I just got back from house and dog sitting for friends. It has been 5 years since my darling Tucker died and it has taken me this long to come to grips with it and to even consider the possibility of another dog. While at Rose and Don's I let the dogs sleep with me in the giant bed. They have 2 Chihuahua's (Santana and Freddie), a wire haired dacshund (Jeffery) and Goliath, the giant black lab (who I call Golly and thinks he is a poodle). It is a process getting into bed, some want lifting in and the rest can do it themselves. Golly is huge so doesn't often get in the bed. He puts his head on the bed next to your pillow and thumps his tail. Eventually, as the ear scratching goes on he slides his upper half up onto the blankets to have his underarms rubbed. When I was there he was amazed and a little confused to discover that his hind end, almost by itself, had arrived on the bed and he was suddenly all in. He wasn't sure if he was being naughty and I didn't have the heart to propel him onto the floor.
The little ones do their own special dance before getting settled. The Chihuahua's tend to walk across the top of my head as I am lying on the pillow (ouch you're on my hair) and Freddie likes to scale me like a mountain goat and gaze into my eyes while I scratch his tummy. Eventually I get fed up and push him off and he flips the blanket with his nose and gets under. He likes to be as close to my head as possible. Santana likes to be under the covers too. Jeffery likes to play a bit before retiring so we have a little "I'm gonna getcha" before he settles down on top of the sheets. Interesting to note that all the little ones sleep on the same side, whether Golly is there or not.
Once they were all asleep I had the most overwhelming sense of melancholy listening to them snore and whiffle and twitch. For ten years that was my lullaby and I had forgotten how dear it is to me. I had to race Tucker to the bed and get under the covers because he would jump up and if I wasn't under the sheets he hogged the bed. He had a really remarkable way of spreading himself out so that eventually I was sleeping on the thinnest edge of bed while he happily snored away. He would squeeze me out from the covers like toothpaste coming out of the tube. I had also forgotten about the acrobatic sleep positions I adopted to work myself around Tucker so I could get comfortable.
He loved to have his tummy and armpits rubbed. He would lie on his back and I would lightly tickle him. He would half smile and doze: and like my father watching TV with his eyes closed, could tell when I was about to switch things up and would open his eyes and beat his tail against the floor. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, like coming home to a dog that is glad to see you. I don't know if dogs grieve but I know they wait with heavy hearts. Always, the sad face at the top of the stairs when I left for work and the joyous reunion upon my return. I challenge a man to make me feel so wanted and loved.
He was my Tucky Duck, Tutter Turtin, mommy's pwecious (yeah I know ew!!!), chubby bubby and any number of monikers as they occurred. We walked in Dale Meadows almost every day no matter the weather and had some astonishing interactions with birds, coyotes and came close to a skunk once. He was never a swimmer but he liked to wade in the creek so on hot days we would wander over after supper and he would blissfully wander up and down the creek bed, having a little drink and cooling off. He was never one for the heat.
After he died I couldn't bear to go in the meadow and didn't for about 3 years. When I finally went back I was surprised to see some of the landmarks had changed but the stand of trembling aspen endured as did a dwindling hay bale about 4 years old. The creek was overgrown and a subdivision backed on to it complete with a new footbridge. The old willow had been chainsawed out but the landscape was pretty much unchanged.
I had forgotten how the seasons turned in the meadow. You could tell what was coming weather wise by the temperature, the birds and the trees. The wind would start at one end and you could see it coming for a half mile as the grass waved it along. In the fall and winter the dry grasses hissed like snakes against the gray fence posts and the leaves on the aspens softly rattled and trembled in the summer and fall. There was a gorgeous little hollow under the aspens. You had to cross a plank to get to it and it was sheltered and quiet and unseen. Once while making my way across Tucker bumped me and I ended up with one leg in the creek bed mud and the other on the plank. I am not strong enough to pull myself up so ended up flinging myself, rear end first, onto the muddy bank.
Tuck was overweight and completely and dangerously indulged with people food. He was a notorious table beggar, a mama's boy to the hilt (would not walk with my landlady, who he had known all his life. Just dragged her back to the house), even when he got out of the yard never wandered far from his dinner plate and shed like crazy (all black clothing was removed at the door lest his blond hair get all over it and he was terribly car sick (some gruesome car rides with him slavering and whining in the back seat were had just to go down to the beach). He upchucked on the Boyyo on the way home from the SPCA.
I didn't find out about dog love until late in life. Did you know that dogs sigh? Did you know they bow to you (front end down) when they are inviting you to play? These were all the wonderful things I discovered with Tucker. The best and most important things I gained were the unconditional love of a creature who adored me. He was so easy to please, uncomplicated and giving. I got so much from our relationship and I challenge anyone who has not loved a dog to say they aren't family.
Tucker got sick slowly and I think he eventually had cancer, lymphoma, judging by his swollen face, lethargy and depression. Late in his life as an only dog a dominant wiener dog with issues arrived and Tuck took that hard too. He wasn't the pushy type and Jordie bullied him some and forced his way into our interactions and it hurt Tuck. He couldn't grasp that our love had changed and he moped and sighed a lot. The day he died, I got up and found him with a swollen face. He hadn't been eating or drinking and could barely make it half a block on a walk. I took him to the vet and we agreed that without expensive intervention (I had just been laid off) his life was coming to an end. We decided to put him to sleep. I can barely type this I am crying so hard. I couldn't stop sobbing and while I sat on the floor crying he came over to comfort me.
We laid him down and I lay down beside him and then he died. I went home with his collar.
I have never experienced anything that painful. I felt completely broken. Who do you share the depth of that sadness with? I called my Dad, he and Mom had four dogs. he was sympathetic but then I had to go home without Tucker. I had to put away his dishes and toys and blankets. The next few weeks were torture. I didn't want to go home. Didn't want to go to bed. Didn't want anything but Tucker to tell you the truth.
I still miss him more than I can say. He was a wonderful dog and companion. He filled a void in my heart and life at a time when nothing other than divine intervention could explain his arrival. I am told dogs don't have souls and thus don't go to heaven but this is something me and the church are going to have to disagree on. Tucker had a soul as surely as I do and I don't want to go to any heaven that doesn't have him there waiting for me.
He forgave my tempers, my slacking on walks, late meals and even our 6 week sojourn to Ontario the summer before he died. He loved me and more importantly let me love him with no complications or questions. He gave my day to day life a richness and depth I never would have had otherwise. He brought me friends and neighbours and challenges and hope, especially hope when I needed it most.
I have been really blessed since having raised Tuck to know lots of dogs. It's a bit of an addiction really, the need to have your fingers in the hair of a dogs neck or scratch their ears. My friend Buster, who was a squat little brown and white creature who prayed before he ate, Rookie the wild, who, when taken off leash at the meadow tore across it and out of site like a kid released for summer vacation, Duchess the Newfoundlander who lovingly strolled over and leaned against you full weight while you scratched at the top of her tail and Pip, who at seventeen waddles along at just about the right pace for me and my arthfitic hip to keep up.
There were all the fostered puppies from the SPCA that my landlady and I raised until adoption. We fed them pablum, scrubbed their stiff little pablum collars after meals, cleaned up after them, answered their cries in the middle of the night, chased them around the garden and used them to teach the neighbourhood kids about picking them up and loving them. Happy me to sit with a palm full of puppy at the end of the day and rock them to sleep. So wonderful.
I could go on forever but my advice in closing is get a dog. Go to the SPCA, Humane Society or pound and get your dog love going. There are so many dogs out there waiting for homes and I tell you the rewards are more than worth it. I say this with all sincerity that having a dog has been the second best thing that has happened to me in my life (Boyyo comes first).
