I've been waiting for some eagles to hatch.
The CBC had a write-up on a pair of bald eagles in B.C. There is a video cam attached to their nest, watching them take turns brooding two eggs.
See the story here. See the live cam here.
This is a busy stream, it can take a long time for the picture to appear. And sometimes it's down. I have less trouble early in the morning or late at night, when fewer people are online.
One egg was supposed to have already hatched. But it's late. No eagle has been born yet, but I can't stop watching the parents in their nest. They sit so still, waiting, so patient and alert, as if that is their purpose in life and they are okay with that. Sometimes, the brooder gets up to stretch its legs, exposing both eggs. Sometimes the brooder flies away for a few seconds, to stretch its wings, I guess. Or that's how they switch places - it's a different bird that comes back.
When the brooder re-settles in the nest, it carefully steps around the eggs, tucks the eggs in under its body with its beak, then gently sits on top of the eggs. The unfolding of a birth is nature at its most glorious. The unfolding of a life is pretty fascinating too. Why, that's everyone of us, unfolding in our own way.
Though with the eagles, I feel like a voyeur (can't get away from that with the video cam and all), watching the display of tender affection between bird and egg, waiting for the critical moment when new life is released from the shells. It's something.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Saturday, April 29, 2006
24 Hours
I love living in the hood because we have made friends with some of the parents of kids The Boy has befriended. Some of our friends also live here. Over the years, everyone has become friends.
Last night, when I dropped The Boy off at his friend Curly's for the night, Curly's parents invited me to stay for a bite. I did so and had a nice visit. In the middle of this, the subject of our mutual friend and neighbour, Outrageous' son, came up. Recently, he got into some trouble with the police over nothing. There was a court date yesterday. Curly's mom, Super Curly, phoned Outrageous to get an update.
The human perspective: He and his friends painted a beautiful red dragon over swastikas.
The police perspective: He and his friends vandalized public property with graffiti.
Heartache for his parents in the last few months. Yesterday, a judge with good common sense and a balanced perspective on life dropped all charges and all conditions against the young man. We are all relieved.
Super Curly is a fish enthusiast. We made arrangements to go a pet shop today that specializes in fish and acquariums. When we got back to Super Curly's house after the pet shop, her husband, Trim, was outside, talking to Red, Outrageous' husband. Trim said,
"The Boy and Curly just drove off on their bikes. You just missed them."
"Where were they going?"
"Back to your house."
I joined Trim and Red for a bit, and after, Red and I walked back to his house where Outrageous was planting a tree.
Outrageous and I sat in their garden while Red made us coffee and corned beef hash! I got a visit and I got fed. While chatting, I received a call on my cell from The Man in Yemen. So far away and still part of my day in the hood. Then Outrageous, Red and I walked back to my house. Outrageous and Red continued on to the local supermarket.
Inside, The Boy and Curly were playing Warhammer with Jock and Harry Potter. They were noisy! I made a few phone calls and cleaned up a bit. Curly and Jock left. Sis came over. The Boy, Harry Potter, Sis and I then headed to a sumptious dinner in Chinatown. Such good company and good food.
So many nice moments in the last 24 hours. Lucky me.
Last night, when I dropped The Boy off at his friend Curly's for the night, Curly's parents invited me to stay for a bite. I did so and had a nice visit. In the middle of this, the subject of our mutual friend and neighbour, Outrageous' son, came up. Recently, he got into some trouble with the police over nothing. There was a court date yesterday. Curly's mom, Super Curly, phoned Outrageous to get an update.
The human perspective: He and his friends painted a beautiful red dragon over swastikas.
The police perspective: He and his friends vandalized public property with graffiti.
Heartache for his parents in the last few months. Yesterday, a judge with good common sense and a balanced perspective on life dropped all charges and all conditions against the young man. We are all relieved.
Super Curly is a fish enthusiast. We made arrangements to go a pet shop today that specializes in fish and acquariums. When we got back to Super Curly's house after the pet shop, her husband, Trim, was outside, talking to Red, Outrageous' husband. Trim said,
"The Boy and Curly just drove off on their bikes. You just missed them."
"Where were they going?"
"Back to your house."
I joined Trim and Red for a bit, and after, Red and I walked back to his house where Outrageous was planting a tree.
Outrageous and I sat in their garden while Red made us coffee and corned beef hash! I got a visit and I got fed. While chatting, I received a call on my cell from The Man in Yemen. So far away and still part of my day in the hood. Then Outrageous, Red and I walked back to my house. Outrageous and Red continued on to the local supermarket.
Inside, The Boy and Curly were playing Warhammer with Jock and Harry Potter. They were noisy! I made a few phone calls and cleaned up a bit. Curly and Jock left. Sis came over. The Boy, Harry Potter, Sis and I then headed to a sumptious dinner in Chinatown. Such good company and good food.
So many nice moments in the last 24 hours. Lucky me.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Dreams Of Brad Pitt, An Alien, And Banana Leaves
My friend, who's quitting smoking with the patch, reminded me of vivid dreams. Since I am not using the patch, I can only attribute my dreams to Prozac. Here are a few...
One night...
I dreamed that I was a tall thin black woman whose boyfriend was Brad Pitt. We were on some kind of espionage adventure together. I was sitting on a ledge high above ground. Directly across from me was a stage. I was watching the stage to see when to move into action. Suddenly, Brad Pitt landed beside me. I was happy my partner had arrived. It was understood he was my boyfriend.
That's all I remember. I know, I can be so deep.
Another night...
I dreamed that I was pregnant with something. Not exactly with a baby. All around me were all these people, protecting me, to make sure I would deliver safely. I was quite disturbed I was going to give birth to an unknown thing.
I am sure I had this dream after reading something about stupid Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes giving birth to an alien. I can be so impressionable.
Last night...
I dreamed that I was cleaning up my garden. Only the garden wasn't the garden attached to my house, and the house was not my house. I was in a huge house with a jungle for a garden. After raking in the branches and debris, I rested at the kitchen table and looked out the window. I saw a patch of ground covered with dark green leaves move. Out of the ground sprang a woman, carrying the part of the plant-covered earth from which she rose to a different part of the plant bed. Then she sank back into the ground in the spot where she laid down the transplanted earth.
I realized she had reshaped the plant bed so that it curved along a sparkling silver blue pond. I had not noticed the pond until she did that. The reshaping groomed the garden and enhanced the pond. I said to my sister-in-law who was at the table with me, Did you see that?
She said, Yes, I saw the same thing a little while ago, only it was a man who came out of the ground. And he's the one who put all those banana leaves in the garden.
I looked into the garden again. Sure enough, there were giant burnt orange and mauve banana leaves, 4 feet wide and 10 feet long, lining the floor of the garden between trees as if to keep the tree roots moist. I said to my sister-in-law, Who are they, why are they doing these things?
She said, That's what they do. They nurture and protect the earth.
That was kind of cool.
One night...
I dreamed that I was a tall thin black woman whose boyfriend was Brad Pitt. We were on some kind of espionage adventure together. I was sitting on a ledge high above ground. Directly across from me was a stage. I was watching the stage to see when to move into action. Suddenly, Brad Pitt landed beside me. I was happy my partner had arrived. It was understood he was my boyfriend.
That's all I remember. I know, I can be so deep.
Another night...
I dreamed that I was pregnant with something. Not exactly with a baby. All around me were all these people, protecting me, to make sure I would deliver safely. I was quite disturbed I was going to give birth to an unknown thing.
I am sure I had this dream after reading something about stupid Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes giving birth to an alien. I can be so impressionable.
Last night...
I dreamed that I was cleaning up my garden. Only the garden wasn't the garden attached to my house, and the house was not my house. I was in a huge house with a jungle for a garden. After raking in the branches and debris, I rested at the kitchen table and looked out the window. I saw a patch of ground covered with dark green leaves move. Out of the ground sprang a woman, carrying the part of the plant-covered earth from which she rose to a different part of the plant bed. Then she sank back into the ground in the spot where she laid down the transplanted earth.
I realized she had reshaped the plant bed so that it curved along a sparkling silver blue pond. I had not noticed the pond until she did that. The reshaping groomed the garden and enhanced the pond. I said to my sister-in-law who was at the table with me, Did you see that?
She said, Yes, I saw the same thing a little while ago, only it was a man who came out of the ground. And he's the one who put all those banana leaves in the garden.
I looked into the garden again. Sure enough, there were giant burnt orange and mauve banana leaves, 4 feet wide and 10 feet long, lining the floor of the garden between trees as if to keep the tree roots moist. I said to my sister-in-law, Who are they, why are they doing these things?
She said, That's what they do. They nurture and protect the earth.
