Kat's blog

incongruous

2010-07-19T22:49:00.000-04:00

The constructs of one's living can be well designed to show and conceal at once.
To live with, among and around others and yet be unknown.
Presently absent, absently present.

i believe

2010-05-04T23:57:00.006-04:00

I believe.
I believe in love.
I believe in God, who actually IS love.
Please don't cringe.
I will not thump you with anything or throw preachy barbs in your direction.
I will not talk in any way that is unfamiliar or odd.
Here's some of what I don't believe.
I do not believe in a celestial Santa who metaphorically sits me on his knee and listens as I rhyme off everything I want or think I need.
I don't believe in a Grand Receiver who has no mouth, no words, only ears to hear as I ask and ask and ask.
Nor do I believe in a puppeteer, who pulls my strings for his own amusement.
I certainly don't believe in a mean, punishing deity who finds satisfaction in smashing me with heavy hand.
That's not love.
That's not what he's like.
I don't believe that God is aloof or haughty, 'up there' removed, unfeeling.
I believe his feelings for me (and you) are so deep that there is no adequate measure to describe. He is not all ears, or all heavy hand but all heart. All heart.
Big, beautiful heart so full, if I could only understand it would be my undoing.
I hear him when children say profound things.
I hear him in beautiful songs and in distressing sounds.
I see him sitting on a park bench, half clothed, matted head hung down.
Calling out, stirring up compassion within me.
I call God 'he', but I'm not sure if gender tags are even appropriate when describing this beautiful being.
There is no room in my mind or heart for a God who 'watches us from afar'.
No, I have no room for such a notion.
He is not far.
In fact is very close and as present as the unseen molecules whirling around me and the invisible air I'm breathing. He inhabits atmosphere, he's at home in cloud filled expanse of sky.
He's at home with me and knowing me still has only love in his heart.

I could not believe if I thought that belief in God meant checking my brain at the door, forsaking questions, wearing blinders or becoming hermetically sealed off from 'dirty' society.
It means none of those things. There is no judgmental finger wagging. There are no laws except for love. It is the only one.

You know, I feel for us all as we grapple with genuine spirituality, which is our very own life's breath.
Not the spirituality of self help, of paid for predictions or of exotic cultural magic.
Not the spirituality of incense and ommmm, of secrets, of levels.
Not the spirituality of setting intentions, of aligning chakras.
Not the spirituality of flirting with darkness and engaging powers which ought not to be engaged.
I mean the spirit of truth and life.
The one we are all gasping for in all of our selfish and reckless pursuits.
and we breathe so shallow, and we have spiritual apnea.
Some of us have stopped breathing all together.
We cannot live if we stop breathing.
I can't live.
You can't.
I believe this is true.
If I didn't, I wouldn't say it.
I believe.

who are you?

2010-03-06T22:07:00.015-05:00

A kid doesn't know what time is really like.
It seems so stretchy and long.
I didn't know how to inhabit time when I was young, I only knew how to wish it away.
I was in such a hurry to grow up.
It crawled for me.
I was always kicking at it, trying to make it go faster.
I don't do that any more.
Days pass, weeks, months. Is time speeding up now that I don't want it to?
I'm a mother of grownups.
I'm a grandmother.
I'm thinking of retirement planning.
My decades of memories are becoming more like a series of fading vignettes.
I'm a bit shocked that I can recall decades.
Sounds like such an elderly thing to say.
I remember turning 10, riding in our car, hearing my mother say: "You're going to be a whole decade old."
It sounded pretty impressive. I was on my way.
My grandson will turn 10 in a few months. I wonder if he'll be impressed?
It seems odd that I have a grandchild who's getting into the double digits.
When his sisters follow suit I suppose I'll just feel old.

I used to look in the mirror and make faces, make myself look like a skeleton by jutting my lower teeth up over my top lip and widening my eyes scarily. I'd poke around to feel the bones of my eye sockets, play with the cartilage in my nose.
Now I look in the mirror and I put my index fingers on my temples and pull slightly up, to see myself 20 years ago, and sigh when I release my fingers and gravity brings me back to the present.
I stare at myself and wonder "Who are you? How can you be that same goofball kid"?

I certainly don't feel like that kid who used to say 'goodie' when I was happy,
until Valerie Sitnik quietly told me, while sitting next to me on a school bus trip, that I shouldn't say that word any more.
Am I the child who sat and ate dog toothed violets on our front step, or cried when David John Miller threw her beautiful doll down the sewer?
I ride kilometers at a time on my bike, but I have not forgotten the older neighbourhood kids taking me to the top of the street, telling me to sit on my new two wheeler and pushing me down the incline.
I'm the little water baby who walked to the outdoor pool every chance she got and became so darkly tanned that adults would say "My, aren't you brown as a berry?", which I found odd, as I knew of no brown berries.

Watching the moon landing in 1969 on our little black and white set didn't seem a big deal, just another thing to watch, like "Let's Make a Deal" or "Big Al's Cartoon Roundup". I still remember chewing on an oxo bouillon cube because I thought it was chocolate. I can see myself wearing my souvenir wooden shoes from Holland outdoors to play, not caring that they hurt my feet, shredding the soles to splinters. Lurching around Emerson Street's sidewalks in my clunky metal roller skates, turning key tied on a shoelace around my neck. Going from 'baking' doll sized pastries with a 60 watt bulb in my turquoise Easy Bake, to making cakes and pies from the "Five Roses" cookbook at the age of 9, with full stove operating privileges. I remember what a punchy and shovey older sister I sometimes was. Sorry sisters, I was such an ass. I also remember us watching for Nana walking toward our house to babysit us after she finished work. We always hoped she'd have a National Bakery box in her hand, holding it by its string tie, swinging with the rhythm of her steps. Donuts always, our favourite, chocolate glazed.

Weird to think that I grew up so fast that by the time I reached grade 8, bus drivers questioned my use of student tickets and people would shut the door on me at Halloween, shaming me for trick or treating at my age?!
I have an unfortunate memory of being centered out by a loud family friend who, as if seeing me for the first time in my friend Starlene's family kitchen, said: "WOW! I see your training bra broke training!"
After which all eyes went right to my ta tas and my face turned crimson, but nobody was looking there, so they didn't notice.
It was me, that awkward girl, who was embarrassed to wear home made clothing when everyone else wore Lee jeans from Thrifty's, who had no self confidence, blushed with any sort of attention and 'dumbed down' my vocabulary so I wouldn't be made fun of.

It must have been me who was that moody, make-up obsessed girl, dousing herself with Love's Baby Soft and abusing her hair with Sun In and excessive straightening sessions over the bathroom sink. Yes, it was. Always feeling older than everyone else at school, driving that stupid Dodge Omni, with its ridiculous steering column that vibrated like a jack hammer when i applied the brake.

There was also the idiot who walked home from school, with a cigarette hanging jauntily from her fingertips, when her father happened to drive by and catch her. Thankfully it was all about being a poser, so vile and nasty. And thankfully he didn't tell her mother, for if he had she wouldn't be alive to write this now. She's the student who told her high school english teacher that Oedipus Rex was distasteful and didn't want to participate in the study of it, and was sent to the principal's office, to be told 'study or fail'. Both me. Idiot and supposed conscientious objector.

At 15 I met this boy at music camp and knew I would marry him, I don't know how, but I did know this as fact. It made me feel special the way he held doors open for me, walked on the outside of the sidewalk to protect me should any car suddenly go beserk and jump the sidewalk and try to flatten me. How could I not love someone who was willing to be flattened by cars in my place?
This boy proudly introduced me to all his friends as 'my girlfriend' and stared at me with lovely eyes and pronounced me beautiful as I walked toward him in white lace.

Together with that boy - who bore the same name as my elementary school, like God was planting my future husband's name in mind while I happily skipped on the tarmac at recess - we grew up.

I can still see myself as a newlywed, trying to impress my new husband with my cooking, causing us both to gain 15 pounds;
sharing our little attic apartment in a blessedly ghost free century home,
and shoehorning ourselves into our room at night.
Having two cars we couldn't afford to put gas in.
Labouring in the front room, writing my contraction times down on a piece of scrap paper, watching Jan and Dean in concert on the tv.

We had beautiful daughters who went from kicking my innards to riding two wheelers, to driving cars, to independence, when my back was turned.
I can still see Rob, walking the floors at night with our colicky babies, shushing them and holding them close as he paced around the rooms.
I thought to myself even then: "Don't wish this away, it'll go fast enough."
I see our 2-year-old daughter at Victoria Park, running happily toward me with her golden hair bouncing, calling "Mama! Spin me around!!"
I see us putting a candle at our twins' grave that first Christmas after they had passed, praying it would stay lit despite the wind and cold. . and seeing the next morning that it had miraculously melted into a pool of wax, burned right to the quick.
I'm on the deck, putting together our youngest girl's 'big wheel' as her reward for becoming fully day and night potty trained. It looked great and it didn't fall apart!

All those years of diapers, first steps, sloppy baby kisses, pudgy hands picking up cheerios, learning to read, tooth fairy, report cards, girl guides, birthdays and lessons, summer camp, Christmas trees, sunday school, graduations; all swirled together as emotions and boxes and cartons of keepsakes, videos of trips and school plays, photos of bad haircuts I gave them and the tacky clothes I dressed them in. I have this montage of mother memories. Cleaning puke and being peed on. Braiding hair and applying bandaids. Baking cookies for their class and volunteering on school trips. Chasing two girls out from inside the clothing racks at the department store and reading "Sooki, the Saggy Baggy Elephant" before bed for the two hundredth time. It doesn't seem that long ago, but it also feels like eons.

It's funny how one's concept of 'me' changes and yet is always true, reaching back and stretching forward. Time is elastic. Who am I? I am the kid, the lovesick teen, the adult; all those things at once, integrated. I had a Nana and I am a Nana. I was a kid and I have kids and grandkids. I am a wife. I am an employee. I am a tax payer,a home owner and a road weary driver. I even feel myself lapsing into 'senior citizen like fits of temper', as I cluck my tongue at things like loud motorcycles, young male drivers blasting rap so loud I can feel it thumping in my gut, and middle of the night mailbox tippers who wake me up with all their hollering and swearing. I wonder if becoming easily annoyed and crotchety is a middle ager's rite of passage into the 'golden years'? Geez, I hope not. Save me from stereotype.

I'm still not much wiser in this whole area.
Time is time.
It's still slippery and stretchy,
seems to speed up and slow down.
It doesn't change.
But it changes me.
I don't know yet if I've learned how to inhabit time,
but I've learned not to wish it away.

swing

2010-03-02T22:19:00.004-05:00

Feels like i sit on this pendulum that swings widely from angst to revelation
and back again, over and over.
I don't like the back again part.
Who wants to go back, when there's forward waiting?
Why don't I jump off at revelation and stay?
I think I'm getting there and I become somehow assured that the years have been working their 'growing up magic' on me,
then I make a misstep, a gaffe,
and feel like an awkward 10-year-old who knows nothing of wisdom
and everything about being foolish
and i learn from realizing I have lots to learn
about people,
about life.

age

2010-02-07T00:53:00.004-05:00

age is playing hopscotch up and down my spine
and silverishly creeping at my temples.
she is settling my inner jumpiness,
a little bit anyway.
she's confering wisdom
which i take in sips,
when i really should take gulps.
no wonder it takes so long
to learn
how to live.

i have thought of age in such negative terms,
all the things it takes away. .
independence, dignity, continence
strength.
yes, I've thought of it as a
thief
of thoughts
dreams
health
but as much as she seems to take away,
she also gives
experience and knowledge
insight
patience,
(sometimes).

age seems capricious,
far too stingy with some
and way too generous with others.

no rhyme
no reason.
just mystery.

it is no hardship really
to pay the toll
that age exacts
in exchange for
the messy sweetness
of being
here.

i know
i should be
infinitely more grateful
to breathe,
and feel and
think thoughts.
laugh,
know love
and
feel that reassuring thump
in my chest.
because there's no telling
how long.

i need to come
to a detente
with age
she will not stop for me
she will not,
my lifelong companion.
i try to erase all traces of her
with hair dye
and barbells.
i stick out my tongue
at age.
but age just grins back
at me through
my own laugh lines.
and says
"You know I'll win".

A bit of interesting news. .

2010-01-10T22:54:00.002-05:00

A little something to think about when we shop at Dollarama, WalMart, well, anywhere really.

China overtakes Germany as biggest exporter

10/01/2010 12:09:11 PM

CBC News
New trade figures show that China has overtaken Germany to become the world's top exporter.

According to data released by China's customs agency Sunday, Chinese exports surged by 17.7 per cent in December, compared to the same month in the previous year.

Exports for the last month of 2009 were $130.7 billion, raising the total for the year to $1.23 trillion, ahead of the $1.20 trillion forecast for Germany.

Last year wasn't easy for China's exporters as the global economic slowdown cut demand for the country's goods.

Every month since late 2008, the government has reported export figures lower than they had been a year earlier. Then in the last few weeks of 2009, the trend reversed.

China's gross domestic product expanded 8.9 per cent in the third quarter of 2009, up from 7.9 per cent in the second quarter and 6.1 per cent in the first, buoyed by $603 billion in stimulus spending.

China surpassed the United States as the biggest auto market in 2009 and is on track to soon replace Japan as the world's second-largest economy. China passed Germany as the third-largest economy in 2007.

2010-01-10T17:59:00.002-05:00

I'm excerpting Chapter 1 page 24, "Even Them, Even Then?" Brad Jersak's book "Can You Hear Me? Tuning in to the God Who Speaks". You can order this on Amazon, and I really, really recommend it if you are wanting to have an authentic relationship with God, improve on the relationship you have with him, or begin one with him. I am re-reading this for the third time. Maybe I don't retain information very well? Well, that may be true, but the book is that good. There are familiar references to Bible characters (for those of you who haven't read the Bible, there are books, chapter and verses for you to look them up).

" In theory, those who are most repentant, most obedient, most holy should hear God's voice most clearly and most often. Those who live to please God and submit wholly to his Lordship should get the best 'reception' as they tune in to his voice. Oddly, neither scripture nor experience support that theory. God's voice calls us to repentance, obedience and submission; those who hear and obey are blessed. But those are the results of hearing him, not the pre-conditions. If I can't hear his voice until I'm obedient, what am I obeying? And how obedient do I need to be for him to talk to me? Or how disobedient before he stops talking to me? If hearing God's voice was conditional upon my behaviour, the relationship would be a formula revolving around me and my performance. "Good people hear - bad people don't". That's the very religion Jesus opposed. Getting right with God is always and only a response to the grace gift of his voice.

Certainly there can be a famine of hearing when hearts are unrepentant, but that doesn't mean God is not speaking. As a band called "Out of the Grey" once wrote, "He is not silent, we are not listening." But the Lord has ways of catching our attention, even while we're plugging our ears. The danger of refusing to heed God's voice is not that he will resort to the silent treatment. Rather, we are warned that he will begin to speak more clearly and more forcefully, which is not always a pleasant experience (remember Jonah?). You can hear his voice as an ointment that heals or a sword that pierces. In either case, it will bring freedom and life when we finally listen.

When the prodigal son was still wallowing in the pigpen of his rebellion, he came to his senses and resolved to repent (Luke 15:17 - 18). Why? It was only because the voice of God graciously spoke to his heart. When Hosea's unfaithful wife had left her husband, forgotten the Lord and chased after multiple lovers, God said "Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her." (Hosea 2:14). In fact, most of the prophetic words in scripture are negative, not because God is generally grumpy, but because his love compels him to keep speaking to his wayward ones until they return home. If I read men like Jonah and David right, whether we are following God perfectly or running away feverishly, he graciously, relentlessly, even indiscriminately continues to speak! No wonder the poet Francis called him "the Hound of Heaven".

I've met a number of men in prison Bible studies who shared that it was while they were still in a stupor of a heroin trip or in the despair of prison lock-up that God visited them, spoke to them and saved them. I've heard the testimonies of women who, while still working the streets in East Vancouver, heard God's voice inside, warning them about which men would beat them and which were safe. God spoke to them even then, even there. Does this offend you? Why not let the scandalous kindness of God hearten you instead? On your very worst days, while you are still kicking against his will (Acts 26:14) God continues to broadcast his words of love, comfort, warning and promise in your direction. You will hear him and when you do, just see to it that you don't heard your heart."

The remainder of the book has very practical exercises, to help you know God, help you learn how to 'tune in', listen to him. . . for real.

Ode to a Canadian winter

2009-12-29T18:54:00.003-05:00

Winter, I feel that I must tell you something.
Since I have long since lost my sense of wonder with snow fort building,
eating icicles and tobogganing,
I have come to find you pretty much intolerable.
By the way, lots of us Canadians feel the same way, though I certainly don't speak for all those who have fallen under your frosty spell, who think they've befriended you, I see right through you and your wiles, Winter.
I will not gush about your beauty.
Not today. Today I am determined to tell you exactly what I think of you.
Spring is gorgeous and fresh, liberating.
Summer though sometimes smothering, is so much more easygoing and mellow,
Autumn, though lovely is always overshadowed by you.
Then, once the distracting niceties of Christmas and the new year are
used up and worn out,
We remember what you're really like and we don't want you.
Because you suck.

You take away our carefree and spontaneous feelings.
There is no more 'quick' about anything.
Everything takes longer . .
getting ready to go out
traveling,
doing errands,
There are layers to put on,
This takes time.
We have to shovel snow.
We scrape it off our vehicles.
This is just annoying.
Your ice is slippery and you lash at us with your frozen rain and whipping wind.
You're so cold.
I don't like you.
In fact, the older I get the more I can't stand you.

You take away fun.
You make my nose run.
You make my teeth clack.
You make me wheeze when I breathe.
You make cycling mostly impossible,
(for which I despise you)
You take away the gorgeous sunshine and you substitute
brooding clouds.

You make getting into and out of the bath and shower unpleasant.
You make our rooms cold.
and our bedsheets freezing.
You breathe on the blankets.
You make furnaces a necessity, which only pleases the gas company.
You make us shut our windows and doors.
You turn us into homebodies.
We don't want to go out in you.
You always wear out your welcome.
Most of us only tolerate you for that 2-week interval between Christmas and New Year's,
by which time we are thoroughly sick of you and want you to go away.
But you stay
and stay.
You stretch out your icy fingers and smite our lovely plants.
We raise them up and you take them out with your sparkly blanket of death.

You cause us to slip and fall.
You turn our roads into skating rinks.
You turn walking the dog into a frantic, frozen gauntlet.
You are the father of all potholes, which are born every spring,
making driving less like straight lines and more like an obstacle course.
Turning our other 3 seasons into prolonged bouts of road closures and repairs.
You turn our eavestroughs into breeding grounds for ice daggers.
You turn our beaches into frozen wastelands,
and you squash our memories of warm sunshine.
You take away our picnics and barbecues.
Yes, even that feisty fireball seems to rise and set behind your curtain of ice.

You drive away flocks of birds, butterflies and senior citizens.
Who, in their infinite wisdom, avoid you like the plague
because
they all know
you suck!

At some point I'd like to fly, or at least drive away from you and your ice grip.
Become a stereotype.
A snowbird.
Top up my out of country health insurance.
Hide from you in the land of Dentu-Cream and support hose.
Get a wicked tan.
And laugh in your general direction.

hot and not

2009-11-19T00:12:00.005-05:00

here are a few little thoughts from my brain on what's hot and what's not

note:
i may or may not confer hotness upon any of these things, just trendspotting.

HOT/ NOT
So You Think You Can Dance / SYTYCD without Mia Michaels

reduce, reuse, recycle/ not caring about the 3 Rs

saving $/ wasting $

teen vampires/ teen vampires

looking younger when you're older/ botox, surgery and suddenly fat lips

H1N1/ H1N1 - blech.

'bucc', 'sick'/ gee whiz, neat

blindingly white teeth/ you guessed it. . . yellow ones

reality tv/ desire to vote ppl out of everything in real life

XBox/ Wii

any other hockey team/ Leafs

gift cards/ gifts that make you cringe inwardly

cyber/ face to face *this is so sad :( *

sliders/ giant, artery clogging burgers

scarves/ pen necklaces

castro hats/ bucket hats

getting Christmas shopping done early/ having to do Christmas shopping at all

mystery

2009-11-12T20:55:00.004-05:00

I'm wondering how comfortable I am with mystery.
There are things I will never know.
Why is death so capricious and random?
Why do the bad get away with their badness?
Why are the good given the shaft?
Why does the heart choose the way it does?
Why does the sun seem to shine upon some and the shadows never lift from others?
Why is justice so often miscarried?
Why can't people come back from the dead to tell us what to expect?
Why can't we see God?

God.
God is a mystery.
God is
at home in paradox,
existing, working in and through
divine, human
architect, infant
one, three
love, judgement
almighty, intimate
creating the universe, matter and anti matter,
forces, light, elements,
intricate creatures, seen and unseen.
Maker of worlds unknown, far, far, far from our weak eyes
and our toy telescopes circling a tiny corner of the cosmos.
i could stop there, stupefied,
monosyllabic.
unable to comprehend.
mysterious greatness is all around
I look but can't see.
Why is my vision reversed?
Why do i magnify the trivial and trivialize the magnificent?
Mystery, I'm Helen Keller.
How can I make sense of you?
I can yell and flail my arms to strike out at you.
I can bump into you and not even see you.
You will elude me
and entice me,
frustrate me.

Goodness is sweet like honey.
It's no mystery.
It just is.
Why question it?
It's the quintessential feeling of being home.
It's aaaaaaahhh, like lying down when you're tired and feeling so perfectly at rest.
It is light, it's that gorgeous 'blindness' we get when the brightness of the sun is too much for us and we close our eyes
and bask and sigh.
So welcome.
So wanted and loved.

The origin of evil perplexes me.
Blackness.
Malignant.
It makes my brain and my soul hurt to think about it.
God is good.
He designed everything to be perfect.
We all know it didn't turn out that way.
How did Lucifer, his perfect creature change?
What was the catalyst for this thing, this evil that grew and gestated in his core? and how dare he infect us with it?
Some say there is no evil.
I am certain this is untrue and that is no mystery.
Blatantly present everywhere.
viral,
predatory,
destructive.
real.

Mystery.
God.
Good.
Evil.

A few small words with so many billions of us crammed into them.
Trying to make sense, grow, live.
Trying to understand these hard to understand things.

Will we ever?

Of course not. . .

and that's okay.

food

2009-11-08T01:08:00.005-05:00

I love food.
I love everything about it.
I love to shop the market, love the grocery store, the gourmet shop, the baking supply store, the cheese shop, the butcher, the farm.
I love to take a collection of disparate ingredients and put them together
to make something beautiful and delicious.
I love fresh, in season, quality food. I love to develop its flavour. I love to serve food.
I love to make people happy with meals, desserts.
I might not always hit the mark, but I really try.
It's an ever increasing passion.

I love to watch chefs prepare food, this is a longstanding fixation. . from watching Julia Child on PBS in the early 70s, to Food Network's molecular gastronomists like Heston Blumenthal, the Rubino brothers from Rain, i watch and watch. . there is almost nothing I love more than seeing things stirred, sauteed, melted, poured, ladeled, browned, chopped, minced, kneaded and glazed.
I love to think of cooking.
I love to pore over my food magazines, cookbooks. I love to plan menus.
I try not to waste food, that makes me sad.
I get giddy thinking about buying a new knife.
I love my sharpening steel.
I love my copper bottomed, heavy gauge stainless cookware.
I love tongs.
I love my microplane grater.
I love smoked paprika.
I love grey salt.
I love thyme and parsley.
I love vanilla beans.
I love melting chocolate over simmering water.
I love fresh pineapple.
I love cinnamon and fresh ginger.
I love to work with. .
a fresh cut of meat,
a fragrant, piney bunch of rosemary,
fresh, ruby coloured berries,
a dense loaf of bread,
beautiful 'rainbow' carrots with lacy green tops,
golden paper-wrapped bars of french bittersweet chocolate,
amber jars of melon blossom honey,
blocks of pale yellow butter,
the most wonderful things I can afford . it makes such a difference.

You can't make bad food taste good, but you can make great food taste amazing, if you respect it, respect the gift of the ingredients, respect the preparation techniques and respect the people you will be serving.

I don't really enjoy eating at restaurants. . I feel too removed from the process, I don't know what they're doing to the food. I don't know what kind of ingredients they're working with. Do they care about quality? Are they fry happy? Do they nuke everything? Do they use frozen, canned, packaged? Do they care? Are they handling food safely? There are too many unknowns. Makes me angry when people don't care. I'd rather go hungry. I want to go into their kitchens, their walk in fridges, their freezers . .or maybe I don't? Cooking at home is the way to go. . unless you can find those people out there who love good food, who can do it justice.

I spend pretty much every day daydreaming of recipes, ingredients.
I work at my job, but my mind is always dreaming of running a shop,
baking, serving, catering, planning events, talking to customers. .

Who knows, some day I might take a giant risk and go for it?!
In the meantime there are cookbooks to collect, food to make, new ingredients to try.
*smile*

you, me, us.

