So, the world apparently needs me

Came across this in my journal, written in Florence, in 2009. Kind of an interesting coincidence...

Three times in the last week or so, I have been told, “The world needs you.” - twice in these exact words yesterday. 

One was the guy who owns the Il Papiro shop and let me make my own paper, then chatted with me for a long time on his craft. 

The other was after I met Alesandro, the artist I met a few days before and went back to visit yesterday (I bought him a gelato and we chatted for an hour or so).

The other was the palm reader in Roma - though not in those exact words.

This is something I am reflecting on.

Almost 10 years in review?

Well, not quite... but while I was looking for something on my blog today, I found a post I made about a month before my 50th birthday. Considering that I'll be saying hello to 60 in less than 4 months, I thought this portion of it might be worth a review.

My initial observation is that I'm not much into buckletlists, as stopped 1/2-way through my list of 50 things. But I did do some of these:

50 THINGS I STILL WANT TO DO... (from age 50)

My arrival in Rome

1.See Rome - DONE!

Little did I know when I created my list that I would spend 3 weeks in Rome in 2009. Mostly all I remember now is the good, but I did have a bit of a love/hate relationship with Rome when I was there. It probably had more to do with the heat and fatigue, and coming face-to-face with my life after a few months on the road, but it's something I mulled over in my mind for a long time. Oh, yes, I was sick too. I actually started to write a book about that... I wonder where that draft is?

My reflections from my first day:
Arrival in Rome


2.See Led Zepplin live

My first beepdoodles booth

3.Sell a piece of my art - DONE!

I sold my first in 2011. This is a pic of a little booth I had at weekly flea market affair, which I did for a few months. I actually went on to have a booth at the Moss Street Market. It was a great accomplishment, but more work than fun... and finally realized I loved doodling more than selling.

4.Visit Ottawa and our national museums

5.Visit the Artic

6.Take the train across Canada

7.Learn another language

8.Take a transatlantic crossing

I saw this and much more Gaudi
architecture in Barcelona!

9.See Gaudi architecture in Barcelona - DONE!

I saw a lot of Gaudi architecture in Barcelona, but for some reason I don't have many pictures on my blog. But it was FABULOUS!!

Here's one of my blog posts (and I really should go back and post more of my Gaudi pictures):
Barcelona is a sea of...

10.Go to the Rock of Gibralter

11.See Moscow's awesome subway stations

Me at an exclusive-access U2 concert
at Brandenburg Gate in Berlin

12.See a rock concert at Madison Square Gardens or the o2 in London (or both ;-) - DONE!

Actually, not done, but close enough. I consider my experience at the U2 concert at Brandenburg Gate in Berlin to be comparable.

I posted quite a bit about this on my blog, including how I changed my flights to be there, even though I couldn't get a ticket... then I did!:
Irony near the old Iron Curtain
U2 in Berlin: Experience my experience

13.Make a difference in this world - hmmm...

14.See the Bay of Fundy

I probably planned to write about my time in
Florence when I got to Venice, but who
would want to stay inside?
This pic is from my post on Venice bars.

15.See Michael Angelo's David - to witness what the amazing efforts in WWII to save it gave us - DONE!

I definitely did this, and it (he) was glorious. Unfortunately, I don't seem to have any pictures on my blog from Florence to even prove I was there. I guess I was out having too much fun. I did a lot there, including papermaking from one of the oldest papermakers in the city.

16.Visit Amsterdam

17.Go to the Sydney Opera House

18.Visit Normandy and the Canadian memorial

This silly train picture is from my arrival in
Paris. I suspect I was a little more travel worn
and relaxed when I boarded my overnight
train from Paris to Rome

19.Take an overnight train in Europe - lie in bed being rocked by the train... - DONE!

There was a nun in the upper berth of my cabin eating potato chips! Really. I could have written a comedy show about it, but I held the ladder for the ancient gal when she came down to use the loo!

Our pedicab driver in Central Park

20.A carriage ride around Central Park - DONE!

Actually, not done, but my friend Kelly and I took a pedicab around Central Park instead, and a much better idea anyways. I'd definitely recommend it.

A few highlights from that day in NYC and just scroll for more (I think I was there about 10 days):
In the Big Apple: Sunday in NYC

21.Have nude portraits taken - DONE!

Well, not done, but I did do several life (nude) modelling sessions for artists, so I actually consider that to be braver! Don't worry, there shall be no photos!

22.Get a tattoo of my own art

My booth at the Empress show

23.Show my art at a show or in a cafe or something - DONE!

I participated in an art show at the Empress Hotel in 2011. While I was out for coffee, a fellow from New York apparently bought one of my doodle clocks (pictured at the back), for a nice tidy price! Never met him though.

24.Go through the Chunnel

That's me in the mirror, at the
"real" Checkpoint Charlie

25.Visit Checkpoint Charlie - DONE!

And I saw the real one!

When I spent a month in Berlin, I went to the Allied Museum, where the original hut is housed - the rest of the site was fantastic, and it's a much overlooked attraction.

Read more in my blog post:
Would the real Checkpoint Charlie please stand up?

26. and here my list stopped...




Creeping up on 50...

Seeking clarity

I am seeking clarity.

In a sense, nothing new in that. But I really am.

So many balls in the air, so many mixed emotions and issues, I have been living in the blur. But no more. I need to break things down. Put each thing in it's own tidy little corner. Look at them individually. I need to look at them in relationship to each other too, of course, but first, I need to divide and conquer.

