Sometimes it is best to just start over

I knit my husband a pair of socks for Father's Day 2009.  Ok, to be honest, I gave him the wool on Father's Day 2009 - He got the socks four months later in October.

I digress.

He loved those socks and wore them all the time. 

I darned the heels at least twice - but still - there they were in the darning pile again - and it just wasn't going to work.

Hmmmm. 
Maybe I could just cut out the heel and knit an afterthought heel?

Snip.  Snip.

The snips got bigger and the wool wouldn't unravel.

I thought about just throwing them out.  I curled them up ready for the garbage. 

But?

He really likes those socks.

And I hate throwing out things I have spent time and love on.

So I cut open the toe and started to unravel.  I unraveled all the way back to the start of the heel. 

I picked up the 72 stitches, and figured out where I was in the pattern. 

That took a couple of hours. 

This is what knitting has taught me.

Sometimes you can fix something that is broken. 

Sometimes you can throw it away.

But, sometimes?

Sometimes you have to start over.

Maybe not all the way over, but go back to before the mistake was made.

And start to knit it up again. 

I really did do this tonight with this pair of socks.

But?

But, this post isn't really about socks at all.

Just don't lie to me

I can take a lot.

The thought that people lie.

That is a hard one.

Sure, you will say.  Everyone lies.

True, I guess.  but there are lies, and there are Lies.

It is hard when someone claims to lie to spare my feelings.  Or to spare their's.

It was hard the first time I realized my children could lie to me.

It was hard to acknowledge that I lie.

To myself.

To others.

To make a story better.

To make a conversation less painful.

But I have a spidey sense about lying

I sense that things don't add up.  Or the time line is wrong.  Or someone is trying too hard.  Or looking uncomfortable.

I don't want to ask in those situations.

Is this true?

Are you lying to me?

Are you lying to yourself?

I heard something many years ago that has stuck with me.

There is your truth.  There is my truth.  And there is God's truth.

Sometimes it isn't about lying.  Sometimes it is about seeing a situation from a different perspective.  A personal perspective.  An uncomfortable perspective.

Would I want to live in a world where everyone told their truth all the time?

No.

I am too sensitive and melancholic for that.

But if I ask you for the truth?

Respect me enough to know that I am wanting the truth.  And it is ok to tell me that it is none of my business, or that you don't want to tell me the truth.

I can live with that.

Just don't lie to me.

Deep down, I know.

Deep down.  I am keeping count.

Deep down.  I can't forget a lie.

Deep down I am afraid it can't be forgiven.

A ton is two thousand pounds

Over the past two years I have lost sixty pounds.

This is a slow weight loss.

I didn't lose weight because someone told me to, or because people were mean to me about my weight.

I did it for me.

I started to take care of myself, to make better food choices, and once my plantar fasciitis was healed I started to walk, and then started to swim.

I started to feel better

I used to think that if I lost weight

a) My feet wouldn't hurt after a long walk, or standing all day

b) I wouldn't have to stop to catch my breath when climbing hills

c) my carpal tunnel would go away

d) stairs would be easier

e) my back wouldn't be so problematic

f) I would fit into smaller sized clothes

g) I could stop taking anti-depressant medication

Only d and f are true.

I struggle with the comments people make:

a) You have lost a ton of weight!

b) Skinny Mini!

c) Did you stop eating sugar?

d) Are you ok?

e) You look sick.

f) Your gall bladder surgery might be related to your rapid weight loss.

g) You are disappearing!

h) I know you are anxious, and you can't eat, but you've lost weight! Way to go!


So for the record:

I have not lost a ton of weight. A ton is 2000 pounds. I have not lost 2000 pounds.

Yes, I do look sick in recent pictures. I see it too, but it is not because of my weight loss it is because I have been struggling with anxiety over the past few months. In fact I weigh only two pounds less than I did in December.

No I have not stopped eating sugar. Is sugar bad? (This is a rhetorical question.)

I am not disappearing.

I am 5 feet 5 1/2 inches tall and I weight 160 pounds.

Technically that means my BMI is still in the overweight category. (Not that I hold any credence in BMI numbers, but again, I am just sayin'!)


