Forest Gumption

I know you probably groaned when you read the title of this blog.  But there is a reason for my terrible pun.   Studies have shown that spending time in a forest actually increases your energy level and decreases your stress level significantly.

One of my favourite forests is part of the Royal Botannical Gardens.  It's called Cherry Hill Gate.  It's magical.  The minute you walk through the entrance gate you feel it. It's like stepping in to another world.  A world free of pollution, noise, traffic, and all the many things that make us crazy.  The path slopes down a winding hill right away.  There is a railing along the edge so people don't accidentally fall down into the valley.  You are compelled to remain silent or speak softly once you enter this space.   Even young children are quiet in there.  They know.  They can feel the spiritual pull.

At the bottom of the winding hill there is a beautiful, huge, tree root.  And that tree root is full of life.  Just stand there for 10 minutes, silently.  Take in the smells, the sights, and the sounds around you.  Look up.  Breathe deeply.  And in a short while you will hear nature accepting you in their forest and inviting you to enjoy their home.  If you bring bird seed or peanuts, the birds and squirrels will eat right out of your hand.  They will land on you.  Some will linger and eat, some will just grab a seed and fly off.  Chickadees especially like to grab and go.  They take one seed and fly to a nearby branch and eat that one seed, and then come back for more.   There are sparrows, nuthatches, woodpeckers of the hairy and downy variety, warblers, blue jays, cardinals, cedar wax wings, robins....so many birds.  The forest is alive with all the busyness of animals living in a place where they feel safe and respected.  The squirrels and chipmunks will eat right out of your hand as well.  There are more chipmunks there than I have ever seen in one place!

Further along there is a board walk with a pond on each side.  We have seen turtles, swans, geese, ducks and even a muskrat once.   The trail goes much further, but I usually only go as far as that boardwalk.  It's a long walk back up that winding hill!

So, if you are feeling stressed out and anxious, don't reach for a cigarette or a drink, or a Xanax.  Go find a forest and sit there for as long as it takes for you to feel rejuvenated.  You will.  I promise.

http://www.hphpcentral.com/article/forest-bathing

Extrovert? or Introvert?

If you are ever at a party and the conversation is lagging, just ask this simple question.  Are you an Introvert or an Extrovert?  It is guaranteed to spark an emotional, sometimes heated discussion.  I don't know why this question hits such a nerve with people.  The funny thing about it is, no one really wants to admit they are extroverts!  

The simplest way to find out where you fall in the Introvert/Extrovert scheme of things is to ask yourself this question.  When you have had a bad day at work, what would rather do, go home alone and take some time to process your day, or go out with friends and let loose with a few drinks.  Introverts, for the most part, will want to go home.  Extroverts will want to go out.  It's all about what recharges your batteries.  If social occasions leave you feeling energized, and you seek out the company of others when the chips are down, you are an Extrovert, if social occasions leave you drained, then you are an Introvert.

And then there are the "gregarious introverts".  I heard that term on the CBC but I can't remember who said it.   These are people who are bubbly, and talkative and friendly, but who desperately need to be alone afterwards to recharge.  I fall in to that category.  And sometimes we are all like that.  We can be introverts who are channeling our extrovert qualities or vice versa.   And I realize while I am writing this that labels are limiting and sometimes unfair.  But this is a topic that engenders so much discussion, I really wanted to write about it.  Besides we would be kidding ourselves if we held the belief that we should never label anyone.  Labeling is what helps us understand the world in concrete terms.  At least that is how it for me.  Anyway, back to the topic at hand

One thing I have noticed in groups where this question comes up, is how defensive people get when they are told they are Extroverts.   Why is that?   What is it about being a people person that some people don't want to admit being that way?  I have a theory.   We all want to be dark and mysterious.  We seem to take pleasure in giving people the impression that we have a deeper side no one ever gets to see.  We don't want to be that person who has to be the centre of attention.  We don't want to admit that we NEED PEOPLE.  It's a vulnerable place to be.  Far safer to be that person that people are trying to draw out.