I think I might be ready for another dog now. I know what I want in one and God knows what I need so I await divine intervention to deliver me a new love. I have been spoiled by Tucker and I am glad to have been. No one has ever loved me like this. I really look forward to the new character and insights. I look forward to a hairy back pressed up against me in the bed, walking at a leisurely pace, revisiting the seasons and tickling those underarms. I'm not set on a breed or size or gender just so long as there is love. Lots and lots of love.
See you next time
Cheers
Jane
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
I Love Words
Hi Everyone/Anyone
I have been accused of talking too much most of my life. I will admit to, on occasion, being swept away by my own voice but the truth is I love words. I love them. They are entertaining, interesting, stimulating and even a little dangerous and naughty. (Here I see Nana giggling behind her hand). They roll around on the tongue like marbles just waitng to be played. I appreciate their basic design as a tool of communication but they can be so much more.
Advertisers have known forever that words are powerful and far reaching (yeah, reach right into YOUR wallet). I mean why have tomato soup when you can have rich, creamy tomato soup with a hint of basil and Parmesan cheese? Before the advent of TV imagery with its 'sexy' and 'smiling' and 'this can be you' bologna words were king. Marketers had to try to create a desirable portrait of the product seductive enough that you would want to buy it. All done with words my friend.
When I was a teen I used the good old 'F' word within an inch of its life. Everything was 'F'ing' this and 'F'ing 'that. Pointed but not very creative. Then I started to read with a vengence. The classics such as Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre and all Margaret Lawrence's books. I fell in love with the taste, the feel, the sensuality of words. Their ability to sweep me away to another time. The dewey moors, the dark bedrooms and the tempermental nuances of an inappropriate love was astonishing to me. I didn't give up the 'F' word until much later but regretted every time I used it for its lazy descriptiveness.
I could hardly read a book anymore that didn't teach me something, introduce a new thought or way of being in the world. I was starving to death and words were the only sustenance I wanted. I read books by Native North Americans and fell under the trance of the native way of looking at life. Their traditions, relationship to the land opened me in a way I had never recognized I wanted opening. I think Black Elk Speaks was one of my favorites.
Oh and how about John Steinbeck...East of Eden.Timshel. If you could see me right now I am practically swooning from the romance of it all. It was unbelievable to me how he wove that word in front and back of the novel. Somerset Maughm is another favorite. I want to be romanced, transported, educated, and maybe even spanked a little (Again, Nana giggling behind her hand).
Now this all brings me to a sorrow I have been experiencing while reading lately. For some reason some of the modern authors I have come across have adopted a short hand sort of style that just isn't rich enough for me. I especially encounter this in short stories, where people and concepts drop out of the air and end the same way with no resolution and to my mind no apparent point. I don't understand the concept and I can't image that I am so antiquated in my needs that it is actually beyond my understanding.
Why do authors think it is okay to write in twitterese? I wonder if they know their literary technique is going to become obsolete quickly. Do they not want their books to stand the test of time? The classics still resonate because, not just their themes but their style remain constant. I sort of think that we have raised a generation where spelling, the dreaded and boring grammar and punctuation have lost their value and magic. I am no genius when it comes to these things but I know the purpose of a well placed comma can be the equivalent of a raised eyebrow or a pregnant pause...forceful, dark, tempting.
Now the inital point of my blog today was talking. I assume that people don't just want to hear the short, and boring version of the story. I assume and they want to hear and I want to tell the overflowing and adjective rich tale. Storytelling traditions are lost in our culture, which is sad because sitting around listening to someone ad lib, rework and embellish a story is pretty fantastic. I don't just want to report I want you to hear the story. Let me paint a picture for you. Here, I'll put you in the damp, pungent forest or how about at the coconut sun tan lotion infused beach. Oh, hey wait have you been to the meadow and stood under the trembling aspens and listened to what the leaves are saying or watched the wind come toward you in waves in the long, itchy, green grass. I can take you to the dark, cool night and sit you in a wrinkled and slouching camp chair where you can tilt your head back and see the big dipper or Orion's belt while being steeped in wood smoke from the fire.
I love words like hubris...arrogance caused by exessive pride (Hello Bernie Madoff!!), or corpulent...fatness, obesity (roll it around on your tongue and it makes perfect sense as a word). I am famous for giving nicknames to people (why use Willow when you can say cha cha or my son doo or doodle? Right?).
I don't want to be petulant but I do want to be corny. How about, stagnant, didactic, incorrigible? More, more, more please. No, no, no to CU or waz up! Save me and save words.
Use them, play with them, make mistakes with them, buy a dictionary and thesaurus (make sure they are good ones, I have one that doesn't even have some of the words I look up..OUTRAGE!!)
Most of all when you talk, fill'er up. Pull every phrase you can out of your hat and give it to people full blow. Annie Dillard is a wonderful wordsmith. Read her. Patti Griffin and Bruce Springsteen as well as Tupac are/were brilliant writers. Do a bit of research on their lyrics and find your own rhythm. It really is music to the ears. Tell people they are up and down more often than a June bride's nightgown.
I am advocating a revolution. Don't settle for medicore. Rise up people and feed your hunger for knowledge and words by using them. Whip out those heavy, mouldy smelling dictionaries your parents had and find a word a day to surprise someone with. Heck, surprise yourself. Go, go do it now.
Ultimately I don't care if I am accused/denounced/indicted for talking to much, because I know I don't just want to commune but decorate. Words are free, a joy available to everybody so why not take advantage of the opportunity/chance/ocassion to make conversation more
flamboyant/ostentatious/ornate. By they way encourage your kids, all ages, to talk, talk, talk with as much joy and depth of expression as they can. Write down those baby words. My boy was tryng to describe an eaves trough at 2 and called it a water chimney -brilliant no? The bees were beezing along and the cows were conspirisizing in the field in his world. Yeah for language!!
See you next time
Jane
I have been accused of talking too much most of my life. I will admit to, on occasion, being swept away by my own voice but the truth is I love words. I love them. They are entertaining, interesting, stimulating and even a little dangerous and naughty. (Here I see Nana giggling behind her hand). They roll around on the tongue like marbles just waitng to be played. I appreciate their basic design as a tool of communication but they can be so much more.
Advertisers have known forever that words are powerful and far reaching (yeah, reach right into YOUR wallet). I mean why have tomato soup when you can have rich, creamy tomato soup with a hint of basil and Parmesan cheese? Before the advent of TV imagery with its 'sexy' and 'smiling' and 'this can be you' bologna words were king. Marketers had to try to create a desirable portrait of the product seductive enough that you would want to buy it. All done with words my friend.
When I was a teen I used the good old 'F' word within an inch of its life. Everything was 'F'ing' this and 'F'ing 'that. Pointed but not very creative. Then I started to read with a vengence. The classics such as Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre and all Margaret Lawrence's books. I fell in love with the taste, the feel, the sensuality of words. Their ability to sweep me away to another time. The dewey moors, the dark bedrooms and the tempermental nuances of an inappropriate love was astonishing to me. I didn't give up the 'F' word until much later but regretted every time I used it for its lazy descriptiveness.
I could hardly read a book anymore that didn't teach me something, introduce a new thought or way of being in the world. I was starving to death and words were the only sustenance I wanted. I read books by Native North Americans and fell under the trance of the native way of looking at life. Their traditions, relationship to the land opened me in a way I had never recognized I wanted opening. I think Black Elk Speaks was one of my favorites.
Oh and how about John Steinbeck...East of Eden.Timshel. If you could see me right now I am practically swooning from the romance of it all. It was unbelievable to me how he wove that word in front and back of the novel. Somerset Maughm is another favorite. I want to be romanced, transported, educated, and maybe even spanked a little (Again, Nana giggling behind her hand).
Now this all brings me to a sorrow I have been experiencing while reading lately. For some reason some of the modern authors I have come across have adopted a short hand sort of style that just isn't rich enough for me. I especially encounter this in short stories, where people and concepts drop out of the air and end the same way with no resolution and to my mind no apparent point. I don't understand the concept and I can't image that I am so antiquated in my needs that it is actually beyond my understanding.