I try to smile, and say thank you if the comment seems complimentary, I sometimes get a bit snippy if the comment seems back-handed.


I would be lying if I didn't say that it is nice to shop in the regular stores instead of the plus size stores.

I would be lying if I didn't say that it is nice to walk across the pool deck, admiring the strength in my legs.

I would be lying if I didn't admit that I have more confidence in certain, clothing optional, situations.

But, really what I want to say is that people didn't make comments about my weight when I was heavier and I really appreciated that.

Our society looks at weight loss as something that should be congratulated, applauded, revered, sought after.

So I know that people feel they are doing a good thing when they comment on my appearance.

That is the influence of media, society, our culture.

It is stupid.

Being thinner is not the be all and end all of my existence. Of anyone's existence.

It is just where I am now.

I have been much thinner in my life.

I have been much heavier.

Here are the facts:

I weigh less than I did two years ago.

I did it on purpose.

I did it sensibly.

I eat what I want. (Including at least one chocolate chip cookie every day ;) )

I swim 2-3 miles a week.

I walk in the sunshine.

I go to a weekly yoga class.

Weight loss is not the panacea for everything that ails me, and I can accept that.


I try to be gracious when people comment on my weight loss, I really do. I know that often the comments come from a loving, or caring place.

But sometimes?

Sometimes, all these comments make me cranky and anxious about social situations.

So, let's talk about gardening.

Or swimming.

Or hummingbirds.

Let's not talk about weight.

Mine, or anyone's.

K?

K.

26 years ago today - Part One.

It has become a 'thing' that I write a blog post in honour of my daughter on her birthday. Now that it has become a 'thing' I have horrible writer's block.

Partly because many things I would write are personal and intimate and not something I want to put in this blog, partly because I have performance anxiety.

I make it a point not to go back and read previous birthday posts because when I do that I think to myself that that Mary-Anne of Breathing Life was a much better writer than I am.

I wrote a poem, that I will publish, but it is not turning out quite the way I wanted.

This girl of mine. This girl deserves a poem of great magnitude, because she is something very very special. She is actually a woman at twenty six, but I hope I can be forgiven for thinking of her as my girl still.

If you met her you would see a young woman of amazing style, tattoos, piercings, half her head shaved, the other side long dark hair, eye-liner, bright lipstick.

When you see her, she will take your breath away because she is so beautiful.



But it is what you don't see that amazes me.

She fights for the disenfranchised. She works for a sexual assault centre and does all she can to make the streets, the university campuses, high school hallways and the world a safer place for women, for queer people, for transgendered men and women.

She does not suffer fools gladly.

She is fierce.

Her anger can be huge, and so is her love.

Her spoken word poetry will leave you speechless, and often in tears.

Her songs are poignant, wise, and powerful.

Her singing voice, and her guitar playing are amazing.

Yet, she struggles.

She struggles to make a living in a career where, as she said once, 'she is destined to work for non-profit societies'.

She struggles to truly find her community. A femme queer woman who loves her high heels, and short skirts and sexy tops.

She has her politics and her points of view, but sometimes she just wants to laugh and be silly and not take on all the woes of the world.

She is a feminist in the truest sense.

She is my daughter, and I am so honoured to be her mother.

She is one of many of her generation fighting the good fight, having ideals that get crushed on a daily basis, and coming face to face everyday with the baser side of life.

Still she gets up, puts on her face and heads out into the world. Everyday.

I have learned and continue to learn so much from her.

Our conversations makes me think. Hard.

I want her to know, today, on her birthday, and every day.

I have your back.

Keep going.

I have your back.

Bears and goats and elk, oh my

It is raining in Hinton, Alberta. I am sitting in the Smitty's, drinking mint tea, waiting for the oil change to be done on our truck. We are getting reading for the adventure along the Alaska Highway. Today we will head towards Dawson Creek, Mile 0.

So far it has been awe-inspiring. There is nothing like driving the Icefields Parkway to make you feel insignificant, yet connected, to this planet of ours. Every turn of the road brings a new vista and we had to come up with other words besides magnificient, amazing, wow!

