Moon River, Family Vacations, and Me

I learned as a child that family holidays always end with a good cry. I'm certain that it was my Auntie Bev who started the tradition of crying after we had visited with her and Uncle Doug each summer. I remember being a kid and wondering what the hell she was crying about as we hugged her, said goodbye, and hopped into our car for our long journey home. Now I get it.

Yesterday marked the end of the first "family" vacation with my side of the family in well over a decade. I was so happy to spend a week with Soul Mate, my Dad, my Baby Sister, Her Soul Mate, their two little boys, and for the first few days of the week, our own First Born and Yoga Kid. On Monday, two sets of surrogate aunts and uncles joined us for a couple of days. The weather cooperated as best it could, despite a soggy beginning last Saturday. The meals were major productions, but delicious. Every seafood dish imaginable, and decadent desserts to boot. We had plenty of bonding, boating, hula hooping, and not quite enough book reading. Perched at the edge of the ocean, the setting could not have been better, with the luxurious beach house exceeding all expectations. 

So what could possibly have been missing? Well, Soul Mate and I have two other children with spouses and three grandchildren (combined) who would surely have added some fun into the mix. Baby Sister's first born daughter and son were sorely missed. But I have to say, although I am more used to missing her in April and May (see blog posts from those months if you can handle pain) and at Christmas, this family occasion really found me missing my mother. Deeply missing her. Part of it, I am sure, was that in enjoying my wee nephews as much as I did, I couldn't help but think how much my Mom would love to know them. And how much she would love to see my Baby Sister, who although still slightly neurotic in some ways (did somebody say shopping?) is incredibly grown up and happy. She would have loved seeing my girls interact with their aunt after years of estrangement. For certain, Mom would have loved being by the sea with all of us. But she wasn't, and I felt it. Baby Sister and I both cried the other evening as we sat around playing cards and the song Moon River came up on the iPod stereo playlist. Mom loved Andy Williams, and especially that song. We didn't interrupt the game to speak of our feelings, in fact we never spoke about those mother missing feelings together at all this week (I'm always game, she - not so much). But we felt the heartbreaking loss at the same time, to the same tune.

I surprised myself when I actually didn't cry yesterday when Baby Sister and family drove off. I'd cried a little the night before, just thinking about it. I did cry a little bit today, after I dropped Dad off at the airport and watched the back of his now slight frame heading through the airport doors. He's eighty, and I worry about how many more flights in and out of my life he will make. I've cried a little bit more on this beautiful Sunday afternoon, not even sure why. Don't know who or what I might be missing.  

I also cried yesterday when I learned that Amy Winehouse died, most likely from a drug overdose. Those particular tears were of sadness for her and for her family, but they were mingled with tears of gratitude. I am so grateful that I have been given the gift of recovery from the fatal disease of addiction. Happy that Baby Sister has too.

Perhaps I am just feeling a bit off because I have to go back to work tomorrow. Or maybe it is because I have my usual six-month cancer check up tests this week and I always turn a bit crazy around test time. Maybe I am just tired. Whatever it is, I'll just feel my way through it. It'll pass. I'll feel happy enough in a day or two. Joyous in a couple more. Grateful through each and every hour and day. Hopeful in every minute, as long as I remember to feel hope.

But for now, I know how Auntie Bev felt, when we all packed into our car and drove away, not knowing when we would all be together again. When Dad arrives in Toronto tonight, he'll be picking up his car from her house and driving it back to his house a couple of hours away. I wonder if she will cry, when she says goodbye.

Time Does Fly

Soul Mate and I are extremely fortunate. Between us, we have four amazing kids. It is astonishing to us that they are all growing older at such a quick pace. Yoga Kid (the baby of the lot) turns 26 today. That is amazingly freaky to me. I can't easily lay hands on the *first* baby pictures of her to include here, but she was a beauty then too.

When I remember the little darling as a toddler, this is the picture that appears in my heart and my head.

Quite honestly, she could be a handful at this stage. One of my dear friends even nicknamed her "Taryn the Terror." She clearly had a very strong sense of self, even then. She knew what she wanted and when she wanted it and she started perfecting her persistency approach with a vengeance as soon as she learned how to walk and talk.

I like to think that Yoga Kid's tenacity at such a tender age showed me that getting our needs met or realizing our dreams takes passion and effort. She taught me that sometimes we need to holler and cry. I also like to think that some of my greatest growth spurts were taking place at the same time as hers were, in her first few years. I believe that back in the day when I was telling baby Yoga Kid and her older sister First Born to "get up and brush themselves off," that "they could do it," and that they were "terrific," that my own words were echoing or boomeranging right back to me.

Clearly, by the time we got Yoga Kid to her kindergarten graduation, I had also graduated into a whole new way of life, and I credit my beautiful daughters for inspiring me to grow up and be more terrific.

She never really did lose her ability to terrorize once in a while, but the early grade school years also started to bring out the sensitive, compassionate side of this little person who would grow up to be Yoga Kid. When she was five, she actually changed her name to Alice for a while (she was obsessed for over two years with a black and white version of an Alice in Wonderland movie.) The following except about Alice is from an entry in my journal on June 7, 1992:

Today is my baby's 7th birthday. She was an angel in her dance concert [a few days earlier]. That day she came home and adopted a caterpillar. It was priceless. She was gentle and caring towards it. She read it stories, and took it for rides on her dinky cars. It was precious.

Needless to say, she soon graduated to loving dinosaurs and dogs. She wanted a dinosaur, but we were unable to deliver on that one. I have no idea whose puppy she was holding in this picture, but how cute is this kid!

