Tuesday 30 September 2014

The Fish Bowl








That used to be me.

Swimming around in a fish bowl I had grown too big for and had become too restless to remain in happily. For years I stayed knocking my head against the glass, always grateful when I was able to render myself unconscious and always incredibly shocked and highly pissed when consciousness came back and I was still swimming in the same confined waters.

That's what I see her doing now... swimming around in water that has long grown cold and dank, that has long failed to hold the nutrients she needs to thrive.  Knocking herself unconscious with new jobs, new friends, new hobbies, new cars, new toys and "minor" outside flirtations.

Everytime she comes to, there is a flurry of texts, a panicked phone call, another confession of how close to the edge she is.

What I didn't know and couldn't see was the same thing she is blind to now - the ocean and how close the fish bowl is to it.

One giant leap of faith and it will embrace and sustain her.

I wait and I watch her swim and tire and be unconscious.  I wait for the day that she leaps but I wonder..will I be the idiot who says, "What the hell took you so long?" or will I be compassionate enough to say "Welcome! Beware the sharks!"



Monday 29 September 2014

Friendship


This morning I picked up my cell phone and noticed that I missed a call last evening. When I clicked on "recents" I saw that it was from a lifetime friend named "Mary" I hadn't spoken to her since May when I called to say "Happy Birthday."

She'd left a message which I don't generally like and don't always listen to.  This one I did.

"Hey Vera it's "Mary".  Ahhh...just giving you a call...I just have some news I need to tell you so if you want to let me know when a good time to call you back is that would be great.  My number XXX-XXX-XXXX. Talk to you soon, bye."

In the message she sounded excited, the kind of excited that was reminiscent of expecting a baby or getting engaged but since we're both past the point of wanting babies and she's very much married, my mind went down a generation and I considered her children.  I knew that they both already have young kids but also that they both had entered new relationships in the last few years.  "Oh, her daughter must be getting married....or maybe, but less likely, her son," I reasoned. Happiness for her began to bloom inside me.

A glance at the clock, told me it was too early to call.  Assuming she was still at the same job, 7:30 was "go time"  Since she had left her home number (which I happen to know by heart anyway) I scrolled through  my contacts, confirming that I have her lesser used cell number listed. I hoped was still her number then clicked off the phone and put it aside until later in the morning.

In between feeding the kids breakfast and getting them out the door, I thought back on the voice message. Mary sounded so upbeat, I went as far as to listen to the message again.  At 8:30 I gave her a call.

"Mary speaking," she answered, in her professional voice.

"Hey, how are you?" I said.

"Good, good, I just have some news I want to share."

I decided to hedge my bets, "Who's getting married?"

"Oh! Nobody," she replied.

I was stumped.  I hadn't taken the time to consider other scenarios.

"So, what's up?"  I asked instead.

"I just wanted to let you know that I have cancer," she said.  Just like that. Her voice didn't wobble or change from it's pleasant tone.  She didn't start to cry nor did she sound in despair.

Inside my head I flashed back to the stocky eight-year-old girl with the dimpled cheek and twinkling blue eyes. A combination of the summer sun and chlorinated pool water had turned her shoulder-length hair lighter brown in the summer sun.  The same hair that appeared almost black when she swam under the water.

"What the fuck?" I think before opening my mouth and saying,  "Oh Mary, I'm so sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, I just found out last week,"  as she launched into the details of her cancer discovery a slide-show of our times together played in my head.  It's not that I wasn't listening, more like her words were the soundtrack. Until she said, "The doctor told me that as long as I have surgery within 4 weeks and start chemo within 6 weeks, I should be ok."

"That's horrible," I said.  "So, if it takes 4 weeks and two days you're going to be beside yourself with worry."

"Pretty much," she replied.

I was still dumbfounded by her nonchalance.

"So, where do you think you are in the processing of all this?" I asked. "Are you still pretty much in shock or do you think you grasp the magnitude of it all?"

"No, I'm good." She said.  "I'm not any more special than anyone else, so why not me?  I've pretty much accepted it and just want to move ahead with my treatment."

By chance, if you believe in chance, rather than being treated locally, Mary's operation and treatment will take place at a hospital 40 minutes from her place but just 10 minutes from mine.

