home for the holidays

As usual, I've come to the home I grew up in for the holidays. This year, my brother and his family are visiting as well. Since they had kids, it's always a toss up whether or not they'll make it. With the two kids, they provide, at times a welcome distraction and buffer from the ancient family dynamics.

I'm not sure how it happens but more often than not, these dynamics rear their ugly heads. Sniping, impatience, meanness and judgement find their way in many conversations. My life isn't full of this kind of thing since I left home. I don't want it. I certainly don't need it. And I think I try to change it but I feel like I'm swimming upstream.

So today, I finally walked away. I found myself sitting in my childhood room trying to figure out what to do next. Do I take off to the gym? Go for a walk? Tell them how I feel? Stuck in the mud, I didn't do any of those things. It was enough that I removed myself. I crawled under the covers and tried to breath deeply. I finally drifted off to sleep. My safe haven.

When I awoke, I felt somewhat better. Could breathe more easily with things in a little better perspective. I can't control what other people do. I can decide how to deal with it.

the trick is to keep breathing

The Trick Is To Keep Breathing -- from Garbage

She's not the kind of girl
Who likes to tell the world
About the way she feels about herself


She takes a little time in making up her mind
She doesn't want to fight against the tide


And lately I'm not the only one
I say never trust anyone


Always the one who has to drag her down
Maybe you'll get what you want this time around


Can't bear to face the truth
So sick he cannot move
And when it hurts he takes it out on you


And lately I'm not the only one
I say never trust anyone


Always the one who has to drag her down
Maybe you'll get what you want this time around


the trick is to keep breathing
the trick is to keep breathing


She knows the human heart
And how to read the stars

Now everything's about to fall apart

I won't be the one who's going to let you down

Maybe you'll get what you want this time around

I won't be the one who's going to let you down
Maybe you'll get what you want this time around


The trick is to keep breathing
The trick is to keep breathing
The trick is to keep breathing
The trick is to keep breathing
The trick is to keep breathing
The trick is to keep breathing
The trick is to keep breathing.

dreams

I dreamed about Brett last night. Can't remember it except while I was at the gym, I saw a woman with a bunch of tattoos and it reminded me. In the dream, wherever we were, I saw a new tattoo he had on his arm. He was addicted to tattoos. It's something we didn't agree on; something I never understood but they made him happy so that was enough for me.

Maybe I'll remember more later. It's not often I dream about him. I've wanted to for years. Not sure exactly why....like I think it'll be an actual conversation that will connect us again rather than whatever I want to see...

Anyhow, it just feels good to have seen him again.

why I write

I write for myself.

I enjoy language, words, phrasing. How they feel on your tongue when you read aloud.

Generally it's a private thing. I'm a bit of a perfectionist and somewhat proud (vain) so I'm careful about exposing my work.

Plus, I tend to write things I have trouble saying. It's been like this most of my life. It's a protective mechanism that I've tried to overcome. I need people in my life to hear my thoughts, hear the words that are important. Things I didn't hear growing up like " I love you".

Seeing the words before me though makes everything more clear.

And it's a record of my life. I have piles of journals dating back to my childhood. I used to love writing on paper. Computers, and blogs like this makes writing even more portable.

I often re-read my writing. It helps reminds me where I was during a particular time, how I was feeling, how I've matured...or not.

It's theraputic and challenging.

And it's ultimately where I can be myself.

stage of life

so who thought I wasn't phased by my latest birthday? I really thought I wasn't.

Okay, so I sort of avoided making plans...dithering like a Liberal in government for 13 years. Suck it up, I though to myself. So I quickly invited people for food and a night of festing. Not sure if it helped or not. It ended in karaoke so that should say enough. At least it distracted me.

Then a couple of events over the next week made me feel out of sorts with my life - as the last post will show. As my therapist of many years reaffirmed this sounds like a "stage of life" moment. You know, the kind when you look at where you are and take stock. Sometimes, we find ourselves wishing we'd made different choices; other times we're grateful at where we are.

I suppose I'm feeling the effects of my choices over years. Not necessarily wrong choices; I know I made them for good reasons at the time. I know I have a good life.

Thing to focus on right now is that I want to make it better.

not a good thought

I'm sure there are more women out there like me. Grown up, living alone (or sort of, if you don't count cats), no spouse, no sign other, no kids. With friends far and wide either with both partners and kids or approaching them quickly.

I love the company of my friends. Seriously. I don't know what I do without them. And many days we can hang out and not speak of the children. But put them in a room together and the conversation invariably circles back.

And why shouldn't it? Their children are a huge part of their lives. They fill them up with joy and wonder and sometimes heartbreak. They make them the people I love. Plus, I love the little ones, too.