I was inspired yesterday by someone I respect tremendously, posting the reality of their life in the last year. It was an 'oh wow' moment. We have no idea what people are going through.

What struck me most was how brutally honestly he described what depression does to you, and the dance between depression and grief.

I experience both. It's only recently that I came to realize that depression is present in my life again. I am well aware that grief is something I am living with, though I was 'surprised' to realize that on New Year's Eve it had only been 3 years since I lost my mom. So recent. Yet it feels like I've been living with it so long.

What struck me yesterday, after reading his post, was that I hadn't been trying to separate them out at all. I'd just been living in an overwhelmed state, and doing my best to get through it.

Or not doing my best.

But I was doing what I could.

Now, a bit of clarity, a sliver of light bringing things into focus, just a bit.

It's not just depression and grief, of course, why would things be that simple? It the continual adjustment to no longer living alone, being overwhelmed at work, losing my second source of income, my own personal issues intruding on my interactions with others, to the point of acting out (badly) and living with the fallout. Through in being beyond broke, and falling back into debt, and feeling grounded (aren't I supposed to be travelling the globe, without a care in the world?). It's noticing that I haven't really landed "here", not putting down roots, even not building relationships, as I haven't acknowledged myself, where I am. It's living in a sea of boxes, as I come up on 2 years in my apartment. It's making a stupid financial mistake and recovering from it by the skin of my teeth (try paying your bills from your bank account after your rent has come out... only to realize that it hadn't come out yet, and scrambling down to the $10 to cover the shortfall in the moment... now fixed, but geez, I've never done something like that).

I have signs all around me that I'm a mess. But I've been trudging through it, what, thinking it would change?

So, the post I read just gave me a fresh perspective on the difference between depression and grief, how they get intertwined, and what we need to do to slay each dragon. Hard go slay two dragons at once, unless you're superman, or superwoman... and heck, they are my dragons. I'd rather understand than slay. They calm down and lose their power when you look in their eyes, question them, and listen, and repeat.

I have had a few other themes relating to clarity going on this past week, as well as sources of inspiration to help shift my focus.

More to come...

Meaningless? No.

Mom and B in the Christmas spirit

People around me think that because I don't "celebrate" Christmas that it is meaningless to me. Not so. How could it be?

Growing up, like most kids, I loved Christmas. No religious context, but trees, gifts, stockings (I can still picture mine exactly), turkey, snow, skating in the backyard, and in later years, the arrival home of siblings to visit. At this moment, I am remembering Carol surprising us by coming home unannounced from Montreal, and me not recognizing her (fancy makeup, wig, white go-go boots...).

As a young adult, Christmas remained one of highlights of my year. Tree in my apartment. Xmas music. Walking to enjoy the lights. And I always came (went?) home, an important family time. 

Aside of the disastrous boyfriend breakup year, in which I agreed to hide my pain, there weren't many low points. The otherwise very nice bf I had been living with for a couple of years confessed that he had fallen in love with a co-worker, but could I please say nothing, as he didn't want my parents to think ill of him over the holidays. We still didn't know what we were going to do, so I naively agreed (I was, what, 22? 23? so young...). I left for the holidays while he spent a "trial" weekend with her (!). When he arrived at my parents house a few days later he told me, yup, that was it, they were in love, and I would need to move out. I can still see a picture of me, trying to put on a brave face, saying nothing, while my heart was breaking. In the end, they got married, had kids, and I moved on to eventually figure out who I was (and it wasn't the cookie baking, pork chop making homemaker I had been playing at). 

In the years that followed, perhaps in part to compensate, I became obsessive about Christmas, to the amusement (?) of my friends and co-workers, and to the point of becoming intolerable to my family. Totally overboard. If anyone who knew me then could see me now, they probably wouldn't believe it. 

By the time I faced issues that had been haunting me, and I went into therapy, the only way I could cope, and find my way through the mess, was to cut myself off from my family. No more trips home. I can't even remember when I stopped gift-giving and receiving. Maybe it was that first year, or later, but I found my way free by announcing to family that I was no longer "doing" Christmas, don't send me gifts, and I would give money to charity . Confused and baffled everyone, but I was in survival mode. I've kept that charity Christmas ritual to this day though. 

To say Christmas was a dark period for me would be an understatement. I hated the whole season, and Christmas Day was particularly painful. It was like I broke my own heart, but it was the only way I could break free, get in touch with issues, find my way through them, and begin to heal. In the process, I hurt family members who had nothing to do with the underlying issues at play. It's only recently that I've been acknowledging that.

That first Christmas on my own, I remember walking around the Stanley Park seawall ~ I still thought I should do something to mark the day ~ and being so sad and alone, walking amongst families at their happiest time of the year. Oops. That didn't become a ritual. 

I hated Christmas so much, and all the pain it evoked in me, that I would start to get tense by the time fall came around. Instead of enjoying autumn, I could feel the gloom setting in, dreading the next 4 months. Black. Dark. Painful. Unavoidable. Holding on until the whole damn season was over. Boxing Day was like freedom day for me, I'd made it through another year, and wouldn't feel the world pressing in on me. I could breathe.

My coping mechanisms changed over the years, for the most part settling on Hawaii as a better place to be, though I still had to cope with trees, carols and grocery stores that closed. The sun helped me too, as I eventually discovered I had S.A.D. and benefitted from the dose of sun. 