Why do authors think it is okay to write in twitterese? I wonder if they know their literary technique is going to become obsolete quickly. Do they not want their books to stand the test of time? The classics still resonate because, not just their themes but their style remain constant. I sort of think that we have raised a generation where spelling, the dreaded and boring grammar and punctuation have lost their value and magic. I am no genius when it comes to these things but I know the purpose of a well placed comma can be the equivalent of a raised eyebrow or a pregnant pause...forceful, dark, tempting.
Now the inital point of my blog today was talking. I assume that people don't just want to hear the short, and boring version of the story. I assume and they want to hear and I want to tell the overflowing and adjective rich tale. Storytelling traditions are lost in our culture, which is sad because sitting around listening to someone ad lib, rework and embellish a story is pretty fantastic. I don't just want to report I want you to hear the story. Let me paint a picture for you. Here, I'll put you in the damp, pungent forest or how about at the coconut sun tan lotion infused beach. Oh, hey wait have you been to the meadow and stood under the trembling aspens and listened to what the leaves are saying or watched the wind come toward you in waves in the long, itchy, green grass. I can take you to the dark, cool night and sit you in a wrinkled and slouching camp chair where you can tilt your head back and see the big dipper or Orion's belt while being steeped in wood smoke from the fire.
I love words like hubris...arrogance caused by exessive pride (Hello Bernie Madoff!!), or corpulent...fatness, obesity (roll it around on your tongue and it makes perfect sense as a word). I am famous for giving nicknames to people (why use Willow when you can say cha cha or my son doo or doodle? Right?).
I don't want to be petulant but I do want to be corny. How about, stagnant, didactic, incorrigible? More, more, more please. No, no, no to CU or waz up! Save me and save words.
Use them, play with them, make mistakes with them, buy a dictionary and thesaurus (make sure they are good ones, I have one that doesn't even have some of the words I look up..OUTRAGE!!)
Most of all when you talk, fill'er up. Pull every phrase you can out of your hat and give it to people full blow. Annie Dillard is a wonderful wordsmith. Read her. Patti Griffin and Bruce Springsteen as well as Tupac are/were brilliant writers. Do a bit of research on their lyrics and find your own rhythm. It really is music to the ears. Tell people they are up and down more often than a June bride's nightgown.
I am advocating a revolution. Don't settle for medicore. Rise up people and feed your hunger for knowledge and words by using them. Whip out those heavy, mouldy smelling dictionaries your parents had and find a word a day to surprise someone with. Heck, surprise yourself. Go, go do it now.
Ultimately I don't care if I am accused/denounced/indicted for talking to much, because I know I don't just want to commune but decorate. Words are free, a joy available to everybody so why not take advantage of the opportunity/chance/ocassion to make conversation more
flamboyant/ostentatious/ornate. By they way encourage your kids, all ages, to talk, talk, talk with as much joy and depth of expression as they can. Write down those baby words. My boy was tryng to describe an eaves trough at 2 and called it a water chimney -brilliant no? The bees were beezing along and the cows were conspirisizing in the field in his world. Yeah for language!!
See you next time
Jane
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Feels Like Home to Me
Hello Anyone/Everyone
I love the community I live in. I love the layout of it, the natural beauty of it and mostly the people in it. I was at the local library today and a mom with a toddler was trying to deal with a poo bombing. She was trying to man the baby, get the key for the bathroom, figure out diapers and all of sudden there were lots of hands to help. I manned the bathroom door, the librarian had a diaper bag for emergency use, kind words were passed between all the mom's on hand and it all worked out swell. I loved the idea that the mom was not alone to try and wrangle all the necessities and that there was so much cheerful support. By the way, the library also has the best place to sit for a cool breeze and a great view during the hottest part of the day. The balcony is shaded, faces east and always seems to have a cool breeze blowing.
It isn't the first time I have had this experience here. Our landlady lived in the basement of the house we rented. It was raining hard one evening and because we lived at the bottom of a steep hill and the sewer drain quickly filled with debris the water edged ever closer to her stairwell and eventually down and into her apartment.
When the neighbours noticed they jumped in to try to sweep and shovel the water away and soon after someone from the town arrived with empty sandbags. We all chipped in to fill and stack them. I went downstairs and started to swab the decks before to much damage was done. It was a weird time to feel grateful but I really was so glad to be part of our little neighbourhood and their big view on things. Did I mention that my landlady was at the library at the time and completely unaware of everything that was going on?
This has been a really great place to raise a child. It is a smallish town with rural areas within walking distance. My son could ride his bike to his buddies houses and I felt comfortable regarding his safety. His buds came over lots during the summer and camped on the front lawn and I never had to worry. Most of the parents knew one another (which can be a good thing!). Once when I was at work boyyo was taken for stitches by another parent: another time he was driven home from the skateboard park after having taken a nasty fall. The family from the skate park didn't know boyyo but knew me from working in town.
My son still has the same friends he had through grade, middle and high school, and as a result will have 7 groomsmen plus a best man at his wedding in September. He and his fiance have talked about raising their kids here and I think it is a great idea. Nice schools, good recreation, library, rural area to run around, just so much to offer.
I'm also proud of the room within the community for those with eccentricities. There always seems to be one or two people about who have special needs or need special understanding. Local businesses especially seem to be tolerant and respectful with these individuals which allows them to stay in familiar surroundings. I think the fabric of a place is woven through with everyone who lives there and in a way we all contribute something, especially in shared histories. Inclusivity is sort of a blessing we get to bestow on others.
I grew up in Toronto but I can't imagine living in a city anymore. When I visit I feel choked and nervous. I like Vancouver for its art gallery and ocean views but would never be able to live there. I am aware that there are areas within cities that are like small communities, anchored by schools, festivals, shopping and cultural commonality yet I long for the small town. I like knowing my neighbours, I like being involved, I love feeling safe (even at night when I often venture out to take photographs) and I really love the sense of ownership I have around my community. Even better is that with that sense of ownership comes a sense of responsibility which can lead to the desire to offer your personal skills for the betterment of the community as a whole as well as the individuals who make it up. We all benefit by enriching where we live.
I bet if we all felt more like this we wouldn't litter so much, we'd hold doors for each other more often, we might even read more if all libraries were as accommodating as ours. I think there is a sense of courtesy and manners in a community that reaches beyond doing things because others are watching. It is a genuine will to improve the quality of life for everybody. Even the smallest gesture can have far reaching impacts.
Communities not lead entirely by economic values are steeped in culture and inclusivity, and I would even venture the notion that they may be ground breakers in that creative minds might be drawn to their social values. Programs that include arts, recreation, education and opportunities for all age groups that are funded by these communities do a lot to guarantee their ongoing growth and contribution,not just locally. I would totally love to be part of a proactive community.
The possibilities are endless. Ah, a new global order...get thee to a community. I mean isn't that the type of atmosphere co-op housing aims for? Group living with insight and respect and responsibility. Works for me.
Cheers Until next time
Jane
I love the community I live in. I love the layout of it, the natural beauty of it and mostly the people in it. I was at the local library today and a mom with a toddler was trying to deal with a poo bombing. She was trying to man the baby, get the key for the bathroom, figure out diapers and all of sudden there were lots of hands to help. I manned the bathroom door, the librarian had a diaper bag for emergency use, kind words were passed between all the mom's on hand and it all worked out swell. I loved the idea that the mom was not alone to try and wrangle all the necessities and that there was so much cheerful support. By the way, the library also has the best place to sit for a cool breeze and a great view during the hottest part of the day. The balcony is shaded, faces east and always seems to have a cool breeze blowing.