That was kind of cool.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Looks Good Out
Last fall, I bought four plants to put in the ground. Something about fall planting that promotes the growth of the yew, holly and cedar bushes. But I got distracted and never planted them. Good thing we had a mild winter. The plants survived and I plunked them in the garden today.
I put the cedar in the corner of our front yard where a particular neighbour likes to leave his garbage when he cleans out his car. Things like coffee cups, cigarette ash, chicken bones, burger wrappers. I've seen him do it from inside the house. Now that I've filled that corner with a plant, I wonder if he'll still leave his garbage there. I don't think he got the message when the last time I saw him leave his garbage then went into his house, I ran out, picked up the garbage, and put it on top his car. To make sure the garbage didn't get blown away, I put a rock on top of the garbage to keep it in place.
I planted the yew beside the house, in front of the air conditioner. I am hoping the little bush will grow tall to obstruct view of the air conditioning unit from the street.
I planted the two hollies in front of the house, belolw the front window. I want them to grow berries in the winter so we get a natural Christmasy look.
Yes, spring is here! Onto the garden centre later this week. Damn the bout of depression I had this week.
I put the cedar in the corner of our front yard where a particular neighbour likes to leave his garbage when he cleans out his car. Things like coffee cups, cigarette ash, chicken bones, burger wrappers. I've seen him do it from inside the house. Now that I've filled that corner with a plant, I wonder if he'll still leave his garbage there. I don't think he got the message when the last time I saw him leave his garbage then went into his house, I ran out, picked up the garbage, and put it on top his car. To make sure the garbage didn't get blown away, I put a rock on top of the garbage to keep it in place.
I planted the yew beside the house, in front of the air conditioner. I am hoping the little bush will grow tall to obstruct view of the air conditioning unit from the street.
I planted the two hollies in front of the house, belolw the front window. I want them to grow berries in the winter so we get a natural Christmasy look.
Yes, spring is here! Onto the garden centre later this week. Damn the bout of depression I had this week.
Monday, April 24, 2006
The Game I Should Have Lost
In the first half of our Scrabble game tonight, I trailed The Boy and Broil (my bro-in-law) by over 50 points because they denied me both pugly and fugly. Neither words were in the already outdated fourth (2005) edition of the Official Scrabble Players Dictionary. What to do if the dictionary is behind the times and your opponents are not versed in the vernacular of celebrity gossip? I was resigned to losing.
The Boy, clever and persuasive boy that he is, got me to play a word that left the letter L open for him. Then he tried to bingo with exjailer for 128 points. I challenged it for no reason, I was losing anyway. Were we surprised the word is not in the Scrabble dictionary! In fact, nor were words like exwife, exmarine, and exwrestler. But of course. It dawned on me those are hyphenated words. The Boy lost his turn and suddenly, I had a chance to...lose by less. Only, what could I do with AAIIUUU?
I don't remember what I played, but I got me a whopping 6 points.
The Boy next played azo for 22 points. Broil challenged it. How could azo be a word? But there it was in the Scrabble dictionary and Broil lost his turn. I was becoming a contender.
I don't know how it happened. They taunted me for trailing and got too cocky for their own good. Maybe Broil was too filled with wine and The Boy got confused looking at the board upside down. When they couldn't get me to challenge the other, they challenged each other on good words, but no one challenged me for oys. Oy! I still trailed right up to the last play.
But I won the game. I won because I got rid of all my tiles first. Broil lost 13 points, The Boy lost 3. Add those points to my score and I beat The Boy by 2 points to win. Yeah, there were two very sore losers at the table last night.
The Boy, clever and persuasive boy that he is, got me to play a word that left the letter L open for him. Then he tried to bingo with exjailer for 128 points. I challenged it for no reason, I was losing anyway. Were we surprised the word is not in the Scrabble dictionary! In fact, nor were words like exwife, exmarine, and exwrestler. But of course. It dawned on me those are hyphenated words. The Boy lost his turn and suddenly, I had a chance to...lose by less. Only, what could I do with AAIIUUU?
I don't remember what I played, but I got me a whopping 6 points.
The Boy next played azo for 22 points. Broil challenged it. How could azo be a word? But there it was in the Scrabble dictionary and Broil lost his turn. I was becoming a contender.
I don't know how it happened. They taunted me for trailing and got too cocky for their own good. Maybe Broil was too filled with wine and The Boy got confused looking at the board upside down. When they couldn't get me to challenge the other, they challenged each other on good words, but no one challenged me for oys. Oy! I still trailed right up to the last play.
But I won the game. I won because I got rid of all my tiles first. Broil lost 13 points, The Boy lost 3. Add those points to my score and I beat The Boy by 2 points to win. Yeah, there were two very sore losers at the table last night.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Snoozer Sunday
It's been raining for two days. When it's overcast, I get sleepy. So truly, I ate, read and slept all day.
Last night, The Boy spent the night at a friend's. Today, three boys and a dog went for a two-hour walk along the beach. Towards the end of their walk, the sky downpoured. Boys and dog jumped on the bus and got back to the friend's house. Friend's mother threw their clothes in the dryer while they towelled off in their PJs.
Boy then phoned to say he was getting on the bus to come home. Except it took him over two hours. He got into the house and said, I've never done that before, fallen asleep on the bus. No one was out on a rainy Sunday afternoon so The Boy had the bus mostly to himself. He fell asleep. The second time the driver completed his route, he woke The Boy to inquire if he was okay. The Boy was stunned he had lost over an hour of his life on the bus. Though, he said, it was very peaceful being lulled to sleep on a humming bus on a lazy Sunday.
Sleepovers, eh? A friend calls them awakeovers.
Last night, The Boy spent the night at a friend's. Today, three boys and a dog went for a two-hour walk along the beach. Towards the end of their walk, the sky downpoured. Boys and dog jumped on the bus and got back to the friend's house. Friend's mother threw their clothes in the dryer while they towelled off in their PJs.
Boy then phoned to say he was getting on the bus to come home. Except it took him over two hours. He got into the house and said, I've never done that before, fallen asleep on the bus. No one was out on a rainy Sunday afternoon so The Boy had the bus mostly to himself. He fell asleep. The second time the driver completed his route, he woke The Boy to inquire if he was okay. The Boy was stunned he had lost over an hour of his life on the bus. Though, he said, it was very peaceful being lulled to sleep on a humming bus on a lazy Sunday.
Sleepovers, eh? A friend calls them awakeovers.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Egyptian Source
I noticed in the library the other day a book called Christianity: An Ancient Egyptian Religion. I took it out and have spent the last few days reading it.
As a religious studies major, I have a fascination with how religions originate and evolve, why people find comfort in a religious belief, and why these beliefs should be blamed for so much warfare. I don't know of any answers. I just like reading theories about them.
Ancient Egyptian Religion caught my attention because I remember Gwendolyn MacEwen, a Canadian author who was a colleague of Margaret Atwood and who with her then husband, opened the Trojan Horse on the Danforth, wrote a book called King of Egypt, King of Dreams. The book was about King Akhenton who tried to introduce monotheism in Egypt. I know MacEwen had researched her book well and I remember thinking, Isn't this interesting that the notion of one god should have surfaced in Egypt, a land renowned for its many gods and goddesses and the practice of preserving the body for resurrection.
Later, when I took Religion courses in university, I came across a reference to Sigmund Freud having written a controversial book called Moses and Monotheism, in which he claimed Moses was Egyptian. That stuck in my mind.
So here is this title that simply states Christianity is an ancient Egyptian religion. The author, Ahmed Osman, makes a compelling case. He takes apart the names of the main characters from the Old Testament to show how they evolved from Egyptian names, and draws parallels of accomplishments attributed to these characters to accomplishments documented in the Royal House of Egypt. In short, he argues that the main characters in the bible are based on characters in Egyptian history. David (who fought Galiath), Joseph (of the coat of many colours), Solomon (consort to the Queen of Sheba) and Moses (of the Ten Commandments) were all Egyptian. The Romans had changed their roots to Judaea to eradicate Egyptian ties and to hold on to power. Not unlike China trying to rewrite Tibetan history.
Not being a scholar of either the bible or Egyptian history, I can't agree or disagree with Osman. But I can't put his book down, his story is so compelling.
As a religious studies major, I have a fascination with how religions originate and evolve, why people find comfort in a religious belief, and why these beliefs should be blamed for so much warfare. I don't know of any answers. I just like reading theories about them.
Ancient Egyptian Religion caught my attention because I remember Gwendolyn MacEwen, a Canadian author who was a colleague of Margaret Atwood and who with her then husband, opened the Trojan Horse on the Danforth, wrote a book called King of Egypt, King of Dreams. The book was about King Akhenton who tried to introduce monotheism in Egypt. I know MacEwen had researched her book well and I remember thinking, Isn't this interesting that the notion of one god should have surfaced in Egypt, a land renowned for its many gods and goddesses and the practice of preserving the body for resurrection.
