Zoolook evocations

There are so many people in my life that I always thought would be close friends forever, that I have lost contact with. I used to think that this meant that I was lousy at maintaining relationships, but at the moment I am seeing my life full of these moments of great connection, each so powerful in their own way, all touched me in some way. As I meditate as I am listening to Zoolook, they are coming to mind, each for awhile, before my attention turns to the next who my thoughts evoke. At this moment, I am reflecting on how these people make me understand the me I was at that time. I see them in my mind's eye as still essentially being the same people now, but older... but that's ridiculous; each could be something quite different today. Probably are. I am completely different, so why not them? It's interesting to consider that they probably think of me the same way too.

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.

COVID Diary 4

Just had a moment where the multiple traumas and tragedies of late began piling up. The Beirut explosion, the Red Deer doctor attack, so many crazy things happening in this world. For the most part, I have been compartmentalizing ok, but had a wave of emotion hit me when I saw two photos in my CBC Radio stream.

The one that pulled at my heartstrings was this classroom photo of little kids in school, sitting with masks on, at their social distanced desks, so much of their natural spirit controlled, like invisible walls. Not being able to move, to squirm beyond their invisible walls, I can almost see the regimented ways the must need to move about their school, how orderly they must need to be on their breaks. Sad eyes over masks. How tragic. Snuffing out the kid in kids. I am not a parent, so have been learning at an emotional distance about what they say will be the long term effect of COVID on children. But somehow this one picture got me, and I cried. It feels so SAD to see the natural life spirit of kids snuffed out in the very environment they go to be with their friends, to learn, where it used to be an hour or two where they would need to sit controlled before recess, but always still witin note-passing, ruler poking and spitball throwing distance. These kids will be changed by this in ways we cannot be imagined. 30 years from now adults will be struggling through therapy to untangle complex issues. I can't imagine being a parent and needing to navigate all this. And how hard this must be on teachers. They are just little kids.

The other picture was of the arrest of activist Jimmy Lai in Hong Kong. It is just so grim. It says resistance IS futile in any world where China has any influence. What struck me was the faces of the officers that surround him, eyes downcast, in resignation. I want to say in shame, as that's what I imagine I see.

There is more going on, and mostly I cope, but occasionally things pile up and it all hits me. I think the fact that I don't have TV, and don't stream it online, has protected me, by not searing iages of people in hazmat suits into my brain. I think its a wise choice, as I still get plenty of news and analysis and human stories through radio and podcasts. But it also lets images like these stand out, to not pass me by.

You would have been 71

May 28, 2020

Carol Leigh

You would have turned 71 today

If only you were still here

I never had to calculate your age, as I would just add 10 years to my own age

At 61, I have already lived so many years longer than you

While I came to accept your death, I simultaneously could never quite grasp the it of it all

You were so full of life

Always my big sister

You had such amazing perspectives 

Not only did you know the histories of all religions, but you celebrated them all

Not one to be knocked down, no matter what curve balls life dealt you, you always looked at what laid ahead as an adventure 

I can hear you saying

It's not what I would have chosen, but it's where I am

I might as well enjoy it

You taught me this so well

You equipped me well

To face the world without you

I am not often lonely, but sometimes when I think of you, I feel lonely

I miss you so much

You taught me to embrace life

You taught me to make the best of any situation 

You taught me that I am strong enough to survive anything

Even when it seems I can't imagine surviving life without being able to talk things out with you