We have seen alot of black bears, quite a few elk (even a young, spotted one), and the best was the herd of mountain goats including a little baby goat. It looked surreal, almost like a stuffed toy. Too cute!

We have had a few campfires, campfire songs, and have cooked over the open fire.

I am sleeping better, although we seem to have a battery issue for dh's cpap machine so he is currently browsing batteries next door at the RV place.

I am reading alot, and haven't knit for a week. (Maybe they will take away my Ravelry membership. :) )

So, all is well, we are in contact with our kids as we travel thanks to my new smart phone. It was definitely a good investment.

So, ya, it is raining in Hinton, Alberta, and we are getting closer to our boy in the Yukon, and should be on the next leg of our journey before noon (with new batteries apparently as dh has just returned from his battery finding expedition).

We have been on the road for a week and I am holding my family and friends in my heart as I travel. Maybe it is the vastness of the mountains, or the quiet presence of the wild animals around me, but I am feeling vulnerable, and realizing the fragility of life within the billions of years of geology around me. We are here for such a short time, and need to make it count for something. For something, or for someones, we need to make it count.

So for those around me who are fighting cancer, caring for loved ones, suffering depressions, moving to new jobs in new cities, taking on summer, planning for the future, falling in love, being human, know that you are all in my heart. Keep me in yours.

Ganesh and the Venus de Willendorf

I have a model of Ganesh beside my bed. Ganesh is the Hindu diety known as the Remover of Obstacles, and the Lord of Beginnings. My sister brought him back from India for me.

She has a felted model of the Venus de Willendorf that I made for her many years ago. The Venus de Willendorf dates back to 24000 - 22000 BCE and is a woman of size and power, although the orginal relic found was only 4" high. She has large breasts and a belly and big powerful thighs. She is beautiful.

Wherever my sister goes, so goes she. I have many, many pictures of the little felted woman of Willendorf on hotel beds, windowsills, and desks as she travels the world with my sister. When I get the picture via facebook I know that my sister has safely arrived at her destination.

There is a something in the fact that my talisman is made of heavy brass, and hers of felted wool. There is something about the fact the hers travels the world with her, and mine stays put beside my bed.

So every night, and every morning I see Ganesh. The Remover of Obstacles, and I am trying to hear what he is saying to me. Remove the obstacles and begin.

Remove the obstacles and begin. The obstacles of fear, and sadness. The obstacles of worry and melancholy. The obstacles of sore feet and blood disorders. The obstacles of procrastination and inaction.

So, Ganesh, I am listening. And, somewhere in the valley, for that is where she is right now, the woman of Willendorf is listening.

With these two on my side I know it will be alright in the end.

If it's not alright, then it is not the end.

As You Like It - As I see it...

I don't think it is a figment of my imagination. I think I can safely say that this past year of teaching has been amazing - and no more so than the last week. We have returned from our Easter break and thrown ourselves into rehearsals to perform As You Like It at the end of April.

I have permission to use some original music, two of my students choreographed the wedding dance at the end, I have had support from a wonderful actor/director from Bard on the Beach, and the students, for the most part, are working hard and putting up with my demands for 'quiet back stage!'.

Still, and all, I am cranky today. Tired I think. It has been a busy nine days.

It is my Uncle's memorial this weekend. As they often are, this one is called a 'Celebration of Life'. Yes, his was a life to be celebrated. His relationships with friends, nieces, nephews, daughters, sisters, brother, wife are all to be celebrated. Celebrated in those private memories that some of us will try to give voice to on Saturday.

Relationships are so personal. The spark, the life that exists between two people is unique. No one else has quite the relationship you do to another. That thought can be comforting. It is also a lonely thought. For when that person is gone, there is no-one to truly understand it, no-one to replace it. No-one should replace it.

So aging is, in part, a series of losses. Voices you will never hear again. Laughter you will never hear again. Comfort you will never feel again. Dances you will never dance again.

My uncle and I danced once, in Sicily, eight years ago. Cheek to cheek, slow dancing. I never had that dance with my father. In that moment I felt he was the closest thing I would ever have to a father as an adult. It was wonderful, and it was poignant.

