| You Are Animal |
 A complete lunatic, you're operating on 100% animal instincts. You thrive on uncontrolled energy, and you're downright scary. But you sure can beat a good drum. "Kill! Kill!" |
Monday, July 31, 2006
Oh and one more thing...
Just because I'm filled with spite at this moment and I find this particular quote funny, I thought I'd share :
"In passing, also, I would like to say that the first time Adam had a chance he laid the blame on a woman." —Nancy Astor
heh. *shakes head
"In passing, also, I would like to say that the first time Adam had a chance he laid the blame on a woman." —Nancy Astor
heh. *shakes head
P.M frickin' S.
That wonderful time of month again, I am pms'ing. Everyone look the hell out.
Daggers fly out of my fiery eyes, and smoke blows out my nostrils - I'm in that mood where I would knock an old woman out of my path, and not look back. (ok I would look back and help her up while apologizing profusely and then I'd walk her home to make sure she was okay and then probably offer to mow her lawn for the next year. but that's not my point.)
There isn't enough chocolate in this world to make me feel better.
Maybe Margarita-Madness at work is called for tomorrow.
Oh wait, how does that song go? "Tequila makes her take her clothes off."
Hmm... on second thought, maybe I'll just stay home - that way I can leave the sombrero on.
Bloody Hell. ( this pun was bound to happen.)
Pour me, POUR ME, pour me another shot of whiskey.
Daggers fly out of my fiery eyes, and smoke blows out my nostrils - I'm in that mood where I would knock an old woman out of my path, and not look back. (ok I would look back and help her up while apologizing profusely and then I'd walk her home to make sure she was okay and then probably offer to mow her lawn for the next year. but that's not my point.)
There isn't enough chocolate in this world to make me feel better.
Maybe Margarita-Madness at work is called for tomorrow.
Oh wait, how does that song go? "Tequila makes her take her clothes off."
Hmm... on second thought, maybe I'll just stay home - that way I can leave the sombrero on.
Bloody Hell. ( this pun was bound to happen.)
Pour me, POUR ME, pour me another shot of whiskey.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Pam and Kid to Do It Four Times
That's right, my eyes have seen it all. Pam and Mr. Rock are going to get it on four times after they tie the knot? Did I read that right? Is that it?
Getcher dirty mind out of the gutter, they ain't talkin' about a big ol' roll in the sack! ( ok well I only found that out the hard way cause the title certainly caught my attention, and well my mind has a little place in the gutter once in a while.)They are talking about getting MARRIED four times!
That's gotta be stressful - I mean literally throwing a big 'to-do' in every state in the U.S. of A would send most people to an early grave but I guess not for the Anderson-Rocks. Nope one wedding simply will not do.
Of course they won't be doing any of the dirty work themselves, I'm sure they will have planners for every state they intend to be wed but Pam did have this to say when asked how she was coping with her nerves:
"I have two words for you: champagne."
oh, Pam.
All this courtesy of Yahoo news, news about yahoos.
Getcher dirty mind out of the gutter, they ain't talkin' about a big ol' roll in the sack! ( ok well I only found that out the hard way cause the title certainly caught my attention, and well my mind has a little place in the gutter once in a while.)They are talking about getting MARRIED four times!
That's gotta be stressful - I mean literally throwing a big 'to-do' in every state in the U.S. of A would send most people to an early grave but I guess not for the Anderson-Rocks. Nope one wedding simply will not do.
Of course they won't be doing any of the dirty work themselves, I'm sure they will have planners for every state they intend to be wed but Pam did have this to say when asked how she was coping with her nerves:
"I have two words for you: champagne."
oh, Pam.
All this courtesy of Yahoo news, news about yahoos.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Less Socks, More Sandals Seen on West Coast
Well I am happy to report that the past few weeks of summer here on the West Coast have seen fewer socks and more sandals!
Yeah I know most of you would roll your eyes and mutter under your breath "Whooptee-freakin-doo-da. The sun is shining,It's what you DO."
Dear readers, how misguided and uniformed you must be of culture here in Beautiful BC, Canada where it is common practice for one to wear socks with their Birkenstocks, Tevas and even flip-flops( ok, well in that case it would either be children or Japanese in their traditional wooden tabi sandals and in which case they have special TABI socks for their TABI shoes so they are exempt from this fashion faux pas but everyone else should be shot).
God knows what the logic is in this, but I certainly cannot seem to figure it out for the life of me.
Apparently the West Coast is known worldwide for more than our supreme hashishishish; yes it's true, people in other corners of our planet crack jokes at their dinnertables about our choice of fashion here.
You might wonder what could possibly be so absurd in our closets that people are talking about it long after their vacation to Vancouver is over, well I shall give you a small taste of some of the sightings I encounter on a daily basis.
It would appear that some of us, namely men ( because us ladies love shoes and pedicures too much not to have an excuse to buy more or get another one and then show them off all at once!) have this thing about exposing their tender tootsies to the open air. I am not sure if they think mosquitoes will wander down and suck the blood supply out of their toes butit must be something drastic because these guilty folks will wear sandals and WOOL SOCKS in the summer heat! The only reason I have been given once by a guilty man clad in woolies and Tevas was " Well with our wet weather, I don't want my feet to get wet."
* slaps head.
Oh yes. Wool socks, manna from heaven for a BC man who loves to wear sandals, but can only ever get to second base.
Oh yes, I was blessed once more to be given the tiniest iota of understanding of this phenomenon that adorns our men with their warm sandaled "I'm-ready-for-the-rain-and-a-romp-on-the-beach" feet - my Dad once said to me after I asked why on earth he was wearing gym socks with his leather sandals :
" It's still cold out, not quite warm enough to wear sandals."