Oh, our grand telephone marathons, how we would sometimes go on for hours

Long enough that we needed pee breaks

Today I am thinking about how I would meet you

Every other Friday night

Downtown 

At the Bay

We'd dine in the Bay's glorious rooftop buffet

Where one could sit for hours

We loved meeting here because it was next to the furniture department 

They had all these living scenes set up

Living rooms you could step into

Where you could imagine your life

You could sit back in an easy chair

Or perch on an ottoman

And imagine living in the space

We met there because either of could arrive first

And amuse oneself for hours, til the other arrived

I was so young and green

And you gave me big sisterly advice

I knew how to live as a young woman in the big city

Because of you

There wasn't a problem you couldn't solve

Or help me solve

And on the way we'd examine all the possibilities of what could come next

And the opportunity in each

I never felt daunted by life

Except

Perhaps

Weekend mornings when I was living in the West End

And would go out for coffee

And think, no

This doesn't seem right

I should be with Carol right now

But you were gone

Once or twice every weekend I would see you

At your hospice

Sometimes picking you up to take you for a drive

Oh, how you loved those drives!

You who had lost your ability to explore 

Could once again travel the streets

Coast through Stanley Park

Enjoying sun snd rain

Fresh air and memories

And we would talk, and talk, and talk

I was at a total loss when you were gone

I would go out for coffee

But not quite relax

It was quite a shock, to be there, alone

Without you

Without you to visit

Without you to talk to 

Without you

In this place that you encouraged me to move to

How would I enjoy it

Without you to share it with?

An existential moment

A moment of reckoning

Many moments

But slowly

Alas

I had the strength to carry on without you

Even though a part of me broke inside

I had those lessons

It's not the life I would have chosen

This living without you

But I did

I am 

I know there is a lot I have pushed

Down and away

But never did I look at bleakness ahead

I saw opportunity and possibilities ahead

I could turn my energy to embracing where I was at the moment

Counting my blessings 

Digging deep

And, eventually, living again seemed normal

I stopped feeling at a loss

Because I'd much rather visit you

Than have coffee by myself

I was ok

I am ok

So many memories float through my mind this morning 

My heart

My soul

I miss you terribly big sister

But you are always here with me

I feel your presence often

And I feel your lessons always

Love you forever Carol Leigh

Is there a name for this?

I had one of those moments today, when I was updating my LinkedIn profile, and up pops a face in the jumble of a feed of 'what are your connections doing now' stuff. And it was my friend Floyd, who sadly passed away a few years ago of sickle-cell anaemia. He was a former colleague, an brilliant artist and an incredible shining light.

This type of thing always gives me pause.

I remember the first time I came across a friend's name in my email contacts who was gone. Space opened up. Time stood still. What do I do? Delete him? Hell no. Ken was more of an acquaintance than a close friend, but a friend nonetheless. He'd survived AIDS for many years, but it finally took him. And there was no way I was going to click 'delete'.

Of course I'd lost people before, but before email.

I've had a similar experience since, more than once, when cleaning out email, and I've come across an email from someone now deceased. Whoa. Full stop. I can't help but pause. And reflect. Usually with a breath or two, I can honour their memory, and move on.

Definitely not so easy if they committed suicide, however, as I am touched by the tragedy all over again. Remembering both Leah and Jodi on that one.

On the flipside today, as I found myself wanting to look at Floyd's art, his website is gone and his domain is for sale... they very thing that might be tangible in all this has vanished. So strange.

And it's often made me reflect on this phenomena, where the dead spontaneously appear in our technology-powered lives. I wonder if it's been studied, and if it has a name.

Floyd Sandiford
aka artist Floyd Sinclair
RIP buddy

Anyways, I believe that finding Floyd's smiling face looking right at me was no coincidence, and I've spent much of the day thinking about him. I have no doubt he is very busy right now, giving comfort to some, and encouraging to others to fight for their lives. I'm not just remembering him, but I can actually hear his voice and how he would pronounce my name when he'd say, "Hey, Roberta, how's it going?" And its impossible for me to look into those eyes without tearing up. I am so lucky to have been touched by this beautiful soul in my life, and he inspires me, especially at a time when one needs inspiration.

I did manage to find a few pictures of Floyd's art though, a few of which I have posted below. I've posted more in my RIP Floyd post in 2018. 

COVID Diary 3

I've been reflecting on what I do and don't like about keeping a diary through this.