This weekend, amidst the stories, the laughter, the tears, the hustle and bustle, the re-unions, this weekend I will be remembering Italy. A 48 year old woman and her 84 year old uncle. They had the trip of a lifetime, and now, one holder of those memories is gone, and one is left behind.

Sometimes being the one left behind can be so hard.

Good-byes

I don't think our culture is very good at saying good-bye. Not the simple good-byes from one meeting to the next, or the harder good-byes when the end is final. I also don't think we are very good at good-byes when someone we have worked with for a few months, or for many, many years leaves their career, or their place of employment.

When my husband was retiring after 28 years with a company the company sent him an email and told him to purchase himself a gift for $700.00 and submit the receipt to them.

Of course, this same company, on his 25th work anniversary, sent him a catalogue and told him he could pick any gift on certain pages, and if he wanted it inscribed he could choose what the inscription read. Personal, eh?

Until I was in my 30s the only funeral I had ever attended was my father's. I have no memory of it. I have limited memories of the reception at our house after the funeral. I left for an island right after the funeral. My mother thought it better to get me away from it all. I never got to go to the hospital to say good-bye to my father. There is no blame in this statement. My mother made this decision for her and my father's reasons. I didn't agree with their wishes, but this was not for me to comment on. It was not my decision. I was seventeen.

When my mother was dying I tried to have a conversation with her about her death. I tried to say good-bye. It didn't work. She didn't want to go there, and I didn't want to force the issue. I still remember the last time I saw her. She was sitting on the porch of the care facility. She was sitting in a chair, having a cigarette. She looked so tiny, so frail. I think I knew as I drove away that this would be our last good-bye. I didn't do it very well.

My mother had raised me to know that 'she didn't do funerals'. For years I recited the same mantra. Then a 10 year old girl at our school died. I decided that I did 'do' funerals. They are important - they help us support the survivors, they help us cry and acknowledge our grief. They give us comfort. They acknowledge a life - whether it is only a few months, or many decades. Since that funeral I have been to many others: a friend's tiny baby, my son's violin teacher, my mother-in-law, my father-in-law, a son of a colleague, a teacher at my children's school,a mother in our school community, a friend from La Leche League, my aunt's, my husband's cousin, and my friend's son.

I am still not good at saying good-bye, but I find such comfort in these gatherings. I wish there had been a funeral for my mother. I wish I had been more 'awake' to my father's funeral. I wish saying good-bye wasn't so hard.

I do believe these good-byes are only temporary, but still they seem so permanent. All of these funerals remind me that a time will come when I might attend the funeral of a sibling. Funerals remind me that I may attend the funeral of my husband of 35 years. God willing I will not have to do what my grandmother did and attend the funeral of one of my children.

These are difficult thoughts. But, I think this is why saying good-bye is hard. Because there are some people in our lives we literally can't bear to have to say good-bye to.

So airport good-byes, collegial good-byes, holiday good-byes, daily good-byes are hard. Because we never know when those simple daily good-byes become permanent. We just never know.

Opposites Attract

Fourteen motors spinning! 104 magnets, 28 nails, 280 feet of copper wire, 7 - 6volt batteries, sand paper, 12 feet of wood, 14 shish kebab sticks and some yellow, red and black electrician tape. Oh, and 13, Grade 8 students. The classroom was an electro-magnet factory for three morning lessons. And a couple of lunch hours and recesses too! It was a delightful end to our Physics block - with everyone being successful. I am always so nervous about teaching Physics, but I can count this one as one of the most relaxed, and the most fun. I also think they learned alot about hydraulics, aero-dynamics, magnetism and electricity. Can't complain there.

But when you work with magnets you learn that opposites attract and like poles repel. Attraction is of interest to 13 and 14 year olds. The thought you might be attracted to someone who is different from you is a scary thought. The thought that the people who bug you the most are really the most like you, is equally scary.

I said that they may be a neat freak, who loves to socialize, and go to restaurants and they will fall for a recluse who loves to cook, and leaves his socks on the kitchen table! - oh wait, that might have been my story :). Except I am not a neat freak - I just don't leave socks on the kitchen table.