"But you are wearing sandals."
"Yes, but I have socks on."
"Put some shoes on then - DUHHHHHHHHH"
"But my feet will get too hot, they need to be OPEN and FREE just not exposed."
"Socks are not meant to be worn with sandals; it makes sandals completely redundant, pointless and possess no reason to be created - therefore you look like a dumbass."
ok well I didn't say the last part, but oh it was there, ready to come out and smack him silly up side the head.
Yeah I know most of you would roll your eyes and mutter under your breath "Whooptee-freakin-doo-da. The sun is shining,It's what you DO."
Dear readers, how misguided and uniformed you must be of culture here in Beautiful BC, Canada where it is common practice for one to wear socks with their Birkenstocks, Tevas and even flip-flops( ok, well in that case it would either be children or Japanese in their traditional wooden tabi sandals and in which case they have special TABI socks for their TABI shoes so they are exempt from this fashion faux pas but everyone else should be shot).
God knows what the logic is in this, but I certainly cannot seem to figure it out for the life of me.
Apparently the West Coast is known worldwide for more than our supreme hashishishish; yes it's true, people in other corners of our planet crack jokes at their dinnertables about our choice of fashion here.
You might wonder what could possibly be so absurd in our closets that people are talking about it long after their vacation to Vancouver is over, well I shall give you a small taste of some of the sightings I encounter on a daily basis.
It would appear that some of us, namely men ( because us ladies love shoes and pedicures too much not to have an excuse to buy more or get another one and then show them off all at once!) have this thing about exposing their tender tootsies to the open air. I am not sure if they think mosquitoes will wander down and suck the blood supply out of their toes butit must be something drastic because these guilty folks will wear sandals and WOOL SOCKS in the summer heat! The only reason I have been given once by a guilty man clad in woolies and Tevas was " Well with our wet weather, I don't want my feet to get wet."
* slaps head.
Oh yes. Wool socks, manna from heaven for a BC man who loves to wear sandals, but can only ever get to second base.
Oh yes, I was blessed once more to be given the tiniest iota of understanding of this phenomenon that adorns our men with their warm sandaled "I'm-ready-for-the-rain-and-a-romp-on-the-beach" feet - my Dad once said to me after I asked why on earth he was wearing gym socks with his leather sandals :
" It's still cold out, not quite warm enough to wear sandals."
"But you are wearing sandals."
"Yes, but I have socks on."
"Put some shoes on then - DUHHHHHHHHH"
"But my feet will get too hot, they need to be OPEN and FREE just not exposed."
"Socks are not meant to be worn with sandals; it makes sandals completely redundant, pointless and possess no reason to be created - therefore you look like a dumbass."
ok well I didn't say the last part, but oh it was there, ready to come out and smack him silly up side the head.
No I don't understand this practice of keeping one's toes open but closed at the same time, personally I don't like dirty socks and that's nastier to me than my toes being subjected to sand on the beach. But then again, I can't seem to uderstand this new fashion craze that is the little neck scarf in the summer heat, or the down vest paired with a miniskirt and flip-flops or a hooded sweatshirt with a heavy knit scarf complete with Mountain Equipment Co-Op Capris - it's all about the urban outdoor preparedness, dressed to go from the mountains to the beach, to the city and back up to the mountains again, all in one outfit.
for the love of socks and sandals and the bermuda short - and a little neck scarf.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Story of Her Life
Unable to catch a break from anyone she meets, with their judgemental stares, ridiculing words and noses turned up, she trods on; she is late by an hour, her bus never showed up, and now her lawyer is gone and I wonder if he ever bothered to meet his end of the appointment.
I met her at my bus stop tonight after work; I was weighed down with grocery bags waiting for my bumpy ride home and there she was waiting. The first bus rolled past, most folks board and the bus shelter is empty once again, except for the two of us.
" Are you waiting for the Quayside bus?" I ask politely.
"No." she says quietly without meeting my eyes.
I risk being judgemental myself by making assumptions about her, but Quayside is a neighbourhood for the well-off and retired seniors, and I could see that she had circumstances working against her that wouldn't allow her to live in such a place. Knowing the only other bus that came to the stop was gone, I asked what she was waiting for. "I'm meeting a lawyer here."
I first noticed her at the bottom of the stairwell as I was walking down from the skytrain platform, she was wandering around; another lady a few steps down and to the right of me was muttering to herself and gradually became louder, so much that people were jumping out of her way pretending not to notice. My little friend was the only brave one to ask whom she was speaking to, the lady abruptly responded with her smoker's growl " Don't listen to me!"
" But were you speaking to ME?" my friend asked timidly, but assertively.
"No I ain't speakin' to you, I was talking to myself- I told you, I got problems."
My friend, looks ashamed and fearful all at once and casts her eyes to the ground to avoid any further altercation.
I noticed her frail body in its shadow-boxer stance and unlike the hundreds of faces I see in my daily journey, her's had a thousand stories written all over it. Her etched face tells me they contain secrets and abuses, some victories but mostly fights - and all of them seem to say they haven't an ending. The scars and bruises on her arms and legs confirmed it.
Sadly, I know this 'look'. Her eyes were vacant and wary, her laughter too nervous and child-like. Her bottom jaw jut out, her sharp chin guiding her; she had few teeth which brought her jaw unnaturally close to her nose, broken too many times to be fixed. Her arms suggested many failed attempts to end the battles against men, against addiction, against life.