I have mixed feelings.

I thought at first that it might be interesting to record the experience of a solo who is pretty content overall. I wasn't having trouble isolating.

By recording my experiences, it's both helped and made things harder.

Helped in that it has made me more aware of what I am feeling, I am noticing nuances that might have slipped by me before. And I'm definitely being present.

Made things harder in that by being more present, I am not distancing from my feelings. It is pretty easy for me to get into a zone, and not really examine what is going on all around me, to let it wash over me, and just be. This is forcing me to notice, and by doing so, stuff is coming up more. I am more aware, but I'm also having to process more. That's not a bad thing, but it's a harder thing.

In the end, it is better to be present and process as I go, but I miss the 'luxury' of being able to get into a zone for days at a a time, largely untouched by outside factors. I've also had something personal open up my heart a bit, and that is naturally making my emotions closer to the surface.

Yesterday this manifested in me feeling terribly sad... hardly surprising considering the number of crisis and trauma floating in the ether (pandemic, Nova Scotia shootings, the downed Forces helicopter), coupled with my awareness of friends who are experiencing loss. What got me was hearing the emotions of a journalist after speaking to the mother of one of those lost in the helicopter crash. Not that I am stoic, but I usually like to know the stories; it feels like a way to honour those who have been scarred or who have left us. But I hit a limit yesterday, and it stuck right there in my throat. As I was feeling this, and doodling, I found a tragic face making itself visible on the page, a crying eye, and bringing it out brought everything to the surface.

I am fortunate in that I have skills learned from many years in therapy that I can turn to when I get emotional or stuck. I wasn't yet at the stage of being overwhelmed, let alone panicked, but I have a deep knowledge that even if it gets that bad, I can cope with it. I can process it, I can work it out. This gives me a lot of strength when the chips are down.

The time I learned this was upon my arrival in Athens in 2009, and I had a big dose of culture shock. I felt traumatized and it went very deep. It wasn't so much Athens itself, but I was vulnerable, and something tilted, and I was not doing well. It took me a couple of days to work through it, I think, but I was able to figure out what was going on, and dug deep to find myself, rescue me, and get grounded again. I write about that a bit in my blog (Arrival in Athens and Chocolate, worry beads and a Greek rainstorm), and although I did not reveal a lot, I remember what a mess I was. That experience has taught me how resilient I really am. And the knowledge of that has helped me a few times in recent years, when I hit a wall. In the present, I wasn't there (yet), was just feeling emotional, but I was reminded of this, and it gave me comfort.

In the end yesterday, I worked it through a bit, then mostly distracted myself for the day (with all news off), and gave myself time.

Today, I feel much better.... but it's also what inspired me to think about how documenting at this time is helping me, and not helping.

Not helping? No, it's not that. It can never be a bad thing to be present and to deal with one's stuff, but it IS harder.

Harder isn't a bad thing.

I think I'd rather have it be harder, and have to work it through, than not feel anything at all, or feel oblivious.

It's all good, it's all good....

COVID Diary 2

I've been poking at another entry in my COVID-19 Diary without making much progress, but it's not for a lack of focus. It's just that a couple other related activities have been taking my time.

One is the blogposts I have been writing on how museums are documenting life during a pandemic. Theses were interesting initially, but I don't think it will be long until I just say "all museums are doing something".

The other, and most importantly, is the is the COVID-19 Diary Study that I am participating in (and wrote about it here). It's very interesting, but is taking me 20-30 minutes each evening (I will get an output of my responses after 4 weeks, so I might post that, or part of it, at that time).

I feel that I am benefiting from the structure these activities have provided me, especially the daily diary study. It has made me aware of my state of mind, how much I am (or am not) listening to news, my health, and so on. For at least part of my day, I am absolutely present.

I have been listening to music while I do these, and have periodically paused to record what I have been grooving to.