Having shared her news, we started talking about stocking her freezer with meals for her return home and for her husband to consume while she is hospitalized.  Mary talked about "getting my affairs in order" and I again wondered if she is still in shock.

Knowing that she's an avid scrapbooker I suggested, "Maybe you can start to document your journey through the making of a memory book...you could add photos of the people you meet along the way who make the journey easier for you."

"Yes, I journal now too," she says "and I started knitting last year so I have a lot of wool that I carry around with me.  That will come in handy for all the appointments."

Inspired I say, "Another thing you could do is knit hats, pink or pink and purple skull caps that you could leave at the chemo centre whenever you go for treatment. It might not make your journey easier but it may touch the lives of the other people being treated there, especially with winter on the way."

Belatedly I realized that was deviating from the real issue, skirting around the perimeter of cancer and perhaps trying to distract her from it rather than helping her meet it head on with all its implications and dire possibilities.

In closing I offered, "Let me know when you get your dates from the doctor, I want to know what's going on with you."

"Yes, of course," she replied. "And maybe we can get together for coffee when I'm in town."  She said it like she was coming for a convention or a job interview.

I laughed a little when I hung up. I laughed until I wanted to cry for what I know lays ahead for my friend. Mary thought she was well along the path to acceptance but I believe she was feeding my bullshit. Having known her for 35 years, I was pretty good at deciphering the fear and knowing that when the realities of cancer and surgery and chemotherapy finally penetrates her bubble of shocked protection that it will hit her hard, taking her out at the knees and weakening her almost as much as the cancer cells that grow inside.

"Fuuuuuck!" I said to the empty room.  I thought of my girlfriend and how she used to return home from swimming lessons and try to show me everything she had learned.  How she taught me not to be afraid of putting my head under the water and eventually got me to sit on the bottom of the pool for "tea" parties and how we used to spend so much time together.  I thought of the day I beat her up because I thought she liked Evelyn Perrone better than me and how I felt so bad afterward that I wrote her a letter of apology the same day.  I thought about how she went to Disneyland one year and brought me back a statue of a pissed off Daisey Duck explaining that it reminded her of me when I was angry and how that made me mad yet I cherished her honesty and friendship so much that I packed that darn duck up and moved it with my belongings from place to place for the next two decades before losing track of it.

I remembered staying at her house for a month when my family was between homes, having sold our old one before the new one was finished being built.  I thought of all the pop tarts she smuggled from her house for me and how I thought she was so lucky to always have so much junk food at her place.  I sat and thought of the year she spent living with her father and how it changed her but didn't take her from me, thought of the late night phone calls, all the visits, all the little babies we introduced into each other's lives.

I retrieved my phone from the kitchen counter and type the words she said to me decades before "I am here for you. I won't let you drown."

Then I sat down to write.

Friday 26 September 2014

Worship

I want to worship
at your temple;
to sacrifice
independence
for the freedom of
your love.

I want to dance upon
your altar
until
tongues are spoken;
until the light
of revelations appear;
until your liquid
warmth soothes
the fire in my soul.

- Vera

Toxic



Angry words
are pushed
down my throat
forcing me to
swallow the bitter
poison contained within.

Belatedly
walls rise
to protect
heart,
spirit,
mind.

Hot
venom
fills blood cells
courses
through veins; is
pumped into then
rejected by heart.

Teeth clench
throat opens
attempting to
keep the toxin
from spewing forth
from mouth.

I marinate in
emotions.
Hearing and vision
distort.
Impaired I search for
meaning,
truth,
kindness,
love.

Failure
thickens walls,
increases toxicity,
increases impairment.

Paralyzed mind,
paralyzed body
collapse
shattering walls,
releasing toxins.
Eyes focus on
the new landscape
within.

- Vera

Thursday 25 September 2014

The Path




Sometimes we know the path to take.

It's a Plant's Life


Time for another confession?  Why not!

I took this picture during my bike ride yesterday.  I said I was going to leave my phone behind but I'm glad I pocketed it - ringer totally off - just because I was able to capture this.

It took only a moment to notice and an equally infinitesimal amount of time to record, yet it stayed vibrant in my minds eye, begging the question:

                       "Do you use all the resources in your life to grow where you've been planted?"

Disappointingly my honest answer has to be no.  I have to acknowledge that, metaphorically, there are times when I am so focussed on the lack of sunshine that I absolutely and consciously refuse to acknowledge the water pooling at my roots, begging me to absorb and utilize it to my highest order. Simply put, if I were this plant, I would be dead!