2009-10-11T00:25:00.005-04:00

do you feel like you've reduced yourself to a mere Tweet? status line?
do you feel like your contact with others is changing,
becoming more hands off?
do you feel strange when it's real?
do you feel like we are all heading down this 21st century path in parallel tracks,
with less and less intersecting?
less connecting.
feelng less authentic.

'keeping in touch' never felt less like touch.
never felt less kept, just the opposite.
shifting, moving away, with only illusions of being joined
by flimsy, breakaway ties,

no one has time.
everyone is busy.
'we should get together' comes out of everyone's mouths,
but is becoming more of a vague sentiment.

no one reads
everyone skims.
things have to be said in less time because no one has any.
wrds r chngng, ppl.
phrases are disappearing, btw.
c u L8r, English language.
magazines and newspapers are vanishing.

phones are becoming unlike anything we've known before.
they follow us everywhere,
but nobody talks.
rapid fire abbreviation codes.
thumbs are wearing out.
there's nothing wrong with technology.
We humans have a big problem with moderation.
i think we have a problem, period.
boundaries are disappearing.
wireless,instant, everywhere.
faces all staring at screens.
hands on keyboards.
we have stopped dreaming and doing
and we pretend.
we take endless quizzes, we play games,
we pretend to be farmers,
we pretend to run cafes,
we pretend to garden,
we display our lives in picture albums,
video clips.
we think we know each other
but we are losing our way.
we are losing our ability to think
google thinks for us, tells everything we need to know.

we are losing our patience.
everything has to be high speed.
click,
click,
search, scroll.
we are simultaneously awakening and falling asleep.
our creations are holding us captive,
and we are so willing.
it's so easy to sacrifice live interaction, if we want.
and we do.
we communicate on our own terms,
when we want,
how we want,
with whom and
for how long.
what's happening to us?
are we losing our essence? is living becoming virtual and spiritless?
is the mess and drama of each other being distilled into YouTube clips?
is human need and cry being made into 'cause groups' to join?
undemanding, sterile and manageable.
Can we do something that costs us something other than money?
Can this spell be broken?
Can we learn to live with technology without being sucked into it's vortex of unreality?
Can we still hear and see each other?
Can we bring back face to face?
Can we get back to meeting and joining?
Parallel is not so good for us.
We need to cross.
Sometimes we need to crash and break down
to notice each other.
Real will always be better than unreal.
Real isn't always good.
It isn't always pleasant or tidy or easy.
But it is what we are. .
you
me
us.

El Paso

2009-09-10T20:00:00.002-04:00

When I was a young teenager I used to lie in bed at night listening to Rockin' Robin's show on FM 108. He played the Diamonds, the Big Bopper, Sam Cooke, Little Richard. I adored 50s music. There was something about it, I don't know why it appealed so much to me.

Sure there was goofy stuff, Jan and Dean's "Baby Talk" was just ridiculous. "Purple People Eater" was pathetic, "Kooky, Lend me Your Comb" was worse than lame, but somehow even these novelty songs were weirdly entertaining. There was the syrupy stuff like "The Last Kiss", which made me all misty, "Tell Laura I Love Her" which made me cry and need to reach for the tissues and "Patches" which also had a similar effect. There were the dance craze songs like "Watusi" and "The Stroll" that told you how to do the dance right in the lyrics, kind of handy, I thought. I loved the spare, basic,catchy stuff like Buddy Holly's and I pined for true love listening to the lush song tapestries from the Platters. Among my favourites were the story songs, and my favourite among them was 'El Paso" by Marty Robbins.

The sweet guitar picking intro, the bouncing bass, the lilting Mexican melody, and there was Marty's golden voice, swooping and soaring through all the verses of a cowboy's painful, one sided love; transporting me to a place I've never seen, the badlands of New Mexico, the Rio Grande, cutting it's swath through rugged land. I pictured a hill overlooking Rosa's cantina in El Paso, horses tied out back, waiting. I saw this cantina as a rough, wooden watering hole where a cowboy fell under dancing Felina's spell. And in this cantina Felina flirted brazenly with a wild, young stranger. I thought of how this pained her cowboy love, spurring him to question the stranger's intentions, and killing him before he was killed himself. I saw him stealing a horse and riding for his life. I thought of Felina's shock and sadness. I wanted to smack her for being so casual with his heart. She didn't deserve such love, but she had it.

As I listened to this beautiful story I knew that I wanted someone to love me like this cowboy loved Felina, without bounds and without conditions, accepting even my badness and still loving, unable to live without me. I wanted the kind of love that would not be quenched by threat of or arrival of death. Maybe because I'm a girl I daydreamed like this and maybe boys would just think about the cowboys, horses and six shooters? Romance is something I sigh about still and say "awwww" about.

Decades later, when I listen to this song I still feel swept away to Texas. I still see them, the cowboy lover and his beloved, faithless Felina. My heart still goes out to him and I'm still mad at her, but I no longer wish for such love, I am blessed enough to have it. So blessed.

***********************************************
Out in the West Texas town of El Paso
I fell in love with a Mexican girl.
Night-time would find me in Rosa's cantina;
Music would play and Felina would whirl.

Blacker than night were the eyes of Felina,
Wicked and evil while casting a spell.
My love was deep for this Mexican maiden;
I was in love but in vain, I could tell.

One night a wild young cowboy came in,
Wild as the West Texas wind.
Dashing and daring,
A drink he was sharing
With wicked Felina,
The girl that I loved.

So in anger I

Challenged his right for the love of this maiden.
Down went his hand for the gun that he wore.
My challenge was answered in less than a heart-beat;
The handsome young stranger lay dead on the floor.

Just for a moment I stood there in silence,
Shocked by the FOUL EVIL deed I had done.
Many thoughts raced through my mind as I stood there;
I had but one chance and that was to run.

Out through the back door of Rosa's I ran,
Out where the horses were tied.
I caught a good one.
It looked like it could run.
Up on its back
And away I did ride,

Just as fast as I

Could from the West Texas town of El Paso
Out to the bad-lands of New Mexico.

Back in El Paso my life would be worthless.
Everything's gone in life; nothing is left.
It's been so long since I've seen the young maiden
My love is stronger than my fear of death.

I saddled up and away I did go,
Riding alone in the dark.
Maybe tomorrow
A bullet may find me.
Tonight nothing's worse than this
Pain in my heart.

And at last here I

Am on the hill overlooking El Paso;
I can see Rosa's cantina below.
My love is strong and it pushes me onward.
Down off the hill to Felina I go.

Off to my right I see five mounted cowboys;
Off to my left ride a dozen or more.
Shouting and shooting I can't let them catch me.
I have to make it to Rosa's back door.

Something is dreadfully wrong for I feel
A deep burning pain in my side.
Though I am trying
To stay in the saddle,
I'm getting weary,
Unable to ride.

But my love for

Felina is strong and I rise where I'd fallen,
Though I am weary I can't stop to rest.
I see the white puff of smoke from the rifle.
I feel the bullet go deep in my chest.

From out of nowhere Felina has found me,
Kissing my cheek as she kneels by my side.
Cradled by two loving arms that I'll die for,
One little kiss and Felina, good-bye.

i'm a mutant

2009-08-16T00:34:00.003-04:00

Genetic mutation linked to need for less sleep

13/08/2009 4:28:54 PM

CBC News
People who are able to thrive on just six hours of sleep may have a genetic mutation to thank, researchers say.

In Friday's issue of the journal Science, researchers at the University of California, San Francisco, reported that a mutated gene not found in their relatives seemed to allow a mother and daughter to wake up refreshed by 5 a.m. after going to bed at 11 p.m.

Short-term and chronic disruptions in length of optimal sleep can have serious consequences on physical health, including cancer and endocrine function, as well as cognition and mood, said the study's senior author, neurology Prof. Ying-Hui Fu.

The finding offers a chance to probe the regulation of sleep quality and quantity, but is likely to help people with insomnia, she said.

For most people, eight to 8½ hours of sleep are best, but others function well on six hours.

In the study, the team found mice genetically engineered with the DEC2 mutation also slept less and recovered faster from sleep deprivation compared with normal mice.

When the mutant mice were hooked up to brain-scanning instruments, their brain wave patterns suggested they were well rested even though they had slept less.

The findings point to differences in the sleep needs based on a person's genetic makeup.

Work hours, leisure time activities such as exercising and watching late night TV as well as light and noise levels are also known to affect how much we sleep.

"The question 'How much sleep do we need?' is not only of practical interest for obvious societal reasons, but is also of major importance for understanding sleep function," Hyun Hor and Mehdi Tafti of the Center for Integrative Genomics at the University of Lausanne, Switzerland, wrote in a journal commentary that accompanies the study.

Hor and Tafti said while the mutation is probably rare, the finding offers new approaches to studying the effects of sleep on human health.

****************
I have always been a mutant
and now my strangeness has an official seal.
Some people, it seems, just need less sleep.
I have never been someone who has gone 'early to bed'.
I love the night.
I was appropriately born at 12:51 a.m.
6 hours sleep for me is lavish,
i usually get 5.
Sometimes i get less.
Even night owls have to be careful not to push it too much.
If i do and consistently get less for too many days in a row
i end up feeling so terrible -- weak and faint.
But I usually know what I can get away with.
When i was a kid i was always the last one asleep,
at home,
at camp,
at sleepovers
I could wander half the night, trying to 'become' tired.
the sandman and i weren't on good terms.
I didn't understand why i was like that.
Now I do. . I'm still the same,
nothing has changed.
Me and the sandman have an understanding.
he doesn't visit me until he's taken care of all the larks first!!
it seems to work out just fine.

I can't say this bit of news was very 'new' to me,
but its somehow comforting to know that i'm a genetic mutation
and that's okay!
'morning, all!

don't want to

2009-08-09T23:26:00.002-04:00

i want to write
but i don't want to
it seems like such an effort
where has that spark gone?
i'm not very good at blogging about current events
or topics of interest.
i have no aspirations to blog about cooking through a cookbook,
though that certainly worked for "Julie Powell"
i'm not handy with incorporating media in my posts
i'm not slick, trendy or savvy.
i just write when i feel like i want to write.
and lately i am not moved to do so.
i'm uninspired and tired.

learning lessons

2009-07-26T00:49:00.003-04:00

i've got this cool magazine cut out on permanent display on my bulletin board.
It shows a picture of a fluffy looking couch.
This is the caption:

Big,
soft
and squishy,
like you're going to be
if you don't
GET UP.

For ages I ignored this thing i cut out
I knew it was right,
but i had a million excuses. . .
i work full time
i'm tired
i don't have time to exercise
i don't feel like it when i do have time
its not fun
i have asthma
i have degenerative arthritis in my upper and midspine
i have a protruding disc in my lower spine
i'm getting older
the gym's class times aren't convenient
my gym closed
i need to be motivated by someone else
because
i
have
no motivation
my dance class folded
i miss it and i don't like anything else

I discovered something important
excuses are ridiculous

i can motivate myself
i DO need to get up
i don't want to be big, soft, or squishy
i don't want to be limited, despite my limitations
i will not be held back by them
they are not the boss of me

things like eating properly and exercising are not things anyone can really afford to think of as optional
i have discovered that since i HAVE to do these things
i might as well pick things that are fun

i discovered something else on the way to having fun
sometimes despite being fun and rewarding
things that require consistency, effort, exertion, dedication and discipline
are not fun at first.
when we bought our bikes last year, we took them out for that first spin
i thought i was going to die after 2 blocks.
my legs burned
my lungs hurt
i begged to go back home
so i could collapse
i did.
right on the living room floor
flat on my back

things didn't seem to improve much on subsequent rides.
hills were my nemesis
my city is full of hills
its easier to name the streets that aren't giant hills
than it is to name the ones that are.
great going down
hell going up
walk the bike up
lungs bursting
legs burning
feeling like i'm going to puke
I thought my asthma was to blame for my lack of ability to go up hills
it kept triggering
i'd honk
and cough
and wheeze
damn!
Rob said to me one day after a brutal ride: "I think your bike is too heavy. Try riding mine for a while."
HALLELUJAH!!
The angels sang. .
I felt like i was in bike heaven
effortless
beautiful
it had shocks
it had a light frame
i was using the wrong kind of bike

After that lovely epiphany my husband went out and bought me a bike like his
I adore it.
and him.

Then we began to get serious.
Getting out.
Checking out the trails.
Finding routes.
There were only so many places that were flat.
We had to make our peace with hills.
We tried to choose the easier ones.
Just kept going out,
Clocking kilometers.
7.5
10
12
15

winter came
we got l a z y
we did nothing
we had no back up plan.
i had my many fitness DVDs. . but they weren't nearly as exciting as being
outside
there was no destination
there was no beautiful scenery
just counting and loud music and drudgery
boring.
winter chub, that Canadian phenomenon
i was becoming just like that fluffy couch. .

when we started up again for this season
it was like starting all over
winter robbed all of our progress
we let it
no endurance
burning legs
and
lungs

i've learned that you cannot ever stop
you can't think that you can afford to.
or you'll be sorry
i've also learned that you must plan when circumstances change
if you can't do 'this',
do 'that'
but do something! (heading out to get a pool membership, so all that conditioning does not disappear through the fall and winter)
Now, we look for every opportunity to get out
a short ride for us is now at LEAST an hour.
yes, its hard work
yes it takes a lot out of you
but it gives a lot back to you.
its such a feeling when you've just given it all
wrung yourself out and climbed tough hills and gone LONG
distances
and you THINK its gonna kill you
and your mind tells you things
like
'you can't do it'
'its too hard'
'you should stop'
climbing
and sweating
and feeling like you can't go on
to see your 'reward' up ahead. . .
a beautiful, huge hill
going DOWN.
ahh. . . its amazing.
you get to fly
into that delicious wind
you don't have to do a thing
gravity does all the work for you

when you go far
you learn that you can farther every time
2 hours
3 hours
4 hours
15 km becomes 20
then 25
then 30.
you learn new routes
you see new things
you get faster
you shave time off your rides
you go faster
you stop complaining
and start enjoying

you sleep like a rock
you 'earn' your *food* treats
and you really ENJOY them!

i've learned the paradox of energy expenditure
you think you don't have enough to spend
but when you spend what you have
you get more
and more.

thank you, magazine ad cut out
thank you for telling me to
get up.

it took me long enough
but i've realized
that you're so right.

the f word

2009-07-09T22:40:00.003-04:00

no, not THAT word.
the word I have in mind is considerably less popular.
i think its safe to say that it isn't popular at all
because it requires so much from us.

forgiveness

this word is like a burr in my saddle
a splinter under my skin
it refuses to leave me in peace
it hounds me
i stubbornly put off yielding to it.

when you need to forgive and you don't
you suffer to a ridiculous degree
such a degree that you'd think that you'd want to say 'uncle' already.
still you cling to your right to ruminate
and you and everyone around you suffers
when something trips the switch and sets you off

why hold something so destructive?
is it really too hard to surrender to forgiveness?
no.
it isn't.. .
yes! it is.
pride won't bend
oh, why won't it bend?
i've been hurt.
i'm justified.
i have a right to be angry.
i am angry.
how can i forgive people who pretend there is nothing to forgive?
how can i forgive when they're not sorry
and I'm left with all this damage?

I'm not God, after all.

God has a metaphorical 'sea of forgetfulness'.
Which in my mind could also be called the 'ocean of forgiveness'
Its capacity?
Infinite.
When he forgives, its as if he tosses the offense into the depths and it never surfaces again.
He doesn't forget because if he did, he wouldn't be God.
He knows what's in there.
But he knows how to forgive.
He can leave it there and never bring it up again.
Maddening thing is, he forgives those i can't seem to forgive
and he expects me to do the same.

I have a 'puddle of i'm not going to forget-fulness'.
Everything i try to throw in there piles up.
I can still see it.
and i do not forget it.

forgiveness?
it goes against all my inclinations.
but my inclinations are all inclined wrong.

i want it for me
but i don't want to extend it.
and there it is,
laid bare and obvious.
this will never work
a puddle will never do.
limited capacity is nowhere close to adequate in the face of that maddeningly gracious infinity.

This quote from the book 'The Shack" by William Paul Young, I can't say i love it, but it certainly got my attention and its on my mind...a lot.

". . . I'm stuck, Papa. I can't just forget what he did, can I?", Mack implored. "Forgiveness is not about forgetting, Mack. It is about letting go of another person's throat."

snap

2009-07-06T00:20:00.002-04:00

sometimes when you really hope something will change you may see possibility where none really exists.
Then you have a moment where you realize the truth.
no change is going to happen.
and you feel like an idiot for thinking that it even could.
and you're angry
and you're sad
and something in you just snaps.
again.

light

2009-06-22T00:24:00.002-04:00

Luke 11:33 "No one lights a lamp and hides it or puts it under a basket. Its put on a stand to give light to all who enter a room. Your eye is a lamp for your body. A pure eye lets sunshine into your soul, but an evil eye shuts out the light and plunges you into the darkness. Make sure that the light you have is not really darkness. If you are filled with light, with no dark corners, then your whole life will be radiant, as though a floodlight is shining on you."

I read this last week and I've though about it quite a bit.
Tonight I discovered that the first thing God says in the first chapter of the Bible is 'Let there be light." and in the last chapter of the Bible, God IS all the light anyone needs. There is no more use for the sun, there is no dark, so nobody needs lamps, candles, lights. . No more dark?
But its all we've ever known. . living with light and dark.
No more use for the sun?? God will be all the light anyone needs.
What kind of megawattage does He give off??!!
None of us can look directly at the sun.
It is too much for us.
It will fry our retinas,
blinding us.

Revelation 1: 12 *John was praying, this is what he wrote* ". . .suddenly I heard a loud voice behind me, a voice that sounded like a trumpet blast. When I turned to see who was speaking to me, I saw seven golden lampstands. Standing in the middle of the stands was the son of man. His eyes were bright, like flames of fire. His feet were as bright as bronze, refined in a furnace and his voice thundered like mighty ocean breakers. He held seven stars in his right hand. His face was as bright as the sun in all its brilliance. When I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead, but he laid his right hand on me and said: 'Don't be afraid!"

Somehow all my puny thoughts about God seem so childish.
I can't imagine such contact.
I'd faint too.

He IS light.
I can only reflect dimly.
He's like a football field full of klieg lights. .
I'm a penlight.
He's a raging infero.
I'm a birthday candle.

A voice like ocean breakers, trumpet blasts? I've heard the noise of several trumpets playing triple forte. .ear splitting. I've vacationed ocean front. . i've heard the pounding of the waves in a storm. . such power.
A face as bright as the sun?
The sun gives off the equivalent in light of 4 trillion trillion (yes, double trillion) 100 watt lightbulbs.
Its core temperature is 15,000,000 degrees.

I'm more than amazed by thoughts of God's light, his power.
But even more amazed by this question:
Why love?
Why love us?
Why does such greatness love such disobedient, troublesome, ungrateful, irrational, childish creatures?
I don't know.
But I'm so glad.

The thought of such power unbuffered by love is scary.

1 observation and 2 thoughts

2009-06-10T00:06:00.004-04:00

i work in a hospital.
The main lobby has a little chapel, sandwiched between Tim Horton's and the public washrooms.
its a nondescript little room, all beige and earthy, maybe 8 feet x 8 feet.
quiet.

i like to take my breaks there.
I go in and shut the door
i feel like i can finally breathe.
there are no phones ringing.
no computers.
no demands.
no endless tasks.
There are several pictures on the walls, i can see them in my mind. . the floral still life. . the winding path with grecian trees, the cloud 'angel' picture.
There is an old communion table at the front of the room, lettered with these words: "Do This in Remembrance of Me"
There are chairs enough for a small army, lining the walls, empty.
and there's a Bible in the centre of the table, flanked by boxes of kleenex.

observation 1:
The most well worn page in this Bible is, Psalm 23. Its grimy and smudgy. . and tear stained. Its almost always turned there when i come in. I love that. I wonder how many different people have looked up maybe the only thing they know: The Lord is my shepherd. .

thought 1:
as i had trouble trying to focus and not think of work, not hear the noise outside the door, trying to pray, i thought of writing one honest page per day.
I could not stop thinking of that. . . one honest page.
So, this is what i've started to do, write to God one page every day.
A way to 'pray' that helps me focus and corral my thoughts, which go wandering off in every direction.

thought 2:
this morning as I wondered why it was so hard to 'hear' God speak to me, I know the disconnect is on my end, I thought about how hard it is to talk to people when they're sleeping. You call their name over and over and over, you try to tell them something -- nothing. You say their name a bit louder. You shake their shoulder. . they mumble and mutter. .still not waking. You're speaking to them, they're fast asleep. hmmmm. . . am i asleep? i think so.
I think a most of us are.

arrrrghhhhhh!!!!

2009-05-23T19:15:00.003-04:00

I'm not sure I've ever uttered the 'word' "arrrrghhhh" actually, but i'm feeling like it.
I'm frustrated.
Its tough for people like me
who like food.

Right now its a really good thing that I am not in the company of one of those "I don't have a problem with my weight" kind of people.

The way I'm feeling right now, I'd have to sit ON my hands, to keep them from going up around their neck.

You know, the kind of people who say things like:

"I forget to eat sometimes"

*are you flippin' kidding me?*

or

"I've never had a problem with my weight."
(of course, you haven't)

or

"I don't have a sweet tooth, I almost never eat dessert"
(is this even possible? its downright suspicious -- how can such a person be trusted?)

or the thing that really makes me wanna hit them:
"I can eat whatever I want. I just burn it off."

@$#%^&**!!!!!!!!!

I'm having a ridiculous day in which everywhere I go there are THINGS I WANT TO INHALE.. market this morning. . bought my grandchildren giant cinnamon buns with icing. . I did not succumb to these evil rounds. But they smelled so damned cinnamony.

Then my grandson wanted to visit the church beside the market. . the one that sells PIES and APPLE DUMPLINGS WITH WARM CARAMEL SAUCE every week, to raise funds. Naturally, he wanted to check out the basement, where they SELL the dangerous items and he wanted a glass of juice. Deal is you get a beverage with the purchase of one of these sin bundles. frig, frig FRIG!!! Idiot me buys him one, which he hated. . and wouldn't eat. and this is why he's so thin. So now I was really crumbling. the smell. . oh my gosh. .the look of that golden thing. . I scooped out and ate the apple from inside its pocket of pastry and salvaged a deteriorating situation. But that wasn't the last of it. I then took him to the chocolate shop, where the most curious thing happened.

I picked up a bag of chocolates for Lindsay and Mike, I told myself, and a couple of little 'chocolate pizzas' for the grandkids. I was surrounded by hand made chocolates, roasted nuts, candies -- by now I was really messed in the head. I fished out my new wallet and being new, the card holder pockets were a bit stiff. I tried to get my card out. . it was wedged in so tight i couldn't. I only pushed it further in with each attempt to get at it. The cashier gave me a paper clip. . and watched me as I fumbled. I then asked her if she had anything pointy, she handed me a pen. I tried to pen the thing out. No luck. The cashier giggled nervously. I finally looked up at her and said "You'll have to cancel that, I can't get at my bank card." When I asked her if that had ever happened to anyone else, or was it just me, she grinned and said "No, just you." James wasn't too disappointed, he was only thinking about his cinnamon bun anyway. It was actually kind of hilarious.

You'd think I would have been in the clear after all that. But no.

We went back to the Arts Centre to meet Opa, who was waiting for Eri to come out of her ballet lesson.

While I had eaten sensible bran flakes and fruit for breakfast, Rob hadn't and he wanted to go to Tim Horton's for a bagel and a coffee. The kids of course chimed in their wishes for "chocolate mint donut and a chocolate milk".

Tim Horton's is of the devil.
Cookies, donuts, eclairs, donuts, tea biscuits, donuts, fatty fatty muffins and donuts.

Rob ordered his brunch, the kids had their donuts and chocolate milk.

I had a diet pepsi.. . .niiiice.

but I stole a teeny pinch of each donut. *tiny, miniscule* I did not lose control with my mouth, but my mind was already gone. At this point i was convinced that the entire city was made out of sugar and dipped in chocolate.

We got home and what did I flippin do next?? I made some squares. . i'm not even kidding you.
Butter, peanut butter, butterscotch chips, marshmallows, coconut, rice krispies. Deadly. I quickly got the squares in the pan and hid them in the fridge.

I made an organic spinach salad with fat free raspberry dressing, cooked some mushrooms in broth, had a piece of lean, grilled chicken leftover from the other night and a small, whole wheat english muffin, toasted with 1 measured teaspoon of non hydrogenated margarine. It was good. I went out to do some gardening. Distraction is good, yes. . very good. I needed to stop throwing myself under the food bus.

I'd sent the cinnamon buns packing with the grandkids, I had eaten only the apple and not the dumpling. The chocolate store fiasco kept me on the straight and narrow and I ended up having a 2 cm. square piece of square and then desperately ran to the freezer for a Skinny Cow ice cream sandwich, which I wolfed down guiltlessly as I promised myself that it was better than the squares. . and you know it really was good and it really was better.