Background music: Ain't Too Proud to Beg (Rolling Stones), Maggie May (Rod Stewart), Innagadadavida (Iron Butterfly), Straight On (Heart), Hush (Deep Purple), Carry On Wayward Son (Kansas), Sultans of Swing (Dire Straits), Won't Get Fooled Again (The Who), Touch Me (The Doors), Smoke on the Water (Deep Purple), Radar Love (Golden Earring)

Last Sunday of 2019

I wake early, in this new pad of mine. I slept well, grateful for my long breakwater walk yesterday.
I spend an hour or two in light therapy, listening to an Audible book, and drawing and puzzling. I get up, have a shower, and sip some of yesterday's cold coffee, and remember that I forgot to add peanut butter on my food order (I make a note on my hand, my reminder for the Thrifty's call).
By now I am listening to North by Northwest - aka NXNW - on CBC radio, just how I like to spend most weekend mornings. Drawing and puzzling.
Then listen to the the Sunday Edition on CBC, this time a 3-hour long special, looking back at the decade that was. How interesting, this 2009-2019 time window, as it aligns with the time since I last had my own place. All that has happened in the world, superimposed on my life during that time, not at all what I thought it would be (Europe, a few months in Vancouver for the Olympics and work, moving to Sidney, living with and loving mom, then caregiving ~ some of the best and hardest times of my life ~ getting a studio for awhile, selling my art, some contract work, meeting Steve and doing the IHT gig for 7 years, starting the cruise work, then changing offices, so much drama and empty pockets, watching myself turn to junk food as soon as I had wheels, meeting Maui, becoming a kitty-mom, so fabulous, loving, and losing him, just after losing mom, so much sadness, wrapped in sweet memories, moving with my sister, short-term becoming long-term, only recently extracating myself, my new job, various gigs, writing two books as a ghostwriter, mystery shopping, 2 cruises, and of course dog-sitting Lucy and Palm Springs, and a NYC trip, and 2 Mexico trips, the start and peak and end of social media gigs, blogs, when did I stop taking pictures?, cataract surgery, missing Vancouver then getting used to it here, just a few trips over, beoming so broke I stopped going to concerts, a couple trips up island, car 3 at present, discovering Audible, getting and becoming addicted to my iPad, from a simple phone to smart phone to my Blackberry (I miss it!), back to smartphone, Aunt Dawn's visit, a couple weddings, nieces and nephews having babies, I practically stop reading physical books, but come full circle and have been actively unplugging, new friends, finding old friends, losing my mind after long long long stretches without 24 hours alone, unable to recharge my batteries, recognizing that I was falling into such a deep depression, exhausted by a year of 3-3.5 hour daily commutes, money issues, now starting a new life downtown Victoria, its a lot over 10 years....).
At some point, I am up making coffee in my Bodum, boiling water in a pot, and having breakfast with Kakuro. Puttering in my kitchen. Remembering now that I was unpacking boxes at 5:00 am.
Groceries come at noon, my new usual cheery guy.
Lunch is leftover pasta fom last night, made by moi, with pesto, and reheated in my new microwave (thanks M!), while I read (Richard Bach's The Bridge Across Forever, one of my fav books ever), more kitchen puttering, washing mom's old kitchen cannisters, thinking about how I will use them....
My day so far in a nutshell. Felt sleepy, was going to take a nap, but thought I might write for a bit.
Now, perhaps, I will walk....

Randomness

So much for blogging before work... it seems that the tired-er I get, the later I leave, and the less time I have before work. But a good reminder as to how much I prefer arriving super early.


Last week was a heavenly break from routine. Last Monday I 'finally' qualified to be able to take unpaid vacation at my new work, without impacting my status (it has been a long slog, but I made it!). They were kind enough to grant me my request to take the rest of the week off. I requested this only partly because I was burnt out and needed a break, but primarily due the extraordinary timing: my niece was in town, so she and my sister were out every day with the van (I had been planning to bus it all week). So......... this meant that if I was home, and they were out, I would - finally - get some stretches of time alone. So that's actually what I did.