Later, when I took Religion courses in university, I came across a reference to Sigmund Freud having written a controversial book called Moses and Monotheism, in which he claimed Moses was Egyptian. That stuck in my mind.
So here is this title that simply states Christianity is an ancient Egyptian religion. The author, Ahmed Osman, makes a compelling case. He takes apart the names of the main characters from the Old Testament to show how they evolved from Egyptian names, and draws parallels of accomplishments attributed to these characters to accomplishments documented in the Royal House of Egypt. In short, he argues that the main characters in the bible are based on characters in Egyptian history. David (who fought Galiath), Joseph (of the coat of many colours), Solomon (consort to the Queen of Sheba) and Moses (of the Ten Commandments) were all Egyptian. The Romans had changed their roots to Judaea to eradicate Egyptian ties and to hold on to power. Not unlike China trying to rewrite Tibetan history.
Not being a scholar of either the bible or Egyptian history, I can't agree or disagree with Osman. But I can't put his book down, his story is so compelling.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Don't Anyone Blush Now
...because I'm doing that for you.
Tonight, I attended a sex workshop called:
Bigger, Better and Multiples: Orgasms for Women
Learn how to have multiple, extended, and full-body orgasms. Learn to orgasm in new ways, including during intercourse with G-spot orgasms. Gather tips and techniques for expanding pleasure and for enjoying multiple, more powerful and longer-lasting orgasms that can blow you away, whether going solo or with a partner. Women and trans people only.
Sis and I went as women.
It was an investigative type of outing for us - her being a shrink and me being her sister and all that.
Right. So then, the workshop was three hours long. I don't know what the other workshop participants thought, but I certainly wondered, given the lure of the course description, what can one learn in three hours, and would we have to have sex with each other to experience what's being taught. Just where is this workshop taking place anyway, some seedy part of town that never sees daylight?
It took place on Harbord Street, right across from Central Tech High School, a skip and a hop from the University of Toronto, with many restaurants around it, and a few doors down from Parent Books. A safe enough location. Apparently, every time they offer this workshop, which is about monthly, it is sold out.
There were about 15 of us in the workshop. I don't think there were trans people there. This being an evening course, I tried to see if anyone was sprouting a shadow. I didn't see any. I think all the women in the room were real and quite normal looking, which was a little disappointing, although our instructor was a stunning bisexual with a slender physique and carefree walk that made you think of being in the wild. Ever since Brokeback Mountain, my friend Outrageous and I have this thing about men in the wild. Oh I digress, I digress.
So how to have bigger, better, and more orgasms as a woman. Apparently, you need toys, and practice. The instructor showed us lots of toys, and video clips of women practising. I don't know about that. Toys seem so surgically cold and invasive to me. I find nothing erotic about having an electronic tool with moving parts plugged into you. It is self-imposed absurdity. But I guess the whole sex act is kind of absurd.
Call me old fashioned, but I figure it's like eating red meat. I don't indulge often, but when I do, I like a really succulent piece of filet mignon, grilled plain. Don't mask my meat with condiments. But if the meat is not robust or lacking in tenderness, then I want my meat stewed with spices and sauces to give me flavour. I prefer the naturalness of pure raw quality.
I did learn there are lots of sex nerves where you wouldn't expect, and I know where my G-spot is now. I learned how to do kegel exercises properly too. Who knew it'd take a sex workshop to help with my incontinence problem. But I'm going to need me a boyfriend to try out some of the theories and practise the techniques, you know, so as to get ready for when The Man comes home.
Tonight, I attended a sex workshop called:
Bigger, Better and Multiples: Orgasms for Women
Learn how to have multiple, extended, and full-body orgasms. Learn to orgasm in new ways, including during intercourse with G-spot orgasms. Gather tips and techniques for expanding pleasure and for enjoying multiple, more powerful and longer-lasting orgasms that can blow you away, whether going solo or with a partner. Women and trans people only.
Sis and I went as women.
It was an investigative type of outing for us - her being a shrink and me being her sister and all that.
Right. So then, the workshop was three hours long. I don't know what the other workshop participants thought, but I certainly wondered, given the lure of the course description, what can one learn in three hours, and would we have to have sex with each other to experience what's being taught. Just where is this workshop taking place anyway, some seedy part of town that never sees daylight?
It took place on Harbord Street, right across from Central Tech High School, a skip and a hop from the University of Toronto, with many restaurants around it, and a few doors down from Parent Books. A safe enough location. Apparently, every time they offer this workshop, which is about monthly, it is sold out.
There were about 15 of us in the workshop. I don't think there were trans people there. This being an evening course, I tried to see if anyone was sprouting a shadow. I didn't see any. I think all the women in the room were real and quite normal looking, which was a little disappointing, although our instructor was a stunning bisexual with a slender physique and carefree walk that made you think of being in the wild. Ever since Brokeback Mountain, my friend Outrageous and I have this thing about men in the wild. Oh I digress, I digress.
So how to have bigger, better, and more orgasms as a woman. Apparently, you need toys, and practice. The instructor showed us lots of toys, and video clips of women practising. I don't know about that. Toys seem so surgically cold and invasive to me. I find nothing erotic about having an electronic tool with moving parts plugged into you. It is self-imposed absurdity. But I guess the whole sex act is kind of absurd.
Call me old fashioned, but I figure it's like eating red meat. I don't indulge often, but when I do, I like a really succulent piece of filet mignon, grilled plain. Don't mask my meat with condiments. But if the meat is not robust or lacking in tenderness, then I want my meat stewed with spices and sauces to give me flavour. I prefer the naturalness of pure raw quality.
I did learn there are lots of sex nerves where you wouldn't expect, and I know where my G-spot is now. I learned how to do kegel exercises properly too. Who knew it'd take a sex workshop to help with my incontinence problem. But I'm going to need me a boyfriend to try out some of the theories and practise the techniques, you know, so as to get ready for when The Man comes home.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Things I Don't Want To Know
I wonder if other mother-daughter relationship evolve in the course their lives and take on different meaning at different stages. I have great love for my mother, if for no other reason than she is my mother. But right now, I think she is more like a caricature providing comic relief in my life.
Mom Who Dreads Planning
Over the weekend at the resort, mom said several times - It's so much work, going away. Why do you want to do it?
- It's nice to get out of the city and spend some time together.
- But it's cumbersome and fussy, all the packing, driving, cooking and cleaning. It takes so much time, it's not worth going away. Nothing wrong with staying home and doing nothing.
- You'd still be cooking and cleaning at home.
- Not for so many people. You don't have to plan for yourself.
Mom Who Sleeps With The Lights On
I shared a room with mom at the resort. At bedtime the first night, she turned on, that's right - turned on, all the lights in the room. At 11 pm, the room was brighter than high noon in a cowboy movie.
- Why did you turn all the lights on?
- I like the room bright.
- Even when you're asleep?
- Yes.
- I can't sleep with the lights on.
- Can The Boy sleep with the lights on? Can you switch rooms?
- No, he can't sleep with the lights on.
After some negotiating, mom agreed to sleep in a darkened room. But I had to leave the bathroom light on. That's so she can find her way to the bathroom in the night. But I was the one who got up several times. Mom did not get up once.
In all these years, after all the nights mom spent at my house, I never knew she slept with the lights on.
Mom The Developer
I went for a long walk with mom through the golf course. The course is spread over manicured grass and some rougher, swampier land.
She kept saying - Just think of all the houses you can build on this land. You can fit so many people in here.
- But this is a resort and people pay to come here to get away from the city and other people.
- This is just wasted space.
When Bro joined us, we went for a drive. We drove to Taximan's cottage to take a look see. The cottage sits on a dense strip of side-by-side structures, each opening onto the sands of Wasaga Beach.
Mom walked around the little cottage, pointed at an open area and said - You can put another cottage there.
- Look how crowded together the cottages are already. Why do you want to put another building here?
- So more people can come.
- But it'd be work having to host so many people. Remember, you don't like to pack and clean and cook for lots of people.
- But it's okay if you charge them for coming.
Mom The Absentminded
On the day we went swimming, mom put her bathing suit on in the condo before heading out to the pool. Once we got out of our street clothes, mom was ready to leave the change room.
- Mom, are you going out like that? Is that your underpants over your bathing suit?
- Oh, I forgot I had them on. I better take them off.
Mom The Exploiter
On one of our walks, we came upon a pond of Canada geese. There must've been twenty of them.
She said - We'd be lucky to catch one of them.
- What would you do with one?
- Cook it and eat it.
- You'll get hauled off to jail.