I then went downstairs and like a sicko, I watched . . . The Food Network!! What the . . . . what is WRONG with me?? I felt like i was having a bona fide meltdown. How can I reconcile my old nature with my new behaviour?? How can I be me if I don't bake? Why can't I be liberal with the olive oil and the butter, why do i have to measure things and count points? Why can't I be normal? Why is the world full of delicious garbage to eat? Why is every second commercial on TV about food? and every first commercial about someone with no weight problem? What kind of skewed message are the propagandists pushing anyway??

This is an epic, rest of my life drama. . and I need to get a grip!!!

I made some supper. . low fat, whole wheat mac and cheese. It was really good.
I ate 1 cup's worth. BLAH. I don't like 1 cup's worth. . i like more.

I'm seeing the pattern as I write it all down. . INSANITY! sanity. . INSANITY! sanity. Thursday night I was jubilant, high on control, happy -- like I could KICK FAT'S BUTT!! Today, I'm the one being kicked. ^&#$%^^%$ !!! pardon me.

I'm going to go for a walk now. As I get into this sixth week of 'health improvement' and vanity boosting, I realize I'm always going to be living with this familiar tension. The 'honeymoon' is over. . there will be days like this and they are usually on the weekend. I'm not sure why this is so. My Monday - Thursday resolve seems to evaporate when the sun sets on Friday nights. I am not without weapons of my own. .and working out is definitely going to be my weapon of choice. Maybe this is going to be my great equalizer?

oh great. .

i'm getting hungry.

arrrrrggghhhh!!

mending

2009-05-21T22:29:00.006-04:00

I was thinking today, as I was mending a favourite pair of worn workout capris.
Thinking about mending.
Does anyone mend any more?

I could have easily thrown the capris out. I didn't.
I've mended them before. But today I mended them again because I really like them.
I thought some more.
This question is far deeper than it seems on first thought.
Mending is more than sewing.
Mending is for more than things.

Of course its easier to look at flaws and toss.
Socks have holes?
Throw them out and buy more.
Your vacuum cleaner doesn't work any more?
Put it on the curb on trash day and get another one.
Shoes worn out?
buh bye. . in the garbage.
Zipper broken?
useless, it goes in the bag.

There are two things going on here. .

1. Things aren't made to last any more. They're made to throw away.
Much more profit to be had making disposable items than in creating quality goods.
Cars don't last. Houses go up in no time and fall apart. Appliances give up the ghost. I have a perfectly functional 1950 Westinghouse oven. . yes my stove is 59 years old and all we do the odd time is replace a fuse. It amazes me. Be even more amazing, Kelly Ripa and Electrolux, i dare you. If I went out and bought a brand new oven tomorrow, I'd be lucky to get 5 - 10 years out of it and those years would not be without servicing.

2. We have no patience to fix. We're so ready to give up. Throw away. We didn't make the thing, we have nothing invested in it, we did not create, we did not design, we simply consume and discard.

This propensity of ours for using and tossing has crept into all parts of our brains.
We hit a snag. . we want to pack it in.
We have a rough patch, forget about it. . cut losses and move on.
Leave.
Effort?
blech.
Mend?
why bother?
meh.
whatever.

This alarms me.

Old fashioned isn't always bad.
Sock holes used to be sewn back together.
Zippers were replaced.
Vacuum cleaners were serviced.
Shoes were re-soled.

I think people thought that they might not be able to get another,
so they took great care with the one they had.
Preserving, conserving, protecting, maintaining.
Even when fixing was not possible and there seemed to be no use,
they got creative and found another use.
They valued.
They were more patient.

We live in a disposable world.
You name it, it can be disposed of.
No mending necessary.
Things
and
people
can be discarded
devalued
thrown away.

How can we stop?
How can we change?
I want to believe we can.

r-e-s-p-e-c-t

2009-05-08T23:30:00.003-04:00

I've realized something.
I really need to learn about respect.

I've been under the impression that I've been a respectful person,
but I catch myself all the time, losing my cool, making snap judgements, assuming,
keeping score of rights and wrongs.

Lack of knowledge is a problem.
How often do I resolve to invest my time in knowing?
Not in knowing for the sake of ego building,
But in knowing people.
I think where I find myself lacking respect,
I am most often lacking knowledge.

I don't know people well enough.
Don't know what they've experienced, don't know what they've accomplished, don't know their struggles, their joys, their fears.
Its too easy to go through the daily thing we all do and see people
but never really see them. Do you know what I mean?

I am not well known.
People don't know what I've experienced, accomplished.
Don't know my struggles, joys, fears.

I might not be easy to know.
I might hide, I might not trust. Maybe I'm afraid.

Why don't I know others? Why don't others know me?
Do I care? Am I cared about?
Do i take the time? Is time taken with me?
Ever regret caring? taking time? It doesn't always work out does it?
Sometimes the more you get to know someone,
the more you wish you didn't! Can you relate??
But so what? Why judge whether someone is worth caring about or worth my time? worthy of respect?
Who do i think i am, anyway?
As if I can dole out respect like a benediction upon the lives of others.
As if I can respect capriciously, selectively. .
we do this.
i do this.
and miss out on building character
on trusting and respecting God to help with the really tough things in life,
forgiving,
accepting,
listening
investing (i don't mean money)
loving.

Wow, is it ever difficult to have respect for someone who has hurt you.
Lash out. Run away. Pull back. Must self protect.
Is it possible to step back from the hurt and still respect some aspects of that person?
Yes, its possible, but no, not palatable.
Can good be seen if its mixed in with the 'bad'??
Or does the bad stand out so much, the good is overlooked? - like disclosing tablets chewed after brushing our teeth. .all the good brushing is obvious, but goes unnoticed. . all we see is the bright blue evidence of the bad, of what we didn't do right.

How do we make sense of our own dark and light? We're all mixed up.
We love and withhold love.
We bless and we curse.
We respect and we disrespect.
We're messy and mean.

I find as i live my days that there's a fine, fine balance in living.
A balance between listening and speaking.
A balance between being knowing and being known.
A balance between your inner and your outer being.
We all walk around every day with balance issues.
The imbalance causes all sorts of problems.
Too weak here, not strong enough there.
Too strong here, too weak there.
Injured.
Lopsided.
Off centre.
Big head, small heart.
Too much dis, not enough re

I've realized something else.
Although I never seem to learn, I really do want to.

mejor amigo

2009-05-01T23:50:00.002-04:00

my best friend

I was 14 the summer of 1977,
one month shy of 15.
I had a chip on my shoulder and a soft heart, waiting. . .
for him.

I wasn't going to go to camp that summer. I can't remember why.
At the last minute I enrolled as a music camp student.
I knew most of the others, we had been going there together year after year.
We walked across the field towards the boy's side of the camp. . . and there he was, the boy I saw last winter at the youth day in Brantford!

He was tall and lanky with Bay City Rollers hair and beautiful blue eyes.
I had come to youth day in our church mini bus with Mrs. Howlett, our guardian, who had a habit of squeezing my ribs until they were blue and making me give speeches and sing solos. The day played out, i have no remembrance of the speech i gave, but i remember feeling so conspicuous at the podium wearing my cream, brown and turqouise velour turtleneck, i was having a bad hair day, i wondered if he noticed me? *he hadn't!! ha ha!*

I remember trying to stay in his sights, but not really succeeding. He was hanging out with the people in his band, talking and laughing.
We had to leave and I still made no connection. . i moped all the way home,
sitting in that bus with that bunch of twirps.

Now, here he was at camp, this was my chance!
Luckily I knew one of his friends and several of my friends knew his friends, perfect!
He turned out to be extremely shy
so I had to make the move, trying to pull the Levi tag off his jeans at the canteen one afternoon. *it was a popular thing in the mid 70s. . don't ask why* I didn't get his tag, but I got his attention. . I guess so! grabbing at a stranger's butt. From there we started to talk and laugh.

That evening we all hung out by the swingset next to the girls and boy's washrooms.
I told him that i thought i heard something in the bushes out back.
I wanted him to kiss me and I don't think it had occurred to him to do so.
So I showed him where it thought the 'noise' was coming from.
He looked at me and I looked at him and he suddenly got it.
We wandered down to the well next to my cabin and we sat and kissed.
Curfew sounded and we thought we'd better make a run for cabin check in.
He grabbed my hand to run together and I had this thrill in my heart i'd never felt before.
Magic.
That was it, I was smitten. . he was too, he told me later. . after an awkward morning at the flag pole where I was not looking at him and he thought I had changed my mind.
I just hated mornings and wasn't awake yet.
We spent the rest of the week hanging out as much as possible.
His cabin counselor saw us together the last day of camp, told us "It'll never last. Its a camp romance." I didn't believe him.
Time came to leave camp, I had no idea where he lived, whether i'd ever see him again. . he gave me his address, i gave him mine.
My parents took me home.
I cried the whole way.
He, as it turned out, slept all the way home.

How I could know after one short week that I would marry this boy?
But I did. I had no doubt. Didn't tell him for a long time though!
I told my girlfriend when I got back to school that September.
She thought I was ridiculous.

Today is our 28th wedding anniversary.
He still makes my heart jump.
I adore him.
32 years under our belt now.
I've lived with him 2 1/2 times longer than I had lived before meeting him.
the longer we are together, the more he means to me.
I guess you could call us oldly-weds. .
and sometimes it feels like a few decades have passed by,
other times it hardly feels like a few years.
I was never afraid for one minute to commit to marrying him.
We were just babies when we got married.
Our families, to their credit, never said we were too young.
They never said that we were crazy.
Maybe some people thought we were!! Okay, they probably DEFINITELY thought we were!! All I have to say about that is we outlasted a lot of them!

We've gone past buying 'things' for each other to mark this special day.
'I love you, so here. . here's some jewelry, here's some money.' That doesn't seem right. and we don't need to make the card companies any richer in order to tell each other 'I love you'. We can and do say that every day.
I feel like I was just a baby when I found this 'treasure' and i feel so rich knowing him.
This is a happy day. .

didn't ring true

2009-03-31T21:54:00.008-04:00

I had a blog post sitting in draft since Tuesday. . something about scratching the surface
i gave some awkward examples of how i do this in life
when i re-read it, it seemed like such b.s.
there was no heart in the words --
delete.

I stay on the surface in lots of ways,
use only a small percent of my brain
don't always take the time get to know others
i put things off, thinking i'll get around to them
try to do too much and don't do anything very well
i hear but maybe don't listen
special things happen and i don't often see them.

I get clipping along, on the hamster wheel
and I go on and on and on,
not really thinking,
automatic,
programmed,
then i'll get tired and ask myself:
"What is all this for?
Why am i doing the things i do every day, every week, month, year after year?
What does it all mean?"

I guess I could think of these questions like the pop up reminder windows in my Outlook calendar. . "IMPORTANT MEANING OF LIFE REALIZATION MOMENT IN 15 MINUTES. . 1. OPEN 2. SNOOZE. 3. DISMISS."

I know in my heart that i exist because God gave me life.
I know he's a genius, I see him in the world and all that's in it and beyond it.
I make sense of my meaning as a human in the context of God's saturating presence in the universe and in my heart at the very same time -

As I get all angsty and self involvedly questioning about making sense of what I have experienced, i stop. . still entangled in my own flaws and those of others, losing the sight i've been given, a bundle of imperfections. . .and i read the paragraph directly above this one.

I know in my heart...
I know he's ...
I make sense of my meaning as a human...

Not dismiss
Not snooze
But open.

30 years on

2009-03-12T21:48:00.007-04:00

a tale of two pictures.
2009 and 1979

woman me
child me

i found the grad picture when i was cleaning a closet last week.
It really upset me.
Surely this fresh faced girl with the "70s Show" hair isn't me??
17 and not a line on my face.
47 and no comment.
I have this thing about aging.
I don't want to do it, but age doesn't care what i think about it.
30 more years from now?
I won't be posting pictures.
There's something undignified about losing youth.
But at the same time, age and experience can really develop character and wisdom.
I feel wiser than i did when they took this picture,
but I still feel very unfinished.
I have fading memories of being 17.
When I'm 77, i'll have fading memories of being 47.
hmmmm. .
deep breath.
I am trying to keep it all in perspective.
Its weird,
and wonderful, i guess?

what's happened to songs?

2009-02-28T20:14:00.003-05:00

i've been alive long enough to notice that songs are different than they used to be.
the tunes are different. the words are different. they feel different, not good different. I'm not stuck in a golden time warp where everything must be tra la la in the grassy, sunlit meadow. Life has shades, some are dark. Songs are great expressions. But something is going wrong. . has gone wrong. I had a mind to compare the flowery lyrics and treacley tunes of eras past -- and they were beautiful, romantic, idyllic -- then try to contrast these with the unvarnished, jaded even violent lyrics and aggressive melodies that have emerged. But i wondered where to start. A few decades ago? a century? further? I couldn't do it. I thought a sliver of a sample would be too little to back up my assertion and anything larger would be too tedious; like trying to capture a picture of something gargantuan with a cellphone camera.

I'm not sure its possible to separate song and music from the experience of human existence, language, being. No, I don't think it is.
Music and us, we're inseparable. Words and people, impossible to part them.
We evolve, songs do. We transcend, they climb with us. We degenerate, they deteriorate. I've noticed we're not transcending. I'm not even sure its possible for modern humans to do so any more. We think we know too much. We are advancing in enormous leaps and simultaneously falling backwards with shocking speed. Nothing seems to phase us. How difficult is it for us to be quiet long enough to breathe and think of more than playing, using and acquiring?
Can we appreciate, feel grateful?
Do we know how to own our smallness in the great vastness we have yet to acknowledge?We are too big for our britches.
seriously.

and because of all this, I think music has been suffering along with us.
I do think so.
We have lost something(s).
Innocence.
Awe.
Reverence.
Idealism.
lost.. .
going. .
gone?

music as barometer, mood ring, mirror. .
i think so, yes.
everything we experience, comes out in the songs. .

modern/postmodern tug of war
generational struggling
fears for the future
concerns for the present
spectres of the past
echoes of romance
love, all bruised and roughed up
anger,
disillusionment,
hope
and
dreams.

Most of the warriors

2009-02-22T11:44:00.002-05:00

"Most of the warriors I know have settled down to gardening and reading the Times.

Most of the warriors I know have unsaddled their stallions and built fences in their backyard.

Most of the warriors I know have died before their times and are forgotten,

save in the memory of their sons and the dreams they seldom share;

finally content to stare at people without passion."

source unknown by me. .

*this speaks to me on a couple of levels. .
1. as a human on this earth - thinking of how easy it is to be selfish, not
truly caring about what happens beyond my small circles.
2. as a person has lost faith in 'church',in myself and i guess even in God?
I love him, but I seem to have lost my fire, my feeling that i can be a
'warrior'.

keepie uppie and other shenanigans

2009-02-08T18:31:00.002-05:00

Family lunch today was hilarious.
The grandkiddies were over as usual. Their mom and baby sister were taking a break.
Mom had a headache.
Opa and great grandma got some Swiss Chalet chicken for take out and picked the kids up and brought them to our place.
Dinner was the usual pleasant chaos with the children.
Ants in the pants, not wanting to eat their food,
fidgeting and general sillness.
Maybe it was the full moon,
don't know. . they just seemed extra hyper today, especially Erica.
This always stresses Auntie KK. . Opa and Bala (great grandma) seemed pretty zen
and undisturbed.

After lunch James wanted to play Wii. . so everyone went downstairs.
Eri wanted 2 of her birthday balloons from yesterday's party to play 'keepie uppie'.
I love playing that, so her and I did this for quite a while.
Eventually I suggested we try to play this while kneeling. . made it more silly and
challenging.
Then I said, let's lay down and try to play it that way.
We crawled like worms along the floor. . it was too hard, so then Eri asked:
"Nana, let's get a balloon and you can blow it up and make it do the fart noise."
When it comes to blowing up balloons and letting them go, I'm like a giant child.
I LOVE that absurd noise they make and the crazy loops they do in the air.
I told her to go upstairs and get one.
She giggled all the way.
We were positioned behind James, Rob and mom, who sat in front of the TV, with their silly Wii British car racing going on. .

I blew up the balloon and made silly faces with each breath.
Erica could not stay composed. She was laughing like a nut case.
I looked at her and whispered: "Should i let it go now?"
She gave me the go ahead and i let go.

PLFFFFFTTTTTTTTTPPPPLLLLLTTTTTTTFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!
The balloon whizzed around like a flying whoopie cushion. . and landed with a sudden, slight plop near Jimmy's feet. If the sound alone wasn't hilarious, their reactions made it even funnier. .
I just about peed my pants laughing.
Mom let out this "Ohhhh!!" and James, who had no clue what we were up to,jumped in his seat and said "Heyyyyy!" Erica was screeching. .

Rob lay on the recliner and opened one eye.
KK read the People magazine in the back corner.
They didn't get it.
Anyway, we did this several times, and each time we laughed like idiots.
Then Eri decided that we should launch the fart balloons from up on the stairs, directly over their heads.
I told her to get two more balloons and we'd let a few go at the same time.
I made my goofy balloon blowing faces,
she howled with laughter, which made it hard for me to blow them up for laughing, this made her laugh more. . we were out of control.

We had many more successful bombing 'attacks' which startled James and Bala every time!
Suckers!!

James then wanted to get in on the game, and as he put a balloon to his lips,
Erica warned him sharply: "Jimmy, that's got Nana's spit all over it!" and he dropped it fast. That pretty much put an end to that. .

He went back to his Wii. . Eri and I got out a puzzle.
We worked on that for a while. . lying on the floor.
I put my head down on my outstretched arm and said "I'm sleepy" and yawned.
Eri started singing:
"Rock-a-bye bay. . .big girl, on the tree tops. When the wind blows the cradle will rock. When you sit in the cradle it will break into a fousand pieces and you will come crashing down, pieces and all."

I laughed for 10 minutes, solid.

crazy food memories

2009-01-30T21:21:00.008-05:00

i had the jar in my hands last night
and then I looked at the 'nutrition facts' label
and put it back on the shelf.
*E.D. Smith Lemon Spread*
Brings me back to memories of eating buttered toast spread with this tangy
lemon gloop.
I realize now that this is prepared lemon curd filling
At the time I cared not what it was called, i just liked it.
I have a special place in my tastebuds for anything lemony.

When i was a kid I used to practice eating lemon wedges
without pulling a face.
I thought this was an amazing feat which I
would demonstrate to my sisters and friends.
They were quite underwhelmed.
I went through this intense phase of lemon eating in grade 4.
I remember standing by our neighbour, Mrs. Clemente's backyard trellis/gate,
sucking on a ridiculous lemon,
inwardly cringing and trying to keep a straight face.
She looked at me and remarked:
"You know dear, eating those will stunt your growth"
I looked down at her and smiled.
She must have been 5' . . i had a good 5 or 6 inches on her at the time. . and grew to be 9 inches taller by grade 7.
Or perhaps she was right and if i hadn't gone through
my lemon phase, i would might have been 6 feet tall??
I guess i'll never know!

This whole thought train started me reminiscing on some of the strange foods we used to eat back then.

Fruit Float -- this strange and chunky tinned fruit slush got mixed with milk and formed a layered 'pudding' in which the 'fruit' rose to the top. we loved it. . not sure why?

Whip 'n Chill -- now this was amazing stuff. . little packet of dried powder you shake into milk and beat into an airy mousse. Chocolate and strawberry were the best. Vanilla tasted like preservatives.

Tang -- good enough for the astronauts, good enough for us? I have no clue what was in this powdered, freeze dried, koolaid on steroids, i'm sure loads and loads of sugar, but it sure was yummy. My granddaughter, Eri, is almost five. She already lectures the lot of us on eating 'helfy' sugars. They're teaching junior kindergarteners about fructose, glucose and such. Very cool. She'll be considerably 'helfier' than her Nana.

'Sharpie' cheese tubs -- our father was especially keen on this aged cheddar spread --- i don't recall liking this very much. . smelled like gym socks - i had no palate then.

speaking of our father. .
this man would make himself raw spanish onion and liverwurst sandwiches, then get us in a head lock and breathe on us. .

Kraft pizza in a box. . this little kit came with a packet of dry dough mix, a tin of pizza sauce and a sachet of powdered cheese. . very popular in the 60s and 70s. . why?? it made the yuckiest pizza IN THE WORLD!!!

Alphagetti - tinned alphabet pasta in tomato sauce. oh geez, what Canadian kid didn't grow up on this stuff?? toast and alphagetti was practically sacred.

"Wagon Wheels'. . disgusting biscuity circles with chewy marshmallow middles, enrobed in a waxy, tasteless chocolate coating. . lunch box staple of the early 70s -Truly despicable.

"Peter Pan" puffed wheat cereal in a bag. . .yeah, a feed bag!! This stuff, i thought, was only fit for horses. it had a strong, malty kick. *shudder* Our mother insisted on buying this because it was always on sale. Gee, I wonder why?? Perhaps because NOBODY FRIGGIN' LIKED THIS STUFF??!!! No amount of sugar in the world could help this taste good.

"Jiffy Pop" popcorn. Shake this foiled wonder over your stove burner and watch it puff up like a magic, silver turban. We seldom got this, because it was 'too dear', but we always begged for it.

speaking of popcorn, there was this stuff they sold that came in a plastic double pack. . the one side contained popcorn kernels, the other side contained this glob of flavoured coconut oily margarine that you squeezed into your pot, and popped the popcorn in. Oh my gosh. . i'm starting to think my entire childhood will land me in the heart clinic by the time I'm 60!!

"Lolas". . triangular frozen 'popsicles'. Cut the top of the waxed cardboard container and push up from the bottom. I loved the purple ones. .

Swanson frozen TV dinners. . heat in the oven, peel back the foil and eat your salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, corn and fruit cobbler. These were a considerable step up from the frozen fish sticks and french fry suppers our father would 'make'.

'Pimento loaf'. . luncheon meat studded with little dots of pimento. . used to poke them out and look at all the holes. So fun.

"Premium" soda crackers are still around, but what makes me remember these was the way we ate them -- slathered in butter, then sandwiched together to watch the butter extrude through the cracker holes like little worms. Why in God's name would we butter these already loaded with shortening crackers?? This worries me. We were such ignos.

"Sarah Lee" frozen layer cakes. .oh my gosh I'm such a sucker for sweet things, esp. cake and icing. These were little rectangular cakes that you sliced and ate. There was a little liner of waxed paper on top of the icing. We'd fight over licking the icing off the paper. It wasn't pretty. Sometimes we ate these frozen if we were too impatient to let them thaw.

ah well, the only thing I sincerely hope is that our years of eating utter crap are somehow atoned for by the all the fibre, probiotic yogurt, organic flax eggs, quinoa, whole wheat bread, lean meat and truck loads of fresh fruit and veg I now consume. Don't be fooled. .I have a pumpkin cheescake sitting in the fridge right now. . there's a jar of Nutella in the cupboard and a bag of chocolate peanut butter bites beside it.
*My inner child is alive and well*

change is certain

2009-01-20T18:44:00.002-05:00

its funny how i can be amazed by the constant changes in life
not sure why i find that amazing.
Isn't that what life is? change?
its also funny how i can also be put in a trance by 'same old, same old'
lulled into thinking things can be old
when every day they're new
maybe its a simple matter of being tuned in?
maybe its a simple matter of looking around?
looking up,
remembering how things have been
then observing how things now are.
looking forward to how things can be,
will be
or maybe dreading?
depends. . .

these are uncertain times
but haven't times always been so?
shifting
and moving
under us
around us
disrupting our illusions of stability
'was' is always evaporating
'is' is always evolving

what is uncertainty
but looking for the certain?
good certain..
not always finding
and fear skulking
and hope longing to spring
apathy desiring to smother
faith ready to leap

pursue change
or run from it
fear it
and crave it
handle it with fingertips
or embrace it
feel powerless
feel indomitable

how often do i go back and forth
between these?

this is how i'm feeling today
tomorrow is subject to change

everyone's talking about it. .

2009-01-07T23:20:00.002-05:00

In January people start feeling remorseful
about how much food they ate
and ate
and ate
and drinks they drank
and how late they stayed up
and how little they exercised
(shopping doesn't count)

Its strange how celebrating makes us eat like pigs
and spend money like sailors on leave

So now many of us are 'smartening up'!!
Myself included.
Being good.
Eating regularly
and more nutritiously.

You know, I feel better already.
I'm eating well. .nice, healthy food.
I'm not buying endless bricks of butter for all
that baking
and there are no more cookies, squares, treats left around the house
thank God.

maybe i should pay more attention to all the cardiologist's reports we process at work and really THINK about making sure that I never end up needing their services.

