Category Archives: be yourself

Boys will be boys, and then they make you cry

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I knew this Christmas season would be difficult for me.  I’ve done my best to write my feelings into submission but they are stealthily lying just below the surface, waiting to bubble up when I least expect them.

Last night I celebrated Christmas with my brother and his family.  Nagging work schedules bumped the holiday up by a couple of days but any change in the old routine is a welcome change.  I arrived at the house with my food contributions, my secret Santa gift and the scrapbook I made of pictures of my mom so she could be with us in spirit.  What I wasn’t expecting was this:

shrine

My nephew had taken one of the candles I made for my mom’s memorial service in May, created a beautiful Christmas display and placed it in the middle of the room so she was with us during our celebration.  I now know how the Grinch felt when his heart grew three sizes.  I was so moved and my heart swelled so much that I thought it would burst out of my chest.  It was all I could do not to hug him until he turned blue.

That gift, that display made by a 14-year-old boy to honor the memory of his Nana, is, by far, the best gift of 2014.  I could not bring myself to show too much emotion for fear that the tears would come and never stop.  Instead, we high-fived and continued on with the merriment.  Gifts were opened, food was consumed and a great amount of laughter was shared.  I learned to never again go in a swimming pool with my brother (future blog post) and I learned that the spirit of Christmas was not tarnished by the absence of my mother, but lives on in the way we keep her spirit alive.

The tears finally came shortly after I got home.  They did not come slowly or poetically but exploded out of my body to make room for my swollen heart.  I can only hope that both of my nephews learned a few things about Christmas.  It isn’t about the material things wrapped in bags or boxes.  Christmas is about the people who are wrapped in your heart and doing everything you can to make sure they stay there.

Merry Christmas to all of you and may you enjoy the true spirit of the holidays.

Good grief, it’s almost Christmas

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  “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?  Aaaaahhhhhh.” ~ Charlie Brown

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 This photo may be a crude interpretation of a ping-pong table, but this is my creation for my mom’s memorial Charlie Brown Christmas tree this year.  As part of our new traditions, my brother, his family and I agreed to either make or buy an ornament that reminds us of a funny story of my mom.  Because this is the first Christmas without her, we will keep those funny memories alive by telling the story behind the ornament as we hang it on the tree.  I’m sure Charlie Brown would be proud.

Charlie Brown was determined to find the true meaning of Christmas and, after being dismayed by all the commercialism surrounding the holiday, he discovered that it is not about the presents.  Christmas isn’t a gift that you can unwrap, it’s a feeling that embraces you and warms you.   Christmas is sharing your heart with others and remembering those who cannot be with you.

This year, this is one of the many ways we will remember my mom.  This ornament reminds me of some of the best parts of my mother – her carefree attitude, her sense of humor and her zest for life, along with her quest to take ping-pong to a whole new level.  Although my heart may feel empty now, I know as we share some love and laughter during the holidays, my heart will once again be filled with joy and the spirit of the holiday.

My wish for all of you this holiday season is to find the same joy and happiness that I know I will find being with family and friends.  Christmas is about presence, not presents.  The spirit of the holiday is about spending time with the ones you love and allowing yourself to be cloaked in their hugs and saturated by their laughter.

The best of the holiday to all of you.

Oprah has a name for this…….

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Not everyone has the opportunity to experience a full-circle moment in their lifetime – that epic twist of fate when something you had spent so much time dwelling on in your past creeps up on you in your present. I had one of those moments today.

I am a product of the 80’s. I was never a slave to the hair and poorly-chosen fashion (most days) but the movies of the 80’s live on in my current reality. I can recite those movies verbatim and I recognize a bit of myself in each one of those iconic movie roles that I watched as an impressionable teenager. And though there were fleeting moments of seeing similarities between the starring roles and my teenage psyche, I always felt a deeper connection with the weirdos, the poets, the dreamers.

It was this truth that bonded me to Andrew McCarthy’s character, Kevin, in St. Elmo’s Fire in 1985. Though his role was meant to be a bit of an outcast, Kevin was the definition of how I saw myself in those days. He was a creative soul, misunderstood on many occasions but he held true to himself. Unlike me at the time, Kevin knew who he was and, although he struggled, in the end he wasn’t afraid to be that person. He wanted to describe what he saw in a myriad number of ways. He wanted to describe life by every little detail and not just watch it go by. He wanted to write. And he was going to see his way to his future on his battered Underwood typewriter.