As her grade school years clipped along Yoga Kid grew into an exceptional dancer, learned how to play the piano beautifully, and became a prolific writer. In addition to crafting stories on a regular basis just for the fun of it, she was expected to journal daily in school. I think you get some of the flavour of who Yoga Kid was becoming from this entry on her first day back at school in the fall of 1995:

This summer I went to Red Deer to visit my dad. We went to Banff twice. Every summer we go camping there. It's so pretty in Banff. We also went to Drumheller. Again, we go there every year. It's very interesting when you love dinosaurs like I do. When I grow up I want to be a paleontologist. One of my hobbies is collecting fossils. I never really liked dinosaurs until we learned about them in grade two. In Edmonton at Northlands Park ther's a Canadian Derby. We go there every year too. They just fixed Northlands up and it is very nice. It's a lot more enjoyable watching horseracing in a place like that. Some of the horses are so beautiful. While my dad is at work my grandma watches me. She comes down from Whitehorse every summer to watch me. We would take the bus to the mall a lot, but at weekends we would go places with my dad. Now a little about myself. My full name is Taryn Rae. I am 10 years old and my birthday is June 7, 1985. I was born in Whitehorse, I have a dog named Poncho. he's terri-poodle cross. I have an older 14 year old sister and I'm the youngest. I'm a chocolate and taco lover. My hobbies are tap dancing and collecting fossils. My pet peeves are: some cats, bees, wasps and all seafoods. My favourite colours are blue and pink, plus dark green. My favourite shows are "Are You Afraid of the Dark?", "Rugrats," "Rocko's Modern Life," and "X-Files." I love to read. My favourite movies are "Jurassic Park," and "Little Women." I like antiques like old teacups, sewing machines, etc. I love going to history places.

As a historian, this entry warms my heart. The years from ten to fifteen were pretty uneventful, and then the next few were interesting as the Terror returned for a few grand performances. But we all survived and once again, she was a beautiful graduate.

The past few years, our girl has grown into a beautiful young woman. Yoga Kid has retained her love of vintage as far as some clothing and jewellery goes, but to my knowledge she no longer plays the ponies and she now despises the colour pink. She is no longer a terror in any way, shape or form, although like the best of us, she can still get pretty cranky once in a while. The only dinosaurs in her life these days are her parents. She had to give up dancing so she took up yoga, which is now her life's passion. She still loves to read but reads mostly non-fiction. First Born teases her for only reading "textbooks" and just bought her a novel about yoga for her birthday to try to get her back into fiction (First Born and I love reading novels). Yoga Kid still loves dogs, and wishes she had one again. She is no longer a fan of caterpillars. Although she claimed that she hated seafood at age ten, she has never actually tasted anything in the fish or seafood family in her entire life. She is currently the only vegetarian in our family, but she still sits at our table when we serve ribs, First Born's favourite. Yoga Kid is an exceptional makeup artist, but traded that career to work in another job that allows her the freedom to devote more time to teaching yoga in the evenings. She even has a yoga blog on her Anahata Moon Yoga site. If you go to her blog, you will learn that she still loves chocolate.

I don't know that any of us would have expected Yoga Kid to grow up to be Yoga Kid. But we are so very happy that she did. I still learn from her every day. Earlier this year, as I wrote in my Yoga Kid, Hearty and Me post, I learned a lot about the true meaning of mindfulness, of being present. This daughter of mine is caring, wise, funny, sensitive. I look at her or think about her and can't help but marvel over how precious and priceless a gift she is to our family.

Happy birthday, darling girl. I love you.

Happy Mother's Day

Today is Mother's Day, and I really wanted to write something in memorial for my Mom. Yet, I can't seem to find the words that would adequately relay the great love that I feel for this woman, even now, eleven years after her death. Rather fortuitously, I remembered a letter that I wrote to Mom on Mother's Day in 1999. I didn't know at the time that it would be her last Mother's Day with us. The letter captures everything of what I felt at the time, and much of what I still feel for her today. I miss her terribly, but remain ever grateful to have had her for as long as I did.

I hope everybody has a lovely Mother's Day. I am going to a matinee with my own two lovely daughters, who love me just as much as I love my Mom. Life is good, and goes around and around. 

9 May 1999

Dear Mom,

There aren’t many hours that pass in a day without my thinking of you. And so, I thought that I might share some of the thoughts that have come to me. But first I want you to know that a lot of what I have to say is not new, it is stuff that I have known for a long time but have never shared with you. It just seems as though I have this opportunity to tell you how important you are to me, and I think that I should grab the moment. Besides, I’m running out of things to buy you.

As you know, I hate that you have leukemia. It scares me, maddens me, and very often saddens me. But I am so amazed at how you deal with it, at your strength and courage and all-around attitude. I know that you probably have moments, or days, when your strength falters and I really need you to know that you can share those times with me. Phone me or send me an e-mail, or save it up until you see me, but please don’t keep your worries to yourself. We are able to share so much, I think, and I really want to be able to talk to you about anything. You don’t need to protect me from your pain. You see, I have strength too and I am certain that I got it from you. Anyway, the rest of this letter isn’t about the fact that you got sick and scared me into realizing how much I love you. I am writing because there seems to be no better time than now, to share with you a piece of my heart.

I think I’ve told you about the warmest and most precious memories that I have from when I was little. You know we all go on like we were so hard done by, and I’ve done my fair share of criticizing you and Dad about how you raised us, etc. etc. But I have always known that you both did your very best, and in recent years I have come to realize just how good it really was. I think of what it must have taken for you to arrange our holidays in the summer, to get us a pool, to fix my room up so beautifully, to always make our home warm and safe. I know now how much energy and money that must have taken and as kids, we likely never really appreciated it the way we should have. But the times that are most precious to me are still the times that we sat in the living room, on the couch, probably of a Sunday afternoon, with you reading at one end while I read my Nancy Drew book at the other. Dad and the boys were not usually around, and I guess Deb was either not invented or napping, but I recall sitting, listening to the fat from the roast spitting in the oven. It was just very special. After Debra was born, and you were still at home, after-school time was incredibly wonderful. I suppose it was because you were there (rather than at work) and the boys and I didn’t have the opportunity to scrap but whatever it was, I loved coming home and having you there. And even to this day, I love to watch or feel or hear you, humming or singing while you are puttering in the kitchen or tidying up something. Well, I could go on and on about these silly little childhood memories but most of all what I want to say is that I think it is kind of a shame that we only really know what our parents did for us, when we start getting old enough to wonder why our own children don’t appreciate what we do for them.

