Karma Works... Again

Sometimes signs just pop up and slap you in the head as if to say, "wake up, would ya?"

I was working on my blog post which was about whether you believe someone's words or actions when such a sign popped up and gave me a swift kick in the behind. Here is how the blog started...

"I have always believed that we are given the same lesson over and over again until we have it well learned and are able to either pass it along to someone else or apply the learning to better our own lives. My current challenge that I am facing in three separate but remarkably similar areas of my life right now is I'm never sure whether to believe a person's words or deeds. If a person is telling you something over and over again, repeating the same unaltered message with apparent commitment and honesty but in actions seems to convey the exact opposite message, which are you to believe? It's like when someone tells you yes as they shake their head no. The conviction of the person delivering the message, the sincerity of the delivery, don't those things mean something? Shouldn't they be taken with the same weight as the actions that either precede or follow? Or is it merely a case of hearing what we want or need to hear? And then having the actions there to back up the underlying fear of what we know to be true."

So this is how my blog started and in the middle... right there... one of the individuals I was referring to actually confirmed the actions I was trying to overlook with the words I didn't want to hear. If that's not a sign I don't know what is.

Karma, as they say, works. Lesson learned.

Boys Will Be Boys?

I have mentioned before I have three sons (at the risk of dating myself very badly here I admit I always hear the "My Three Sons" theme song playing in my head when I speak of my boys collectively). I call them my boys because despite the fact that they are all, by law at least, adults they will be my boys until the day I depart this earth.

So with this being Sunday I was blessed with a visit from two of them today. My third, the middle boy lives in Germany (a story I will share another day... each of these young men is worthy of a story and then some) but my oldest (at 24 years), his fantastic girlfriend and my youngest (18 years) joined me for an afternoon of nothing and everything.

Today after just hanging for a while we engaged in an avid game of Trivial Pursuit (yeah for me.... just by virtue of age alone one would think I have an advantage). So as we bantered about trivial issues and argued obscure cultural references I was struck, yet again, by how my sons communicate with each other.

From my experience, boys communicate in a very different way than girls and certainly brothers take that difference to an extreme. Now please know, I am not so stupid to not realize there are miles of library shelves, piles of university theses extolling in great detail the differences in the way the sexes communicate. I know I know. Mars Venus for crying out loud. But as a mother it is a remarkably difficult thing to watch. And accept.

Boys are tough on each other. Rough in their references, harsh in their criticism and unforgiving in their judgments. I have had this conversation with male friends of mine and it seems to be true of male to male friendships as well as with brothers. Boys become their own harshest critics to toughen each other up, make each other stronger but all the while knowing when one of their posse is challenged they will fight to the death to defend each other (melodramatic, I know but you get my point).

And so it is with my boys. The insults and criticisms fly with unrelenting swiftness punctuated with occasional comments from me to "be nice... brotherly love... hey! that's my son you're talking about!" I have for years tried to curb this behaviour, for years to no avail. I have come closer to not feeling hurt each time one of these criticisms is flung with such determination towards a boy I have spent my life trying to protect from pain and hurt but it's a hard thing to observe. But what I also know in my heart is that they have a deep respect and love for each other (they will never forgive me if they ever read this) and that is what I keep telling myself as they go through this demented ritual. So I try to sit back, try to relax and let them be.

But the whole time, over and over in my head is playing, "can't we all just get along?" Honestly.

Saturdays and Possibilities

One of the great things I love about the beginning of the weekend (and we can debate when exactly that starts) is that it holds a thousand possibilities.

For me, Friday afternoon and evening is all about celebrating the good things that happened in the work week if, hopefully, that was what the week was like or about shaking off the negative in the hopes of a better day. This week was pretty evenly balanced for good and bad but an unexpected bombshell at work on Friday made me think more of the negative than the positive. So, in an effort to shake it off, I kept myself busy last night and will continue to do so today... maybe not so much tomorrow.

The weekend here in Brantford has a forecast of cool weather, showers today and maybe again tomorrow. This, in my mind, opens two doors of possibility.

If I had someone with me, here to be with me, I would more than likely not be writing this. I would have rolled over in bed and snuggled in for a bit more rest. I would get up and make us coffee, grab the papers return with a little Saturday bed feast. Not the same as the Sunday bed feast of course because Sunday is all about relaxation while Saturday usually has a to-do list. So with coffee, maybe some biscotti or toast and an easy read of the papers we could start our day. I would grab a few things out on errands, and return with movies, snacks and a selection of take-out menus. The rest of the day, as any inclement weather day should be when you can spend it with the one you love, would be speckled with puttering around, falling into relaxed, comforting naps and debating over Thai or Mexican for dinner (my vote is Thai).

But I don't have someone with me, here with me, so I my day will look a little different. I will get my errands done but I'll also get done an assortment of other little tasks that I have been putting off for a rainy day. Sewing buttons on coats and shirts, tidying my second bedroom, cleaning the kitchen cupboards... you know what I mean.

I might still grab a nap in there somewhere but it will be alone and less comforting.

Or I might scrap that whole plan and do something entirely different... I figure I'm due for a mini run-away-from-home adventure. Have you ever done that? Left in the morning with absolutely no plan except that you won't return until night? Or maybe even the next day? I do that once in a while and I'm feeling due. Unfortunately, the weather is a little uncooperative so I think I will hold off for another day on that one.

I will keep myself busy to keep the demons of negative thought at bay.

And I will leave the door open to any other possibilities that come my way.

Ranting about Hockey & Politics

I am feeling like a rant... well, I guess more accurately, I feel like ranting. And this being my first blog-rant, I think it may be short and poorly argued, but I'm going to give it a try anyway.

I went to an event in my city's downtown tonight celebrating the national championship win of our local professional hockey team (no, it's not NHL but it's good hockey and this is Canada). Now, I need to state clearly one point to start off so there are no preconceptions of hockey-fan superiority.

I love live sports but I know very little about the rules of any game in particular. Love watching a live hockey, baseball, football or basketball (used to be a season ticket holder but that's another blog and another rant for another day) game. Love it. Love the atmosphere... appreciate the athleticism... enjoy the sense of camaraderie of supporting the local guys with your community neighbours. Love it. And I don't think that just because I don't know what every call means (ok, I don't know what most calls mean) makes my level of enjoyment diminished in any way.

So tonight I was invited by friends to attend this celebration of our local hockey team. My friends are true fans. They attended home games as well as away games. They know all the players' names, family members, ages, marital statuses and probably a lot more than that... They love our team.

I, on the other hand, went to one game this year. The semi-final game which I enjoyed immensely... even more because I was in the company of my true-fan friends.

At the event tonight were lots of folks... young fans and old, many wearing team jerseys of their favourite players. And as I surveyed the crowd I was proud of my community, that we were hosting this little party and I was happy to be in such a dedicated crowd. Until my gaze settled on the political section of the gathering.