I can't remember when Christmas stopping being painful, or at least tolerable. But this non-celebration of the season just became the fabric of my life. I still didn't like trees, carols, lights and Merry Christmas wishes, but I tolerated them. At this point I think I fooled myself into thinking that Christmas was meaningless to me, but of course that wasn't so. 

The dynamic began to shift for me when Patti came to Greece in 2009 and we spent he month together, in Athens and Rhodes. Very gently, things started to become ok, such as the touches of Christmas that surrounded us. The lights were kind of pretty, and I enjoyed learning about how the local in Greece celebrated. And as it was still a special time for my sister, I experimented with breaking my own rules, suggesting that a small gift or two would be ok, and did we have any socks we could put to use? In the end, we sang, drank ouzo, picked up a few Greek trinkets, and I made Christmas dinner (!), though it was pasta. Nothing bad happened, and my heart started to melt a little. Imagine that. 

The timing was fortuitous, as it was in 2010 that I found myself living with mom, and creating Christmas for her. She didn't really "do" Christmas anymore, at least no tree, but a kind neighbour came every year to put up lights on the house for her. I learned her rituals, of inviting him and  his children in for hot chocolate when the lights were hung. This same family shovelled her snow and took the lights down again, so more hot chocolate. And so it came that I was actively involved the fabric of her life, including how she marked all the seasons.

At this point, mom's dementia meant she really didn't remember those difficult years (a blessing), so she took in the love and joy of her family, and enjoyed the little things. Her favourites were Christmas music (oh, how she loved music!), and all the lights. Mostly my sister made the season, and I played along, and it became easy to just be in the moment, and enjoy it all with her, and enjoy her enjoyment. Suddenly, it wasn't about me anymore, and I found myself listening to Christmas carols and enjoying the lights. I'd spent so many years pushing Christmas away, that I was surprised to find I didn't hate it anymore. Imagine that!

Eventually, as she slipped further away, she retained a childlike delight in carols, bells, lights and treats. Mom was so sweet in her later years, it was a joy to sing with her. Oh, what pangs of sadness it brings me in this moment to remember... I miss her so much. I cry. And I am reminded how much grieving I still have to do.

But, for today, I embrace mom's joy and love. I sing the way we would greet each on Christmas mornings, the same as we always had, the love stringing together the moments that matter. 

Today, I reflect, try to enjoy memories that don't make me cry, or not too much, appreciate my blessings, and avail myself of a few treats. I feel joy for those with their families, and compassion for those who are without. I am happy for the kids who must be delighted to ind snow when they awoke. 

I am especially appreciative of the love of both my brother and sister. There are just three of us now, and I cherish them. My brother still doesn't know what to make of my solitude at this time of year, as he's the opposite, but he puts up with his Scroogy sister and we'll connect at some point. There are times even I am tired of my aloofness, and how it must come off to my extended family, but this is me at the moment.

It's at times like this, when my sister is home with her daughter, that I get a bit of time to reflect and relax. And, for today, aside of a little writing to start my day, no heavy thinking. Just nuggets of happy memories, as I listen to Christmas music on CBC, and perhaps the crackle of the Shaw fireplace, putter in my home, eat a few treats, and pause. Maybe a Christmas movie or two, some drawing, a toast or two, a snooze or two, and just being. 

Merry Christmas to you.

Where I grew up

I was applying for a writing gig recently, and was asked to write a couple of paragraphs about where I grew up. I had to do it off the top of my head, with no time to think about it, just using a few prompts, so I thought I would save it.

I grew up in Valleyview, a subdivision of Kamloops, in the interior of British Columbia. As kids, we were free to amuse ourselves outdoors, and there was a great gang of kids. Our house was situated at the foot of steep clay "cliffs" (they were hills really), covered with sagebrush. We spent countless hours had climbing the hills behind the houses across the street, hiding behind the sagebrush and spying down at the people below.

One of my favourite things to do was ride my bike to the drive-in theatre and to meet my friends and hang out. At night, we would try to watch the movies through the fence, always hopeful that we'd hear the soundtrack from a car with the speakers turned up loud, but mostly just heard random bits of conversation or music when someone opened a car door. During the day we could go right in, where we'd look for coins in the grass and play with the speakers, though we heard only static.

We practically lived outside, right down to the picnic table in the backyard where we ate most of our meals. We'd often have sweet, juicy watermelon for dessert and, being outdoors, it was the perfect place to spit watermelon seeds at each other. Sadly, my big brother had a much better aim. But still, I tried. No wonder our mom wanted us to eat outdoors!

Hello Monday!

Today I return to one of my favourite Mondays.

I am "off" work, meaning I am not scheduled to be in the office. I may still very well work part of the day, but I can do it at my pace, when/where I want. And this is how I'll be living my life going forward. Yeah!

I developed an affection for Mondays back when I first began working for myself. It became a day when I'd ease into my week, with no meetings, lots of free time for planning, errands, prep work, creative endeavours, and so on. I loved "my kind of Mondays" because they'd work for me, no matter what was going on for me.

If I was having a hard time getting motivated after the weekend, I'd pick up my business mail, hit Starbucks to read the paper, journal, plan my week, and so on. I would frequent several different coffee places wherever I lived, but I'd usually pick Starbucks for my Monday mornings. There was enough of a work-week buzz with people picking up their morning fix for me to catch on, and get in the flow.

If I'd been working full-tilt, and having more trouble slowing down than getting motivated, my Monday routine would create room for me to pause, catch my breath, reflect and re-prioritize. Mondays worked because they gave me the confidence that I could ramp up my week, and manage my commitments.