I don’t want to get into my teenage years, because they weren’t very good times for you, and hey, this is a present not a punishment. I don’t have any real explanation for why I was such a screw-up, but I am grateful that I lived to see the end of it. There were times when my behaviour was really self-destructive, and I am certain that I was also destroying you and Dad. All I can say is that I am sorry, and I would do anything I could to change things so that we had only happy memories of my teen years, but we can’t so let’s just be grateful that they are long over. And from my perspective, I believe that I learned a lot from those times, and in some ways, that stuff made me who I am today.

I spend a lot of time counting my blessings, and being grateful for all that I have in my life. And I am so glad that I moved back here to be closer to you eleven years ago and that I have gotten to spend so much time with you and Dad this past decade. I want to spend the next decade with you both, and I know that we will do everything we can to make that happen. But I also realize that a lot can happen, to any of us, at any time. And so when I think in terms of time, I realize that I have had the most and best of times with my mother, certainly better than anybody I know. I don’t know another woman who I am close to, except for Debra, who has what we have. And I am so grateful for that. If a person’s success in life is measured by how much they are loved by their children, then I would say that you and Dad are likely the most successful people in the world.

Well, my darling Mother, I guess I should stop this shameless display of emotion. I wanted to write you something that would be entirely beautiful and eloquent and touch you right in the center of your soul. But that will have to come later, this letter seems to be more about saying some things that I should have said a long time ago. And yet, I believe that you know these things already, that you know me, and that you know my heart. And so you already know how very much I love you. I could not love you more, but I sure can love you for a lot longer. So we will just continue along, as we have been doing. Even though we have been changed so much by the past few months, I think that when it comes to matters of our hearts, all of our family has shown how much we mean to each other. Not all of us can speak or write about our love for one another, but we all know it. And that is everything.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Love,

Dawn

(Blog Note: I wrote this letter before our own kids learned to appreciate us, but now they do.)

One Day, Many Feelings

I haven't blogged in six days. I am not going to lie, not writing has caused me some anxiety. However, I had a good reason for not being on here, I took the days away to spend time with my Best Friend, whose heart has just been ripped apart. We had a lovely weekend, and it felt good to be fully present for her visit. But now, here I am, a little bit scattered, feeling rusty. I am grateful to be putting words into sentences again. Blogging is my practice, my meditation. My check-in, my touchstone, my way of figuring out where I am. Where am I today?

Well, physically I am in my living room, sitting in my favourite easy chair with my feet resting on its matching ottoman. The sun is pouring in through the window, a warm breeze coming through the just cracked window. I am sipping (as opposed to gulping) a most excellent cup of coffee. My father is visiting, but he's still adjusting to time zone changes so he's not up yet. It will be a fun visit, although he doesn't have a clue just how much fun I actually have planned for him. For one thing, this is the first time in four years that my father will have my attention during a visit. I usually work while he is here, even when I take days off. The last time he was here he made a snippy comment about my always being on my Blackberry, and I took note. As I have blogged about on earlier occasions, up until I hit the wall with a thunderous crash a couple of months ago, I had a serious problem with work/life balance. I am beginning to see that my problem with working too much was largely self-created, although the environment I work in clearly contributed. I can only take care of my end of the silliness. I have an amazing therapist, and am making good progress.

Where am I emotionally? I am quite looking forward to a well-hatched scheme that will surprise my father this Thursday. My Baby Sister (I've blogged about her too) is flying in on Thursday night for the Royal Wedding. My dad doesn't know this, but he will be tickled pink. All of his children are scattered across this continent so he rarely gets to spend time with more than one of the four of us at a time. This will only be the second time that my sister, father and I have been together in about six years. My dad is 80. These moments matter. We will drink tea and watch William and Kate get married, and then spend a few days playing tourist and introducing Baby Sister to my lovely town. So happiness here, in anticipation of a father-daughters weekend. I just hope we don't give him a heart attack when she walks in on Thursday night.

My heart is also somewhat heavy. Tomorrow is my mother's death date anniversary. I don't remember ever having my father around on the anniversary of her death. It's often (well, always) a difficult day for me. And I don't want to make it difficult for him. I am not sure how he marks it, or if he does. I am sitting here crying just thinking about how hard it will be for me not to cry tomorrow. Crap.

And finally, I feel a little guilty because I was a bit bitchy to my two daughters last night. I say "a bit" because they were being a tad annoying and pushing my buttons on purpose. I am very rarely bitchy with them, although I am probably a lot of other things such as "bossy," and "controlling," and the like. Still. I know they will forgive me, as I forgive them. But in case they have difficulty, here is a YouTube video I found on forgiveness that I quite love. As I love them.

So, where I am today. Grateful. Hopeful. Excited. Sorry. Sad.

It's bound to be a good day. Hope yours is too.

Cheerio For Now

I am just about to shut off my computer for the the weekend and head off to a beach house with some close female friends. Hope to do a little healing, a lot of laughing, shed a tear, or three. A little bit of step writing. Some healthy eating. A walk by the ocean or two. A hot tub or two. About eight cups of Creamed Earl Grey.

It's a beautiful day in Paradise. Peace out. Here is where you will find me...

Or check out the website:

http://www.orveasbay.com/accommodations.htm



We Never Get Over It, But We Do Get Through It

Last year when a dear aunt passed away, I wrote a post for my cousin on my old blog. It was intended to provide her some comfort, and she said that it did. Today I read a blog post by Cathy, whose  mom has just died. I don't know if anything I wrote for my cousin will help. But here it is, to you Cathy, with love and understanding.

Our Lives May Grow In Different Directions, Yet Our Roots Remain As One

Turning fifty this year has been great, overall. But a few things about getting older are really bringing me down. A good example— I am running out of relatives at an alarming rate.

Last week, my third last living aunt passed away, and although in her honour I would love to write something hilariously funny (Auntie Joyce was hilariously funny) I also feel intensely compelled to write something thoughtful—perhaps even meaningful—for her daughter, my cousin Cory.

