Category Archives: life

Finding your strength

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“It doesn’t take a lot of strength to hang on, it takes a lot of strength to let go.” ~ J.C. Watts

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I was born a “fixer” and, until a few years ago, I had spent a great deal of my time taking on other people’s burdens as my own.  But something shifted in the paradigm of my reality when I got divorced in 2012.  I realized I was spending too much of my time trying to change a life that was not mine to change.  I was hanging on to problems that irrevocably had impact on my life but I had no power to solve.  I needed to let go.  But I was so stuck in the pattern of my life that I didn’t know how to let go.  I wanted so desperately for things to work out in my life that I honestly thought that this was the syllabus of my future.

It takes a monumental amount of courage to walk away from a relationship that you have put your heart and soul into but a relationship has to give you what you need for it to be successful.  By its very definition, a relationship is a form of communication.  Wants and needs are expressed and, in a healthy relationship, are reciprocated without condition.  Such was not the case for me and I knew it.  I felt it deep within myself but it took me a long time to admit it because to do that would have made me feel like I had failed.  But I had only failed myself by not seeing the signs sooner and listening to that nagging inner voice.

I finally found the nerve to put my needs first and, in finally letting go, I gave myself permission to define myself according to my needs and not the needs of anyone else.  The strength to hang on was easy, it was my comfort zone, but finding the strength to let go made me feel eviscerated, vulnerable and it was not something I was accustomed to.

I wanted to write this post because I have friends now in the situation in which I found myself years ago.  I want them to know that letting go is not always the easy choice, but it may be the right choice, for them.   It may be hard to listen to that petulant voice in your head, but that voice is the most sincerely honest advice you will ever get.

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Don’t give up easily.  If it is worth the fight, than fight, fight like your life depends on it.  But if you know in your heart that nothing will ever change, let go, let go like your life depends on it.

It’s just my allergies….

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I have suffered with allergies since I was a child.  My sensitivities are mostly environmental so they are certainly manageable.  As a child I used to break out in hives when I ate strawberries but, I was as stubborn then as I am now so, I ate them anyway and eventually outgrew my reaction.

As I have matured into the person I am today, I am finding an increase in my hypersensitivity to certain things.  The environmental allergies still plague me year-round but I have discovered lately that a broad spectrum of human emotion, compassion and empathy is having a strange effect on my eyes.

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When I hear stories that touch my heart, the redness in my eyes is immediately evident.  There is a small bit of swelling in the upper and lower eyelids and I am guessing my body creates tears to cleanse my eyes of the allergens.  This “allergy” is becoming more and more prevalent.  What was once just a susceptibility to dust, mold, grass and trees now encompasses impassioned stories, movies, television shows and even commercials.  Seeing another human being cry is definitely the biggest trigger for this new onslaught of “allergic reactions” and once the tears are formed the next symptom of these “allergies” is a stuffed up nose.

I have battled allergies for years and these are the only ones I can say I actually don’t mind having.  I have given up wishing I could control these allergic reactions in public.  I’m sure seeing a few tears is easier for others to witness rather than a contorted face that looks uncomfortable and painful.

So, if you see me and it looks like I’ve been crying…..it’s just my allergies.

 

The road already travelled

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“Time moves in one direction, memory in another.” ~ William Gibson

Nostalgia is a funny thing.  When you least expect it, what began as a glimpse into your subconscious suddenly floods your senses and overwhelms you with thoughts of the past.  It could be a song lyric, a smell or an old picture that triggers the trip down memory lane but, regardless of how the journey begins, the open road to your past looms behind and begs for you to follow it.

 

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On occasion that journey can feel like you have stepped through a portal into the time-space continuum and have completely ensconced yourself in that moment so many years ago.  You can visualize the wallpaper on the walls that no longer exist in reality but feel like they are an arm’s length away if you reached out to touch them.  You can inhale fragrant scents and feel the presence of the person who used to wear that particular perfume or cologne.  That one song can play and transport you back to the time and place you have associated so strongly with those lyrics.

That road that stretches behind us still waits for us whenever we feel the beckoning pull of sentimentality.  Venturing down that protected surface serves to remind us where we’ve been but will always afford us the opportunity to turn around and forge ahead into the future.

Understanding and embracing those things from our past can only motivate us to continue.  We carve the paths of our progressive journey knowing that the moments that have shaped us will always be there to remind us of where we have been and where we have since chosen to go.

Lost together

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lost-in-a-dream

Lost in a dream,

fleeting thoughts of you

take me to a place long ago,

where I’m lost in your eyes,

the way they used to look in to mine,

really seeing me, as you held me.

I become lost in your arms,

remembering the smell of your skin

and the taste of your kiss.

I fall, lost in your love,

never wanting to let go,

not wanting the dream to end.

But I awaken,

your face disappears but the memory lingers,

and now I feel lost again, without you.