How unlikely is it a lawyer would meet a client in a bus shelter? It seems absurd but given the situation, perhaps he was being kind to agree to meet her there as her means of transportation were limited... I will never know, but I admit my thoughts were that this lady was being misled - forever a pessimist in these cases I am, I suppose. I felt badly and I asked redundant questions I already knew the answers to : " Have you tried calling him?" " Do you have money for a payphone?"
With no access to money, she wouldn't have the ability to call the lawyer to inform them of her late arrival. How much I take for granted.
I offer her some change to use a payphone, the tired exasperation lifted briefly from her face. A bit shell-shocked, she thanked me and proceeded to find a phone. I fought off the thoughts running through my head that I could have possibly fed an addict some money to get her next fix... but petty change can buy little of what is needed to bring momentary heaven.
My bus still hadn't arrived when I saw her come back towards the bus shelter; she looked at me like she was ready to cry, arms thrown up in surrender she shook her head, nothing. I was not surprised, this woman does not get many breaks, this is just another for her.
Knowing I couldn't do much more to help, I mouthed the words " I'm sorry"; Her face told me she accepted that and believed me.
I looked around at the people who gathered, in their high profile business attire, yapping away on their razor-thin cell phones, some opting to hail a cabbie down because they can afford not to wait; some teens walking past sneer at her and avoid her, huddled down on a step with her head in her hands outside the Salvation Army that has closed for business. Story of her life.
The very least I could do was have some words with her, give her any hope at all. I gathered up all my grocery bags and hobbled my way to her. She looked up smiled at me as if I was a friend. Wow. It caught me off guard.
"So, what's Plan B?"
She had tears in her eyes; I get the feeling she isn't given many second options.
I suggested that if I were in her shoes, I would wait 15 minutes longer in case this lawyer is still hanging around, 15 minutes and no longer, as if her time is precious, not to be wasted. I tell her she has better things to do, and some calls to make.
Sadly I know she most likely did not have a fixed address, but I asked anyway. "I'm staying at the hospital.", as though this is natural.
I suggest she make her way back there and hopefully someone can help her out with her situation. She told me she was afraid to risk going back on skytrain without paying the fare because there's a fine, she learned that the hard way. I told her there are transit employees up on the platform, that all she needs to do is explain her situation, that maybe they can help her out, she nods, and I think it was just an attempt to make me feel better by not ignoring my suggestion but she knows well enough that the employees can be cruel and prejudiced - she's right, I've seen them discriminate, I remind her it's still worth a try.
My bus was finally approaching, in trying to make her laugh I say " Bloody hell - it's about damn time!" It seems to work, but waiting is her game, patience is not something she can give up.
I wish her luck and give her my last piece of advice to always have a back-up plan when travelling by transit, they go by their own schedules, hence why Iwas there for so long.
I didn't even have the money to give her the fare she needed, she understood and reminded me that I gave it to her already to use the phone.
Maybe I'm not a pessimist after all, maybe it's naivete, maybe it's hope that not all mankind is unforgiving; I just wish that somebody would help her, show some grace, just give her a break but it's the stigma that separates us from them, she is part of a minority marginalized to live away from society's eye, she has accepted that because she has no other choice. It's the story of her life.
I met her at my bus stop tonight after work; I was weighed down with grocery bags waiting for my bumpy ride home and there she was waiting. The first bus rolled past, most folks board and the bus shelter is empty once again, except for the two of us.
" Are you waiting for the Quayside bus?" I ask politely.
"No." she says quietly without meeting my eyes.
I risk being judgemental myself by making assumptions about her, but Quayside is a neighbourhood for the well-off and retired seniors, and I could see that she had circumstances working against her that wouldn't allow her to live in such a place. Knowing the only other bus that came to the stop was gone, I asked what she was waiting for. "I'm meeting a lawyer here."
I first noticed her at the bottom of the stairwell as I was walking down from the skytrain platform, she was wandering around; another lady a few steps down and to the right of me was muttering to herself and gradually became louder, so much that people were jumping out of her way pretending not to notice. My little friend was the only brave one to ask whom she was speaking to, the lady abruptly responded with her smoker's growl " Don't listen to me!"
" But were you speaking to ME?" my friend asked timidly, but assertively.
"No I ain't speakin' to you, I was talking to myself- I told you, I got problems."
My friend, looks ashamed and fearful all at once and casts her eyes to the ground to avoid any further altercation.
I noticed her frail body in its shadow-boxer stance and unlike the hundreds of faces I see in my daily journey, her's had a thousand stories written all over it. Her etched face tells me they contain secrets and abuses, some victories but mostly fights - and all of them seem to say they haven't an ending. The scars and bruises on her arms and legs confirmed it.
Sadly, I know this 'look'. Her eyes were vacant and wary, her laughter too nervous and child-like. Her bottom jaw jut out, her sharp chin guiding her; she had few teeth which brought her jaw unnaturally close to her nose, broken too many times to be fixed. Her arms suggested many failed attempts to end the battles against men, against addiction, against life.
How unlikely is it a lawyer would meet a client in a bus shelter? It seems absurd but given the situation, perhaps he was being kind to agree to meet her there as her means of transportation were limited... I will never know, but I admit my thoughts were that this lady was being misled - forever a pessimist in these cases I am, I suppose. I felt badly and I asked redundant questions I already knew the answers to : " Have you tried calling him?" " Do you have money for a payphone?"
With no access to money, she wouldn't have the ability to call the lawyer to inform them of her late arrival. How much I take for granted.
