hat Alberta has solved its homeless problem by....wait for it...providing homes for them!!
They actually acted on the problem  rather than sitting around talking about it, and forming endless committees, and hosting endless workshops...or presentations where they preach to the choir.   We could take a page from their book.

The next time you see a homeless person on the street, remind yourself that they are just the tip of an enormous iceberg.  They are not always drunk or addicted, they are not always poor and uneducated. There are families.  There are children who are going to school after spending the night sleeping in a shelter or in a car.  And after you remind yourself of this, then thank the powers that be that you are not there with them, and pray you never will be.

Today I drove by one of the new community mail boxes that are sprouting up all over the city.  There were three of them and they had all been knocked off the cement foundation, the bolts completely pulled up.  Apparently this is the new form of protest.  Last week the Spectator ran an article about a young man, Howard, who stood in the hole made for these mailboxes and refused to move until the workers left.  There have been petitions, and a huge outcry of protest against the phasing out of home mail delivery.   It just proves the point that people will not pay attention to an issue until affects them directly.

Really people?  This is what you are choosing to protest?  Having to walk a short distance to pick up your mail?   Or more realistically, having to stop your car on the way home to pick up your mail.   This is so definitely a first world problem!  First of all, no one really gets much of any importance in their mailboxes anymore, if my own is any indication.  And by the way, I live in an apartment, I have to take the elevator to get my mail which is mostly ads, and flyers, and bills for accounts I already receive emails about. I have never thought of protesting that my mail doesn't come right to my apartment! Besides, it's not like you have to pick up your mail every day!

We should be grateful that it's not water we have to walk to get.  Or medications.  People in Africa who are sick with HIV or AIDS walk hours to clinics for medication that is most likely all gone by the time they get there.  People in third world countries have to walk miles and stand in line in the hot sun to get clean fresh water.  A basic necessity of life.  Their whole day revolves around getting water, and hauling it back home.  And I realize my pointing out Africa is very similar to the "eat your dinner there are children in Africa who are starving" but I stick to my point.  We are so fat and lazy and feel so entitled that the slightest inconvenience sends us in to a whiny protest.  And the outcry about seniors and the disabled not being able to get their mail?  They will figure it out.  They have to for everything else.  

What people don't seem to realize is that the community mailboxes have been around for a long time.  Many, new suburban subdivisions have this system of mail delivery. You don't hear any complaints from them.

We really need to wake up and fight for things that matter.  Clean water, and good food for EVERYONE.  A place to live for EVERYONE.  Freedom to be who they are, for EVERYONE.

Walking to the mailbox is the least of our worries right now.

Well it's over for another year.  I have had my pity party and my cry and now I will move on.  And even though every year I promise myself  I will not go on Facebook and see all my friends posts about how wonderful their Mother's Day was, I always do.  Like a moth to a flame.  My children each sent me a text.  And I suppose I should be grateful that they acknowledged me at all.  But it hurt anyway.

You hear it said all the time that Christmas is the most difficult holiday for a lot of people.  Perhaps.  But I think Mother's Day is even more painful.  It is fraught with all kinds of baggage, old and new.  Past hurts from our own mother's, and present hurts from our own offspring.  Everyone of us has a mother.  How can it not be an emotional time for most of us?

Mother's Day has always been difficult.  My mother did her best, but she was very young when she had me at only 18 years old.  My father left when I was 10 and my mother, not quite 30 was left to raise two children on her own, as well as pay off the mound of debt left by my father.  We lived in poverty.  We lived in shame as no one we knew had a single mother. And to top it all off she was struggling with mental illness.  Of course as a child you don't understand the pressures your parents face and the burdens they must bear.  All you know is your mother is tired, depressed, and too wrapped up in her own hurt to be available for you.  And then along comes that holiday to rub salt in the wounds.

My brother and I tried hard to make good Mother's Day's for her.  But when I was a teenager and young adult, I was bitter about my relationship with mother and angry with her most of the time.  Choosing a mother's day card was an ordeal.  At one time in my life I even considered making a line of greeting cards for dysfunctional families.   Maybe I should have.  "Mom, you were always there for me....passed out on the couch, but there just the same"...you know...stuff like that.  But I had to choose a Mother's Day card out of the array of sappy, sentimental cards that were available.  They just didn't fit.  So I went with the humourous ones, humour being my first defense when feelings become too intense.