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Don’t you have anything better to do with your time?

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If you have read my past blog posts, you’ll know that I have started a wonderful project to help our local food bank.  We are making Freezer Crockpot meals so families can feel the satisfaction of having a home-cooked meal on the table, once or twice a week, that is made with REAL food.  The ingredients are things like chicken, stewing beef, ground beef, ground turkey, vegetables and potatoes.   It has been a love affair of mine since it began last winter and continues to capture my heart.

After a sneaky email from a friend, I was recently interviewed by a local TV news station and the reporter and her fellow newscasters were impressed by the project as well.  We had a small segment on the 6:00 news to help promote our cause and gain more coverage to help increase donations.  The coverage was also put on the TV stations’ and my Facebook page to  help spread the word so we could try to help more people who could use a hand this time of year.

I received some fantastic comments and queries from others who wish to start the same type of project in their community, which is exactly what I was hoping would happen.  But amidst the praises and pats on the back, I should have known there lurked a few eyes that glowed eerily in the darkness.

After watching the clip on the news, a woman called the lodge where I work (and the kitchen we use for prepping meals) and was irate that we were not wearing gloves while we prepared these meals.  Upon first hearing of this call, I was taken aback…..and then I was angry.  I have volunteered countless hours of my time to make life a little better for those who struggle through the winter months, only to have this woman challenge my culinary safety practices.

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I have been trained in kitchens since I was in college.  Before I went to college I worked in restaurants.  And in the 30+ years I have worked in the hospitality industry, I have never encountered a Chef who wears gloves, or makes their staff wear gloves, unless they have been cut and are wearing a bandage.  Hospitality staff are trained in food safety.  From the temperature of a fridge, to the cooking temperature of meats and the frequent hand-washing to avoid cross-contamination, we are well-versed in following very strict guidelines.   Watch a few videos of Gordon Ramsay, Anthony Bourdain, Jamie Oliver or any of the popular cooking-challenge shows and tell me if you see their hands concealed by Latex gloves.  This is cooking, not open-heart surgery.

Sufficed to say, my blood pressure has come down and I am moving on.  One angry voice in a sea of positivity will not get me down.  I can only hope that, one day, this woman will get as much satisfaction from helping others as I do and will give the same strong-arm to anyone who tries to bring her down.

 

 

 

Yes, I’m going to say it again…..

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I loathe the word nagging.  I much prefer the term ‘getting your point across in a relatively passive-aggressive way’.

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When I feel strongly about something, I can be a bit overwhelming in my pursuit and subsequent follow-up.  While my intentions are completely honorable, my execution can be somewhat irritating.  But at the heart of my bothersome behavior is my desire to see the benefit of my persistence far outweigh the burden of my pestering.

I really do want the best for people.  And sometimes I feel like the droning sound of my voice, saying the same thing over and over again, will eventually have its desired effect.  But I can hear myself.  I can hear the warming of my vocal chords as they prepare to drown the recipient in their ambient sound waves.  And although the compulsion is unrelenting, if I am lucky, sometimes I can catch myself before the melodic tone of my incessant chatter reaches maximum annoyance.

On the bad days, I do see my nagging as a challenge – a moment to rise above the urge to deliver unwarranted advice.  But on the good days, I see my nagging as a strength – a moment to reflect on the genuine feeling of emotion behind the message I am trying to convey.  Regardless of which day it really is, I am compelled to react because the apprehension I feel for a situation is directed at a person who is very close to my heart.

Although the word nagging is derived from a Scandinavian word meaning “to gnaw”, I like to think of my foray into personal harassment as more of a nibble.  And if you find yourself on the opposite end of one of my lectures, please know it comes from a place of love and from nowhere else.

It`s one day after the 12th

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Friday-the-13th

I have never been a superstitious person.  I’m not afraid to have a black cat cross paths with me.  I do use caution around ladders but that is more of a safety issue rather than a superstition.  And I certainly don’t believe that I will have 7 years of bad luck if I have the misfortune of breaking a mirror into tiny shards of reflective glass.  I will, however, have 7+ horrible minutes of clean up!!

Bad luck seems to be brought on by bad attitudes.  If I had woken up this morning in a state of panic because of the calendar date, I’m sure some incident would have befallen me and I would undoubtedly have had people tell me it is a result of the dreaded Friday the 13th.  I arose this morning as I always do.  I put on my jeans the same one leg at a time.  There were no black crows eyeballing me from the top branch of their perch, screeching raptor-like obscenities and warning me to stay indoors.

Did you know that historically there have been fewer car accidents on this day because people exercise so much more caution or don’t drive at all?  The irrational fear that this day imposes is an interesting phenomenon.  People have such an overwhelming fear of the 13th day of the month falling on a Friday but never really take the time to ask themselves why they have this fear.   If you reflect on your childhood, somewhere along your journey, the superstition was unwittingly passed on to you.  The moment that seed was planted, it matured into an irrational fear and has embedded its roots into your psyche.  I’m a firm believer that we make our own luck.  If you think bad things will happen on Friday the 13th then they probably will.