These are the times when I am sorry that most of my relatives live clear on the other side of the country. If Cory lived closer, I would invite her to come and spend the day with me. I would feed her, pour her a glass of wine (I am one of only two cousins who doesn't drink wine, or anything for that matter), and create a space for her to start telling her story, her story of losing her mother. I would try mostly just to listen, having had the opportunity to tell my own dying mother story so many, many times already over the past ten years. At moments, I am sure that I would contribute a piece of my narrative just for support, or as confirmation of how she is feeling, what she is thinking. Not that I claim to know all of it, but…

I want to tell you, Cory – I have been where you are. I know some of what you are feeling, and most of what you are trying not to feel.

I know that in these early days you are probably swinging between paralysis and hyper-activity. You will find yourself having some difficulty getting through the motions of daily life. Don’t forget to eat, to drink lots of water. Brush your teeth. Put clothes on if you leave the house and remember that deodorant is a good idea in August. Staying up all night listening to the music that sears through your soul and makes you feel, feel, feel the feelings – is okay for a few days. But please don’t do it every night for a week. You need to rest, to recover, to heal. You need to be as gentle with yourself as you would be with your mother if she was going through what you are going through right now. You may need to tell Rod (your husband, Cory) that although he mourns too, he should probably take charge of your lives for a while. Be firm when you tell him that there is not a hope in hell of you making any decisions about much of anything this week, month, summer, year. Take all the time you need. And write this down:

“I may need a lot of time to get over this because I really, really, really liked my mother a lot.”

Your two beautiful daughters will be watching you closely (as mine were), looking for a sign every once in a while that tells them there is at least some hope that you will eventually be okay. You might not believe that, but fake it once in a while, just to give them a break. Do something normal. Yell at one of them for something ridiculously unimportant. You know, like we do. If you are up to it, give them each a hug and say “honey one day soon we will talk about your grief, your pain. But for now, It’s pretty much all about mine.” They will giggle. Eventually, but not right away, you will want to consider that they too have been through hell losing their Nannie and watching you go through hell, but you likely can’t deal with that today. For now, just tell them to brush their teeth, wear deodorant, and for Christ’s sake turn their goddamned music down after midnight. The taking God’s name in vain part is optional, but in our family, as you know, the option is almost always taken.

Cory, the one thing that has sustained me through a decade of mother missing, has been that I always speak to my mom. In my head, that is. I talk to her about all of the good things that are going on, and the bad or scary stuff. And because I knew my mom so very well, as you did yours, I can always hear what she would say, if she were here. You will hear your mom too, Cory. Just listen to your heart. Like her favourite music, photos of your mother will bring you both comfort and agony right now. Speak to your pictures of your mom and tell her what you are going through. Please, do let somebody know if you really believe she is talking back to you. That would be a bit much.

Cousin, I wish that I could tell you ten years from now that all of what you are going through will be behind you. Much of it will, but the longing for one more day, one more talk over tea, one more argument even, might never fully go away. I am fifty years old and there have been so many moments over the past ten years when I have whispered to myself or even said out loud, I want my mommy. Your aunt (my mother) told me, speaking about the loss of her own mother, that daughters never get over losing their mother, but they do get through it. I did. You will. Our daughters will.

And after all is said and done, we really are the fortunate ones. We had amazing mothers. And we have amazing daughters. The mother-daughter bond still exists, for us.

Digging For Gold

Digging around in a trunk full of memories sure does yield interesting results. I keep coming across items that I forgot even existed. I pick each one up and I am blown away by the memories. Last week's findings were really emotional, today's were a little lighter.

You see, I am currently on a rather frenzied search for a sweater that I am sure I knit thirty years ago. Can't find the damned sweater. Surely to god I haven't conjured up a false memory on this? As I blogged about a while back, I seriously remember knitting a pastel coloured baby sweater with unusually long arms. It should have been in the box I located today filled with First Born's baby dresses, but it wasn't. There were, however, some other absolute treasures that I will probably feel compelled to write about in the coming days.

For example, today, I found three poems from my past. Which is quite a lot, given that I've probably written a total of six poems in all of my life. I might have been sixteen when I wrote the first one, but can't say for sure. Best Friend will remember when it was penned. (She never even dabbled in addiction, so she has a much better memory than I.) All I remember is that the poem was about a boy. Not sure which one.

Silent Tears, Secret Fears

I wonder what you would do if you knew you were my life,

Wonder what you would say if you knew what I longed to hear.

Do you miss me the ways I miss you?

Can you feel for me like I feel for you?

I wait.

I wonder.

How ironic is it that I can't even remember for which great love of mine this poem was intended? I am not sure if I forget because I was fickle...or fried. It was definitely in the 70s. Damned boys anyway. Except for this last one who has been hanging around for going on twenty years. He's a keeper. Although I've never written a poem about him...

Girls, now they are a different story altogether. I have been so blessed when it comes to women friends. I have a small handful (Best Friend and the Mouse, in particular) of the most amazing women friends who have been there for me in good times and in bad, for well over three decades. Others I have known and loved for two decades, including some amazing women who have travelled or are travelling the road of recovery with me still. Old or new, these chiclets mean the world to me. I know that I wrote the following peom specifically to convey to Best Friend all the love and appreciation I had for her so many years ago, but tonight the poem goes out to all of the gal friends in my life today.

Forever Friend

Twenty years may pass until next we meet

Yet I will recognize our friendship in your eyes

And if they hold instead

A sad or solemn gleam

I shall cross the boundaries of time

To hold you.

Because as they have all taught me, that's just what girl friends do. Ask Carole King.

 

Things That Make Me Happy

I've been on such a downer this past while, it feels wonderful to be able to say that I've experienced some happy moments, this week. All because:

• It is snowing pink petals, everywhere;
• I found a perfect storage solution for our very small bathroom (chrome shelving unit that goes over the toilet);
• Soul Mate was able to put said unit together easily (he didn't even swear);
• I gambled that the bath mat from Superstore would match our shower curtain when I got it home, and it did;
• I made the best damned lasagna, ever;
• I now have the cleanest fridge, ever;
• I have only screwed up two rows of the scarf I am knitting;
• I decided I could live with two screwed up rows, and didn't take the scarf apart and start over;
• I took Yoga Kid's hatha class last night, and was so proud of her, I nearly cried;
• First Born survived a week-long ear infection and is feeling better;
• My white lilac tree has buds all over it and is sure to burst into bloom;
• I fell asleep easily last night, and slept soundly through the night (doesn't happen often);
• I sat in a room tonight that was filled with awesome, beautiful people; 
• I started a Jodi Picoult novel, and I love her writing;
• For the first time in months, I didn't have to crawl into my bed when I got home from my therapy session this morning. 