I realize I am generalizing here.  And I am not an expert on any of this.  This post is just my own personal observations on what can be a very heated topic.

Are you and Introvert or an Extrovert.  Please comment and tell me your experience with this.

Death Becomes Me

When I was a child, about 6 years old, I went through a phase where I thought constantly about death.  I would call my mom in to my room and cry that I didn't want to die.  And I was always wondering if I would come back as someone else.  I wanted to come back as a girl in my class because I thought she was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen.  Being 6 years old I didn't realize I couldn't come back as someone who is already alive.   It took me years to figure out why I was so obsessed about death at a young age.  And then it hit me.  Every night I would kneel  beside my bed and say my prayers "Now I lay me down to sleep, pray the Lord my soul to keep, IF I SHOULD DIE BEFORE I WAKE, pray the Lord my soul to take."  Mystery solved.

But my fascination and about death didn't really end there.  I was always afraid that death was imminent.  I would lie awake and imagine I could see smoke pouring in my room.  I was sure the house was on fire and we were all about to die.  Again, it didn't occur to me that I couldn't smell the smoke...   I would also lie awake and listen for sounds of my mother downstairs, sure she was dead if I didn't hear her.   Alone in the house, I was terrified there was a man just waiting to murder me.

When my children were really young I would imagine all sorts of horrible things that could happen to them.  Thing I could not protect them from.  I drove myself crazy.  Then I got medication for an anxiety disorder and things settled down quite a bit.

Now, in my fuck it fifties,  I am still fascinated by death, I love murder mysteries, and crime shows.  And I think about it often.  I imagine terrible car accidents when I am out driving my car.  I never think I am going to die in a normal way.  I worry about freak accidents.  A truck wheel flying off and hitting me.  Coming to a sudden stop in traffic and having my jugular severed by the seat belt.  Things like that.  These are fleeting thoughts now, no longer obsessions.

I know realize that I am not afraid to die.  Not at all.  I don't believe in Heaven or Hell.  I think at best our souls move on to a different reality.  At worst we just fizzle out, everything goes black and that's it.  Like when you go to sleep at night and you have no conscious memory of time passing, or when you have surgery and they put you under.  I think that's what it is probably like.  I used to cry and grieve about all the stuff I would miss.  I used to worry that I would die alone in my apartment and no one would find me for days.  And then a counsellor gently pointed out that I would not be aware of any of that.  I would be dead.  My soul would be gone. So, I let those worries go.

I am afraid of suffering.  And I really think that's the real reason we fear death.  We don't want to suffer and then die.  We just want to wink out, like a falling star.  Here and then gone.  I want to die in my sleep, or else doing something that I love.  I want it quick.  I want people to be able say "she went peacefully" or "she never knew what hit her".  Or in my more vindictive moments I want people to say "wow, she really was sick, we should have listened to her".  

Comedy lives here

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I have a great sense of humour.  I love to laugh, and I love to make people laugh.  I gravitate towards funny people and a sense of humour is an absolute must in a relationship.   You could be the sweetest, kindest, gentlest person, but if you can't laugh, I am sorry, I just can't relate to you.  Sound harsh?  Perhaps.  But I speak from experience.  I have been around humourless people and it is a drag.   And I am not talking about people who can tell jokes, or who find my corny jokes funny.  I am talking about people who can look at life in a humourous way no matter the situation. People who can see the light side, and roll with the punches. I firmly believe that any situation can be improved by injecting a little humour in to it.  When a situation is awkward or tense, my go to position is to make a smart ass remark to cut the tension.   This is not always appropriate, and I am learning...very slowly...that there is a time and place for that sort of behaviour.  Although now that I am in my mid 50's I am tempted to say Fuck it, life is just a big joke.

