Charles Leblanc continues to shake, rattle and roll all over this province!

I call him "CrazyMan Blogger" because he's outrageous.  He calls me "The Irving Blogger" because its ironic. And, well, for a short stint, I published a blog on their media website thinking this was a good thing.  And, he's never let me forget it.  Like I had paid off the devil or something.  

When God made Charles, he threw away the mold.  Thank God he is in my life, this man who is who he is........ one of the most intelligent, politically astute, emotionally driven crazyman I have ever met.   He's the Jerry Lee Lewis of blogging!  Shake Rattle and Roll!

Most days, he checks on me through a chat pop up on facebook .......... Sometimes we swap quick opinions, juicy news, clips of stories, maybe even an email or two.  And every now and then, we have a chance to catch up live and in person.  But by then, so many stories, personal experiences, events have flowed under that darn Westmorland Street bridge that its almost impossible to get to a point in the conversation when there's nothing left to catch up on.  Our discussions have no ending......... it just continues where we left off after we've hugged and said our goodbyes. 

Charles Leblanc is a constant in my life.  A good friend. Someone who cares and someone I care about deeply.  It's a mutual respect thing........ but goes deeper than that.  I think we get one another.  Two misfits who see the world through similar eyes............ well, at least the political swirly world.   And the  man cracks me up!!!!   Sure we are very different.  Our upbringing couldn't be more opposite.  Even now from a surface perspective, our lives appear to be very different.  But, we have much in common that allows us to connect cognitvely, emotionally and spiritually at a comfort level that I don't share with many others.   We have shared the vulnerable stories that make up our spirits, as well as the piss and vinegar side of our selves.  How many people can you say that about in your life??

The majority of what we discuss never ever makes it to either one of our blogs. Blogger secrets!!!  I know he's shared stuff with me that will allow me to go to my grave laughing.  I have done the same!  I love it when I can share something with Charles he hasn't heard yet.  That is a feat in itself because the man is EVERYWHERE and knows the dirt on most people in this whole freaking province!

My God, the man is wired into the pulse of this place and it scares many! However, people knock on his apartment window night and day to find out the dirt, and to share some dirt.  Dirt swapping.  It's good journalism, because MOST of the dirt is news.  Sadly, this province's media is predominantly tied up with one family.  The Irvings.  Charles, "Crazyman Blogger" has a love/hate relationship with them that is healthy, wealthy (for them) and wise (for both).   He has the same relationships with paid journalists too.  They know where to go to seek out some facts.  Fiction too.  'Cause sometimes he has facts that go beyond the realm of what really happened.  This isn't a surprise given that so many people are in touch with him.   But, I got to say, the  majority of information Charles acquires is the honest to God truth.  

Some of it is heartbreaking.  Some of it is butt slapping hilarious.  A lot of it is eye popping.  Can I just say it's a breath of FRESH air to talk to someone who is the salt of the earth and who sees it in the others around him and writes about it?  He also sees the pontificating phonies too and they know it.  That's a threat eh?

So, why am I writing about my friend tonight?  Well, he's had a momentous week.  He spent 70 hours behind bars (without his medication btw!) for going TOO far with his megaphone antics in front of the Fredericton police station.  Drove everyone batty!  Created havoc in the boardrooms within listening distance.  Irritated the throngs of folks who work in the area barking out his mantra about being treated differently than others.  All over a ticket for riding his bike on the sidewalk.  They arrested him for disturbing the peace.   Hello?  He's been disturbing, shaking, challenging and rattling the peace all his life.  And good on him!  More people should be like Charles.  But then, he wouldn't be as unique, as effective if others were like him.  

Charles is one smart fella!  Never one to keep his opinions, nor his feelings on a matter to himself, he lives above the radar.  Can you imagine always living above the radar?  But, that's where he has chosen to remain.  What an advocate he is too!  Think about how many stories have been revealed by this man, many of which would never have made the light of day. 

 For the past couple of days, this "place of honour" has foisted him into the "first news item" time slot in the media.  Good God, he even usurped the Harvest Jazz and Blues headlines by becoming the top headline in the local Irving paper.   People are talking either about the headliners at Harvest OR about Monsieur Leblanc.  It's a hilarious combination.......... I heard both discussed at the Market today, and on the radio this week.   Ironic given that he normally skips town when the Harvest takes over his downtown.  You gotta laugh at that one Charles! 

As much as he was probably striving for this attention, it is still stressful. and I don't think he ever thought he'd end up in JAIL!    But, believe me there are more folks out there who admire and appreciate Charles' work as a journalist blogger than the folks who find his antics beyond the realm of acceptable. But,  he has a point too.  

His choice of driving everyone batty on the police station end of Queen Street in this anal retentive conservative city of stately elms may not be "acceptable" to the folks who have to sit in boardrooms in strategic planning sessions.  Loud speaker phones are comparable to screeching brakes on a transport going downhill.  But, because he has chosen to live above the radar actively documenting the political, personal, and community based events in this part of the world, Charles is now treated differently than others.  He's a marked man.  He's pissed people off.  He's created a power struggle and by doing so has exposed the hierarchical hypocrisy of our system.   

Who else gets a ticket for riding a bike on a sidewalk for God's sakes??  Unjust.  Simple. 

No, I am not seeing him through rose tinted glasses.  I see his real-ness because he has shown that to me.  I am well aware of his previous shit disturbing, most recently his over the top ADHD/OCD sandwich board messages during the last election.  He made the local MLA sitting member's life miserable!  And he lost too!   I probably would have been irritated if I had to work in the area while this madman was barking out his mantra over a speaker phone.  (who the hell gave him that piece of equipment anyways???)  However, I believe it could've been handled very differently than it was.   Like everyone on this planet...... Like Charles does himself for others......... he wanted to be listened to.  Why wasn't someone listening to him instead of simply dismissing his message as noise?   He HAS been treated differently than others. 