Small steps, but all in the right direction.

A Little Nostalgia

I thoroughly enjoy reading the blogs that proud moms write about their hugely adorable kids. There weren't blogs back when my little ones were busy being the cutest kids in the world, or maybe I would have blogged about them too.

Yesterday, I spent part of the afternoon going through some old family papers. Most of them made me giggle, a few made me howl with laughter, and a few others brought a tear or two to my eye. Just for the fun of it, I want to share the Christmas lists that our two daughters wrote in 1999. Anybody who had, or was, a teenager in 1999 should remember or relate to at least some of the items on these lists.

Here they are, reproduced exactly as they wrote them.

First Born's List (she was 17 at the time)

Cordless phone
CD organizer (about 72 discs)
Clothes or gift certificates
Little silver hoop earrings (cheap ones)
Black liquid eyeliner
Dill pickle popcorn seasoning

Jo Dee Messina CD (the one with “I’m Alright”)

"Big Shiny Tunes 4"

Lipsmackers (9000 flavours)
Black leather jacket (please and thanks)
Back Street Boys "Millenium"
A pony
Cell phone
An apartment
Dixie Chicks new CD

Yoga Kid's' List (she was 14 at the time)

Stereo with remote control, extra bass, DBBS, programmable
Superman t-shirt
Blue slippers
Corner table (Ikea)
Mosquito net
Korn "Issues" CD
Clothes (funky skirts)
Silver jewellery
Dream dictionary/interpreter
Hair accessories
Hair crimper/waver/straightener
Big blue inflatable chair
Disposable camera
Gel nails

Yoga Kid still loves music, funky clothes and jewellery. She still reads mostly non-fiction books, the majority of which focus on yoga, her life's passion. She's into photography, and has a very fancy camera that she used the day that she and I spent the afternoon at the beach last month. She takes a wicked shot of sea glass, check it out! She still takes great care with her beautiful head of hair, but I don't think she would be caught dead with gel nails, today.

First Born was joking about the pony, but she still begs us every year to get a family puppy to replace our dog Molly, who died a few years ago. She has an iPhone these days, and has for all of her teenage and adult life been very phone focussed. It's funny to see that she asked for a "cordless" phone. I don't think there are any phones today that even have cords, are there? She still loves silver hoop earrings, and dill pickle popcorn seasoning. She has an apartment, but she didn't get it for Christmas.

They were good kids, that year. They definitely got a few of the things that they put down on those lists.

Strange Politics, But They Are Our Politics

I'm not going to lie, slowing down and taking care of myself has been a real struggle for me. I thought that I was finally getting the hang of it this past week, thanks to yoga, knitting, and some physical illness. Nothing like your body telling your mind and spirit to slow things the hell down. On a regular basis. I'm sure I'll figure that all out, soon.

In addition to two awesome yoga classes (one was on meditation, the other was a restorative class) and my knitting class, this week I also went away for a couple of days without my personal computer. That in itself was a new but healthy experience. For two days, I relaxed spending quality friends with close family friends. I was taken for a lovely drive, had a great seafood lunch "out," won a couple of crib games, had some tasty meals "in" and drank copious cups of good tea.

Oh, and we watched our government fall on television.

I mean really, where else but in Canada could a government be overthrown so quietly? For my American friends, the short story is that  yesterday our House of Commons voted 156-145 on a no-confidence resolution aimed to topple the Conservative government. This triggers the dissolution of Parliament and calls for an election to be held within the next several  weeks. This would be akin to your Republican leader dissolving Obama's Democrats and calling Americans back to polls. We we have different political systems, but you get the point. It would be big deal where you live. Not so much of a big deal here in Canada.

What strikes me the most about this event (it's happened a few times, lately) is its stark contrast with what is going on in the rest of the world. In particular, what is going on in the Middle East. What is happening here may seem ludicrous to some, but it provides clear and compelling evidence that only democracy makes sense.

A young woman for whom I have a great deal of respect wrote a lovely Facebook status yesterday, reaching out to her many young friends. I am repeating it here because it says it all. I'm sending it out to all of my Canadian friends and relatives (old and young) in the hopes that you will hear and consider her plea.

"In the last couple of months, we have watched as people from various countries have taken to the streets in order to exercise their right to determine their own fate and to hold their leaders accountable for their actions. We have watched them suffer and face serious reprisals in their fight for democracy. As we are asked to go to the polls again, I hope you will all remember this thing we take for granted."

Honesty, I hope you will, too.

Slowing Down on a Sunday Afternoon

My mother taught me to love Sunday afternoons. So I'm trying hard to love this one. You have to catch the right "pace" to nail a good Sunday afternoon. The trick is not to be too productive, but yet not become so relaxed that it could be mistaken for paralysis. So far, I'm doing pretty well.

Here are the highlights:

• drank two cups of creamed earl grey (sweetened, with milk)
• ate two crumpets, smothered in butter and plum jam
• had a Skype call with my dear cousin from Montreal. It was her first time on Skype, it was hilarious to see how excited she was, and she got to show me around her house, which was cool
• had a Skype call with my other cousin from Montreal and two of her three boys. Dylan asked me if we grow mangoes where I live (we don't)
• spent a few minutes tidying off my desk
• read a few chapters of a new novel (Sheila Curran's Everyone She Loved)
• listened to one of my favourite tunes sung by K.D. Lang

Now I am waiting for Yoga Kid to get home, she went to pick up First Born. We are having family dinner for the first time in a while. Everybody is so busy these days, I'm really looking forward to being together for a meal. Soul Mate has his specialty ribs baking in the oven. He smothers them in garlic, covers them with orange slices and bakes them for hours, then tosses them in a secret bbq sauce and bakes them a while longer. I am going to make asparagus and salad. Lemon meringue pie for dessert.