- That's why you need luck on your side to get one.
By the end of the resort stay, she said - This is much better than camping. Less work to do.
- Camping is a little more work, but it's a different experience.
- Camping is a lot more work. You pack more, takes hours to put up a tent, and when you take it down again, you have to clean it and roll it back up. Too much difficult work.
- It's worth it to live outdoors and have our friends and families and their kids together.
- Have you booked your trip for this year?
- SIL is planning it this year.
- I want to go with you when you go.
- I thought you said it was too much work.
- You're the one doing all the work. I am just tagging along.
Thanks mom, but urr...I'm not sure I care to know more about mom.
Mom Who Dreads Planning
Over the weekend at the resort, mom said several times - It's so much work, going away. Why do you want to do it?
- It's nice to get out of the city and spend some time together.
- But it's cumbersome and fussy, all the packing, driving, cooking and cleaning. It takes so much time, it's not worth going away. Nothing wrong with staying home and doing nothing.
- You'd still be cooking and cleaning at home.
- Not for so many people. You don't have to plan for yourself.
Mom Who Sleeps With The Lights On
I shared a room with mom at the resort. At bedtime the first night, she turned on, that's right - turned on, all the lights in the room. At 11 pm, the room was brighter than high noon in a cowboy movie.
- Why did you turn all the lights on?
- I like the room bright.
- Even when you're asleep?
- Yes.
- I can't sleep with the lights on.
- Can The Boy sleep with the lights on? Can you switch rooms?
- No, he can't sleep with the lights on.
After some negotiating, mom agreed to sleep in a darkened room. But I had to leave the bathroom light on. That's so she can find her way to the bathroom in the night. But I was the one who got up several times. Mom did not get up once.
In all these years, after all the nights mom spent at my house, I never knew she slept with the lights on.
Mom The Developer
I went for a long walk with mom through the golf course. The course is spread over manicured grass and some rougher, swampier land.
She kept saying - Just think of all the houses you can build on this land. You can fit so many people in here.
- But this is a resort and people pay to come here to get away from the city and other people.
- This is just wasted space.
When Bro joined us, we went for a drive. We drove to Taximan's cottage to take a look see. The cottage sits on a dense strip of side-by-side structures, each opening onto the sands of Wasaga Beach.
Mom walked around the little cottage, pointed at an open area and said - You can put another cottage there.
- Look how crowded together the cottages are already. Why do you want to put another building here?
- So more people can come.
- But it'd be work having to host so many people. Remember, you don't like to pack and clean and cook for lots of people.
- But it's okay if you charge them for coming.
Mom The Absentminded
On the day we went swimming, mom put her bathing suit on in the condo before heading out to the pool. Once we got out of our street clothes, mom was ready to leave the change room.
- Mom, are you going out like that? Is that your underpants over your bathing suit?
- Oh, I forgot I had them on. I better take them off.
Mom The Exploiter
On one of our walks, we came upon a pond of Canada geese. There must've been twenty of them.
She said - We'd be lucky to catch one of them.
- What would you do with one?
- Cook it and eat it.
- You'll get hauled off to jail.
- That's why you need luck on your side to get one.
By the end of the resort stay, she said - This is much better than camping. Less work to do.
- Camping is a little more work, but it's a different experience.
- Camping is a lot more work. You pack more, takes hours to put up a tent, and when you take it down again, you have to clean it and roll it back up. Too much difficult work.
- It's worth it to live outdoors and have our friends and families and their kids together.
- Have you booked your trip for this year?
- SIL is planning it this year.
- I want to go with you when you go.
- I thought you said it was too much work.
- You're the one doing all the work. I am just tagging along.
Thanks mom, but urr...I'm not sure I care to know more about mom.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
A Jolt and A Getaway
We had planned a weekend away in Collingwood for Easter. But last week, my friend's husband died unexpectedly. I went away prepared to come back for the funeral.
The Boy, Sis and her two kids, my mother and I drove to the resort in less than two hours. The next day, Bro and his wife joined us.
There are planned feasts and there are unplanned pig outs. We pigged out. My best laid meal plans were sabotaged by Bro's contribution of donuts, danishes, croissants, chocolates, an apple almond custard tart, and a strawberry rhubbarb pie. He didn't bring just a bit for everyone to sample. He assumed we had no food and brought us a diet of processed sweet carbohydrates. Being weak-willed where fattening food is concerned, Sis and I succumbed and indulged.
I generally scoff at finicky eaters and won't sit at the same table with skinny women who order salad only with lemon on the side. I am most at home when eating with my sibs. We eat with abandon, we like tasty food, and being messy is okay. I imagine us as Romans reclining in chaise lounges, servers continuously bringing us fresh kill, and we hold grilled mutton legs to our mouths with bare hands. I enjoy eating with my sibs. No wonder we're toxic to each other when trying to diet.
We went for a great bike ride along the Georgian Trail. The air was cool, the path was wide and flat, the ride was easy, and we were together. I stayed behind the group and looked at my family, taking in the happy moment, knowing at the same time, back in the city, my friend and her family were arranging a burial for her husband.
My happy moment would pass, and so will my friend's sad moment. Except my moment will truly be fleeting, and my friend's will last much longer. In the midst of this, Bro Bro sent a message to announce his mother-in-law had passed away.
I am back home now and have been to see my friend again. She looks better than last week and said she loves having so many people around her. Her children's friends have also been visiting. Hundreds of people must have come through her house over the weekend. I am relieved her support network is wide and strong. I am grateful that several of us have been in touch over the weekend to share our grief.
When a tragedy strikes, it's not just the immediate family that's affected. The community of those who know and care about the family members feel their sadness, share their pain, and wish them well, ready to catch them if they fall, even if they don't know it. This is what friends do. The memorial service is on Tuesday.
The Boy, Sis and her two kids, my mother and I drove to the resort in less than two hours. The next day, Bro and his wife joined us.
There are planned feasts and there are unplanned pig outs. We pigged out. My best laid meal plans were sabotaged by Bro's contribution of donuts, danishes, croissants, chocolates, an apple almond custard tart, and a strawberry rhubbarb pie. He didn't bring just a bit for everyone to sample. He assumed we had no food and brought us a diet of processed sweet carbohydrates. Being weak-willed where fattening food is concerned, Sis and I succumbed and indulged.
I generally scoff at finicky eaters and won't sit at the same table with skinny women who order salad only with lemon on the side. I am most at home when eating with my sibs. We eat with abandon, we like tasty food, and being messy is okay. I imagine us as Romans reclining in chaise lounges, servers continuously bringing us fresh kill, and we hold grilled mutton legs to our mouths with bare hands. I enjoy eating with my sibs. No wonder we're toxic to each other when trying to diet.
We went for a great bike ride along the Georgian Trail. The air was cool, the path was wide and flat, the ride was easy, and we were together. I stayed behind the group and looked at my family, taking in the happy moment, knowing at the same time, back in the city, my friend and her family were arranging a burial for her husband.
My happy moment would pass, and so will my friend's sad moment. Except my moment will truly be fleeting, and my friend's will last much longer. In the midst of this, Bro Bro sent a message to announce his mother-in-law had passed away.
I am back home now and have been to see my friend again. She looks better than last week and said she loves having so many people around her. Her children's friends have also been visiting. Hundreds of people must have come through her house over the weekend. I am relieved her support network is wide and strong. I am grateful that several of us have been in touch over the weekend to share our grief.
When a tragedy strikes, it's not just the immediate family that's affected. The community of those who know and care about the family members feel their sadness, share their pain, and wish them well, ready to catch them if they fall, even if they don't know it. This is what friends do. The memorial service is on Tuesday.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Those Decisions
I can't believe I allowed Christmas decorations to stay up until now. May as well lean dead tires against the house and string pepper lights across the front porch to make us look like a trailer. It's not that I've been too lazy or I forgot they were up. It's more that we took most decorations down except for the fake garlands above the windows and a strand of star lanterns in the hall. That's because The Boy said they look nice and they don't look all that Christmasy.
But when I started spring cleaning this week, I realized, Who am I kidding? They are so Christmas decorations.
So today, I took down all the decorations and cleaned out the shed to put things away, hoping to give our house an airier feel. Then I went out for the afternoon. When I came back, I forgot the decorations had come down and didn't notice a difference. When The Boy came home, I asked him what's different in the house. He said, Nothing. He hadn't noticed the decorations gone either. So why'd we leave the decorations up?
It's hard to balance calm and airiness without being stark, with warm and welcoming without clutter. I guess it's like everything else in life - am I dressed too warm or not enough, have I taken too much food and not left enough for others or have I not taken enough and insulted the host, should my hair go more pink or more green... There are so many decisions to make.
