Je Me Souviens...

One of the things I enjoy about my job is the people I get to meet day in and day out. Being in sales, you just never know who you’ll run into and the sunshine they bring into your life. Of course, not all is flowers and rainbows… for example there was the fellow yesterday who told me to leave and send someone else back in to talk with him because he doesn’t do business with women. Ya, you can imagine how well that went over with me.

But that is most definitely the exception rather than the rule… more often than not, I get to spend time with lovely people like Susan today, who chatted with me about a trip she had taken a few years back to Paris and surrounding area. It brought to mind my own trip to Paris I had taken years ago…

As it turns out, many years ago. When I left Susan, I sat in my car and thought back…. Could it be that trip was 11 years ago now? Yes it can be and yes it was. I have proof in the photographs I shot of the Eiffel Tower (some of the 12 rolls of film I ran through) , which at that time was counting down the days to the millennium. I can tell you, to the day, when I was there and it was 11 years ago right now.

I traveled there alone… I was married at the time but this was my trip of a lifetime that I had always wanted to take and received in exchange for my husband taking three weeks in Australia to visit a friend. I have no troubles traveling alone and felt totally comfortable while I was there.

While I was in France, I spent the majority of my time in Paris and took a few days to head down to Provence and spend time in Nice. It was an amazing trip that made me fall in love with Paris and all the beauty, history, culture and charm it has to offer. Say what you want about the French (and I know lots of people who have lots to say), I respond with “don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

When I travel I always write a journal and since I was writing this today, I thought I’d pull the journal of this trip out to refresh my memory of this amazing time in my life.

What I remembered, I remembered well… How “friendly” French men are… I recall taking up the habit of not looking anyone in the eyes because that seemed an invitation for conversation and although I can speak French, responding to pick up lines is not my strong suit. But thanks anyway. I remembered being totally taken aback by the army presence in the main train station, complete with open display of machine guns. I fondly remembered the ease of life, the joy with which meals were enjoyed, the relaxation of reading a paper sitting at one of the many fountains that dotted the city while watching the people pass by.

What had slipped my memory surprised me… The pungent smell of urine that popped up out of nowhere in the subways, the starkness of rabbits and other assorted meats hanging in the markets for the shoppers to take home and prepare for supper that evening. And most of all, the closeness of everything and everyone. Paris does not have the wide open spaces we are spoiled with and enjoy so much here in my home town and other cities I know and visit frequently.

But it is a city of beauty, a city of lights. And some day, one never knows, maybe a city I will call home.

Until then, I have my memories. And I am grateful for them, and for Susan for stirring them in me.

Wisdom from the Bowling Green... Or Someplace

I was out today on my way to get groceries (that is a story in itself... I have come to believe that you can define a person and the life they live solely by what is in their grocery cart... Mine is the definitive single-gal assortment... cocktail mixes, olives, microwavable dinners and snacks. Done.) when I passed my local tennis club which, on Sundays, is transformed to lawn bowling central.

And what I have noticed about lawn bowlers (I'm sorry for the upcoming stereotyping and welcome anyone who would like to reeducate me) is that they are all of a particular age bracket about a generation past my own. The sight of them all, about twenty or so, smartly dressed in their whites, made me miss my parents.

Not that my parents were lawn bowlers... Just the thought of that makes me laugh. No, far from it. But what I do miss is that parent/child relationship that, even when a dysfunctional one as mine was still for me provided a steady constant of insightful and wise life commentary.

I have now lived almost eight years with out my mother and more of my life has been spent without the support of my father than with it. And there are occasions, like today, where I deeply miss the opportunity to call them up, visit, listen to their stories and apply the lessons they had learned to my own experiences. I miss knowing that there is someone out there who knows me so intimately well that I don't have to explain why I am approaching things in the way I am and with that knowledge, can provide insight into what about me is leading me down this path.

Parents or grandparents (again, which I have none) provide that element of support and wisdom and guidance that cannot be replicated or replaced. Their opinions are sometimes hard to hear because, I think, in having the breadth of knowledge of your existence that only parents and grandparents can have, they are generally bang on in their assessments while at the same time having the boldness that age provides them in really not caring how delicately (translate not at all) they frame their thoughts. They are truth stripped naked. Take it or leave it. But even in their most harsh of criticism is the core, the seed of love from which the desire to help has sprouted.

And that is what I miss. As a parent and a friend and a co-worker I find myself often in the position of providing whatever wisdom (don't take that too literally) I have gained to offer alternatives for individuals seeking help. In taking on a role of supporter there always, at some point or other, comes a time when that the person giving support needs some as well.