I call him "CrazyMan Blogger" because he's outrageous.  He calls me "The Irving Blogger" because its ironic.  More importantly, we call each other friends.   Will someone please listen to this human being?  Drop the charges and lets all move on before it becomes even more ridiculous than it already is! 

ps.......Charles?  Thank God for you.  Yes, you are a marked person and you've known it for a long time.  You've chosen a life of shaking, rattling and rolling.  But, that doesn't mean that anyone can treat you any differently than someone else.  You always have my support and I hope you will always know that.   The gift you gave me when I needed it the most?  I will never forget it.  Neither will dozens of others who have experienced the hurting side of life and found you by their side walking a  mile or two with them as they struggled to find their footing again.  You sir, will find your footing again.  Keep on walkin'!  Keep on talkin'!

give us this day.......

Have you ever stopped at the end of the day when nighttime chimes its call to slumber and asked... Why was I given this day?  Tonight, as I try to answer, my mind seeks out a beginning point only to find a series of other questions rolling out of the original one.... 

What seeds did I plant?

What seeds did I sow?

Who touched me with their presence, both in person and from afar? 

Whom did I touch? 

Learning....what did I learn? Was I able to pass on any of my knowledge?

If I could capture the essence of feelings that accompanied me today, what colour would they be?

Who did I remember?

What did I do and how did I feel while I was doing it?

From one seemingly simple question, a plush red carpet rolls out of my reflections revealing more to consider.  Each one offers a gift of a deeper look into the day I was given as a gift.   In prayer, we request from God,  "give us this day our daily bread...." sustenance to thrive on.  We request this.  Upon reflection we can assess how we utilized this gift of days we are given that make up our lives.   

Did I stop.........just once to look around me ..... to see the beauty of my surroundings?

Where did I find the beauty?

Did I stop ... just once to look around me ..... to see the woundedness in my surroundings?

What shocked my senses?

When did I laugh?  

Did I reveal frustration, anger, confusion or did I stuff it inside because no one wants to see those big time uglies.  

Did I allow someone else to express the uglies, to help them rid them? 

What did I create today? 

How did I stretch my imagination?

How did I challenge my sensibilities?

What made me uncomfortable? 

Who was with me in spirit helping to guide me at some point today?

Did loneliness come to visit?

Why was I given this day......?

Was I kind to someone?

Did I scatter more seeds than I sowed?

So many of our days, we push through the 24 hour cycle like our lives are situated on top of a treadmill, our pace the same, our steps the same in order to keep going, keep balanced.  Maybe we need sameness because our lives are just too startling and stressful at the moment.  Just to "get through" them is a feat.  Maybe we dread stopping for fear of being accosted by the stark realities burdening our hearts, weighing heavily on our shoulders.  Maybe we skip through a day with a madness of last minute shopping before Christmas and forget that its the joy of giving, the satisfaction of finding just the right gift for someone we love not the completion of the never ending list of "to do's" that matters.  Some days seem so lacking in any stimulation that you feel like you've lived it over and over again. 

I'm left wondering if perhaps these are the kinds of days when asking the question...... Why was I given this day ...... matters the most?

Ask the question, the treadmill stops.  Ask the question and the opportunity to nurture the startling stress with attention happens.  Ask the question and the burdens are acknowledged and greeted by awareness.   Ask the question and that omnipresent fear of being alone is filled with the real connections you made with others......... face to face, over the phone, through an email, on facebook, at the store, passing someone in the street, at work, in the classroom, out in the parking lot, in your mind's eye. 

Did you know that there are at least 3 people out in the big old world who not only thought of you, but love you too.  You may not get to see them every single day, but they are out there rooting for you!  Cheering you on!

Ask the question to God?  "Why was I given this day God?"   He's a good sounding board.  However, chances are like a good therapist (the ultimate therapy dude, really) God will reflect the question back for you to answer.  "You tell me.... Why did I give you this day,"  He asks...... and you're left figuring it out, with His supportive touch guiding you through the perplexities any opened ended question promotes. 

Before the darkness around you folds into your own internal quiet lights out, let your dreams evolve from the abundance of silent reflections.  Let your day flow into the refreshing slumber with your gaze be filtered by a sense of resolution. No matter how difficult or trying it was, it can be transformed from an ordinary day on a treadmill to one that actually mattered because of the gifts you gave and received yourself.  

I may never have all the answers I want by the time I'm sound asleep....... sometimes the questions keep me up way after my bedtime and that's alright.  What I do know is that if I take the time to ponder, even the most wretched day holds a few gems.  And if I know I have a handful of gems, it seems to make the struggles all the worthwhile.

So, tonight I ponder, and peak into the wildness of my broad question.......  "Why was I given this day?"  To fill with as much life as I could..........with as much colour as i could.  And I believe I accomplished just that.....

Now its time to dream........of you.  Why?  Because you are with me every day.... in my actions, in my feelings, in my imagination, and in my soul.  You.  And I thank you for sharing this bountiful life with me.  Little did you know, but you eased my suffering, added to my joy, challenged and stretched my abilities.  It was you and the connection I have with you that turned this ordinary day into a recognized bouquet of blessings.

 

Where your treasure is, there is your heart also.........

                                                    

"Gloria's Poppy."