But when I started spring cleaning this week, I realized, Who am I kidding? They are so Christmas decorations.
So today, I took down all the decorations and cleaned out the shed to put things away, hoping to give our house an airier feel. Then I went out for the afternoon. When I came back, I forgot the decorations had come down and didn't notice a difference. When The Boy came home, I asked him what's different in the house. He said, Nothing. He hadn't noticed the decorations gone either. So why'd we leave the decorations up?
It's hard to balance calm and airiness without being stark, with warm and welcoming without clutter. I guess it's like everything else in life - am I dressed too warm or not enough, have I taken too much food and not left enough for others or have I not taken enough and insulted the host, should my hair go more pink or more green... There are so many decisions to make.
Monday, April 10, 2006
The Stroll
Thank you for helping me feel better about yesterday.
Today, I went for a long walk and ended up at the bottom of Casa Loma on Dupont. Just as I started to climb the steps up to the castle grounds, a slight-built man in his 60's overtook me. He seemed to breeze up the steps with nary a sound while I huffed and puffed my way up, bemoaning my sore knees the whole time. By the time I stumbled out onto the top, the white-haired lithe man was gone.
But before me spread a field of grass and picnic tables. At one table sat a guitar. A bulky man in T-shirt and jeans was walking from the castle wall to the picnic table. He must've been in his 50's. He picked up the guitar and perched on the table. As I walked by, he said,
"Beautiful day, isn't it? We are lucky to be outside."
I said, "Yes."
Then this burly man that looked like a construction worker started playing the guitar and singing Time In A Bottle! With the song behind me, I crossed the road to begin my trek up to St. Clair.
There, the enchantment of the castle vanished as cars blared and construction trucks blasted and ground their cargo to pulp. I went into a health food store where the proprietor tried to hurry an old woman without offending her, reminiscent of Bro Bro in his pharmacy.
She said, "I'm not sure if this is what I want."
He said, "What do you want to use it for?"
"I'm not sure."
"Vitamin C won't help with a rash."
"But I think that's what my friend used."
"Here are some products you can try. Choose one of them or take the Vitamin C and try. I don't think it will help." Meanwhile, a line started to form at the cash.
"Okay, I don't know, well I guess I'll take this."
"That'll be $5.29."
"Oh dear, I only have $5. Wait, I have four cents too."
"Okay, you can owe me 25 cents. Give it to me next time." He put her purchase in a bag and she stood there, fumbling with her purse and gloves.
Neither the proprietor nor the people lined up wanted to yell at the old woman, but gosh, we were sure impatient for her to get out of the way.
I bought some sorghum flour and peanut butter to make gluten free peanut butter cookies for my Celiac friend.
Shortly after I got home, The Boy came home from school. I drove him to his uncle's, where he undertook the paid gig of sweeping up and bagging the leaves in the front and back yards to prepare the grounds for spring. At least he sticks to his commitments.
Today, I went for a long walk and ended up at the bottom of Casa Loma on Dupont. Just as I started to climb the steps up to the castle grounds, a slight-built man in his 60's overtook me. He seemed to breeze up the steps with nary a sound while I huffed and puffed my way up, bemoaning my sore knees the whole time. By the time I stumbled out onto the top, the white-haired lithe man was gone.
But before me spread a field of grass and picnic tables. At one table sat a guitar. A bulky man in T-shirt and jeans was walking from the castle wall to the picnic table. He must've been in his 50's. He picked up the guitar and perched on the table. As I walked by, he said,
"Beautiful day, isn't it? We are lucky to be outside."
I said, "Yes."
Then this burly man that looked like a construction worker started playing the guitar and singing Time In A Bottle! With the song behind me, I crossed the road to begin my trek up to St. Clair.
There, the enchantment of the castle vanished as cars blared and construction trucks blasted and ground their cargo to pulp. I went into a health food store where the proprietor tried to hurry an old woman without offending her, reminiscent of Bro Bro in his pharmacy.
She said, "I'm not sure if this is what I want."
He said, "What do you want to use it for?"
"I'm not sure."
"Vitamin C won't help with a rash."
"But I think that's what my friend used."
"Here are some products you can try. Choose one of them or take the Vitamin C and try. I don't think it will help." Meanwhile, a line started to form at the cash.
"Okay, I don't know, well I guess I'll take this."
"That'll be $5.29."
"Oh dear, I only have $5. Wait, I have four cents too."
"Okay, you can owe me 25 cents. Give it to me next time." He put her purchase in a bag and she stood there, fumbling with her purse and gloves.
Neither the proprietor nor the people lined up wanted to yell at the old woman, but gosh, we were sure impatient for her to get out of the way.
I bought some sorghum flour and peanut butter to make gluten free peanut butter cookies for my Celiac friend.
Shortly after I got home, The Boy came home from school. I drove him to his uncle's, where he undertook the paid gig of sweeping up and bagging the leaves in the front and back yards to prepare the grounds for spring. At least he sticks to his commitments.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
What A Difference A Day Makes: Paradise Tested
My identity right now is wrapped up in being The Boy's mother. My preconception of our relationship is that he shares my world view. I have always said that if he didn't, I would still support him no matter what. Sometimes, when I go to bed at night, just in case there is a god, I pray that he be protected. If he is away from me, just in case guardian angels exist, I ask them to stay with him.
So it's quite a revelation to find out The Boy holds drastically different views than I do, and that he is even belligerent about them. It makes me wonder where I've gone wrong. I am feeling crushed by the discovery of our differences.
Tonight, The Boy asked why I have to be so weird. Weird in what way? Weird in that we don't have cable, weird in that I won't eat at McDonald's, weird in that I don't work.
Mustering up my maternal courage, I tell him it's because I am principled. Then I tried to have a discussion with him. It turned into an argument.
He wants cable because all his friends have it. I countered with, it means he will spend even more time in front of the TV, and why does he need cable when he's the one who introduced his cabled friends to Lost, Desperate Housewives, among other shows. He has not missed anything despite the lack of cable.
He charges that McDonald's has a right to want to expand their business by building drive-throughs in residential areas, that it was perfectly legal to do so. And now that the community has fought back and won, the war is over. Why do I have to hold a grudge and not eat at McDonald's. I counter that McDonald's has contributed to obesity in North America, Europe and now China because of poor quality food, that they are a big offender of labour practices, exploiting immigrants and youth workers, that I need to be on guard in case they find loopholes to make money at the expense of community and individual health and welfare. He said McDonald's is a large corporation and would never break the law and what's wrong with making money? I said he could go to McDonald's, but not on my time or my dime.
He said, And how do you know McDonald's has poor labour practices, have you worked for them? Oh right, you don't work, do you... Honestly, I felt assaulted. I guess he doesn't remember when I worked. I tell him briefly the job of a homemaker, I hope without emotion, because I am sensitive to the fact that I am not employed.
Most surprising to me is that, right now, I don't want to support any of his activities. Yes, he is young and naive, my feelings are hurt, and I am angry. But I also feel like I have failed as a mother. I wonder if my love for him really is as unconditional as I've assumed. I can't help be disappointed in him and feel he is just another common, selfish, material-oriented, mainstream man in the making.
You do your best to give your child the best of privileges and ensure he grows up confident and happy, and this is the son I get?
Let tomorrow be a better day.
So it's quite a revelation to find out The Boy holds drastically different views than I do, and that he is even belligerent about them. It makes me wonder where I've gone wrong. I am feeling crushed by the discovery of our differences.
Tonight, The Boy asked why I have to be so weird. Weird in what way? Weird in that we don't have cable, weird in that I won't eat at McDonald's, weird in that I don't work.
Mustering up my maternal courage, I tell him it's because I am principled. Then I tried to have a discussion with him. It turned into an argument.
He wants cable because all his friends have it. I countered with, it means he will spend even more time in front of the TV, and why does he need cable when he's the one who introduced his cabled friends to Lost, Desperate Housewives, among other shows. He has not missed anything despite the lack of cable.
He charges that McDonald's has a right to want to expand their business by building drive-throughs in residential areas, that it was perfectly legal to do so. And now that the community has fought back and won, the war is over. Why do I have to hold a grudge and not eat at McDonald's. I counter that McDonald's has contributed to obesity in North America, Europe and now China because of poor quality food, that they are a big offender of labour practices, exploiting immigrants and youth workers, that I need to be on guard in case they find loopholes to make money at the expense of community and individual health and welfare. He said McDonald's is a large corporation and would never break the law and what's wrong with making money? I said he could go to McDonald's, but not on my time or my dime.
He said, And how do you know McDonald's has poor labour practices, have you worked for them? Oh right, you don't work, do you... Honestly, I felt assaulted. I guess he doesn't remember when I worked. I tell him briefly the job of a homemaker, I hope without emotion, because I am sensitive to the fact that I am not employed.