There, in the midst of the admittedly modest throng of fans, were our three governmental representatives. Local, provincial and federal. All smiling. All looking proud of their accomplishments (huh??). And all wearing jerseys with their own names on the backs.

I was incensed. I was standing with true, genuine, proud fans. Fans who volunteered to help at the tournament because they couldn't afford to attend all the games. True fans. True fans who would never see their names on the backs of their favourite team's jersey.

Now, not having attended the season's worth of games my friends did, I can't tell you if our local political representatives were in regular attendance, but my guess is they were there, as I was, for the home stretch. The critical difference being, they were more than happy to accept the designation of team player for this public, well-attended event.

If one or all three of these gentlemen were in regular attendance, my hat is off to you. My hockey stick is raised in solute. If you spent your money (no... not from your governmental office, not from the party coffers, not as a guest of a constituent), your own family money on attending regularly than I declare myself corrected and thank you for reading. Go ahead. Prove me wrong. Nothing would please me more.

I have been a part of the crazy game of politics on many levels over a long time. I've sat on regional party boards, worked on municipal, provincial and federal campaigns. I understand the game of politics pretty well I think. But that certainly doesn't mean I agree with it all the time because more and more lately, I really just don't.

I wish my political representatives, instead of donning the jersey for the photo op tonight, provided it for a draw from season ticket holders to have their name emblazoned on the back.

At least then the jersey might again see the light of day.

Rites of Spring

As I continue on my journey of being renewed and refreshed by the change of season, I am repeatedly surprised by simple little things.

Surprised that, having lived my whole life in this climate where we are fortunate to see the seasons turn and the earth change her coat four times every year, I am still taken aback by little things that happen every single year.

For example, I was recently surprised how cold my knees get when I first venture out with lots of optimism regarding the weather and therefore without any stockings, tights or nylons.

I was surprised by how windy it gets (this year and every other year in memory, now that I think of it) when it seems so sunny and spring-like outside at first glance. The wind is brisk and can still be biting (reference my last point).

I am surprised that my feet still have to get used to the strappy shoes that have been brought happily out of hiding for another year. My feet are as old as I am and you would think they have become accustomed to this annual binding ritual.

Just today alone, I was surprised several times. First, after having put on one of my favourite dresses with a pretty, light-weight wrap skirt that with the smallest gust of wind, I was surprised to be channeling Marilyn Monroe in a desperate attempt to save myself arrest for indecent exposure.

Then, as I was driving along a quiet back road, I was surprised to notice the nasty looking bug that was crawling along my leg. One quick screech (me, not the car), an even faster swipe at my leg and my composure quickly returned.

And finally, after I finished visiting a customer, I was really surprised when I sat myself back down in my car... on my leather seats... that had been sitting with the sun beating down upon them through my open sunroof. Another screech and another adjustment of the previously referenced light-weight skirt and I was able to manage the all-but-forgotten warmth on my butt.

It was not the first time I had experienced any of these simple little harbingers of warmer days, I had experienced each one before, some many many times. But it was the first time this season, this spring in this year. And because of that, because I was able to enjoy the surprise and welcome the newness, that is why I love the adventures that our earth provides us. That is why I could never imagine living in a climate that didn't offer this never-ending gift of change.

We all love a tropical beach (well, at least everyone I know does) but would we love it as much if we never left it? I can't imagine we would.

Today, I love spring. And I will continue loving her exclusively until my friend summer comes along.

Ferris Wheels and Memories

The funniest thing happened today (not on the way to the forum but funny none-the-less). I was updating my status on Facebook (a happy little task I can perform from my cell phone which gives me no end of pleasure as I get comments and responses from my assortment of Facebook friends) with what, I thought was a unique comment on what I was doing.

If there is anyone out there... anyone at all, who is not aware of how Facebook works, in addition to accumulating friends, applications, groups, fans, messages, pokes as well as countless other seemingly unrelated pieces of information or detail which, when pieced together, weave an interesting portrait of who you are, you can also update your status. It is a short, one-line sentence which lets your friends and observers know what you're up to.

My update went like this:

Sally is... wondering if she can justify riding the ferris wheel all afternoon.

I thought nothing more about it.

If you are wondering why I was wondering such an odd thing on a Tuesday afternoon, I was delightfully surprised to find, right in the middle of my territory, a mini-carnival set up in a mall parking lot. Complete with, amongst many other enticements, candy floss and the aforementioned ferris wheel.

And as I said, once I posted the status update I gave it no more thought. It wasn't long however, before I got my first response questioning a ferris wheel in the middle of the day in the middle of an urban core. Then another. Mid-way through my afternoon, the best question of all came through my in-box.

What's a ferris wheel?

Before you read any further, I challenge you to, off the top of your head, define a ferris wheel. To someone who lives in Sweden. Without speaking Swedish.

Some of the biggest delights I have with my Facebook profile are the new connections I have been fortunate to make with people all over this earth. I have new friends in the UK, Venezuela, Egypt, Denmark, Poland, Norway, South Africa, Germany as well as dotting the United States and my beloved Canada. What a wonderful thing that is! I am blessed with friendships I can't imagine having forged otherwise. And I am blessed to have someone to talk to at just about any hour of the day or night (no small miracle for someone who spends countless hours awake and alone like I do).

And so my challenge of the day was to define a ferris wheel to my Swedish friend. I could use none of the descriptions that immediately came to mind; the place where Danny S. kissed me and I fell hopelessly for him when I was 15 years old... the best place in the world to see the view of the Woodstock Fair... the place where I had to bury my oldest son's face deep in my coat to stop him from screaming when he was a tiny boy, while we rode for what seemed an eternity. So many memories and none would translate.

I muddled through I think, with a lame attempt at describing it visually and making some reference to the Eye of London (it is called the Eye isn't it... if not that would explain why I haven't heard back from my friend).

But I challenge you to come up with your own best ferris wheel memory. I bet you have some that will bring a smile to your face... as mine did to me.

Wishes Granted...

Well, I am so very happy to report that sometimes you do actually get what you want. Not everything naturally (because not only would that just be too easy but we'd all be bored out of our minds in no time flat so let's agree to keep things interesting).

No sooner had I penned (although I actually wrote it on the computer, penned sounds so much more romantic than keyed) my 'Random Wishes for a Sunday Morning' blog than my oldest son called me to arrange moving the junk etc. off my balcony. I'm pretty sure I squealed in his ear on the phone.

I have a generously sized balcony (at least I think so) and I can easily fit a lounge chair, an Adirondack chair, a dining table to seat four plus a little round table to seat two. Plus a rustic old ladder that I pile with summer books, flowers and pretty little things I like. It's a great little space if I do say so myself and I can tell you I spend more time out there than in any other room (with the exception of my bedroom) during the fair weather months. So of course I was eager to move off all the boxes of Christmas decorations (you have no right to judge me on this one if you have Christmas lights up anywhere in or outside your own home) and my classic old photograph enlarger that were living in that outdoor space waiting for me to transport them to my storage unit (down two flights of stairs and across town to my storage site).

