I’ve been busy thinking over the past few weeks…and sorely neglecting my writing as I immerse myself in Christmas decorating, baking, shopping, wrapping, card writing and the like. It seems that this time of year gets busier and busier every year. I had mentioned to a colleague that it seemed much quieter when I was a kid, only realizing as I said it that as an adult, much more responsibility lies in making the season enjoyable for my kids. So as they put up decorations in their room and watch Christmas specials on television, I am frantically zipping around my kitchen making sure I have my promised eggnog bread ready for the work potluck lunch, and that my cards have been mailed out so they reach their intended recipients on time. I’m checking my list and coming to recognize that I will have inevitably missed something/someone along the way.
But this Christmas will be different from all the others. This will be the first “Christmas Day” in 43 years that I will be spending alone. It comes with having to schedule children between two homes and taking turns with major holidays. (This year is his.) But there is a light in all this madness, and it isn’t the light from the Christmas tree (which I just now realized I have forgotten to water!). In all the madness and scrambling that usually happens Christmas morning, I will be able to leisurely rise and make the required pot of coffee, toast a bagel, put on some classic Christmas music and just relax in my fuzzy white bathrobe. It will be a morning free of hassle and disturbances, of rushing to acting lessons, or doing last minute grocery shopping. It will be a morning of quiet reflection. Of remembering Christmases past, and looking forward to those to come. In an odd sense I am thankful that I will have this time to myself.
That said, there are places I would rather be and special people I would rather be spending it with. Since it is not possible at this time, I will be making the best of it. Time with family will come the following weekend when we get together to celebrate on the 29th. Then someone who is very special arrives the following week. This time of year is about family and friends and being thankful for their presence in your life however they may have touched you. I am privileged to have been touched by many people over the past year. I have had the support and advice of family and friends, which has aided in getting me to this point. I have reconnected with faces not seen for years, and continued to bond with those who have always been here. . So in a sense, I will not be alone this Christmas, because Christmas to me is wherever you are, and who you are with, and when you decide to recognize it. In a sense, I have been recognizing it all year long. Thank you everyone. For just being.
Thursday, 20 December 2007
Tuesday, 20 November 2007
Dirty Laundry
There are municipalities in this country which have restrictive covenants against clotheslines on one's property. They were originally instituted in a time when energy conservation was not one of the prevailing issues faced by society and property esthetics were deemed as more important. Today, when we are confronted with rising electricity and oil costs, it just makes sense to cut back on energy use where we can.
Early in my (now dissolved) marriage I expressed my wish to erect a clothesline the backyard of the home we had recently purchased. This simple request was met with disdain and derision and I was literally shocked into silence. When I tried to argue my case it was like my words were hitting a brick wall. Although I was never given a concrete reason, I have since been lead to believe that the clothesline symbolized poverty and lower class levels. Who would have thought a simple and cost effective method of drying one's clothes could cause such a great debate? Curious, I posed a question to some friends, worded as unbiased as I could, "Do you/would you use a clothes line to dry your clothes? Why/why not?"
I won't call my results scientific by any means, but they were oddly telling. Of the roughly 25 people I polled, only 3 women answered my call compared with 7 men… All three women and 5 of the men would be overwhelmingly in favour of using a clothesline, if they weren't already. The reasons varied, but themes included wanting to conserve energy, liking the smell of line-hung clothing and the invoking of childhood memories.
A simple internet search reveals that this subject runs much deeper than most people would think. Photographers have captured the beauty of clotheslines in their shadow, shape and form and there are books dedicated to various knots used to secure the cords between two trees/poles/buildings. There are also "green" websites devoted to the act of hang drying clothes where the forums go on for pages with all opinions and reasons for (or against), the simple line. It's almost as if there is a secret clothesline society.