I offer her some change to use a payphone, the tired exasperation lifted briefly from her face. A bit shell-shocked, she thanked me and proceeded to find a phone. I fought off the thoughts running through my head that I could have possibly fed an addict some money to get her next fix... but petty change can buy little of what is needed to bring momentary heaven.
My bus still hadn't arrived when I saw her come back towards the bus shelter; she looked at me like she was ready to cry, arms thrown up in surrender she shook her head, nothing. I was not surprised, this woman does not get many breaks, this is just another for her.
Knowing I couldn't do much more to help, I mouthed the words " I'm sorry"; Her face told me she accepted that and believed me.
I looked around at the people who gathered, in their high profile business attire, yapping away on their razor-thin cell phones, some opting to hail a cabbie down because they can afford not to wait; some teens walking past sneer at her and avoid her, huddled down on a step with her head in her hands outside the Salvation Army that has closed for business. Story of her life.
The very least I could do was have some words with her, give her any hope at all. I gathered up all my grocery bags and hobbled my way to her. She looked up smiled at me as if I was a friend. Wow. It caught me off guard.
"So, what's Plan B?"
She had tears in her eyes; I get the feeling she isn't given many second options.
I suggested that if I were in her shoes, I would wait 15 minutes longer in case this lawyer is still hanging around, 15 minutes and no longer, as if her time is precious, not to be wasted. I tell her she has better things to do, and some calls to make.
Sadly I know she most likely did not have a fixed address, but I asked anyway. "I'm staying at the hospital.", as though this is natural.
I suggest she make her way back there and hopefully someone can help her out with her situation. She told me she was afraid to risk going back on skytrain without paying the fare because there's a fine, she learned that the hard way. I told her there are transit employees up on the platform, that all she needs to do is explain her situation, that maybe they can help her out, she nods, and I think it was just an attempt to make me feel better by not ignoring my suggestion but she knows well enough that the employees can be cruel and prejudiced - she's right, I've seen them discriminate, I remind her it's still worth a try.
My bus was finally approaching, in trying to make her laugh I say " Bloody hell - it's about damn time!" It seems to work, but waiting is her game, patience is not something she can give up.
I wish her luck and give her my last piece of advice to always have a back-up plan when travelling by transit, they go by their own schedules, hence why Iwas there for so long.
I didn't even have the money to give her the fare she needed, she understood and reminded me that I gave it to her already to use the phone.
Maybe I'm not a pessimist after all, maybe it's naivete, maybe it's hope that not all mankind is unforgiving; I just wish that somebody would help her, show some grace, just give her a break but it's the stigma that separates us from them, she is part of a minority marginalized to live away from society's eye, she has accepted that because she has no other choice. It's the story of her life.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Living Dangerously
I like living on the edge a little, going against the grain, stepping out from the crowd and doing my own thing; tonight I drink my pina coladas without rum.
No, it's definitely not dangerous, in fact the only thing lethal about it is the heartburn I know is waiting for me. It's bloody hot outside, in the 30's somewhere ( celsius for us Canucks, but down South it's 91 deg fahrenheit..... 91, is that it? Geez, it feels like I should be in the Sahara desert right now.), so this 'virgin' libation is some small effort in trying to stay cool and sane as possible.
I feel particularly somber today - I left early from work, my mind just completely taken hostage by thoughts of my dad, so I have decided to take it easy and maybe try to make sense of the nonsense in this head of mine. Unfortunately the walls in this apartment are also sweating, it's so uncomfortable even just to be still, so as soon as the sun starts to abandon my deck I will set up camp there to write more.
Screw this pina colada - maybe I will steal one of my roomie's beers.
No, it's definitely not dangerous, in fact the only thing lethal about it is the heartburn I know is waiting for me. It's bloody hot outside, in the 30's somewhere ( celsius for us Canucks, but down South it's 91 deg fahrenheit..... 91, is that it? Geez, it feels like I should be in the Sahara desert right now.), so this 'virgin' libation is some small effort in trying to stay cool and sane as possible.
I feel particularly somber today - I left early from work, my mind just completely taken hostage by thoughts of my dad, so I have decided to take it easy and maybe try to make sense of the nonsense in this head of mine. Unfortunately the walls in this apartment are also sweating, it's so uncomfortable even just to be still, so as soon as the sun starts to abandon my deck I will set up camp there to write more.
Screw this pina colada - maybe I will steal one of my roomie's beers.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Feb.11th, 2006
It Never Rains When You Want It To. - Norah Jones
What does one do when they want everything all at once and any bit of patience they have left has skipped town?
I need more patience.
I have plenty of time - but this is one case where time is the enemy.
I complain about life slipping past me sneakily, me completely unaware it is even going by and then next thing I know, tomorrow has come; well in this case, my tomorrows are dragging their sorry behinds and I am getting antsy inking out the days on my calendar. All these new inventions are patented everyday - when is someone going to finally really make a time machine? I could use one right now.
What does one do when they want everything all at once and any bit of patience they have left has skipped town?
I need more patience.
I have plenty of time - but this is one case where time is the enemy.
I complain about life slipping past me sneakily, me completely unaware it is even going by and then next thing I know, tomorrow has come; well in this case, my tomorrows are dragging their sorry behinds and I am getting antsy inking out the days on my calendar. All these new inventions are patented everyday - when is someone going to finally really make a time machine? I could use one right now.
Feb. 5th, 2006
Have you ever experienced a time where out of nowhere the smell of someone you love dearly is all around you? You can be sitting there quiet, deep in thought or on a busy street going about your day and you are overwhelmed by the familiar scent of one you know so well and haven't seen for some time.