In order for me to accomplish this seemingly daunting task (it seemed plenty daunting to me) I needed two things... A vehicle that would carry more than the two boxes per load my little Malibu was capable of and (this is more of a wish than a need) extra people to share in the up and down and up and down those danged stairs. And as I said, no sooner had I mentioned it in my blog than, lo and behold, my son called to let me know he had, in fact, sorted out the details with his girlfriend and had, of all things, a truck to do the move!

I was giddy.

A short while later I was joined by my youngest son and my oldest son with his girlfriend to start the procession. Although it took two trips still (even with a truck and my car... clearly I have a lot of Christmas stuff especially when you consider the relative smallness of my apartment) we made fast work of clearing my balcony off and returning it to 'usable space' status. And not a moment too soon.

I happily enjoyed my dinner outside tonight and will likely head back out soon with a book and a blanket to enjoy the remainder of the evening.

So even though I was feeling a bit blue yesterday morning while I gazed out my balcony at all of my neighbours busying themselves with lawn and garden work (I really do miss having a garden), I can tell you that my day ended with a very satisfied feeling of having spruced up my own little back yard.

Random Wishes for a Sunday Morning

This has been another rollercoaster of a weekend for me... having great moments of pure glee and moments of feeling impossibly low. Quite a ride for a couple of short days (well, really a day and a half since we haven't even hit noon on Sunday yet). No wonder I most often start the new week feeling completely and entirely worn out!

I started writing something late last night and ended up erasing the whole darn thing and heading to bed instead. After reading it back to myself I found it to be a meandering line of drivel that even I had trouble following and it was my life, my thoughts. But it certainly reflected the state of turmoil my mind and spirit felt at the time. Maybe erasing it completely was overkill. Oh well. Those are the actions of an unquiet mind and in moments of distress I have been known to act hastily.

So, in an effort to both ease myself back into collected, rational writings while still satisfying my own determination to keep talking with those of you out there who have blessed me with listening (and even talking back to me) I have decided that I will write a list of my wishes for this beautiful Sunday. There are two great thing about lists... First, you need only maintain a connected thought for the length of a short sentence (maybe even less, really) and second it allows you to bounce all over the place. Perfect for a Sunday and an unquiet mind.

And so today, Sunday, April 20th I wish...

... I had someone to share my morning coffee with (for the company most importantly but as well to help me decide if it's time for a new coffeemaker because I really don't think this one is up to my standards anymore)
... my son Corbin was here so I could give him a big, long hug... four months is a long time to go without hugging someone you love
... I could shake the habit of acting hastily when feeling distressed (happily this is one that I can actually work on; I'll keep you posted on how that one goes)
... I could effectively express to those who I love most how much they mean to me and how much I value them (again, something I can work on... also good!)
... I had a convertible (it's sunny and warm and you know how much I love driving on days like this)
... I could work out the details of moving all the junk off my balcony with my two other sons (muscle and large-vehicular assistance) which is seeming less and less likely today (I want my pretty, clean, tidy balcony back... it's sunny and warm, you know)
... I could fast-forward a couple months to find out if I actually win the trip to San Fransisco I'm in the running for at work... I could use a vacation (even a little one)
... I could slow down time to make this Sunday last for a couple of days (I know... a complete contradiction to my last wish; I told you I was disconnected and meandering)
... I could meet the people who are sending me their good wishes and comments from across the miles but I'll have to settle with a big, heart-felt thank you.

That's it for me for now. Except one last thing...

I wish you get all you wish for on this beautiful Sunday.

Friday in the Office

I am in sales... and today is Friday. And it's spring. And we are having the first stretch of sunny weather we've had this year. Anyone with experience in sales knows what that means. I don't have to say it out loud... don't make me.

So you can imagine my dismay when, the day before yesterday I read the email notice I found in my in-box at work telling me of the on-line training program that was going to be hosted on Friday. At 3:00 pm. And, as an added bonus, the event was being hosted in my office, so everyone in our sales team was, naturally expected to attend in person rather than just on-line like everyone else. You can imagine. And that's before I heard the weather forcast for today.

Right now it's 6:30 pm, sunny and warm. And it's been like this all day.

Now, so you appreciate fully the impact of this kind of demand on me and my colleagues, allow me to further expand on the environment in which I work. It is a medium sized office with a sales team of 11, eight men and three women plus administration and technical support. As a sales team we generally check in once during the day, usually first thing in the morning or at the end of the day, but other than that we are out and about... masters of our own destinies. We travel where we need to and break when we need. We meet up for coffees some days, have lunch together others and sometimes don't even see one another. But we are a cohesive team and we have a lot of fun together. The office itself is made up... and this is the worse part... of cubicles. I work in a little cubicle that proportionally I wouldn't make a mouse or elephant spend any time in. I feel that if you have one strand of creative DNA, one once of innovative fiber in your being, this environment is the best way to suppress it or at least numb it for the duration of your stay. I get out as much as I can. Unfortunately, it is also expected of us that we use Friday as paper work days. At least in the morning we are expected to be there.

Except for today. Today we got the full dose of office Novocaine.

So naturally, my colleagues and I were a little antsy and looking for ways to have fun. I can say with absolute certainty that I was not the only one who got little accomplished because my focus just wasn't there... I chatted with my cubby-mates, went for coffee (twice), checked my emails every five minutes (work and home)... you get my drift. So when someone suggested going to my new favourite hot dog stand for lunch I was the first one to pop my head out of my 5' gopher wall and shout "I am in!"

So off we paraded (only five of us I'm afraid, but that's a pretty good turn out) on our lunch pass out of captivity.

This hot dog stand is actually more like a trailer and it is (and I say this with absolute love and affection) a dive. I love a dive. Some of the best meals I've had have been at dives and some of the most interesting people work there. So I love this place. The hot dogs come in a dizzying variety and the line up of patrons on sunny days like today goes out the door. As we waited in line, conversation surrounded which hot dog to get... I was the only gal of the bunch and so the guys were doing their guy thing (sorry to my male readers but you have to admit you do this stuff or you know someone who does) and challenging each other to the most disgusting combination of foods to eat.

Two things about my personality... One, I love a challenge. Love. It. And two, having lived for the last 25 years with men and boys from babies to spouse, from one to four at a time plus the constant stream of male friends, I can keep up with just about anything guys can dish out.

So I had a "guided missile" hot dog (with fried onions, sauerkraut and mustard) some onion rings and a diet coke (keeping slim you know). Then as we ate, the meeting challenge came. Can Sally produce a belch during the meeting? And more importantly, will she?

I am sure by now I have destroyed whatever image of culture, refinement or restraint I may have inadvertently put across in my previous blogs and for that I apologize. But I felt up to the challenge. So I chugged the pop, woofed down the dog and rings and prepared myself for a show that would make my teammates proud.