For myself there is a poignant romanticism associated with them. They extol life at its simplest denominator. The sound of sheets and towels fluttering, the silhouettes they cast upon the green grass below or the buildings between which they hang, and most prominent, the fresh smells they capture and bring inside to be experienced for days to come. There is just a homey satisfaction to the unpretentious act of hanging clothes out to dry.
Although the closest I can come today is a wooden drying rack in my apartment spare room, I can guarantee that the next home I buy will have a clothesline in the back yard. (I guess that brings the women total up to 4.)
Monday, 5 November 2007
Pure Passion
Pure passion is a part of many of us. We have things in our lives that we are avid about. And some of us have more than just one. A high school friend I have just recently reconnected with sparked the idea for this post.
We had not seen each other for probably close to 25 years. At a high school reunion we spoke briefly and outlined, in a few short sentences, what we had done during that time. It is easy to discover someone’s passion when you have only a few short minutes to compress your life. People tend to pick out the best of the best when looking to quickly describe their life. More often than not, a person’s passions will be first and foremost. While this particular friend was telling me what he had been doing since we last parted a recurring theme emerged in his descriptions. His wife and children were the first thing he mentioned, then next, not surprisingly, wasn’t his job (I still don’t know what he does) but his chosen sport, windsurfing. I knew then, when I saw the spark in his eye, that this was something about which he felt quite strong. And he could see that I was receptive to hearing more, so he elaborated and enthusiastically answered my questions on the subject.
It is curious to listen to someone speak about something that holds so much importance to them. And even more intriguing to be able to relate to them and share in their enthusiasm, even if you don’t understand anything about it. Because if you have a passion of your own, you already know the feeling and can apply it to something that is familiar to you.
He in turn has commented to me about my personal aspirations, running, but more to the point, running the Boston Marathon in 2008. Because we both understand, there is very little that actually needs to be said. It’s like we just know. I find it interesting that there are some people whom I barely know who can understand my passion more than someone who spent over 12 years of their life with me. But it just tells me that in order to understand passion, you must own it. And to own it you must feel it. Only then can it make you become truly alive.
We had not seen each other for probably close to 25 years. At a high school reunion we spoke briefly and outlined, in a few short sentences, what we had done during that time. It is easy to discover someone’s passion when you have only a few short minutes to compress your life. People tend to pick out the best of the best when looking to quickly describe their life. More often than not, a person’s passions will be first and foremost. While this particular friend was telling me what he had been doing since we last parted a recurring theme emerged in his descriptions. His wife and children were the first thing he mentioned, then next, not surprisingly, wasn’t his job (I still don’t know what he does) but his chosen sport, windsurfing. I knew then, when I saw the spark in his eye, that this was something about which he felt quite strong. And he could see that I was receptive to hearing more, so he elaborated and enthusiastically answered my questions on the subject.
It is curious to listen to someone speak about something that holds so much importance to them. And even more intriguing to be able to relate to them and share in their enthusiasm, even if you don’t understand anything about it. Because if you have a passion of your own, you already know the feeling and can apply it to something that is familiar to you.
He in turn has commented to me about my personal aspirations, running, but more to the point, running the Boston Marathon in 2008. Because we both understand, there is very little that actually needs to be said. It’s like we just know. I find it interesting that there are some people whom I barely know who can understand my passion more than someone who spent over 12 years of their life with me. But it just tells me that in order to understand passion, you must own it. And to own it you must feel it. Only then can it make you become truly alive.
Wednesday, 24 October 2007
In all seriousness…no really…
It has come to my attention that my posts of late are on the way-too-serious side…I’ve been reflecting so deeply to the point that I am starting to gasp for air and it takes too long for me to surface these days…I think I may need to lighten up and perhaps reflect on the lighter side of my life.