Maybe I'll join a lawn bowling league.

Quit laughing.... It could happen.

Hoping for Resolution

My home town is on the verge of crisis, I fear.

It is a crisis that has been brewing for years, decades, generations but it is a crisis that, to me seems to be put on fast-forward based solely on the actions of my elected officials. Having said that, the majority of people who seem to have collectively pushed the fast-forward button on this crisis did not get my vote (and believe me, I voted). And yet, there they sit in their positions of authority blatantly and irresponsibly acting in a way that my vote cried out against.

I am blessed to live in a beautiful little town (well, it seems little to me but we are now 95,000 strong I believe) sitting on a wonderful river, the Grand. I cannot, I am ashamed to say, tell you in detail how my community came to be exactly or the exact origins of the current dispute but I can tell you it was the result of our government of the day deciding that the land they gave to Mohawk leader Joseph Brant (his true Mohawk name Thayendanegea) was actually his to sell and thereby create a trust for his people and their futures. It is a dispute that has been brewing since the late 1700's and is approaching a boiling point now.

As I have said, I know little about the details of the history of what has brought us here, but I know enough to know that what is happening now is wrong.

As an aside, a friend of mine is the most intelligent expert on this issue that I have the privilege of knowing... if you are interested in knowing more, he is always happy to share ideas and information. You can find Chris Friel at http://www.frielspiel.blogspot.com/

After over 200 years of failed negotiations and attempts at resolution, our Six Nations neighbours seem to have lost faith in the desire of any level of government to settle this issue. And after over 200 years, can you blame them? Regardless of how you feel about this issue or how it should be resolved, surely 200 years is more than ample time to figure it out... do the right thing. So now there are protests at land development sites dotting our city. At about three or four sites a handful of Six Nations protesters have been successful in halting progress, creating a great stir in the halls of our city leaders. They have been successful in doing this in peaceful and non-aggressive shows of discontent. They have threatened nothing except to remain resolute in their commitment to their cause.

And what has my city leaders' collective reaction been? Take the protesters to court. Sue them. Threaten to bring in the army to deal with "potential" violence.

I don't know a lot, but I know that this is no way to resolve anything. I know that this is not what I chose when I exercised the blessing of my right to vote. I know that I am ashamed that this is how I am represented, how I am painted as a member of this community.

I love my home town but I am hanging my head these days and praying that someone in authority will set aside ego in the interest of our future, peace and harmony.

Wake Up Call

One of the things I love best about weekend mornings, particularly ones like today, is the few perfect moments of time before you actually come to full consciousness and make your decision to start your day.

My apartment, as I have said before, is on the third floor of a century old apartment building and luckily for me, has no neighbours close enough really to peer in my windows. Being lucky that way, only one of my rooms has window coverings... my bedroom. I enjoy the abundance of natural light that pours into my space during the day and there is no view I want to block out by covering it with curtains or blinds.

But I love to sleep in. I love going to bed knowing that the only wake up call that will impact me in any way is the natural one that happens outside my window. So the curtains that are on my bedroom window are dark and long and hold off the light of morning until I am well prepared to face a new day.

We are enjoying a beautiful spring weekend here in my little corner of Ontario and so last night before I lay my head down, I opened my window up wide, shut the dark curtains and crawled into my soft bed to give in to my exhaustion. I let sleep take me by the hand and happily it did not let go until late morning.

In that moment of perfection, as my mind and body began to stir but before my eyes were ready to join in facing the day, I began to focus on the sounds of spring outside my window... the birds singing, grass being cut nearby and far off children laughing and calling out instructions for their Sunday morning games. And as I rolled myself slowly over to face the window beside my bed, wrapped myself more tightly in the blankets that held me, my eyes finally slowly opened to the blurred vision of the curtains lapping up beside my bed, carried by the spring breezes that were bringing sweet smells and freshness into me. They grazed lightly over me to gently coax me to join the day. Light in the room grew and receded as they danced in the air.

And as they continued their gentle wake-up call, and as the light continued to grow in my room I drew myself up out of bed and began another day that could only be fantastic after waking up like that.

Getting Ready

Funny how things work out sometimes, don't you think?

Just when I have clicked into a new level of personal awareness and readiness for next steps, I have been thrown a couple of curve balls. Nothing earth shattering although when they were passing swiftly by my head, they felt pretty bad but no direct hits, I guess... I mean I am still here after all. But just when I have steeled myself for the challenge of changing directions, lo and behold my energies are now diverted to managing these problems that I am facing, that cannot be put off for another day.