So why is it that, on some days, I want to run screaming from the room? I tell you, it's not a good feeling. (Why speaking of the spouses doesn't create the same urge, I'm not sure...i think it's the combination of factors)

Ultimately, I know it's because I want what they have. But how do i not feel guilty about such an urge or how do I convey it without sounding completely selfish?

I don't think they know how hard it is to listen to these wonderful and horrible stories but then to go home alone.

And writing it doesn't make me feel any better.

equal joy and pain (with thanks to lynn miles)

Some would say that I've had a rough few years. And in some ways, I'd agree.

I am lucky though. I have my health, a good job, family (even if I don't get on with them all the time, they're still there and more often than not come through for me), and friends who love and support me despite my bad behaviour at times.

I am smart, talented, funny and compasionate. I am loyal to those I love.

But yeah, these last few years have tested my strength. Losing Brett, Laurie's cancer, my aunt and uncle's cancer, Dave's death, Peanut, Mel's sister...at times it has felt that things could not get worse. I keep bracing myself for more bad news.

I asked Melinda during one late night conversation, "what more do I need to know about loss?" I feel like the universe must want me to know something else...like I'm in a remedial grieving class.

I think I've learned a lot. I like to think that I'm more present in my day-to-day than I was three years ago. I appreciate life more than I did. I try to find the positive in events and in the people around me. I try to look for the lessons in challenges, remain open to new experiences and especially to feelings. I try to put behind unhealthy behaviour and relationships and focus on those that can sustain me.

I have tried to quell my anxiety, looking inward to figure out how to tame the demons rather than numb them. It's tough and I don't always succeed. When I stumble, I try to be gentle with myself and not give in to the negative voices wanting to further abuse me. I try
to be a better friend at every chance.

I have come a long way from the person I was three years ago, six years ago, half a life ago.

Dave's death illuminated my life in a way. I saw that, as much as I thought I was open, I had closed myself off to many people. Life had made me wary. So I convinced myself that I had enough in my life. Enough friends, work, challenges. I just wanted to maintain what I had.

Then it all started to slip away. The few people who truly know me started to disappear. And there were some who I never got to say good bye to. Or thank you. Even when I did, how do you tell someone how much they changed your life? How important they were to you? How do you sum all of that up in words?

Lyrics in one of my favourite songs remind me that "life is equal joy and pain". I never really thought about life that way before. But I do now.

There are days when I can't believe all that has happened. Then I take a deep breath and forge on and count my blessings

Retrospect

So I sort of spent a few minutes flushing out my last reaction. Important for me to do because I like knowing from where I am (re)acting.

Things I realized:

- it really wasn't an apology;
- despite starting out as addressing P's bad behaviour, it ended up detailing how I am the disappointment (cause of said bad behaviour);
- as much as I just want P to go away, I have a need to set him straight/change what he does;
- this need leads me to much suffering so I really need to work on THAT;
- this is not the first time I've encountered this need. Not quite sure it's a pattern but let's just say, I've seen it before.

And you might wonder why I invest time in figuring out all of this. Why don't I just walk away with my parting words of "Enough already". I certainly wonder this.


I suppose I am trying to learn something from this conversation. I know I have a tendency to stay with people who treat me badly. Who don't appreciate me for who I am. I also know I have a tendency to run screaming from people who treat me well. Who love me and do nice things for me. While this is more obvious in my relationships with men, it also exists in my relationships with women. As my friend, L. can attest to the times that I burst into tears when she says something loving to me. At dinner the other night she echoed her understanding of my not-so-recent realization that it's easier for to care for others, than for myself.

So, I go back to relationships that aren't good for me or not let go of them when it's clear that would be the best route.

If I were to really learn from all of this, I would walk away. I would say, this isn't helping me and let it go. As much as I feel as though I'm giving up, I know that I'm not. Anyone who knows what I've put into this one relationship, knows that I'm not. I'm realizing that there's nothing to be gained from maintaining it. I have a choice to spend time in relationships that give me pleasure, energy and are positive.

It's not a bad thing to choose that path.

how is it?

just got a response to my last email from P. I was very frank in my note to him, calling him on what I saw...what others confirmed, was obvious emotional manipulation (when you think you're crazy it's helpful to have others say you're not...at least not at that moment, for that reason) It took me a lot of thinking to say the things that I did. At least 2 years of personal processing of the relationship, my part in it, and some truths. I felt good about it. About standing my ground, not being a doormat and being honest.

So how is it that this 'apology' brings me to tears? I can't really explain them. Is it because, as he said earlier, that it's sad that it's all come to this? that after 3 or so years that I don't want to be friends because of how awful I feel about our relationship - or the person I was in that relationship? Or that because all the anger I was feeling for such a long time was released by sending that note and now I finally just feel sad about the loss? Is it because his note sounds thoughtful, regretful and sincere. He sounds hurt and I feel bad for my part in that.