Now poster size, 

this umbrella beauty is framed and hangs 

above my bed to protect me from storms 

Hi there!  I can't believe how little I've been blogging.  I've been writing, but not on this site.  I seem to be finding new avenues to explore, and I'm enjoying all of them...... one on one communications as well as journaling.  It feels like right now, much of what I want to share I want to share with one person at a time.  The written conversations as well as the face to face ones have been rich in emotional texture.... good heart opening stuff, which has left me feeling a sense of prosperity deeper than I have felt in years.  

Whether its been in a canoe (yes, I've been paddling...and will go again soon), around my little campfire pit in my backyard.......whether its been long rambling laughter filled conversations on the phone late into the night, or beautiful sharing of hearts through fingertip touching internet style, it's all been healing,  life affirming.  The strength of my friendships with both family and friends has deepened too,for all of us.  Not just me.   Vulnerability does have its up side.  You tend to get to a place where you really don't give a rat's ass what you say and you say what you mean with an honesty far away from shadows. 

Meaningfully beyond, beyond the daily doses of chatty surface stuff.

Every single day brings forth a cornucopia of life events and connections with surprising twists and turns, most of which has a dash of absurdist hilarity, a doppling of doubt, a wallop of reality, and a softening of heart. Feelings and thoughts are stirred inside me as I dwell in this fantastic emotionally driven place of inner creative flow. I know that when I have time to capture some of its wondrous essence, I may just have myself an interesting book written. 

The shock has lifted.  I was hesitant to believe it, but it has.  That's not to say I'm not sad and angry still.  Sadness grabs hold of me at the most inopportune times.  Anger sometimes seeps out of me like a viper and I try my best not to direct it at anyone.  When it hits........ I sing the song from Finding Nemo when Dory calls Nemo "Mr Grumpy Gills..."

Just keep swimming,

Just keep swimming.......

I'm not startled anymore.  My house isn't startled anymore.  Most importantly, my children aren't startled anymore.  Big emotions still, of course, but no startling.  We are in good shape to enter into the summer vacation months.  This was one goal I had for them.  I wanted them to have time to gather their strength while finding their footing again.  I am inspired by their resiliency and their ability to process the life altering changes thrown at them, knowing they are loved, loved, loved.  I am blessed to learn from them and to lead them as their resilient Momma.

I also have learned that the universe certainly does look after you if you allow it to.  I didn't believe this. I thought it was some new age tired mantra crock  set up to convince you to be irresponsible of actions and thoughts.  It's funny, the more resentful I became that I didn't feel a sense of equality and balance in my marriage, the more shut down I was from the possibility that this feeling could come from another place.... that the universe will  look after you.  Its not like you're there for a free ride.  Far from it, but there comes a point when surrendering up one's control panel and letting go of the "stuff" that seemed so damn important at the time can produce a sense of freedom that literally makes the air thin and beautiful refreshing.  

In so doing, I'm taking new steps I never thought I would.  I'm seeking out as well as receiving newness.  Change is being embraced.  The winds are bringing them to me and I like the look and feel of the new breezes.  Who knows where it will lead.  Who knows where I will land?  It doesn't matter the destination right now.  What matters is that I am surrounded by love, concern, and such beautiful encouragement that I can't help but smile more.  The treasures are felt inside the heart, abundantly. 

I have returned to poetic words of John O'Donohue.  His blessings ARE a blessing.  Reading his prose, particularly in his book Anam Cara, I feel like I'm reading it for the first time.  Why?  Because my gaze has changed.  The lens I am fitted with right now is flexible and colourful.  This morning I read this again.... 

"The state of one's heart inevitably shapes one's life; it is ultimately the place where everything is decided.

• A courageous heart will go forth and engage with life despite confusion and fear
• A fearful heart will be hesitant and will tend to hold back
• A heavy heart will make for a gloomy, unlived life
• A compassionate heart need never carry burden of judgment
• A forgiving heart knows the art of liberation
• A loving heart awakens the spirit of possibility and engagement of others."

Today, I believe I have found my courageous heart.  There is no doubt in my mind that I am where I am because of the compassionate and loving hearts who have surrounded me with their light.  God dwells in our hearts.  As Father O'Donohue states........ "the heart is the divine sanctuary...."  How rich we are to carry that in us.  

Hey!  Here I am................and I feel fine. xxx

imagine

Imagination, be it friend or foe is the firelight that beams into your soul.  It is the necessary tool to be able to expand on a raindrop of an idea.  It can also turn one teardrop into a puddle big enough to splash around in.

Our imagination carries us beyond the mind by inviting us to enter through passageways of possibilities.  It is the sweetening of wonder.  It is the booster juice of inspiration.  It is the fuel injection required to unblock and unleash the musings wandering aimlessly in the galaxy, motioning them to formulate creatively. 

Sometimes that curious imagination finds out things before you're even ready to go there.  It thrives on questions and various "what if" scenarios and turns them into wicked flights of fantasy where wishes upon wishes transform into a multi-sensory carnival of dreams just waiting for you to unleash your inhibitions, doubts and fears so you can replace them with passionate exploration.  If you allow your imagination to run freely you may find yourself on a ride you never knew existed, or you thought was beyond your reach.  But, if you can imagine it can you then transform it into something tangible and real?  Can an illusion ever be held in the palm of your hands?

Imagination dips itself into the well of mystery........... oh, how it LOVES a good mystery.   Feed it with pieces of life puzzles and it folds itself into a hideaway nook to savour ever single tasty morsel.  Be careful of the stings.  Be prepared for some surprising feelings.......for our imagination often has a unique way of rebuilding the puzzle.  It may not be how you want it to look, sound, feel like.  It may be dangerously painful.  It may distort the lines of reality all the while trying to convince you of its honesty.  Sometimes our self created imagery will carry us into a sinkhole of doubting dialogue and with one full swoop, send you far away from any comfort you have carefully tucked in all around you.