Anyways, suffice it to say it was food for thought. And, it is true, at least for me. Melancholics kind of annoy me. I totally understand them, but still. Sometimes they should just suck it up and get on with it. (Note to self: are you listening?)

And, as it always is, one block ended today, and a new one starts on Monday. So, tonight I was already leaving Physics behind and browsing through my World Geography notes. I like to do this block via the economic realm. Where do all the things we use, eat, wear, buy, and want come from? In my daily life, who are all the people that, in one way or another, support me, by either harvesting the sugar that I like in my afternoon tea, to picking the cotton in my comfortable cotton bra?

I bet some of them are just like me. I bet some of them are just the opposite.

gridlock?

I was on my way to the border when I heard on the radio that the Port Mann bridge was shut down. I should have immediately exited at Deer Lake, but I don't make decisions quickly and it passed by as the traffic slowed to a crawl. I crawled my way to Gaglardi exit and I kept thinking, I don't know now to re-route over the Patulla bridge, and I certainly don't know what to do once over it. What to do? What to do?

Well, I got turned around and decided to head over Knight street and through the George Massey tunnel. Despite some rush hourish sort of traffic it was going quite well, until I missed the turn off and realized I was heading for the Alex Fraser Bridge - me and everyone else who was trying to get into Surrey.

Anyways I persevered and finally ended up at the border two hours after I left home. At first I was upset, scared, sad, frustrated and then I thought.....someone died on that bridge today. I will get where I am going, albeit a little later than I planned. That 51 year old woman who died on the bridge today is on a whole different journey. I spent much of the drive thinking of her, and wishing her soul Godspeed.

So often I feel inconvenienced by another's need, experience, temperment, joy, anger. Being in relationship with others can be inconvenient. Sometimes they need to talk when I don't want to listen. Sometimes they need to vent, when I want to babble and be silly. Sometimes they want to laugh when I feel like sobbing. Sometimes we just don't fit.

But other times? We fit beautifully. We reach out and someone is there. We cry and someone has a kleenex. We laugh and someone joins in with breathless, tears rolling down the face laughter. Sometimes we need to sit in silence, and we are with a companion who is comfortable to do the same.

I heard today that the reason humans have lost their ability to be clairvoyant is because we are going 7 times too fast.

I am going to try to slow down.

Quitting Facebook....sort of

This facebook thing is interesting. It is also a bit creepy at times. I have decided to only have family, or far away friends on my facebook. It is interesting to work with people and be friends on facebook. I mean, I see them every school day, and we chat about this and that. Maybe without facebook we will chat even more about different things we want to share, in person, rather than in a status.

I used to have facebook friends that never interacted with me on facebook. Well, that is odd. Even when I messaged them and asked questions that required an answer they didn't contact me. Hm.

And nobody phones each other anymore. "Do you want to go for tea?" "Lunch?" "Movie?" Is it any wonder I feel lonely at times. Even with 108, or 48, facebook friends. Sure, I know their horoscope, or what you-tube clip they think is funny, or sad, or shocking, or even where they went on their holidays. But, I don't know what my relationship is supposed to be to all that. Is it just water cooler talk? Something to pass the day? Don't I have better things to do with my time?

I have three friends who write blogs. I check their blogs often to see what is going on. This is much more satisfying then a 140 character tweet, or a quick update status.

That being said, I love facebook for all of the above things related to family. It seems I never get to see my family enough and I love to see where they are travelling, what their scrabble move is, and yes, even what they had for dinner. It makes me feel closer to them, even though we are already close. I get to see my great nieces growing up even though I only 'see' them a couple of times a year. I get to kibbutz with my nephews, and brothers, and sisters, and it is all good. All good!

So, if you are a friend I see for lunch, or dinner on a regularish basis, then I don't need to be your friend on facebook, cause we are already friends. In real life, we are friends.

I have only made one exception to this rule, well two really. One is a friend, whom I see often, but she is really like family to me, and I love all the silly things she posts about her two wonderful kids. The other is the mother of my niece-in-law. I consider her my extended family, but facebook just doesn't have a way to recognize our family relationship. Stupid facebook.