I imagine that's the beauty of a plant.  it doesn't get distracted from its essential existence...doesn't have to consider the plants around it...doesn't have to even seek out that which sustains it. It simply and intuitively leans into the light, grows roots to the moisture and draws nutrients from the soil and BREATHES.

My lesson?

Be a plant.  Feed my life.  Lean into the warm moments. Consume proper nutrients, DRINK lots of water and BREATHE!


Grade 6

The school year is well underway.  Routines have been set, expectations laid out.

Having moved to Hamilton last summer, this is my second year dealing with this elementary school and, since I homeschooled my older two until they entered Grades 7 and 9, it's pretty much the only experience I have dealing with an Elementary school.

I have a few complaints!

Why are they asking my kids to sell chocolate?  They don't allow cupcakes in the classroom for birthdays or other special events, the pizza that they serve once a week has been specially modified to meet the government's idea of a "healthy" option (where are the vegetables?) and even snacks brought in at the holidays are "strongly encouraged" to be sugar free.

SO, why are they asking my kids to sell chocolate?

According to the Principal, a few years back they took chocolate selling off the fundraising menu and found that they were unable to meet their goals.  "Chocolate sells." she stated when I asked.  "I have some personal problems with it myself, but it sells."

Hmmmm.... so I should teach my kids that it's ok to do anything for money.  That they should put it above principle, logic and personal goals.  "Chocolate sells..." That makes it ok.

I said a few complaints right?

Why are we raising money for the Terry Fox Foundation by encouraging students to throw wet sponges at their teacher's faces?  Better yet, why are the teacher's allowing this?  Again the Principal babbles about "personal difficulties" and then goes on to say that the teachers were "happy to volunteer" for this event.

If she has so many problems with the fundraisers being pursued at the school, why are they running?  Who is in charge and how do I get to them?

"Join our school council," she encourages. "Then you can have a say in what happens here."  I interpret this to mean put your money where your mouth is, or better yet, put up or shut up.

Will I join?  Let's wait and see what kind of minds I will have to win over in order to reform the joint.

Last Complaint?

Grade 6 means EQAO's which I have an intense mistrust of and distaste for. How does this benefit my kid? How does it benefit the school when they have to factor his "0" into their score?  So, again (poor Principal) I speak with the school's highest authority.  She said she wasn't really sure what the school Board's position is on EQAO anarchy but she sees two possibilities 1) She may be able to have him in the office or 2) If he is on school property he HAS to take the test which, according to her means I would have to remove him from school grounds during the testing.

So I asked, "What if I tell him to sit quietly through the test but not to pick up his pencil?" her eyes got noticeable bigger.  I don't think she was counting on me encouraging my kid to disobey any direct orders from the teacher or Principal...

Did I mention in my profile that I'm a reformed home schooler?  Maybe I'm not as reformed as I think...?

Grade 1 is great as are grades 10 and 12.  It's just grade 6 that I seem to be having a problem with.


Wednesday 24 September 2014

Delayed Gratification






Confession time...

yesterday, and the day before, I was jonesing for a bag of Roasted Garlic and Black Bean Tostitos.  Not the healthiest choice but ooooohhh, the flavour...

I'm an adult right? And it wasn't too late, 8:30 or so on a Monday. Blessed with transportation, I jumped in the van and went to the local Avondale to see if I could pick up a bag.  Anticipating success, I practically skipped through the front door and up to the chip stand.  I spotted Tostitos and my heartbeat quickened but on closer inspection, they had limited their supply to the basic Rounds and Scoops.

Ever the optimist, I circled the stand hoping to find MY chips on the back side but, NO.  Just another assortment of dill pickled this and sour cream and onion that.  How many brands of those does a store really need to carry?

Disappointed, I grabbed a bag of riceworks sweet chili chips and made do.

Fast forward to Tuesday...

Having scratched my itch the night before with the rice chips, I went through most of my day before I was hit with a yearning for Tostitos.  Thankfully, I was at the park with the kids when the itch resurfaced.  A park which is adjacent to a plaza!

When we were locked and loaded in the van, I announced a need to make a pitstop.  I ran into a small grocery chain store and searched the chip aisle for my desire. Same as Monday, this store's stock didn't include the chips I was looking for.  