As someone who resists routine, I find it interesting that I created rituals that gave me structure. At the time, I would have told you that the days was open, with no plans - and I needed it to feel that way - but in reality I'd have these things I'd like to do, places I liked to go, rituals that nourished me.

I think it was one of my secrets to being successful working for myself. And whenever I took on full-time work for a few months or years, it was the first thing I'd re-create for myself as soon as I had the opportunity to scale back my days.

So looking forward to my new form of Mondays here, at the same time I am setting up my home office again, in yet another new place (in more ways than one).

Hello Monday morning!

Landed

Not even crash landed, but close. The chaos continued to the end. "Just cleaning" and loose ends turned into an all-day affair, with me barely functioning. As I thought I wasn't needed - aside of picking up my sister and a few last things (we had cleaners for the big chores) - my body went into exhausted relaxation and pain Sunday night, finally letting go. We both (my body and I) got quite the shock when I learned I was needed at the house early Monday afterall... and instead of being done noon-ish, it went on until late afternoon. I think I would have been ok if I hadn't prematurely let myself feel the relief of letting go, but as it was, I was in agony. It was also a hot day, up to 24c I gather. At one point I thought I was going to pass out. With no furniture left, I retreated to the rather unpleasant garage to sit on a stair. Later in the day, I had a couple naps in the car (parked in the shade). It was an odd day, as I was needed, but also needed to keep out of the way, as my sister was directing the cleaners, and wanted to go through and pack the remaining things herself. Maybe it was harder to ok at half-pace than full tilt... Anyways, the day was a pseudo form of torture... I just wanted to throw the last things in the car, trash the rest, and just go! It's exceedingly hard to force oneself to be patient and forgiving when impatience is surging in one's veins.
While I stayed there for 6 years, my mom's home had been my sister's second home for much longer than that, and at one point there was a thought of her staying there, so it was a much bigger deal or her to leave than me. She'd also found a cool cleaner who finished with a smudging ceremony, which can't be rushed.
Anyways, barely survived, and drove away with an overfilled car, even leaving a couple things with neighbors. Gack.
But it is done.
A nice sense of closure was still there, despite my exhaustion.
Oh, and the dumpster bin was overloaded!
And today began a new phase in my life. Hmmm.

Robins, hummingbirds and moving on...

The end is near. Today the last load of straggler boxes and random stuff will get moved over, thanks to a generous neighbor. That's not the only neighbor gesture today... two are coming to disconnect appliances and haul them into our dumpster bin, along with yard stuff (part of our sale criteria).  A late ah-ha was that although the house wull be orn down, we still need to clean it. So cleaner in the morning.
Anyways, thse are the surface things.
What's important are the special moments over the past few days:
My sister, brother and I hanging out Friday, sorting, laughing, storytelling, remembering and goofing around. At one point, the big coloured dots used to organize boxes ended up on our foreheads. After the joke was done, I noticed we still all wore them for an hour or two, each in our own way, holding ono the moment, cherishing the connection.
Just being in the house ~ really so cute ~ listening to the birds, enjoying the trees, feeling mom's energy.
Enjoying the back deck my brother built with cedar from his own sawmill up the coast, sharing memories of how much mom loved it. She and I sat there many nights, drinking hot chocolate under the stars...
My sister and I watching the wee hummingbird yesterday, sitting in her nest just outside oupr front door. So tiny, so precious, so hidden, so still, so miraculous, amazing.... We will leave a note for the new owners... hopefully they can keep the tree safe until they are done with the nest.

Singing to the robin that keeps visiting, like mom would when we were kids, "Robin, Robin red breast".., which she also sang to me (Robin aka Roberta). I kerp feeling mom's presence when rhe robin is around.
Ok, time to get out the door...

Moving day #2

 

That's right, a 2nd moving day. We weren't ready to move everything this time last week. O we are at it again. And, still, there are things not packed yet. I so do not want to end up moving carloads after today, so about to go over and go crazy trying to pack what's left.
I have to respect my sister: she is so committed to preserving family history that she is taking many boxes of family photos, letters, papers, and so on, to continue to sort and cull and divy up. Similarly with my brother. It's an immense task, and in reality cannot be rushed. Lots has been trimmed, but much remains. I am not sentimental, so don't have the same connection. I have also done so much therapy around family that I don't need things to anchor me. I have a few, of course, but they'd fit in a box.
It would be easy for me to be impatient, and be frustrated with all the stuff, but what's the point?
Granted, I will be somewhat surrounded, as my sister will be staying with me for some time... but what will be will be.
I am respectful of the history of families, and am grateful for the archivists of times past. So can understand much of it.
And so it is that the girl who downsized to a dozen boxes 7 years ago is now moving multiple truckloads of stuff. Trying to stay detached and not get overwhelmed.
Ok, enough rambling. Time to get over to the house to ready as much as I can for today's truck!

The me that is me

Today, in a stationary store, I recognized myself. I felt like the me I used to be. No, not going back in time, but feeling the essence of the me that is me, in the me of me today, or in the me of me that I will be tomorrow. Or next week. On the other side of this transition.

I recognized the way I move, the way I move through my day, going from a to b as the me who is me. I didn't know what I was missing, but that was it, is it. The me that is me. 

Today I opened a journal, looking for notes on something for the move, and I found my journa entry from the night mom passed away. Oh, up, up and away, sweet momma.