At times it seems almost impossible to rein in our expansive fabrications.  We start spiralling down into a tunnel, haunted by memories and prickly pain only to land with a thud inside a chamber of horrific thoughts?  Why do we allow ourselves to go there?  Do we need to experience the dark side reality of our imagery in order to eventually let go of it?  Is this where we kick and kick until we bleed daylight?

Maybe the travels we take down the side of the mountain where the sun doesn't shine forces us to wrestle the truth from the sticky goo of falsehoods.  Maybe its all a part of learning from our sorrows. Maybe it allows us to ask the question.... "IS this the truth?  Is what I'm thinking the truth?"

Most days, I embrace my imagination and allow it to lead me beyond the wild.  I love the fact that my mind is an endless babbling two way conversation with ideas rich with possibilities.  On days when it is my friend, I can float on optimism and hope.  I can plan productively, think clearly, sharpen my view of what could possibly be beyond the horizon.  Its those other days when the it feels more like a noose around my soul and all I can hear is the same dialogue.... the same song over and over again. It's an obsessive mantra full of failure and rejection, cascading over a waterfall of tears. 

My imagination can lead me to an open beach with life affirming salty breezes where I feel loved and at one with this glorious world all around me, but it can also steer me into a abandoned alley reeking in human waste.  No matter how hard I try to avoid those stinking alleyways, sometimes its just impossible. 

Yesterday, I made it to the beach.  Just in time.   The singing sands beach in Souris, Prince Edward Island.  I had it all to myself.  I made the sands sing as I walked along the shore.  These sands are famous for their singing.  And when I returned to the car to head back to Charlottetown, my toes were still humming........ my friendly imagination was returning.  The noose was loosening.  Though my sense of failure and rejection still rattles inside me.  The shock of hasn't worn off yet. My raw anger has not floated away.......yet. 

_______________________

ps..... so many good things have happened to me over the past two months, and a few very funny things too.  I havent had much time to write these days, and long to.  I hope I will be able to capture some of the lighter parts soon........... Just have to find the stillness in me to start, write and complete a piece all in one sitting.  Its seems impossible right now.  Stillness is a fleeting wave  .......

interim .....

get over it
get on with it.
you've got to move on......

not that i particularly enjoy sitting in the field during the interim, i know there is a purpose.  to reach a place where bitterness is left behind, where unanswered questions can be laid to rest, where some answers can be discovered, i have to restlessly remain in a place between "back there and over there...."

sure, i'd love to know the secret timeline for "getting over it....."  does anyone know? 
what are the rules to this process?  OH!  It's an individual thing...... nice.   this isn't a good answer for a chronic perambulating thinker. 

I wish there were times when I could just stop the incessant thinking.  But, that's an impossibility, and absurd in my case.  prayer helps this.... will do more of that. 

just remember..........God provides minimum protection and maximum support.......

yes, yes.......... He's there in that field.... holding me as I face the elements. He's in the ground below where I sit, offering me a pretty fantastic view.....360 degrees, past, present and future.  He keeps reminding me to...

Sit, go slow, walk to clear your head, write to let the feelings and pent up words out, to connect with others,  to do things,  to push outside of the comfort zone often,  to talk it out........ to pray.  He keeps showing up in the most interesting places with a smile and a listening ear.  He lets me be.  He lets me be.  Unprotected but supported. 

I'm learning...... when I think of what I've learned in just a short month, I smile.  I'm smiling.

grief knows no boundaries.  sure there are certain rules of decorum.  i mean you can't prostrate yourself in the middle of a busy intersection without someone calling for the straight jacket.  people grow weary quickly if you carry on too openly with your vitriolic woe is me schtick.  on the other hand, they look at you with judgemental eyes if move too quickly too.  so, what are the rules?  what is the timeline? 

I can only be myself.  But, that didn't work did it?  I was who I am and was rejected. 
Still, I will be myself.
I am who I am.
I can change....... his perceptions of me seem so clearly wrong.  I can't change that.

i have few answers to the questions which bore deep inside me, and this isn't going to change. the answers are not forthcoming and will never be.   i can only twist myself into a pretzel trying to fill in the blanks, trying to face down my own part in the dance that ended.  the sorries have no depth, no meat to them.  things happen, i am told.  i didn't mean it to.  

no that was a choice i say.....a hurting one. a deeply sorrowful hurting one.

it makes me want to lash out.  sometimes i do.  most times i try my best to let it go.  it was not my choice. my choices have come after the dance ended.  the dance has ended. 

we danced so beautifully together..........lively and free......

yeah, we have choices and can choose bravery over weak-kneed escapes. 
the choices reverberate like a clanging gong...........inside me sometimes. 
other times, the gong settles..........
and i know the answers will not be forthcoming.
my apologies to myself and others do.
and soon forgiveness?
i tried.  not good enough it seems.  but i tried.

i'm in the iterim field of lonely still, but i do see that i've moved a speck to the left.  forgiveness is where i am.  forgiveness is where the lifting of the spirit resides.  breathing helps.  breathing is where i am. today.

did you know that the word spirit comes from the word breath?  did you know that the holy spirit is a feminine entity?  as a woman, I will breathe life back into my feminine soul........ like i did with my children.  they came from my breath. 

renewal begins in the spring.....in a field of interim.  I am breathing, filling my lungs the best i can.  my wings are evolving.   eventually a new dance will arise......

Let's see what today brings......... :)

creature comforts and riding the coaster....