Friday the 13th has never imposed any ugliness on me but I also impress nothing put positive thoughts on it.  It is just another day.   If Friday the 13th is your ‘monster in the closet’ – lock that closet door and throw away the key.  It holds no more power than what you allow it to have.

Are you superstitious or was today just another day…

I don’t have a thing to wear…

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I am going to be on television.  It will be a fleeting interview about a subject I feel very passionate about but I am now starting to sweat the small details.  Can I remember not to curse?  Will the 10 lbs the camera adds make me look like a beached whale?  And what the hell do I have in my closet that will help me not look like a road beacon or a clown?

I am that much of a self-professed nerd that I actually Googled what to wear on a TV interview.  It was actually quite helpful so I’m glad for my nerd-ish tendencies.  The cursing is another subject, all things considered, but I’m certain I can hold it together.

One of our local news stations is coming up to Muskoka to do a brief segment about the Crockpot Freezer Meals I have been organizing for our local food bank.  The news personality coming to do the interview actually did a four-day challenge to eat only the food provided by her local food bank and her struggles were palpable, to say the least.  She photographed her meals along the way and the results were far from appetizing.  There is only so much you can do with processed, no-name pasta, canned sauce, tuna and canned fruit.

I have always loved cooking.  Perhaps I have taken for granted my access to fresh meat and vegetables, but this project has made me truly value my good fortune and my goal is to help create some of the same good fortune for those who struggle through the winter months.

Our town is very seasonal with respect to many things and jobs are at the forefront of the shortages.  And some families who may find success in the booming summer months are left to visit the local food banks in the winter months to help supplement their supply of necessary items to make it through the tough times.  That, to me, seems egregiously unfair and the reason I began http://www.gofundme.com/dollarsfordinners

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So, regardless of whether I look like a street clown or Shamu on a good day, I will face those TV cameras.   I will tell my story of Crockpot Freezer meals in hopes that other communities may recognize the possibility of doing the same thing in their small towns.

It takes a village, not only to raise a child but, to empower a community so we can all say we were an active part of making it a success.

 

Life in a snow globe

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I have come to the long-overdue conclusion that January is my least favorite month.  Although I think winter can be a stunning portrait of Arctic beauty, January seems to hold some sort of malice for those who live in colder climates.  Looking at the picturesque view of the snow clinging to the trees, with the backdrop of a clear blue sky, makes it slightly more bearable but with that beauty in the forefront the beast stealthily lurks in the background.

Skies become overcast and scattered patterns of flakes stipple the grey sky.  They fall, lightly at first and in swirling random patterns, hypnotizing those in their path with their ethereal beauty.  But the flakes are unending.  They churn in the wind, they seem to multiply before they hit the ground and, as the mercury drops, they are frozen to their place.  Individual patterns of snow and ice combine to create the tomb of winter.

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But I retain a modicum of hope.  We are one-quarter of our way through the month.  The days are becoming longer and January will soon be followed by the shortest month of the year, leading us into the beginning of the month that births Spring.  And with that turning of the season comes the promise of warmer days and easier nights.  I look forward to the days that the air doesn’t hurt my face.

 

When did I become THIS person?

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I would never have described myself as being overly adventurous in my youth.  I wasn’t afraid to try new things in my teens and early twenties but my limits for risky undertakings were much higher then and now my willingness to live on the edge (or a reasonable facsimile of the edge) has completely diminished.

I have not felt the desire for wanderlust that seems to be an affliction for so many of my friends.  I am content to live vicariously through the tales of their adventures and to witness their triumphs through the photographic journey that they provide as a backdrop for the narrative of their experience.

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I have always been a homebody.  I prefer a “staycation” to a long line in an airport terminal with the risk of acquiring some form of contagious bacteria to bring home as a souvenir.  I would not go so far as to say that I have become a recluse but the evidence is mounting and the verdict could completely contradict my argument for my defense.

Where once I would brave the terrain and the elements, I now shy away from driving in bad weather.  I don’t like driving at night anymore because my eyesight feels somewhat compromised in the dark and I make the excuse that it is for the safety of the other drivers on the road.  And I shrink into my couch every time gale force winds undulate through the bare branches and howl outside of my window.

But I have come to realize that my plight is not one of fear.  It is one of freedom.  I have allowed myself to be just that, myself.  I am not going to jump behind the wheel of my car because someone thinks I am paranoid and I want to prove them wrong.  I make no excuses.  I ask for no sympathy.  I simply live the way I want to live.  I am quite content to sit in my living room with my computer in my lap and blog about the fact that I am comfortable becoming THIS person.