After 30 years of living alone, it is still an enormous adjustment to have spent the last 9 years living with other people. Especially when there has been no ability to get away from each other.
I had a HEAVENLY week... perhaps made so much so because I hadn't been expecting it or even hoping for it. Suddenly, pow, there it was. What a relief!


Not that I did much (although that was the point).


I did create a new reading spot in my bedroom, so that I can be alone and not just lounge on my bed, or sit at a desk. It's a spot where I have been reading, journaling, drawing, and propping up my dinner to eat in solitude while doing puzzles. With my headphones on, listening to a podcast or book, I am in another world. It's made a world of difference.

Goodbye 2018, Welcome 2019!

Definitely a time when I am looking forward to a new year. I am blessed in many ways but, frankly, 2018 was brutal.

I've juggled the ups and downs of travel agent life by having a steady second gig on the side. It's what made it possible. In this biz, you book a client today, and you get paid when they travel, which might be a year away.

Alas, at this time last year my 7 year second gig vanished. No complaints, it was a great gig while it lasted. But I've had a heck of a time replacing it. And its been burning a hole in my jeans (aka = I'm more than broke!). It's like I've been pedalling backwards.

In November I took the bull by the horns and started looking more seriously for jobs big and small.

Mystery shopping has been interesting, not a lot of pay, but heck, I got reimbursed for a bottle of Grey Goose in an airport duty free shop this month.

And I've been ghostwriting... actually a great fit for me, with instant tangible results: write a book this week, get paid next week. My first one is done, and I'm half-way through my second one. I have missed writing! Just a couple of the oddball things I am incorporating into my income stream.

Now, in my quest to get a steady 1/2 time gig, I've ended up with a 3-month full-time contract. It comes with lots of opportunities for going forward attached. After contract #1 I'll be auxiliary, which will give me an undetermined number of as needed hours, plus the chance to bid for full-time, part-time and contract gigs with the same company. It's a good set up. I'm a bit disappointed that I'll need to do 40 hours/week to start, as it will restrict my travel work initially by only working from home (during wave/peak season!), but in the big scheme of things, it will be fine. But I am going to be one busy girl come mid January. I've got a commute into Victoria coming up, which I hope to do by bus.

It's all good, and I'll be glad to be getting steady (decent) pay. Putting cash in my jeans, vs the lack thereof burning holes in my jeans!

It'll be a fresh start, and will be nice to work on a new project with new people (and great to still have my cruise team; they are gems).

And for a girl who will turn 60 (!?!?!?!?) in less than a month, that's a good thing.

LOOKING FORWARD to 2019!

List

My list... of the things I have experienced in the last 2 months:
2 dental surgeries
Weathered a financial crisis
Engaged in a battle in which I acted disgracefully
Was forgiven
Lost a gig
Gained a gig
Donned a dress I bought in Paris 8 years ago
Managed to get someone who hasn't spoken to me in 4-5 years to speak to me
Lost a friend, it shocked me to the core
Had a birthday

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.

Behind the DT - a fork in the road of my life

I am parked behind the David Thompson Hotel, in Kamloops, where I escaped abduction.

This was a fork in the road of my life. 

I don't remember telling anyone about it at the time, though I am fairly sure I would have told my friends. This would have been grade 8, 9 or 10. 

I knew I couldn't tell my parents, or I wouldn't have been able to hitchhike anymore. 

I am thinking younger, because I did drive my mom's car once I was able, mostly for work, but other times as well. 