Its not just family and friends who stumble through the painful transition of a marriage meltdown, it also includes the whole atmosphere around you.  Our lenses alter dramatically,  foisting us into seeing things in such a different way.  Its like a multi-sensory seismic shift on top of a teutonic plate of moving perspectives, shaky perceptions, and growing alternatives.  Everything has a different meaning.  Some things become more powerfully symbolic.  You can do your best to predict what may trigger your sensibilities, but you can't  prepare yourself fully.  

I guess this is all a part of the roller coaster ride I am on at the Camp Destructo Theme Park.  Frig, I wish they would shut down the power and turn the lights off for a spell!  They keep playing our songs! They keep throwing me curveball items that are attached to meaningful moments in the 25 years I shared with this man I still refer to as my husband but shouldn't.  Even where I am writing this (my kitchen), all I have to do is lift my eyes and I'm surrounded by "things" that were wedding presents, birthday gifts, pieces I use when we've had fabulously fun parties.  It is a minefield of memory triggers that tend to hit the hardest when I am the most raw and tired. Sweet Jesus!  I'm staring at a Bugs Bunny cookie jar that seems to be smiling back at me!  A birthday presnt to a Looney Tunes fanatic who despite everything still makes me laugh.

This list of these unpredictable triggers seems endless, even if I'm not so consciously aware of them because they make up my home.  The esthetics of comfort which display our personalites as individual family members, and as a whole family that we have carefully accumlated are like rings inside a mature tree.......... a giving tree.......... a tree we planted together with hope and dreams in our hearts.  

My home is shifting.  The pictures on the wall, the photos lovingly framed and displayed throughout the house, the furniture and colour scheme, the knicknacks and dinnerware, the bookshelves brimming with favourite stories, pottery given as gifts or chosen because it fit who we were,  shells picked up on beaches, candles which burned so brightly not so long ago..... all seem to have a layer of archeological dust on them now. They sit in inanimate silence, but hold stories that all seem to start with the same sentence..........."Once upon a time......"  Sometimes, their silence is deafening.

It used to be that this home felt like a haven, not just to me but to my family and to our friends who have joined us in many celebrations over the years.  It is an extension of us.  It is an extension of me, especially this kitchen.  I created this haven....... this place people felt so welcome to walk into.   It used to be that I was his home.  He told me so. Often. I was his home.  Like a broken platter, once used to carry cheer, I have been replaced.  His home is somewhere else.....restyled and fresh. It's where his heart is.  Comfort in a foreign land.

My heart is here.  The person I called home is gone.  I feel adrift. 

Its easy just to brush off the idea that stuff really has no meaning.  It does and not just for me. It holds meaning for all of us.  It holds meaning for my children......... much of it allows them a sense of security inside a place that is shifting. So, I can't just push it all away and start again from scratch.  I wouldn't want to do that anyways, because I know my sharp jolting feelings I get when the roller coaster takes a nasty curve will eventually slow down so I can readjust my senses and fix my windblown hair.  

Some of the things will be moved out to join his new home (or maybe not....his new home may not want that.) Some will be tossed onto a heap for a yard sale, refreshed by a new colour scheme, a new "look", a new feel.  And some, will eventually be used over the seasons when the time is less ripe and more right and will represent a softer look back on a different time and place, when this was a dwelling for a family of four and a dog who hasn't quite figured out the lay of the land yet.  We are all suffering from a bit of canine confusion.

What triggers me now, I will eventually come to terms with.  What may take a much longer time to settle is the way I define home and the way he has chosen to define his.  In the meantime, I think I will avoid a few cupboards and choose carefully the soundtrack of music which used to send me into a place of comfort and joy....... which used to ground me into a sense of love and belonging, until the dust settles a bit.  Its the best I can do.  That and sometimes gather the courage to press play on a song from our past and have a good long cry.   Unfortunately, Van Morrison will have to wait a long, long time before I can return to his melodies.  It just too painful.

You know, I used to LOVE the amusement park.  I guess I still do. Roller coasters are my favourite rides.  Water slides too!  Maybe its time to chose another form of amusement.............. calm.   NO!  That's just not who I am. It may be what his other home offer more of........ calm.  But, here?  The rides may be painful and long at times, but they also offer an exhilarating array of joy and a sense of LIFE living.  I'll take the Polar Express option any time over a bland merry go round.

ps.  I have started making changes............. I now live in an indigo blue bedroom thanks to the help of my sister who came to visit over the Easter weekend. More to be done in there before it feels like a sanctuary again, but just by changing the colour and some of the decor I see hope through this long transitional time in my life.

I'll work towards refreshing my soundtrack too...........slowly.

what does it mean?

Silence is not a void of noise and activity.  Rather, it is filled with the grace of interconnected thoughts and feelings, wishes and desires.   It can be manipulated as a control seeking weapon to create an off kilter feeling for others or released as a soothing hand of peace. 

Kept to oneself or shared with another, 
silence can be

disturbing

calculatingly frosty

comforting

loving

questionable

uncomfortable

fractured

broken

bonding

beautiful

confusing

reassuring

resting

life ending

life affirming

sorrowful
hushed in hesitation

trapped

tempting

angry

meditative

prayer-full

eternal

drowning

contemplative

depressing

hibernating

struggling
restful even breathing

freeing

breathlessly loving

embracing

intense

noisy!

softening

surrendering

trying
irritating

frightening

intimate
reverentially refreshing
mysterious

Is it no wonder we struggle to interpret the silence of another? Its meaning is so broad.  Why?  Is it because silence is always tied to cause and effect...........? What precipitated it?  What is the reason behind the silence?  Why have you chosen to be silent today?  Silence is not a void of noise and activity.  The type of silence we choose communicates messages to all..........