It isn't the first time I have had this experience here. Our landlady lived in the basement of the house we rented. It was raining hard one evening and because we lived at the bottom of a steep hill and the sewer drain quickly filled with debris the water edged ever closer to her stairwell and eventually down and into her apartment.
When the neighbours noticed they jumped in to try to sweep and shovel the water away and soon after someone from the town arrived with empty sandbags. We all chipped in to fill and stack them. I went downstairs and started to swab the decks before to much damage was done. It was a weird time to feel grateful but I really was so glad to be part of our little neighbourhood and their big view on things. Did I mention that my landlady was at the library at the time and completely unaware of everything that was going on?
This has been a really great place to raise a child. It is a smallish town with rural areas within walking distance. My son could ride his bike to his buddies houses and I felt comfortable regarding his safety. His buds came over lots during the summer and camped on the front lawn and I never had to worry. Most of the parents knew one another (which can be a good thing!). Once when I was at work boyyo was taken for stitches by another parent: another time he was driven home from the skateboard park after having taken a nasty fall. The family from the skate park didn't know boyyo but knew me from working in town.
My son still has the same friends he had through grade, middle and high school, and as a result will have 7 groomsmen plus a best man at his wedding in September. He and his fiance have talked about raising their kids here and I think it is a great idea. Nice schools, good recreation, library, rural area to run around, just so much to offer.
I'm also proud of the room within the community for those with eccentricities. There always seems to be one or two people about who have special needs or need special understanding. Local businesses especially seem to be tolerant and respectful with these individuals which allows them to stay in familiar surroundings. I think the fabric of a place is woven through with everyone who lives there and in a way we all contribute something, especially in shared histories. Inclusivity is sort of a blessing we get to bestow on others.
I grew up in Toronto but I can't imagine living in a city anymore. When I visit I feel choked and nervous. I like Vancouver for its art gallery and ocean views but would never be able to live there. I am aware that there are areas within cities that are like small communities, anchored by schools, festivals, shopping and cultural commonality yet I long for the small town. I like knowing my neighbours, I like being involved, I love feeling safe (even at night when I often venture out to take photographs) and I really love the sense of ownership I have around my community. Even better is that with that sense of ownership comes a sense of responsibility which can lead to the desire to offer your personal skills for the betterment of the community as a whole as well as the individuals who make it up. We all benefit by enriching where we live.
I bet if we all felt more like this we wouldn't litter so much, we'd hold doors for each other more often, we might even read more if all libraries were as accommodating as ours. I think there is a sense of courtesy and manners in a community that reaches beyond doing things because others are watching. It is a genuine will to improve the quality of life for everybody. Even the smallest gesture can have far reaching impacts.
Communities not lead entirely by economic values are steeped in culture and inclusivity, and I would even venture the notion that they may be ground breakers in that creative minds might be drawn to their social values. Programs that include arts, recreation, education and opportunities for all age groups that are funded by these communities do a lot to guarantee their ongoing growth and contribution,not just locally. I would totally love to be part of a proactive community.
The possibilities are endless. Ah, a new global order...get thee to a community. I mean isn't that the type of atmosphere co-op housing aims for? Group living with insight and respect and responsibility. Works for me.
Cheers Until next time
Jane
Monday, May 16, 2011
Hope and Faith
Hi Everyone/Anyone
I wanted to talk about hope: where to find it, how to find it, the different faces it has and the need for it. We are in times, as I suspect we have always been and may always be, when things are difficult. Every generation has had its tales of woe, hardship, change, and fear. From biblical times we have failed each other, exploited what we have around us for our own profit and allowed greed to dominate when compassion would serve us better. We need hope and lots of it.
Personally I am completely fallible. I don't always do what I say I will, I am selfish, I may blame others when threatened, I am afraid lots of times and despite knowing better I still can be duped into believing that everything revolves around me. I had a challenging upbringing, and still have unpolished social skills that not only put me on the hot seat but often the folks around me too.
As I age and without a firm education it is harder to find work, harder to work full-time and harder to thus support myself. Everything is expensive, gas, housing, food. If you don't have medical benefits, dental benefits or prescription benefits being sick becomes an all round test of your survival skills, both in Canada and the US. Toys and comforts that others take for granted are out of reach to me (don't let me fool you into feeling sorry for me because most of this is my choice).
I've never been good with money and honestly haven't really cared about it that much (except when a severe ongoing shortage arose). I love, love, love to spend it (not just on myself either) when I have it and make do when I don't. I don't own a home, my car is rickety, and I don't have an RRSP.It sounds like I'm boasting but I'm not. Just establishing a bit of perspective. What I lack in tangible goods I have been blessed to overcome with friends and faith that has brought me a hope for the future I have never, ever had in my life.
So here is my firm and fearless declaration: I love God, I believe Christ died for our sins/my sins on the cross and as a result I have God in my camp. What does this mean you might be thinking? Well to me it means: you betcha I am human, sinful and so, so fallible but...it also means I have a hope in something larger and greater than myself that these character flaws can be burned off, refined and that no adversity or problem goes to waste. Every mistake or seeming shortcoming, I believe with all my being that, God uses to the good. Thoughtlessness, stupidity, missteps, criminal behavior all are used in the service of a greater good. God redeems it all for the good of others. In serving others with our real, true selves we heal and gain hope.
I know that I am called to be more than even I want myself to be and that the call to be so goes hand in hand with the tools required to meet the charge. If I hadn't been a lonely, gangly kid what would I have to say to someone who feels left out? If I hadn't tried to overrule pain with addiction how could I understand a fellow alcoholic or overeater? I never would have had an ounce of sympathy for a mother who thinks she is doing a crummy job if I hadn't been a single mom. If I wasn't under duress now what would I have to tell the people around me who struggle daily? Every adversity, struggle, hardship has gone into the person I am today, the character I am still trying to develop and the love I have for encouraging other people. Yet there is still more to hope for.
I am hurt when I hear other people talk about themselves like they have nothing to offer, like their lives amount to nothing, their struggles were just struggles with out any meaning or value. These are the people, who don't give up, care for others before themselves, are always afraid of being a burden on others, as if their stories and the courage to live them out are invisible.
They aren't. Your life has purpose and substance. Your story isn't for nothing. Maybe we don't see where it all is heading, don't get a resolution all nicely tied up with a big red bow but your difficulty can lead to hope, and wisdom and service to others. Hardship can be a pervuyer of doom or a tool of fortitude. You can either grow a pair or lose a pair. It really is a choice we make. Fall down and get back up or stay down. If you think that the fact that you have gotten up more than the average person has no worth you are wrong.
We need to stop measuring success by the lives we don't have and that others seem to come by so easily. Really, take a long hard look at our own hearts. I believe God asks us to choose who we want to be, how we want to be. For many of us this choosing has been going on a lifetime. I would bet that a lot of us have had urgings to do right, get involved, stand up for injustice,and serve others in our hearts since we were kids. Some call it Karma, fate, good instead of God but the desire for truth and better things rests in our hearts and is the essence of hope - wanting more than what we are (not have). That is hope. A call to things wanted, wished for and the belief that we can see them come to fruition is hope.
Hope looks like, getting up, standing up, rising up, perseverance, making one more step, kindness, patience, compassion, understanding, communicating, worshipping, praying, learning, being ready to face whatever comes our way with courage, living, realtionships, friendships, forgiveness, resisting temptation and so much more.
Each of us can plant hope when we let someone else know we value them, not just care about them but really let them know we believe that their existence is valuable and is never a mistake. It doesn't take much to instill this in somebody either. A chat, offering an alternate truth to the one they see, encouragement, or a compliment go a long way in bringing the hope out in someone else's life. And the really cool, weird, divine thing is that when you offer it up, it comes right back to you.
So there you go. I am a hope and encouragement junkie. I crave the giving as much as the getting but the real high is in the giving.