Happy resolving to all of you resolutionists!!! I resolve to make being healthy a neverending pursuit - no more rollercoastering.
*i hate rollercoasters anyway!*

dreams

2008-12-26T23:13:00.003-05:00

she was in my dreams the other night
after a very long hiatus
. . . my Nana

i sure miss her
she's been gone for, hmmm. . for . . .
over a dozen years now

I've had many dreams about her,
dreams too of my grandfather,
but mostly of Nana

Nana had a bad leg.
It couldn't bend and was shorter than her good leg.
It gave her quite a pronounced limp.
When she was 16, she was walking down the street,
a drunk driver jumped the curb and plowed her through a basement apartment window, leaving her hanging from that windowframe with a shattered limb.
The doctors did their best. . they put in pins and rods, which were attached to external fixation. This remained in place for I don't know how long.
They would turn these pins to lengthen the leg, to try to match the other.
but the doctors said she'd never walk again
never have children.
She would not listen
and she did and she did!
She was feisty and tenacious
someone i greatly admired
and sorely miss

When i dream of her, she's perfect.
No limp, no shortened leg
no rheumatoid arthritis crippling her hands
no dense stroke or inability to speak

In one of my early dreams after her death.
She was fresh and young
sitting cross legged on the floor,
telling me: "God wants us to be like little children, Kathie."
She was so 'light' and joyful. . not serious
I could not believe that she could do that. .
sit like that.
It made me so happy.
Her message to me was perfect at a time when things felt so complicated.

I always go there, to her house, in my dreams.
I miss it.
University students live there now.
They nuke popcorn in the kitchen where my sisters and i jumped on
all the black tiles,
then switched to the white ones. .
where the cuckoo clock delighted us,
with its chirpy occupant
and its interesting pine cone weights, hanging..
They sleep in my grandfather's study. .
where his books lined the back wall from floor to ceiling,
where we typed notes on his ancient black Remington-Rand manual typewriter
and sat at his desk, in his big chair
They neglect the backyard gardens that were my grandparents' pride and passion,
where memories of clematis vines climbed ghost trellises and white nicotinas and pale nasturtiums hugged the foundation walls.
They sit and watch DVDs in the front room we Christmased in. .
where the Christmas tree, complete with spun glass 'angel hair' stood.
the front room in which my grandpa would bounce us on his knee and give us
sandpapery 'whisker rubs' on our cheeks.
The room in which they kept a bowl of candies for us to eat. .
licorice babies, satin mix hard candies, humbugs.
They Macbook in the room i've hidden from my sisters in, while playing. .
in the room i threw up in on sleepovers
They store their beer in the place where i sat and watched Nana
shake Fells Naptha soap powder into the round tub of her turquoise wringer washer
and push the clothes through the ringer with the end of a wooden spoon
They store boxes in the area where the "Rogues gallery" picture wall displayed black and whites of our baby Uncle Vic with his rosy coloured in cheeks, our child mother walking downtown with our young grandfather, our Nana, dressed like a 'flapper', and various unsmiling 'strangers',greats and great greats. . old fashionedly dressed trunks of the family tree. .

I never have a dream where I am not in that house. .

Whenever we have occasion to drive to my birth city
The van will end up on their street
and I will sit and look at that house. .
and it will always be theirs
and I will always have crawled across its floors with chubby knees and learned to talk in it
and sat on my orange stool at the counter and watched Nana cook
and ate fine meals in it
and climbed its stout maple on the front lawn
and been a granddaughter in it
and been loved. .

Nana introduced me to my grandfather's father the other night
She told me to be mindful not to
disturb him.
I've never seen a photograph of him,
i don't know what he looks like
he drowned in the Grand River and left his wife and children alone
in a new country *they had come here from England*
He sat at my Nana's kitchen table
He was slim,
with dark, wavy hair
and a moustache
He was dressed in antiquated clothing
He didn't speak to me
but he looked at me
and i looked at him
and then they were gone
and i was back home
i looked over at my sleeping husband
and thought "Wow, what was that about?"

I have strange dreams
but often they are
so
significant to me.

groceries

2008-12-20T20:09:00.004-05:00

the distance from my hip joint to my ankle = 90 cm
my grocery store receipt from today. . . 90 cm long
I'm 2 of today's grocery receipts tall (minus 5 cm)

a grocery receipt 90 cm long??
that's
35.5 inches

that's
.5 inches shy of 3 feet.

$273.24
yes,
i know. .
here come the reasons:
we were quite depleted
hadn't been for a full order in 2 weeks
not all of it was 'feast' shopping. .
there were a few stocking stuffers
a small gift *we shop in one of those lovely, palatial almost-everything-you-could-need stores*

there were 2 x 40 kg softener salt bags thrown in
there were staple items in the cart. . .
cereal
bread
pasta
vegetable oil
milk
veg
fruit

We could have purchased an organic, free range turkey. . for $55
Our bill would have come to
$300
we paid $29 for one instead.

it costs to put on a holiday meal
we all expect that
but it never fails to shock

fresh herbs
turkey
potatoes
veg
Christmas Day trifle ingredients
Christmas Eve pavlova ingredients
butter
clementines
egg bread for the stuffing
stock for the gravy *there's no time for home made*
pop - Canada Dry gingerale
We won't even itemize the baking ingredients I've bought in the past month and a half
I would estimate that cost to be . . .
ridiculous
despite economizing
without sacrificing
ingredient quality
everything costs so much lately
but we must
have
our
feast

"There'll be turkeys for basting and stuffing for tasting
and giblets and gravy will flow. . .
there'll be cookies that mom baked and leftover fruitcake
from a Christmas a long time ago. . ." (excerpted from "Its the Most Fattening Time of the Year" )

its wonderful
but its also kinda
wrong
is that the word?
Maybe. . or not.

I was trying so hard to stay
calm
but
buggies closing in behind me
holding up 'traffic' in front of me
clogged aisles
massive checkout lines
Christmas Muzak
people, people..
left me all nerve jangled
and irritable

Because of God's tender mercy, the light from Heaven is about to break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide us to the path of peace. Luke 1:78/79

yes,
yes.
how easily i lose sight
of the beautiful truth.

'christmas'

2008-12-07T20:20:00.007-05:00

help my heart
find
yours.
Christmas keeps
getting
in the way.

i see?

2008-12-02T23:28:00.004-05:00

my sight is pretty good
but sometimes i just don't see very well.
faces, objects, locations, my eyes view them and my brain processes the images
there is seeing
and then there's vision

i pray that the eyes of your heart will be opened, in order that you may know the hope to which He has called you Eph 1:18

i don't ever just want to look
or see
eyesight is great
but i want heartsight
and this comes
not without cost

kilograms and pounds

2008-11-25T20:38:00.004-05:00

Tonight I went to the "you're not allowed to leave until you spend at least $150" store.

I bought several gigantic things. See?!

Yes, that's 2 kilograms of chocolate chips
and the same amount of coconut

What will I do with 8.8 pounds of chocolate and coconut?
I will singlehandedly make it all disappear!
shocking but true.
cookies
squares
tarts
truffles

yeah. . its that time,
Christmas baking time!!!

help me. .

2008-11-20T21:35:00.003-05:00

Rob and I went to see "Great Big Sea" last night. What an amazing show they put on. We're pretty partial to their unique sound. They straddle the time-honoured shanty, ballad, sea song world of their beloved Newfoundland and the right now world, with honest, straight up lyrics and engaging, catchy tunes. They pretty much hosted a huge 'kitchen party', with fiddles, concertinas, dobros, tin whistles, guitars, drums and a jumping, stomping, full to the doors crowd.

Usually when there's a big event at concert halls, arenas, etc. you'll see the homeless or the desperate for money.
Last night was no exception.
The crowd was streaming outdoors. . we were in it, doing the 'shuffle', you know that one we all do when in a big pack of people trying to funnel out too few exits?
We finally got out the door and turned right to go towards the underground parking.
That's when I saw him.
Sitting on the freezing cold, snowy sidewalk.
Dirty and thin.
Grimy khaki ballcap on his head.
Dressed in not warm enough layers.
Looking down,
cardboard sign in his lap:
"Cold, hungry. . please help me. God Bless."
People passed him, laughing and talking, buzzing from the concert.
He sat invisibly on the sidewalk
nobody noticed him,
he looked at no one.
My heart felt a stab, but i walked past with the crowd.
My head started with the rationalization - 'he's just working the situation'
'he's probably gonna spend any money he gets on something he shouldn't'
'you don't have any cash on you'.
Heart prevailed, foolish maybe, there are always maybes that come to mind. . but i pushed them away.
Rob gave me a few bucks, cuz I had no money.
I walked up to him. He looked up at me with dark eyes and said hello.
He looked tired.
I handed him the money and said that I hope it helps a little bit.
I asked him where he was living.
He told me "Under the bridge".
hard, frozen ground and snow.
Why?
I don't even know.

I asked him if there was any place he could go to get out of the weather.
He shook his head no. . and looked up at me and said: "Last night was hard. . it was so cold."
He held up his palm with the money in it and said "God bless you, thank you. "
I could only blurt out "God bless you too. .I hope you can find some shelter."
My words seemed all stupid and useless.
That piddling token will disappear with one trip to the coffee shop.
I know he's out under that bridge right now in this -5 degree night.

". . .is anybody listening...?
love is kneeling - above the broken body the ever-upturned face
love is missing - all the words are broken, help me, i cannot find my way,
no i can't
love is streaming - streaming with the tears that we cannot seem to shed
love is frozen - frozen in the figure they just pulled from the subway grate
love is burning - burning with the anger that we all feel, against which we
kneel,
our faces pressed into the lap of loneliness, come on love
will you sail 'cross the water and lay your wisdom down?"

Jane Sibbery -- "Sail Across the Water"

weakness is strength??

2008-11-16T16:39:00.004-05:00

weakness.
we're born weak and usually die the same way.
We begin with weakness, utter dependence, we build and build our strength, independence. We grow. We may experience many dips and climb back up out of them somewhere in the middle there. . but finally we taper off once more, declining,waning,losing all that we had worked had to gain,
making it all seem like an illusion
which in a big way it is.

I remember back, feeling so proud to be a 'big girl'... riding a two wheeler, swimming and skating on my own, crossing the street without an adult. I was so impatient to grow up, be older and stronger, be taken seriously. I have this memory of flexing my bicep to my dad, saying "Look how strong I am, Daddy!". He poked the muscle and jokingly said: "That's just a sparrow's kneecap, kiddo." I remember being mightily offended. I thought I was so strong. He knew otherwise. As life progressed i went on to bigger and better things like having my own library card, taking the bus, using the stove by myself *and setting the oven mitts on fire*!getting my first babysitting job, my first Royal Bank of Canada, "Leo the Lion" account, learning to drive, choosing courses at school. .

We all feel that same hurry to grow up, be older, be independent, live on our own. Proper thing too. The alternative is unnatural. To stay dependent is not right. Independence is our much desired goal. . and well along on the way to meeting that goal, most of us easily fall prey to the notion that we have accumulated lots of knowledge. This exposes us to the danger of unteachability. We set up like cement. We've arrived. We're strong. We have a stockpile of mantras and dictums and we believe most of them... make it happen, believe and achieve, good better best, never let it rest, upwardly mobile, only the strong survive, what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger. .these help us to climb. . but just when you think we've arrived, there's a sudden encounter with weakness.

Whomp!

You're very sick.

You've had surgery.

You've received terrible news.

Your health is under attack.

You've lost your job.

Your marriage is on the ropes.

Your best friend is dying.

All your strength. Where is it?
You feel as weak as a kitten.
You are weak.
But you're supposed to be strong. This wasn't in the plan.
This is too much.
Can't do it. .
faced with weakness,
the illusion of control is gone
your strength had convinced you that you strength was all
but weakness is here to teach you that your strength is not all.
Not even close.
When weakness comes to you, it is very often your maker telling you:
"My gracious favour is all you need. My power works best in your weakness."
I think the only times he can get our attention is when we are helpless,
like babies.
We've all been conditioned in order to survive. . get strength, be strong, keep strength.
Like a child who tells their grown up: "No! I want to do it myself!"
Like we tell each other "Thank you, but no, I can manage."
Like we tell him, "I've got this."
When we really don't and we can't.

This is why weakness comes, to punch holes in our resolve and stoicism.
and let us feel vulnerable.
and let us rely on someone.
our cleverness is a trap
our bravado is a cloak full of holes
and friends may pull away,
then we are privileged to know
that there is but one to rely on,
who helps us gain knowledge,
reverse knowledge,
paradoxical knowledge of the purest kind.
that our strength is an illusion
that punched full of enough holes, and empty of our reserve,
we are finally able to receive the pure light of his strength.
It exceeds our capacity to contain it.
Here, in abject weakness, full of holes,
we shine.
the paradox is revealed
and we understand just a little bit
that living on his borrowed strength
is how we are healed

a little music and introspection never hurt anyone

2008-11-06T20:40:00.005-05:00

I'm enjoying some music listening tonight. . starting off with "My Last Amen" by downhere. ". . . I could swear I have two hearts, one to stay, one to depart the sad, tragic kingdom. and it burns me down to the core because I know there's so much more, its just a pale reflection. And it keeps me wanting that mysterious thing,like an outcast waiting to be loved." This genius song haunts and lifts me. "Somewhere in the grand design its good to be unsatisfied. It keeps the faith and hope a little more alive. . ." and i find this song to be such a great fit with my thoughts at this moment. . I'm happy and alone.

I'm sitting in the front room on the couch, lights out - ipod screen glowing.
I'm looking out the picture window. . .and i'm seeing a falling star! its flaring all silver, streaking downwards, making me feel more alive as it dies. . . i feel like a kid! Its like God is saying "Look!". I know the scientific explanation for this phenomenon, but i prefer to see it with awe. Awe is so undervalued, underexperienced.

Each day this week i have wanted so much to escape the confines of hallways, fluorescent lighting and offices.
Weather has been glorious and warm for November, such a beautiful aberration.
Remaining inside and at the desk felt almost impossible. . . the river was calling to be canoed and my bike spoke to me from the shed at home, i heard it say it was lonely.
My fading tan was whispering: "Sun, i need it, i'm dying."
The ringing phone, the crowded task bar on my computer and all things tediously urgent and pressing held me fast and nearly against my will.
I've been so restless.

In the hospital halls where for a quarter century i have walked and worked and tried to keep the balance as a community member, an employee, a some time patient, a co-worker, being taught, teaching, feeling inadequate,capable, hassled, humbled. I have met and gotten to know and said goodbye to so many people - but i feel the imprint of them all within myself and this presses and holds me equally fast and in total willingness to stay, to do more than just ricochet off of each other. . to see each other. Restless to go past the surface.

I've realized that much of living is about feeling restless in some way or another. .

Restless for change. . (but afraid of how it might look or feel)

Restless for honesty - but if everyone was honest, could i handle that?

More often for me I feel restless in my spirit. . i don't mean my soul. . my emotions and will, they're so contrary, I can't go by them.
Deeper.
Sometimes I think i had a little flash of insight, i see that there's more, I know that I'm not made to be shallow. . and I long for the depths,
i can almost hear him say to me: "You're so close, don't be satisfied with less. . come on!"
but just as quickly, like a little child looking at something else that catches her fancy, i turn and break the connection, never completely because I'm drawn, always.

". . .And it burns me down to the core because I know there's so much more, its just a pale reflection. And it keeps me wanting that mysterious thing,like an outcast waiting to be loved." Thanx, downhere, your words always strike a chord. . no pun intended.

The Holy Spirit

2008-10-31T20:25:00.002-04:00

May the Spirit
Bless you with discomfort at easy answers,
half truths and superficial relationships
so that you will live deep in your heart

May the Spirit
Bless you with anger
at injustice and oppression,
and exploitation of people and the earth
so that you will work for justice, equality and peace.

May the Spirit
Bless you with tears to shed
for those who suffer
so that you will
reach out your hand
to comfort them.

And may the Spirit
Bless you with the foolishness
to think you can make a difference
in the world,
so you will do the things
which others say cannot be done.

-- source unknown --
(wherever this came from, its magic)

Passchendaele and a trip to the book store

2008-10-29T19:25:00.008-04:00

A few months ago we saw the trailer for the movie "Passchendaele" and we both put it on our must see at the theatre list. Some movies are just meant for the big screen.

Rob mentioned the other day about going, I was definitely down with that.
When we got home from work yesterday, Rob went to the computer to check the movie listings. . . "Its playing at the Galaxy at 6:20". . .i thought that sounded great. "Oh, wait, its also playing at Empire at 6:50". This second bit of news perked me up. . I said, "How about we go to Empire, then i can make a quick trip to Chapters before the movie!!"

Rob indulges me every time I suggest going there. Its not his favourite place, but he knows i love it and I love him for that and a million other reasons. I had to reign myself in once we got there. . we didn't have too long to wait. I stayed just long enough to use my 'loyal member' extra discount coupon, which i got to use on top of my normal 10% member discount.. so sweet.

I bought a couple of books: "The White Rose, Munich 1942-1943" by Inge Scholl. . This one is a true story of two university students, a brother and sister, who were decapitated by court order for their involvement in the White Rose movement. This movement produced anti-Nazi propaganda and provided material assistance to victims of national socialism. It sounds intense. I suppose i will cry with this one, or feel a 60 years on rage, which i won't know what to do with.

I also bought "Seeing" by Nobel prize winning author Jose Saramago. . I've never heard of him, but the jacket praised him out of the stratosphere, so I thought i'd take a chance. Besides. . it was a hard cover for $7!!! I started into this one first. . and I'm going to have to stick it out -- maybe. He's got a really bizarre style, all run on and on sentences, over description to the point where I'm impatient for him to just cut the crap. get rid of the too numerous adjectives, clunky phrases and thoughts stretched into thoughtlessness and just get to the bloody point! He's strangely sparing with his punctuation. Everything runs together in a 'stream of consciousness' way. I'm not averse to that kind of storytelling, but this is almost dizzying, reading on and on, without anything stopping my eye or my brain. It feels almost appropriate to take a small breather after each megasentence.

The story sounded timely and interesting. . voting day in a democractic 'capital'. . voters aren't coming out because of severe weather - then turn out en mass when it clears. 70% of the ballots cast were blank. The citizens rebel, state of emergency is declared as a revolution erupts. When i read the liner note I'm told, "What begins as a satire on governments and the sometimes dubious efficacy of the democratic system turns into something far more sinister." So far reading this book has almost maddened me and set my teeth on edge. I don't want to 'see' the effort in a book. I don't want to be aware of flaws and be unable to get past them when i read a story. I want it to feel natural and seamless. I want to be transported, not derailed. "Another invaluable gift from a matchless writer." ? That's what Kirkus reviews had to say about this book. Geesh. Nobel Prize award? glowing reviews from every American newspaper? I'm wondering now if i kept my receipt. Do you think they refund on marked down items?

Passchendaele could almost be another post. . perhaps soon with remembrance day upon us. The movie was so good, if that's the right word to use for anything about war? We eat up war movies, which seems odd for peace loving Canadians. I think its just our age. We were raised by families whose lives were refined in the crucible of war. . and this affected us too. Every war movie we watch may be our attempt to identify with and try to understand our loved ones. I've seen a documentary entirely about the battle of Passchendale and was so wrenched by it and so proud of our Canadian soldiers. What a bloody mess it all was. What torture, what loss and what 'victory' (however temporary). Aggression, killing, fighting. . its just hard to stomach. I find it odd to think that in 'peace' time people are punished for killing, fighting and in 'war' time they are given medals and promotions. I know it doesn't boil down just like that. Courage, patriotism, bravery, unity of purpose all mix in with the horror and chaos. Freedom of the millions weighs on the tired shoulders of men. What a paradox is war.

Why is it that we never value anything unless we're in danger of losing it?

Why does it take danger, suffering and grief to birth gratitude in us?

And why does that gratitude so quickly dissipate into a sickly, anemic sense of entitlement?

Mexico, Quintana Roo - Yucatan peninsula

2008-10-28T17:33:00.002-04:00

books

2008-10-26T17:59:00.002-04:00

Been doing some reading.

"11" by Leonard Sweet (11 indispensible relationships you can't be without)

Almost done this one. Here is an excerpt taken from the jacket:

"We all need some friends for the journey. . friends like Barnabas, Nathan, Rhoda, Zacchaeus just to name a few. Eleven of them to be exact. Without these people in your life, you'll miss out on the person you could have been. And without you in their lives, they'll miss out as well."

This book takes people from the Bible and puts them forth as embodied examples of positive character traits. E.g., Jethro was a motivator, Jonathan a true friend, Timothy an heir, Deborah was someone who had your back, etc.

I have eaten this book up. Its really causing me to think about just what kind of friend i am/have been to others. . and conversely, what kind of friends i have. Of course I sadly see deficiencies on both sides. Len Sweet was one of the keynote speakers at a conference I had the privilege to attend last weekend. I like how he thinks, outside of the box, unconventional yet gracious and godly. I really recommend this one.

Another one i have begun:
"A New Earth - Awakening to Your Life's Purpose" by Eckhart Tolle

A friend loaned this to me. She wanted to see what i thought of it. We've been talking about 'purpose', etc. I'm not too sure about this guy. . he's a "spiritual teacher" who dips into various pools of 'spirituality'. hinduism, buddhism, Christianity, zen, etc. The result is a kind of quasispiritual smorgasboard. A little bit of this and a little taste of that.For me, it can never satisfy. I'm in the 'ego' chapters now and they're actually quite interesting. The author talks about the arising new consciousness, meditation, enlightenment and so on, none of which seems particularly 'new'. . but rather ancient.

I follow Jesus himself. He's very much alive. This distinction puts him in his own category, light years from all other contenders. Other 'teachings' are words left behind, dried up on parchment,stone, manuscript. They can be 'good' but they can never be God. Having THE spiritual master to live with and be in relationship with, I'm not particularly interested in any kind of inferior counsel, but I am interested in dialogue with my friends, so I keep reading. Mr. Tolle does extensively quote and reference Christ. I'm not sure if he does so to have higher sales or because he respects Christ. Regardless, I'll finish it and hopefully my friend and i can have some good discussion at the end. She's been teasing me, saying "I want a book report!"

laxity

2008-10-20T23:42:00.002-04:00

i think Facebook has stolen my blogging time.
yep, that must be it.
After working on computers all day long at the hospital, checking email and Facebook when i come home . . . i'm pretty much tired of sitting, staring at a terminal and/or keyboarding.
poor excuses allfor not blogging,
yet legitimate.

i'm fighting off a cold and have been plagued with all of its yucky, attendant symptoms.
who doesn't hate catching a cold??
blah.

I fell right off the good nutrition wagon today.
it was ridiculous
and i had been doing so well.

i mean i was in such a mood after supper, i could have just kept shoving in all kinds of junk. I had 3 sqares of chocolate but that did nothing to stop me. I had pretzel sticks, (did i mention 2 cupcakes? i didn't? um, yeah i ate those too - they were small, but covered in twice their weight in ahem, buttercream) I didn't eat much at breakfast or lunch. . which i'm sure is what triggered this crazed feeling of binge-iness this evening. I even ate POTATO CHIPS and i NEVER eat those things!
I blame Rob for the chips.
He bought the stupid bag of "reduced fat" Cape Cods.
I think that was the first bag of those things we've had in this house in YEARS.
geesh. . . i ate some sour jujubes at work this afternoon because they were there. . pathetic.

i go to 'endless buffet land' in Mexico and LOSE weight, thank you, traveler's "indigestion" and now that i'm getting over that finally, i act like i've never seen food before. what is that about??

Deep breath. . .

Its done, and tomorrow's a new day, right?
the jujubes are gone
the cupcakes too
the chips? I'll leave the rest for Rob
the chocolate? maybe padlock the cupboard??
ask mom to stop buying us chocolate. . .

when i was a teenager i looked like a stick version of myself and ate Wunderbars, Harvey's burgers and fries at midnight, McDonald's hot apple pies, Laura Secord mint chocolate bars, banana splits - come to think of it though, i walked everywhere, rollerskated, swam and rode my bike. .

grrrr. . . i'm mad at myself. . I need to evaluate some things. .

i find these amusing. . .