That line stuck with me. It haunted me, actually, and I have seen that written line in a loop in my head for many years. Like a headlining banner at a movie theatre, the words “battered Underwood typewriter” scrolled incessantly around my brain. The image of that machine, the clacking of the keys, kept me bonded to that dream of writing. And now that image has become a reality.

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In a moment of complete serendipity, I have been gifted an Underwood typewriter. I have been given a battered, plunking, beautiful, historic typewriter that could write chapters of its own given the chance. Its stories are burned into the keys. Its ribbon holds a wealth of ideas and the rest is not history, but my story. It is up to me to cajole the remainder of the tales from this relic. This battered Underwood typewriter could be the one thing that reminds me that I can write and, just maybe, will help me get to the next stage of my writing success.

 

The long journey of picking up the pieces

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“All the King’s horses and all the King’s men, couldn’t put Humpty together again.” ~ James William Elliott

I would never describe myself as a wallflower.  I’m very willing to stand out, stand up for myself and take charge of my life.  If something is not working I will give one hundred percent to fix it but, if it is beyond repair, I’m not afraid to walk away knowing I gave it everything I could.  Thus was the lesson it took me half a lifetime to learn and thus was the story of my marriage.

Hindsight is a giant pain in the ass.  I don’t care if it is 20/20, it still sucks.  If I were completely honest with myself, I should have known better before I made that march down the aisle, with my brother on one arm and my mom on the other.  As I stood waiting for the music to start, I looked at him waiting for me at the other end of that runway to my future.  I really looked at him.  And for the first time I could see how truly broken he was.  I knew in my gut that this would not be my forever but I wanted so badly to fix him.  I wanted to be enough to make him want to change but his demons were bigger and far more powerful than any strength or love I could throw at them and I finally had to admit defeat.  It was time for that broken duck to find a new pond and keep himself afloat without using me as his water-wings.

After he left something happened that I had not anticipated – I immediately found my joy again.  The saddest part of that statement is that I didn’t even know it was gone.  I was so lost in the spiral of break and repair, I didn’t have time to notice that I was unhappy.   It’s sad to say that it took him leaving for me to be myself again but that is exactly what happened.  When that reality hit me, I cried.  I cried for the pieces of myself that I lost through the process and I cried because I had just given myself permission to get those pieces back and put myself  together again, to become whole.  If I performed an autopsy on the relationship, perhaps I would realize that the cause of death was that I was the one that had become broken.  Somewhere, in what should have been wedded bliss, a small crack had pierced my armor and my happiness began to seep through that fissure. I was like a tire with a slow leak that you don’t notice until it is completely flat.

love puzzle

(image credit: vi.sualize.us)

A very wise fellow blogger once said something that has always stuck with me “the steeper the climb, the better the view”. (Thanks Ned)  I began my journey back to happiness by taking that first giant step and, although my gait was awkward in the beginning, I continued to put one foot in front of the other to reach that summit.  The pieces of myself that I had lost were scattered along the path to the top and I collected them as I endured the uphill battle.

During the climb I paid money for my property (again) but that money also paid for my peace of mind, my dog’s happiness and well-being and the key to the door that had kept me locked away from my true happiness.

Being on the pinnacle of that mountain I am now able to clearly see the type of love that I want, the type of love that I deserve.  Never again will I give away the pieces of myself to try to fit them into someone else’s unfinished puzzle.  After several years of restoring my sense of self, I am stronger than all the King’s horses and all the King’s men.  I was able to put myself together again.

Retail therapy and really sore ribs

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I knew it was going to be a fun day twenty minutes after we got in the car.  Driving through town with my girlfriends, we passed a minivan with the hood up blocking the entire windshield.  It wouldn’t have been such an odd site but the van was still driving along the other side of the road.  And that is how the day’s adventures began.

Even though we live in a very small area, we rarely get to see each other.  So the four of us banded together and hit the highway for a day of shopping, drinks and much laughter.   There is a palpable energy in the air when this particular pod of women gets together.  We are so anxious to catch everyone up on what has been going on that we talk over each other quite a bit but when “K” starting telling a tale from the retail job she has, the three of us stopped to listen to her story about the underwear sniffer.  This man habitually frequents her store to spend precious moments skulking through the ladies under garment section, stopping occasionally to bury his nose in the latest design of Fruit of the Loom.  Super creepy, but for some reason it made us laugh hysterically.