About five minutes after we returned to the office, the guided missile began making its way through my digestive track and to save you the disgust of the details and me the remains of my dignity, I instead turned my efforts to keeping the missile down and making it through the rest of the day. I popped TUMS, drank lots of water and waited impatiently (even more impatiently than I had been previously which even I found hard to believe) for the meeting time.

I will spare the suspense. No belch was forthcoming. I could make excuses (I was the last to arrive and was seated farthest away from anyone.... any belch that would be heard by my challengers would have to reach decibel levels I'm not sure on my best day I was capable of and this definitely wasn't my best day, regional and national representatives were in attendance) but I know that excuses are a sign of the weak.

I will admit my defeat at the assigned task.

Mighty Casey has struck out.

But I kept it down and I can tell you, that's an accomplishment in itself!! I love Fridays.

My Feminist Manifesto

I have found as I age (please note there is no reference to getting either old or older as neither apply), and like most people I speak with, I become clearer and clearer of who I am and what I hold to be dear. There are of course the obvious selections; my children who have taught me far more than I could ever hope to teach them. There are my girlfriends who, only through misaligned biological connections, are not my blood sisters, but sisters to me in every other way. There is the four years of work/blessing I had at the Women’s Centre that filled me up and made me stretch and want to stretch more.

And there are my ideals. These are the core beliefs that I have that, although were inside of me as I grew as a young girl, did not find their voice or their clarity for me until the last few years. Working in a woman’s organization, conversations frequently settled around the feminist ideal and how different it is from woman to woman, from agency to agency. There are, however, a few basic truths that seem to carry regardless who is claiming to be a feminist or to hate them all or anything else in between. I have had many conversations involving comments such as “I’m not a feminist; I just want equality for women.” What on earth is feminism but the struggle for equality? I also hear, “I just can’t stand feminists.” I hear that one a lot. From all kinds of people; from people you would never expect to hate any segment of the population. I think somewhere between the birth of feminism in the 60’s and the mid 80’s the feminist voice became tainted with the fear and uncertainty of a culture unsure of what now seemed to be an inevitable course of events. I would argue (and frequently do) that feminism is not an achieved goal; far from it. There is so much left to do it often makes me feel as if my miniscule drops of sweat will have no impact on the sea that is injustice against women. But thankfully, that doesn’t happen often.

I was lucky to work with a lot of remarkable women at the Centre and to witness the journey of many others. One particularly beautiful soul had written her own feminist manifesto. She was a young woman in her early 20’s and I admired her knowledge of self, her strength of character and her dedication to becoming the best woman she could. And she inspired me to do the same.

In an effort to clearly identify what I believe to be a feminist ideal (but certainly not ‘the feminist ideal’), and to articulate once and for now, what I believe to be true, here is my feminist manifesto:

As a woman I claim the right to be treated with the same respect, dignity and honour of which all humans are deserving, but are so often denied. Because horrors are committed against human-kind in the name of God, Allah, the Almighty or whatever name is chosen for the power that is deemed to have created us all, does not justify or negate that women more often are the victims of abuse, murder, rape and assault. Until all of us women on this planet are safe, none of us is safe. I claim the right to be able to speak my discontent, be it mild or consuming, without my views being dismissed as the rantings of a hormonal, over-emotional female.

I claim the right to choose to be sexy or not, and I will not accept the stereotypical assignment of stupidity in direct proportion to how good I look. I like to look my best, to dress to impress, to turn heads when I walk into a room. This does not give anyone permission to presume acceptance of anything more than a compliment and good conversation. If I am interested in a person, I am perfectly capable of expressing that interest in a way that has little ambiguity. If I choose to be un-sexy, it is because for that moment in time, that is how I am most comfortable. It does not mean that I am on my period, that I’m bloated, that I’m in a bad mood or that I have “a hard on for someone.”

I am not a whore or a slut because I have taken responsibility for my own sexuality or reproductive system. My body. My choice. I believe that acts of love committed by consenting adults in the privacy of their homes are their business and should not be fodder for gossip, trial or persecution. There is enough hatred in this world; actions taking place out of love should be left sacred.

I chose to be a mother, and I respect and embrace women who choose not to be. I chose not to work outside of the home when my children were young, only because I had the privilege to do so and I empathize and support women who do not have the luxury of that choice.

I have given birth to sons and am proud of each one and the man he is becoming. I have done my best to instill in them the ideals that I profess here, but claim no responsibility for the impact of a culture that demeans women, diminishes their impact to sexual interference or objectifies them, and I mourn the change that culture has had on the voices of my sons. I am a feminist and I love men. I have given birth to three and loved many in many ways. I do not hate men.

I like to be a girly-girl as much as I like to be a mature woman. I want to be cared for and to care for others. I want human contact and in the absence of it, I become less of the person I know myself to be. I wish to see the best of me reflected in my friends’ eyes and laughter and embrace and I apologize to the many people who I have disappointed or hurt along my journey. I strive to set a good example and look for others to do the same. I am drawn to men for their strength, nobility, charm, humour, honesty and kindness. I have met far too many who possess none of those characteristics. I am drawn to women for their softness, insight, nurturing, grace, humour, honesty and kindness. I have met far too many who feel they do not deserve to possess any of those characteristics.

I believe that violence is never the answer. I knew when I was being beaten, that I had done nothing that would merit this mistreatment of me and I know that to be true of every child who has been beaten and abused and every adult who has faced the same fate, man or woman. If you can believe that a person deserves to be abused, than you can just as easily believe that I did as well, and I will not accept that as a truth in my life.

I claim the right to like the colour pink, “chick flicks,” sentimental music and all pretty things. That does not make me less strong. My strength comes from deep within and has carried me through agonizing times that I thought would buckle me under an unbearable weight of sorrow. My strength allowed me to emerge, spirit in tact and wisdom expanded.

So hopefully you will see feminism is not an absurd notion filled with radical ideals and destructive wishes. Like any other segment of the population, whether divided by race, sex, religion, ethnicity or financial standing, feminists are as wide and varied as your selection of candies in a candy store. The idea, like anything else in life, is to pick what you really like and pass by the rest.

Afternoon Delight

Some days obtain a level of perfection that can only be described as bliss. The challenge, I find is appreciating when they happen, relishing the moment and keeping it for warm thoughts on days that don’t quite have that kind of goodness in them.

Today is one of those days for me. We are emerging from a very long, cold, snowy winter where I live and the glory of a sunny day is still new and delightful. The wind carries the sweet promise of many more days like this one coming and I am drinking in the pleasure of it all.

On top of the remarkable gift Mother Earth has given, it has been a fantastic day for work (and let’s face it, doing well at work always makes a good day better) and I am at the moment, sitting on a sunny patio, drinking a yummy smoothie with a co-worker as we write up our deals (or our blogs… details details).

Add to this warm thoughts from friends, a fun evening ahead and the start of a weekend around the corner and I am a happy gal.

Wishing all good things for you as well.

Karma Works

I don’t know if you believe in karma, but I certainly do. I have always believed that the good you do comes back to you some day in some way and I have always taken solace in the belief that those who have hurt, caused pain, will have less of that boost of unexpected kindness, rather receiving the same energy they have given out.