So, when I want to know how someone is doing, I will pick up the phone, or even send them an email. Something more personal then 'like' as a comment on their status. I recently saw an acquaintance post on his status that he had just attended the funeral for his brother. Five people 'liked' his status. Wtf? Really? What does that even mean?

So, that's it.

And, while we are on the subject....my cell phone isn't always on.....if you want to reach me - call my home number. It has voice mail and everything!

Letters

The first day home after almost six weeks on the road I was at a loss for what to do. Once the laundry was done, the camper cleaned, the second bath....now what? I didn't want to start into school work yet. Not, yet. So I decided to clean out my email box, and that lead me to reading all my blogs back to the beginning, and then letters I had written my daughter, and she had written me.

These letters started when she was heading off to university, to live in residence. Only up the hill to SFU, but still it seemed so far away. Many of the letters are short and silly and verifying this and that. But a number are heart-wrenching. Even as I write this I have tears finding there way down my face, and as I sat at the kitchen table a few days ago it was the same.

They were the letters about broken hearts, broken promises, apologies, and sometimes misunderstandings. They were the letters where we could speak truths that couldn't always be spoken in person. At least not then. They were the letters of a young woman finding her way in the world, and a middle-aged woman trying to help.

These letters are a gift. Even though they are digital, and not tied up with ribbon in a cedar chest. They are a gift.

I have similar letters from and to my son as he travels the world trying to find his place. I have many, many letters from and to my husband when I have been travelling without him, or he without me. Those letters are full of love. I have letters from my sister filled with such understanding that it is little wonder she is my best friend.

And they are all saved on the computer. But that doesn't seem right. So, I will begin the process of downloading them and filing them in order and perhaps, even, wrapping a ribbon around them.

Those letters tell a story of a woman and her family. A woman loved by her family. A woman who loves her family fiercely. A woman who sometimes has to read letters that could break her heart, but they don't because she knows that the relationship that has forged that trust has wrapped her heart in such a way that she could bear it.

These are letters full of love, honesty, trust and wisdom on all sides, and they should be saved in the truest sense of the word.

Sharing our lives

My dear friend posted on her blog about the importance of sharing our stories. Sometimes our stories don't seem important, or seem trivial in light of another's suffering, but our stories all have a purpose.

This same friend and I talked last week about the agreements we have made with those in our life. We were talking about those agreements made in another place, another time, before we incarnated on this earth. I believe that there are no accidental meetings, no unimportant conversations, no unnecessary moments.

To be human is hard. As spiritual beings, without our humanity which incumbers us, we know what our task is. We know what we came here to do. We know the agreements we made with those we are travelling through this life with. Sometimes we forget. Sometimes we don't understand why we have to go through the things we do. Sometimes we lose faith that there is a grand plan, and likely it is a plan that we ourselves envisioned. Sometimes it is too hard.

But, usually and often it isn't. We still get up in the morning. We still put our feet on the floor and head to the kitchen to put on the coffee. We call on friends to help us, and sometimes our friends call on us to check in, and check up.

There have been times when I have been in great despair and not known where to turn. There were those days when the only good thing I could say about waking up is that in 12 or 14 hours I could come back to bed. There were days when I sat at the kitchen table, looking out through the trees and wept. There were days when depression would wrap me so deeply I couldn't find a speck of comfort.

But, on those days people reached out to me. My daughter. My husband. My sister. My dear friend. They wouldn't let me drown in my despair. They made tea. They took me out for coffee. They started a campfire for me. They listened, and then they acted. They were all brave for me on those days I couldn't be brave.

We all have tragedies in our lives. But, if we had the choice would we trade our lives, our bundle of sorrows, for another? We know, I know, that I can bear my life. I don't know if I can bear another's.

Last week when I told my friend, "you are amazing, I don't think I could get out of bed if I had to bear your loss", she just listened. She simply said: I don't know how another would react to this. I just know that this is how I am reacting.

Because what else is there to do?

What else is there to do?

Give thanks for small miracles. Know that the answer will come if we ask the universe the question. The answer will come.