I also found my journal entry from just a few days prior, when Maui rallied and started eating, on the day I thought we would need to put him down. And we deferred it. He was cuddled in my lap, and I marveled. And I wrote about how Maui taught me to never give up. That he did.

I am not giving up on finding the me that is me again, even if I'm not the same me anymore. How could I be? I am all filled up with momma love and Maui love. And even now that they no longer sit here with me, they are a big part of the me that is me.

I put a picture of Maui in my new apartment yesterday, where he can watch over me.

I no longer just have hope that this will be over, i know it will, and I can see myself on the other side. I ferl myself. There.

The me that is me feels a bit of glee!

Chaos and the art of moving

A favourite moment from Paris
(I began looking at my "big trip" photos today, after about 5 years)

I have been trying hard to blog daily for this month, encouraged in part by the 30 day challenge I am participating in, but I can't say it's not a stretch. It was only coincidence that this coincided with the month of the biggest most chaotic move of my life. But perhaps that is the beauty in it.

Yesterday, did the big move, although the smaller secondary move next week will turn out to be as big as the first. That's partly giving up on being entirely ready -- I fought hard against it, then wept, then surrendered -- and partly because there is so much involved. So much stuff, so many moving parts, so many old family memories to sort through, so many other people involved, so much pure junk, and so on. Not complaining (not really), just a little stunned (and aghast) to be involved in such a chaotic move that has become so overwhelming.

Yet, today is an oasis of calm for me. I am here at my new place - the same place I have been for 3 months (though initially just with a bed) - surrounded by furniture and boxes. My sister is back at mom's house, surrounded by the leftovers and the true remaining chaos (I do feel for her on that front!), while I am here, sorting out from yesterday. And this is the part of moving I enjoy.

What? I enjoy the aching muscles and total exhaustion? No, of course not, but I slotted today in as a transition day, to make order of the arriving chaos (which is actually pretty orderly at this point), and to recover. I must have had 3 or 4 long naps today, interspersed with moving things around, cleaning (furniture was moved with the old dust!), and getting my head around the best way to organize things.

I love this part, perhaps even more so, as it is my first place in almost 7 years, and it feels so good to have my own space, and to be able to put my stamp on it, organize it how I want it, enjoy the puttering and creativity that comes with the sorting and setting up. Literally, putting my house in order.

And, no, I did not unpack today. In my opinion, people are obsessed with unpacking. Me, today I needed rest (it has been hell), as I work tomorrow (my only day in about 3 weeks), so need to be awake and together for that. And there is more hell challenging moving to come until the end of the month until the move is complete, and the house turned over. Also, my sister will be moving in with me for the foreseeable future, so this is my 1 day alone here, just to be. So it has been, and is, golden.

There will be plenty of time for unpacking later. For now, just the opportunity to sit at my own beautiful desk for the first time in years (it got lost in the chaos of the house), situated just where I want it, looking out my own window, with flowers on my desk, looking out the sliding glass doors, and listening to the last few birds of the day chirping... all this is bliss.

Now if only I'd thought ahead to make sure I had a bottle of wine!

Lost in a loss of control

Holding on by a thread this morning.

So much pressure on me to get us moved from my mom's house, but everywhere I turn to do something I can't. Stuff that is still undecided. Stuff that is being re-decided. Stuff that needs something done to it first. The decisions aren't mine, but the burden is.

I've made things "easy" for myself by not having an attachment to stuff, but it also leaves without a voice, or a way to move things forward. Packing up a house with a fragile soul is no easy journey. I actually have no problem speaking up for myself, but in this circumstance, doing so works against me. But it is sooooooo draining. It sucks my energy.

I thought I'd been doing ok, but yesterday it got to me. My frustration spilled over at the rather-dense MacDonald's drive through guy this morning, my reaction to his stupidity (he couldn't figure out the difference between oatmeal/porridge and oatmeal cookies, hilarious if i wasn't being such a bitch).

A big eyeopener for me, as it's been years since I left carnage on the souls of the poor folk who came into contact with me when I had unresolved issues bubbling below the surface (pre-therapy days, oh how obvious it is in retrospect to see that something was wrong).

 I have to apologize to that MacDonald's guy next time I drive through.

And I have to have an outlet for my frustrations before I melt down. One wrong word from me here, and that would upset the applecart to the point of an applesauce catastrophe. Ha ha.

I was near tears when I arrived here this morning, but writing has done it's trick. I have perspective. I've gotten it out. Now I'll be able to cope without my emotions spilling over.

I may still be craving for this to be over, but it's ok. Somehow it's ok.

Perspective

Deep in the sorting, purging, packing process at my mom's house. Stuck in the garage and a musty old back room, surrounded by old papers, mystery boxes, useless crap... and important gems. It's a process, with lots of time to reflect and process a lifetime of memories, joys, losses, deep pain, sadness, and regrets. Putting things to rest, letting go, moving on. Interesting to find what saddens me anew, and what no longer has a hold on me.

 Back to the work, and the joys of flinging stuff into the huge bin in the driveway, each crash surprisingly satisfying.