Fast forward to present day and my own experiences of Mother's Day as a mother myself.  My children when they were young did things for me and it was always so sweet.  And we all tried to get together for brunch, or dinner.   But then they all went off and created lives of their own, with partners and children of their own.   I stopped arranging get togethers for Mother's Day because I figured they were old enough to do it.   Besides I am not comfortable saying"come and see me and tell me how great I am".   So I waited for the invitations for a get together, or a card, or a phone call.  Nothing.  Just the text messages.  And my heart broke.  Was that all I am worth to them?  Did I do such a bad job of raising them that they don't appreciate me? Are they spoiled and selfish?  And on Mother's Day evening, those are the thoughts that run through my head.

Then Monday comes and I regain my sanity and I realize that, just like me, my children are busy with their own lives.   They don't need me.  They don't think about me.  That's as it should be to a certain degree.  They have fled the nest.  And as I look back, I realize I never made a big deal about Mother's Day for my own mother, once I had a family of my own.  What goes around come around.  We never realize how much we hurt our parents until we become parents ourselves and our own children hurt us.

Anyway, I am glad it's over.

As Long As I Have Music

I have heard it said that religion and politics are topics to stay away from when talking with others.  I am going out on a limb here, to share some of my thoughts. If you are offended I am sorry, that is not my intention.  I am writing about MY beliefs and am in no way suggesting others should believe the same if it doesn't work for them.

I am not a religious person in the traditional sense.  Like the song by Blood, Sweat and Tears, I swear there aint no heaven and I pray there aint no hell, that pretty much sums it up.  I attend the First Unitarian Church in Hamilton every Sunday.  This church is more humanist than deist.  Our mission statement is "To nurture each  other, serve the community and inspire action that heals the world".  I like that.  The responsibility is on us to change things in this world.  We cannot wait around for "God" to do something.   I don't intend to be blasphemous.  It's not that I don't believe in GOD
, but rather I don't believe in religion as dictated by the church.   I have no doubt that there is something out there that is greater than us.  To me it's an energy, rather than a person who sits in judgement and metes out punishment to the non believers or the sinners.   As a Unitarian I believe ALL people have worth and dignity and are deserving of salvation, in whatever form that may take.

 I also have no problem with people who believe what the Bible tells them.  I have a daughter who swears by it.  We have had many discussions about our differences and the one common ground we have is that the basis of most religions is love.  Love for one another, and love for the earth.  If you look up the golden rule, you will find various interpretations of it in all religions.

I do consider myself a spiritual person.  I feel connected to the earth and to the universe.  I am aware of the energies, and I feel the power in one way or another just about every day.  Through meditation I connect with the universe in a way that is hard to describe.  And there are various ways of meditating.   Whether it's mindfulness, being totally present in the moment,  or whether it is through a creative outlet, like painting...or singing.   I love hymns!   Unitarian hymns often have the same tune as traditional hymns but with slightly altered lyrics.

I belong to a feminist choir.  We meet once a week for rehearsals and we perform in the community at various social justice events.   Every week while I am there singing, I am transported in to another state of being.   The sounds of all of our voices blending together in harmony is magical.  And when we perform for an audience, the feeling is such a high it lasts for days afterwards.   It's spiritual for me.  It's like prayer to lift up my voice and sing.   And I sing almost all the time.  I hum. I make up silly songs with my granddaughter,  or with my friends.   No matter how tired, how sick, or how tough my day has been, I always find singing lifts me up.  Sometimes the songs start in tears, but they usually end in the sweet release of the negative energy and eventually some peace.

My wish for humanity is that we all learn to accept, not just tolerate, each person's differences, and have compassion for those who are struggling.   I can't imagine any religion that kills  people for not sharing the same beliefs, can be good for anyone.  Yeah, that seems like an obvious statement, but sadly there are those who disagree.

Open Minds, Loving Hearts, Helping Hands.   That works for me.

A to Z Reflections

This challenge has been really positive for me.  As a person who needs external pressure to get anything done, I really liked the structure of this.  A to Z on anything you want.  Boundaries, but freedom within those boundaries.  

Writing my posts also made think about things more clearly, and in an articulate way.  I had to come up with topics and then write something that didn't sound like  inane stream of consciousness blathering.

The best part is meeting other bloggers!  I am brand new at blogging and felt so happy when someone read, and commented on my blog.  It is motivating me to keep going.

I am looking forward to next April to do this again.