2008-09-20T21:27:00.002-04:00

i was thinking today about words and how funny some of them sound.. .

here's a list of some of my favourites:

hootenany

frigate

oxymoron

behoove

effluvium

jujube

itchy

serpiginous

lollygag

buttocks

ninny

tipsy

spastic

woofer (must include tweeter)

dawdle

jalopy

hijinks

numbskull

pansy

wizened

muumuu

brouhaha

goo

back again

2008-09-08T21:12:00.003-04:00

I've been a very negligent blogger, i know.
sometimes lots of things happen but i don't know how to say them
do you know what i mean?
i feel kind of cut off from my ability to put any words together
sometimes we all get so busy living life, we may not take the time to document the details of the living

I've just eaten a peach and some fresh strawberries. . what a treat.
i'm trying to steer clear of unhealthy choices and enjoy the good for you stuff.
I'm reading a fantastic new book "10 Habits That Mess Up a Woman's Diet". Not the 'die with T' kind of diet, but just what kind of foods you eat, diet. I find it inspiring at this moment in my life, as i contemplate being middle aged and trying to do the best i can to avoid unnecessary negative side effects of aging. . it starts now, baby.. an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

I was talking to a friend tonight over tea and we talked briefly about getting all our news from the computer home page, just reading the headlines and skimming them in order to stay current, without the daily depressing broadcasted details. However, the home page 'news' is often a ridiculous assortment of stuff that passes for news. Pseudo news.
Why?
I'm not sure. . maybe the 'public' keeps this stuff circulating by eating it up with a spoon?
Why do i want to know that Lindsay Lohan kissed a girl and she liked it? is she a lesbian? who cares?!!
Brad and Angelina's twins have colic. . if that is actually true. . this needs world attention? pfftt! my babies both had colic. . big whoop
Baby bump watch - so yeah, apparently celebrities are always getting pregnant!!!
that means they're human, just like us!!!!OMG!! Sure. . we're just like them, with our nannies, chefs, personal trainers and stylists. AND we also go back to spinning and capoeira classes the day after giving birth.
Britney Spears' mother sold our her daughter by writing a tell all? This is unfortunate, not to mention low, but its just one more BS 'news' item, isn't it?
I thought after a bit of a break from the constant BS coverage that maybe they'd just stop. . . now they're off and running with more stuff - sales must need boosting.
Lily Allen told Sir Elton to eff off?! Is it treason to cuss out a knight? I'm not entirely sure who Lily Allen is. .
sigh. . 'news' should be new, none of this crap is new. .
sometimes it seems like there are only these celebrity people in the world and we real people are bombarded by often dubious details of the minutiae of their lives. It would seem that we exist just to be witness to their 'glorious' existence?
again, pffffttt!!!

anyway, i think i'm gonna go read for a bit. . it wasn't a bad Monday, really. My lack of sleep last night after another ridiculous bout of insomnia is beginning to tell at this point in the evening. . so, rest well, children.
good night.

on being an emotional creature

2008-08-24T20:15:00.002-04:00

its like this. .
feelings run the show for me
i don't always like it
but i can't seem to escape it
they ARE the boss of me!

feelings are bossy things.
they're not very rational
they're fiercely strong
sometimes completely out of control
dragging me along underneath
stinging, smarting and paining
sometimes they fly on notion and impulse
and i hold on for the ride

if they could be embodied, there are days i would hug, kiss and thank them
and days i could scold, smack and even drop kick them.
they take me off course, they waylay and even strand me
they bring me to wonderful emotional places i never want to leave
but they can just as easily leave me in flat desolation and take off without me
and i wonder when they'll come back and make me feel like me again?

love

2008-07-20T00:30:00.004-04:00

i've been thinking lately.
i don't think there is anything that can eclipse love
this force to be reckoned with
but who can reckon with, work out, calculate, think, estimate, or to take it into account?
the whole world runs on love
not gasoline
not money
not commodities. .

i think love wrecks you in the best possible way
wrecks your ego and your selfishness
wrecks your plans
wrecks you for settling for substitutes
substitution leaves a trail of broken souls
its true.
we wrestle with love
and we mistreat and misname love
and we shame love
and we blame love

love is more than we understand
more than we can process with grey matter
more than us
and our travails and our pursuits.
more than our fairy tale notions of what it feels like
looks like, acts like
and more than the roles we assign ourselves in the grand story
there are so many things that its not
and only one that it is . . .
pure

love is bigger than our attempts to contain it
as if we could stop the tides
or embrace the sun.
why do we think we can harness love and
assign it, dispense it like a controlled substance?
to those we deem deserving. . .
like we can handle purity with our filthy paws
and our grimy hearts and not understand that this isn't how love is

love is not a thing to had
love is a being, love is God.
i believe in love because i believe in him.
belief, disbelief? our certainty either way
doesn't change that love is him. . he is it
and he gives it and we take it
and don't see him in the gift
and we manhandle it and pass it around
but we don't give it back to him
and love suffers
we suffer,
cut off from the source
love deteriorates and we don't realize it
or do we?
i think we do.

i live with this longing to know love
to know God
i've squelched this yearning at times on purpose, or simply set it aside
it was like i was wearing blinders or my heart was frozen
where was he? where was i?
nothing made sense.

when i fell in love with my husband, i thought "this is real love" and it really is. but i used to feel like i was living the love songs, the chick flicks, the princess stories. . and i ate it all up and wanted more.
i had tacked this foolish and incomplete notion of love onto my heart
and wondered why it kept falling off and getting all dirty and trampled whenever i felt let down or unappreciated, or when grief or hardship came along
i soon realized that i didn't really have a clue what love was

love is not about gathering beautiful feelings or contentment or warm fuzzies into myself
love is pouring myself out. . not only to those who i know and hold in my heart,
but especially to those i know and don't hold dear. .
and this pains and smarts to do this and it works against my inclinations
i don't really like this
but this is love too

love comes from its source
there is no love apart from him
i have struggled to have this make sense sometimes,
so much talk of love, love, love, love all the time, everywhere, but
what is it really???? certainly not the conditional variety we seem to prefer.
certainly not the insulated, cozy coccoon in which to settle and enjoy, cherishing our tightly-woven relational circles
love is being angry with injustice
love is hurting for those who feel pain
love is seeing into people and appreciating their worth

what would this planet be like if all love was sucked out of the population?
what would happen?
what would emerge to fill the huge vacuum?
chilling.

i'm not sure why its easy to be blithe,
accustomed to
feeling entitled to love?
i've seldom thought so much about it
but as i do lately, i lose my footing and fall out of the notion(s) of what i thought it was and sink into the reality of who love really is
and here i find myself wanting to let go of false and take in true
love

intimate and interactive

2008-07-07T23:50:00.004-04:00

rethinking 'intimate' is on my mind lately
not because i'm averse to the commonly held notion of intimacy
not that its wrong
intimate is good. . but its more than
we think it is.
I want to expand that concept to be
inclusive
i want to push out that 'personal space' to make some room
i don't want to shrink from
being close

i want to reorder my thoughts, my heart
i want to be new
with old wisdom
that leads me
to the place of intimacy
like its meant to be
not how its always been perceived or practiced

i think 'intimacy' is misunderstood, even misrepresented.
people can be intimate, close, even adoring
but always there will be
some sort of division
some sort of withholding
no matter how 'big' we say we love
there is always a smallness to it
and a taint of self.
the things love requires,
we don't have the stomach for.
surrender
submission
we can warm up to the perverse interpretations
we give those two words
that just comes naturally.
but i'm thinking of the deeper, spiritual surrender and submission
of coming to know how to
let go
of self
and be given over to the one,
and there is only one and no other,
who knew your name before your parents conceived you
who saw your forming body
who gave you unique fingerprints
who set your heart muscle into life-giving rhythm
who numbered the hairs on your head
who remembers every moment you don't
who knows the pre-formed words in your mind before they are spoken
who knows all that lives within even the darkest recesses of your heart
and who doesn't push back and turn his head?

what lovers' kiss could be more intimate
than God breathing life into your unseeable and untouchable inner self?
can there be more intimate connection than being loved by someone without reservation
or cut off point?
this is what i want
nothing else

human intimacy waxes and wanes
it runs hot and cold
its incomplete,
lacking, even in its glory,
for it often is glorious --
it blanches and pales
when held up to the light of Him

vulnerable.
so leery of letting down our guard
people don't like to be vulnerable
harm comes to the weak
and weakness can feel shameful to us

Intimacy brings us to
vulnerability.
But we can appear vulnerable and not be.
sometimes we want to hide from being intimate
i guess its the risk
it can be too costly.

We may play games with each other,
but how can we escape intimacy
from the one who can't be played?
how can we lie to one who can't be duped?
can't
do
it.
even the illusion
of trying is pointless
that's life without true intimacy.. .
the illusion of pointlessly trying to evade and
run away from the kind of intimacy we crave
yet fear.
the position of
having no position, no defense --
that's real intimacy.
being viewed
in the searchlight of God
with no leg to stand on,
no excuse
flattened in surrender
knowing you deserve the worst
and being embraced

to be intimate is to choose to be.
choose the degree.
choose the intensity.
choose illusion or truth
but choose.

If intimacy was your home
who would be left on the step and who would be let in?
and how 'in' are they allowed?
are there bars on the windows?
a sawed off hockey stick in the sliding door?
dead bolts?
alarm system?

learning curve

2008-06-21T23:48:00.002-04:00

learning is so much easier for children
adults have a much harder job of it
there's a lot we have to unlearn in order to learn
there are obstacles that must be removed
we've worked so hard to get here -
the place of knowing
we've have had decades to become set,
like cement
nothing sinks in.
nothing short of a jackhammer can break up that concrete
noisy mess
destruction
removal of what was known
being in the place of unknown
relearning
feeling unwise, humble and small
hopeful

do you ever wish?

2008-06-08T00:26:00.002-04:00

i suppose its possible for people to go the whole span of their lives
without ever seeing anything truly fantastic
and i also suppose it depends entirely upon your definition of 'fantastic'

i'm inclined to think that there is so much fantastic going through us
and past and around us every day
and we are unaware
we are.

i often fail to notice the spectacular, especially when daily routine throws a cloaking device
over marvels and mysteries.
i miss things
when i take so much for granted the way i do

simple things that used to boggle my mind, but no longer seem to. . .
what is grass made of? i don't mean the breakdown of elements and such
but i want to know where did the elements come from? and how, together, do they make a blade of grass?

how is a grouping of rapidly dividing cells able to form a person?
i've read all about the particulars of cellular mitosis and division
and time tables of when and how and amniotic fluid and blood supply
but how are the cells given their widsom to do these things?
how does the soul/spirit permeate a developing human?
and how does it separate from the body with that last breath?
these things are fantastic.
mysterious

but somehow, i can only see grass and babies
these are miracles
they are things we could never replicate
or duplicate

computers are intricate servants
we have created
with chips and glass and wires
running the world now.
how fantastically frightening and thrilling
and yet sometimes all i see is keyboards and monitors
i hear about RAM and bits and bites and binary code
and i'm not amazed
am i crazy?

once we become familiar with something
we lose our wonder
looking for the bigger fix

i watched a movie last night
adventure
exotic places
amazing natural wonders
far-fetched and extreme situations
and i thought to myself:
"When have i ever seen or experienced anything so colossal?"
and i answered myself. . . "never"
and i'm sure everyone else in that theatre would say the same
which is why we were all there
vicarious bunch.
drinking in stories, true or not
with endless thirst for more

more amazement
more fantasy
to escape reality?
or to point to our destiny?

do you ever wish to be amazed?
astounded? shaken from the mundane?
i do. .
but i've begun to realize that perhaps i have been
and didn't even know it

puzzling

2008-06-02T23:05:00.002-04:00

some things exist but i really wonder why
i've been making a mental list and it goes like this:

Cheez Whiz
processed 'cheese food' / aka 'heart attack in a jar' WHY?! (goopy garbage!)

ditto for 'pork rinds'. . . yuck. What area of the 'rind' do these come from?? snout? 'nether regions'? gah.

back hair -- strange phenomenon, that is

centipedes -- these are not only crawly and gross to look at, but they're lightning fast and that makes them even scarier. . I cannot help screaming every time i see one

pale blue eyeshadow (this doesn't look very good on anyone)

pleather - sausage casing for humans,

vegemite??? spreadable brewing byproduct. .brown, yeasty and certainly nasty

plumber's butt?! ugh, this is gross

unsynchronized traffic lights -- stop, start. . drive one block, stop again and repeat and repeat

chocolate-flavoured 'baking chips'?! these are an abomination
right up there with artificial flavour extracts. .

'greenlawn' services calling our house every night at supper (thank God for call display!!) wouldn't they get the hint after several months of no one answering their call?

tapered leg, light denim 'mom' jeans??!! i'm seeing too many of these out there, people.

President's Choice "Chipotle Smokies Sausages" with 22 grams of fat per 100 gram sausage (BAD things come in small packages) boourns to Galen Weston for that craptastic fat content

"Just One Drop" 'bathroom product'.. "Just a drop before you 'go' eliminates embarrassing odour." Now there will be potentially millions of people out there whose 'sh#$ don't stink', literally. This seems oddly pleasing, doesn't it?
So this one doesn't really count.

shorts -- knobby knees, white skin, bandy legs and a whole lotta skin surface area that usually doesn't need to be shown - maybe they should only be worn by athletes and people with fantastic legs? (shorts frighten me!)

"Kraft Dinner". . . this stuff bites. Tiny, little insignificant tubes of pasta with that little sachet of freeze dried, powdered 'cheesy dust' your pour into the pot along with milk and butter. How do i hate thee, KD? let me count the ways. . to infinity and way beyond.

canned beets -- i have distant, childhood memories of these stinkers. I've never tried anything beety since.. can't seem to work up the courage

toilet paper rolls that won't 'start'. . . i've fought too many battles with these things, ended up with strips and shreds instead of squares.

shiny, shampoo add hair. . why don't i see this on anybody except the shampoo commercial models? Are they all wearing glossy wigs???! where can i get one?!!!

i'm so angry, why??

2008-05-25T22:49:00.002-04:00

its getting really out of hand
my anger
everything and everyone makes me mad
traffic
people
people
traffic

i don't understand it
but i think i'm having a meltdown
i don't want to go back to work after being on holiday for a week and a half
i told Rob i wish i could call in sick for the rest of my life
or retire
i wish i could have a personality transplant
i wish i was mellow and easygoing

in the dentist's chair

2008-05-20T22:44:00.002-04:00

i'm not sure why i don't like going for dental visits
i don't often have cavities, so its not like its painful
i still always find myself gripping the arms of the chair with whitish knuckles
and leaving the office with a tension headache.

don't you find it funny that when hygienists or dentists have every tool in their tool box crammed into your mouth, then want to carry on a conversation with you?
and all you can do is reply "mmmmffff"
can't even really nod your head or one of those sickle-like tartar scrapers might jog over and pierce your gums

i hate that scraping sound
also hate how it feels like they're scraping them within an inch of their enamel. . ugh
doesn't take long,
but its not the most pleasant thing, is it?

i had the drool bib chained to my neck like always
and that always makes me feel like a doofus.
There's not much to look at, the ceiling, the masked face of the person working in your mouth, the little stuffed creature was on top of the lamp,
a small grey mouse wearing a blue hardhat, a little bizarre, yes.
not the usual bunnies or chickies that are in the other treatment rooms.
Then came the brand new thing in the check up routine
Sunglasses??

The hygienist said: "Now, Kathy, you can put on these glasses,
to prevent glare from the lamp." I took them and put them on.
I said to her: "I feel strangely like Bono". . which she thought was hilarious.
Felt kinda odd, reclining with my spit bib on, looking like Bono, while having my teeth scraped.
The girl said "Well, wouldn't it be nice to have his money?"
and of course i said : "Mfff hmmfff", mouth full of pokey, steel instruments
and of course 'we' talked more about gardening and crappy weather, vacation bargains and such.. . . she talked, i mumbled unintelligibly. . but the strangest thing
is all these dental people seem to understand you perfectly!
its like they've all taken a course or something

i don't know if have any cavities, the dentist wasn't there today
but i was assured they would call me if the x-rays showed anything
i'm crossing my fingers, don't want to break my lucky streak i have going

oldness

2008-05-18T20:10:00.003-04:00

i have this aversion to 'old'
there's something so gross about aging
i have a real problem with it, always have
wrinkling and sagging,
shuffling and stooping
i find it all so distasteful
senior's moments, dentures, white hair
debility and weakness
i seems like such a cruel way to end up
after experiencing the excitement of childhood, the vigor of youth
and the productivity of the middle years
to end curled up and dried up
so undignified
so wrong

i had a grandmother who always looked 'old' to me
but she didn't live 'old'
she was kickin' and spittin'
feisty, independent
outspoken
smart
talented
compassionate in her actions
and amazing in the kitchen
for a time in my youth i had this notion that she'd never die
i thought of my grandfather in the same unrealistically immortal way - forever in his study, reading, writing for various publications, wearing his pile-lined slippers, eating his licorice
they seemed ageless to me
but time was not kind to them
strokes, bypasses, cancer
gone
time is that way with all of us
its like a double-edged sword, it can by its passage, bring promise and maturity, assuage grief, impart fantastic memories,
but it turns to cut us right in half in a matter of just decades
reducing us to mere shadows of our former selves
cruel

i know its all bravado to make claim that i will not succumb
i am fiercely determined to stay vital
still i feel the claws of age sinking in to my bones, wearing them away
so i take calcium and magnesium, i lift weights, i dance, eat good food
to keep the monster at bay
i think about my heart valves
i wonder about the condition of my arteries
i think about my liver and my lungs
i think of my muscles - i don't want to lose strength
who wants to be weak?

I wear my garlic necklace for the vampire of old age
but i don't think its working
I know decline is inevitable
i know i can't stave it off forever.

i can't read small print without my glasses
i hate this
my optometrist calls it 'middle aged focus'
I buy skin creams and treatments,
but still i see small lines on my face where none existed
i have 'white roots' which i battle to smother in colour
i have pain daily which grumbles on a good day
and roars on a bad one.

the 'circle of life' (sorry for the unfortunate Lion King association here)
is what it is
the part where you start off in diapers and eat baby food is adorable
the part where you end up in the same state,
well there's just nothing cute about that now,
is there?

how long to sing this song?

2008-05-15T21:56:00.002-04:00

it seems i'm good when it comes to lamenting
too good
i write enough about my 'feelings'
and God knows i think enough about them!
sometimes i get sick and tired of my angsty thought processes and i just wanna
yell to my own brain:
SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!!

the more self runs the show,
the more spirit gasps and weakens
the natural dichotomy, summed up
but i don't want to be 'natural'

its hard to live with major issues that remain unresolved
in a way i feel like the Queen of the Crowded Heart
adaptation is an interesting phenomenon
adapt to loss
adapt to struggle

but no protection is completely impervious
there are chinks in the armor if you look closely
usually though, people don't have time to come in for a close look

someone did this morning
and it surprised me, i didn't see it coming
a friend at work asked me "How are you doing?"
of course i said 'fine'
She challenged me to stop lying. .
and it jarred me
in a good way
i guess she could see through me?
and she was right

most of the people i work with think that the sun shines out of my ass
and this, they say in lunch table joking, bugs them.
i always tell them that if i was transparent
they'd probably all wanna find another table across the room!
even though i feel the sturm und drang within
i compress it and force it down
this may not be not great,
but it feels better to live above that stuff

anyway, i really appreciated the reality check
she's been anything but 'fine' lately herself
and i think is trying to make sense of all that she's experienced.

i said to her: "You know, you're right. . we shouldn't be afraid to be authentic, with each other . .what are we so afraid of?"

coming up for air

2008-05-07T20:49:00.002-04:00

sheesh. . things are so nuts lately.
can you relate?
work is well, the 'b' word. . i hate that word cuz it is THE default response to every "How are you" query.
"How have you been?" "Oh, bu@y"
"How was your weekend?" "It was so bu@y. . i need an extra day to recover"
crazy bu@y. .
insanely bu@y
too bu@y
friggin bu@y

i don't like to say that i hate a word, but i am very loathe to even mention it or THINK it, cuz it gives me heart palpitations.
However, i'm not so hypocritical that i don't admit to dwelling in the very state i despise - the state of bu@y. . bu@y state (b.s. for short)

Rob's mom has been so ill. . and now has come here and is staying in our spare room
until she recuperates a bit more. She's had quite a bad winter, and now this badness is extending into spring for her.
We sure hope she turns a corner VERY soon.

Rob and i are entering the demographic called the "sandwich generation". . .
new phase, next wave. .
life is interesting folks
and tiring
and joyous
and beautiful
not to mention perplexing
role reversing
unpredictable

want to say

2008-04-25T00:17:00.002-04:00

i want to say something worth something
but i've really had such a dearth of sayable things lately
its a mystery to me why sometimes words flow out of me like a swollen spring river
and other times they're dried up, dessicated
and i feel so out of control in that whole process
never have been in control
and now i'm tired
and i'm in a funny mood
and its a work night
and i haven't made my lunch yet
and i should be in bed

i hope you're well?
are you?

good night

words

2008-04-13T23:28:00.003-04:00

i heard some not so commonly used words in movie dialogue tonight:
hubris
perjorative
subsume

i found that exciting because
i love words, vocabulary
love the sound of them
love using them
love reading them

but i do love words for more than function

i'm fascinated by the power they contain

and yet terrified. .

i don't think we understand words in this context. . .

sometimes i think we humans talk too much

sometimes i think we don't talk enough

overcommunicate

fail to communciate

miscommunicate

the weight of words, their power
their link to action
what we say has a direct effect on what happens
or doesn't
speak too soon and it can be diastrous
speak too late and its the same thing
speak too much and the overflow of words spills away like run off
speak too little and the words dry up along with your ability to have a say
speak without action. . .
blah, blah, blah
act first, speak after = regrets, damage
speak lies = destruction
speak love = restoration

speechless?
does that happen often?
i think too little
and what can stop words?

awe -- is that something humanity is still capable of feeling? dropped jaw, dumbfounded

disaster -- often snatches the words from our mouths

sorrow -- smothers words, makes us put our hands over our mouths, physically showing that we have none

realization -- running smack into the brick wall of undisputed truth -- open mouthed, no sound

i think the trick is balance and wisdom
knowing when to speak and what to say
controlling the flow of words so there's no waste
but making sure to speak when its called for
understanding how your words affect others
knowing that from the overflow of your heart, your mouth speaks
what's in the heart?
whatever comes out of our mouth.

complaints
unkindness
criticism
f bombs and talk of excrement
hope
encouragement
double entendres
infidelity
truth
gossip
grace
love
prejudice
curses
blessing
prayer

i think i'm a bird killer

2008-04-09T22:40:00.002-04:00

I was heading in to work this morning, early. . . around 7:15 (well, that's early for me anyway!)
Driving along on my patented 'short cut' route for the impatient and speedy,
I made a left turn, rounded the corner and accelerated. That's when it happened.
You know how birds fly in small groups and they do that swoop, then rise thing of theirs?
Well, the front of my van met one bird still in the swoop.
I looked in my rearview and didn't see it pull up at the last minute.
I have a feeling it ended up on the grassy boulevard.
It was a plump, little robin -- harbinger of spring.
That's right, i killed spring, which is why the day started off kind of warm, then got considerably colder. . its all my fault!
I feel bad.

love random!!!

2008-04-03T17:18:00.005-04:00

today, i took my afternoon walk break through the hospital.
my lovely place of employment
i walked through the "A" wing, swung around the bend in the hall and took the furthest stairwell down to the basement level (this is part of my 'i can't stand sitting on my butt any more and i must get up' daily ritual).
On the landing of the stairwell sat this huge, random chair!
i realize this is not terribly exciting,
but there's never a chair there, it was so random

i don't know why but i love to see random things in places where they don't belong!

we have a running joke in our family. .

say we're driving along. .driving.. suddenly there's a shoe sitting in the middle of the road. One of us will say: "Random shoe". Then we laugh. ha ha ha haha. .we find this funny.

last spring i happened to look out the front room window and saw a woman walking a small horse. Random!! The whole family was here, having family lunch. We all went outside to talk to this woman and pet the pony.

i was in the lunch room the other day, fishing a pear out of my lunch bag. Janey was also in there getting something. I looked in the bag and 'bing'. . sitting on top of my food sat a random white serviette with "I love you" written in pen (Rob made my lunch). Random surprise! Yeah, i got made fun of. those girls have no romance in their souls! i did get a few "awww's" though.

Speaking of lunch. . . today i was digging around in my lunch bag pocket to see if i had a knife to loan Louise. . i did!
in the pocket i found a random, yellow ju jube!
of course i ate it
it was a bit stale though.

for me, "random" almost seems magical -- i didn't see it get there, it doesn't belong there, but is suddenly just there. i like that. .
a little randomness punctuating the routine pattern of every day.

what i won't do to travel. . . and other random things

2008-03-30T00:09:00.005-04:00

a couple of years ago i won a trip for two to a 5-star resort in Mexico.
It was a DREAM holiday and we LOVED every minute of our grand prize trip!!!

I was sitting on the couch the other morning, going through the grocery, store flyers and i saw a coupon/special offers booklet with a nice-sounding travel prize. .

I yelled out to Rob, who was in the dining room, "Robbie! We need to travel again. Look up the website www.cottonelle.ca!" He did and its one of those 1 entry per person per day. I like those. . the more entries the better. I guess it sounds lame that i think entering contests is our way of going on trips!? but it worked once. . it could happen again?!

The name of the contest campaign is a little unfortunate. . .

"Be Kind to Your Behind" sweepstakes. .

its sponsored by a manufacturer of toilet paper

i figure i can be kind to my behind by giving it another chance to sit in a 5-star beach chair! I wish!

and now for the random --

My granddaughter told me the other day: "Nana, I'm marrying Connor." I feigned surprise. . "Oh, really honey?!" Eri sounded nonchalant: "Yeah, i was going to marry Donovan, but he moved to Preston and I changed my mind." Oi! she's 4!!!!

An observation. ..

Canadians are crazy. . I say this with utmost love and all, being Canadian myself.
It can be fffreezing outside in this part of Canada in March, like it was today.
The sun shines and jazzes everyone. . and people start going outside with bare arms while there are still piles of snow everywhere?! It makes no sense. . but then again we're a desperate lot.