Grief swirls

Mom, cousin Heather, Carol Leigh

Grief swirls. Grief swirls in and out of my days. It comes and goes. I do ok, then something reminds me. This week it was the sad passing of a colleague's spouse, expected at some point I understand, after a long battle with cancer. My heart goes out to her. Then, there it is, my still incredible grief at the loss of my sister Carol. Fuck cancer. I still miss her so much, can't imagine my life without her in it, yet struck by how I've moved on, ache less... yet still. Yesterday I was reflective, yet this morning, as I write this, the tears come. I miss you sweet Carol Leigh.
Dozing this morning, there was a story on the radio about the level of care in residential care facilities in BC, and continuity of care from caregivers. In my half-awake state, my subconscious grabs at memories, attaches to mom, and I half-wake up thinking she is still alive, that I could go see her. There was this image of her, in her care facility, where they took such great care of her, and it seemed so real. It was real. But it's not. It's not today. I miss you my sweet mom.
So, grief swirls, in and out, weak and strong, hidden and omni-present...
I am so grateful that I have long understood that grief is a process, that we all experience it differently, not to judge it, just to be with it, process it, respect it, even embrace it. Resisting it just hurts more.

I am terrified of my tv

I got the keys to my new place at the beginning of February, and had the Shaw package set up within days, so that I would have internet, but it was a month or so until I brought my tv over, but never hooked it up. Finally did that yesterday. Works great. But it does scare me.

I have had this love/hate relationship with tv most of my adult life, going long stretches without owning one, but also going long stretches where it has sucked me in, and I've spent days watching mindless crap. While I came to understand those periods as just part of vegging and rebooting, I have found other ways when I'm without a tv.

Last night I sat down to watch some tv with my dinner, then curled up on my red couch (!) to finish the show, and sure enough I was there for hours. Bleh! Yes, I was relaxed, but I also missed an evening of podcasts and drawing or puzzles.

Restraint shall be needed.

Now, I am going to go make myself a cup of coffee, and sit in the sun on my deck. This is one of several days off I am taking to facilitate the move, but there is no sense going anywhere too fast.

Identity and home

I maintained a daily writing habit, for the most part,
throughout my 7 months in Europe

I am surprised to find so much of my identity wrapped up in my home, where I live, but maybe I shouldn't be.

One of my big learnings while I was away for an extended period in Europe, and had no "home" to go back to (I had given up my apartment and given away almost everything in it, aside from a dozen or so boxes), was that I am my home. Wherever I am, that is my home.

I did have a certain discomfort from realizing I was "home-less" - I remember being teary when I shared my revelation with my host Mabel, who I stayed with in Barcelona - and being a bit shocked. After all, I had planned this, and it had been very intentional.

There was some value in my discomfort, as it helped me look within, and explore all the aspects of home in order to reach the place of "I am my home, wherever I am is home".

It actually didn't take me all that long to figure that one out, and the feeling stayed with me, without swaying, through the rest of my travels. I remember meeting a few other long term travellers and recognizing the stillness and sense of self in those who were clearly grounded, no matter where they were.

It also stayed with me during my first few months back in Vancouver, staying in sublet apartments. I think, in part, it came from living small, mostly with just my bag on wheels from my trip, just a few things, everything of which could be gathered up in an hour, all which would fit back into place in my bag. The way I moved ~ meaning they way I felt when I was walking out in the world, but I suppose I also mean how I relocated from one spot to another. I was a self-contained unit.

It's not something I'd thought that much about since, and I did carry that feeling with me, at least for awhile, when I first move do the island to live with mom.

Now, here I am, 6 years later, placing an object here or there in my new apartment, and feeling a sense of self returning to me that I hadn't felt for a very long time. A sense of identity. I can look at my space, and know it is mine. It is my home. It has my mark on it. It's also time alone, and my own space. Actually, it's largely that, I think, but the signs of this new life taking shape around me give me comfort, give me ease.

I was very comfortable at my mom's house, and certainly appreciated all her home gave to me, both with her, and since. I remembering her saying to me, not long after I helped her move into residential care, "Would you like to live in my little house?" she offered. "Yes, mom, I'd love to, thank you," I said, weeping inside, torn apart by the whole situation, but touched and grateful.

But I also got a little lost there [understatement alert]. It was her space, it was my sister's space, it was family space, and I was staying there. Gratefully staying there. But I was always a little out of place. I had spent 30+ years living alone, in a space that I created myself. I knew who I was in my own space. I was disoriented living elsewhere.

I have also come to realize that living with others is so foreign to me, that I need/crave/want to live alone, to have my own place. It helps me be me. A lifetime of living alone gives me this knowledge, and when I was crumbling, it was holding out for this that gave me hope for getting myself back on track, getting grounded again.


The incredible view I had when writing during my month in Athens



And here I find myself, full circle, back to reflecting on home, and where did that feeling go, that feeling of "I am my home, wherever I am". How did I lose that? Was it that fragile? Wasn't that true? What happened to me? How did I become so lost?

I know much of the answer, of course, having reached a breaking point, having become totally overwhelmed without relief, going through the motions (or not), then grief, and pain, and feeling stuck, not recognizing myself, never feeling myself, never feeling relaxed, never feeling quite right again. I'm not complaining or regretting anything, just trying to understand.

Trying to understand why being able to hang a little orange string of mirrors on my living room curtain rod gives me such satisfaction.

It's funny, I thought I was just as likely to take off and travel for another extended period when mom's house sold, so that's a bit of why I'm surprised to find myself nesting. I have almost felt inclined to resist it ~ because I don't want to become so tied down that I can't/won't travel ~ but that's silly. I can always pack up and go, or make a change.

Maybe I am discovering that I am right where I need to be (surprise, surprise), and that my home is going to be part of finding my sense of self again. This new sense of self, as 7 years have passed, and I need to pause.