But I also believe that the nature of karma is that it is an unpredictable thing. It’s not a bank that you deposit your good deeds into with the plan of making a withdrawal when you need it; rather, it’s a river that you act as a tributary to… adding to in order to make that goodness stronger, wherever it goes.

I have been having a particularly hard time with a certain aspect of my life lately… nothing that I’ve gone into detail in here, but rather something more personal that, despite my best efforts, my struggles seems to be moving farther from resolution rather than closer. It is a discouraging time and I am trying hard to remain secure in my faith in a positive outcome. But I’m struggling and doubtful in the absence of any sign of light.

As I carried on, struggled against what feels to me like quicksand… the more you struggle, the worse it gets, a little miracle happened.

This morning, out of the blue, unexpected and unrequested, words of enormous kindness came my way. Words of encouragement on a completely unrelated issue but words that renewed my faith in myself. I was immediately lifted… I saw again the goodness of the person I can be reflected in the eyes of this messenger. It took me out of my place of darkness and put me firmly back in the sunshine. I thanked this person, but I’m sure my messenger has no idea what a tremendous impact was made upon me.

In what at first glance seems completely unconnected, I sent a quick note of support last night to a local business person who has been struggling with his own challenge that he, unfortunately, has little control over. And considering it has to do with his business, and having had my own business struggles in the past myself, I wanted him to know that he and his wife were on the right path, doing good work and had support from me and I’m sure countless others who are quietly watching what is happening and hoping for a positive outcome. He replied this morning telling me that my words came at a particularly bleak moment and he was grateful for the uplift.

Things usually don’t happen that clearly… the dots don’t usually line up so easily. But that is, what to me, seems to be the miracle about it. Sure it’s a little one, but there are some days that’s all you need.

And as for that struggle… I think I’ll stop with the flailing, sit back and see what happens. Whatever the result, I’ve done what I can.

Giggles and geese

I am experiencing my first episode of writer’s block since having started my blog. Now, it’s only been just over two weeks since I started, so I’m not sure if that’s cause for real concern or not. I’ll go with ‘not’ since I am adopting an optimistic outlook on everything lately.

But having said all that, I feel the need to warn you that this blog will likely be different from my others in two key respects… It is definitely going to be less focused (since I am as well) and it’s probably going to be a lot shorter. You can let me know what you think on both counts.

So, a few disjointed, unrelated things that have caught my attention today as I have gone about my business…

A friend of mine has an internet television program at BrantNOW... so far he’s eaten a newspaper – well, an article at least, and his co-host drank a shot of hot sauce... mmmm..... (sound like fun??? you better believe it is!! Watch here on Wednesday nights at 8:00 pm http://brantnow.com/live ). This week, he is promising to drink a gallon of milk live on the air… whole milk no less! I guess I’m hoping that my amusement with the idea of watching this isn’t clouding the fact that it might actually be an unhealthy endeavor. But it's milk, right? How bad could it be? Having said that, I am the person who is laughing with ridiculous glee at anything remotely resembling slapstick… I think because I so closely identify with the whole idea behind the humour, being a total klutz myself. But really, I want him to be fine… but I’ll laugh… but I want him to be ok… giggle giggle.

I was driving from my office, which is actually located in a very busy commercial/industrial area but with a small pond situated right beside an on-ramp to a major six-lane highway. When I was driving by today a couple of Canadian geese were meandering around the on-ramp completely unafraid of the masses of steel and rubber hurtling by them… in fact, they seemed quite annoyed at our presence and made no effort to disguise their discontent. So as I carefully maneuvered around them I had a great smile when I saw them in the rear view mirror honking brazenly at us all. I sure hope they’re ok… and that they made it back to the pond.

It is on days like this that I love my job… I am in sales and my territory stretches (also in a very disjointed way) all around the Burlington, Hamilton, Brantford Ontario area. This allows me a great amount of discretion when deciding how to occupy my day… In the past week or so, as the sun has been shining through my open sunroof, I have been happily cruising the countryside with windows down, breezes blowing and an enormous smile on my face. My only barrier to a summer filled with days like this is the rising price of gasoline… but that’s another topic entirely.

So that’s it for me on this beautiful spring day. I think I’ll grab a drink and enjoy some time on the balcony… and ponder postings.

Filling the Void

I have been living alone for two years now (I know, I’ve told you this before but I live in the hope that someone new is visiting here all the time) and in that time I have gone through a process of growth and grieving (in no particular order). A new friend of mine likened it to when his father passed away and I believe him to be right… a separation, the ending of a relationship, especially one that has spanned many years (and this one lasted 18, which for me is really really long) is the death of a lot of things, not the least of which is a part of who you were.

No matter what kind of relationship we are talking about, be it parent/child, siblings, friends, lovers or partners I believe we are, when we are with that person, someone unlike who we are with others. I believe, especially in a particularly close relationship such as partner/spouse/lover, you can be someone who you dare not around others. For better or worse. And when that relationship ends, that part of you, that aspect of your being, has no place to be. So what to do?

I have been trying to adjust to this new reality and I have come to terms with one thing. I have accepted the possibility that I will spend the rest of my life alone. My children are grown and it is my blessing that they have each become strong, stable, kind, brave men who are venturing out on their own great adventures. I have no interest in dating… just the thought of it draws a reaction in me somewhere between goofy amusement at the ridiculousness of it and pure aversion to its possibility. It, quite simply, doesn’t feel right. Not even a little bit.

Now, don’t get me wrong… there are aspects of a long-lasting, committed relationship that I dearly miss; having someone to smile at you when you walk in the door at home at the end of your day, that moment of bliss on a weekend morning when you realize that you don’t need to get up to do anything and can instead roll back over into the warmth and support of the person beside you, having someone there… all the time… when you don’t need them just as much as when you do. I miss each of those things. And I would love nothing more to have them back but I can't go on day-to-day hoping for that wish to come true because if it doesn't, that is an enormous amount of wasted energy and a sad disappointment to face at the end of my days.

So my question is, how do you fill up the void? I have wonderful friends, amazing friends really. And I love each of them for their own unique qualities as well as for the qualities they bring out in me. But there remains that empty space that sits… quietly. Deafeningly quiet sometimes. How does one go about filling that up? Self-discovery and enrichment? Yes. Activity? Hobbies? Busy-ness? I guess so but I have to admit that seems a little shallow in comparison.

I guess, at this moment in time I’m just really not sure. And that’s ok too, I suppose. But if I figure it out, I’ll let you know.

Sweet Sunday Musings... or is that Musings about Sweet Sunday???

It is Sunday... I love Sunday. Now I could write a whole blog about what I like or dislike about single every day of the week, about every month, every season but for now, I'd like to chat with you about Sundays at Sally's place.

And this Sunday in particular...