It was my quick thinking and wit that had me play along, when the guys who picked me up put me between two of them in the backseat. And took a detour. At first I thought it was a wrong turn, but then asked where we were going. I can't remember the answer, but we were headed to, or were on, the Yellowhead Highway. I think they joked. A roadtrip? A party? Or ? But I guess I understood what was really happening quickly, because I played along. Said that was cool, but did they have any beer. No they didn't. Well, let's get some, I say. I'll buy. They must have believed me, because they turned around and we ended up behind the David Thompson to get offsales from the bar. In digging out my cash from my jeans, I pretended they were too tight and I couldn't get it out. They probably were tight, but it didn't matter. It was a ploy to get out of the car. And it worked. As soon as I was out of the car, I reached into my jeans.... and ran like hell.

I don't remember where I ran to, whether they chased me (I think not?), where I hid, or how I got home that day.

Did I walk to the library to get a ride home with mom!

Did I head for the very infrequent rickety old Valleyview bus?

Did I call for a ride?

Did I hitchhike back?

Or did I just carry on to wherever I was going?

I have reflected on this experience before, but haven't really thought about the context around it, and what happened next. 

The incident came sharply into focus when I once went to a John Bradshaw (?) workshop 20-odd years ago at the Vancouver Convention Centre. I met and bonded with a woman who shared the same birthday as me (only one I've ever met). And she told me about when she and her friend were abducted hitchhiking and were held for days, before they escaped or were found. The things that happened to them. It's why she was in therapy. Holy shit. I realized how lucky I had been to escape.

Unfortunately, she didn't come back to the 2nd day of the workshop, too many ghosts perhaps. We never got each other's numbers, because we would see each other the next day. Or so we thought.

I really hadn't analyzed it before then. Didn't label it as an abduction, a kidnapping, but it happened. It was also over in an hour or two, maybe less.

How often did this happen?

Who did those guys pick up next?

Bothered that I never reported it, but that was then, this is now.

Though I noticed I locked my doors when I parked here.

PS. Only today when I went to post this, did I realize that Northern BC's so-called Highway of Tears is actually the Yellowhead Highway. 

PPS. I remember telling a friend the other day about my interest (fascination?) with missing person cases, and all the podcasts I follow on this subject. Coincidence?

A place to hang my hat?

Vancouver Airport

On my layover between Victoria and Kamloops.

Nice little section of the terminal they have here, low down for all the little walk on planes, so you aren't wasting time going in and up and down and out. About a dozen gates here, no through traffic, so pretty quiet, except when there is a rush of arrivals. One Tim Horton's with very cheery peeps. If its busy, wait 5 minutes and the line evaporates. Or so it seems to me.

My carry-on bag, bought off  a

 kid in Berlin,, it always makes

me smile

I am travelling with just a carry on, but I seem to have lost my touch: my bag is stuffed. Like it better with less stuff and some spare room. Maybe if I didn't wait til the morning of my flight, I could be more decisive. But a nice chill place nonetheless.

As the plane takes off from Victoria, I feel this desire to fly, fly, fly.

Landing in Vancouver, seeing the skyline, I am hit again with a pang of missing this city. Not likely that I will live here again ($$$), but it still feels like home. Its good to process this feeling when I feel it, to understand it, to move on, to really get it that I have moved on. I have, but have I? Really?

I am "here" ~ in Sidney ~ not by design, but I am getting used to it. 7 years now. How strange. I realize I could hang my hat here. Maybe.

Or maybe it's destined to hang somewhere else.

 I am in the void of not knowing. But it's not a dark void. And it's not really limbo. It's more of accepting where I am, and being open to what's next.

Kamloops will be interesting. Old friends. Canada Day in Riverside Park? Looking forward to the reunion dinner. Staying downtown.

I kind of never looked back when I left, except for Karen's wedding... pseudo tolerated business trips, and was ok with 2 prior reunion trips. But this trip feels different. Hmmm.