ZOUNDS! I made it! (caution , this post contains coarse language)

Swearing has become so much a part of our casual vocabulary that in a lot of cases it has lost its punch.  Swearing used to be shocking, now it is just rude.  Even children are allowed to say Oh My God! and no one bats an eye.  I used to get smacked for just saying 'shut up'.  Now I casually drop 'f-bombs' without even thinking.  I am not one of those people who has to lace my speech with an f bomb every other word, but I love that word for it's power when emotions are high.  Like when I dropped my laptop and corner of it hit my toe, there was no other word that would express the degree of pain I was in.  Well, maybe there was, but I couldn't think of it at the time.  And the word fuck lends itself quite nicely to being a verb or an adjective.

In trying to decide what to write about for the letter Z, I thought of the word Zounds!  It's an old word no one uses anymore.  So I started thinking about other archaic expletives.   Egad!  Gadzooks!   to name a few.   These expletives have religious origins, but so do a lot of our current expletives. Even fuck means From Unlawful Carnal Knowledge.

Imagine if we started using those words instead of the same old ones we've always used.  Imagine if those words came back in vogue.   Gadzooks!  I am late for work.  Egad! It's hot out here.  Zounds!  What a great idea!   People would probably think we were crazy.   And none of them really pack a punch like the fbomb.  Yelling Gadzooks or Zounds just makes me want to laugh.  And maybe that's a good thing,

Zounds! I can't believe I completed this challenge.  And it has been a challenge.  But I enjoyed it. And now I have a few followers so I am motivated to keep blogging.  Egad! What will I write about now?  Thank you to everyone who supported me during this challenge and especially to those who commented and began following my blog.  I hope you continue to follow me, and Gadzooks! I hope my future blogs don't disappoint.

Yes! Yes! Yes!

There is a lot of NO in our world.  No smoking, no parking, no loitering, no stopping, no shirt no shoes no service, no dumping, no soliciting....and on it goes.  Everywhere we look it seems we are  told NOT to do something.  I would like to imagine for a moment if we turned that around and started saying YES.   Yes you can park here.  Yes you can smoke here (in designated smoking areas), YES you can dump here (in landfill sites).  Similar to the Yes We Are Open signs.  What if the traffic lights were changed so that the green light was the biggest one and at the top.  What if we said YES, please feel free to loiter here and even provided benches for people to sit on.  What if we said WE WANT PEACE instead of NO MORE WAR.  Would it have an impact?  Would it be as effective.

Think about your life.  The things you do each day, the places you go, the responsibilities you have, how you spend your leisure time.  Are you living a YES life, or a NO life.   Do you find yourself saying YES more than NO?   And I don't mean just in response to Do you want fries with that.  When someone asks you for spare change, or for help, or to stay at work late, or to feed their cat, or walk their dog while they are away, what is your response?  Is it harder for you to say YES or NO?

I am a YES person.  I really like to help people, and I really like to keep busy and try new things. I am usually up for anything, depending on the state of my health on any particular day.  Sometimes I say YES too much and I end up over extended and it's not a good thing.  So I have learned to put some NO in my life for my own benefit.   And it's hard.  I don't like to disappoint, I don't like to hurt people's feelings, or not be there for them.  But I have done a lot of reading and had a lot of therapy around setting healthy boundaries and how to be assertive.  And it has become easier for me to say NO to people I don't know very well, but family and friends are a different story.  I will drop what I am doing any time one of my children needs my help.  And if I can't say YES I am wracked with guilt.   Through assertiveness I learned that instead of saying NO to a request, I could say I would really like to help you out, but I can't at this time.  And leave it at that. No explanations.  And a gentler refusal.

Of course there are times when a strong NO is called for.  We can't totally do without that word.  It's very effective in stopping people who are heading for danger, or who are being aggressive towards us.  We couldn't very well say to a mugger, why yes you may take my wallet as long as you don't hurt me.  Very small children respond to NO more quickly than a long sentence.  So, it's a necessary thing.  But what i am talking about is how interesting it would be if the balance was shifted in favour of YES.

Some people find it hard to say YES.   Saying yes makes you somewhat vulnerable and open to disappointment.  You say YES hoping for a positive experience, or a deeper connection with someone.  Saying YES opens you up to being taken advantage of.  Anyone who is part of an organization knows that once you say YES to helping with one project you are automatically seen as someone who says YES and you get asked to help again and again and again.

I think the word NO causes a more emotional response in us.  When someone says no to us we are hurt, or disappointed or angry.  And we want to know why.  Why is the answer no.  Why won't the person help us, or be there for us, or bail us out?  