See you next time
Jane
I wanted to talk about hope: where to find it, how to find it, the different faces it has and the need for it. We are in times, as I suspect we have always been and may always be, when things are difficult. Every generation has had its tales of woe, hardship, change, and fear. From biblical times we have failed each other, exploited what we have around us for our own profit and allowed greed to dominate when compassion would serve us better. We need hope and lots of it.
Personally I am completely fallible. I don't always do what I say I will, I am selfish, I may blame others when threatened, I am afraid lots of times and despite knowing better I still can be duped into believing that everything revolves around me. I had a challenging upbringing, and still have unpolished social skills that not only put me on the hot seat but often the folks around me too.
As I age and without a firm education it is harder to find work, harder to work full-time and harder to thus support myself. Everything is expensive, gas, housing, food. If you don't have medical benefits, dental benefits or prescription benefits being sick becomes an all round test of your survival skills, both in Canada and the US. Toys and comforts that others take for granted are out of reach to me (don't let me fool you into feeling sorry for me because most of this is my choice).
I've never been good with money and honestly haven't really cared about it that much (except when a severe ongoing shortage arose). I love, love, love to spend it (not just on myself either) when I have it and make do when I don't. I don't own a home, my car is rickety, and I don't have an RRSP.It sounds like I'm boasting but I'm not. Just establishing a bit of perspective. What I lack in tangible goods I have been blessed to overcome with friends and faith that has brought me a hope for the future I have never, ever had in my life.
So here is my firm and fearless declaration: I love God, I believe Christ died for our sins/my sins on the cross and as a result I have God in my camp. What does this mean you might be thinking? Well to me it means: you betcha I am human, sinful and so, so fallible but...it also means I have a hope in something larger and greater than myself that these character flaws can be burned off, refined and that no adversity or problem goes to waste. Every mistake or seeming shortcoming, I believe with all my being that, God uses to the good. Thoughtlessness, stupidity, missteps, criminal behavior all are used in the service of a greater good. God redeems it all for the good of others. In serving others with our real, true selves we heal and gain hope.
I know that I am called to be more than even I want myself to be and that the call to be so goes hand in hand with the tools required to meet the charge. If I hadn't been a lonely, gangly kid what would I have to say to someone who feels left out? If I hadn't tried to overrule pain with addiction how could I understand a fellow alcoholic or overeater? I never would have had an ounce of sympathy for a mother who thinks she is doing a crummy job if I hadn't been a single mom. If I wasn't under duress now what would I have to tell the people around me who struggle daily? Every adversity, struggle, hardship has gone into the person I am today, the character I am still trying to develop and the love I have for encouraging other people. Yet there is still more to hope for.
I am hurt when I hear other people talk about themselves like they have nothing to offer, like their lives amount to nothing, their struggles were just struggles with out any meaning or value. These are the people, who don't give up, care for others before themselves, are always afraid of being a burden on others, as if their stories and the courage to live them out are invisible.
They aren't. Your life has purpose and substance. Your story isn't for nothing. Maybe we don't see where it all is heading, don't get a resolution all nicely tied up with a big red bow but your difficulty can lead to hope, and wisdom and service to others. Hardship can be a pervuyer of doom or a tool of fortitude. You can either grow a pair or lose a pair. It really is a choice we make. Fall down and get back up or stay down. If you think that the fact that you have gotten up more than the average person has no worth you are wrong.
We need to stop measuring success by the lives we don't have and that others seem to come by so easily. Really, take a long hard look at our own hearts. I believe God asks us to choose who we want to be, how we want to be. For many of us this choosing has been going on a lifetime. I would bet that a lot of us have had urgings to do right, get involved, stand up for injustice,and serve others in our hearts since we were kids. Some call it Karma, fate, good instead of God but the desire for truth and better things rests in our hearts and is the essence of hope - wanting more than what we are (not have). That is hope. A call to things wanted, wished for and the belief that we can see them come to fruition is hope.
Hope looks like, getting up, standing up, rising up, perseverance, making one more step, kindness, patience, compassion, understanding, communicating, worshipping, praying, learning, being ready to face whatever comes our way with courage, living, realtionships, friendships, forgiveness, resisting temptation and so much more.
Each of us can plant hope when we let someone else know we value them, not just care about them but really let them know we believe that their existence is valuable and is never a mistake. It doesn't take much to instill this in somebody either. A chat, offering an alternate truth to the one they see, encouragement, or a compliment go a long way in bringing the hope out in someone else's life. And the really cool, weird, divine thing is that when you offer it up, it comes right back to you.
So there you go. I am a hope and encouragement junkie. I crave the giving as much as the getting but the real high is in the giving.
See you next time
Jane
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Regrets...I have a few
Hi Anyone/Everyone
I think like most of us, I have my troubles with the past. It is interesting to me how despite efforts to lay it to rest parts of it still want addressing, resolving and reliving. I have spent a good part, okay most, of my adult life trying to alternately run (move west and away from family stuff), hide from it (drink, drugs, boyfriends, cigarettes and food) and even thinking I had made peace with it and so there was no need to revisit it.
Guess what? This does not seem to be the case. Geographical cures last as long as the newness of the move is fresh and addictions demand more and more of you. Essentially I did not/do not want to die from an addiction but the big question/mystery has been how to move forward.
For some reason ( okay I know who is in charge of these incidents and it ain't fate or coincidence) the past wants me to come for a holiday but in my mind it is the kind of holiday where you are trapped on a cruise ship, in high seas with 350 other passengers all of you having a norovirus. I don't think the reference to nasty bodily functions is overstating it at all.
My sponsor used to say with me it was like dragging a wieney through a keyhole. I think of it more like trying to walk a donkey.
I'm pretty good at avoiding the pain and discomfort from my early years and can create any number of handy distractions in service of this.To start to overcome this I cancelled my cable. The call from back then is just to strong to ignore and for the first time, I mean really ever, I have a living, breathing hope that a lasting reconcilliation is possible.
Yikes, I do not want to be 4 or 7 or 13 again. I don't want to feel the isolation, lonliness, fear and despair. What I am encountering on the 'road of happy destiny' is that all of that emotion filters into how I react/behave today. My boss is not my Dad or Mom in the middle of bitter divorce proceedings but when it comes to critisism or feeling overlooked...whoosh I am 8 again and the feelings of insecurity and wondering what is going to happen to me flood through me and I feel completely overwhelmed even though I am a perfectly capable adult. It puts a lot of pressure on friends, lovers, coworkers, anyone on authority figures and family to have that lost kid dictating what this giant middle aged woman is doing and how she is behaving. I truly believe that freedom is in changing what you believe about yourself and the world around you but the tricky thing is you need to know what you believed then to adjust the now. O Crap!!!
Okay so here we are on the road but what comes next? I have become teachable. I have been so blessed in my life to have loving friends who walked the miles (maybe not all but kept me moving along the route) with me. I have had some fantastic loving, easy going guys who demanded very little and brought tons of happiness and fun to the mix. I have also been lucky to have found really good counsellors when I was ready for a little shove into the future. And, God seems to drop books on me just when I need them. Authors have been like inukshuks to me. Peak through the gap and see where to go next.
I suppose one of the primary urges is the desire for change. I want more, I think there is something out in the world I'm not accessing and I want it. I want to grow up, want to like and respect myself, want to be free of fearing I won't be liked or accepted and mostly I want peaceful, fulfilling, intimate realtionships both give and take. I have such a craving right now to be authentic and be surrounded by people who not only support me in this drive but whom I can support too.
Part of what makes the past so hard for me right now is not so much how it effected me but how my siblings suffered. I love them so much and to think of them deprived of anything they might have needed and deserved as kids and knowing (without spilling it to you guys) the true depth of the deprivations kills me. I am so, so sad for those kids and so guilt ridden for not having done more, although May 4, 2011 Jane knows surviving and wanting more was worth what I couldn't do. I want to go back and fix everything, love them unconditionally, rescue them from harm so that their adult lives could be better but, that is what makes the past such a beatch, you can look but you can't touch.