I watched a bit of a TLC show last night. . a thin British hypnotist was telling an audience of unthin people that they could control their impulses by tapping on their cheekbones, then collar bone, then cheekbone again, then the outside of their hand, while humming the first couple of bars of "the Birthday Song", looking down to the right, down to the left, around in circles one way, then the other -- don't stop tapping. . and voila, impulse is diminished? umm, yeeeah. Then came the call (host) and answer (audience) : "What should you do when you're hungry?" "EAT!" "What should you eat?" "WHAT WE WANT!" "How should you eat it?" "CONSCIOUSLY!" gosh. . i don't even know what kind of snappy, smart-ass comment to insert here!! If i consciously eat whatever garbage i want, every day will that do the trick? People are desperate? stupid? This guy's a sheister. . huckster, he's laughing all the way to BIG money, profiteering by making people tap themselves black and blue, rolling their eyes and singing Happy Birthday ?! BAH!!

2008-03-25T22:54:00.000-04:00

just another day off work?

2008-03-21T18:30:00.005-04:00

Good Friday
day off work and school
everything is inconveniently shut down
less time to buy marshmallow bunnies and hoola hoops

does a massive hush spread over the globe in honour of the most pivotal moment in history?
hardly
hardly at all
the liquor store is closed and no one can buy their beer

some people don't know anything about Good Friday
why is it called good?
what does that mean?

for me it means imaging what it would be like to be universally supreme
and amazingly not obliterating anyone who displeased me
even more amazingly, loving the ones who tested my love to the limits

it means agreeing then to be born into a mere body
growing up human, with all of those frustrations
still retaining my pure, uncompromised holiness
teaching and breathing reviving love
into the ones i created, who had died in their spirits. . . cut off from me
and having my heart wrenched and torn in the process and my body beaten and broken for them

it means bearing the collective tonnage of their sin, past, present and yet to be committed. . .. having it suffocate and invade my holiness. . .
genocides, homicides, wars, despair, grief, mental and physical disease of the billions, all manner of degredation, every heinous, vile act against every victim in the world's history piled high upon me, squeezing out my life, faces, voices, cries in my head, before my eyes

knowing that this was the only way to break sin's chokehold on them was the only thing that kept me strong enough to bear it

they were so worth every drop of blood,
not a drop was wasted. . . in my eyes their value is infinite
i could not leave them enslaved by independence,
shackled by pride
perishing and unaware
they needed me and i loved them deeply, to the death
and beyond

for me this is the heart of Christ on Good Friday.
this is what the Bible tells me about Good Friday
this is what happened
this is good??
this sounds bad
this should be Black Friday
my daughter thinks 'murderous mob Friday' (all the ones shouting for his death)

you may say this is hard to believe
you may not be comfortable
you may think i'm crazy
you may not care
you may be in tears, thinking of him
you may want to kiss his feet

however you feel,
belief or disbelief,
nothing changes the truth
not rejecting it
not ignoring it

nothing diminishes Love
not disregard
not pride
not indifference

Today WalMart was not open
no cheap chocolate was bought
the grocery stores were dark
the dollar stores were empty
But the sacrifice of Christ was reflected upon and appreciated by many
and that is good but the joy of Easter isn't in the death
for there is nothing joyful in that.
its in celebrating the resurrection,
and that is really good.

St. Patrick's Breastplate. . . an eloquent prayer

2008-03-17T20:55:00.005-04:00

When i was a kid, all i ever thought of at St. Patrick's Day was wearing green and Shamrock Shakes at McDonalds.

When i was a young adult, all i ever thought of at St. Patrick's Day was the day i delivered our stillborn daughters.

Now, as a middle aged woman, I have discovered there is more to this day than what i associated it with or how i felt because of it

Patrick (Padraig) was captured as a teen, sold into slavery. He escaped after 6 years of slavery and made his way to France, where he became a monk and returned to Ireland in 432, as a missionary. He made many converts to Christ among the Irish tribes. This is only a bare bones summary of his life.

I love the prayer of "St. Patrick's Breastplate". . its lyrical and beautifully spiritually authentic. This is my prayer, i love it - I have excerpted it here . . its quite long.

I bind unto myself today
the strong Name of the Trinity
by invocation of the same,
the 3 in 1, the 1 in 3

i bind this day to me forever
by power of faith, Christ's incarnation
His baptism in Jordan river,
His death on cross for my salvation
His bursting from the spiced tomb
His riding up the Heavenly way
His coming at the day of doom
i bind unto myself today

i bind unto myself today the virtue of the starlit Heaven
the glorious sun's life-giving ray, the whiteness of the moon at even
the flashing of the lightning free
the whirling wind's tempestuous shocks
the stable earth, the deep salt sea around the old, eternal rocks

the power of God to hold and lead
His eye to watch, His might to stay
His ear to harken to my need
The wisdom of my God to teach
His hand to guide, His shield to ward
The word of God to be my speech
His Heavenly host to be my guard

against all Satan's spells and wiles
against all false words and heresy
against the knowledge that defiles
against the heart's idolatry
against the wizard's evil craft
against the death wound and the burning
the choking wave, the poisoned shaft
protect me, Christ till thy returning

Christ be with me, Christ within me
Christ behind me, Christ before me
Christ beside me, Christ to win me
Christ to comfort and restore me
Christ beneath me, Christ above me
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger
Christ in hearts of all that love me
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger

I bind unto myself the Name, the strong Name of the Trinity
by invocation of the same, the 3 in 1, the 1 in 3
by whom all nature hath creation
Eternal Father, Spirit, Word
Praise to the Lord of my salvation
Salvation is of Christ, the Lord

23rd birthday

2008-03-17T06:45:00.002-04:00

Today is the 23rd anniversary of our twin daughters' 'birthday'.
I often feel sad on this day.
Today is new, but so far I don't feel sad.
We will never forget Keely and Fiona.
One day we will see them both at last.

right down to the real nitty gritty

2008-03-11T19:12:00.002-04:00

there's something about being squeezed in the vice of pressure.
you'd think you'll be crushed
and in some ways you are
but paradoxically, you may feel as if you've never been stronger.

i've had occasion to step into another person's shoes literally for a week and a half.
i have 'become' her for all intents and purposes and i don't think i've ever had more respect for the myriad of things she does in her high pressure job. you know that old saying about never really knowing someone until you walk in their shoes. . . so true.

funny thing about being pressed to your limits,
you discover things about yourself that you would never know otherwise.
things like:
i can make it through this day
i can do this
one task at a time
prioritize or be paralyzed
think
call upon the knowledge you've taken in
don't be afraid to fail
if you do, get back up
take help
learn from your mistakes
breathe
don't give up

as i've been thinking through what all of this is teaching me both professionally, emotionally and spiritually i feel depleted and worn, but at the same time, more vital and energized.
at some rock bottom moments, when panic tries to overtake me, boggles my mind and threatens to shut me down. . . i reach past it and i ask for help. . . on the job to others who can help me and in my spirit i reach to God who gladly gives me strength at my absolute weakest. . .
I'm still in a swirl of chaos, but in it i am changed and able. .
it feels nothing short of miraculous.

Quirks!

2008-02-26T19:20:00.003-05:00

I was thinking this morning, as i flossed and brushed my teeth, of how i always start brushing on the top upper right part of my mouth. . without fail. So i purposely switched this morning and started on the bottom left. it was weird. . threw me off. Then as i worked today, i thought of all the little strange things i do and this mental list started growing.

i can't throw out greeting cards. . i have been saving cards since i was 15 -- people signed their names or wrote personal messages!

i accumulate huge amounts of paperwork in a pile on top of the filing bin and wait till the pile begins to tip before i file it.

i read several books at once

i have this thing for buying the latest fitness DVD - its like a fever. . must have them!!

i take my beverages with me throughout the house and absentmindedly leave them wherever i stop

i must smell the dishwasher soap tablet before it goes in the machine

i don't drink coffee, but i often take the lid off the coffee container, to smell it

i will leave a few spoonfuls of food on my plate and say i can't eat any more, which drives my husband crazy!

i get my knickers in a twist over misspellings and grammatical errors

i must do a spider check every night before going to sleep

i often have to leave the room when people eat with their mouths open or make 'smacky' noises with their lips

i leave unironed clothes in the utility closet, where they remain for many months

i always try to get out of cutting up the broccoli and lettuce on grocery day

i can't sleep if the closet door is ajar

if i hear a funny line, i find the need to repeat it out loud while laughing.

i don't like talking on the phone

conversations with and comments made by anyone on an average day remind me of songs lyrics

i can't walk slowly

i can't stand getting gas and always try to get out of it

i can never go to bed early - i seem to be incapable of turning in at a decent hour

most times when i go to hum a song, its "I Can't Make You Love Me" by Bonnie Raitt - i don't know why. . its a beautiful song, but there are many beautiful songs and you'd think once in a while the humming playlist in my brain would change?

Well i think that's enough of me.
How about you? wanna share some of yours???

kick

2008-02-18T20:57:00.003-05:00

depression keeps rolling in and settling,
unwelcome
winter doesn't agree with my psyche.
not that it ever has, but i notice it a lot more in the last decade or so.
maybe i need a head shake,
or maybe just a good, swift kick?

i hate when all the things i enjoy, i can't seem to enjoy
reading. . don't want to
baking. . no, not interested
dancing, didn't feel like it tonight. .
writing, not in this state of mind. . .
if i sit down and write something,
i just end up deleting it.
my words are all locked up in my head, i can feel them in there.
they're being unruly and they won't come out.
seems like too much effort.
these ones made it, but they're not 'writing', just complaining.

the weekend was busy and enjoyable.
i had goals and met them.
i was distracted from the blahs by having lots to do.
today, day off work - you'd think i'd be ecstatic?
woke up to a completely open day and i just wanted to crash and do
absolutely nothing. .

yeah, i think i do need that swift kick.

sweet tooth

2008-02-10T18:10:00.000-05:00

i was born with not just a sweet tooth
i think every tooth in my mouth must be a sweet one!

potato chips don't tempt me
fries. . .i don't really care for them
nachos? they're okay
pizza? pleh. . its fine
meat is all right. .
cheese -- like, not love it
bread is nice,
rice and potatoes - kinda ho hum but do hit the spot
virtuous veggies, i like

sweets. . . i LOVE.
No, "love" is not too strong a word.

chocolate, pies, tarts, cake, fudgey brownies, caramel, squares, cookies, candies, whipped cream, maple syrup, honey, creme brulee -- gotta stop. . i feel faint.

i often wonder why i can't crave the things that are best for me.

i can't imagine myself having attacks where i would go mad for a hunk of cabbage

where i would down a bag of baby-cut carrots like i pop back the 'sour patch kids' candies (if i let myself buy them).

i wouldn't daydream of opening a veggie stand the way i do of opening a baked goods shop.
i really doubt that i'd salivate over a piece of chicken the way i do over velvety, melt in your mouth chocolate.

If sweet things could impart top-notch nutrition i'd be the Queen of Health!

Instead, i fight against my baser food impulses and try to convince myself that a cuplet of yogurt is a suitable substitute for a gooey, warm chocolate lava cake. pffffft!!!!
Me? i would eat the stupid yogurt AND also have the lava cake later because the yogurt did nothing to assuage my longing for the bad/good stuff.

Instead, i talk myself out of innumerable purchases of naughty items.
but still cave at weak points and purchase enough to make dance classes and kick boxing DVDs a dire necessity.

Instead, i try to make healthier alternatives for the girdle-busting old school baddies. (they often don't cut it, sadly to the point i'd rather do without if i can't have the 'real thing')
Don't even ask me about the cake icing i made yesterday for my granddaughter's "pony" birthday cake! (gobs of soft butter and cups of icing sugar -- what?? did i say that??!!!)
I feel like a culinary jekyll and hyde. .
LOVE the bad
tolerate the good, while waiting to be bad again!!!

I can't remember not being this way.
I KNOW this sweet stuff does me no good, but its so wickedly delicious!!!
I've done 'kicking sugar' stints in the past. . which resulted in headaches, general grumpiness and the inevitable going back.
So now, i don't try to kick it.
I find ways to make peace with the constant tension of being a sweet-toothed person who has aspirations to live healthily.
Right now I have given up sweet snacks and excessive eating in general.
I get to have 1 measly dessert-type thing per week.
For me, its the equivalent of an Everest climb.
This world is not designed for virtue.
It is programmed for vice.
Discipline is hard going.
Watching food network shows is hazardous.
Makes me feel like a 'one eyed-cat peeping in a seafood store'
Baking is perilous.
But I don't feel like myself if i can't bake something.
I can't describe the calming effect it has on me.
My mind always goes to it.
My hands want to be mixing and beating and ladeling.
Whenever i travel, i want to and do hit the bakeries, where i will inevitably size up my goodies against theirs! and sometimes even think mine are better?!!
I want to visit the chocolate shop. the smells! the sights! decadent and dangerous!!
I'll whiz past that 'fry stand' to get some chocolate chip buns from Weil's bakery.
I'll forgo the fast food forever and make perpetual trips to the Cupcake Store.

I am a conflicted woman, but more happily than sadly so.
I continue to fight the good fight. . . trying to quash the desire for sinfully good treats while doing crunches and lunges and 'cardio' , exercising self control, baking less and giving away more, learning how not to eradicate the sweet tooth, but subdue it. . .letting it out of the cage once a week and promptly shoving it back in and barring the door! i had considerable trouble barring the door today after letting it out yesterday for the birthday cake! (confession time. . . i had a bit today after lunch but only a teeny bit). I have to be realistic. . i'm never going to swear off sweeties all together, but I am learning that they're not the boss of me. . . . most of the time!!

dysfunction, function. . . what IS function?

2008-02-01T23:37:00.000-05:00

i bring things to light when i feel courageous
i hide them away when i feel like a coward
i confront, i get flak
i run and hide, no flak

i've been in an apathetic chapter for several years now.
hiding. .avoiding flak like the plague
hurts less but hurts more. .

confronting is risky, messy
its also tiring
giving up seems like a good thing?
guess my fear drives me to find ways to avoid dealing with things
journaling
raging
sealing off the rage
eating
baking
eating the baking
listening instead of divulging
avoiding praying
praying with avoidance
is that even praying?

i love being around people
i need to be alone
my heart feels full of compassion, love
it feels contracted and scarred
i feel like a reasonable facsimile of myself most times
other times, not so much
can i make up my friggin' mind?
its exhausting, sliding in and out of connection and disconnection.
each time it gives a jolt

there are some 'buttons', when pressed will release either:
1. a torrent of tears
2. a blast of anger
3. both

and afterwards. . a settling blankness of unresolution that sometimes lingers in a thick, clinging fog and other times blows away like morning mist.
but its never really gone

i'm pretty sure that most people, if they were honest, would confess to living with some degree of dysfunction.
i know there are too many people living with their own unresolved things
weighed down
stubborn
defensive
substituting
transferring
not acknowledging
not communicating
avoiding often messy reality
afraid
tired
self helping
pretending
misuse/abuse
at an impasse
in a trance

no need to live like this
dysfunction in the long run, withers the spirit
weakens the body
and erodes the soul

hot? not?

2008-01-22T23:15:00.000-05:00

well,well. . .i'm a fool, yes.
i was beguiled by my senseless ego
someone sent me a facebook 'you're a hottie' invitation today
I do realize that it was a mass invite in order for them to see how hot they were!
Still, it flattered my ridiculous sense of curiosity.
just how 'hot' was i anyway?
curiosity killed the kat?
yes, i admit it -- i wanted to know!
but to find out just how flamin' hot i was *bah!* i had to invite 15 other people to discover how they fared on some arbitrary human judging or computer-generated list.
I even saw a 'top ten hot list' of FB friends to entice me to participate in the hotness ranking.
I thought: "Ooh, they must have been curious too!"

As the application loaded and told me i was in the 'top (#) hotties of (#)friends'
i started to feel uncomfortable
i didn't think i wanted to do this after all.
as i saw pictures of my friends, with numbers assigned to them and my 'hottie-list'-given ability to confer 'hotter' or 'cooler' status upon them,
i became angry
my stupid ego slunk away and my reason and sense came surging forth
thank God.
geez. . .

who am i to 'rank' anybody's hotness?
why do i feel so insecure that i would even want others to rank my 'hotness'?
and how would i feel if i discovered that i was not perceived as hot?

Again, i think women are so beseiged by 'hotness pressure' everywhere in every way.
they may even feel like they're not proper women unless they are regarded as hot.
Oh, i can't go along with that.
I'm not going to belabour the point in a feminist-flavoured rant and
I realize that i'm not exploring new territory here. . lots of people have talked about this mass mania for thinness, desirability, 'hotness' and how such unbalanced fixation messes everyone up, skews thinking, damages bodies, minds, spirits, even takes lives -- dangerous obsession
I don't even like the term 'hot' in reference to people's looks.
Its not a very lovely or forgiving word.
In fact, its rather base.
It doesn't have noble connotations.
beautiful is a much more embracing word. . . it can stretch to fit the whole person and not just cover their epidermis.

"God doesn't make decisions the way you do. People judge by outward appearance, but the Lord looks at a person's heart and intentions." (1 Samuel 16:6)

my momentary lapse in judgement has passed.
the "you're a hottie" application has been deleted from my profile.
friends, men and women. . . i rank you all beautiful, without exception and without preference.

Sadie and her aunts

2008-01-18T22:41:00.000-05:00

Our third grandchild, our granddaughter, Sadie Evangeline, was stillborn on December 10, 2007.

She was a beauty, a doll. We have all been walking through a veil of tears. Its has been unreal and horrible. Our grief has been intense.

Sadie will be laid to rest in the spring, alongside her great grandpa, and just down the way from her aunties, our twin girls, whose grave you see here. We will gather on that day and we will celebrate and remember Sadie's life.

I thought i had long worked through the grief of losing our girls. I have recently realized that this is not so. This gravestone is all we have. We have no footprints. No clothing. No bracelets. No photos. I have an old shoe box in my closet in which lay the ultrasound findings of their deaths and a yellow copy of my antenatal record on which my too large for my dates girth was circled on a graph. Also included in the box are various condolence cards and a cemetery record and map of the plot. I was only 5 1/2 months along when the first twin died. . another week passed at which time the second baby had died. . and another week still had gone by before i delivered them. The circumstances made for a great hesitance in looking and bonding. But in this past month and a half, as our daughter and her family have gone through the heart-wrenching loss of their little baby, and as we have walked alongside of them as parents, feeling for them and as grandparents feeling the loss of our grandbaby, the whole issue of closure has come up.

As painful as it is, it must come. As my daughter and her husband sort through what closure is for them, I realize that i have repressed a lot and have not had closure surrounding the stillbirths of my daughters, over 2 decades ago. In my own heart and its feelings of grief for Sadie and for my own babies, I have come to realize again how necessary it is to have symbolism, meaningful memory and identity. Those things are so helpful.

I had been able to see Sadie before she came out, growing under wraps as that adorable little bump, imaging what she'd look like and how it would be when she joined us. I finally got to meet her and touch her cheek and know her name and look at the clothing she wore on her first and only day here. As difficult as that was, i got to see her little face and bond with her. I see the teddy bear her mom bought. I see her foot prints on paper and it all helps me to know her and miss her. I miss her terribly.

Stillbirth is handled a lot differently now than it was 22 years ago. Back then it was thought best to hide everything away. . no pictures, no seeing, no touching, no foot or hand prints. Whisked away, just like it never happened. But it did. I didn't see their little faces. I didn't hold them.
It was too unreal.

My grief now for my granddaughter has brought me right back to my daughters and is triple in intensity. A measure of grief for each little girl. A measure of love, a big one. Still i am so grateful for each, as painful as their loss has been. Yes, I have shaken my fist at the sky and asked why, i have cursed the unfairness of it all, but as it settles in, i have learned once more about the deepening of love through suffering in the lives of those who have been refined by this intense sorrow.

With all the mingling of thoughts and love for each of these little ones. . . for Sadie whom i've seen and for her aunties, whom i've never seen, nor could bring myself to name them; i asked Rob what he thought about giving names to our twin girls after all these years. He thought it was a good idea. We asked our adult daughters what they thought. They said they'd always wanted their sisters to have names! I feel a settling peace. Little Sadie, who present absence has filled and sensitized our hearts, has been used by God to stir us, as a family, to name our daughters/sisters/aunts: Fiona Gillian Claire and Keely Madeleine Rachael

coyote. . .

2008-01-10T21:49:00.000-05:00

random thought. . . ..

The Roadrunner always annoyed me.
I rooted for the coyote.
He had some good ideas!
How come he never tried them more than once?

Chapters gift card - half used

2007-12-29T20:23:00.001-05:00

I love the store "Chapters".
I think its my favourite.
Nothing but books and mostly book-related items.
I especially love making the trip when its on someone else's dime!
Gift cards are fine things.
I think i scoured the entire store tonight -- and found all of my purchases in the bargain sections. Nice!

Two gorgeous 200-photo albums - 75% off $3.25 each!
The Complete Poems of John Keats $6.29
Selected Works of Virginia Woolf $11.69 *8 of her most famous*

I'm always looking at the cookbooks and I have my favourite chefs.
I have a pretty complete library at home, there's not much more i feel i must put my hands on.
There was one though. . . Ina Garten "Family Style". . . some gorgeous recipes in that one.
I had it in my cart with the intention of asking the clerk whether indeed it was still $50!! *The American price was $35!!!!! and our dollars are pretty much on par with each other. . . so this is definitely NOT fair. *
I asked her and she tried to smoke me with : "Well, ma'am all our hardcovers are 30% off." p.s. i hate the term 'ma'am'. . . its musty and old.
I said back: "30% off the American price or 30% off the Cdn price?"
At this point she was honest and said it was off the exorbitant Cdn price.
I told her i had lost my desire to buy it.
"I know its not your fault, said i, but that's crappy."
She just glumly nodded, as did the clerk next to her.
Blah!

Other than that bit of silliness harshing my Chapters mellow mood. . i was very happy when i left with half of my gift card value remaining for a future visit and my trusty "Irewards" 10% off membership card back in its holster, i mean wallet slot.
Using that card on already discounted stuff feels GREAT!

I don't know which book i'll start with first. . though maybe i should finish off one of the books i have here - still have in various states of 'almost finished'.
I suppose i should complete my Garcia-Marquez (100 years of Solitude) first.
KK will soon want to 'borrow/keep' it when she finishes her "Love in the Time of Cholera".
"100 years" is infinitely marvellous, so i don't know why its taking me so long to read it?
I can't believe that man's way with words, his imagination isn't like a typical adult's.
If i could possess just a fraction of his magic, i'd be happy.
Although if he had made a Robert Johnson 'crossroads at midnight' deal for his talent. . i take back what i said!! eek!
I didn't pick up anything of his (G-M's) tonight. . . my brain wasn't in gear.
But now I know what i'll get with the remainder of my card!
Forget the over-priced American cookbooks. . . there are tastier offerings.

can i stand?

2007-12-27T00:07:00.000-05:00

in my post-"Christmas" whatever that 'thing' is that we all do. . was that Christmas?
in my unwinding, my grief, my gladness, my feeling of emptiness that comes when i lose focus on the one my heart loves and so easily forgets, i asked Rob to get his guitar out.
He obliged. . and he played and we sang.
In the course of our singing we came across this one again.
I remained quiet and listened as Rob played and sang it. I love the tune he gave these words - so beautiful. I wish you could hear it.
And it hit me all over again. . . its not about me, not about my feelings, not about my anything.

I remember writing the words. . . almost 8 years ago. I remember how i felt then --upset by circumstances, sitting down by the shore of Lake Erie, writing, working through my feelings. This is what came out. I felt my focus shift from me to God. . and that was a good, necessary shift then and again tonight. . .sorely needed.

can i stand in the light that exposes my sin?
can my tainted soul take your glory in?
can i understand how you made it all right?
can i thank you enough?

can my childish self know the cost of my gain?
can this selfish child feel the depth of your pain?
can i grasp how you suffered, so i could go free
can i thank you enough?

can i thank you enough
can i thank you enough
can i grasp how you suffered so i could go free?
can i thank you enough?

can i really believe that you love who i am?
can i see that my name is engraved on your hand?
can my soul really fathom the depth of your love?
can i thank you enough?

can i thank you enough
can i thank you enough, Jesus
can my soul really fathom the depth of your love?
can i thank you enough?

k&r aug 2000

my heart

2007-12-21T00:34:00.000-05:00

". . . my heart was broken. my heart was broken. . sorrow, sorrow, sorrow, sorrow. .."

thinking about the need

2007-12-08T19:27:00.000-05:00

lately i have been very emotional, thinking about the reason we need Christmas.
i'm glad to be feeling, because i was starting to worry about grinchiness. This year i'm a complete flop at getting ready for "Christmas" the way it is gotten ready for in North America.
I am so loathe to be at rat in the race this year. . . i've made some reluctant forays into the retail maze. . . blech. . i don't even like the 'cheese' at the end, it stinks.

Yes, the world's a mess, we all know it and Christmas has this way of sensitizing people to need, which seems extremely appropriate, given that dire need is exactly what Christmas is about.
but its not even about taking such a large view to highlight the problem and need for a lasting solution, the need is seen within

in me, it shows up every day.
i can't be good
i can't stay good
i try, i can't sustain
its not in me
i have lots of illusions of goodness in what i do and say and think. . .
but what's that taintedness at the bottom?

me, me, me, me. . . how is this affecting me? how do i feel ? what's in it for me? how can i be happy? what about me?