Family, food, and as much reading as I can fit in. Exactly the way my mother taught me. Happy Sunday afteroon, everybody. As Leonard Cohen wrote, and K.D. Lang can really belt out...Hallelujah.

Serenity at the Shore

It's Saturday, and it's really warm out. The sun is shining. Soul Mate and I wander along the beach. He's like a little kid at the side of the sea. 

He meanders along, poking at the sand with a stick, picking up rocks and gnarled lengths of driftwood. He climbs high upon the storm strewn logs and smiles. Yes, I think. You can be the "king of the castle" for today. Eventually, he joins me in my ongoing life quest to find the perfect piece of sea glass. I find one or two gems, but none as magnificent as "Hearty," the one I found last month when I combed the beach with Yoga Kid.

Gratitude washes over me as I sit and ponder the beauty of our shore, our island. I say a prayer for the people suffering so deeply on the other side of this ocean, the ocean that I love so much. God bless them all.

And Just Like That

It's spring.

 A Light Exists in Spring

A light exists in spring

Not present on the year

At any other period

When March is scarcely here.

A color stands abroad

On solitary hills

That science cannot overtake,

But human nature feels.

It waits upon the lawn

It shows the furthest tree

Upon the furthest slope we know

It almost speaks to me.

Then, as horizons step,

Or noons report away

Without the formula of sound,

It passes, and we stay.

A quality of loss

Affecting our content,

As trade had suddenly encroached

Upon a sacrament.

~Emily Dickinson~

Time Marches On

I don't know about your family, but my family of "origin" is spread all across North America. My mother is dead and is buried in Alberta, my sister also lives in Alberta. I have a brother in Ontario, and a brother in Mississippi. I live in the nicest place of all, British Columbia. My siblings and father joke that "B.C." is short for "bring cash." It's kind of true. My dad's mailing address is in Ontario but he spends his life zigazagging from one of us kids to the other. We call him the Road Runner.

My sister lives only a mountain range away, and I am confident that going forward, I will see her and her family often. (Going backward, we lost a few years. Long story. Not important. Doesn't matter.) I saw her in October, and I expect to see her again at least twice this year. I haven't seen either of my brothers for a hell of a long time. It's feeling like it must be time for somebody to visit somebody, but nobody is making plans on the brother front. I am pretty sure that neither of them read my blog but if they did, here is what I would say to them.

Dear Brothers:

I hope you are both well. I miss you. I even cried yesterday while watching the video I posted of that Irish kid singing "Danny Boy" because, well, one of you is named Danny. I shed two tears because I missed you too, other brother whose name also begins with "D." Funny, I always thought we were unique because all four of our names began with "D" but actually, it's quite common for families to have the alphabet thing going on. Did you know that?

I look at this picture of you and of course I don't remember knowing you then. Maybe I wasn't even born. Woudn't I have been in the picture? I am sure I was around, as I think you would have been probably five and three respectively (left to right). That would have made me about a year old. Let's agree that I was about one. This would have been back in the day when you both thought having a baby sister was extremely interesting, especially one as cute as me. I remember Mom saying that when I was a baby the two of you would argue over who would get to push me in my baby carriage. I also remember that when she told that story so many years later one of you claimed you were actually fighting over who would push me down the stairs in my carriage. But I know you were kidding. (Right?)

I know that I was the worst pain in the ass of a sister as a sister could be when we were all in school and you were both just figuring out how to skip school. I don't know why I was such a little tattletale but I think it had something to do with getting attention. Remember that day you both played hooky and had some friends who also skipped school over, but you didn't know that I had faked being sick and that I was upstairs in my room? I'll never forget the look of shock on your faces when I wandered out of my bedroom and caught you both in the living room playing rock band with your friends. Not the computer "Rock Band" that kids play now of course. I am a bit fuzzy on the details but I think one of you was sitting on top of the dining room table drumming on an upside down laundry basket. Boy, did you both catch shit that night when I filled in the parents. Sorry about that. Maybe I was just jealous at the time, since Baby Sister had recently come along and stole any thunder I might have thought I had as the favourite. Maybe it was just the beginning of my turning into an asshole.

We needn't go into a whole lot of detail, but I have in the past apologized for the havoc I wreaked on our family when I reached my teenage years. Really, enough said on that front. It's not like I was the first person in our family to become an addict, just maybe the first of our generation. As you know, for the past 20 plus years, I have been making amends for that "crazy" time in my life. If either of you still feel I owe you anything, let me know. But I think we are good on that front?

It's hard to believe that all four of us kids finally grew up to be productive and happy members of society. All four of us happily married (actually, a total of eight marriages). Twelve kids. Six grandkids. Three university degrees. Three big houses and one little one. A boat. A Harley. Combined, we have 188 years of memories. Many of them good, and warm, and happy. We come from good people. We are good people. We've been fortunate, when it comes to death and illness. We lost Mom, and what a blow that was, but our kids have all been and continue to be healthy. If we were the type of people who count our blessings (I think we are) then we should be counting for a long time.

A lot of families have their members strewn across the country, the continent, the world. We're so lucky to have Dad to keep us all updated and in touch with what is going on in everybody else's lives. He flies or drives from one of us to the other on practically a monthly basis, bringing news, photos, steak spice and other foodie items that we like to share. Dad  is our golden thread, and I know that we each love him and savour our quick turnaround times with him. (And we don't mind sharing him with our cuzzins, either).

I suspect that more than anything, Our Father would love to have a visit with all four of us together at the same time. I would like that too. He's not getting any younger. Neither are we.

Well. What more can I say. I know you don't read my blog and that's okay. I haven't ever explicitly told you about it or asked you to read it. I don't even think it would be your thing, and that's perfectly okay. But I do know that maybe a wife here, or a daughter or cousin there, does read this blog. And maybe I can plant a seed here, for one of them to carry to each of you. There's a family wedding in Montreal in October. I am going to be there. I am going to do everything I can to convince Baby Sister to be there. Dad will be there, god willing.

Maybe. Just maybe...I'll see you there?