What does your silence mean today?  How do you think others are interpreting it? How are you receiving the silence of others around you?  How does it make you feel??

all my life's a circle..........

In the chilly hours and minutes,
Of uncertainty, I want to be,
In the warm hold of your loving mind.

To feel you all around me,
And to take your hand, along the sand,
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind.
Donovan.....

The candles are burning bright tonight in my home as I write this. Lily, our trusty pooch, is monitoring the front lawn through the window looking for little trick or treaters carrying big goodie loot bags, all excited to be out in the dark on this blustery Halloween Eve. There is a combined sense of fright and delight.

I love Halloween. It truly does bring the neighbourhood together in a different way than on any other day of the year. Little Emma down the street, who is almost 4 years old (how did that happen??!) looked so adorable in her flowy pink wizard costume. Of course, Lily had to be the first greeter as she ploughed past me as I opened the door........... her tail wagging, a smile on her face. When we opened the door to Emma, it was a reunion between friends. I heard this tiny little voice exclaim.......... "Happy Halloween Lily!" Then, a big yawn came from the worn out wizardess, and a polite thank you without any prompting. :) So grown up!

Tonight, I'm have the house to myself. I chose to stay behind to hand out the Halloween candy. I'm too wiped out and physically feeling a bit off kilter. To combat a sense of weariness, I've lit dozens of candles and put on a CD chock full of the songs I love to listen to when I am in need of rejuvenation. It feels like a multi-sensory haven which has generated a sense of grounding and a lovely feeling of nostalgia wafting all around me. It's exactly where I want to be, reflectively soaking it all up.

Every single song that has played tonight has conjured up a photo album of beautiful faces, heart held memories ............... stuff that dreams are made of .... Within the tunes, I can hear intimate conversations, envision late night guitar picking, picture smiles and tears, reunions and shared walks. I remember boisterous campfires, spirit moving canoe paddles, nights laying on a floating dock looking up at a sky so full of stars. Close enough to wrap your hands around them. And then there were the nights when the northern lights danced up from the horizon. Oh my God, they are sight to behold.

It's the stuff that dreams are made of
It's the slow and steady fire
It's the stuff that dreams are made of
It's your heart and soul's desire
It's the stuff that dreams are made of.... (Carly Simon)

Connections to past and present feed an internal flame that propels me onto to the adventure ahead..... wherever that may lead, whatever it offers. While the music plays on, I fall into a place deep inside... where the ME in me is most authentic. To label it with feelings? A profound sense of gladness.

My gladness, however, is steeped in multiple layers of feelings, softened by a cotton gauze over the lens with which I view it. Tears spring forward, smiles too as I realize how much time has already marched on in my life and how FULL it has been thus far. I bring forth the living spirits of the people who continue to touch me .... the ones in particular who are far away in physical distance, but never ever far from my grateful heart. I kiss them all tonight. I kiss them all......

When rain has hung the leaves with tears,
I want you near, to kill my fears
To help me to leave all my blues behind.

For standin' in your heart,
Is where I want to be, and I long to be,
Ah, but I may as well, try and catch the wind.
(Donovan)

As the outside winds send welcoming gusts from the past summers in blustery autumn billows, I sit here surrounded by the wafting scents of candles and wonder what makes their flames flicker and dance in unison? I think I know.

I 'm not alone in this ultimate adventure called life. Let the music play on.....

It seems like I've been here before;
I can't remember when;
But I have this funny feeling;
That we'll all be together again.
No straight lines make up my life;
And all my thoughts have bends;
There's no clear-cut beginnings;
And so far no dead-ends.

All my life's a circle;
But I can't tell you why;
Season's spinning round again;
The years keep rollin' by.

Harry, keep the change, Chapin.

This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is adventure. Mine is enhanced daily by my friends and family.... the beautiful people whose spiritual presence always make the candlelight flicker and dance and bring meaning to the music that touches my soul.

whiskey soakin'....

Fix me a glass of your restless complications
I will drink them 'til I bleed
Let me inhale your tenderhearted secrets
the ones you won't let me read.

Weep no more inside your fighting soul
Complications can unwind
Straight up whiskey summons late night stories
share with me what's on your mind.

Pour another round of hurting memories
Amber drops to ease the pain
I'll sit with you 'til the moon's forgotten
when that loving sun delights again.

If experience is your chosen mistress
then the blues will set you free
Fix me another glass of your complications
Restless fears never frightened me.


the words found me during a drive this morning to Saint John while I was thinking about a friend.

into the wind...

True fearlessness derives from tenderness.
Its not a head thing. Its a heart thing.
Lean into the wind. Take a risk.
You may topple over and scrape yourself. You may not.
Either way, you gain knowledge of yourself once lost in a secret undiscovered pocket.
You will soften.
You will let go of the fear.

Trust your emotional intelligence as much as you trust your intellect.
For this is where we learn to accept fear as a friend and not a foe.
From the softness of our hearts, not from the hard wiring of our brain comes the discovery of why we harbour anxiety, depression, anger and restlessness.
If we look beyond the surface of our behaviour/our reactions to what is happening in our lives........beyond the head summaries equipped with rationalization, denial, avoidance......tired coping mechanisms, we find the courage to ask WHY.
When we ask why, we face down our fears.
Lean into the wind. Take a risk.
If you're never open to asking why? You will continue to stoke the fires of your own misery.

A friend told me a story this week about her first foray rock climbing. She didn't start on a beginner's rock face. Rather, she jumped right into the adventure and took on a steep challenge. She was ready to take it on, unwilling to be defined by her self imposed phobia.