I don't know. Maybe it's all of these things.

I try to remember his MO. That this is part of it. I can feel bad but still be correct in my actions. Just because he's hurt, I don't have to make it better.

Maybe things will be different in time. I don't know.

But I hate the fact that the tears have come again.

being alone

a piece from my summer holidays:

I'm a big fan of alone time. Which is somewhat different than quiet time. But they can overlap on occassion.


I just had a good dose of it. I rented a very private cottage on Mclean's Lake just outside of Sharbot's Lake steps away from the Trans Canada Trail. It didn't have electricity but had a bbq, propane stove and bar fridge, and a couple of solar powered lights and running water. It had a beautiful balcony overlooking the lake where I would eat my breakfast (until it got too hot) and sometimes eat dinner or knit (until it got too dark). My other time was spent on the dock - luckily with a breeze to soften the sun's rays and sometimes overwhelming heat. I watched beavers, loons, sun fish, muskrats and a variety of birds with never-ending fascination. I was surrounded by books and my knitting to feed my soul and brain, water to keep me hydrated, sun screen to prevent me from burning to a crisp as I usually do and binoculars to improve my failing eyesight. Of course, the dog was not far off, sleeping in bits of shade or peering into the bushes hoping to spot a chipmunk to chase. For a treat, I'd sometimes enjoy a glass of white wine as the sun ducked rounded the horizon and I knew it was close to dinner time.

Around 7 pm ish I would venture back up the stairs and inside to determine what oh what to eat tonight. The place had a very tiny bar fridge...sad considering I had so many fresh veggies that didn't keep as well in my coolers.


I'd light the lamps around 8:00 ish and get ready for bed. By 9 I was snuggled under the covers, oil lamp beside me, camping head lamp on as I read in bed. Beautiful sight. The loons would start to call; I'd hear critters outside sniffing around; the feeling of comfort would settle into my bones and soul.


As much as I like my alone time, I have to admit that the first couple of days were a little unsettling. New noises startled me...my imagination certainly can run wild (it was days after a suspected multiple killer was found breaking into cottages in quebec, so it was easy to go there) but I soon got used to the creaks of the building, my surroundings, the wind in the trees, the rain on the roof.

Being by water especially gives me a sense of peace and comfort. Maybe it's all those summers going to camp (northern ontario term for cottage) but I feel the most grounded when I'm there. It's familiar, in a very good way. Even when living in the city, I have found myself unconsciously moving closer to the waterways.

Being alone lets me re-energize. It allows me moments to reflect on my life - the good and the bad. Come to terms with things and create a path forward. I don't understand how other people don't need or want this kind of time. I often wonder where they find the time to reflect. Or if they do. And if they don't, what does that mean? When I'm antsy or am avoiding being still, it's a powerful signal to me that something is not quiet right. And that's all the more reason to be still.

It's not always easy. It's not always fun. But it is certainly worthwhile to take up the challenge.

For me, this was a perfect holiday.

decisions

So I've always considered myself a dog person. I grew up with dogs. I can't see a dog on the street without gushing (unless it's a particularly horrid-looking dog). When I went away to university, my parents made sure my boyfriend was with me when they told me that the family pet died so that I would be "okay".



When I graduated and moved to Toronto for my first "real" job, I was living in a basement apt about a 20 min subway ride from Yonge and Bloor (I thought it was close at the time!). After four months in the city, a new intense job, I wound up with bronchitis and off work for almost a month. How lonely!



I found myself at the Humane Society browsing the cat section. What?! Me! with cats! Knowing that my lifestyle did not suit a pooch, it was the best fit. I walked out with a beautiful calico of 6 months. Her pink and peach colours have faded but her attitude has not. Feisty, scary at times but never more happy than to curl up in the crook of my arm as I fall asleep. She was my first, but (and to her chagrin) not my last.



I've inherited two other felines from past relationships who felt the cats just couldn't bear to be separated. Finnegan is a beautiful brown tabby with the most distinct black stripes. He loves to headbutt at every chance. When he escaped from my last apt thrown a ripped screen (the other 2 just weren't daring enough), I had reports of a cat butting heads with neighbourhood dogs outside the local hardware store on the busiest street. He's the bravest of the bunch and has finally grown into his head.



Monk is a gorgeous Siamese who's brother died over a year ago of kidney failure. He and Finni are good buds curling up together at the drop of a hat. He, too, loves to snuggle with me when I sleep so sometimes it's a competition for space.



I did have another cat, Kelly, a wild-eyed Tortoiseshell adopted on a whim from the THS. Not sure what I was thinking - I already had Sydney and Finnegan but i fell in love with her upon sight. I called her the soul-less cat because she just loved affection but you never really felt a bond. Not sure where she came from but being abandoned as a wee one can't be good for your confidence.