My sister-in-law and I trade positive affirmations on a daily basis…These “affirmations” are intended to put a cheerful swing on our activities of the last 24 hours as well as look optimistically ahead to what may be in store for us for that day. In the last year I must admit we have taken positive to a whole new level…
Do you remember when you were in school and you were about to write an exam and muttered under your breath, “I’m going to fail this test.” The teacher hears you and tells you to think positively, so then you mutter, “I am POSITIVE I’m going to fail this test.” That is the twist we have adopted with our routine updates. We are at the point where we now search for the most depressing part of our day to contort into a positively negative twist.
For example…she was having a rushed morning a couple of weeks ago so didn’t have a lot of time to style her hair the way she normally does. This is part of her affirmation list from that day:
- I did my hair this morning…it isn’t drying naturally
- People in the office aren’t asking…did you get a perm?
- Yes, I got a perm
It makes me smile and starts the day off on a light note…
It has also come to the point where we will try to out-affirm each other with the most outlandish statements we can muster up, not an easy thing to do first thing in the morning with barely a cup of coffee in our bloodstream. I find it gets my creativity kick-started and often I end up jotting down a few lines which sometimes end up as part of a blog topic. Another example shows how I turned my immense discomfort from a 5 day scorching heat wave this summer into a positive experience which I blogged about back in July (see “Heat”)
- I slept comfortably the entire night.
- It was cool and lovely in my apartment when I got home last night.
- It was cool and lovely in my apartment when I left for work this morning.
- I am just reveling in this weather.
- It is absolutely gorgeous!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
- I did not come to work strictly for the air-conditioning.
And then there are the running affirmations…this sport which we both do and love and hate at the same time has been the source of many laugh-out-loud mornings…this from my sister-in-law four weeks after blackening her toenail while running the Manitoba Marathon:
- I didn’t pull off my toenail last night.
- It hurt.
- I have a new toenail under it.
- It doesn’t hurt now.
- I can wear open-toe shoes.
And mine after a particularly tough, but satisfying, hill workout:
- Hills are my friend.
- I didn’t nearly lose a lung after my 7th repeat.
- My muscles weren’t screaming after I was done.
- I wanted to run at least 5 more.
And thus begins each day…
I think we need to inject humour into our daily lives. What manner that humour comes to us is unique to each individual. I have had a year of seriousness that I have tried to punctuate with small clips of joy. This is one way for me to start my workday on a high note.
- I hope none of you ever get this opportunity.
:)
Friday, 19 October 2007
Doing Something Right…
There are times in this mother’s life when I realize that things I’ve done, the morals and values that reside within me and the way I conduct my life, have silently and stealthily transferred to my children and all I can do is smile and beam with pride.
I had taken my two boys shopping for Halloween costumes at Walmart and while we were browsing the extensive selection of costumes and other assorted items, my youngest, who had gone over one aisle to look for props, called to me, “Mom, look at this!” Thinking he had found a particularly gory knife, or scary mask I glanced up to see him holding a small black change purse. I figured he’d found something to hold his allowance. When he shook it, it jingled and he handed it to me telling me to open it. Considering where we were in the store, I became suspicious and thought that it was a gag purse and prepared myself for something to pop out. I slowly pried the clasp apart and tentatively gazed inside, surprised to find close to $10 worth of loonies and twoonies. I looked at my son and immediately he said that we had to take it to the front because someone must have lost it. I told him we could do it on our way out of the store…but when the time came to check out we had both forgotten about it – he had put it in his pants pocket and I was mentally calculating how much our purchase would come to. We got in the car and started the drive home. Several blocks away he exclaimed from the back seat in a somewhat panicked voice, “Mom! We have to go back to Walmart RIGHT NOW!” Again, preoccupied, I figured he had forgotten an integral part of his costume…I was ready to tell him we’d go back another day when he revealed he still had the purse in his pocket.
So I turned the car around and headed back to the store. Back in the parking lot, I dropped him at the doors and went to park the car, telling him I’d meet him inside. When I got there he was explaining the situation to a somewhat preoccupied woman at the customer service desk. Not once breaking a smile, or even thanking him, she took the purse from him and told him she would put it in the office. And that was that. I stood there with him momentarily, waiting for her to perhaps thank him for his honesty, or something. But she was already looking to the next person in line.