And this is what I think of that...

I think this is the universe readying me for what is ahead of me. In my inaction of late, I have become soft... I have forgotten what it's like to feel the challenge of stretching yourself. I've gotten lazy.

So here is my wake up call before the real fun begins. And I am happy to say, bring it on!!

I'm ready.

Spring Cleaning

First off, I would like to apologize for staying away for so long. I wish I had a good excuse but really, not so much. Life has been pretty much the same and aside from an annoying problem with my car, a ridiculously funny prank played on me by my coworkers (when you least expect it, I will exact my revenge... mwah ha haaa!) and finally, finally getting my clothes switched for the seasons, things have been ordinary.

But as the last remnants of a long holiday weekend slip through my fingers I have come to a bit of a realization and I thought I'd share that with you.

I love a long weekend and even if the weather is uncooperative, as it has been on this one, it still offers ample opportunity to do things differently... change up your routine... find a different perspective. And that is just what has happened to me.

It has been a bit of a progression of late... I can tell you, and often have, that I have felt out of sorts for a while; that things have not felt right and as I struggled to find a reason why, something to point to as a source of my discontent, a thing to change, it occurred to me to change the one thing I have complete and total control over. Me.

I have, over time, become less of who I know myself to be. In my effort to get myself through the challenges of starting life over, I have forgotten the most basic of all lessons... Trust your gut. And be brave. I haven't been doing either of those things for a while and in turning my back on who I truly am I have made mistakes, strayed down paths that were not right for me and worst of all, hurt people I love. In my fear of further loss I have made bad judgments and done things that do nothing to bring myself or anyone I love or care about closer to happiness.

Well that's enough of that. I am not about to say that I will not make more mistakes because knowing myself as well as I do, I can tell you that making mistakes is something I am very good at. I'm just usually not so slow to correct my path. But correct it I will. Day by day and deed by deed.

And I'll share that journey with you as well. Thank you for sticking around.

Number Three

Yesterday was Mother's Day and my sons celebrated in a way that gave me much to smile about...

First and most important, they all told me they loved me. Lots. And that was the best gift of all (ok, I know how corny that is but as their mom, trust me it is the absolute truth).

Second, recognizing that nothing has quite been the same since their dad and I separated we, as we did last year, did something entirely different and not-too Mother's Days-y. Just as I like it.

We went to see the new Harold & Kumar movie. Now, before you judge me (and I know some of you out there are) remember my youngest son is 17 now... hardly a child. And I feel we have a pretty comfortable relationship where we can tolerate the occasional dose of questionable content. My oldest son, who is 24, was a bit more reticent about going to see it with his mom, but conceded that we would probably have a good laugh and agreed to the whole, twisted plan.

And so, they gave me a dvd version of the first Harold & Kumar movie and (which we watched in preparation for the afternoon matinee) and off we went.

Oh. My. Goodness.

I think it was during the scene in Guantanamo Bay where our protagonists (I know, that is pretty generous) were awaiting with dread a visit from Big Bob that my oldest leaned across to me and said (I'm paraphrasing here in the hopes that this doesn't get flagged as inappropriate content, but really... It's Harold & Kumar for crying out loud) "I can't believe I'm watching a movie with c0@&-sandwich with my mom." If you don't know what I'm saying there, consider yourself lucky.

But watch we did and laugh and enjoy. Inappropriate or not.

And then, at the end of the movie Harold recites a poem he wrote while in college... (spoiler alert... don't read any farther if you don't want to know what it says). Here it is...

I’m sure that I will always be
A lonely number like root three

The three is all that’s good and right,
Why must my three keep out of sight
Beneath the vicious square root sign,
I wish instead I were a nine

For nine could thwart this evil trick,
with just some quick arithmetic

I know I’ll never see the sun, as 1.7321
Such is my reality, a sad irrationality

When hark! What is this I see,
Another square root of a three

As quietly co-waltzing by,
Together now we multiply
To form a number we prefer,
Rejoicing as an integer

We break free from our mortal bonds
With the wave of magic wands
Our square root signs become unglued
Your love for me has been renewed

Having felt like a number three most of my life and especially now, the idea that there is another number three out there to match my lonely root is a sweet, comforting thought. If my boys have at any points in their lives felt like number threes as well, and I'm pretty sure they have, I hope it gave them a positive message along with the laughs. And besides, that's a pretty good message to share with your sons.