I wonder sometimes if this is just a figment of our imaginations... or if maybe God works in such small wonderful ways as giving us that tiny bit of comfort we might need in that moment. I don't think too much about it at the time it happens, because I am so overcome by the fact that the smell is so strong that the very person could be in the room with me! But the more it happens to me, the more I see the connection between how I am feeling that day and when I am aware of this smell. I don't think it is so coincidental these days.
When I am missing my Mom terribly, sometimes out of thin air her smell of sweet perfumes and stale tobacco will cover me. Sometimes it follows me and will linger, and sometimes I try to keep it with me, but the moment I smell it, it vanishes. Often it is just enough to calm me, to assure me I haven't forgotten her, and that surely, she hasn't forgotten me. And this happens more so with the smell of my fiance, and for that I am SO THANKFUL. I know his smell so well and it is such a comfort to me. I think it must be God who can send a pick-me-up in a time I need it most, to know that even though Joe is miles away from me, that really he isn't that far away at all, and to encourage me to hold on. It's not easy being away from the people you are closest to in life, the ones who hold the most important pieces of who you are - sometimes you do not feel whole without them. I thank God for these smells that seem to come out of nowhere at the times they are needed most. Love is truly sweet, even its aroma.
I wonder sometimes if this is just a figment of our imaginations... or if maybe God works in such small wonderful ways as giving us that tiny bit of comfort we might need in that moment. I don't think too much about it at the time it happens, because I am so overcome by the fact that the smell is so strong that the very person could be in the room with me! But the more it happens to me, the more I see the connection between how I am feeling that day and when I am aware of this smell. I don't think it is so coincidental these days.
When I am missing my Mom terribly, sometimes out of thin air her smell of sweet perfumes and stale tobacco will cover me. Sometimes it follows me and will linger, and sometimes I try to keep it with me, but the moment I smell it, it vanishes. Often it is just enough to calm me, to assure me I haven't forgotten her, and that surely, she hasn't forgotten me. And this happens more so with the smell of my fiance, and for that I am SO THANKFUL. I know his smell so well and it is such a comfort to me. I think it must be God who can send a pick-me-up in a time I need it most, to know that even though Joe is miles away from me, that really he isn't that far away at all, and to encourage me to hold on. It's not easy being away from the people you are closest to in life, the ones who hold the most important pieces of who you are - sometimes you do not feel whole without them. I thank God for these smells that seem to come out of nowhere at the times they are needed most. Love is truly sweet, even its aroma.
Nov. 26th, 2004
The Dreaded Christmas Advent Calendar
My family, namely us kids, partake in the christmas tradition of the chocolate Advent Calendar. Last night when I got home, I found one in my room lying on my bed, brand new in it's plastic wrap. Right away my first instinct was to throw that thing as far away as possible!! I curse that dreaded Advent calendar! I know, most people would think this bizarre - but you see, unless you suffer from a serious lack of willpower ( or 'don't-power, in my case) when it comes to chocolate like I do, then you will never understand what it is like to have a box full of chocolate at your disposal that CANNOT be opened until Dec.1....and after that only one window a day! That's cruel and unusual punishment! It's sick really.
And the problems don't just stop there. It's bad enough I can't touch this thing for another week but when I do get to rip that sucker open, it will be so unfulfilling. I remember when I was small, the calendars my mom used to buy for me looked the same - however, the difference was inside. You could actually see that it was Santa's head you were biting into, not just some molten piece of brown something-or-other that happens to have a chocolate taste to it. And wasn't the window for Dec.24th, the biggest one in the entire calendar??Not any longer- now it's almost as if your head is playing tricks on you " I could have sworn I just put a piece of chocolate in my mouth but now, a nano-second later, there's nothing there"And yet, I complain and complain and what do I do? I eat every piece of chocolate in those windows and continue to have this tradition carried on in my mouth and my family's mouth for many years to come, or until the bits of chocolate become so small it renders the calendar useless.
or I could pop every window open today and eat the evidence and act like I never saw the thing.
My family, namely us kids, partake in the christmas tradition of the chocolate Advent Calendar. Last night when I got home, I found one in my room lying on my bed, brand new in it's plastic wrap. Right away my first instinct was to throw that thing as far away as possible!! I curse that dreaded Advent calendar! I know, most people would think this bizarre - but you see, unless you suffer from a serious lack of willpower ( or 'don't-power, in my case) when it comes to chocolate like I do, then you will never understand what it is like to have a box full of chocolate at your disposal that CANNOT be opened until Dec.1....and after that only one window a day! That's cruel and unusual punishment! It's sick really.
And the problems don't just stop there. It's bad enough I can't touch this thing for another week but when I do get to rip that sucker open, it will be so unfulfilling. I remember when I was small, the calendars my mom used to buy for me looked the same - however, the difference was inside. You could actually see that it was Santa's head you were biting into, not just some molten piece of brown something-or-other that happens to have a chocolate taste to it. And wasn't the window for Dec.24th, the biggest one in the entire calendar??Not any longer- now it's almost as if your head is playing tricks on you " I could have sworn I just put a piece of chocolate in my mouth but now, a nano-second later, there's nothing there"And yet, I complain and complain and what do I do? I eat every piece of chocolate in those windows and continue to have this tradition carried on in my mouth and my family's mouth for many years to come, or until the bits of chocolate become so small it renders the calendar useless.
or I could pop every window open today and eat the evidence and act like I never saw the thing.
Dec. 13th, 2004
C-H-E-M-O spells Relief
So my mom had her first round of chemo just this past Thursday.