So, what question did I need answered recently? I received a cheque for $147.56. It was an inheritance. I should buy myself something nice in honour of my aunt I thought. Something I could wear in her memory. Earrings? A bracelet? A pendant? But there wasn't anything I really wanted.

But I knew what she would want. So, I made out a cheque to Covenant House, one of her favourite charities. Ir seemed fitting to do something for someone else. It was what she would have done. She would be brave when someone else couldn't be.

Zombie easter

Well, on Easter Sunday I watched two zombie movies with my daughter, her boyfriend, and some of their friends. I have never watched a zombie movie before. You see, you can still do new things at 55.

Earlier that day we went to the Maritime Museum on the Halifax waterfront. There were some wonderful exhibits, but I was mostly fascinated with the Halifax explosion,December 6, 1917 and the rescue missions out of Halifax for the Titanic victims, April 15, 1912. It is unfathomable to me (no pun intended) how life goes on despite such disasters. How people pick themselves up and carry on. How cities are rebuilt. How families are re-united, or not. How someone can lose everything and still there is this spirit in most of us that says....ok, let's go on.

Today, I listened to two people I love very much have a conversation. Well, it started as a conversation, then seemed to veer off-course into something else. A fight? Perhaps it could be called that, but what I heard from the other room, as the observer, was two people trying to be heard, trying to be understood, trying to be seen. Each was feeling the other wasn't hearing them, or understanding them or seeing them. And they were both right. And they were both wrong. At different points in the discussion they were both in tears, or one, or the other was in tears. And they just kept soldiering through it. I admire them both deeply for that.

I tend to not soldier through hard discussions. I tend to run. I tend to shut down. I tend to bury my head in the sand, or in a crossword puzzle, or a knitting project, or a tv show. I hate conflict. I always have. Lying in bed this morning listening to these two dear souls, I thought of the fights I used to listen to my parents have. They were awful, loud, mean fights.....and they never changed into anything else. Not to tears, not to resolution, but to stony silience that would last for days.

But these two? They persevered. It didn't necessarily end perfectly, but there was an honestly about two souls struggling to be heard. And what they were both saying, without either of them saying it, is I love you. I want to help you. I want you to be proud of me. I want you to forget the past and see me for now, for today.

So, what on earth do I think this blog is doing: morphing from zombies to disasters to conflict to resolution.

Well, when everything around us is gone. When the threats of the world are coming at us from all the dark corners, all we really have is each other.

Sometimes it is messy. Sometimes it is loud. Sometimes, the moment the connection can be found, it is glorious.

And sometimes, as painful as it is to watch loved ones in conflict, sometimes I have to remind myself - this is not my conflict. This is their conflict. This is their struggle. You, my dear, have to stay the hell out of it.

Now, where did I put that knitting.......

just write something, damn it!

Sometimes I find myself aimlessly checking my email account. Nothing. Checking facebook. Nothing new. Checking friends' blogs. Perusing. Then realizing, I am meant to blog myself. So what am I waiting for?

Waiting for inspiration? Waiting until I have something brilliant to say? Waiting to see if the angst will subside and the humour will rise?

So, with nothing particular to say I will blither (blother?) on.

I went camping this weekend. I was having a very low day on Friday, and finding myself in the bathtub (again) I heard Brian come home.

Me: (pathetically) Do you want to go camping?

Him: (hesitantly) Ya, we can do that.

So, an hour later, there we were at our favourite spot. Of course it is less favourite in the spring and summer because there are lots of campers, and all the ocean front spots are taken by the new reservation rules. Never - the - less, there we were.

My dear husband got it into his head that heading to the nearest town/bar to watch the hockey game would be fun. Fun? I grumbled, thinking, how fun will a noisy, crowded Friday night bar be. Well, as it turned out, alot! So we had fun, and then headed back for a campfire before bed.

As often happens when I am 'low' we got into a bit of a squabble around that campfire. After 35 years together our squabbles seem to often centre around certain themes. This was the 'we can never plan anything' theme. It's true. We can't. Yet, it seemed hopeless to discuss it so late when I was already feeling so vulnerable.