Thursdays, Therapy, and Me

It’s past noon on Saint Patrick’s day. I was out and about this morning, and I have just realized that I’m not wearing green. There is a thin vein of chartreuse running through my scarf, but that wouldn’t nearly cut it for my Irish relatives. I should be stripped of my one-eighth Irish heritage. I haven’t even drank green beer for going on 24 years. Haven’t drank alcohol at all, for that long. Not much of an Irishman, some would argue. At least those who subscribe to stereotypes.

It’s also Therapy Thursday. This morning’s session was much like last week’s. It took me a while to get going, but I finally hit that chord variation that I keep trying to avoid, the one I need to tune into, play through, and then, when the time is right, release it...note by note. The solution to my condition is in part, to feel the feelings that I have tried for so many years to block with school, work, busyness.  

Good thing I adore my therapist. I loved my last one too, some twenty years ago. Her name was Fyfe, and the therapist of the moment, well her name is Fiona. Both good Celtic names, albeit more Scottish than Irish. I appreciate them both, for their part in leading me back towards myself. At the moment, Fiona has me feeling emotionally depleted. Not crawl into a ball devastated, more like “really don’t think I am going to be cleaning the bathroom today after all” kind of devastated. Yet I also feel vaguely mellow, in a pleasant sort of way.

This morning I recounted what it was like to sit in an oncologist’s office eleven years ago and hear a doctor tell my mother that she had three weeks to live. How it felt when the oncologist left the room, promising that he would be right back, and then never came back. How mad I was that my mother was so hurt by his abrupt abandonment. My mother had put her life and her faith into this man and his medicine for sixteen months, and he didn’t have the guts or the grace to come back into the room and wish her well. Later that day Mom lamented: “To think that he didn’t even have the decency to come in and say good luck, take care or kiss me arse or anything.” Or something to that effect. My mother could be quite Irish when she wanted to be. Today, I’ve come to understand that not everyone can handle talking to people about dying, or saying goodbye. But that day, I wanted to go back to the cancer centre and strangle the bloody oncologist.

The other memory I had today, was that later that night, my Dad went to play darts with my brother and the guys, as scheduled. He was clearly in denial, shock. It was the best thing for him to do, as irrational as that may sound to people who don't know our family. I drove my mother back to the home she loved so dearly, the one place on earth that she loved above all others. We watched Jeopardy, Wheel of Fortune and Touched By An Angel. We ate Kraft Dinner and pumpkin pie. My mother always loved Kraft dinner, but rarely made it because Dad doesn’t like it, at all. At one point in the evening, I sat at my mother’s feet and laid my head upon her knee. She caressed the top of my head as I cried and said to her very quietly: "I want to go with you." I didn’t really of course. I would never want to leave my beautiful family, my lovely life. Not then, not now. I guess I just wanted her to know that if I could, I would be with her forever. Always.

Thursdays are hard. I need to revisit the story, and process the grief. But I know and I trust that healing can and will follow the pain. I believe that with all of my being. I'm just beginning to remember the story.

Well, enough of this for today. Sorry if I have caused anybody out there sadness. I am going to switch emotional gears and go grab myself some lunch. But first, I might as well go out with a good old Irish bang. This one’s for all of my green-beer drinking Irish relatives, and in memory of my Mom, and of course, with love to my brother Danny.

This version is sung by a wee lad named Declan Galbraith. Enjoy it, and I promise tomorrow I will be funny.

  

Humility

There's this thing called the seventh step (seventh of twelve) that some of us practice. In this step, we put our trust in a higher power (I call mine Mary). We focus on the spiritual principles of surrender, trust, faith, patience and humility. The idea here is simple - we hope to become better human beings. Humility is the big one here. A lot of people have trouble with the word humility, mistaking it or equating it too closely with humiliation. I try to keep things simple. Humility for me, just means that I am teachable, that I have a lot to learn. And boy, do I.

One of my lovely sponsees (as in, I sponsor/mentor her) was recently very moved by a line from a piece of recovery literature. We talked about it a bit, and I also became inspired. It kind of speaks volumes even without much introduction, but I thought the sentence that came before it added necessary context. So here they are, two sentences that say a lot:

"We may even be startled by the level of maturity or spirituality we've demonstrated in handling a situation that in years past would have had us acting very unspiritually. One day, we'll realize that some of the ways we used to act have become as alien as spiritual principles were when we first started practicing them."
(Step Working Guide, 67)

As I struggle in my life today with some fairly serious life issues, I need to remember to practice the spiritual principles that best counteract my character defects. It kind of goes something like this, for me:

I have to remember to practice:

• Faith, not fear.
• Humility, not arrogance.
• Self-love, not self-doubt.
• Compassion, not resentment or judgment.
• Commitment, to counter lack of discipline.
• Open-mindedness, rather than lack of self-acceptance.
• Honesty, not denial.
• Love, not impatience. 

How do I do at remembering to practice these spiritual principles? Most days I nail at least a few of them.

Other days, not so much.

Luckily, I've done a lot of work to let go of my perfectionism.

International Women's Day, March 8th

In honour of International Women's Day, another blogger suggested sharing something written by a female ancestor. I hope to find time to dig up and read the many letters that my mother wrote to me when I lived a letter's distance or more away, but I can't do that today. So, I don't have much close at hand, but I do have a short excerpt from a diary entry that Mom wrote in 1996. (She only wrote in a diary very sporatically toward the end of her life, mostly at my urging.)

June  28, 1996
The reason I picked this book up - I want to start putting down some of my thoughts. For instance: today George went to Edmonton with Eric and I decided to clean some windows and put my "Les Miserables" tape in the player (I only play it when I'm alone). While I was rub-a-dub-dubbing the windows and singing along with the music, I recalled a day a few months ago at Debra's when she, Dawn and I were listening to the same music and Dawn and Deb broke into song. (We three saw Les Mis together at the Jubilee and loved it). Anyway, they were both singing their hearts out and altho I laughed, because they don't really have classic voices, it was one of the special moments of my life, they most likely have no idea how happy I was to see the closeness between them or how very much I love them. I only wish the same closeness could be shared with the boys, maybe someday!