Missing these subtleties, my son grabbed my hand and we walked back to the car, him chattering away wondering if the little girl (for he had convinced himself it belonged to a girl) would come back looking for it. He seemed quite proud of his actions and I’d wished he’d been more rewarded for his kindness…not monetarily, but by some sort of acknowledgement. So I did the only thing I knew and gave him a hug and told him how proud I was of him.
Not once in this entire encounter did he even hint at wanting to keep the money. Not once was there any question of not returning this purse. And I wondered how many other 9 year olds, let alone how many adults, would have done the same thing…the purse was small and barely noticeable, and the contents were almost dismissible in the entire scheme of things. But this little boy was insistent he do the right thing. And by him doing the right thing, I was rewarded knowing that in the way I have conducted myself around my children has evidently worn off. So in a sense, I am also doing the right thing…it feels pretty good.
I had taken my two boys shopping for Halloween costumes at Walmart and while we were browsing the extensive selection of costumes and other assorted items, my youngest, who had gone over one aisle to look for props, called to me, “Mom, look at this!” Thinking he had found a particularly gory knife, or scary mask I glanced up to see him holding a small black change purse. I figured he’d found something to hold his allowance. When he shook it, it jingled and he handed it to me telling me to open it. Considering where we were in the store, I became suspicious and thought that it was a gag purse and prepared myself for something to pop out. I slowly pried the clasp apart and tentatively gazed inside, surprised to find close to $10 worth of loonies and twoonies. I looked at my son and immediately he said that we had to take it to the front because someone must have lost it. I told him we could do it on our way out of the store…but when the time came to check out we had both forgotten about it – he had put it in his pants pocket and I was mentally calculating how much our purchase would come to. We got in the car and started the drive home. Several blocks away he exclaimed from the back seat in a somewhat panicked voice, “Mom! We have to go back to Walmart RIGHT NOW!” Again, preoccupied, I figured he had forgotten an integral part of his costume…I was ready to tell him we’d go back another day when he revealed he still had the purse in his pocket.
So I turned the car around and headed back to the store. Back in the parking lot, I dropped him at the doors and went to park the car, telling him I’d meet him inside. When I got there he was explaining the situation to a somewhat preoccupied woman at the customer service desk. Not once breaking a smile, or even thanking him, she took the purse from him and told him she would put it in the office. And that was that. I stood there with him momentarily, waiting for her to perhaps thank him for his honesty, or something. But she was already looking to the next person in line.
Missing these subtleties, my son grabbed my hand and we walked back to the car, him chattering away wondering if the little girl (for he had convinced himself it belonged to a girl) would come back looking for it. He seemed quite proud of his actions and I’d wished he’d been more rewarded for his kindness…not monetarily, but by some sort of acknowledgement. So I did the only thing I knew and gave him a hug and told him how proud I was of him.
Not once in this entire encounter did he even hint at wanting to keep the money. Not once was there any question of not returning this purse. And I wondered how many other 9 year olds, let alone how many adults, would have done the same thing…the purse was small and barely noticeable, and the contents were almost dismissible in the entire scheme of things. But this little boy was insistent he do the right thing. And by him doing the right thing, I was rewarded knowing that in the way I have conducted myself around my children has evidently worn off. So in a sense, I am also doing the right thing…it feels pretty good.
Thursday, 4 October 2007
On the Periphery
I have never truly felt like I belonged. For as long as I can remember, I have always been conscious of the fact that I tend to hover around the periphery of the social groups to which I belong. Be it work, or school, or extracurricular and to some extent even my own family (in larger gatherings), I have never felt completely secure.
To others who know me, this may sound absolutely and utterly unfounded, but to me, who is experiencing my own life in the first person, the gap exists, and it is very real. There have been rare moments where I do feel the intense unconditional acceptance, and I nearly buckle at the knees because the feeling is overwhelming.