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In terms of writing, and this day 3 post of my 30 day challenge, I am over the moon with delight that I found a way back to writing. Already I am more whole. I stopped writing sometime into my first year at mom's I think. I am home, I am home, I am home...

Sky

Sky. I see sky from my new bedroom window. And it makes me happy. A great big expansive sky. Right now I am bathed in morning sunlight. Some of the best sky ever here, even when the weather is dull. Ok, the sun just moved a fraction (or did a cloud move away?), and I have to adjust my position in bed in order to still see my iPad. Nice problem to have.

At mom's house, I had lots to enjoy out my window, with a little red maple that was sooo red. And the glorious huge fir trees, with branches the size of small cities, that would sway, and wave, and bounce, and sway some more in the wind. And a nice patch of sky too.

Loved that window, but love my big-bright-sky window too. I've had many great skies in my various apartment, but as a former city dweller, there were always other buildings around.

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Yesterday I signed up for a 30 day challenge that involves writing every day, so my posts may go up without an image initially, to stay on track, but I will come back to add those in. I am looking forward to kickstarting a regular writing habit again.

 Wish me luck!

My best April Fool's joke ever

I can't tell a joke. I think it's probably because I don't lie, can't really, I don't have a poker face. How I feel about what I am saying is written all over my face (or so I'm told). When I attempt to tease someone or play a trick with a little white lie, it's like I'm breaking in to reveal the truth before the words are out of my mouth.
So, April Fool Day is something I can enjoy all around me, but I can rarely intentionally participate in - unless you count switching sugar/salt and sewing together jacket sleeves (my mom's trick from childhood).
So it was when, in 2010, I pulled one over on my sister. Freshly back from Europe, I was living temporarily in a furnished apartment in downtown Vancouver, and feeling carefree and open as to what the next stage of my life would bring. Feeling emboldened by the positive outcome of several cases of recent risktaking, I had an idea, acted on a whim, and phoned my sister.
I owe my success to the fact that she couldn't see my face, and I was able to walk around to quiet any urge I had to break the spell. That, and the fact I wasn't known for trickery.
"Hello?"
"OMG, I can't believe what I just did!!!!!!"
"What?" "I cut my hair! Really short!!!" "How short?!" "I shaved my head!!!!!" "Whaat? You did what!!?!" "I didn't mean to! It just happened!" "How does that just happen!?!?!" OMG, OMG, OMG!!!!" "Oh my." "Oh shit (shrieking!), I can't believe I did that!" "What happened?" "You know I've been dying to cut my hair, so I walked into a place on Davie Street and they fit me in right away. I said I wanted it short!" "You got more than short!!!"" I know, I didn't mean to. But when I saw the razor, I said, just shave it all off! I guess that's not so strange of a request around here, so after asking a couple of times if I was sure (I said I was), she went ahead, and in a flash it was over. Done! Just like that! It doesn't take that long when they don't have to fuss. And I walked out with a bald head! Freaky!!! OMG. It feels so strange...." "Oh my goodness. Well, I am sure they did a good job." "I probably look like a freak!" "Oh no, I'm sure you look good, you have a nice shaped head." "I do?" "Oh, yes, I've always thought so." "Weird, I've never thought of the shape of my head." "Well, I guess you will now." "Guess so. LOL. What about jobs, how am I going to get a job!?!?" "You'll fit right in there!" "Gack! Maybe, but what if it's a corporate job?!? "Maybe you can get a wig." "OMG! Oh shit, what have I done?!?" "Oh my goodness." "It's ok though, it'll grow back, it'll just be very short." "It'll probably grow back patchy, you'll need to get it trimmed a lot." "I will?" "If not, then you will look a little, strange..." "OMG OMG...."
Or something like that. In the end, I was able to string her along for about 15 minutes, and it was a blast. I was so PROUD of myself. Sooo much fun. It took that long for her to process it all, before she made the connection.
... "Wait, what's the date... Is this April 1st? Is this April Fool's? ...." And finally, I fessed up.
HA HA!!!! We've laughed about it every year since then. And I still get so much joy from such a simple prank!
I wonder what I might get up to this year....

Bored with my blog

Bleh, bored with my blog,, it's lost meaning for me. How strange, it used to be an extension of me.

Maybe it's a reflection of me, and my tired and slightly bored soul. How does that happen? How does that happen to an eternal optimist, who feels one's identity is all about being .... what ? I am far enough from it all that I can't describe what it really is, that thing, that thing that is me.

As if it wasn't necessary to state the obvious, maybe I'm changing at the core in more ways than I knew.

I feel like I am in an eternal limbo, although that is largely of my own making. Out of sync with my environment and my focus, it seems like have I have just checked out, rather than adapt.

Or is that really true? Or is this just the fog of adapting, or readjusting, of realigning a life, even when I wasn't thinking I needed it, or wanted it. But maybe we don't choose. Drop the maybe. Life happens. Shit happens. Love happens. Loss happens. Being beyond broke happens. Being misunderstood happens... but when have I ever felt understood? And when did I start trying to be, or caring if I was?

Lack of validation happens, so what's new. That's life.

There are lots of people who wander through life, colliding with circumstances, spewing bits of their story here or there, hoping someone will listen, will understand, will care, will say I hear you, will see you, will let you feel heard, let you feel understood, let you relax, and just be. Of course, they don't find it, because with a few rare exceptions (are there really soulmates?!), we can only get the real validation we need from within.