What's a girl to do?? Build new relationships with loved ones, old and new that's what. Be fearless, fall down and get back up. No way is it easy or fast but the love you feel comes forward and it is the absolute best foundation to build on. Don't let to many days go by before you try to mend fences with every one you are in conflict with ( and I do mean everyone). I don't know if you are like me but as soon as I get rubbing up against other people the opportunities for growth, humility and knowledge just grow and grow.
And you know what? I don't care if I make mistakes, have to apologize, flounder like Bambi on ice. I am trying to resolve this stuff. I have joked for years that I am like a Weeble...I wobble but don't fall down. As my faith and hope increase I believe that these desires can be accomplished and I'd bet the farm on that one!
Talk to you soon
Jane
I think like most of us, I have my troubles with the past. It is interesting to me how despite efforts to lay it to rest parts of it still want addressing, resolving and reliving. I have spent a good part, okay most, of my adult life trying to alternately run (move west and away from family stuff), hide from it (drink, drugs, boyfriends, cigarettes and food) and even thinking I had made peace with it and so there was no need to revisit it.
Guess what? This does not seem to be the case. Geographical cures last as long as the newness of the move is fresh and addictions demand more and more of you. Essentially I did not/do not want to die from an addiction but the big question/mystery has been how to move forward.
For some reason ( okay I know who is in charge of these incidents and it ain't fate or coincidence) the past wants me to come for a holiday but in my mind it is the kind of holiday where you are trapped on a cruise ship, in high seas with 350 other passengers all of you having a norovirus. I don't think the reference to nasty bodily functions is overstating it at all.
My sponsor used to say with me it was like dragging a wieney through a keyhole. I think of it more like trying to walk a donkey.
I'm pretty good at avoiding the pain and discomfort from my early years and can create any number of handy distractions in service of this.To start to overcome this I cancelled my cable. The call from back then is just to strong to ignore and for the first time, I mean really ever, I have a living, breathing hope that a lasting reconcilliation is possible.
Yikes, I do not want to be 4 or 7 or 13 again. I don't want to feel the isolation, lonliness, fear and despair. What I am encountering on the 'road of happy destiny' is that all of that emotion filters into how I react/behave today. My boss is not my Dad or Mom in the middle of bitter divorce proceedings but when it comes to critisism or feeling overlooked...whoosh I am 8 again and the feelings of insecurity and wondering what is going to happen to me flood through me and I feel completely overwhelmed even though I am a perfectly capable adult. It puts a lot of pressure on friends, lovers, coworkers, anyone on authority figures and family to have that lost kid dictating what this giant middle aged woman is doing and how she is behaving. I truly believe that freedom is in changing what you believe about yourself and the world around you but the tricky thing is you need to know what you believed then to adjust the now. O Crap!!!
Okay so here we are on the road but what comes next? I have become teachable. I have been so blessed in my life to have loving friends who walked the miles (maybe not all but kept me moving along the route) with me. I have had some fantastic loving, easy going guys who demanded very little and brought tons of happiness and fun to the mix. I have also been lucky to have found really good counsellors when I was ready for a little shove into the future. And, God seems to drop books on me just when I need them. Authors have been like inukshuks to me. Peak through the gap and see where to go next.
I suppose one of the primary urges is the desire for change. I want more, I think there is something out in the world I'm not accessing and I want it. I want to grow up, want to like and respect myself, want to be free of fearing I won't be liked or accepted and mostly I want peaceful, fulfilling, intimate realtionships both give and take. I have such a craving right now to be authentic and be surrounded by people who not only support me in this drive but whom I can support too.
Part of what makes the past so hard for me right now is not so much how it effected me but how my siblings suffered. I love them so much and to think of them deprived of anything they might have needed and deserved as kids and knowing (without spilling it to you guys) the true depth of the deprivations kills me. I am so, so sad for those kids and so guilt ridden for not having done more, although May 4, 2011 Jane knows surviving and wanting more was worth what I couldn't do. I want to go back and fix everything, love them unconditionally, rescue them from harm so that their adult lives could be better but, that is what makes the past such a beatch, you can look but you can't touch.
What's a girl to do?? Build new relationships with loved ones, old and new that's what. Be fearless, fall down and get back up. No way is it easy or fast but the love you feel comes forward and it is the absolute best foundation to build on. Don't let to many days go by before you try to mend fences with every one you are in conflict with ( and I do mean everyone). I don't know if you are like me but as soon as I get rubbing up against other people the opportunities for growth, humility and knowledge just grow and grow.
And you know what? I don't care if I make mistakes, have to apologize, flounder like Bambi on ice. I am trying to resolve this stuff. I have joked for years that I am like a Weeble...I wobble but don't fall down. As my faith and hope increase I believe that these desires can be accomplished and I'd bet the farm on that one!
Talk to you soon
Jane
Friday, April 29, 2011
Bullying
Hi Anyone/Everyone
Today I had a topic all worked out in my head and then I saw a brief review and the trailer for a documentary called "The Bully Project" (which can be seen on The Huffington Post).
I hope it is alright to quote a line from the trailer without permission of Lee Hirsch the maker of the film. Here goes; "The power of hearing one voice in solidarity with you can be transformative". This statement really resonated with me. I was a bullied kid. I remember being fearful from an early age of being excluded by my peers and the thing that made me such an attractive target was that I was so desperate to fit in, be included, belong. I was willing to do or say anything or act out just about anyway to be part of a group I saw as superior to me.
I felt invisible and the need to be seen drove me to behaviors that I am not proud of and if anything, worked to keep me more seperate. I was loud, overly wisecracking, started smoking and drinking at an early age partly to fit in and partly to numb the pain of not fitting in.
It is hard to fathom how kids of 7 or 8 decide that you aren't really equal to them and can be so pointed and firm in their rejections. I guess the way I dressed was pretty old fashioned, I was tall and gangly, we didn't have much money in a neighbourhood where that stood out and my parents were divorced.
I think I was surprised too, by how mean people could be. I grew up in a family where my brothers and sisters and I argued and fought but I can't remember any really, truly low blows between us. We weren't very supportive of one another but there was still love there.
I had teachers, peers, people riding with me on the bus make comments about my weight or hair or how loud I was.
I became kind of a clown, easier to throw the first punch at yourself than to have someone else do it. I wasn't a prize yet I had potential and at 55 I realize I was kind of unique and nice and somehow that was always overlooked.
It wasn't until late in grade 9 that things started to turn. The summer between grade 9 and 10 I had a little encounter with anorexia (again didn't even know it had a name in those days) and dropped a lot of weight. I was demented from starvation and counting calories but the remarkable thing is people suddently started to treat me like I was human. Acknowledgement and inclusion kind of came my way. I had moments where I realized that these guys who now saw me differently really could not have given a flying fig about me but it did open the door to the first friend I had ever had.
Muriel Lindsay. She came from a girls private school and for some reason took an interest in me. She had long straight hair, was a bit chubby and since we were all playing hippy in those days had a very cool earth mama vibe that attracted me and lots of other people. She opened the world to me in ways I never imagined.
Because of her I learned to play guitar (which I still do today), hitchihiked to Hamilton for the Carlisle Bluegrass Festival, went to parties at the houses of kids who otherwise would not have shown me the time of day, made a movie with a Ryerson film student, and read the Carlos Casteneda series . I had my first sleepovers at someone elses house, sadly my first drinking blackout (more about that later), and learned the Tootie Bung dance that she learned in Jamaica over christmas. Our friendship did not totally insulate me from meaness but man it sure helped. I don't think I had ever had someone like me before, just me. It was a life altering and life saving experience without which I may not have been able to go on (I mean that literally).