Most surprising to me is that, right now, I don't want to support any of his activities. Yes, he is young and naive, my feelings are hurt, and I am angry. But I also feel like I have failed as a mother. I wonder if my love for him really is as unconditional as I've assumed. I can't help be disappointed in him and feel he is just another common, selfish, material-oriented, mainstream man in the making.
You do your best to give your child the best of privileges and ensure he grows up confident and happy, and this is the son I get?
Let tomorrow be a better day.
That Proves It
So. Apparently, I have a reputation with The Boy's friends.
When they got up yesterday, Handsome Dancer said to Blue Eyes, "Have you ever slept over here before?"
"No."
"Oh, just wait till you see what's for breakfast!"
How did he know what I had in the fridge? I barely knew myself as I hadn't thought about their breakfast until the morning. But I'm glad I didn't disappoint. I made them sausages, scrambled eggs, and toasted bagels. I gave them grapes and cut up bananas. I arranged everything on a platter and put it on the table with plates, napkins, cultery, glasses and a pitcher of orange juice. They helped themselves to what they wanted. They were gracious and appreciative guests, thanking me many times through out the morning. I was beginning to think, Are they pulling an Eddie Haskell on me?
But it all makes sense when The Boy told me later about their morning conversation. I'm a sucker for such adulation. The Boy's female friends think I'm a cool mom, his male friends think I'm a great cook and host. No wonder they are so polite and friendly with me, and clean up after themselves when they are over. And Butterfly Boy continues to hug me every time he sees me. It's all worth it!
When they got up yesterday, Handsome Dancer said to Blue Eyes, "Have you ever slept over here before?"
"No."
"Oh, just wait till you see what's for breakfast!"
How did he know what I had in the fridge? I barely knew myself as I hadn't thought about their breakfast until the morning. But I'm glad I didn't disappoint. I made them sausages, scrambled eggs, and toasted bagels. I gave them grapes and cut up bananas. I arranged everything on a platter and put it on the table with plates, napkins, cultery, glasses and a pitcher of orange juice. They helped themselves to what they wanted. They were gracious and appreciative guests, thanking me many times through out the morning. I was beginning to think, Are they pulling an Eddie Haskell on me?
But it all makes sense when The Boy told me later about their morning conversation. I'm a sucker for such adulation. The Boy's female friends think I'm a cool mom, his male friends think I'm a great cook and host. No wonder they are so polite and friendly with me, and clean up after themselves when they are over. And Butterfly Boy continues to hug me every time he sees me. It's all worth it!
Saturday, April 08, 2006
They Are Diamond And Gold
The Boy's school had music performances this week. The choirs were wonderful. Some of the kids looked and sang like angels. On Thursday and Friday nights, some of The Boy's friends came to spend the night. Last night, four of them ended up at the house.
One of them asked me what The Man and I did for a living. The others listened and nodded. The Boy ran away and said, Whatever you say, mom.
At breakfast, one of the boys offered to brings things out from the kitchen. Later, I overhear them talking about the cost of post-secondary education and what marks are needed to get into some university programs. Either they are into their Career Studies course or they are actually thinking about their future.
After they left, I went down to the basement to see everything cleaned up, folded up, and put away.
This is all in context of last night at my book club. The women and I were talking about how our kids are doing. Four of the women have daughters who just turned 18. All four girls maintain they are not sexually active. Only one has a steady boyfriend.
Our children seem to behave differently from what we read about teenage behaviour in mass media. They are not into sex and drugs, they are not into glam, designer labels and plastic surgery, they are not concerned about their weight. They are aware they have peers who are into that, but they and their closest friends are not. Now, one of the girls did cause her mother grief when she phoned for a ride after a party at 2 am, but only after she got on the bus, sent her friends home and got off the bus early by herself to puke in the gutter from having had too much to drink. But other than that, she's a good kid. All these girls, young women now, have always said hello to their mother's friends and their moms tell me about the special mother and daughter outings they have every once in a while.
As mothers, we wondered what's going on. Should we congratulate ourselves on having imparted good family value and raised reasonable, relatively innocent kids? Have the media exaggerated, catastrophied and sensationalized teen behaviour? Are our kids the odd balls? After a little bit of discussion, I decided I didn't care how they got that way. We probably are a fairly conservative bunch of parents living sheltered lives. But somehow, we've raised great kids. Generally, they are good company, they are respectful and responsible, they show good judgement, they enjoy themselves, they do well enough at school, they have goals, they are interested, and they get into enough trouble to be interesting.
I don't think I can speak as highly of myself at their age.
One of them asked me what The Man and I did for a living. The others listened and nodded. The Boy ran away and said, Whatever you say, mom.
At breakfast, one of the boys offered to brings things out from the kitchen. Later, I overhear them talking about the cost of post-secondary education and what marks are needed to get into some university programs. Either they are into their Career Studies course or they are actually thinking about their future.
After they left, I went down to the basement to see everything cleaned up, folded up, and put away.
This is all in context of last night at my book club. The women and I were talking about how our kids are doing. Four of the women have daughters who just turned 18. All four girls maintain they are not sexually active. Only one has a steady boyfriend.
Our children seem to behave differently from what we read about teenage behaviour in mass media. They are not into sex and drugs, they are not into glam, designer labels and plastic surgery, they are not concerned about their weight. They are aware they have peers who are into that, but they and their closest friends are not. Now, one of the girls did cause her mother grief when she phoned for a ride after a party at 2 am, but only after she got on the bus, sent her friends home and got off the bus early by herself to puke in the gutter from having had too much to drink. But other than that, she's a good kid. All these girls, young women now, have always said hello to their mother's friends and their moms tell me about the special mother and daughter outings they have every once in a while.
As mothers, we wondered what's going on. Should we congratulate ourselves on having imparted good family value and raised reasonable, relatively innocent kids? Have the media exaggerated, catastrophied and sensationalized teen behaviour? Are our kids the odd balls? After a little bit of discussion, I decided I didn't care how they got that way. We probably are a fairly conservative bunch of parents living sheltered lives. But somehow, we've raised great kids. Generally, they are good company, they are respectful and responsible, they show good judgement, they enjoy themselves, they do well enough at school, they have goals, they are interested, and they get into enough trouble to be interesting.
I don't think I can speak as highly of myself at their age.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Me Me Me
I will miss my meditation class. It ended this week.
One of the questions the instructor asked, and which we have to answer on an exit questionnaire was, What did you get out of the course?
For me, I'm trying to separate the effects of Prozac from meditation. I think the drug helped me be more attentive to the meditation. The meditation allowed me to tap into my internal landscape to get a better sense of who I am and what I am capable of. Together, they help me be more me.
So my quest now is to better define me. Well that's what blogs are about, aren't they? They're me me me tools. Even if I were to give political opinions or report on current events, they're what I think, they're takes on the world as I see it. I had dinner recently with some friends and one of them said, Oh write about our dinner, write about me. I said, For that, you're better to you start your own blog. He said, Oh, so it's all about you, is it?
Well, yeah. But I digress. So back to me.
In a village, there are many personalities that hold the village community together. There is the artist, the teacher, the builder, the healer, the hunter, etc. Me, I'd be the hearth-keeper. I gather my clan in my retreat, feed them, rest them, rejuvenate them so they can go out there and better do what they do. I think most of my activities and pursuits evolve around this dominate theme.
When The Boy has friends for a sleep over, I make sure his friends sleep on an inflated air mattress, that they have pillows and pillow cases, that they have enough blankets. The Boy says, But mom, their parents don't fuss like that, we just crash on the floor with a sleeping bag. I tell him, But I am not them. When I have overnight guests, I treat them like honourable guests. It doesn't matter what other parents do, it matters what I do. I guess I am like Odysseus, always on a journey to return home.
Through meditation and better self-acceptance, I appreciate the beauty of imperfection more. Look at The Man. Despite his absence, I am not blind to his flaws. But in spite of his flaws, I am often quite smitten with him, still after all these years. Sure, absence makes the heart fonder and all that. But I never fail to see the goodness in him, even during our most heated bouts of dysfunction. Now, I also realize he wouldn't be who he is without his flaws. And because I accept his flaws, I also accept mine more, and I have so many. So true - it's our "flaws" that are the spice of life.
I aim to meditate or do yoga each day to keep up the practice of mindfulness. Except when I forget.
One of the questions the instructor asked, and which we have to answer on an exit questionnaire was, What did you get out of the course?
For me, I'm trying to separate the effects of Prozac from meditation. I think the drug helped me be more attentive to the meditation. The meditation allowed me to tap into my internal landscape to get a better sense of who I am and what I am capable of. Together, they help me be more me.