Quiet day

It's a quiet day here, but a good one. I decided to work at the office, as you never know when a world cruise will walk through the door. Ha! This is traditionally a very quiet day, but you really do never know when someone wants to buy the gift of travel. More likely, someone needs travel insurance (one today), phone calls for other agents (several messages passed on), or someone dropping by (one of my clients, how delightful, with a card and little thank you gift!). In between, I am getting a lot of work done. Half of that is cruise work, the other half is my more creative endeavors and social media. And between the work, I confess to a nice long read of the newspaper, and sneaking left over treats from around the office. I am about to turn the neon shingle off, but reflecting that it was a good day, and it was nice to be out on such a nice day. Next, home to a quiet evening of doodling, or reading, or Christmas movies, accompanied by vodka and Fresca (maybe without the Fresca). But not too much, as I am keeping my virtual shingle on!
Cheers to all.

I could be anywhere

Little girl chasing sparrows. 2 boys occupying a Starbucks table (no drinks) and playing on their smartphones. Someone's dog, tied up, calling for them to return. 2 older ladies talking (are they older? or are they my age?); actually just 1 is talking. 3rd pregnant lady I've seen. A couple older guys (yes, older), watching the short shorts go by. All manner of people going into the bank.


The odd mix of comers and goers, and lingerers, at a mall entrance. I could be anywhere. But I am here, sitting at an outdoor table at a Starbucks, outside a mall entrance, while my sister shops. I have no patience for shopping, but this is ok. No newspapers though, so on my iPad. Not proud of it. But it is what it is. Need to start carrying a journal with me, and something to read. ...

Another interloper at the table next to me. This time a lady with her Tim Horton's coffee and box of TimBits, right under the Starbucks umbrella...

I don't want to make assumptions, but a taxi has arrived, unloading a family, the women wearing burkas (or hijabs?), matching big, surprisingly bright .pink purses. A couple men. Cute kid. Makes it easy to smile at them. Iranian refugees? Again, I don't want to assume, but in feeling good about what my country has done, I wonder. Glad to see more diversity. And its only by seeing more head coverings do we normalize. I don't want to take extra notice. I don't want them to feel observed and noticed, anymore than anyone else. There was a time when face coverings made me uncomfortable, not entirely sure why, but it has eased. Being educated has helped, and there has been lots of coverage, interviews and so on. I'd hope everyone is learning.

Someone has (finally) come about the dog. A by-law officer? Thankfully, they never left him in a car, but he was left too long. I do see someone protesting, so perhaps the dog's human has arrived. Some other people who were keeping the dog company, and feeding him water, have left. The officer is writing out a ticket. Good. The woman/human is actually arguing with him. She has the leash, so the dog is getting to go home with the human he loves, but I hope she is listening and learning. Interesting, it was a woman with 2 kids. The officer spent at least 20 minutes with them, I presume making sure the woman understood. I hope the kids got it, and will protest if mom tries something like that again. And the dog seemed fine.

The table next to me now occupied by a young couple with a (quiet) baby in a stroller. Starbucks drinks. A few scooters and wheelchairs, a woman pushing an oxygen tank on wheels. I could be any of those, if I don't start taking care of myself. Couple gone, now a guy in a ball cap and sunglasses. And smartphone.

Are we dumb to live with the smartphone? Probably, says I, after just checking mine for email.

A guy in a fluorescent orange tank top ties up his bike. Smart garb. Smart guy.

Write, just write. Its true.

Oh, how I crave to be alone. I would write if I were alone.

Can one write when one isn't alone? I don't know.

Impatience

A favourite memory from my month in Paris, when I
stumbled on this Chagall ceiling during my
unplanned visit to the Opera Garnier

I am impatient.
I want to travel.
I need to travel.
So hard to wait for things to be settled.
So tired of being grounded.
So tired of scraping by.
Outwardly, all well.
Inwardly, mostly well too.
But I have moments of feeling trapped.
So tired of feeling like a foreigner in my own life.
So tired of not being able to take off on a whim.
For some time I made peace with it.
But now, I'm just tired of it. Fed up. Impatient.
At moments like this. I am holding on by a thread.