Our relationship reached a peak in high school that we never were able to recapture after. I went away to university and Mureil went to live in Vancouver, hitchhiking out west with a guy and ultimately living with her Mom for a time.
Here is something that I came to see after those tortured years in grade and middle school. Muriel developed scizophrenia and the guy she went out west with dumped her on the street. Literally kicked this sick girl to the curb. When I ran into him on a bus in Toronto and he told me this with no emotion I wanted to punch him. He was this god of a guy in the in highschool and he took this beautiful girl and instead of loving her and caring for her turned her out into the street. What a jerk eh?
I really do believe that God showed me this guy for who he was so I could come to realize how very lucky I am not to be a part of that circle of people. They continued to hang out together, but what I couldn't see at the time that is so clear to me now is that I am different and thank God for that.
Being left out, bullied, made fun of has given me the insight to know what that all feels like. How lonely and sad it is to be on the receiving end of that kind of meaness, and to never want to make anybody else feel this way. It sucks and I don't have any urge to do it to somebody else. In fact I am probably a little timid at times not wanting to hurt somebodies feelings. I am a firm believer in "Everybody plays or nobody plays". I'm also surprised by how wrong I can be about people and how aware I need to be of the people I am around and the influence they have over me. It has also given me a toughness that has seen me through some very difficult times.
I still see bullying around me. I have been in work environments where cliques exist and tend to run the show whether that is in anybody but their own best interests. I've also seen people bullied, called down, or out in front of co-workers. Shamed to say I haven't always stepped up or in but it makes me sad to see people with potential to teach and lead fall on bullying to clear a path for themselves.
It is always going to be easy to find people who are different than you, weaker than you, needier than you and I think the key is to ask yourself what kind of person am I going to be, what kind of legacy am I going to leave in my wake. Do I want to use any potential I have to lift up other people or am I going to tear them down. I am so thankful for all the adversity because all that discomfort makes it easy to be compassionate today. I'm not perfect but I'm working every day to correct myself as necessary and try to see all the good in others that I can.
At fifteen I couldn't have seen how truly blessed I was going to be today.
Cheers til next time
Jane
I am really sad to report that Muriel was murdered in Vancouver over 10 years ago. Her murder has never been solved. LIttle darker out here now than it used to be. Love you Moo.
Today I had a topic all worked out in my head and then I saw a brief review and the trailer for a documentary called "The Bully Project" (which can be seen on The Huffington Post).
I hope it is alright to quote a line from the trailer without permission of Lee Hirsch the maker of the film. Here goes; "The power of hearing one voice in solidarity with you can be transformative". This statement really resonated with me. I was a bullied kid. I remember being fearful from an early age of being excluded by my peers and the thing that made me such an attractive target was that I was so desperate to fit in, be included, belong. I was willing to do or say anything or act out just about anyway to be part of a group I saw as superior to me.
I felt invisible and the need to be seen drove me to behaviors that I am not proud of and if anything, worked to keep me more seperate. I was loud, overly wisecracking, started smoking and drinking at an early age partly to fit in and partly to numb the pain of not fitting in.
It is hard to fathom how kids of 7 or 8 decide that you aren't really equal to them and can be so pointed and firm in their rejections. I guess the way I dressed was pretty old fashioned, I was tall and gangly, we didn't have much money in a neighbourhood where that stood out and my parents were divorced.
I think I was surprised too, by how mean people could be. I grew up in a family where my brothers and sisters and I argued and fought but I can't remember any really, truly low blows between us. We weren't very supportive of one another but there was still love there.
I had teachers, peers, people riding with me on the bus make comments about my weight or hair or how loud I was.
I became kind of a clown, easier to throw the first punch at yourself than to have someone else do it. I wasn't a prize yet I had potential and at 55 I realize I was kind of unique and nice and somehow that was always overlooked.
It wasn't until late in grade 9 that things started to turn. The summer between grade 9 and 10 I had a little encounter with anorexia (again didn't even know it had a name in those days) and dropped a lot of weight. I was demented from starvation and counting calories but the remarkable thing is people suddently started to treat me like I was human. Acknowledgement and inclusion kind of came my way. I had moments where I realized that these guys who now saw me differently really could not have given a flying fig about me but it did open the door to the first friend I had ever had.
Muriel Lindsay. She came from a girls private school and for some reason took an interest in me. She had long straight hair, was a bit chubby and since we were all playing hippy in those days had a very cool earth mama vibe that attracted me and lots of other people. She opened the world to me in ways I never imagined.
Because of her I learned to play guitar (which I still do today), hitchihiked to Hamilton for the Carlisle Bluegrass Festival, went to parties at the houses of kids who otherwise would not have shown me the time of day, made a movie with a Ryerson film student, and read the Carlos Casteneda series . I had my first sleepovers at someone elses house, sadly my first drinking blackout (more about that later), and learned the Tootie Bung dance that she learned in Jamaica over christmas. Our friendship did not totally insulate me from meaness but man it sure helped. I don't think I had ever had someone like me before, just me. It was a life altering and life saving experience without which I may not have been able to go on (I mean that literally).
Our relationship reached a peak in high school that we never were able to recapture after. I went away to university and Mureil went to live in Vancouver, hitchhiking out west with a guy and ultimately living with her Mom for a time.
Here is something that I came to see after those tortured years in grade and middle school. Muriel developed scizophrenia and the guy she went out west with dumped her on the street. Literally kicked this sick girl to the curb. When I ran into him on a bus in Toronto and he told me this with no emotion I wanted to punch him. He was this god of a guy in the in highschool and he took this beautiful girl and instead of loving her and caring for her turned her out into the street. What a jerk eh?
I really do believe that God showed me this guy for who he was so I could come to realize how very lucky I am not to be a part of that circle of people. They continued to hang out together, but what I couldn't see at the time that is so clear to me now is that I am different and thank God for that.
Being left out, bullied, made fun of has given me the insight to know what that all feels like. How lonely and sad it is to be on the receiving end of that kind of meaness, and to never want to make anybody else feel this way. It sucks and I don't have any urge to do it to somebody else. In fact I am probably a little timid at times not wanting to hurt somebodies feelings. I am a firm believer in "Everybody plays or nobody plays". I'm also surprised by how wrong I can be about people and how aware I need to be of the people I am around and the influence they have over me. It has also given me a toughness that has seen me through some very difficult times.
I still see bullying around me. I have been in work environments where cliques exist and tend to run the show whether that is in anybody but their own best interests. I've also seen people bullied, called down, or out in front of co-workers. Shamed to say I haven't always stepped up or in but it makes me sad to see people with potential to teach and lead fall on bullying to clear a path for themselves.
It is always going to be easy to find people who are different than you, weaker than you, needier than you and I think the key is to ask yourself what kind of person am I going to be, what kind of legacy am I going to leave in my wake. Do I want to use any potential I have to lift up other people or am I going to tear them down. I am so thankful for all the adversity because all that discomfort makes it easy to be compassionate today. I'm not perfect but I'm working every day to correct myself as necessary and try to see all the good in others that I can.
At fifteen I couldn't have seen how truly blessed I was going to be today.
Cheers til next time
Jane
I am really sad to report that Muriel was murdered in Vancouver over 10 years ago. Her murder has never been solved. LIttle darker out here now than it used to be. Love you Moo.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
The New 'Hip'
HI Everyone, Anyone??
This is my first attempt at blogging and I am not really sure what to expect. I wanted to write because I am at a bit of a crossroads in my life and I am pretty sure I am not the only one. I am 55 and have recently been diagnosed with severe arthritis in my right hip which may, probably, almost certainly will require a replacement.
I titled this The New 'Hip' because the generation I belong to is a huge bulge of people called the 'Baby Boomers' and our upcoming retirements are going to create a whole block of people who are not only able to be more involved with things they love and may have never tried, but will also experience health issues, political issues and social issues, in ways and numbers never seen before.