So my quest now is to better define me. Well that's what blogs are about, aren't they? They're me me me tools. Even if I were to give political opinions or report on current events, they're what I think, they're takes on the world as I see it. I had dinner recently with some friends and one of them said, Oh write about our dinner, write about me. I said, For that, you're better to you start your own blog. He said, Oh, so it's all about you, is it?
Well, yeah. But I digress. So back to me.
In a village, there are many personalities that hold the village community together. There is the artist, the teacher, the builder, the healer, the hunter, etc. Me, I'd be the hearth-keeper. I gather my clan in my retreat, feed them, rest them, rejuvenate them so they can go out there and better do what they do. I think most of my activities and pursuits evolve around this dominate theme.
When The Boy has friends for a sleep over, I make sure his friends sleep on an inflated air mattress, that they have pillows and pillow cases, that they have enough blankets. The Boy says, But mom, their parents don't fuss like that, we just crash on the floor with a sleeping bag. I tell him, But I am not them. When I have overnight guests, I treat them like honourable guests. It doesn't matter what other parents do, it matters what I do. I guess I am like Odysseus, always on a journey to return home.
Through meditation and better self-acceptance, I appreciate the beauty of imperfection more. Look at The Man. Despite his absence, I am not blind to his flaws. But in spite of his flaws, I am often quite smitten with him, still after all these years. Sure, absence makes the heart fonder and all that. But I never fail to see the goodness in him, even during our most heated bouts of dysfunction. Now, I also realize he wouldn't be who he is without his flaws. And because I accept his flaws, I also accept mine more, and I have so many. So true - it's our "flaws" that are the spice of life.
I aim to meditate or do yoga each day to keep up the practice of mindfulness. Except when I forget.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Crying Wolf
That's it. I'm not ever consulting Sis the doctor and Bro Bro the pharmacist about any illness I may have. Because their first diagnosis for everything is cancer.
Even when my mother had ear wax, Sis said cancer, which caused my mother to lose sleep for a whole night.
When my doctor and I were trying to find the cause of my anemia, Sis said colon cancer. When we settled on heavy menstrual periods, she said cervical cancer.
Now she's got a nose sore. She says nose cancer. At least she doesn't exclude herself from the affliction.
Bro Bro hasn't been eating much lately. He's been exercising, the weather's been warmer, he's lost some weight. You'd think that's a good thing. But no, he also thinks he has cancer.
I've been feeling tired and lazy lately. My body aches. Just because coincidentally I've been going to the gym the last two weeks doesn't mean that my body is adjusting to the new stress. I know I've got cancer.
All 30 people in my meditation class complain that their minds race and they have trouble settling down to meditate. I bet it's cancer.
Hey, I read that teenagers are watching less TV than they used to. They must all have cancer.
My neighbour's dogs have been yelping louder than they did in the winter. Think they have cancer?
Sis and Bro Bro are like those relatives you should never take investment advice from - they're the relatives you should never take medical advice from. I just hope they won't be the kids who cry wolf.
Even when my mother had ear wax, Sis said cancer, which caused my mother to lose sleep for a whole night.
When my doctor and I were trying to find the cause of my anemia, Sis said colon cancer. When we settled on heavy menstrual periods, she said cervical cancer.
Now she's got a nose sore. She says nose cancer. At least she doesn't exclude herself from the affliction.
Bro Bro hasn't been eating much lately. He's been exercising, the weather's been warmer, he's lost some weight. You'd think that's a good thing. But no, he also thinks he has cancer.
I've been feeling tired and lazy lately. My body aches. Just because coincidentally I've been going to the gym the last two weeks doesn't mean that my body is adjusting to the new stress. I know I've got cancer.
All 30 people in my meditation class complain that their minds race and they have trouble settling down to meditate. I bet it's cancer.
Hey, I read that teenagers are watching less TV than they used to. They must all have cancer.
My neighbour's dogs have been yelping louder than they did in the winter. Think they have cancer?
Sis and Bro Bro are like those relatives you should never take investment advice from - they're the relatives you should never take medical advice from. I just hope they won't be the kids who cry wolf.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Bah Humbug
I am a scrooge.
My microwave oven is over 20 years old. It's a Litton Moffet, the leader in microwave technology back in the days. Its door handle fell off about two years ago. I won't replace the appliance because it still works. Sure, a new microwave costs under $100 these days. But to me, that's like paying $100 for a door handle.
I finally went to get a new phone answering machine. There aren't many models of stand-alone answering machines out there. I'm told the answering machine now usually comes with the telephone, or people use Bell's answering service. The salesman suggested I get a new phone that comes with the answering feature. The unit is under $150. Bah. There is nothing wrong with my telephone. So I stomped into Canadian Tire's and found a stand-alone unit that costs $35. It has poor sound quality.
A service rep said to me last week, "I'll leave a message on your cell."
I said, "No, I'm too cheap and practical to pay for a messaging service on my cell. You either get me or don't. If you can't get me, then I'm not available to talk. Please leave a message on my home phone. "
She seemed surprised. I know she was eyeing me up and down to decide if I was a curmudgeony crone from the last century. I am.
I am frumpy these days. You would never know that I once considered myself chic and that in my twenties when I was skinny, several people tried to recruit me into modelling. Oh I've modelled in the last few years, but once as a diabetic woman and once as a mentally retarded person in need of community care, but that's another story.
In Port Hope this weekend, I watched a run-way fashion program with my mother-in-law. I realized, good heavens, I have not paid attention to what's fashionable and stylish for ages. Except I hate shopping and only do it if I have to. But I could re-acquired the habit. I am sure it's like smoking - you can take it up again if you really want. And maybe I should relent on that microwave oven.
So it's with these generous thoughts that I got a phone call from Mothers Against Drunk Driving. I said yes and gave them money. Immediately after, I received a knock on the door. It's Red Cross, putting a program in place that will help Canadians if the need arises. I said yes to them too. A little later, the phone rang again. It's the Library Foundation needing funds to build up their book collection. I was feeling stalked. And all I wanted to do today was suspend a pole from my basement ceiling. But that's another story too.
All these organizations are worthy causes. But I don't want them all to call me the same afternoon. Because it makes me feel paranoid. And now I suspect it's the same fundraising agency working for all three organizations and more, calling on me. Once they get me, they put me on the list for their next client and phone their reps in the field to say, There's a live one, go knock on her door.
Mustering up my scrooge roots, I said no to the Library Foundation. I put a No scowl on my face in case anyone knocked on the door again, and I didn't answer the phone for the rest of the day.
My microwave oven is over 20 years old. It's a Litton Moffet, the leader in microwave technology back in the days. Its door handle fell off about two years ago. I won't replace the appliance because it still works. Sure, a new microwave costs under $100 these days. But to me, that's like paying $100 for a door handle.
I finally went to get a new phone answering machine. There aren't many models of stand-alone answering machines out there. I'm told the answering machine now usually comes with the telephone, or people use Bell's answering service. The salesman suggested I get a new phone that comes with the answering feature. The unit is under $150. Bah. There is nothing wrong with my telephone. So I stomped into Canadian Tire's and found a stand-alone unit that costs $35. It has poor sound quality.
A service rep said to me last week, "I'll leave a message on your cell."
I said, "No, I'm too cheap and practical to pay for a messaging service on my cell. You either get me or don't. If you can't get me, then I'm not available to talk. Please leave a message on my home phone. "
She seemed surprised. I know she was eyeing me up and down to decide if I was a curmudgeony crone from the last century. I am.
I am frumpy these days. You would never know that I once considered myself chic and that in my twenties when I was skinny, several people tried to recruit me into modelling. Oh I've modelled in the last few years, but once as a diabetic woman and once as a mentally retarded person in need of community care, but that's another story.
In Port Hope this weekend, I watched a run-way fashion program with my mother-in-law. I realized, good heavens, I have not paid attention to what's fashionable and stylish for ages. Except I hate shopping and only do it if I have to. But I could re-acquired the habit. I am sure it's like smoking - you can take it up again if you really want. And maybe I should relent on that microwave oven.
So it's with these generous thoughts that I got a phone call from Mothers Against Drunk Driving. I said yes and gave them money. Immediately after, I received a knock on the door. It's Red Cross, putting a program in place that will help Canadians if the need arises. I said yes to them too. A little later, the phone rang again. It's the Library Foundation needing funds to build up their book collection. I was feeling stalked. And all I wanted to do today was suspend a pole from my basement ceiling. But that's another story too.
All these organizations are worthy causes. But I don't want them all to call me the same afternoon. Because it makes me feel paranoid. And now I suspect it's the same fundraising agency working for all three organizations and more, calling on me. Once they get me, they put me on the list for their next client and phone their reps in the field to say, There's a live one, go knock on her door.