But for now, I stand back, and begin to question why I feel this way:
The fact that it is present in all circles in my life tells me that it is not something that is unique to a specific group. This also reveals to me that this has everything to do with me, and nothing to do with other people, or group dynamics. I am obviously, unintentially, the catalyst.
I think who we are deep inside, and who we present to the outer world are very different people, and we tend to try to bury the characteristics we don’t want to display. But every now and then, the soil of our existence erodes, and our true selves sneak back up for air. It is this self that may be responsible for my feelings of marginality.
I can trace this feeling back to grade school. I was never one of the popular kids, yet also never on the loner end of the spectrum either. Always hovering somewhere between the two. I was never athletic, and never had any interest to be, so was usually chosen last for team sports in gym, a stigma that stings to this day. Knowing that you weren’t wanted by either side, but had to be settled upon eventually, can be a very demeaning feeling, especially to a 10 year old.
You never really lose, or shed the core of who you’ve always been. Formerly obese people, who have kept weight off for years, tell me that they still see the overweight person they once were. It never really goes away. In a sense, it is part of who we were, are and will be in the future, even if it is hidden. So it sticks to us, an adhesive attribute, not easily flung off with a flick of the wrist. And we must resign ourselves to accept this, for we cannot reject parts of who we are and retain others. The entire package is ours for life – not to be divided as suits our mood.
Ultimately, no matter how confident and self-assured I may appear outwardly, I am still deathly afraid of rejection or ridicule, at any level. And this may be why I am reluctant to place myself unsolicited into the middle of many social situations. My comfort level has never been there. So I spend my time lingering just outside, contributing when I feel it’s safe, and occasionally venturing into that zone of discomfort, pushing my internal envelope, even though it terrifies me. But the terror belongs to me, and I can harness it. I guess that’s the first step. And at least I have taken it.
To others who know me, this may sound absolutely and utterly unfounded, but to me, who is experiencing my own life in the first person, the gap exists, and it is very real. There have been rare moments where I do feel the intense unconditional acceptance, and I nearly buckle at the knees because the feeling is overwhelming.
But for now, I stand back, and begin to question why I feel this way:
The fact that it is present in all circles in my life tells me that it is not something that is unique to a specific group. This also reveals to me that this has everything to do with me, and nothing to do with other people, or group dynamics. I am obviously, unintentially, the catalyst.
I think who we are deep inside, and who we present to the outer world are very different people, and we tend to try to bury the characteristics we don’t want to display. But every now and then, the soil of our existence erodes, and our true selves sneak back up for air. It is this self that may be responsible for my feelings of marginality.
I can trace this feeling back to grade school. I was never one of the popular kids, yet also never on the loner end of the spectrum either. Always hovering somewhere between the two. I was never athletic, and never had any interest to be, so was usually chosen last for team sports in gym, a stigma that stings to this day. Knowing that you weren’t wanted by either side, but had to be settled upon eventually, can be a very demeaning feeling, especially to a 10 year old.
You never really lose, or shed the core of who you’ve always been. Formerly obese people, who have kept weight off for years, tell me that they still see the overweight person they once were. It never really goes away. In a sense, it is part of who we were, are and will be in the future, even if it is hidden. So it sticks to us, an adhesive attribute, not easily flung off with a flick of the wrist. And we must resign ourselves to accept this, for we cannot reject parts of who we are and retain others. The entire package is ours for life – not to be divided as suits our mood.
Ultimately, no matter how confident and self-assured I may appear outwardly, I am still deathly afraid of rejection or ridicule, at any level. And this may be why I am reluctant to place myself unsolicited into the middle of many social situations. My comfort level has never been there. So I spend my time lingering just outside, contributing when I feel it’s safe, and occasionally venturing into that zone of discomfort, pushing my internal envelope, even though it terrifies me. But the terror belongs to me, and I can harness it. I guess that’s the first step. And at least I have taken it.