Luckily, my friend who happens to be the nurse who administered the drugs to my mom, told me that the drugs available now for my mom's cancer have less intense side effects than they used to. So my mom didn't experience any more vomiting then usual and she has felt relief already as the treatment has shrunk the mass on her pancreas and liver down a bit and she is not feeling the pain as it pushed against her other organs. Unfortunately though, she is very tired and weak.She goes in again this Thursday for her next round and I am a bit worried that maybe she won't be feeling so hot after this treatment. Her next one after that is Dec.23rd.
I asked her if she might feel up to going to our christmas eve service at church, and she says without a doubt she wants to go, but she doesn't know if she will be able to. Somehow the thought of going to church in her pj's and holding a 'sick-bucket' in her lap doesn't appeal too much to her.
Her old friends from high school got the news of her sickness and dropped by the house to visit. She hasn't seen a couple of them in years. I have always thought that situations like this that reunite people are so sad. It takes this much. One of the ladies had emailed my mom a picture of my biological father whom I have never met before - she forgot she had it and thought I would like to see it. I had one picture that I kept with me as a little girl... I must have been so afraid of losing it I hid it so well I can no longer find it. Figures.
Anyways, it was weird to see myself in this man I don't not know. I guess I have to give my mom the 20 questions about him before its too late to ask her.
So my mom had her first round of chemo just this past Thursday.
Luckily, my friend who happens to be the nurse who administered the drugs to my mom, told me that the drugs available now for my mom's cancer have less intense side effects than they used to. So my mom didn't experience any more vomiting then usual and she has felt relief already as the treatment has shrunk the mass on her pancreas and liver down a bit and she is not feeling the pain as it pushed against her other organs. Unfortunately though, she is very tired and weak.She goes in again this Thursday for her next round and I am a bit worried that maybe she won't be feeling so hot after this treatment. Her next one after that is Dec.23rd.
I asked her if she might feel up to going to our christmas eve service at church, and she says without a doubt she wants to go, but she doesn't know if she will be able to. Somehow the thought of going to church in her pj's and holding a 'sick-bucket' in her lap doesn't appeal too much to her.
Her old friends from high school got the news of her sickness and dropped by the house to visit. She hasn't seen a couple of them in years. I have always thought that situations like this that reunite people are so sad. It takes this much. One of the ladies had emailed my mom a picture of my biological father whom I have never met before - she forgot she had it and thought I would like to see it. I had one picture that I kept with me as a little girl... I must have been so afraid of losing it I hid it so well I can no longer find it. Figures.
Anyways, it was weird to see myself in this man I don't not know. I guess I have to give my mom the 20 questions about him before its too late to ask her.
June. 1st, 2005
When a Butterfly emerges...
Heh.... ok so you know you have committment issues when you neglect your daily journal, in fact, forget it even exists - not even including all the important details that literally rock your world. My mom has since passed away since my last entry. She died March 10th,2005 at 1pm.
Sometimes I have to say it out loud to myself or write it down to believe it's actually true, that she is gone. It seems cruel to do that to myself, but I am still in denial. Her cancer took her far too quickly, even the day she died. She didn't want to die in hospital, she said that right from the day she was told it was terminal. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, a cancer I learned after she passed was the most painful and fastest-spreading of all of them. At the time I thought ' it can't be too serious, just remove the pancreas.' She didn't seem concerned, nor my friend who was the one who gave her the chemo treatments. The chemo itself was a light one that didn't make her sick or make her lose her hair; I thought it was that way because her illness wasn't so bad, but in fact they were trying to give her the best quality of life possible for the short amount of time she had left. I don't know why I was so out of the loop when it came to her condition - did I simply just refuse to hear it or did everyone really not know themselves? All I know was that a week before I was to leave I had to cancel a flight I had made to go to Ohio Mar.10 to see my bf because my mom had suddenly become seriously ill and riddled with pain. She was from then on bed-ridden and heavily medicated with shots of morphine and a cocktail of pills I couldn't even begin to name. I went with her finally to one of her chemo treatments as I had promised I would from the beginning only to hear the doctor tell her that after some tests were done, it was revealed that the chemo was no longer working that her cancer was now spreading rapidly, that her health would start to deteriorate within a few weeks where she would lose consciousness and eventually die.
What it must be like to have a death sentence handed to you and to be faced with death in a short time's notice. My family started to prepare to have her settled in at home, having the nurses make home calls, bringing in a wheelchair and necessary bathroom equipment to assist her, even a hospital bed to keep her comfortable. So quickly she lost her appetite, unable to even keep her water and medications down. I watched my mom go from a sane, talkative woman to incoherent and in and out of sleep in a matter of days. I apologized to my mom for the things I had said to her in the years past that had hurt her and she told me not to worry about the small things. I had told her before that I was planning on cancelling my trip to help take care of her and she told me to go and that she would be ok, but if she were to go while I was there under no circumstances was I to come home! Nothing short of a threat! Typical of Isabel.
But I went ahead and cancelled it anyway once I saw how quickly death was settling in, and I told her of my decison and she was disappointed in me. I know now that she must have had some sort of understanding of what was coming for her in the next few days because she mustered up the strength enough to give me heck for not going to see the guy who she must have known would become my life. The morphine was no longer doing the trick for her as the pain was becoming constant and the morphine made her delirious and really aggressive causing her a lot of stress and her family, angst. The doctor told us that he wanted to switch her over to methadone to help control the pain a bit better but in order to monitor her she needed to be in hospital, overnight at the most. She agreed to it. That night my sisters and I went there to be with her and as if some miracle had happened it was just her and us, noone to bother us, no family or nurses to interrupt. She heard us come in and regained consciousness for one moment to give us a big smile and say hello and then she went out again like a light. We spoke to her and told her we loved her and that we were going to take her home the next day. An hour later she opened one eye once more while we sat around her and took a long look at each of us, one at a time as if to remember our faces. It occurred to me briefly that this may be her way of saying goodbye, but even then I wasn't ready and dismissed it from my mind.