Anyhow, that's been my brood for the last while.

Until two weeks ago.

I've been wanting and thinking about getting a dog. I kept saying "when I have the life for one"...and in February, I got that life. A 9-5ish job, good pay and less responsibility - the makings of a good dog home. So after much research, visits to shelters, I decided on a pooch from a local rescue shelter.

Peanut. Cute as a button. Spaniel mix. Lots of issues. Food aggression. General aggression. Problem with his hind legs. I don't quite know how new parents cope. It's only two weeks and I've lost tonnes of sleep, weight (from walking two hours every day), figuring out the right food for upsets stomachs, introducing a new member to the pack and figuring out who is top dog. Sometimes it feels like I can't cope with this new being, other times I don't know where he's been all my life.

I had one session with a great trainer. She warned me that this could be a costly venture. Between the training and medical bills, it could be thousands. Not to mention, not being able to curb the food aggression to the point of having the dog be trustworthy around little kids....it could end worse than just being out some cash.

Her recommendations: if I want to have kids in the next ten years, I should seriously consider the atmosphere at home. Lots of time and energy watching every move the dog makes, the kids around the dog...other people's kids....people on the street. Is it really worth it.

Hard decision to make for one as sentimental as me. Plus, who the hell knows if I'm going to have kids. I'm still single with no prospects on the horizon (despite some passive online glances) and the clock is winding down on the baby-producing years....As for other people's kids...how often am I with them? Once a week? Less? Is that enough time on which to base this decision.

As you can see I'm torn. I've decided to take him with me on vacation, make an appointment with my dad's vet and see what she says. If I don't take my time coming to this answer, I know I'll regret it.

best kind of friend

I've been putting off writing something here for days now. Not because I have little to say - I have lots of memories of Dave - they just don't seem to do him justice.

I can't actually remember when I first met Dave. We both worked for the Canadian Federation of Students - so it was some time in the early 90's - he was in BC, I was in Ontario. It was during an intense period of upheaval in the student movement and when in need of good organizers Dave's name was generally the first mentioned. We became fast friends.

He was confident without being arrogant, smart without being obnoxious, patient without being patronizing. He was one of those people who was able to talk to anyone and honestly enjoyed a difference of opinion. I learned from him a tonne about politics, about people and about being passionate about what you believe. Dave genuinely cared about helping people. Whether it was writing policy or organizing, it was about empowerment. It was about giving back to the community and helping to make life better. He touched so many lives in doing so.

One memory does stand out in my mind. During a particularly stressful time in my life, he invited me out to Vancouver for a visit. He seemed to know what I needed even before I did. We just spent time together. He introduced me to Phil Ochs (his music, that is), visited Whistler and Pender Island (where he treated me and Jennifer S., to breakfast in bed), read my Tarot Cards, let me sleep in. We did simple things but they made such a difference.

He taught me what it means to be a friend by being a good one - by forgiving at times when it was really hard, by being understanding rather than judgemental and by giving of himself and not keeping track of the IOUs.

I know I will feel this loss for a long time to come.

No words

I wrote this on Friday, May 11, 2007

There are really no words for how I'm feeling right now. So I find it hard that I'm sitting in front of this screen trying to put something down.

Today is going to be one of those tough days.

Today would be my friend Brett Cemer's 40th birthday. He died almost three years ago after an inspiring struggle with brain cancer. He was one of the most caring, thoughtful, and passionate people I have ever met. Plus he was fun and funny, smart, articulate, beautiful and charming. When we first met, he made me nervous yet at the same time put me at ease. It wasn't long till I felt like we'd known each other for years. Having him in my life for the brief time I was able enriched me beyond belief. I miss him.

Later today, I will be with friends celebrating the life of another man who touched the lives and hearts of many, including mine. Dave Kappele died suddenly on Saturday, May 5th in Guelph. Dave and I have been friends about 13 years or so after meeting during our work with the Canadian Federation of Students.

Those were intense times...being younger, idealistic and consumed...but it made those relationships intense too. We connected quickly and spent many hours working hard, talking long and laughing.

Dave was one of those people in my life who has put up with his share from me. I trusted him so much and he was always there when I needed him. He knew the good, the bad and the ugly and yet still loved me. He just seemed to "get" me. I will always be grateful for how safe, understood and loved he made me feel. Even after being out of touch for long periods of time, we picked up virtually where we left off.

I realize now that he's gone that we took time for granted. At least I did. I always thought there would be more. More work, more talk, more laughs..more.

I know I am so lucky to have had two friends like Brett and Dave in my life.

I know that.

first post

I've been putting off my first post.

Why? I figured I should have something really important to say. Something major.

I do now. And I hate that fact.