All her life, she has been afraid of heights. She spoke of how she could never climb the metal ladder in her cousin's barn to get up to the hay loft because she would freeze halfway up....caught in her head anxieties. Determined to overcome this, she accepted an invitation to go out into the world of rock climbing with a friend who was an expert, who she trusted She never told how fearful she was. He had no idea.

Initially, she made it up 20 feet and froze.........her lifelong terror gripped her and for a few moments, she almost gave up. But something inside her softened. She allowed her heart to lead more than her anxious head, and she found her footing.

Halfway up, my friend lost her footing, fell off the face of the hill and dangled in the safety harness. High above ground, she looked around and realized she could trust the gear, trust the process. It was after she toppled over, and dangled in mid air for a bit that she found her real footing. Her fear evaporated right in the middle of a mistake.

She transformed into a warrior rock climber that day, ready to take a new risk....

new love

Today I held a three day old beautiful baby girl named Anna. Sweet Anna. Such tiny perfection cradled in my arms. She is the daughter of my friend's daughter. First child, first grandchild. New love in heaps and heaps......

I offered to stop in to help the brand new Mom, stressed and exhausted from the whole birthing process, but mostly from how she was treated in the hospital. Her immediate concern was her perceived inability to nurse Anna. She had no reservoir of confidence left. Everything is new and everything feels uncomfortable.....physically and emotionally. After being bullied by the breastfeeding Nurse Nazis, with their holier than thou attitudes about nursing versus bottle feeding and their abrupt dismissive behaviour, this new Mom didn't think she could do it. She didn't believe she had the "goods" to keep her daughter fed properly. It leaves me wondering, not for the first time, if they have FORGOTTEN just how strange and new it feels right after you've had your first baby. Shame on them!

Tired and sore, she was ready to give up and most of this was due to how these nursing Nazis treated her. How sad, when she is so keen to make it work. Her milk only just came in today. This is new......... and yet she was feeling like a failure because she was left with confusion, and many many questions that we all have when babies take over our lives. All normal stuff and worries, exacerbated by a health system that is pathetically understaffed and overworked and cranky!!!!!

Certainly there is a strong sense of maternal intuition that kicks in after you give birth. I felt it myself the first night the nurses brought Martha to me, all swaddled with her little lips pursed, ready to be fed. As much as I was terrified of the daunting responsibility ahead of me, I fell in love that night which kicked in my desire to interact with my new baby. A washing softening bathed me in this feeling. I asked Anna's Mom how she felt, and she described a similar feeling.

Most of what we do, however and how we approach our role as a parent is, in my opinion learned through our own connections. Luckily this Mom and babe have a many loving people in their lives who will support her as they learn together. They are surrounded by healthy connections and interactions. We are social beings.... and we need to recognize that we all need help. Life's events, life's lessons are overwhelming if we feel inadequate starting out!

In my arms, Anna turned her head and began rooting as she sought out sustenance. I showed the new Mom how to best to hold Anna in order to have her latch on properly. It took two tries and they were off to the races. Relief came instantly for both of them. While Anna was nursing....the questions tumbled out in a hurry...... and I did my best to answer them, while emphasizing how the whole bonding thing is really learn how to "dance" with a new being in our lives. I watched the loveliness of the scene with a lump in my throat. It was so beautiful. They were so beautiful together....

I reassured her (I think) by dismissing all of the silly breastfeeding myths.... (ie.... If you give your baby a bottle, they won't feed from the breast! OR you can't give your baby formula and breastfeed at the same time! OR make sure you put the baby on a feeding routine right away and don't feed them in between feeding times!) Why these puritans put the fear of God into new mothers is beyond me except they have become blinded by their chosen passion. The amount of judgement dished out by these people and the impatient nurses is beyond my comprehension. Every new mother is nervous. Every new mother wants to provide, protect, try their best.

The connection between a mother and a baby is unique to the two human beings intimately involved. And like any new relationship, it needs time to grow. Tonight, I think of the two of them learning how to figure it out together........ There will be frustrations and even tears from both of them. But, they will figure it out..... a new dance has begun.... bless them both.

Today, I held a three day old baby. A tiny perfect little miracle in my arms. You can't say that everyday. Wish I could...... wish I could.

the grieving process

I've seen it in black and white.....bold type on a page and it seemed so simple to achieve. Follow the steps in the book. There is a method. It goes like this.....

"You will feel these things. Eventually your grief will turn into acceptance. Then, you let go and move on."

So, I rhyme the process off in my head.

Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.
So simple.
So linear.
So void of feeling.....

I ask questions to myself,
where i am in this process?
is this normal?
am i normal?
does my reaction follow the steps?
am i over it yet?
am i over it yet?
when do i get over it?
will I ever get over it?

The "it" turns into a human picture of the one I grieve, transforming into a blue eyed twinkle, a lyrical lilt, a hearty laugh at the end of a story shared. I see an outline which fills in with warm flesh, hands open in kindness, a face with a smile lined in joyful wrinkles. I feel the energy breathing life which pulls me into your realm. I hear my name said in a voice welcome to my ears.

So real.
So real.

I keep reading the book.....somewhere, sometime, the head knowledge will seep down into my heartpocket. That will be when I may be able to let go. Maybe.

Until then? I sadly grieve on, with a hollow sigh wondering where in the world I am. For some reason, it is me who is invisible. Not you.

This week's theme prompt at Sunday Scribblings is "Where in the world?" Strangely, it took me to another one. For more (hopefully upbeat) interpretations, check out their blogsite....

home....

We are 142 years old today.