Monday, 1 October 2007
A Defining Moment
I have recently been told that I am a completely different person than I used to be. And though I know it pained the bearer of this news, and the method in which it was delivered was far from tactful and diplomatic, it gave me a small sense of satisfaction, because it reinforced my view of who I am, and who I have become.
I have been on a lifelong search for contentment in self. I believe this search is ongoing, and we constantly reinvent and renew who we are over the years.
Seven years ago, I found a new niche: in running. It has evolved from the occasional 2-mile, barely exerting myself, run every couple of days, to the extreme of logging up to 40 miles a week training for marathons.
I know there are people in my social circle who strive to understand this passion I have embraced, and regardless, accept me for who I am, no matter what I do. Others have not been as understanding, and have questioned, criticized and disregarded its importance in my life.
This latter group is smaller, and I feel sorry for the limited understanding they have. This is why I have become more accepting and receptive to others’ choices and interests. To stay open, to try to see through other people’s eyes is an ongoing test, and I just hope that those people who don’t understand me will someday find it in themselves to try. Running has become one of my definitions, but it is not, nor ever will be my only one. I think that is what some other people cannot or will not distinguish. For this they are truly missing out.
Perhaps one day, they will see and feel what I do: the challenge in every steep hill I pass, the endless tranquility of a leaf covered trail, the sounds of my breath and the feel of my heart beating in my chest, the triumph of crossing the finish line of my first, and subsequent, marathon, the achievement of breaking a personal record on a training run, the beauty in a sweat soaked body bent over with exertion, the pleasure in the pain of exhausted muscles, the smell of new running shoes just out of the box and ready to run, the need to do it over and over again, because in the end it just feels good.
I know I have not stopped evolving, and I sincerely hope I don’t ever stop. I think it is essential to who I am as a person, and who I continue to become. And although I won’t force my decision onto anyone else, neither will I apologize for these choices, or the way in which I have opted to live my life. The clarity and simplicity in which I approach things now is refreshing and I don’t ever want to lose that. It is for this very reason that I won’t.
I have been on a lifelong search for contentment in self. I believe this search is ongoing, and we constantly reinvent and renew who we are over the years.
Seven years ago, I found a new niche: in running. It has evolved from the occasional 2-mile, barely exerting myself, run every couple of days, to the extreme of logging up to 40 miles a week training for marathons.
I know there are people in my social circle who strive to understand this passion I have embraced, and regardless, accept me for who I am, no matter what I do. Others have not been as understanding, and have questioned, criticized and disregarded its importance in my life.
This latter group is smaller, and I feel sorry for the limited understanding they have. This is why I have become more accepting and receptive to others’ choices and interests. To stay open, to try to see through other people’s eyes is an ongoing test, and I just hope that those people who don’t understand me will someday find it in themselves to try. Running has become one of my definitions, but it is not, nor ever will be my only one. I think that is what some other people cannot or will not distinguish. For this they are truly missing out.
Perhaps one day, they will see and feel what I do: the challenge in every steep hill I pass, the endless tranquility of a leaf covered trail, the sounds of my breath and the feel of my heart beating in my chest, the triumph of crossing the finish line of my first, and subsequent, marathon, the achievement of breaking a personal record on a training run, the beauty in a sweat soaked body bent over with exertion, the pleasure in the pain of exhausted muscles, the smell of new running shoes just out of the box and ready to run, the need to do it over and over again, because in the end it just feels good.
I know I have not stopped evolving, and I sincerely hope I don’t ever stop. I think it is essential to who I am as a person, and who I continue to become. And although I won’t force my decision onto anyone else, neither will I apologize for these choices, or the way in which I have opted to live my life. The clarity and simplicity in which I approach things now is refreshing and I don’t ever want to lose that. It is for this very reason that I won’t.
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