Category Archives: perspective

Life is about the simple things

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“If I am what I have and if I lose what I have, who then am I?” ~ Erich Fromm

I sold my gazebo in the spring.  It was a beautiful structure but grossly underutilized.  Now when I look out across my lawn I see nothing but nature.  Apart from what looks like a crop circle where the gazebo once stood, it is simple, it is unencumbered and it now more honestly represents the way I live my life.

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I am not the sum of my belongings.  I appreciate the eclectic and not the expensive.  I am more comfortable in second-hand jeans and a sweatshirt than I am in a designer dress.  I do not own a coordinating set of anything.  My furniture blends but it doesn’t match and the colors inside of my house reflect the colors outside of my house.  Greens and browns soothe me and that will never change.  It is how I grew up, it is how I live and it is how I thrive.

Life, for me, is about the simple things.  I am not inundated by random possessions, I am not overwhelmed by clutter and I am not constricted by a collection of things that are meant to impress anyone other than myself.

I tend to be a homebody and spend more time with my dog after work than I do in public places.  I like to think I am not anti-social but merely selectively social.

Finding happiness in the simple things brings me a sense of peace.  I am not constantly striving to keep up with any trends other than my own.  I am not seeking a status that I never initially wanted and I live by my own rules.

Happiness has a unique definition to each person who has the luxury of finding that elusive feeling.  Mine is a rudimentary definition, explained with simple words and carried out in the most uncomplicated way.  I live honestly, I live sincerely and I live knowing that I will never be defined by what I have, but rather by who I am.

The dog days of summer….and fall

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Working in the hospitality business goes hand in hand with working strange and long hours.  I can adapt to the hours but my dog is the one who takes the brunt of my lifestyle.  I will never leave her outside on a chain to battle the elements – she is firmly ensconced in our home, lazily spending her hours watching the wildlife from the comfort of my bed.  I have several people who are more than willing to come over and let her out during the day because she is such a happy dog and, for me, having her be the excuse to leave work for thirty minutes is wonderful.  She is never a prisoner in her home – she is akin to a wealthy home owner with servants to look after her every whim.

During these long days, I often wonder how she bides her time.  Is she going through kitchen cabinets?  Has she mastered the satellite remote?  Does she inventory my refrigerator?  But each day when I get home from my struggle to survive my sometimes 10-14 hour days, she is there to greet me and nothing in the house seems out-of-place.  Until a few months ago…..

I returned home from my usual work day and I was greeted by the reassuring excitability that I have come to expect.  The house, as usual, was completely intact.  The garbage was untouched and the serene ambiance wrapped its arm around my shoulder and pulled me into its embrace to welcome me home.

My attention was immediately diverted to the duvet cover and what seemed to be a single article of clothing bunched up in the middle of the bed.  It wasn’t shredded and remained intact, however the entire shirt was extremely damp.  She had been licking my shirt for the better part of who knows how long, focusing on the remnants of deodorant I had left behind.  The baffling thing was, had I not known where the shirt was originally, I would never have known how she got to it.  My closet is masked by a cloth shower curtain that poses itself as a makeshift door.  Somehow, she was able to remove the shroud of the curtain, gingerly lift the shirt from the pile of laundry in the basket and replace the curtain so nobody would catch on to her devious plot.

As much as I miss her during my day, it struck me at that moment how much she truly missed me during her day.  The writing was on the wall, or in this case on the bed.  My scent comforted her during her lonely day and it made my heart ache to realize that fact.  We have a very close bond and one that she feels as much as I do.

I can only take solace in the fact that my work days will soon become shorter and more structured.  My time with her will increase and perhaps her need to be close to my deodorant-saturated shirts will abate somewhat because I will be here in the physical form and not just the odoriferous form.

And who knows, perhaps in the meantime I can save myself a fortune on laundry.

What is close enough?

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I have admitted before that my guilty pleasure is anything to do with “The Bachelor”, “The Bachelorette” or “Bachelor in Paradise”.  The shows are a ridiculous waste of time but time that allows me to indulge in absurd adult behavior caught on film and edited in a fashion that allows the viewers to quickly form opinions, not necessarily their own, about the participants on “reality television” but leave reality completely behind.

After the most recent publicly humiliating break-up, a female contestant was asked if she was in love with the man who broke her heart.  Her inane response, through a shower of tears, was, “No, but it was close enough.”.

That line stuck with me for a long time after the show ended.  Through a furrowed brow, I frequently went back to that line and mulled over how sad a life she must lead if she is merely willing to settle for close enough.  I know I am giving too much attention to a line on a television show that was edited for its shock value but it made me think about how many people suffer from the same yearning of just wanting to believe they have found that special person.