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We got to our favorite store and shopped like it was our job.  We filled the back of the SUV with our new treasures and decided it was time for lunch and a glass of wine.  The laughter continued over lunch and the man seated at the table behind us took great interest in our group.  He was completely harmless, a regular at the restaurant, but he certainly seemed eager to join in the fun.  He regaled us with a few tales of his own and, before he left, presented us with a Tim Horton’s gift card.   It was such a sweet gesture and we enjoyed some coffee and sweets on the ride home.

As the adventure was coming to an end, we were gathered in the parking lot where we had met earlier that morning.  It is routine to see what everyone else bought and as the cloth and yarn were being passed, a precious item (valued at $1.99) hit the pavement and broke.  The sound of ceramic shattering coupled with a slow-motion “oooooohhhhh nooooooooooo” made us burst into gales of laughter.  Here we were – four women in our 40’s and 50’s coming completely unglued in the Walmart parking lot.  Walmart shoppers were doing their absolute best to get as far away from us as possible.  Sideways glances were noticed but ignored by all four of us.  Our main goal was to not pee our pants in the middle of a busy parking lot.

Once I was able to breathe again, I wiped the tears from my eyes and collected myself.  This was the day I have needed for a long time.  This day, full of laughter and old friends was literally what my doctor had ordered for me to get me out of my funk.  And the icing on the cake of this day was finding out where NOT to shop for underwear!

Finding the courage to find myself

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This is really a post for myself, perhaps to hold myself accountable for all the things I wish I had been doing differently lately but have not been doing.  It is a kick in my ass, a wake-up call, a reminder that I shouldn’t feel guilty about putting myself first.

I have been feeling lost lately.  It could easily be the November blahs, the thought of our first Christmas without my mom or the fact that I have been ignoring my health and putting on the pounds that I worked so hard to lose.  Whatever the reason, I am not myself.

Up until now, I have spent a great deal of my life trying to “fix” other people – it’s just the way I am, the way I survived my youth and part of my failed marriage.  But it’s time for me to realize that I am the one who is broken.  It’s time for me to learn from my past and realize the only person I can fix is myself because I don’t like this feeling of being broken.

The nagging feeling in the back of my mind is not depression but the lethargy I am feeling is a warning sign.  I need to start participating in my life.  I need to sum up all of those lessons I learned from my past and use them to forge ahead into my future, a future where I am the driver and not the passenger.  A future where I make my own map and am not tagging along on someone else’s journey.

dear past

With a little bit of effort on my part, I can harness that energy that is lying dormant and forge boldly into my future.  The slate is blank and I can make of it whatever I want it to be.

Dear Future, I AM ready.

How a funeral home typo helped us get through our grieving

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Dark red carpet and stained wood encased the visitation rooms in the funeral home.  The atmosphere was quiet, somber.  The air had an icy quality to it.  But beneath that chilled facade was a team of people full of emotion and empathy – a staff that was ready and willing to guide us through a tumultuous but necessary experience and to find the right way to help us get through a difficult time.

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There is no one way to grieve.  Each person will find their own way to overcome the loss of a loved one and each experience will be different based on the circumstance of loss.  When my brother and I lost our mother in March, we had been mentally preparing ourselves for the day that we would have to face the news that our mom was no longer going to be a part of our daily lives.  The phone call with the news was a still a shock, but we were grateful she went peacefully and no longer had to suffer the effects of her illness.  What we had not prepared ourselves for was the way that we would be able to celebrate her only 36 hours after we were told she was gone.

We received the news on a Friday morning.  The rest of that day was a blur.  Phone call after phone call was made to tell family and friends that she was gone and then Saturday morning was upon us.  My brother and I made our way to the funeral home to make the necessary arrangements and have the notice printed for the paper.  Upon proof-reading the notice, I realized that the funeral director had mistakenly typed my mom’s name as “June” and not “Jane”.  It was a simple fix and seemingly a forgotten mistake……until we went to my Uncle’s cottage for dinner that night.

There were six of us.  My brother and I, my mom’s two siblings and their spouses.  When I regaled my aunts and uncles with the story of the misprint it was, not offensive but, really amusing.  We raised our glasses and had a toast to “June”.  Thankfully we all knew my mother would have seen the humor in the mistake and toasted right along with us.  For the rest of the memory-filled evening, through tears and laughter, we continued to raise our glasses and make the heart-felt toasts to “June”.   If I listened really hard I could hear my mom laughing along with us.