It is a beautiful spring day here in little ol' Brantford Ontario. The sun is peaking in and out of the big fluffy clouds that punctuate the sky... it's not really warm out but just the presence of that sunshine makes it feel warmer to my heart and spirit and that's plenty for today, thanks!

I got up this morning and after looking sadly at the assorted piles of laundry dotting my two bedrooms, decided that they had to be priority number one. So, sort, pile, pour and off I went to throw the laundry in. If I haven't mentioned it before, I live on the third floor of a beautiful, century old apartment building that I had admired from afar for years before I was lucky enough to find myself actually living here. And I love my apartment, I really do, except for two regular occasions.... laundry day and grocery day. Up and down and up and down and up and down. My laundry room, like most, is in the basement and it makes laundry day an excellent cardio workout. The doors on all of the apartments as well as to the basement, are on automatic hinges (I'm sure there is an official, hardware store name for them, but I can't tell you what that is) that I curse and cuss at every single time I venture in and out, carrying a laundry basket filled with bits and pieces... They are heavy doors and inevitably I am caught, usually on many occasions and in many uncomfortable positions, sacrificing different appendages every time to the slam of the door. I risk life and limb on laundry day. But I love the spring fresh scent so I figure things balance out.

Load number one safely secured (and me happily back in one, albeit battered and bruised, piece) I am now ready to go about the rest of my day... stopping only to run back down and up again. Coffee has been made, newspapers fetched, music is playing... I will read and write (obviously) and chat with friends and enjoy the company of my boys for snacks, dinner, board game or some combination thereof... The day will be savoured at an easy pace that allows me to rev up when the energy hits and relax and just gaze out my window when I'm distracted by the cardinals nesting in a tree nearby.

How perfect is that? Wishing you a perfect Sunday as well, filled with people and activities that fill your soul.

Saturday Night Perfection...

So, after my less-than-fun Friday night experience (and here's a word to the wise, chips & dip at 10:00 at night after a couple of cosmopolitans is, generally speaking, a bad idea... a word to the wise because I know you were thinking of going down that exact path as we speak), I have been blessed to have a purely enjoyable Saturday night.

Now, before you get all excited, or even worse, titillated, I went to my friends' home for dinner (with their two delightful children). It actually started with just dropping by for a quick drink with my girlfriend while she enjoyed some precious quiet alone time while everyone was out of the house (which, as a blessing in itself, made me remember how much I looked forward to those quiet moments I now take for granted day-to-day)... We had a glass of wine, chatted about nothing and everything at the exact same time and I found myself being able to be so present in the moment of happiness it felt like I was actually able to slow down time to really relish every moment.

Before too long, her family came home, bit by bit. Her sweet little boy who makes me miss and love my boys so much it hurts while at the same time laugh with pure happiness in his gleeful boy-ness, and then her husband and daughter.

We enjoyed a magificent dinner (not a plastic, microwavable tray to be found), some delicious wine and conversation that started with this charming little boy announcing "I could eat so much of this salmon and not even barf." Could life get more perfect than that? Not today.

I am blessed.

Friday Night Gone Amok

Honestly.

I have just come home, on a Friday night, after going out for what I had hoped was a relaxing dinner and maybe a couple of drinks. That is my fantasy... here is the reality of what happened...

I went to my favourite local restaurant/bar. It is a great spot for a few reasons; it's fun (the owners are engaging, entertaining and make you feel like you are joining them for a drink in their livingroom), it's small so you don't get overwhelmed with sounds or people and it's hip. Very cool, fantastic music, amazing menu and wonderful clientèle. In the past, I have felt that I could go and just hang alone at the bar, maybe order dinner, maybe just a cocktail and enjoy the atmosphere that surrounded me.

I haven't been going much lately and tonight is the perfect example of why not...

I went in because (as I have discussed already) I didn't feel like cooking for one tonight. And as I have also said, they have an amazing menu; I can honestly say I've never had a meal there that I haven't finished with the phrase "this is my new favourite dish here." It's just that good.

But tonight, I sauntered in looking forward to dinner and a cosmopolitan, grabbed a seat and was immediately made aware that my peaceful plans for my Friday dinner were about to go terribly array. An old acquaintance approached me and started up a conversation.

Now, the city that I call home has a very interesting dynamic that I should share in order for this story to convey the appropriate level of discomfort... I have lived here for over 25 years now and I am regularly reminded that I am not "from here." I love my home... Love It! But it is similar to the maritime provinces of my beloved country in that, if you weren't born here, you're not from here. I have had that conversation with many Brantford imports over the years and have heard the same reaction over and over. Weird.

The natural by-product of that kind of close-knit community is that everyone knows everyone, their history, their family tree, who you went to school with, what you wore at graduation and your pet peeves as quoted in the yearbook. So, here I was, on my hoping-to-be-quiet Friday night facing a conversation with an individual who had immediate connections to:

My ex-husband
Past political campaigns I have worked on
Current friends whom I hold dear...

Add to that, he had just broken up with his fiance. You can imagine my hell. Or can you? Trust me... it was hell.

So, in an attempt to make an already-long story short, I had no dinner. I ordered my drink but not dinner (why prolong the agony?) and then one more and came home.

As I left, the owner came up to me and in the sweetest way possible said "I understand why we don't see you as much." No kidding.

Chips and dip for dinner again. Geez.

Thanks for listening... As I've said before, it's always nice to have someone to talk to.

On the lighter side...

When I ventured out on this new life I am now leading, I went through a number of metamorphosises... metamorphoses... hmmm... changes.

Address, naturally. Downsizing, of course. Lifestyle, as any woman facing a newly-single lifestyle will tell you "duh, ya." But the biggest, at least the one that garnered the most comments, was weight loss.

Maybe that's because it's the most obvious, easiest to make light conversation over... It started with simple little "wow, you've lost a lot of weight" to which I initially responded "ya, about 180 lbs but who's counting" ba dum bum. Ha. Some people laughed, some just looked at me with heads cocked to the side wondering how I hid all that weight for so long. But now, two years later, this new reality of who I am, what I look like is starting to be accepted by people with whom I interact. Sort of.

I still get gratuitous comments on what I do or don't order at breakfast, lunch or dinner; sideways glances still come if I go to the washroom after eating any amount of food. And people still feel (as I have mentioned here before) very comfortable in sharing their viewpoints, in this particular instance, on my eating habits.

So I would like to allay their concerns, and yours for that matter. I eat. I eat plenty. I eat badly most of the time, but I do eat. I have found, living this solitary lifestyle, that cooking for one essentially... hmmm, how can I put it???? Well, it sucks. Putting together a gastronomically impressive meal for me to sit back and say to myself, "what a remarkable introduction of saffron into this dish... it has really added to its complexity" to be an anti-climatic experience really. And who wants to wash that many dishes for one person? I can tell you right now, not me. So I either eat out (and being an on-the-road salesperson, that means a lot of drive-throughs... as is evident if you look in the back seat of my car on any given day), or a lot of frozen cardboard sculptures that disguise themselves as meals. Now let me assure you, I am a good cook, a really good one. But it is talent wasted on a meal for one, so I save it for when I am lucky enough to enjoy the company of friends or my boys.