There was an article in the Reader's Digest not long ago about a guy who decided that for 7 days he would say yes to everything.  I didn't really like the article as much as I liked the idea.  And I might even try it myself to see what happens.  And then I will blog about the results.  YES, I like that idea.

Let's say YES to life, and to love and to hope.  Let's say YES to being healthier.  Let's say YES to protecting our environment.  And let's say YES to taking care of ourselves.


PS YES I know I missed some question marks while writing this blog.  And YES I am okay with that, so grammar police, take your case elsewhere.

Xenophobia ...are we guilty of it?

Dictionary definitions of xenophobia include: "deep-rooted, irrational hatred towards foreigners" (Oxford English Dictionary; OED), and "unreasonable fear or hatred of the unfamiliar" (Webster's).^[5] The word comes from the Greek words ξένος (xenos), meaning "strange", "foreigner", and φόβος (phobos), meaning "fear".^[6]

With all the immigrants in this country, Canada doesn't seem to be xenophobic.  It's kind of interesting, our attitude towards immigrants.  We love to adopt the customs of other cultures...we eat ethnic food, watch ethnic movies, wear ethnic fashions, and even sometimes use ethnic slang.  And yet, we still bitch and complain about "foreigners" coming and taking our jobs.  Oh really?  Think of the foreigners in your neighbourhood.  They are running the convenience stores, the gas stations, and the taxi business.  Are these things we want to do?  Not many of us do.  If they are taking our jobs it's because they have better education and are better qualified.   There are many,  many foreigners who have come to this country having been  professionals in their home country, and when they get here they find out that their qualifications mean nothing here.  How sad is that?

Right now in the western world we are extremely distrustful of people from the middle east.  We fear they are all terrorists.  A group of them walking down the street conversing in their native language make us feel uneasy.  Anytime we hear someone speaking in their native language we are uncomfortable , and sometimes you hear people say 'speak English like the rest of us, you are in Canada now'.  We are afraid they are talking about us, or laughing at us, or plotting against us.  It drives us crazy not to know what they are saying.

 But imagine for a moment that you were sent to a foreign country.  Everything is strange.  You can't speak the language well, you don't know the customs, you don't like the food.  So you look for comfort in the familiar, you look for people like you.   How would you feel if you were told to speak the language of the new country when you are out somewhere with your family speaking the language you are comfortable with?  How would you feel if after all the years of education and sacrifice you were told you are not qualified for your chosen profession and you are forced to do menial jobs.  We sure wouldn't like it.

We do fear change though don't we?  People seem to be so happy to go with the status quo.  Kind of the devil you know is better than the devil you don't.  So we re elect the same ineffectual, even dangerous politicians to office...or we don't vote at all because we don't know the other candidates.  Think about all the bitching that goes any time policy is changed in the work place.  People are afraid to try something new.  The like the comfortable sameness no matter how unhappy they have been.  

So are we guilty of xenophobia as defined in the Oxford English Dictionary?  Maybe not to the extent that some countries like South Korea who really doesn't like foreigners who come there to work.  And I don't think I would call our attitude xenoPHOBIC.  Phobic is too severe. Phobic implies terror.  Perhaps we are more xenoanxious.    There, I have made another x word, there are so few of them it was hard to pick a topic.  And with two x's it would be an excellent Scrabble word.

Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink.

I have a theory.  It's not really a conspiracy theory.  My theory is about the water shortage we hear so much about.   I don't believe we have a water shortage.  And the reason is because if you go to any retail store you will see cases and cases of fresh clean water sitting in plastic bottles waiting for us to buy what we can get from our tap at home.  That's where all the water is!  We are kidding ourselves if we think there is some mountain spring or some place in Fiji that is supplying the bountiful water for us to bottle.

Why do we allow this to continue?  Why do we keep purchasing this water in plastic bottles?  Because we are lazy and it is convenient.  We don't have to think about the insanity of it all.  We happily buy our cases of bottled water and think nothing of it.  As long as we can see the water in the lake as we drive around our city, we won't be convinced that there is a water shortage.  There's gallons of it out there.