 My humour can be sardonic, or dry or deadpan and I love to play with words.  Often when I meet someone for the first time they are not sure of me, if I am being serious or if I am joking.  Comedy and laughter  has carried me through many, many dark times in my life.  And I have to admit that I often use it as a defense.  I am very shy, though most people don't know that, because I am often being silly.  I make myself comfortable by putting a barrier of laughter between my real feelings and other people.

Because of my love of laughter I am a huge fan of stand up comedy.  I thoroughly enjoy it and watch it as often as I can.  Thanks to You Tube and NetFlix I can indulge myself frequently.  And now there is a radio station here in Hamilton that airs stand up comedy all day long.  I can laugh my ass off sitting in traffic listening to Funny 820 (AM radio station).  And I like most types of humour, from family friendly Jim Gaffigan, to outrageously inappropriate Louis CK.   I am not a fan of slapstick Three Stooges type humour and yet I love the Epic Fail videos that are so popular on the internet.  I love to laugh at people,but I laugh at myself as well.  Does that make it okay?  I don't know, really.   But I am a kind person and would never intentionally hurt anyone.

I think we need more comedy in our daily lives.  It seems that everyone is taking themselves WAY too seriously these days.  Tammy Pescatelli says "find the funny, it's there, you just have to look for it".  And she's right, it is there.   Find it.  Your life will be so much more fun!

Barbie and me

I was never a huge fan of the Barbie doll.  I didn't have one of my own.  But my friend next door had a lot of them and all the stuff that came with them.  Once in a while I would go over there and "play Barbies" which really involved preparing them for dates with Ken.  Changing clothes and combing hair was a big snore for me.   We even tried to make our own Barbie clothes but I was hopeless.  One time when we were playing, I made my Barbie have pre date jitters and spend her time in the toilet with diarrhea.  I was not invited to play Barbies anymore after that.  Some people have no sense of humour.

But during those times, and all through my childhood, in spite of all the commercials for Barbie and her accessories, I never ONCE thought I should look like her.  I never ONCE wished I had her lifestyle.  Barbie was not my role model for what an ideal woman should be.  My mother was.  And my friends were the yardstick I measured myself against.  It bothered me more that I did not inherit my mother's tall willowy figure, but instead got the short plump build of most of the other women in my family.  The plump part happened later in life, after years of major food issues.  But I digress.

Now, in this age of over reacting melodrama, a huge deal is being made about Barbie and her impact on our precious little girls.  It's ridiculous if you ask me...though you didn't but I am telling you anyway.  Think about the sheer amount of advertising directed at women and making them feel not good enough.  Look at the skinny, busty role models on t.v. shows.   How can a plastic doll take the blame for what is clearly a warped society.   I never gave my daughter a Barbie, she didn't really want one.  But it wasn't because I thought Barbie sent a negative message, to my daughter, it was because Barbie was a boring toy.

What has really sent me on a rant about this is the Facebook post that goes around saying "they should make a bald Barbie, so little girls who have cancer can feel pretty."  Seriously???  A child battling cancer is worried that she is not as pretty as Barbie?  Or is even worried that she is pretty at all?   She is fighting for her life!   I can't imagine a child looking at her bald head and thinking...I wish there was a Barbie that looks like me.  I feel so ugly".

People need to get a grip.

ART

My journey into the art world was a bit rocky.  When I was a child my father was always frustrated with my ability to colour between the lines.  He would holler at me and take away my colouring book till I learned how to do it right.   When I went to kindergarten I remember learning the "proper" way to colour.  Side to side, not all scribbly.  And eventually I learned to colour between the lines.

During my school years I came to realize that while I loved doing artistic things, my abilities were limited.  I thought my products were great, but the teacher unfortunately did not share my opinion and would often hold up my art as an example of what NOT to do. Following directions was not my forte.  My pictures never graced the walls of the classroom.  By the time I was in highschool I had suppressed my inner artist  and focused on my true talents, music and creative writing.