So, off to bed in my cozy camper. And the day dawned, the birds were out enmasse and coffee around the morning campfire was perfect and comforting.

We invited some friends up for dinner and a campfire and headed to town to buy steaks. (Well, the husband was in charge of the steaks as I headed to the wool store to cheer myself up!).

Thy day threatened rain and sun throughout, but by the time our friends arrived the fire was going and the steaks ready to cook. It was a lovely evening. They are newish friends, but very good company, and the four of us are able to talk and laugh comfortably. That is a very good thing.

This morning the sky was blue, the birds were out, and the coffee was delicious as we sat on the edge of the beach.

Home by 12:30, a fabulous shower, and now awaiting the next canucks game. Due to my severely failing eyesight I can't actually 'see', the game, but I knit, and cheer as I listen to the announcers and all their endless stats.

Tomorrow we will start to pack for our trip out east. I can't wait to see our girl - all grown up and graduating from university.

Tomorrow I will start to fret about the packing, and the travelling, but once I am on the plane it will all be fine. It always is.

So, you see? Nothing spectacular here. This is my life. Not spectacular, but comfortable, and comforting.

Oh, and also, by the way, for those of you reading this, for those of you in my life - thank you. Thank you for your friendship, your teasing, your laughter, and your conversation. Even if it is occasional, or 'only' on facebook. It's important to me. This feeling of connection is important.

I am a lucky person. I am grateful for all the people in my life.

whose destiny are we following

Over the years I have taken a number of biography courses. During these courses the lives of well known politicians, authors, or painters are looked at and different milestones are observed that seem to be common one to another.
At 9, that first brush with mortality, at 14 that first hint of vocation, at 18, 37, and 56 a moment of awareness of destiny questions....well, you get the idea.

Whenever I listen to the biography of an individual, I am always struck about their life partner's biography. Whenever a large life event occurs, I always thought - "what about the destiny of their wife, or husband" Whose destiny gets played out? Which one takes precedence? Once you are two is it that your destinies are so inter-twined they become one.

Everything we decide to do, or not do, affects other people. Everything. To be human is to be in relationship with the other. So, is it destiny that my destiny becomes intertwined with another?

When I was 21 I graduated from university. My then boyfriend, (now husband), had chosen to stay in Vancouver while I finished university. Maybe it was his destiny to go outside of Vancouver and teach somewhere, but he stayed and subbed to be close to me.

Once I graduated we applied for teaching jobs together. I was offered three jobs - one in Arrow Lakes school district, one in Qualicum beach school district, and one in MacKenzie with the Prince George School District. My boyfriend was also offered a job in MacKenzie. So, we went to MacKenzie, but sometimes I think how different my life might have been, our life might have been, if we had moved to Qualicum, or Nakusp.

But, them, I met a very dear friend during that year in MacKenzie, a friendship I still value 34 years later. There was clearly destiny in that meeting, in that friendship.

There were decisions I made about working, or not working, when my children were little. There were decisions I made, or didn't make, about moving with my husband to the deep south. Whose destiny was in play?

I watch the politicians negotiate public life and private life. The sacrafices for a politician's family must be huge. Whose destiny?

Maybe, all in all, it doesn't matter. We make choices, and by chosing A, we can't have B. We can't see our life being played out along the alternate track. We can only imagine, and sometimes in the thick of some cruddy experience, or other, we think...if only..., or,....I should have....or, I shouldn't have.

Sometimes we can't second guess anything, because our vision is so limited. We can't imagine looking back at our life at 80, when someone looks at our biography and realizing oh....that is why that happened like that. Of course! It makes perfect sense!

But when the day to day of it all is unfolding in its messy way, when things happen one way no matter how much planning we did for another outcome, when we second guess another's motive, or doubt our own, then it is just hard.

But ultimately, I believe, there is a plan. It may not be the plan I made, or the one I want, but there is a plan, and I have to trust it is all unfolding as it should. As long as I listen to my inner voice, and stay true to the person I want to be, I have faith it will all work out. I have faith that I am following my destiny. That we are following our destiny.