Penn and Teller, a comedy duo, has a television show called Bullshit! where they explore various issues in a humourous yet thought provoking way.  They did a show about bottled water that was excellent.   It showed how easily we have been duped in to believing that the water in those bottles is mystical with powers to cure us.   How easily we can convince ourselves that the water tastes different depending on the brand.  One of the experiments they did was in a high class restaurant.  People were brought a "water list" similar to a wine list and were able to choose what type of water they would like with their dinner.   All of the waters listed had different qualities and came from different regions of the world.  They would order and then describe the taste of the water.  One woman was even willing to drink a bottle of water that had a spider in the bottom of it when she was told the spider had special healing powers.   And you know what???   Every bottle of that water came from a garden hose in the back of the restaurant that one of the staff was using to fill the bottles!  It amazes me how people will eat or drink anything if you make it sound classy enough.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFKT4jvN4OE

I could do a whole other blog post on Nestle and I might one day.  But let me just say that I am boycotting Nestle and all it's products.  Because they CEO of Nestle is an evil man who had the nerve to say that  Water is not a human right and should be privatized!   It's scary, really scary.  And as long as we keep buying the bottled water, and polluting our environment with plastic bottles, nothing will change.

I would love to do a symbolic act of rebellion.  It would be great  if I could get a bunch of people to buy a couple of cases of water, and come down to the lake and pour it all back in there.  I know it would not make a bit of difference...but to me it would be a way of saying, "we are on to you, we know where this came from..".   Crazy?  Maybe.  So far the response to my suggestion has been underwhelming.

Some places are starting to ban water in plastic bottles.  We need to see more of that.  We don't need to see a natural resource become something that only people with money can afford to have.

Are we all Victims?

I don't like the term victim.  It sounds weak, and helpless.  And yet it seems that everyone is a victim these days.  (I also don't like the term "these days" because it makes me feel like an old curmudgeon).  Everyone is suffering from something.  We will gladly tell all our woes to anyone who is willing to listen.  And then we are forced to listen to theirs in turn.   Sometimes we even try to outdo each other with our victim story.   "I had the flu for a week."  " oh I had the flu for two weeks and I almost died".   And it seems we want to do that without first offering consolation to the other person.  We are victims of poor health, and most of us could overcome that if we wanted to with a healthy lifestyle change, but it's far easier to give in to the victim mentality and throw up our hands in despair and say "I can't help it, I have______ (fill in the blank with the name of the syndrome )".  We use our syndrome's of which we are victims to give us an out for living our lives in the best way.

People seem hell bent on taking offense. They are victims of language.  They search news stories, and Facebook postings, and blogs, trying to find something they can take offense at. They read comments searching for insult.  And it gets ridiculous.  Recently I heard that they were changing the name of the Trans Canada highway because it offended trans gender people.  Of course this was not true, but when I first heard it I was not surprised.  I was astonished and a bit annoyed, but not surprised.  But it was an example of how far we are taking things in our society.  Our victim mentality is slowly eroding our language and our freedom of speech.  We have to walk on eggshells and be politically correct lest someone feels victimized by what we say.

We teach our children to be victims as well.  We excuse behaviours that are unacceptable because the child has some syndrome.   The most ridiculous one I have heard?  No longer is a child a brat.  Now he has "Oppositional Defiance Disorder".  He is a victim of this and cannot help himself and therefore should not be accountable.  It's INSANE.  

I have had times when I have felt like a victim and I would blame others in my life for my own unhappiness.  But eventually I had to realize that I was NOT a victim, I had choices, and I had control of my life.  I have many chronic health conditions.  But I don't feel like a victim.  They are challenges, absolutely, but they don't give me an out when it comes to being a productive and useful member of society.  It would so easy to play the victim card.  But I don't want to be that person.

Don't get me wrong,I realize there are real victims. People who have had things happen to them that are tragic and totally out of their control.  Terminal illnesses, violent crimes, serious accidents, and natural catastrophe's to name a few.  But even in these situations, people have a choice as to how they handle their situation.  Are they going to wail and moan oh poor me, or are they going to try and move forward and become strong again?  

I hope I am not coming across as a cold person. I am not, I am very compassionate and caring.  But, I really think that before we complain about our victimization we should take a look at people who really are victims in this world, and consider ourselves truly blessed.

Urban living is the life for me....

Thirteen years ago, when my children were all fledged from the nest, I moved in to my first apartment, in the downtown area of Hamilton.  I lived too far south to be considered in the core, but coming from quiet, suburban Dundas, the change was significant.  I had never lived alone.  I had never lived in an apartment and I was terrified.   I was afraid of elevators...what if I got stuck, what if someone in there attacked me?  What if the elevator just crashed to the ground?  And underground parking put me in a cold sweat.  Too many crime shows about women being attacked in underground parking lots.