I think that by sheer numbers my generation will be establishing the new 'Hip' or trends. It is also a play on my upcoming surgery.
I hope to run an ongoing commentary on things that interest me but may also be reflective of the demographic I belong to.
I was really surprised when my family doc told me I had arthritis to the extent I do. It was scary to think that at some point the top of my femur would be cut off and replaced with a stainless steel ball joint(or is it another metal) drilled into the centre of the bone. Yikes...!!!
I was equal parts grossed out by the procedure (which I researched with startling detail via the internet), afraid of the pain, and nervous about the recovery.
My day to day pain level is what drove me to the Dr. in the first place. I hadn't been able to do any casual walking or bike riding for a few years and my gait was reminiscent of Danny DeVito as the penguin in the Batman movies; waddling side to side and when it was really bad, throwing my right arm forward to get the momentum needed to walk. I was taking Tylenol extra strength and ibuprofen daily as well as a tylenol with muscle relaxant and still suffering enough to be unable to sleep for more than a few hours at a time. I couldn't tie my right shoe or clip my toenails, doing the dishes was a two part production and sitting or driving for more than a half hour caused so much stiffness that when I stood I had to pause and make the brain contact the limb for cooperation Ultimately the condition has driven me to EI medical leave with the hope that I may get in to see the surgeon on short notice and have the surgery quicly thereafter (fingers crossed).
The kicker is that for all those sleepless nights I had been blaming myself because I am so overweight. I put off going to the Dr. because I couldn't commit to weight loss and the combination of being ashamed of myself for letting my weight get so high and thinking I might not get the help I needed made me reluctant to complain.
I have a great Doctor. She is kind, a really good listener and supportive. I was sent for X-rays and by the time I went back to see her she had already sent my file on to the orthopedic surgeon. I didn't hear a thing about weight (although I know that it can't but help with pain). We talked about the diagnosis and the options (hip replacement) and ended with a hug (she really is so great).
The reality of the situation took a while to sink in. Basically I wasn't just fat and out of shape but I had a serious albeit treatable condition. I had been dragging myself around, punishing myself with self reproach and suffering needlessly. Imagine if I had gone to see the Dr. six months ago or even a year ago?..I may very well have had a new hip now.
It is a weird kind of realization when some of the illnesses that occur in old age start to appear. When I had to get bifocals the optometrist used the dreaded A word "Age" when he was explainging the need for them.
Do we ever consider ourselves older, or old? It truly is the next stop on my life's train. I am officially over the halfway mark of my life. I don't mean to say I believe the best is gone but 'the times they are a changin'. Every year from here on in leads me closer to a whole new take on time and living. No more babies for me, the best years of taut skin have passed, I'm not fussy on sleeping on the ground when camping (though my darling little van with the foamy in the back is unbelievably comfy) and I am staring to think about how much pension I might be living on. Many in my bulging generation will be single women, possibly never married so there will not be duo pensions and veterans or widows benefits to supplement the governments generosity(????)
I've worked in long-term care for just about 20 years and have seen the best and worst of outcomes, intentions and promises by governments and academics come and go. I admit to being frightened by what I've seen and having few role models for a happy, healthy, expanding older life. My intention is to establish these for myself and share knowledge and support with my friends. I am just starting to feel like an authentic life is available to me and I am not really interested in letting a new hip do anything but improve the odds. I can say for dam sure that I am not over wanting to have lots of fun, maybe a boyfriend or two (must like big girls), writing books, becoming a well known photographer and possibly taking to the folk clubs to sing (man I love to sing).
So begins the jorney of The New 'Hip'. I am interested to write and just as interested for genuine feedback regarding my ideas.
Talk to anyone reading this soon
Jane
This is my first attempt at blogging and I am not really sure what to expect. I wanted to write because I am at a bit of a crossroads in my life and I am pretty sure I am not the only one. I am 55 and have recently been diagnosed with severe arthritis in my right hip which may, probably, almost certainly will require a replacement.
I titled this The New 'Hip' because the generation I belong to is a huge bulge of people called the 'Baby Boomers' and our upcoming retirements are going to create a whole block of people who are not only able to be more involved with things they love and may have never tried, but will also experience health issues, political issues and social issues, in ways and numbers never seen before.
I think that by sheer numbers my generation will be establishing the new 'Hip' or trends. It is also a play on my upcoming surgery.
I hope to run an ongoing commentary on things that interest me but may also be reflective of the demographic I belong to.
I was really surprised when my family doc told me I had arthritis to the extent I do. It was scary to think that at some point the top of my femur would be cut off and replaced with a stainless steel ball joint(or is it another metal) drilled into the centre of the bone. Yikes...!!!
I was equal parts grossed out by the procedure (which I researched with startling detail via the internet), afraid of the pain, and nervous about the recovery.
My day to day pain level is what drove me to the Dr. in the first place. I hadn't been able to do any casual walking or bike riding for a few years and my gait was reminiscent of Danny DeVito as the penguin in the Batman movies; waddling side to side and when it was really bad, throwing my right arm forward to get the momentum needed to walk. I was taking Tylenol extra strength and ibuprofen daily as well as a tylenol with muscle relaxant and still suffering enough to be unable to sleep for more than a few hours at a time. I couldn't tie my right shoe or clip my toenails, doing the dishes was a two part production and sitting or driving for more than a half hour caused so much stiffness that when I stood I had to pause and make the brain contact the limb for cooperation Ultimately the condition has driven me to EI medical leave with the hope that I may get in to see the surgeon on short notice and have the surgery quicly thereafter (fingers crossed).
The kicker is that for all those sleepless nights I had been blaming myself because I am so overweight. I put off going to the Dr. because I couldn't commit to weight loss and the combination of being ashamed of myself for letting my weight get so high and thinking I might not get the help I needed made me reluctant to complain.
I have a great Doctor. She is kind, a really good listener and supportive. I was sent for X-rays and by the time I went back to see her she had already sent my file on to the orthopedic surgeon. I didn't hear a thing about weight (although I know that it can't but help with pain). We talked about the diagnosis and the options (hip replacement) and ended with a hug (she really is so great).
The reality of the situation took a while to sink in. Basically I wasn't just fat and out of shape but I had a serious albeit treatable condition. I had been dragging myself around, punishing myself with self reproach and suffering needlessly. Imagine if I had gone to see the Dr. six months ago or even a year ago?..I may very well have had a new hip now.
It is a weird kind of realization when some of the illnesses that occur in old age start to appear. When I had to get bifocals the optometrist used the dreaded A word "Age" when he was explainging the need for them.
Do we ever consider ourselves older, or old? It truly is the next stop on my life's train. I am officially over the halfway mark of my life. I don't mean to say I believe the best is gone but 'the times they are a changin'. Every year from here on in leads me closer to a whole new take on time and living. No more babies for me, the best years of taut skin have passed, I'm not fussy on sleeping on the ground when camping (though my darling little van with the foamy in the back is unbelievably comfy) and I am staring to think about how much pension I might be living on. Many in my bulging generation will be single women, possibly never married so there will not be duo pensions and veterans or widows benefits to supplement the governments generosity(????)
I've worked in long-term care for just about 20 years and have seen the best and worst of outcomes, intentions and promises by governments and academics come and go. I admit to being frightened by what I've seen and having few role models for a happy, healthy, expanding older life. My intention is to establish these for myself and share knowledge and support with my friends. I am just starting to feel like an authentic life is available to me and I am not really interested in letting a new hip do anything but improve the odds. I can say for dam sure that I am not over wanting to have lots of fun, maybe a boyfriend or two (must like big girls), writing books, becoming a well known photographer and possibly taking to the folk clubs to sing (man I love to sing).
So begins the jorney of The New 'Hip'. I am interested to write and just as interested for genuine feedback regarding my ideas.
Talk to anyone reading this soon
Jane
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