Of course this is paring it down to the core, but isn't that the only thing to do when trying to get to the truth?

i'm not saying i'm a spoiled brat 24/7, but i often am on the inside, in my heart, in my thinking. i feel very J&Hyde most days. If i was to remove all the social filtering i've learned through the decades, i doubt that anyone would want to have anything to do with my black-hearted self. I'm not saying all this to seem particularly insightful or bracingly candid. i'm just saying it like it is.

the true me is not a good me. this world is populated with billions of "me's" and there is not a single good one. all dark of heart. . with variations of shading . . but dark, without exception. every 'me' hides, every 'me' is selfish, every 'me' is identically damaged, every 'me' is in dire need of resuscitation.

when i was 30 i got to my breaking point. i realized finally that i hadn't learned from what i'd experienced. I couldn't make sense of a lot of it.
i felt bleak inside.
i gave myself over to this 'why bother' attitude.
why bother trying? why not just be . . . . only human, independent, proud, blatant, nasty as i wanna be - when i wanna be, angry without temperance, faithless, cynical, jaded
"Christmas" felt as hollow as a glass ornament and so did i.

now in my mid 40s and several Christmases later, i have been allowed a decade and a half of some more things i'm positive you wouldn't want to experience. i sure didn't want to. It wasn't all angst and gloom, there were amazing things as well in this time - but it seems to have been in the shadows that i've experienced the most change and growth, as painful as it might have been . Joy and rain, sunshine and pain.

i've learned some things that radically changed my heart.
i 've learned that sometimes what seems the worst can actually turn out to be for the best.
i 've learned to be grateful, i'm still learning this way of living.
i've learned to live from all parts of myself - body, mind, spirit and i've still got a long way to go with this, but i'm practicing.
i've learned to exercise -- even haltingly and losing ground sometimes - faith. .
elusive, mysterious, even for some, mockable faith.
not faith in myself because i am by nature faithless,
not in other humans, because they're in the same boat with the faithless nature thing,
but in Him. . in the one full of faith -- Christ, the one who saw our need and came down here with a heart for meeting it. I really believe that this is how it was and is and this is what really happened.
I have to tell you. . .
He is the reason i no longer feel hollow
He is the light in my eyes and in my smile
He is the one who sparks my heart to care
He is the one who 'speaks' into my spirit and brings it increasingly to life
He is the one who gives me the ability to be good, though that ability is all his and never has originated within myself
He is the one who sees my 'rotten core' and doesn't pull away in disgust. .
no one else has such love capacity
no one else has such love purity. . there's not even a sliver of darkness, not a pinpoint
How can i not respond to love like this? sometimes i get so emotional thinking about the only love in my life that has the power to redeem my darkness and i can never, with my words, thank him enough, but i use words and i thank him with my life.
He isn't 'seeable' to my eyes, but He is felt by me and while for the longest time i ignored his love, i always knew it was there, even as i piled offensive things up and up on top of it,
his stubborn love was not smothered by my attempts to bury it.
until the day i stopped piling. . . i can't forget this day, soaked in despair, crisis was a normal state. . and i remember lying on the bed, crying. .busy with the crying and the feelings of why i was crying and being wrapped up in my weeping. . which of course ran its course and after a while settled and i became quiet. Then came the moment when i 'heard' these words deep within myself, in the silence . . . . ..............."i love you, Kathy"

they weren't my own words in my mind, because i did feel like saying such a thing to myself. They were unmistakable. My heart knew it was him. I was 'resuscitated' by four beautiful words. I was still in the crisis, but i was remarkably changed right there in the mess of it. . i no longer felt alone, i never was, but now i didn't feel that way and i was different after that.
I looked the same in the mirror, but i was not me any more. . i was me plus him forever.
Not 'stereotypically Christian' if that phrase brings overtly fanatic or negative thoughts to mind.
The degree to which the difference is obvious is the degree to which i surrender my heart daily.
I have to tell you its not easy. Surrender is not easy. Some days you might see me and dare me to prove there even is a difference. . and those would always be the days i'm unsurrendered and i can feel the difference.
But easy isn't promised.
I have to tell you i make mistakes.
But i am completely encircled by Christmas every day of my life,
not baby in a manger, that was only the wrapping of the gift, which opened into life for the spiritually dead, which means the whole lot of us.
I am encircled by light, when i was dark
I am encircled by good, when i was bad
I gave up my illusions of independence to be dependent on him for life with meaning.
What a gift. .
i'm so emotional.

i love mincemeat

2007-12-04T17:25:00.000-05:00

yeah, i love mincemeat
all by itself,
no pastry
a little bit heated in a bowl
little scoop of vanilla frozen yogurt
spicy and jammy. . with that clean vanilla flavour mellowing in

i love fruitcake with marzipan
same flavour hits with this treat
dark, rich cake with delicious dried fruit
almond flowery-tasting marzipan bringing that
clovey cake into perfect balance.
i could write a whole post about marzipan. . its that wonderful
the combination of these two elements, .... magic

I love the traditional, steamed Christmas pudding with real whipping cream
mmm. . mmmmmm -- moist, studded with fruit and nuts and permeated by those full, earthy spices - cloves, cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg
i love to make these glorious things, but they're a bit labour intensive
so i've given up
i'm sad that its come to this.
they remind me of my Nana, who made fantastic ones -- in fact, she made fantastic everything (except perhaps gravy)

This declaration of my admiration for fine, beautiful and fruity flavours is brought to you by me, food enthusiast and connoisseur of the three most generally unpopular Christmas time flavours. So, here's to marzipan fruit cake, Christmas pudding and mincemeat! hip hip, hooray!! 'Hip hip' all right if i don't watch my portions!

so bad, what's my problem?

2007-11-29T20:13:00.000-05:00

i have found myself unable to write anything lately.
i'm in a kind of apathetic fog
i don't blog about current events because i don't keep current with the events.
are there events beyond MSN's home page coverage of Brangelina and Britney and the dollar levels?
my newspapers pile up, waiting for me to read them.
my household paper work does the same.
am i living out of country?
nah. . just a procrastinator.
work has me in a spin these days.
of course its busy in there
i know everyone's in that boat -- *the 'busy' boat* (i'm starting to hate the word 'busy' - and i've been entertaining the notion of striking it from my vocab and subbing something less annoying. . . like 'active' or 'industrious')
i wish i could jump ship and go over to the 'lazy' boat
work =
drama
stuff
issues
actual job stuff and lots of it
chocolate breaks *groups of women at work? say no more.*
come home with Rob
vent all the way home to each other (we work in the same place - different departments)
figure out what to make for supper
make supper
clean up
flop in the chair
think about working out, but don't cuz i'm too tired
doze off. .
think about all the Christmas shopping i must do. . .
and don't do it cuz i don't feel like it
get up
do laundry
retrieve phone messages
retrieve emails
catch up on both
get mail and papers from outside - add them to growing piles inside
read (not the stuff in the piles)
watch a show/movie
wonder how our girls are doing
wonder how the grandkids are doing
wonder how my Scrabulous games are doing on FB
play a turn or two. . .
make lunches for next day
choose outfit for next day
put out breakfast
put out toiletries to make it faster in the a.m.
fall into bed
sleep
up at 6:45
let dog out
check her food/water dishes
feel guilty for leaving her home alone all day
get ready
drive in to work
repeat daily drill until its the weekend
then a brief crash before 'the cram' (trying to do everything you want to do all week in the span of 48 hours)

i'm such a whiner
my apologies. . .
this is the 'empty nester' life/workstyle - younger moms have all the 'active' stuff with their young kids to deal with.
garsh. . . i'm already getting in practice for my 'grumpy old woman' years,
complaining about everything

it is hard though to go from working at home *which i've done for years* to working in the office.
working at home means rolling out of bed 10 minutes before you start your shift
putting on yoga pants and sweater, slippers
go downstairs - get cereal
splash face with water
no make up
no doing of the hair
go to computer
work
no drama
no stuff
no chocolate breaks
no conversations
no lunchtime banter with the girls.

you know what?
the daily routine ain't so bad
i'll shut up now.
i took out some butter earlier
maybe i'll get a start on my Christmas baking?
yes, i know lots of people think baked goods are 'no nos'
but i like 'no nos', anything i shouldn't have or do. . i'm gonna!!
anything i should ?. . you guessed it. . . can't help myself.

i'm not ready for all this

2007-11-10T20:15:00.000-05:00

it started right after Halloween.
the 'lite rock' station was on in the office *shudder*. . that's a whole other blog topic.
i'm not a fan of any radio station - whose play lists daily expose me to gems like: "Shake Your Booty", "Rhythm of My Heart" and "Live Like You Were Dying". . geez, i can't bear the cheese.
After every couple of insipid songs, they began airing these 'holiday' commercials.
I felt so unprepared to hear these things.
Rapid-fire voiceovers superimposed on jingle bellish, string-heavy muzak tracks
I thought i might hurl.
I mentioned to this to one of my co workers, who seemed unfazed.
Maybe she was better able to tune it all out?
The more hours went by listening to all that crap,
the more angry i became.
Angry with the propagandish pressure on us to buy things.
Angry with society's interpretation of 'holiday'
Angry with the misdirection of it all.

I can't even pick up the newspapers lately. . they weigh half a ton - full of
gift-buying guides
wish books
countdown to savings
Christmas countdown
holiday baking editions
holiday magic
festive recipes
holiday home improvement guide

I don't really like being guided in this way.
I don't think its the right way.
I feel under so much pressure.
Pressure to choose and shop and spend and clean and bake and organize and cook and wrap and decorate and look great at all the soirees -- then there's the small matter of working full time and cramming all that extra stuff in there somewhere.
Is it just women who feel like this?

I've pretty much stopped with the Christmas cards.
They were just one more thing - sending cards to people i see all the time. .
I'm trying to keep myself together mentally
and spiritually.
Not easy at holiday time,
which i find pretty ironic

Holiday: O.E. halingdoeg -- 'holy day'
holy: of God, his works, dwelling place, attributes, etc.
living a life of spiritual purity, dedicated, set apart for sacred use O.E. halig

I don't want to seem grinchy
I love Christmas trees
I love candles
I love music
I love the traditional meal, cookies, mincemeat, egg nog
I even love fruitcake (which is a brave confession, i know)
I love feasting with people i love
I love giving to help others
I love to celebrate
I love the way people 'feel the Christmas spirit' -- beautiful
I love the love story of Christ - the Messiah, the Redeemer
I need redemption, i need love

I guess i just worry that we've lost our collective way
I worry that we've lost the essence of holy days
I worry that we buckle under the intense pressure of the 'holiday culture' -- 'Ho, ho, ho!', Frosty and Rudolph and "Buy yourself a merry little Christmas". .
keeping it lite and avoiding the light
drinking, feasting, jockeying for parking spots at the mall
drowning in a sea of desperately-seeking shoppers
feeling tinsel covered yet empty
donating a little something to assuage our feelings of guilt with this overboard overabundance
eating shortbread while wondering if we're still sane
wondering if this is how it will always feel
wondering how to feel

All the streets are filled with laughter and light and the music of the season
and the merchant's windows are all bright with the faces of the children
and the families hurrying to their homes as the sky darkens and freezes
they'll be gathering around their hearths and tales, giving thanks for all God's graces
and the birth of the rebel Jesus

Well they call him by the Prince of Peace and they call him by the Saviour
and they pray to him upon the seas and in every bold endeavour
as they fill his churches with their pride and gold and their faith in him increases
but they've turned the nature that i worship in from a temple to a robber's den,
in the words of the rebel Jesus

well we guard our world with locks and guns and we guard our fine possessions
and once a year when Christmas comes, we give to our relations
and perhaps we give a little to the poor if the generosity should seize us
but if any one of us should interefere in the business of why they're poor
they get the same as the rebel Jesus

So please forgive me if i seem to take the tone of judgement
for i've no wish to come between this day and your enjoyment
in this life of hardship and of earthly toil we have need for anything that frees us
so i bid you pleasure and i bid your cheer from a heathen and a pagan
on the side of the rebel Jesus

Jackson Browne

leaving things

2007-11-04T16:38:00.000-05:00

Today i was cooking and thinking, to music.
I was making a meal for my family --
every meal leaves a memory
such a simple thing,
a small way to show love.

I started to think about so many people i know, i've known.
I was thinking about what they've left.
I don't really mean physical departure leaving, though some have physically departed in a locational way and some in an eternal way.
I'm thinking along emotional, soul lines you know?
the things people leave every day.

i know people who travel the world.
They leave home to do more leaving,
leaving music in the air of countless gyms, halls, arenas and venues around the globe.
leaving well-spoken words of encouragement, challenge.
leaving behind smiles and photographs, autographs

i know people who don't go anywhere.
they stay but they leave --
words
impressions
feelings
honesty
looks
wisdom
experience
talent

some people leave big things. . things that people who don't even know them would know about.
sure, lots of people have left big things -big things can be good or bad.
legacies
atrocities
most of us don't leave 'big', but even the small can take on big proportions.

i know someone who paid tribute to his departed wife by describing all that she left.
not 'things', not big. .
moments --
he loved her for them all.
i loved her too.
she left me memories,
good ones

i know people who brought so much with them and left even more
when they departed. . changed lives, thoughts, perspectives
Things left will always remain. .
this can be really good.

i knew people i thought would never die.
my child's mind could not accept this kind of leaving.
by the time they did, they had left so much
i feel like i am 'me' because of the accumulation of all the
things they might not have thought much about.
things i might not have really appreciated at the time -but do now.
memories
feelings

i want to be more intentional about what i leave.
yes, i'm ashamed of all the bad stuff i've left. .
angry words
bad responses
knee-jerk reactions
selfish choices
things i can't change
*only human? yes.
still, there's a higher calling.*

i can't leave what isn't fit to leave
no matter if someone else did.
i can't allow this to colour what i leave.
its hard to break cycles like this,
but not impossible.

i want to live my days being conscious of what i leave for others
i can't leave what i don't have.
love is the only thing that makes everything all right.
its not often easy to receive,
or give. . .
but its the only thing worth leaving.

in your love, my salvation lies in your love
my salvation lies in your love . . - Alexi Murdoch "Orange Sky"

Lets stop just saying we love each other, lets really show it by our actions- its by our actions that we know we are living in the Truth. portions of 1 John 3: 18 - 19

sacred

2007-10-21T16:14:00.000-04:00

i'm sensing the presence of the sacred now in my mind, my heart.
i'm thinking about what sacred means, feels like, looks like.

i just watched a beautiful reminding video of the very sacredness i too often skirt around, inch back from -- maybe because its so intense i don't know if i can handle its unsettling purity? i need reminders, i'm so forgetful and blithe.

i'm so profane.

i don't choose to be that way. its just programmed - i'm fallen and i can't get up.
really though this kind of falling isn't a joke.
i know, i always know - i live with the intimate knowledge of what it is to be fallen. . selfish, bad.
I despise this core nature of mine.

I find it so easy to dip my toe in the pool of God's mercy, walk around the periphery of his grace, afraid, afraid to commit to the plunge. . for that would demand my surrender, giving up the damaging ways i've grown accustomed to, the world's bent is my bent. . humanity's crookedness is my own. I don't need to stay there. . in fact i should not.

my feelings seem to govern me. one moment i feel a wellspring of love within, love for God, love for people. . .

the next i feel removed from this love, deaf to its voice, somehow beyond its reach, yet i'm not really.

my spirit gasps, i fade and faint
so i live in the shallows of myself, afraid of the depth of the sacred, of him.

feeling too shabby for his perfection.

when will i understand his heart? why do i try to humanize him? he's beyond parameters, he bursts them wide open.
i'm learning how to live with him.
relationships are never easy.

some might think that i'm not in my right mind with this talk of God, of sacred. .

some might think i'm weak, in need of a crutch, an opiate, a 'false' system of belief to prop up or medicate myself. .
I know this isn't the case. I can't tell you how i know.

How i can believe in someone invisible, mysterious?
I'm no flake.
I'm not deluded.

I just do.
I have felt within myself the sacred imprint of his spirit on mine.

I have 'heard' within my heart, his voice.
I have felt the power of all that he is, restoring my spirit's wounds.
I am flawed.
I am unworthy, but his willing-to-die love gives me worth, though this does baffle me and does make me feel unable to thank him properly.
tends to make me want to avert my eyes.
too bright, this light.
Still i am drawn by and to this love which is beyond my capacity to understand.
I am drawn.

I have felt and i do feel what it is to be in the presence of someone from whom nothing about me is hidden or covered up. .

from whom i can lay down the burden of the risk of such transparency and not count it as risk, with no guarding --knowing i am safe from rejection and disdain.

How can such absolute acceptance not attract me?
but why do i still shrink back?
i don't understand myself.

I cling to this faith i have and i don't want to let go.

Dawkins would scoff and bandy points, pierce my 'ignorance' expose my irrationality to the world. Hitchens would have a similar field day with my 'pathetic' state.
sacred? what does that even mean if i won't risk knowing what it means?
if i don't feel it, don't see it.
I can't measure it.
There are no pie charts.
No proof.

I do feel it.
I risk it, this intangible, beautiful force hooks my heart and pulls me in.
In to the mystery of the sacred.
In to the love unique. In to life.
In to relationship.
In to the sacred, to stay. . . . . .

to live

brain-off, men v. women

2007-10-18T18:59:00.000-04:00

i've always been fascinated by the brain.
i wanted to be a neurosurgeon waaaay back in the day. . . . it wasn't meant to be, though my interest has never waned.
Several years back, Rob and i watched a docu on the human brain. I watched with rapt attention, Rob's eyes often struggled to remain open and he occasionally dozed off. *he does that during documentaries - i guess cuz there aren't any car chases or commercials?* (don't tell him i told you!)

During this documentary they showed thermal imaging scans of two brains. 1 female, 1 male.
The female brain at rest was lit up twice as much as the man's active brain!!! WOOT! I love that moment in medical documentary history. I'll remember it always. Its like a mental trophy i like to take off the shelf, with which to periodically tease Rob *whisper voice - i don't think he likes it!*

Anyway, here are some brainy facts: --taken from "The Female Brain - How It Really Works" in November 07 issue of Canadian Living (abridgements and paraphrasings, my own) This is kind of unusual for me to blog like this. .i'm usually on about my feelings and i don't usually go 'factoid' on you. . but you have to change it up sometimes, eh?!

*the hippocampus (hub of emotion and memory formation) is larger in the female brain. The brain circuitry for language and observing emotions is more highly developed in females.

According to a 2004 Cdn study, a 3 month-old girl 's ability to read facial expressions jumps 400% above that of a boy's. . thanks to the amygdala, hippocampus and insula - which rule memory and gut feelings. Men are guided by testosterone which means they can instantly read anger, threat or extremes like crying, but are less capable of interpreting subtleties.

*females have 11% more neurons governing language and hearing than men do.

*the brain is divided into 2 hemispheres. Males use specialized regions in one side or the other to complete tasks sequentially. Females use both hemispheres equally to complete multiple jobs simulatneously. Females have an 8-lane super highway for processing emotion, males have a small country road. Males have an "O'Hare Intnl Airport" as a hub for processing their thoughts about sex. Women have a small airfield nearby that lands small and private planes.

*intelligence remains the same between the sexes, however there are gender-related variations.

*females possess a great number of 'mirror' neurons, which have been linked to the female's ability to empathize strongly. A British study had researchers adminstering weak & strong electric shocks to female subjects, using MRI to measure the brain's response to pain. Later their male partners received the same treatment. The women were told how strong the men's shocks were. MRI results showed the women's reactions to this knowledge of their partner's pain as strong as if the pain was their own. (i think that's almost mystical if you ask me. .)

*female "talk fests" *men say 'gossiping', women call it 'connecting'* release dopamine (the feel good hormone) and oxytocin (the 'bonding' hormone). A 20-second hug floods the female brain with oxytocin. Oxytocin is released in males through affection and tenderness, but the male brain is more apt to link this to sex.

*the amygdala and hypothalmus in the female brain are 50% smaller than the male brain. (these portions of the brain govern sexual pursuit)

*spatial awareness - testosterone is linked to increased spatial ability - directional tasks , map reading. Female brains navigate using landmarks, women have better visual memory and verbal skills and fine motor coordination.

*aggression - threatening situations ? men react with aggression because their hormones take a short, direct pathway through the brain. Women respond with fear and feelings about protection

*stress - men's heart rate and blood pressure skyrocket, with a strong fight or flight response. women feel the same stresses with the exception of the high-hormone phase of their cycle.. . in stress, women 'tend and befriend'. . become protective or talk through issues with their friends, which releases oxytocin and lowers blood pressure and stress hormone levels - making them less susceptible to hypertension and cardiac disease.

I find these clinical facts interesting but i do think that lists of such things can seem a bit arid. When i'm not annoyed by the differences between me and my husband, i can try to bust my thoughts out of stereotype and appreciate what i don't understand. I think men will always think that women are "a riddle, wrapped in mystery, inside an enigma' and women will always think that men are from Mars. Can't see this changing. No matter how many studies the ubiquitous 'they' do, no matter how many self'-help books promise to guide us through the intricacies of the each other's beings, i think we'll always be on this parallel, yet entwined journey together. . never quite understanding but always intersecting in love, respect and even awe.

life without stories?

2007-10-13T00:30:00.000-04:00

who would we be without stories?
has there ever been a time without them?
in the beginning. . .
once upon a time. . . .

act one
scene one
page one
chapter one

someone's always telling a story.
someone's always listening.

and nothing is new under the sun --

love
good
evil
revenge
greed
ruination
temptation
adversity
tragedy
loss
forgiveness
redemption

time is a portal
step through, drop in, go back, advance
you will find yourself no matter where you stop
ancient,
modern,
spoken,
written. . nothing changes
we don't change.
all this telling does not diminish our
infinite appetite for more
new ones are always joining
they need to hear
they need to tell

'the end' is a ruse
there is none.
if the story ends,
we do.

pumpkins

2007-10-08T23:03:00.000-04:00

pumpkins in the patch are so cute, i can't describe how happy i feel when i see them lying there in the earth, like they're napping. . adorable. I know this isn't quite 'normal'. . . but what constitutes 'normality' anyway? Nor can i resist gushing over cattle. I love to watch them. They seem so calm. * i don't eat beef, so i really do love them just for the way they look* Their big eyes. In the green fields, chewing slowly, so serene. I like that about them.

i made 2 pumpkin pies today. also roasted some squash with maple syrup and a bit of butter and s&p. . lots of beta carotene - yum.

feeling very thanksgivingy and fallish, despite my puzzlement with this strangely hot weather. I prefer my falls crisp and cool, thanx very much. . i want to wear corduroy. I want to bundle up. I want to walk and have rosy cheeks, see my breath turn to little clouds. I want to smell bonfires.

It is nice though not to turn on the furnace!

These days are fine and golden. So many reasons to have a full heart.

don't phunk with my heart

2007-09-23T01:49:00.000-04:00

we listened to "Elephunk" on the way home tonight. We dropped KK off back in the Hammer and we listened to all the tracks on this B.E.P. CD that the ride home allowed. Hours later, now as i comb my hair and my thoughts settle,* maybe i'm combing them out? *
i think of this plea: "Oh no, no, no, don't phunk with my heart."

isn't this what everyone wants to say to everyone else? really. . .

don't hurt me
handle with care
love me

a distressing invitation. . .

2007-09-16T22:06:00.000-04:00

the envelope arrived in the mail on Friday past. . .

GO GIRL - the magazine for women over 40!

It was addressed to ME!
Oh yes. . . i am now being included in the silver-haired demographic and i'm indignant (not to mention hypocritical as i keep covering my ever whitening hair).

The jazzy picture on the flyer showed a fitness-clothed woman with her mouth opened wide in a triumphant shout of "YES! I'M AGING AND I'M ECSTATIC, _________!" (expletive thoughtfully deleted)

I waved the offensive thing in front of Rob, "How can I be getting stuff like this?! I can't believe it!! Why do they call it 'Go Girl?' Why did i get this??!!!" The Master of Understatement said: "Because you're over 40."

pffffftttt. . . . (balloon deflating noise)

yeah. . i've got nothin' - he's absolutely right. I am. But that's not old. 45 is the new 35! *sigh* nothing is the new anything. . . its 21st century age-phobic propaganda. . so why am i wanting to buy into it?!

Today as i sat in the parking lot, waiting for Robbie to come out with our 'we're too lazy to cook' take-out meal, i caught myself watching elderly customers walking to and from their vehicles. They didn't look like the "Go Girl" magazine woman. That didn't make me feel so great. Why is this starting to bother me??? Maybe its my arthritis? Maybe its my grandmotherly status? maybe its because i feel like i'm turning into a "Grandpa Simpson" shaking my fist and yelling out "Shut up!" when loud vehicles pass my house? I felt odd as i contemplated my over reaction to a simple bulk mailing. But it all hit again when i got back home and picked up the local "Activities Guide" and noticed spanish classes. . sounded great, i might take them! I looked up the venue, it was one of the local seniors' centres!!!

it gets worse. . .

for ages 50 and up.
I thought to myself: "In 5 years i'll be able to join !!!!!!!!"

ay carumba!

church - life without it?