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(image credit)

This past weekend I was privileged to witness, and be part of, a ceremony that was leaps and bounds past close enough.  Two people, who are a perfect fit, pledged their love to each other in front of family and friends this past Saturday.  Their connection to each other redefines the opposite of close enough.  Their body language sounds louder than an orchestra.  Their eye contact portrays more emotion than a well-directed Hollywood romance.  And their genuine affection and care for each other is as conspicuous as snow in July.

Although I have a few more years under my belt, this past weekend they taught me a life lesson about what it is to truly find the person you were meant to be with.  There is no close enough.  There is no settling.  Love has one definition and there is no room for interpretation.  Love has no voice, only actions.  Anyone can say ‘I love you’ but it is the person that is willing to show you that love who will truly capture your heart.

Robert Heinlein said it and I quoted him in my toast to the happy couple ~ “Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.”

They have found that love.  And I can only hope that everyone has, or one day will have, the great fortune of finding a love that is close enough to the that bond these two share.

 

 

 

 

 

Ahhh….the profanity comes flooding back….

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I don’t have children but my countdown to the beginning of the school season is just as exciting.  There are no giant red X’s on any calendars but the anticipation for the first week of September is palpable.   While the teachers prepare their rooms with the letters of the alphabet strung across the top of the chalk boards, I am only concerned with three of those letters.  N-F-L

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(one of my favorite pics of my dad)

 

My child-like excitement for the sport is well-known throughout my friends and family and especially by many others who are members of my football pool.  My incessant emails begin during pre-season and escalate substantially as the NFL ramps up to the first kick off of the regular season.

I prepare my dog for the blast of profanities (my sports-related Tourette’s syndrome) that will inevitably be passed from my lips only to fall on the deaf ears of the referees.  This is a beloved family tradition passed down from my grandparents and who am I to argue with tradition?  They were masters of the verbal barrage of expletives and were not selective when it came to yelling at referees  – hockey, football, baseball umpires, nobody was safe.  I reserve my assassination of the English language specifically for the line judges, field judges, side judges and back judges of the NFL.  There are also a few well-placed curse words expelled during fumbles, sacks and interceptions.  (I don’t discriminate.)

I have been busy over the last few days preparing my three pages of football sheets for the over 60 participants in my football pool.   Let the games begin and let my grasp of the English language be slightly marred.  Hell hath no fury like a woman watching football!!

A place on my shelf but a much bigger place in my heart

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Perhaps it had been sitting on his shelf, collecting dust, for a few years.   He probably looked at it frequently, knowing that I would be in possession of it some day in the future and I’m sure, deep down, he knew he would not be the one to present it to me.

It arrived on my doorstep a few days after learning of his passing the week prior.  I was crushed to hear that he had left us.  But the sentiment in the gift is just as heart-felt now as it would have been had he been able to give me the gift himself because that gift meant that he valued the relationship we had developed.

It began 20 years ago.  I was working a summer job in the pro shop at a resort and he was a man hosting a charity golf tournament to raise money to find a cure for the illness that took the life of one of his children.  As a family, they hosted that tournament every year and I was happy and honored to become a part of it every spring.

As our relationship developed, so too did the amount of time we spent outside of the tournament hours.  Our Friday afternoon “meeting” before the Saturday tournament consisted of a “two-finger” pour of rye and coke.  I made my way back to my office in a bit of a haze since his two-finger measure was his index finger and pinky finger with a good inch and a half in between.  Had I been a smoker, I would have been extremely concerned about having an open flame so close to the fumes I was exhaling!

He was charming and he was a dedicated family man.  He always had a kind word, a comforting hug and a heart of gold.  The family tournament came to an end when his health was a bigger concern.  I eventually changed jobs and we lost touch, apart from the odd phone call, but I always have and always will carry him close to my heart.

God speed, Tom.  You were a special part of my life on this Earth and you will be a very special part of my memories.

 

Variations, revisions and shifts, oh my.

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“People will tell you that change is a good thing.  What they really mean is that something you didn’t want to happen at all just happened”.

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Change is inevitable but it propels us in a direction we were meant to go.  For us to evolve as human beings and a human race, we need change.  Stagnancy does not promote growth in any aspect of our lives. The way we handle that modification to the bigger picture can be as important as the evolution itself.  Change is always possible but it’s not always easy.

Deviating from the familiar is a daunting task. Routine is a comforting way of life but resistance to change is futile.  It’s going to happen and anticipating that deviation, embracing the new path and seeing its potential, will help to alleviate some of the stress that change brings.

Change may insert itself into your life so stealthily that you don’t even see it coming.  Jobs change, feelings shift, relationships evolve for better or for worse, but we have to set our sails to catch the winds of change rather than try to go against that new wind gust.  We must adapt to the metamorphosis and realize that, even if we are not comfortable with the direction of the variance in our lives, change will bring us to where we are supposed to be.

