Saying Goodbye

Today was the last day of work for one of my colleagues at my office. He has been with our company for over seven years and has worked the last two in sales, specifically out of the office I have been at since my start with the company a year ago. In that time together, we have competed twice for the same promotion, once with neither of us succeeding and once with him succeeding. Both times we went into the process wishing each other luck and honestly truly meaning it. I could not have been happier for him when he was given this last promotion and we went out and celebrated together.

He is my buddy. He is the guy I can go to when I have no idea what I am doing (which is frighteningly often) and know he is going to have good advice. He is the guy who always has a positive word to share with me. He has great insight into business and specifically the business we are in.

He also a remarkably entertaining collection of stories; stories that, if you didn't know better would have you swearing that they came from some sit-com that you saw once years ago. If something unique or unusual is going to happen to someone, it's going to happen to him and he will share the story with anyone inclined to listen... and they will be the lucky one receiving the gift of the tale. I can't count the number of times we have all sat around listening to him regale us with an adventure (often turning quickly into a misadventure) while all of us were holding our sides, tears coming to our eyes from laughing so hard.

But my friend ended his career at my company today and I am sad. I could always count on him to second my nomination of hotdogs for lunch. Always. And that's saying something because I can eat hotdogs for lunch with freakish regularity.

We went out for hotdogs one last time yesterday and beers last night to say goodbye. The whole sales team joined in the cocktail hour and we all made our notations of what we will miss most about him.

I miss him already but I'm pretty sure I'll see him at the hotdog stand once in a while. In fact, I'll make sure of it! Good friendships are too precious to let slide away.

I Grieve

Have you ever felt so confused that it seems you just aren't sure which way is up?

I am a former SCUBA diver (haven't been in more than a decade but I have some pretty cool shots, I think) and I remember when I was learning how to dive I was told if I ever get disoriented, watch the directions of the bubbles escaping my mask and they will point me to the way home. That lesson and the related analogies that I have used over the years has served me well. Until now.

I feel very off kilter. I can't for the life of me, find the bubbles to show me the way to the surface. And until I can do that, I have a fear of drowning, suffocating for lack of oxygen right here where I'm at... which is not a great place by any means.

I heard a great line in one of my favourite songs the other day... The song is "I Grieve" by Peter Gabriel and I have always loved it for its haunting beauty and honesty of message. Give it a listen some day.

But at the very end of the song is a line, a line that until this week I had missed (yet again, that funny thing karma gives you messages when you need to hear them I guess)... Peter sings:

"Did I dream this belief or did I believe this dream?"

That's where I'm at right now. I am thinking the things that I had convinced myself were true were really just pretty pictures I had painted for myself to accept what I wasn't ready to face. That the reality I have spent ages wanting is really just a figment of my imagination.

So here I am trying to face this reality that I have spent ages convincing myself didn't exist. It's a scary thing. A lonely thing.

But I will find relief. I grieve.

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.