2007-09-09T13:49:00.000-04:00

what do i really want to say about this? about church?
how can i say anything without it coming out wrong?
can i say anything without the fear of being misunderstood, judged?
no.
can i say anything without further turning people off who are already feeling that way?
that's not my intention. .
so respectfully i simply say that i'm confused and lost.
i can't seem to find my way.
i can say i am afraid to 'sign up' with any church.
i am afraid to trust.
once i had passion for the potential of a true church,
the love of God shared between everyone. . covering over all the imperfections and radiating and attracting people who were lonely, hungry for more that all the 'isms' life could offer.
authentic
genuine
forgiving
but i didn't find this.
or maybe i wasn't living this myself?
too harsh on others?
immature?
not giving God the key to my heart, but locking it up on my own. .
shooting from the lip after taking the hits. . .
was i able to forgive where forgiveness was not offered?
that's hard. no i haven't let myself.
stuck.

i bristle when i even think of routines, rituals, tradition for traditions' sake, 'packaging', regulations - the kinds of things people seem to want to impose on other people.
i was born into 'church' and i have left 'church'.
i'm furious with church but i'm empty for church
i want church , i don't want it
i've looked at church from both sides now. . .i really don't like church at all.
*liberties with Joni Mitchell lyric noted*

am i saying i don't like God?
am i saying i don't like other people?
am i saying i don't like myself?

no
well. . .
maybe this is it?

what gives me this jaundiced view of church?

them?
me?

yes
yes

now what?
and so what?
suck it up, buttercup. . get over yourself .. DO something

can i wear his grace like a garment and know the love of Christ as my foundation?
i want to.
its so simple and so difficult
i don't shun God, but i shun an institution, that whether i like it or not, represents him on this earth?
isn't that the same thing?
But the institution isn't doing a very good job!
But how can i say this if i'm not doing any better?
I am confused and lost.
hurt
wounded
skittish
angry
stuck

help me

the other night

2007-09-04T21:36:00.000-04:00

the last few days i've been having trouble with a disc in my lower back on top of the disc issues in my neck. . so yeah, fun. . i've been walking like Quasimodo. . (is that how you spell his name?) It makes me feel old and delicate - hate that.
I can't work out till it it settles down. . . :( waaaaah!
When i don't work out, i can't sleep well.
My mind - i can't seem to shut it off.
Why can men close their eyes and fall into sleep mode right away?
this may not be true of all men. . but i've only ever slept with one. . and he's got this light switch sleep pattern - eyes closed = sleeping in 30 seconds
hmmmpf! i'm madly jealous of his ability!

so the other night, i was lying in bed after taking some Robaxacet. . which is a bit too wussy for me, i think. . . just doesn't seem to do much. *note to self - don't take that stuff any more*
I lie on one side, my back hurts.
i gingerly move to the other side -- hurts.
i decide to lie flat on my back - not good. . ouch.
so i lie there distracted by pain, thoughts going all over the place, listening to Rob sleep. .
glad he wasn't snoring.
A motorcycle drove up the hill. . did it even HAVE a muffler? grrrrr!!!!
My street is NOT every idiot motorcycle owner's personal nocturnal drag strip!!!

I saw the red numbers on the clock radio. . . . 1:40. . . 2:40. . i did lose count eventually but not for long.
4:00 a.m. i'm awake. . . i hear voices -- loud ones.
grrrrrrr. . .
a man and a woman were arguing. I was trying to get a mental fix on where they were.
At first i thought of my neighbours across the street , whose oldest daughter often puts on 'shows' in the dead of night for our benefit. . . nah, it was farther away.
The more i woke up, the more alarmed i became.
I couldn't hear their words, but their rage was scaring me. He seemed to be the aggressor, she seemed to be on the defense.
I really expected to hear a gunshot - it was that heated.
i'm laying there thinking: "What should i do? call the cops? should i? wake up Rob?. . . i don't know which house."
i started to pray for them. . . i didn't know what else to do. I was hoping they would settle down.
Soon the gaps in between the yelling jags got bigger. . . big enough for me to get back to sleep.
6 a.m. . . i'm awake again. . the same woman's voice is now coming closer and closer.
I got out of bed and looked out the window - she was walking briskly down the street, past my house - talking on her cell, her voice high and shaky as she described her ordeal.
I was mad - why couldn't she keep her voice down? People are trying to sleep!
but i felt bad as i heard the emotion in her voice as she described being interrogated by her boyfriend. She was so loud, now Rob was awake, wondering what was all the racket? I told him but I don't even remember what more we said about it - maybe nothing - too sleepy. .

ah, you just don't know, do you? what are people going through? You might hear the odd battle, see one, but mostly we all stay sealed in our individual units. . keeping to ourselves until we become suddenly aware of the presence and plight of others.

some summer pics

2007-08-15T17:58:00.001-04:00

thinking of struggle

2007-08-03T23:53:00.000-04:00

i've been thinking lately about what struggle means in life. sometimes i write myself notes if i want to capture an idea to write about later. i've had the 'struggle note' on my bedside table for over a month now. I pick it up and look at it and put it down again. I haven't felt able to talk about it for some reason. I still don't, but i feel compelled.

About a week ago Rob and I gave our friend Moni a ride in to work. As she walked to the van, we noticed that she carried with her a couple of containers in which hung 3 Monarch butterflies in their chrysalis/cocoons (one was transparent - it was ready to emerge- the other 2 were turquoise jewels suspended from the top of their plastic container). As we drove, Moni explained that with it being so close to their time, she wanted to share them with everyone in the office. She talked of the process of raising these insects from pin-point eggs on the back of a milkweed leaf to greedy caterpillars to glorious winged creatures. I tell Monika that she missed her calling and that she really should be either a botanist or entomologist - or maybe both!! She knows just about every plant in existence and she knows everything about butterflies! After we parked the van, in the time it took the three of us to walk from the staff lot to the building and to our office, the butterfly was born!!! It happened so fast, Moni was the only witness. I had gone back to my desk when i heard her excited screams from the front of the office: "Everyone! the butterfly!!! COME ON!!!" We all came running to see this exquisite creature hanging there. He was all rumpled, like a shirt that had been left in the dryer overnight. . He remained upside down -- he would remain there for the whole day, stretching and fanning his stained glass wings. As i watched him, i remembered this story i had once read about someone who had felt bad for a butterfly struggling to free itself, so they 'helped' it along by ripping open its casing to make its entry 'painless' and easy. The poor thing didn't gain the wing strength that comes from the struggle of emerging and it soon died as a result. What a story. I don't usually retain many of the stories i read in great detail, but i've always remembered that one. Monika didn't know that this living object lesson of struggle and emergence (of which she personally knows PLENTY) would help to catalyze my resolve to write about it. I didn't want to tell her about my thoughts because i knew that she was lost in her own -- a couple of days after this gorgeous thing and its companions broke free, they were released to commemorate the 5-year mark of the sudden and heart-breaking departure from this earth of Moni and Henri's only child, Nicole. Their struggle has been incredible. Its ongoing and i know always will be. I'm amazed at the extraordinary strength and compassion i see in them. Struggle in the extreme. Pressure makes diamonds.

What in this world isn't borne of struggle? Who isn't? We ourselves struggle to push our way into world and we struggle against leaving it. . . and everything in between those two marking events is variations on that theme and the theme is so big to talk about. . . life's a big thing and its hard to take the weighty matters of living and reduce them into words.

I was sitting here last night with so many things percolating in my mind. It all seemed to settle into flashes, a movie montage in my brain, details, faces, names, circumstances. Very powerful moment. The more i thought of them - their battles and their trials as well as their joys and triumphs (and those were only the things i knew about) - the more i became filled with respect for them with all they'd been through and by how their life experiences had shaped and uniquely marked them. Some of you reading this went through my mind. Sometimes it all seems so brutal, pain, trouble, burden, anxiety, uncertainty . . .but from this kind of stress can come such strength. If life is nothing else, its a paradox. . and because i know God, i know first hand how he is able to work and move in paradox to redeem even oppressive and arduous things and have them turn to yield uncommon perseverence and character in those who will trust him with their lives. He is a mystery. We are. Life is. I like mystery, it gives me something to wonder about. It helps me to know that i can't always know.

I can think of so many strife analogies, but i do get tired of trying to work these sometimes clunky things. I get tired of similes and alliteration and all those devices. I want to go beyond those tricks. I want to be honest, so i'll bring it down to my own thoughts to avoid overgeneralizing or preaching.

Struggle has been a teacher in my life. Because i'm me, i have made a struggle of things which i never should have. I have spent all of my energy and lost any chance to gain endurance. When genuine struggle then came to me, i've unable to respond to it because i'd become all used up in false struggle. I haven't always gotten over the 'its not fair' syndrome. There have been things in my life, relationships, circumstances which have not been easy - they were difficult, up hill, hard things, still are. I have made the mistake of looking at others who had no such strife in these areas, in fact seemed to glide and float and the sun shone upon them and made them golden. .*or so i thought* i turned green. . my heart hardened, my spirit shriveled. I chose all wrong. . my focus was all wrong, my vision too. I compared what i should not have compared. I glanced sideways when i should have looked up. I had not learned. I kicked and raled against learning. I did not rise up above as struggle can help you to do, i sunk down below as misuse of struggle can make you do. Real issues of social justice, equality, righteousness seemed unreal to me. I couldn't seem to care about reality and i fixated on non issues. I'm still working on this. I am now so touched by others, but my actions don't always come forth as easily as my tears. My heart is changing and i am more motivated to struggle with purpose. I feel like i'm now light years from who i used to be. God is with me and always has been. I was just too often too selfish to know this. I have been learning from my mistakes. Struggle can refine or crush. I've had both happen to me so far. Struggle always costs. I don't want to go through anything difficult in vain. I don't want to resent the price of anything that can help me to learn. I've tended to try to protect myself from further damage. . i've tried to make things painless and easy with avoidance and denial. . i've shunned painful situations thinking i would gain strength and i have since learned those situations were serving to strengthen me and by removing myself i have removed my own ability to persevere. I have done to myself what that well-meaning person did to that butterfly.

yeah. . its like that. .

i'm sure i'll think much more about all of this. It still feels too large to tackle all in one go. oh, i want to keep learning. . i want to have perspective and maturity and all the things that only struggle can help me to see!! How can i appreciate the beauty of resting and peace if i have never been opposed? How will i be strong unless i have had resistance to increase my strength?

We are pressed down on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed and broken. We are perplexed but we don't give up and quit. We are hunted down but God never abandons us. We get knocked down, but we get up again and keep going.

wingin' it. . .

2007-07-31T19:18:00.000-04:00

i'm not really sure what will come to me as i sit here and type . . . dirty plates are all that remain of supper (i guess i should get washing). Its hot out there so i've been staying indoors. I'll have to make this quick - i need to get to the drug store to get my puffer before they close - hot and/or humid weather is not my friend (hard to breathe).

I'm hoping to do some reading tonight - Rob's working some o/t so that will be nice to actually sit and open a book.

My oldest daughter had an ultrasound today - they think the baby is a girl!!!! *but they have to do another one because the little monkey was moving around too much and they didn't get all the views that they needed* So, yay for the possibility of another granddaughter! Though i'd be just as thrilled either way - so i'll try not to think too much of 'girl' and stay open to hear the news at the next scan.

I'm happy that i'm able to exercise again, after a LONG time when even sitting upright caused pain. Actually i'm not merely happy about that. . i'm ecstatic. I do have to be really careful - but if that's price i pay to be able to move again, i'm careful with a capital C . Its not like i have a choice though. . hmmm. . . what do i choose? relapse back to the dark side of my pain or stay as far away from it as i possibly can?! Stay away!!!!! I'll do anything and everything in my power to avoid going to that place again. I can do my kickboxing again. . i can dance, i can work my muscles again!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Until you can't do something, you will never know how important it was to you.

I'm home, working again. I miss everyone at work. It was a great privilege to be part of their daily lives and i miss that. I miss saying good morning to the girls. I miss going to break with them. I miss laughing at their crazy jokes. I even miss getting dressed up - though i have to say that working barefoot in yoga pants and a t-shirt is pretty awesome!!!

i have to go. . . this was kinda lame, i do hope my thought drought ends soon. I cannot seem to feel any sort of inspiration -- these things happen, i know. . i do feel hopeful for the 'rain' . . .

i've been an unfaithful blogger, its true

2007-07-27T23:21:00.000-04:00

Blogger. . i have left you for someone more exciting. . but i've felt bad about it and i'm really sorry. Please forgive me. Facebook dazzled and enticed me away with the free gifts, the graffiti wall, the gardens, the ease of use, the excitement, the drinks, the sheep being thrown -- i'm sorry but you'd be hard pressed to compete. Still, you wait faithfully for my return. I feel terrible. . . . . . NOT!!! Oh, i joke. . but i don't.

I haven't been inspired to write anything. I guess i have enough on my plate being back at work full time - its kinda sucked the creativity out of me. . maybe as I adjust i will feel more like saying something. I hope so. In the meantime, the flash and fun of Facebook has been a nice way to communicate with others. . . a lot more rewarding way, more immediate, more gratifying. It never feels like i'm alone on Facebook like i feel here on Blogger. When i write something in Facebook i feel like it might be and often is read. When i write anything here. . its like i'm sending all my words into a vacuum. Comments may appear, or not. . its frustrating and a little demoralizing.

jiffy post. .

2007-07-12T20:54:00.000-04:00

i don't think i've ever posted anything in 5 minutes? here goes. . .

my lawn looks like straw. its full of chipmunk holes. i have neglected my gardens, the perennials are doing their thing and i have planted no annuals. yes, i am ashamed.

I am working once more. i'm so glad to be back at it. . i feel like i have my life back. i'm a productive member of society again. i enjoy the interaction in the office, though its been a bit tough re-acclimating to the physical demands of work, of working out, of doing more in general. I wish someone would wave a magic wand over my spine and fix it all the way. i hate having this condition. . it sux. the simplest things are still challenging. I always have to be so careful about how i move, or how i position myself, how long i do something, i always have to think of ways to minimize aggravation, all my physio instructions, my occupational therapy instructions. . . I have to keep my posture and alignment just so, or i feel jabby reminders. i may be fooling myself in thinking i will be productive for another 20 years. But i can only live in the present and for the present i can do this. i don't want to get thrown into the 'unuseful pile'.

my granddaughter wants to be a princess till the day she dies. she loves my sparkly powder. she always wants to read stories. my grandson is still divergent in his interests, such a cool kid! his love for Elvis does not diminish. They both have cast their spell over me. . Nana is such a sucker for her grandchildren. LOVE THEM! In a blink i will have another grandchild to love. Already i love the idea of this little person. . and i can see the little 'bump' now!

i can't believe my daughters are adults -- both in their 20s. . . both such awesome women. Wow. . . . . . turn around and they're tiny. . . turn around and they're grown. . its not just a cliche, its truth. parenthood changes and the way you view yourself as a parent changes as your children grow.

we had an intense, little storm earlier this evening. storms are amazing. . . fascinating to watch. not so great to drive in!!!

i love spending time with my husband. . 30 years together, this month!!! can it really be that long????!!! how have 3 decades gone by already??!!!!! I'm so glad i went to camp that summer. To think, i had no intention of going!!!

i like the night

2007-07-05T22:16:00.000-04:00

the blackness is so calming. . well, in the city its more like the blue/black/light pollution haloness. Its never completely dark, but i love the night. I don't know if i'd love it so much if it was all i had to experience. . but then i wouldn't know anything else and couldn't make any contrasts. The sun is great for what it is and does. It gives energy, power, life -- but sometimes its just a bit too much for me. The sun fries my retinas if i try to look at it. It damages my skin, it makes me feel faint if i'm out in its full intensity. The sun is a friend who just comes on too strong.

Everyone acts different in the daytime. Its interesting. . . daytime = chaos, night time = relaxation. i love to drive at night, its just easier on the blood pressure. Night brings this melow vibe, whether you're cruisin' for ice cream, going out for a walk, swimming, roasting marshmallows. . .The street lights glow, the air smells fresh and damp. Sometimes you get those sultry nights where everything's so close and humid, clouds of insects around the lights, crickets squeaking, sticky air, hard to sleep. Don't like those so much, but there's also something kinda nice about them. Maybe its the sheer joy of bare feet and arms? I try not to complain about heat because its a welcome change from brrrrrrrr. . . winter. . . . . .

I don't get out enough at night. I don't sit out under the sky and feel the air on my skin. I resolve to change that. I do love to gaze at the moon for extended periods. I love to admire the stars. It feels energizing, at half speed. Daytime is energizing at warp speed -- waking, working, doing, going, Daytime feels frenetic and hyper. Nighttime feels tranquil and soothing. I've always preferred the night. Its the time i feel most like me. I need its quietness. The way it falls softly on everything, i can almost hear it. It has a lovely presence, so restorative. I have such a propensity to absorb energy into myself and feel the stresses that come with that; i absorb other people's energy and when it combines with my own, i can easily feel overloaded. Night time is the best time to sigh away the tension, think, relax, be still, unload, breathe -- ahhhhhhh.

silver is not my favourite colour

2007-06-21T20:42:00.000-04:00

I like to live with certain illusions, eating dessert often is okay, the clothes in the 'ironing pile' will be taken care of by the chore fairies, our debts will some day be gone, i still have shiny, dark hair. I'm firmly in touch with reality.

Yes, my hair is dark right now, but give it another month and you'd be pulling me aside and saying "Hey, Cruella, don't you think you should see someone about that white stripe?" *BIG SIGH* George Clooney and Richard Gere are very secure with becoming silver foxes. Oh, i wish i could share their bliss. Am i vain? I don't think so, i'm too insecure for that!!! Is this superficial? Of course it is and i chastise myself mentally for fixating on such a nothing deal, yet to me it has 'something' status. Since my greying journey began i've used different, desperate methods to deal with the issue. I've turned to purchasing 'youth assistance' from WalMart -- L'Oreal was good for a while, though i always felt like it looked one dimensional. I gave Garnier a whirl -- BIG mistake. . i purchased some mahoganyish shade -- ended up with purple hair. It was plain embarrassing. I felt like my head was a giant eggplant. It made my skin look sallow. Horrible. I eventually got tired of the self-help colourization and decided to leap into streaks, chunks and went a bit wild with them . . . . ash blonde, caramel, purple, blackish brown -- not all at the same time!!! Funny, i hated having the Garnier purple hair, but fast forward a few years and i'm paying someone to streak some of my hair what colour? Barney purple. Hypocrite! Really though, it was cool! Jenny is my pro and she does a great job of hiding my silver hair, though she actually thinks the silver is cool and that i should just let it shine. BAH!!! As if!!!! I really hate it. It makes me feel different about myself and its not a good different.

When i first started to go grey i was 20 years old. I have a sneaking suspicion that the area of my head in which i first started to have these horrible white strands was the actual area on which had dropped several large tins of frozen juice from my Nana's freezer, as i crawled under there when things were being loaded/unloaded? This was unfortunate and may account for not only prematurely white hair but perhaps for any sort of mental state i'd like to assign to the incident?! But where could i begin?! I used to pull the greys out. Kinda hurt!!! Eventually i had to stop . It reminded me of trying to deal with dandelions on my lawn. . losing battle.

I wasn't ready to resign. I'm still not. I more recently got rid of the streaky look and went with a nice, warm brown. Wow, what a difference!!! People asked me if i'd had a makeover?! I guess so!!! They said i looked 10 years younger (yeah, yeah, that's good. . .) My eyes looked different, they're actually almost greenish gold and i always thought they were just 'brown'. My skin looked different, better different. I didn't want this to change, i wanted to keep the illusion, but nothing ever stays the same and i happen to have very fast growing hair. . so now the silver is re-emerging in a 'halo' around my temples, at the crown. I read Proverbs 16:31 Grey hair is a crown of glory; it is gained by living a godly life. and i think: 'Geez. . . i must be the most glorious chick around, cuz i'm so crowned!!!' Why do i fight this trivial thing? Shouldn't i be natural? go grey gracefully? embrace my Grandmotherhood (well i do, but i still can't bring myself to embrace the grey) What's my problem? Its good enough for George Glooney. . . but he's a guy! Guys. . this is one of those double standards; greying men look 'distinguished', greying women look 'old'!! I want to reject this and say "Poppycock!" or "Balderdash!" but you know what? its true. I have no grounds for dispute.

So, yeah, i'm developing a skunk stripe and its making me depressed. Time to call 1-800-Jenny!!! I have talks with myself that go like this: "When i'm in my 50s or 60s i'll be okay with it." Yeah, right!!!

whatever pops into my mind

2007-06-15T23:47:00.000-04:00

Yesterday i saw pictures of my preborn grandchild! The resolution in ultrasonography has improved so much from the 80s, you just can't compare those greyish/white 'blobs' with today's intricate, any- 'joe'- can- see- the -details. Its amazing the way we can peek into the inner sanctum and see a forming life.

Work is going well, 2 hours shifts, who can complain about that??! I'm getting back into getting up early and being out the door with a purpose. It does wonders for the psyche. Its too easy to feel aimless when every day is wide open with no structure. . its hard to stay motivated. Physio is ongoing and my physical progress is astounding when i think of how it felt when i was deep in the pit and how liberated i now feel -- free of strong narcotics, free of near-total inability, free of mind-addling, spirit sapping pain. I sleep, i have begun to exercise, i feel like i'm able to pick up my life again and take it back. I have turned the corner! I am no longer despair's prisoner. I feel possibility and hope for full living.

My dog weighs 9 pounds, 2 ounces and has a clean bill of health. She had her hair cut and bath last night. She has yet, after all the groomings Rob has given her, learned to relax and let him get rid of that excess fur. She jerks and moves constantly, resistant to the end, panting crazily, uncooperative in the extreme. Its an exhausting process both of them! I usually get drafted to help when it comes to trimming her underbelly. I'm pretty strong and she's pretty tiny - but trying to pry her hind legs apart is surprisingly difficult. I sometimes wonder if her tendons are made of high-tensile steel wire? She's looking very adorable and her fur, which feels like half her weight, is in the compost bin and all is forgiven.

I don't have a name for this colour, hard to describe, but today i discovered another blue to wear besides pale blue. . its very saturated, a cross between turqouise and teal. Looks good with my hair and my skin. It also makes me feel happy. Colour has this way with the brain. . . interesting.

Learning is one of those things that helps with humility. I hope i never get to the point where i think i know a lot, because i think that's the point at which i couldn't be taught and that's the point at which i would begin to harden and seal off. I want to say more but i don't know how to order the thoughts or assign them words. Its been a time of plumbing the depths and being just unable to sound them -- as if they could be. . .

Its little joys that make things so swell -- having more gas in your tank than you realized, catching up on the household paperwork/bills, meeting up with someone you've missed, cooking the rice perfectly, sleeping in a freshly-made bed, feeling at home, finding beauty where you least suspect and feeling the potential of who you aren't yet but one day will be.

is blogging on the way out?

2007-06-04T22:51:00.000-04:00

i don't know, what do you guys think? is blogging starting to drop off? Are the interactive cyberactivities that much more fulfilling? Facebook, Myspace, MSN, whatever else there is out there? I find FB easy to use and kinda fun, certainly more instant and more about back and forth 'talking'. There is something about sitting down to write something. I don't think i could ever give that up and yes it is a solitary thing to do but it brings its own reward - letting things come from your heart, your mind, your spirit and giving them shape, choosing the words, seeing what you feel in writing. Its a thrill that 'wall writing' can't even touch. Though you do put yourself 'out there' having phrased your vulnerabilities or vanities, hoping that what you say will resonate with somebody? anybody? help them? give them a smile? and with blogging you always wonder. . .your ego wonders! and i do hear this in other bloggers' posts. . "Does anybody actually read this?"!!! Its even tempting to keep score of how many people visit your site (though this is something i've never done, because i really don't want to know). All things considered, i still enjoy blogging and checking people's blogs. i like to read what they're thinking , what inspires them, what irks them, amuses, all kinds of other things. i love communication but i notice the effect remote closeness has on me. I sit to write, i read other people's writings - feeling connected, yet oddly disconnected. Keeping the world at arm's length, but at my fingertips. Sure its great for keeping in touch with geographically-distant friends/family, but its bizarre that i have more cyber than actual contact with people who live in my own city!!

Why don't people call? visit? These things take precious time. I think the pace of life has almost dictated such innovation. Virtual contact brings control, choice - to read or not, to make comment or not, how to block/inspect comments prior to allowing them, how to keep away the spam, control how much personal information you divulge, choose what time of day or night to access, its very convenient - customizable but relationally stifling at the same time. Do you feel more free to express yourself here and perhaps more inhibited in face to face encounters? Everyone searches out their own methods to make communication technology work for them, this has always been true. I don't know though, there is a different feel in the 21st century. Fewer boundaries? More danger? Is it too much for us? Can we handle it? Technology races headlong and consequences trail in its wake.

We're all in this, i'm not grousing, just making observations. i'm thinking about the implications of computerization as it relates to our lifestyles, our friendships, our ways of informing, sharing, bonding, distancing. . it is interesting. . . .