The next day I wanted to take my two good friends of many years to see my mom for the last time and to say their good-byes to her. We took our time getting to the hospital, stopping to chat with their family members and answering their questions about my mom's health. We finally arrived at the Palliative care ward at 1:15pm and we snuck into my mom's room past all the nurses whom we know now were huddled around the phone trying to contact my family. The curtain around my mom's bed was drawn and so I told my friends to just wait a moment while I checked on her. I went in and she looked so different - she looked so undisturbed and at peace that I had to stand there and watch her. Her mouth was open as it usually was when she struggled to breathe but then I noticed she was no longer breathing. 'Oh, mom' . I was holding her hand and she was still warm. A nurse came rushing in asking us who we were and didn't we see the butterfly that was pinned to the curtain, the one that was meant to warn people in the room that the patient had since passed on to a better place in a better body, like the butterfly leaving its cocoon. It was mayhem as I was pulled out of the room; I said 'Sorry' to my friends as I was shoved past them, for what I wasn't exactly certain of, though I had an idea. Next thing I know I have a phone shoved in front of me and was being instructed to call my family. I couldn't remember numbers, I was trying too hard not to lose it, not to be knocked over by what I knew was going to be confirmed. The nurses never told me my mom had passed... they didn't have to; my friend finally lost her cool and said out loud "No one has told her anything yet - she doesn't know." They all look ashamed and finally one pulled me over and told me what I had figured out for myself, that she had passed away not just 10 mins ago.
She was always a private lady that way, not wanting to be made a fuss over - so of course she took her first opportunity alone to slip away. She wanted to die at home, she made it very clear. She went in to have her meds switched and catches a chest bug which her body cannot fight off and it takes her life not even 24 hours later.
I heard recently that the morning she died she was still cracking jokes. She told my uncle " This is RIDICULOUS! I am finished with smoking!" But she knew her time was up and she had said she was ready to meet God even though she wasn't ready to die, to leave her husband and her children. Two weeks before she died she went with my Dad to Home Depot to pick out a colour to repaint the kitchen. The can of paint and the brushes sat there for a good two months until just last weekend. It's painted now and sometimes I still expect her to come around the corner and make a scene : " That's not the colour I picked here on this swatch!!"
Cast her gently into morning, for the night has been unkind.
Heh.... ok so you know you have committment issues when you neglect your daily journal, in fact, forget it even exists - not even including all the important details that literally rock your world. My mom has since passed away since my last entry. She died March 10th,2005 at 1pm.
Sometimes I have to say it out loud to myself or write it down to believe it's actually true, that she is gone. It seems cruel to do that to myself, but I am still in denial. Her cancer took her far too quickly, even the day she died. She didn't want to die in hospital, she said that right from the day she was told it was terminal. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, a cancer I learned after she passed was the most painful and fastest-spreading of all of them. At the time I thought ' it can't be too serious, just remove the pancreas.' She didn't seem concerned, nor my friend who was the one who gave her the chemo treatments. The chemo itself was a light one that didn't make her sick or make her lose her hair; I thought it was that way because her illness wasn't so bad, but in fact they were trying to give her the best quality of life possible for the short amount of time she had left. I don't know why I was so out of the loop when it came to her condition - did I simply just refuse to hear it or did everyone really not know themselves? All I know was that a week before I was to leave I had to cancel a flight I had made to go to Ohio Mar.10 to see my bf because my mom had suddenly become seriously ill and riddled with pain. She was from then on bed-ridden and heavily medicated with shots of morphine and a cocktail of pills I couldn't even begin to name. I went with her finally to one of her chemo treatments as I had promised I would from the beginning only to hear the doctor tell her that after some tests were done, it was revealed that the chemo was no longer working that her cancer was now spreading rapidly, that her health would start to deteriorate within a few weeks where she would lose consciousness and eventually die.
What it must be like to have a death sentence handed to you and to be faced with death in a short time's notice. My family started to prepare to have her settled in at home, having the nurses make home calls, bringing in a wheelchair and necessary bathroom equipment to assist her, even a hospital bed to keep her comfortable. So quickly she lost her appetite, unable to even keep her water and medications down. I watched my mom go from a sane, talkative woman to incoherent and in and out of sleep in a matter of days. I apologized to my mom for the things I had said to her in the years past that had hurt her and she told me not to worry about the small things. I had told her before that I was planning on cancelling my trip to help take care of her and she told me to go and that she would be ok, but if she were to go while I was there under no circumstances was I to come home! Nothing short of a threat! Typical of Isabel.
But I went ahead and cancelled it anyway once I saw how quickly death was settling in, and I told her of my decison and she was disappointed in me. I know now that she must have had some sort of understanding of what was coming for her in the next few days because she mustered up the strength enough to give me heck for not going to see the guy who she must have known would become my life. The morphine was no longer doing the trick for her as the pain was becoming constant and the morphine made her delirious and really aggressive causing her a lot of stress and her family, angst. The doctor told us that he wanted to switch her over to methadone to help control the pain a bit better but in order to monitor her she needed to be in hospital, overnight at the most. She agreed to it. That night my sisters and I went there to be with her and as if some miracle had happened it was just her and us, noone to bother us, no family or nurses to interrupt. She heard us come in and regained consciousness for one moment to give us a big smile and say hello and then she went out again like a light. We spoke to her and told her we loved her and that we were going to take her home the next day. An hour later she opened one eye once more while we sat around her and took a long look at each of us, one at a time as if to remember our faces. It occurred to me briefly that this may be her way of saying goodbye, but even then I wasn't ready and dismissed it from my mind.