Change should not be viewed as unfavorable.  Change is just change.  It will always be lurking in the shadows of our lives, waiting to invade our inner sanctum and threaten the balance we hold so dear.

Think of change, not as an ending but, as a regeneration.  A change is gonna come….and although the prospect may be frightening, perhaps what is waiting at the end of the evolution is something better than you ever could have imagined.

I don’t have a can of spinach but I yam what I yam

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I am

I loved the book “The Help” and was equally impressed by how its story was portrayed on the big screen.  And through all the ups and downs of the characters and plot lines, there is one moment that is the stand-out scene for me.  After being spanked by her mother for doing something she mistakenly did for the right reason but in the wrong place, a little girl is then comforted by her nanny.  That nanny’s words to a precious young child still ring in my ears and have done so since the first time I saw the film – “Remember, you is kind, you is smart and you is important”.

When I saw the above picture, I immediately thought of that string of words spoken so beautifully to a child in need of a kind word.  I wondered how many of us would be able to say the same sentence to ourselves but replace ‘you is’ by ‘I am’.  And if we did say it out loud, would we really believe what we are saying?

I am kind.  I am smart.  I am important.  Those are powerful words and they should be allowed to shape my reality.  I have always believed I am kind, but the old me would have had a very tough time agreeing that I was smart and that I was important.  The inability for me to be able to put that “I am” before a number of adjectives truly did shape my young reality.

But thankfully the paradigm of my reality shifted and I found a new confidence to believe those words.  I am kind.  I am smart.  I am important.  I am many other things that I have found the freedom to believe about myself without letting outside influences impact the reflection I see in the mirror.

Be a powerful voice for yourself.  Be willing to admit your strengths and embrace them.  Be proud of those things that make you who you are.  I yam.

Oh, the things you’ll see

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cloud porn

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Hours after a summer rain,

the skies are host to what I like to refer to as “cloud porn”.

It is my guilty pleasure to watch the shapes change,

to watch what or whom the sky would like to reveal.

I didn’t see the face with the big sunglasses,

smiling from the sky,

until I added the picture below.

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It’s not narcissism if someone else writes it

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He wandered in from the past like a daydream.

The words in his email hung in my reality like a cartoon balloon.

I had spent months trying to track him down,

hunting him like he was an endangered species,

 trying to bring him back into the safety of our tribe.

But he was in the wind.

He left no scent of his trail and he had found refuge in his own world.

 After leaving the chase behind,

we became the hunted and he, in turn, became the hunter.

There is a muted sound that is made

when two worlds collide.

It is the sound of making right what was wrong,

of discovering things you hadn’t realized were lost,

of filling a space you had forgotten was empty.

 And even after all the time that has elapsed,

some days it feels like he never even left.

He is that consummate friend you know will always be there,

even if it is twenty-five years later.

He is the man who any mother would be proud of,

(and other mothers would have a crush on).

He is a man I am honored to call my friend.

It is not often you can find another heart on a sleeve

that recognizes that placement as a strength and not a weakness.

He is a kindred spirit, a confidant,

and he is a friend I will not let disappear again.

A post about the a-hole at the liquor store

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For those who follow my blog or know me personally, you know I live in a small town.  Our liquor store is an over-sized log cabin that can be accessed by land or by water.  Because we host a large percentage of the city’s population in the summer, our LCBO is a bustling metropolis at the slowest of times.  Cars line the two-lane black top to be able to pull off the road into the parking lot for their chance at a desired parking spot.  For those unlucky enough to be a few minutes too late, we wait in line for the next available spot.

Today I was first in that wait line.  I pulled into the lot, waited patiently on the side of the entrance, and watched a few happy customers as they left the store with their familiar brown bags.  As I was looking at their contented faces heading towards their BMW’s and Lexi (Muskoka plural for Lexus’), a beat up pick up truck, paying no heed to the rule of the line-up, ignored me patiently waiting for a spot as if I were invisible, passed my on my driver’s side and decided to create its own “parking spot”, conveniently blocking a total of four vehicles from exiting their soon-to-be-vacant actual parking spots.

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The driver of the truck got out, acknowledged my car waiting to park, also acknowledged the woman in the Lexus trying to exit her space, shrugged and made his way into the store.  I’ve seen my share of selfish moves since Toronto moved North for the summer but this one truly angered me.  This guy saw me waiting for a spot, saw the Lexus driver (and, potentially, two other cars) waiting to exit and blatantly sauntered across the macadam into the store as if the rest of the world did not even exist.  I was speechless, apart from a few well-placed expletives.

I am a patient person.  If you are in a rush, I am the first to let you go ahead of me to help you in your quest.  But if your quest is to be the most arrogant and uncaring person in town, count me out.   I only wish I had the foresight to take down  your license plate number so I could rat you out in a more personal way.