Every year there seems to be more and more Canadian patriotic paraphenalia out there in consumer land for our purchasing pleasure most of which makes me laugh...especially the Moose motif stuff. Gotta love our gangly Moose.

My son and I were in the local dollar store the other day to stock up on a few of these items so he can take them to Costa Rica when he attends a CISV village in late December and use them as traders with the other kids who will be there from around the world. We stood in front of the HUGE display which ranged from hilarious hats shaped like leaves to dancing beavers, maple leaf key chains, tatoos, frisbees, squishy footballs, stuffed moose, neck ties (FOR A BUCK!) and were in fits of laughter over the tackiness of the lot. Of course, we were determined to grab the best kitsch we could. Let's hope he's allowed through customs with that Canuck craziness in his suitcase.

When I was a kid, the annual fireworks were lit on Victoria Day in May. This was the tradition. We all saw it as the beginning of summer.....the first long weekend. Of course as members of the Commonwealth, we all understood the seriousness of celebrating Queen Victoria's birthday in style.....er, I guess...... by blowing off little checker firecrackers and running around with abandon holding onto a sparkler, also known as a piece of wire on fire.

Though we still have the long weekend in May, and the Monday of it is still recognized as her birthday (funny how it changes dates every year). But, somewhere along the line, our country's fireworks celebration moved to July 1rst, Dominion Day.....the day we recognize as the anniversary of our national status within the Commonwealth. Maybe we switched because it was easier to make a cake in the form of a maple leaf flag than the head of a sexually inhibited sourpuss? Or maybe we began to embrace our own sense of pride, separate from another country?

Obviously it wasn't an overnight thing.....one day we scoured at any display of patriotism and the next day we adorned our homes in all things red and white? No. It was a gradual, albeit swift turn around. Even now, I would wager a bet that most Canadians feel an attachment to this vast and magnificent wilderness we call home more so when we cross its borders? But there is definately a different feel to our celebration of our "home and native land...." Hence, the desire to don a goofy leaf pointed hat, pull on a Moose motif t-shirt and go with the flow of our known sense of humour while sucking back a few pints and singing off key?

Did you know Canadians are a very funny lot? Absurdity is in our blood. Satire swims all around us. We crack each other up! And it turns out we do a pretty good job exporting our finest comedians. I think it has to do with choosing to remain on this freakingly cold tundra in February and go about our daily routines like it was just a little irritation to start your car when its -40 degrees and a wind chill? You gotta LAUGH! You gotta bundle up too or you will die!

Then of course there is a that wonderful myth created by the late Pierre Berton who stated that you know you're Canadian when you can make love in a canoe. Ask any Canadian if they've accomplished this feat and they will affirmatively reply, with a sly smile and a look in their eye that tells you..... wouldn't you like to know how this is done? Ah, its all in the balancing between the thwarts. Its in the melodic movement of the gunnels....its how you hold your paddle.... Is there any other country who defines their patriotism through such a lens? We crack each other up.

There are definately benchmark events which foisted us forward into a more contented place. It wasn't so long ago when our national past time was a collectively navel gaze..... where the cry of the "True north strong and free" wasn't an anthem we now sing loudly at sports event and instead was "Who are we? How are we different than our neighbours to the south? How do we define ourselves...." Such nervous nellie self absorption is finally disappearing. We have grown up a bit. We've won our fair share of international hockey tournaments. We gave the world Celine and Shania.

Dominion Day. In 1982, the same year the Canadian Constitution and Charter of Rights was signed, Dominion Day was renamed Canada Day. Hindsight makes me wonder if this was the turning point. Before this significant moment, maybe we were allowing someone else to make our beds? Whatever caused us to stop feeling so damn inferior and to care so much about that fact that the rest of the world doesn't really give a rat's ass about our identity, I'm glad. Why? Because what matters most is how we have come to terms about our own selves as multi cultural individuals who call this place home. The confidence felt is new to us. But it will be our growing confidence along with the accumulative stretch marks from eating the most recent national food concoction...."poutine...." (dont ask! it's gross! I'd rather smoke pine needles) that will allow us to shine on any international stage. Or not.

When I was 18 years old, I flew across the pond for the first time with a backpack on my back and a much searched for Canadian flag patch stitched on the outside of it. I had to look high and low for it. For one thing, there were no dollar stores around, and I didn't live in the middle of a tourist hotspot like Niagara Falls where touristy kitchy gift shops were at every corner. It was a different time. Patriotism was kept under wraps. Patriotism was frowned upon as a tacky display of emotional wanking best left to the flag waving country below the 49th parallel. But, I found one, and proudly sewed it onto my backpack. And I'm glad I did. Because every time someone saw that little flag, they would ask me questions about my home....my country, and I would have to think about how I would describe it's beauty, it's strength, it's people......its history.

Like many of my neighbours, we learned our patriotism....and our heart filled fondness for Canada by leaving it's borders and looking from a far. At age 18, I began to see just how lucky I was to proudly state that I am a Canadian. Though, it was said in a tentative whisper compared to my open flag waving loud anthem singing boldness of today. OH, who am I kidding?? I may be wearing my very best moose t-shirt today, and I will definately take part in some of the Canada Day celebrations this afternoon down on the beautiful Green along the Saint John River. Fireworks are in the plans after a big potluck at a friend's house. But, when it's time to sing O Canada? My boldness will quickly evaporate and my silly red pointed leaf hat will be lifted off my head. My heart will fill with gratitude.....and I will lose my way in the meaning of the words. I'm too much of a softie...... and our anthem always leaves me choked up and in tears much to the embarrassment of my family. It's a good thing they're used to it.

This place I call home......? I loveitloveitloveit.....

Happy Canada Day.....with a glowing heart from me