Mustering up my scrooge roots, I said no to the Library Foundation. I put a No scowl on my face in case anyone knocked on the door again, and I didn't answer the phone for the rest of the day.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Swan Swamp
Port Hope sits on the shore of Lake Ontario. Because the town is far enough away from Toronto, the water there is actually quite clean. The Boy learned to swim in these waters and ate his first mouthful of sand as an infant on the beach. When I get into town, I like to go down the lake shore and walk the trail.
This weekend, it was windy in the fair town, so much so that after walking about for five minutes, my ears began to hurt. Yet, the temperature was 12 Celsius. I told my mother-in-law I was headed for the trail and going into the swamp to see the swans. She insisted on driving me.
She said, "It's windy. You can walk back from where I drop you off. I'll wait for you at the other end."
I said, "That defeats the purpose of going for walk, doesn't it?"
So we compromised. She dropped me off at the entrance to the swamp and went home. I would walk the trail, then through the town to get home.
In the swamp, I saw the swans. There were three of them. They came in last week and settled there. Having watched Swan Lake last weekend, I tried to imagine a gaggle of them. Real swans could never be as dainty and well-coordinated as the ones on stage. These swans lifted their wings and scratched themselves with their beaks. One of them ruffled his feathers and didn't care. He just swam around looking pleased with himself despite feathers poking up and pointing every which way.
At one point, something in the water must've startled the swans, but not the ducks. All three suddenly took off into the air, flew across the water and landed in the swamp again in a clumsy show of tripping and waddling I've only until now attributed to drunken buzzards.
So I stood there on the trail, with roaring waves from the lake in front of me, jittery swans in the swamp behind me, and behind the swamp, rumbling wheels on the train tracks. It was noisy. Not at all the spiritual healing I've come to expect walking this trail in the fall.
I went home, unhealed. As I walked by the butcher, I bought filet mignon for dinner. I felt raw anyway, might as well indulge in red meat.
This weekend, it was windy in the fair town, so much so that after walking about for five minutes, my ears began to hurt. Yet, the temperature was 12 Celsius. I told my mother-in-law I was headed for the trail and going into the swamp to see the swans. She insisted on driving me.
She said, "It's windy. You can walk back from where I drop you off. I'll wait for you at the other end."
I said, "That defeats the purpose of going for walk, doesn't it?"
So we compromised. She dropped me off at the entrance to the swamp and went home. I would walk the trail, then through the town to get home.
In the swamp, I saw the swans. There were three of them. They came in last week and settled there. Having watched Swan Lake last weekend, I tried to imagine a gaggle of them. Real swans could never be as dainty and well-coordinated as the ones on stage. These swans lifted their wings and scratched themselves with their beaks. One of them ruffled his feathers and didn't care. He just swam around looking pleased with himself despite feathers poking up and pointing every which way.
At one point, something in the water must've startled the swans, but not the ducks. All three suddenly took off into the air, flew across the water and landed in the swamp again in a clumsy show of tripping and waddling I've only until now attributed to drunken buzzards.
So I stood there on the trail, with roaring waves from the lake in front of me, jittery swans in the swamp behind me, and behind the swamp, rumbling wheels on the train tracks. It was noisy. Not at all the spiritual healing I've come to expect walking this trail in the fall.
I went home, unhealed. As I walked by the butcher, I bought filet mignon for dinner. I felt raw anyway, might as well indulge in red meat.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Rural Living
I am in the town of Port Hope for the weekend. The Boy and I arrived by train last night. It was raining when we got off the train.
I looked for a cab to take us to our destination. There was a taxi van in the parking lot, with a passenger already on board. Another couple on the platform was also looking for a cab. The man walked over to the taxi van driver and had a little chat with him. When he walked back to the platform, I asked him if he had asked the driver to phone in for a cab. He said yes. I said I better get over and ask him to call one in for me as well. The man just hollered over to the driver, Hey, make that two, as if he was ordering a hamburger.
The driver asked where we were going, then agreed to take us if we were willing to share the cab with its current passenger. I said sure and The Boy and I climbed on board, now warm and dry inside the cab.
A new cab showed up almost immediately and took the couple on the platform while the taxi van driver went into the train station. He came back and we were all set to go. Except we didn't.
The driver tried several times to start his cab. It wouldn't go. After a few minutes, he phoned in to his office to report that his car had died. Laura at the other end could be heard saying in a slow drawl, "Well, I guess we better find some cables and send a car out for you."
A few minutes later, when no car showed up, the driver called in again. Laura said in her slow drawl, "Yup, we found some cables. I tried to get you Denis but he's not answering. He's the only other cab out there tonight."
The driver went to the front of the car and lifted the hood, looked in with a flashlight, and scratched his head. He came back into the car and said, "Beats me what's wrong." Our fellow passenger looked around and said, "Jim, I see two people in the station right now. Should anyone be in there?"
Jim said, "What? I just locked up. How could that be?"
The passenger said, "You think I'm lying to you or something? I see two people in there."
The Boy and I looked into the station window and see two people moving about. "Yes, there are two people in there," we confirmed.
Jim jumped out of the cab and walked over to the station. Our fellow passenger started laughing. She said, "It wouldn't be the first time someone gets locked in the station."
I said, "You mean the taxi driver holds the key to the town's train station?"
"Yes, the cab company has the contract to open and lock up the station each day. A friend of mine has been locked in there a few times when she used the washroom."
"You mean the taxi driver is responsible for opening and locking up the train station?" I said, not hiding my disbelief very well. My fellow passenger laughed again, "You don't live in Port Hope, do you?"
The driver then came back and said, "It's okay. It's the cleaning crew."
The cab that took the couple away now came back. The driver got out. "Oh, it's the owner of the company," said my fellow passenger. The drivers conferred, attached the cable, and tried to start the car but to no avail. The taxi van was dead. The owner said to the driver, "Take my car and take these people home. No charge, they've been inconvenienced long enough."
"The poor guy," said my fellow passenger to me, "this is the third cab that's died on him this week."
Why do I find this experience so enchanting, in a town that someone once dubbed Port Hopeless?
I looked for a cab to take us to our destination. There was a taxi van in the parking lot, with a passenger already on board. Another couple on the platform was also looking for a cab. The man walked over to the taxi van driver and had a little chat with him. When he walked back to the platform, I asked him if he had asked the driver to phone in for a cab. He said yes. I said I better get over and ask him to call one in for me as well. The man just hollered over to the driver, Hey, make that two, as if he was ordering a hamburger.
The driver asked where we were going, then agreed to take us if we were willing to share the cab with its current passenger. I said sure and The Boy and I climbed on board, now warm and dry inside the cab.
A new cab showed up almost immediately and took the couple on the platform while the taxi van driver went into the train station. He came back and we were all set to go. Except we didn't.
The driver tried several times to start his cab. It wouldn't go. After a few minutes, he phoned in to his office to report that his car had died. Laura at the other end could be heard saying in a slow drawl, "Well, I guess we better find some cables and send a car out for you."
A few minutes later, when no car showed up, the driver called in again. Laura said in her slow drawl, "Yup, we found some cables. I tried to get you Denis but he's not answering. He's the only other cab out there tonight."
The driver went to the front of the car and lifted the hood, looked in with a flashlight, and scratched his head. He came back into the car and said, "Beats me what's wrong." Our fellow passenger looked around and said, "Jim, I see two people in the station right now. Should anyone be in there?"
Jim said, "What? I just locked up. How could that be?"
The passenger said, "You think I'm lying to you or something? I see two people in there."
The Boy and I looked into the station window and see two people moving about. "Yes, there are two people in there," we confirmed.
Jim jumped out of the cab and walked over to the station. Our fellow passenger started laughing. She said, "It wouldn't be the first time someone gets locked in the station."
I said, "You mean the taxi driver holds the key to the town's train station?"
"Yes, the cab company has the contract to open and lock up the station each day. A friend of mine has been locked in there a few times when she used the washroom."
"You mean the taxi driver is responsible for opening and locking up the train station?" I said, not hiding my disbelief very well. My fellow passenger laughed again, "You don't live in Port Hope, do you?"
The driver then came back and said, "It's okay. It's the cleaning crew."
The cab that took the couple away now came back. The driver got out. "Oh, it's the owner of the company," said my fellow passenger. The drivers conferred, attached the cable, and tried to start the car but to no avail. The taxi van was dead. The owner said to the driver, "Take my car and take these people home. No charge, they've been inconvenienced long enough."
"The poor guy," said my fellow passenger to me, "this is the third cab that's died on him this week."
Why do I find this experience so enchanting, in a town that someone once dubbed Port Hopeless?
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