And so, I have lost weight. I'm not sure how. Poor dietary choices (well, I'm guessing that's the most likely answer)? Stress? Lifestyle changes? Living on the third floor of an apartment building with no elevator? Whatever it is, this is who I am now and, really, I have no problem with it.

I am happy, typing away at 11:49 on a Thursday night, eating my chips and dip after a night out with my girlfriends. Yup... I'm feeling pretty good.

About that Judge and Jury Thing...

This is an interesting predicament.

I am getting lots of feedback on my last blog post, from friends (as in in-person friends I see day-to-day) as well as Facebook friends (that wonderful group of people I only know electronically but value completely)...

So that's good, right? People are reading my blog... Yippee!! Happy gal I am. But it's what they're saying...

Apparently I am causing concern. Equally from my in-person friends as my electronic ones. So I am here to hopefully calm your fears.

There is no doubt that I have been struggling with certain challenges lately, but then again, who hasn't? The blessing I am getting from this struggle is two-fold.

First, for the first time in my life probably, I am being totally open with how I'm feeling about things with people other than myself. No brave face, no smile to cover the pain. Just me. That, to me, is a blessing. It is a huge step forward in my own personal journey and am thankful for this opportunity.

Second, and what makes the first blessing even more remarkable, is that despite exposing my less-than-positive side, my weaknesses, my troubles, I am getting sincere, heart-felt messages of encouragement, hope and concern. From people I have known for years and from people I have known for days. Unexpected messages of support appear before me and I am lifted.

Could I be any luckier? I don't think so.

We all have our problems in life, that is not unique to me and mine are a cake-walk in comparison to others. What we should be thankful for, what I am enormously grateful for, is having people who are cheering me on towards better days.

To the Judge and Jury

I have been separated over two years now. In that time there have been two changes of residence; one when the official separation began with my husband moving out of our “marital home” and the second change of residence came two months later when he moved back in and I moved out to the apartment I have called home ever since (well, not at first... at first I just called it 'the apartment' because it felt no more like home than any hotel I'd ever been in). I am now looking at moving again, this time totally by my own choice in my own time and on my own terms, but going through this process has brought up feelings from that move two years ago and the judgments that were laid against me then and, although in diminishing frequency, still now.

So, I would like to take this opportunity to address the members of the jury. Since my move on two years ago, I have endured and continue to endure countless occasions of judgment, questioning, interrogation, reprisal and admonition from members of the jury. And just to be clear, allow me to clarify who is included in this jury pool. The judges and jury of my peers consist of members of my community, older and younger, richer and poorer, kinder and crueler. It includes people I work with, play with, have met once or twice and those I know more deeply. I have found, if you have known me in even slightly more than a passing encounter you feel you have an intrinsic right and duty to comment on my life choice. I am bound to listen (my parents did an impeccable job of raising a daughter who smiles and nods politely), feign respect of your comments and strive to improve upon my condition by implementing your well-thought out advice.

So in response to the jury, and in neither chronological order nor level of insensitivity of the originating offender, this is my defense.

“How could you leave your children? I didn’t think mothers ever left their children.” I didn’t leave my children, I left my husband. My children remained comfortable in the home that they enjoyed their entire lives, the same home that I created for them with love and care and with every intention of living in for the rest of my days. Their routines were the same and the impact on their lives was reduced to a minimum. Because I could not live any longer with the man they call dad, gave me no excuse, reason or justification to rip them from his warmth. We live within blocks of each other and I am reminded frequently of that fact when the boys stop by to check my fridge out in comparison to the one at the house (usually to their sad disappointment). Although I appreciate your obvious wisdom and expertise, consider for a moment that I may know my children, and what they need to be happy and strong men, just a little better than you.

“Why oh why would you leave the house?” This one is pure in its simplicity. Because he needed its support, memories and embrace far more than I did. Because of the life I lead when I was young taught me early that I am strong enough to survive just about anything and that as long as I am healthy in mind and body, the rest is just geography.

“I hope you are sure this is what you want. Divorce is hell and it never, ever gets any better. I know.” Please take into account that this piece of wisdom was offered at a bar while the jury member enjoyed his third martini. Funny, his new partner was not there with him and I was intensely curious to find out if she shared his opinion (or was even aware of it). Regardless, I have to say I think this one depends solely on your outlook and there are enough clichés out there about that for you to insert your favourite one here.

“It’s too bad. I would never leave my wife and she’s sick. I am going through a lot for her now, but I would never leave her.” What on earth am I to say to that? Guilty as charged, Mr. Prosecutor. You are clearly a better person than I would ever hope to be and I cannot defend what is obviously a purely selfish and inexcusable action. My only hope is that by having two independent, happy, strong parents, my sons will be better off and learn that it’s not a sin to care enough about yourself to choose what is right for you.

For those members of the jury who envy my position, who comment on how lucky I am to have a new place to live, to start all over, to do as I please when I please... Although I appreciate your comments, please, please remember this; my new life has come at a cost that at times feels painfully high and at the worst of times makes me weep, feeling that I don’t have the strength to do what I know is right. Before you envy my position, and ponder your reality changed in the same way, let me buy you a drink and paint you a picture.

As for the silent stares, the whispers behind my back (literally; I can hear you, you know) and the knowing looks of understanding, pity and bewilderment, I have this to say. The best thing you can say or do for me is to offer a simple “How are you doing?” If I know and trust you well enough I will share my ever-changing feelings of fear, anxiety, self-doubt, excitement, peace, exhilaration, security and I would count you as a friend. The rest of you, kindly save your commentary for the latest sports event of note or international incident. I don’t care to listen or respond.

And anyway, cliché of all clichés, it’s none of your business!

The Other Side of Strength

Events in my life, from birth to recent history, have made me strong. They have challenged me to find within myself strength that upon recollection, I marvel that I was able to muster. This strength has natural side-effects; on the positive side, I am self-confident and assured with a clear knowledge of myself (although it has certainly come into question lately) and what I believe to be right and wrong for me. On the other side of that coin called strength are the less positive traits; stoic, aloof with and what I continue to struggle with, a complete inability to ask for help.

I began challenging this in myself after lunch date over a year ago with my eldest son. We meet regularly, me and my sons, in varying combinations. Rarely but exquisitely at times with all three, sometimes with girlfriends, sometimes only two and, like this occasion, sometimes I enjoy the company of one, allowing me precious time to really delve into his life.

On this date, conversation flowed from his current job (temporary but a good step forward for this young man), his love life (or the at-that-time lack there-of) and his brothers. As the separation of their parents became a long-term reality rather than a short-term solution, I wanted to know how he was dealing with this new normal. He, like any good son who loves his mother, told me that he wants his parents to be happy. That, of course, he would prefer us together but if apart made us happy, then he was happy too. I have amazing sons. For all the challenges they have presented over the years, they are blessings to me and I am thankful I am their mother.