I faced all of those fears however, and found to my delight, and relief, that I actually enjoy apartment living, and urban living.  Even though my dream home would be a log cabin by a river in a forest near the mountains, I have to say that I am pretty happy here.  I love the fact that neighbours are very close to me, and yet I don't hear them, and I don't have to see them.  We are nodding acquaintances that see each other in the elevator or the laundry room.  Not like in the suburbs where your neighbours are practically part of the family.  I can sit on my balcony and be totally alone, but in a house, any time I would sit outside neighbours would see it as an invitation to come for a visit.  Which is fine...sometimes.

I thought I would be afraid to walk the streets at night in the downtown area.  But, it has never happened.  As I mentioned in another blog, I feel quite safe.  I like the anonymity of city living.  I like the privacy.  And I know it sounds strange to talk about privacy when I am living in such a densely populated area.  But it;s true.  I pretty much blend in to the scenery and no one pays much attention to my comings and goings. I have never known a moment of fear since I moved in to the city.   And it's not that it's lonely.  I have a choice to be more social if I want to.

There are drawbacks.  Friends don't drop by like they did when I lived in a house. It's a whole different ballgame when you have to find and pay for parking, And the fact that there is no driveway with a car in it to indicate if I am at home, is prohibitive.  So there's that.  Laundry is expensive, and the hunt for change every week is challenging. Yes, I know I could go to the bank to buy a roll of change, but where's the fun in that?  I love doing laundry in an apartment building because I can do four loads of laundry in 1.5 hours.  A job that used to take all day when I had only one machine.

I live close enough to downtown that I can walk just about anywhere I want to go.  The Art Gallery, theatres, shopping, parks, the waterfront, are all easily accessible from where I live.

Another thing about urban living is the simplicity of going away on vacation.  I just lock my apartment door and go.  No one has to water my garden, take in my mail and paper, check the house and turn on lights.   It's beautifully simple.

I still dream about the cabin in the woods though.  Someday...you just never know.

My internet is down.   Can't write a blog on my phone.  I will catch up soon.

Trees of Life

Trees.  They are everywhere, and yet we take them so much for granted.  Some people totally dislike trees because they shed leaves that they have to rake up every autumn.  But how often do we stop and think about the trees around us and really appreciate them.  Trees are the stuff of life.  They take our carbon dioxide in, and breathe out oxygen for us.  Oxygen!  We  need that!   And now with the sun being so much more dangerous to us, we need the trees for their shade.

I am passionate about trees.  I know, it sounds pretty boring.  But have you ever sat and just looked at the trees outside your window?  You would think there is nothing much to look at, but it can be very meditative.  The way the sunlight plays on the leaves, the way the wind turns them, the birds that are chattering away inside them and building nests, and squirrels that are chasing each other through the branches.  Not to mention all the insect that live in trees that are food for the birds that live there. When a tree sheds its leaves in the fall those very same leaves provide a warm place for some insects to winter.  When a tree dies its trunk and bark break down in the compost for the soil.  Animals can live in the holes left by branches.  All sorts of life is protected and nourished by trees.  Humans need trees for their oxygen, for the wood, for the fruits that are produced, for the shade they provide.  Have you ever noticed how stark a new subdivision looks before the trees  mature?

How can we change people's feeling about trees and make them realize how vitally important they are, without coming across as a tree hugging hippie?  Although there are worse things a person could be called.  I hate to see trees being cut down to make way for a house being built.  It disturbs to see wooded areas cleared for a new subdivision.  And I can't even let myself think about what's happening to our rain forests.  It sends a chill through my very being. And I don't think people will realize how much we need them until they are gone, and then it's too late.

 When I moved in to my apartment two years ago, there was a really nice tree just in front of my balcony, I could actually reach out and touch it.  And there was a birds nest in it from a family of robins who had lived there in the spring.  I was SO excited that I would be able to watch this.  And then Hurricane Sandy came along and my tree became a victim of it.  I woke up one morning to find it leaning at a dangerous angle.  A few days later it was gone.   It broke my heart. I actually grieved for the tree.  Maybe I am little too invested in them!

The next time you are out walking, take a few minutes to just stand under a tree and enjoy it. Breathe it in.  Look closely at the leaves, and if there are none, look at the way the bare branches look against the sky.  I have many photographs of this.  It never gets old.  And as you are doing this, offer up a silent thank you to the universe for this glorious gift.