But it's a plaza, remember, so I was able to go to the drug store and BINGO, what do you know, there are my chips.

I skipped back to the van, (yes, I know, but skipping CAN look cool) and drove home where I got distracted by overseeing the lunch making, bedtime snack eating, tooth brushing and tucking in routine.  By the time I returned to my unopened bag, hours had passed.

I got caught up in writing, then decided to unwind with a long hot bath before hopping into bed with a movie and my Tostitos. Opening credits still rolling, I grabbed the bag and started to rip it open when I'll be darned if I didn't ask myself why I was eating them. I wasn't hungry, it was late and they were probably going to cause me more pain than pleasure.

I pressed pause on the DVD and stared at the chips.

A conversation I heard earlier in the day on CBC about Walter Mischel, professor of humane letters in psychology at Columbia University and his "Marshmallow Experiment" came back to me.  Essentially, the late 1960's study tested the self-control of young children.  Mischel and his colleagues put a child in a room with a marshmallow.  They were told that they could eat the treat or if they waited until the adult returned, they could have two treats. The youngster was then left alone while experimenters looked on. 

The interesting part of the study is what happened AFTER the marshmallow.  The subjects were followed into adulthood to see if those who waited or not indicated who the kids would become.  The conclusion?Self-control can be learned.

My conclusion?  

I'm an adult right? I would like to think that as a child I would have waited for the adult to return and been rewarded with the two treats but really, I'm not sure.

I put the chips aside and lay down to watch the movie.  This morning I was greeted by the unopened bag and smiled to myself for waiting.

Tonight, when I take my 5-year-old to dance I will again be adjacent to the plaza where I bought those Tostitos. I know they're not the same as marshmallows but since I waited, I reckon I'm entitled to run into the drugstore and buy a second bag!

  

Tuesday 23 September 2014

Hello Heat



After a summer of disappointingly cool weather, HEAT!

Like a virgin waiting for the Prom, mother nature has been holding out on us!

The wonderfully ironic part is that the kids are all in school.  Unable to enjoy the warmth of the sun beating down on their sweaty heads as they run through the splash pad.  

Instead they're cooped up in classrooms choking on chalk dust and peering out the windows wishing for recess.

And me?

Somewhat unsympathetic.

WHY?

Because I can enjoy meandering the streets of downtown Hamilton without the listening to my 5-year-old's high pitched whines or my 10-year-old's pleas to head to the park for some mind numbing soccer drills, or my 15-year-old's begging to play basketball or "hang out" with his friends. OR, God forbid, my 17-year-old asking if she can pleeeeeaaaase drive.

Instead I can sit on the front porch in my fabulously red - in your face chairs with my book and my sweating glass of wine.  Or I can fold down the back seat of my van, throw in my bike and go to the beach for some quiet, quiet, quiet riding along the coastal trail.  I can whip out my writing pad and record the thoughts that I actually have to ability to LISTEN to and harness rather than trying to grasp at them as they fleetingly scramble from my brain to make room for something, anything that the world might be trying to shove into it.

Lunch?

Outside of course on any patio that dares to remain open.  I am not above going to Tim Horton's if it means I can lunch OUTSIDE, in the sun, in the heat.

The bestest part? 

My cell phone may or may not come with me; may or may not be heard ringing.  It may or may not make it off the dresser at home or in the cup holder of my van.

The only thing that could possibly make it better would be if my partner wasn't also stuck in a classroom, creating that chalk dust and the endless loops of homework from which our kids learn, but the world is an imperfect place...

Me and my thoughts and the sun which should have accompanied my every summer day but which I am grateful has finally showed up on these first few days of Fall....


Why Not?

So, here we go!

A fresh page and a fresh start to a new blog - as if the internet doesn't have enough of them.

I thought I would use this space to empty my head.  Perhaps daily, perhaps weekly, perhaps just as a dream of mine that someone, anyone would want to read it and learn a little (or a lot) more about who I am and what I am about.

I hemmed and hawed about a blog for a long time, years if I confess truly, here I am finally doing it.

Why? Why? Why?

I got caught up in the "Why's?"  Today I realized there was a "Why NOT?" waiting on the other side.

Read it or don't.  Like it or not.

You will find me and my ramblings spread across these pages.