We had mom’s celebration of life two months later.  I had gone into the funeral home to have the notice done for the paper and the same funeral director asked if I wanted it to say “June” or “Jane”.   We both had a good laugh and I felt comfortable telling him how his simply typo had made our evening so much better than the sorrow-filled night it could have been.  During the course of the evening, we changed my mom’s siblings names as well.  (Eight months later I still refer to my Aunt Carol as “Cheryl” and my Uncle Peter as “Proctor”)

The simple change of one vowel that day gave us permission to laugh that night.  It allowed us to hold the grief close to our heart but let our minds remember all the good in the world when my mom was still in it.

 

 

 

 

Would I hit the button and turn the chair for MY voice?

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Lately I have been going back through past blog posts and reacquainting myself with some of the words I have thrown out into the eternal abyss known as the Internet.   After spending time digesting my previous musings, I have come to a great awareness about the novel I am attempting to finish.  Unless I just keep writing the damned thing and stop editing as much as I’m writing, I’m never going to finish the book in this lifetime!

From two years ago, when I began this blogging journey, to now, my writing voice has changed.  That same voice that was so timid in the beginning has grown and evolved into someone different.  It has gone through that rite of passage to be comfortable in its own timbre.

Looking back on some of my earlier posts, I am so tempted to edit and repost some of those phrases and paragraphs but I would be doing myself a grave injustice.  I would be denying who I was when I wrote those posts and not allowing myself to accept the voice I had when I began.  The same holds true for those chapters of my novel that were written from that less experienced recess of my brain.  While the characters will evolve with my determination to finish the book, those first chapters speak volumes about the beginning of their journey as the cast and my journey as a writer and their director.

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(image credit)

I’m glad my voice is different now.   It sounds more experienced.  It is comfortable being heard by others.  It has a more believable quality to it because it has faith in its ramblings.  If I were a judge in that chair, I would hit the button to see what my voice has to say next!

 

My “get-up-and-go” got up and went

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The subject line of this post was always one of my favorites of my mom’s strange sayings.  Whenever she was feeling under the weather or she was just exhausted she would pull out this beauty so we knew her true state of mind.

Yesterday and today I really empathized with this statement and its underlying feeling.  I feel like I have lost my mojo.  I’m sure it is nothing more than a case of the November blahs but getting out of bed the last two mornings has been a struggle.  The bleak grey landscape and bare branches hold no promise of those sunny, warm days that are a thing of the past.  I may regret typing this next string of words but I really can’t wait for the ground to be blanketed with snow.  That is a bold statement taunting the God of weather since this was the view from my living room last winter!

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At least that fresh fallen snow is beautiful to look at and, if nothing else, it makes my dog extremely happy which, in turn, makes me happy.

In the interim, if anyone has seen my “get-up-and-go” could you please send it home to me?  It’s time to kick November’s arse and I could use the back-up!

Are you sure you dialed the right number?

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There is a distinct advantage to having a truly bizarre message on your cell phone or answering machine.  Those few audacious lines can thwart unwanted voice messages and cause callers and telemarketers to rethink the redial.

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I had blogged here about finding the comedic genius that I have since “borrowed” for my outgoing message and how many times I had to call back to get all of the information but my persistence certainly paid off.  I have had many missed callers who have failed to leave a message for me and, since I do not run a business from my phone, I have no qualms leaving things at status quo.

I can discern which callers took the time to listen to every word.  The messages I do receive from people who have never heard the message before generally begin with light giggles and a true appreciation for the silliness the message represents.  I have been encouraged many times to change my voice message but I cannot imagine any other string of words that would amuse me as much as these words.

This is what callers hear when they dial my number:

You have reached the Port Carling Mental Health Hotline.

  • If you are obsessive or compulsive, press 1 repeatedly.
  • If you are co-dependant, please ask someone to press 2 for you.
  • If you have multiple personalities, please press 3,4,5 and 6
  • If you are paranoid, we already know who you are and what you want, but stay on the line while we trace your call.
  • If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a small voice will tell you which number to press.
  • If you are delusional, press 7 and your call will be transferred to the mother ship.

There are extended versions of this message but, sadly, I am only afforded so much time to record my outgoing greeting.  If you ever need a good laugh, call me!