I decided I would ask him for his observations of his brothers as they have gone through this transition; maybe, I thought, they had confided their thoughts to him and he could provide me some insight in how to best support them. “How are they doing, do you think?” I asked. His response shook me to the core. “We are all like you, Mom. We keep our feelings pretty close to our chests. They haven’t said anything.”

I was dumbfounded. I struggled to absorb the impact of his words; his analysis not only of his brothers’ management of this difficult time in their lives, but of my entire approach as a mother.

Suddenly being strong felt different. Suddenly it felt bad. I questioned every move I made as a parent. I know that I provided hugs, kisses and expressions of love and affection in abundance, but in my efforts to provide them a strong female role model had I, in fact, shown them how to stifle their own fears, sadness and disappointment? And what was I to do now?

I possess enough self-knowledge to know from where this stunted aspect of my personality comes. I was born to a young woman unsure of her desire to be a mother. She placed me in foster care while she attempted to sort out her life and her choices. In the two years in their care, I lived in four foster homes before my birth mother gave up all rights to me as her daughter. I was then adopted by a family with the picture-perfect mother, father and daughter; add me, one more for a well-rounded foursome. What the perfect picture didn’t show was an over-abundance of dysfunction and actions that left scars upon each one of us. All of this taught me, imprinted upon me, that the only person in this life I can depend on, is me. My lessons in strength started at the ripe old age of two weeks. I am a leopard, unable to change my spots. What I can do, what I must do, is learn, at this age, how to adapt myself in a way that acknowledges my shortcomings and attempts to fill in the gaps. I need to connect the spots.

I no more want to ask for help than I want to go one full season without getting new clothes. It’s just not me. And it’s not for the reasons you are probably thinking. It’s not because I don’t like to be dependent on others (although that is true); and it’s not because I’m worried they will say no (ok, that's also true). It is, quite simply, because if I am not strong, what am I? This is my persona that I have worked on, cultivated, had thrust upon me and finally learned to embrace and rely upon. How am I, the one that all of my friends refer to as the strong one, supposed to let that go and ask for help? If I am the strong one, who is strong enough to help me? And what kind of burden does that put on them?

I need to figure this out. I need to find the answer and get comfortable in that place so that I can show my sons that it is ok to be vulnerable, sad and scared (which I am) and it’s also ok to share that with people you trust (which I am not). I need to live the change. I need to connect the spots.

If not for me, for my boys. And that’s plenty reason enough.

Across the universe

I believe in goodness. I really do.

In my life I have faced my share of bad times... worse than some but certainly not as bad stories I have heard from others. I have been privileged by being entrusted with heartbreaking recollections from people who have shown more strength in overcoming their pasts than I can ever imagine possessing. Human beings' capacity for committing horrors upon its own kind and those with which we share this earth is both frightening and discouraging.

And yet, despite all that, I am hopeful. I believe in goodness. And I'll tell you why (what did you expect? This is a blog after all).

I have, as you may have read, been experiencing some difficulty coping lately. It comes and goes, but lately it has felt particularly debilitating. I'm sure there are a number of reasons for that but how I got here isn't what I want to focus on. What I want to talk about, what has amazed me, and what will give me the strength to know I will emerge and be just fine is what has happened as I have shared my struggle.

I am a Facebook-er. Love it. Have fun all the time and visit multiple times most days. Among the many applications you can add to your profile is one called Give Good Karma. It's a simple little notion, get good given to you and share it... pay it forward. When I was feeling particularly low, lonely, lost... I indicated that I needed some good karma (a very nice little bonus that the creators of the application added that coincidently I hadn't noticed until, go figure, I needed it.). This sent a call for help out across the cyber-universe that I wasn't sure would be heard.

Within minutes messages of hope and support started coming in. People, strangers to me, began responding and telling me I wasn't alone, that I was strong enough to get past this, that hope exists and I should find shelter in that hope.

This world can be a terrible place and we are reminded of that, bombarded with the images and stories of that fact daily, hourly.

But to me... a woman living alone in Ontario, Canada it is filled with people who have so much caring in them, that they are willing to perform a simple, pure act of kindness for someone they have no likelihood of meeting. I have thanked all of them and I have made efforts to pay this goodness forward. And I will continue to do so.

Always remember, your small acts of kindness most surely mean more to the recipient than you will ever know. I can tell you that for sure.

In the deep, long darkness

First off, and completely unrelated, I need a new chair for my desk. This one is remarkably uncomfortable and my poor butt begs me to remove it from this torture after very limited sessions. I guess on a positive note, that pretty much ensures that none of my blog posts will ever be very long. Unless I get a new chair. Don't worry, I'll give you the heads-up so you can prepare yourself.

Back on topic...

I have been living alone for two years now, separated after 18 years of marriage and separated from my children (it's ok... you can make whatever judgments about that fact that you would like... trust me, I've heard all of them). Alone. Prior to this two years, I last lived alone for three months immediately after high school and not at all since.

You can imagine this has been an adjustment.

There are days I think I have complete control of my life and there are days that I have to stand back from the fray, remove myself from my tornado of emotions to try to grab something to hold onto and not get ripped away, never to be seen again.

But it is at night that I am weakest. It is at night, when embraced by only silence and darkness that I find myself hearing and seeing the worst of my life replay before me. Mistakes. Missteps. Losses. Hurt.

It is a hard thing to shake those kinds of thoughts. To emerge from the darkness and try over and over to see only the light. I am working hard at that, especially lately.

I am grateful for the morning and I am, today especially, grateful for the promise of spring. Today, I shed my hose and trotted out to the world, bare legged and with hopes high. I drove with the sun-roof open. I smiled at strangers.

I am looking for the kindness and love that comes my way when least expected and I am trying hard to believe in the possibility of a still brighter day. I am trying to forgive myself my errors, learn from them and become a better person. I am reminding myself that time heals all wounds, or so I'm told.

And I am working towards a day that I can be alone in the deep, long darkness and be comforted by words, acts and thoughts of love.

Tipping the Scale

I have a dilemma. I was told, very recently by a friend, that I am essentially self-sabotaging because I am used to and comfortable with pain and difficulty (I am also taking some liberty here because the discussion was much longer and drawn out than that but you get my point). I am very familiar with the notion that you surround yourself, especially when challenged, with what is comfortable and familiar to you, even if that something is negative. My question, to myself and to anyone listening is... If you believe, truly deep in your soul, with everything you know to be true, that you are seeking out in others and in yourself only good... who are you to believe? The non-partial observer, or yourself... who has the background, and bias of your own experience?

And at what point does the voice that is telling you that you are seeking out only negative, become the focus of energy? Become the negative influence? Make you question what is happening, what you are seeing, what you believe, to the point that it all becomes painted with a negative brush?

Am I the only person who has been in this position? That hardly seems possible.

How do you reinstate your belief in self? When it is brought into question by those closest to you? And how do you determine if they are the ones who are right?