I know all this, but somehow I have gotten out of sync enough with myself that I didn't recognize it happening to me. By me. Like a bull in a china shop. Crash, crash, hear me, see me, understand me, fuck. What shit. It's all important, but I can't get it from others, I can only find it in myself.

This won't be the only time in my life when things will shift in ways I don't expect, but I need to find a way to keep centred in my core when I don't have all those things that make it "easy" for me to stay grounded. I once thought that was my home. And perhaps it is. After 6 years without my own place, I can see the me before and after, and I don't really recognize my spirit. I've had lots of richnesses added on, but the core is frayed and floppy.

When I was in Europe, after I had been there about a month, and realized I was "home-less", and after a few days of figuring out what that meant, I thought I figured it out. That who I am goes with me, and my home is wherever I am, my home is within me. That I can be anywhere and, given just a little bit of my 'stuff" (virtually none), I am home.

So, what happened?

I think I got lazy. I think I took it for granted. I think I didn't work at it. I think I didn't think I had to.

So when I 'let myself go', or immersed myself in other worlds and occupations (such as caring for my mom), I just dropped my spiritual practice, caring for my spirit, doing things that nourish my soul.

Hell, I hit so many periods where I could barely keep my head above water, crawl my way out of overwhelming moments, that it was a all I could do was find myself enough space to relax, who was thinking about restore?

It's not about what happened to me (someone recently told me that 'hard done by' didn't fit me - no kidding! definitely not how I feel.. but interesting to hear that that's how I was being misinterpreted). ... it's about how I keep my centre, whatever life throws my way, or whatever I pursue.

Or how I have to do to maintain that.

Or what I have to do to find my way back when I drift.

I feel like I am coming out of a fog (ok, I typo'd that as "bog" - how Freudian!)...

Won't be surprised to find myself changed, not the same person I am getting back to. But whatever it is, whatever me is emerging, it needs space. And tending.

Bored.. an interesting word. I  always felt too interested in life to be bored, now am I just boring?

Shit, that would just be boring. No way!

Hmmmm... wonder what this means for where I will take my blog. It needs reinventing just as I seem to need the same.

Successful reboot

Soft blur
One of the pieces of art I created this weekend
Created in Moleskine Journal  - click to enlarge to see details
c beepdoodles

Do you reboot your brain? Your psyche?

I wish I could say exactly what it was (or maybe I enjoy the mystery), but I've had success in rebooting myself. My brain, I mean.

It's elusive, and I can't do it on will, but I have learnt how to do this. I know that's an oxymoron, but that's exactly how it works. I know it's possible. I know some of the things that work. And I have learned to trust it. Though that took me a long time. It took awhile to trust my psyche.

Soft blur before ~
the same image, as I first created it , before I started manipulating it
Created in Moleskine Journal  - click to enlarge to see details
c beepdoodles

For the past 2 days, I have read, drawn, slept, listened to chill music, and truly done nothing. Bit of social media, bit of work, bit of puttering (not much). Didn't leave the house. Didn't talk to a soul. Just relaxed. I didn't hide. I just relaxed. And rested.

That sounds easier than is, to accomplish the outcome. Because I don't know how long it will take, or if I'll do something to sidestep myself, or if I'll end up needing to rejoin the world ~ as in human contact, getting back to things I need to do, going to work, the end of alone time ~ but if I trust it, until I feel it, then it's like magic.

The magic is that feeling I have when I awake feeling restored. Restored, alive, refreshed, happy, glad to be alive, bopping, optimistic, energetic, creative, myself. I am myself. MYSELF. And it is so exhilarating!

Exhilarating, because when I feel like this, everything is possible. I am in a good mood, I am at home in me, I have energy, and I am on fire! And it's SO EXCITING because I can never quite put my finger on what's different when this feeling is gone, and I can't even assume it will be back. But inside, I know. I just know what it takes to restore.

That's where the trust comes in.

Because it never works the same way twice.

The girls
Created in Moleskine Journal  - click to enlarge to see details
c beepdoodles

To find this magic, I really do need to let go of all planning, any thoughts of what I should be doing, any thoughts of even what I want to do. All I can do is trust that from one moment to the next I know on some level.

I know this has a lot to do with being an introvert, and that time alone is huge in restoring myself. But it's not only that ~ if so, I could have this feeling anytime I have 2 days alone. But I've never felt this way without being alone.

I think it's like a big time out.

I take time out to reboot. And I trust that, if I let myself relax into it, it will eventually happen.

I no longer want to understand the magic, but it fascinates me. It's always such as surprise when I wake up feeling this way, but I never feel more alive when I do. And I want to dance, giggle, grin, bop, celebrate... at the joy I feel in being alive, in being me. Being myself. I am HOME. Home inside myself.

Interesting that I am writing about this, as I actually am reluctant to share this part of myself. It's me at my essence. I can't even put my finger on exactly what makes me tick, and am a big guarded about peeling back the layers too much on a formula to get to this state. Because it cannot be forced. I have learned it cannot be forced. It only works if I let go, and trust. I even let go of waiting for it to happen. I let go of wanting, or even remembering, what "it" is. All I do is trust, and take time. And the miracle that is my brain, my psyche, my self, can do it's work. It's a little like I need to give my psyche room to breathe. And it will find it's way home, or back to life, or whatever.

Enough analysis.

Now I am going to go about enjoying this feeling that I woke up with.