And then when I was in my early 50's my partner joined a senior's art class at the church we attended. A group of seniors meets every Friday afternoon to paint.  My inner artist woke up and insisted that I join as well.  I had always imagined myself in front of an easel painting glorious fields of flowers, vibrant sunsets and life like portraits.  So, off I went to the class.  I expected to just dabble around and have fun.  But to my utter surprise, and the surprise of friends and family, I discovered that I was actually pretty good!  And I LOVED it.  Now three years in, I am still enjoying the class and I have amassed quite an impressive (size wise) body of work.   All with vibrant colours.  I love to mix colours and spend a lot of time trying to get just the right shade.  

I am unable to draw from my imagination, so I rely on pictures for my inspiration.  Flowers are my favourite things to paint and I have done a few Georgia O'Keefe's, after O'Keefe's they say in the biz.  I am always amazed at what I can make happen.  My technique is to just let go of the inner critic and go for it.  So far that has worked well for me.  I spend 1.5 each week totally lost in what I am doing.  It's a feeling like no other.

So..if you are a person who loves art, and has always wanted to try painting, but are afraid you aren't good because of childhood art class trauma, I urge you to give it another chance.  You might be surprised. 

I know I was.

It's Winter, Deal With It.

They start as soon as the first snow flake falls and gather forces over the winter, until by spring their numbers are vast and their posts on Facebook even more annoying than ever.  Skiiers?  Pro tobogganers?  Snow birds?  Nope.  I call them Weather Whiners.  Those sniveling, irritating, poor excuses for Canadians who cannot deal with the fact that we have seasons here, four of them,  And one of them happens to be our longest and most difficult...winter.  And while we don't always get spring, and sometimes not much of a summer, we always get winter.  And it's always cold.  And it always snows.  And it's always difficult, often depressing and frustrating to get around in.  But it's inevitable and it's part of our life here in the Great White North.  So, what is with all the whining? 

 It needs to stop.  I have many friends who are guilty of this.  They are otherwise pleasant, kind, well adjusted people but they lose their shit every winter and become obnoxious from November to April. First it's the cold and the endless wishing for sun, and fun, and tropical climates, complete with pictures.  After that comes the bitching about shoveling.  One of my friends posts every day "Is it April yet?"  No, no it's not April yet, and you know that, you have a calendar just like the rest of us.  It won't be April for another two months.  Enough already.  No amount of whining will make April come faster, make the snow melt, warm the temperature.  

To be fair, sometimes venting makes it easier to deal with things that are out of our control.  And Facebook is a good place to do that because there are always those who will jump on your whiny bandwagon and support you with likes, or emoji's, or whines of their own.  But every time I see one of those posts  a wave of irritation washes over me and it's all I can do to stop myself from posting a comment urging them to shut the fuck up or move south.  

I try to be compassionate and understand their problem, especially about the shoveling...after all I live in an apartment and don't have the same issues with snow as they do living in a house.  I go from my apartment to my underground parking to my destination with little exposure to the elements.  I park far enough below ground that my car is usually warmer than zero when I get in.  The walks and driveway are always blown out by the superintendent.  My challenges are the clogged city side streets that people still insist on parking on as if there were no snow.  Intersections that are full of the combined efforts of the snowploughs all meeting right where I want to turn.   AND I have a dog, a very small dog, who refuses to poop if the snow is touching her bum, refuses to walk if there is a crystal of salt on the sidewalk and so has made made my balcony as mine field of little packages.  

However, I don't post all that on Facebook.  I like winter.  I like snow. I like the excitement of a good snowstorm, once I am sure all my loved ones are safe.  I love the way the snow looks on trees.  I love the starkness of bare branches against blue sky.  I love the crisp, cold air in my lungs. I used to love shoveling until my back told me that was no longer something I should ever do.  I do get a little tired of it by the end of April, because once the calendar turns to April 1, I think the weather should warm up.  But if it doesn't I can roll with that. The universe will unfold as it should.  Spring will come.  The weather will warm up.  

And then the Weather Whiners can start bitching about how hot it is.