Thanks Mom, for taking the time to put down your thoughts. If you were here you would know that our voices haven't gotten any better, but you will be pleased to know that my sister and I both listen to our favourite music as loud and as often as we please, regardless of whether we are alone or not. Debra in particular, still favours the music from Les Miserables, whereas I remain partial to the Phantom of the Opera. Of course, there is no such thing as a "tape player" anymore, we listen to our music on iPods. You wouldn't be into iPods because you didn't like putting things in your ears, but they also have docking stations. I know, sounds weird, hey? I am sure you will be happy to learn that since you have left us, both of your "girls" have actually shared moments of real closeness with one or the other of our brothers. We'll try to get a few more in, in your honour.

Happy International Women's Day, Mom. This one's for you.

Nature, Soul Mate, and Me

Soul Mate and I, are here. For four days.

I'm thinking it's going to be good.

Be Kind

Time for another confession.

Sometimes I do keyword searches in Google to learn more about the lessons I need to learn in life.

It always works.

Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man. 

~Rabindranath Tagore~

Charlie Sheen, Dr. Seuss, and Me

The last few days I have been thinking that it was easier to write this blog a month ago when I was the only one reading it. Although receiving a comment on one of my posts is my abolute greatest joy these days, I do find, as I see the reader stats climb, that I am somewhat more hesitant about writing my truth here. Maybe it's because I know some of the people who are reading this blog, but don't know them really well, and I am afraid that one of them (you) will find out something about me you don't wish to know. Perhaps I am worried that you will judge me.

What I believe with all of my heart and head is that I can't be scared to "be me," and "be honest," at the same time. So I need to just get over myself, and take the very good advice of Dr. Seuss (thanks Best Friend, for reminding me of this quote).

As Dr. Seuss says:

Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.

So here is what I want to say today. I kind of "get" what is going on with Charlie Sheen. He is a suffering addict, as much as he denies it. Twenty some years ago, I surrendered to the fact that I was an addict. I didn't come into recovery at the "height" of my craziest using, the crazy days for me were years earlier, before I had my girls. But I didn't have to be using like a crazy person in order to hit a bottom. When I stopped using drugs in 1989, it was because I believed with every ounce of my being that I had had enough. More than enough. I wanted a new reality, to find a new way to live. For my daughters, and for me. Charlie isn't there yet.

For the past 22 years, I have worked a program of recovery. My recovery run was interrupted with insanity just once, in 2000. For a couple of days, I took prescription narcotics to deal with some overwhelming grief that I just didn't think I could bear. I chose not to bear it, I guess. I took the narcotics as prescribed, unfortunately they were prescribed to my mother, who had just died. I did not, at that time, consider taking those pills a relapse. When I realized four years later that what happened in 2000 was indeed a relapse, I changed my recovery clean date and starting "counting" clean time again. I am okay with claiming 10 years clean and 22 years of recovery.

Today, I am struggling (in part) with that same overwhelming grief that I have been trying to hide from (drug-free) for nearly 11 years. I found every which way not to feel or process the grief, believe me. I thought that I was doing okay, for almost all of the last decade. Without going into more detail (yet), the truth is that there are various other grief and and loss issues messing me up right now, and those issues have been exacerbated by years of overwork and undercare. I wouldn't say that I am grieving the loss of my colon, but I know now that I haven't dealt with losing it to cancer nearly six years ago.

Not dealing with deep emotional, physical and spiritual issues can have very serious consequences for people like Charlie Sheen and I. We can keep on using drugs, or maybe start using drugs again. Charlie thinks he has beat addiction, and I wish only the best for him, but I'm not betting on his success in the short term. I think he will use drugs again. Soon.

I am not going to start using drugs. I have no desire to, whatsoever. But the result of my not dealing with some major life traumas in my life over the past nearly 11 years has landed me in a pretty uncomfortable place, too. I am not manic, like Charlie. But a few weeks ago it became very clear to me, my family, my physician and my friends, that not taking care of myself has resulted in a seemingly swift and serious deterioration of my health, both mental and physical. As I blogged about at the time, it felt like it happened all at once, but it had actually been a very long time coming. I was diagnosed with extreme anxiety and mild depression just two weeks ago, and I swing between those two realities on a daily basis. The depression is more prevalent than the anxiety, over the last week. Some days I am lucky and land smack dab in the middle, and that feels pretty damned good. I am trying to rest (a lot like Charlie though, I can't slow down easily). I am writing, seeing an excellent therapist, doing accupuncture, massage. I am feeling my emotions, which is the most time consuming task of them all, and the most debilitating. I am not taking drugs for my condition at the present time, but I have no judgment whatsoever of people who find medication is a good solution for them. I'm trying it my way, for now.

I don't know why I felt compelled today to put all of this out there. It's me, writing my truth and breaking through the fear of some of you finding out more information about me than you may care or need to know. So many of you have already been so kind, whether by leaving a comment or telling me in other ways. I appreciate the support, with all of my being.

I am not a broken person, not a failure or a loser. I am not weak, or crazy, or defective. I am just a human being, who is still sometimes uncertain about whether I am worthy of taking the time I need to heal from the life I have been leading. I have been very productive this past decade, don't get me wrong. It's been a wild ride with a lot of great things, I've just been going at too high a speed. I have not, like Charlie Sheen admits to, been "banging seven gram rocks." But I have very, very often worked 70 hour work weeks (I am paid to work 35). I know that my drug this past four years has been my work, and I have come close to overdosing on it. On the very rare occasion when I ran out of work, I found every other which way under the sun to busy myself.

I'm tired of doing. I want to "be" more, and "do" less, to live in the moment, to make the most of every moment. Twenty two years ago I wanted a better life for my daughters and I, and I sure have built a better life. I have more amazing people in my life than ever before, including my Soul Mate, who has watched my insanity for so long (two decades) that he thinks that I really am just wired to work that much. We have wonderful kids, and grandkids. I have great parents-in-law, and a beloved Dad. They matter.

I want to be here for another twenty years at least. Taking care of my health is the only chance I have of staying.

Well, that was me, being honest. I hope that Dr. Seuss is right.