The next day I wanted to take my two good friends of many years to see my mom for the last time and to say their good-byes to her. We took our time getting to the hospital, stopping to chat with their family members and answering their questions about my mom's health. We finally arrived at the Palliative care ward at 1:15pm and we snuck into my mom's room past all the nurses whom we know now were huddled around the phone trying to contact my family. The curtain around my mom's bed was drawn and so I told my friends to just wait a moment while I checked on her. I went in and she looked so different - she looked so undisturbed and at peace that I had to stand there and watch her. Her mouth was open as it usually was when she struggled to breathe but then I noticed she was no longer breathing. 'Oh, mom' . I was holding her hand and she was still warm. A nurse came rushing in asking us who we were and didn't we see the butterfly that was pinned to the curtain, the one that was meant to warn people in the room that the patient had since passed on to a better place in a better body, like the butterfly leaving its cocoon. It was mayhem as I was pulled out of the room; I said 'Sorry' to my friends as I was shoved past them, for what I wasn't exactly certain of, though I had an idea. Next thing I know I have a phone shoved in front of me and was being instructed to call my family. I couldn't remember numbers, I was trying too hard not to lose it, not to be knocked over by what I knew was going to be confirmed. The nurses never told me my mom had passed... they didn't have to; my friend finally lost her cool and said out loud "No one has told her anything yet - she doesn't know." They all look ashamed and finally one pulled me over and told me what I had figured out for myself, that she had passed away not just 10 mins ago.
She was always a private lady that way, not wanting to be made a fuss over - so of course she took her first opportunity alone to slip away. She wanted to die at home, she made it very clear. She went in to have her meds switched and catches a chest bug which her body cannot fight off and it takes her life not even 24 hours later.
I heard recently that the morning she died she was still cracking jokes. She told my uncle " This is RIDICULOUS! I am finished with smoking!" But she knew her time was up and she had said she was ready to meet God even though she wasn't ready to die, to leave her husband and her children. Two weeks before she died she went with my Dad to Home Depot to pick out a colour to repaint the kitchen. The can of paint and the brushes sat there for a good two months until just last weekend. It's painted now and sometimes I still expect her to come around the corner and make a scene : " That's not the colour I picked here on this swatch!!"
Cast her gently into morning, for the night has been unkind.
Sept. 18th, 2005
Mom, is Heaven a stranger place than the world you left behind?
It's been just over 6 months now since she died.
I don't think I have ever seen 6 months sail past me as quickly as it has - I realize they say that time flies when you get older, and I agree, but like this? As always, I am thinking of my Mom; reminiscing about life as a child following my Mom everywhere she went, mimicing her every move, her laugh, her expressions and sayings.
A few years ago if someone had told me I was a spitting image of her I would have cried 'shenanigans!' But this is a comfort to me today, when my biggest fear is losing what I have left of her. It was hard to go through her clothing and belongings and give them away without protesting and storing everything in my closet - not only do I not have room for all of it, but it cannot be healthy if I am unable to let go of a material object. One thing for sure, I don't know that I am so happy to see my aunt, her sister visiting us wearing everything that once belonged to my Mom. She does not do it on purpose, and if not for lack of clothing, maybe because my mom had better fashion sense! ( ha! she'd smack me for saying that about my aunt and then say I was Bang on!); but it feels as though someone is trying to take her place, and my Mother was solid gold, valuable in every sense of the word and completely irreplaceable.
I have many questions circulating now about where she is... and will I ever see her again. I do not want to hear another soul tell me she is in a better place, and that we will be reunited again one day. That is no comfort to me. But I cannot keep worrying about these details or questions because it only brings upon more doubt and right now I need to feel sure and so I thank God for not making her endure the pain for long and instead I look at her photos and remember her expressions and imagine her laughter - and that is comfort to me.
It's been just over 6 months now since she died.
I don't think I have ever seen 6 months sail past me as quickly as it has - I realize they say that time flies when you get older, and I agree, but like this? As always, I am thinking of my Mom; reminiscing about life as a child following my Mom everywhere she went, mimicing her every move, her laugh, her expressions and sayings.
A few years ago if someone had told me I was a spitting image of her I would have cried 'shenanigans!' But this is a comfort to me today, when my biggest fear is losing what I have left of her. It was hard to go through her clothing and belongings and give them away without protesting and storing everything in my closet - not only do I not have room for all of it, but it cannot be healthy if I am unable to let go of a material object. One thing for sure, I don't know that I am so happy to see my aunt, her sister visiting us wearing everything that once belonged to my Mom. She does not do it on purpose, and if not for lack of clothing, maybe because my mom had better fashion sense! ( ha! she'd smack me for saying that about my aunt and then say I was Bang on!); but it feels as though someone is trying to take her place, and my Mother was solid gold, valuable in every sense of the word and completely irreplaceable.
I have many questions circulating now about where she is... and will I ever see her again. I do not want to hear another soul tell me she is in a better place, and that we will be reunited again one day. That is no comfort to me. But I cannot keep worrying about these details or questions because it only brings upon more doubt and right now I need to feel sure and so I thank God for not making her endure the pain for long and instead I look at her photos and remember her expressions and imagine her laughter - and that is comfort to me.
Sept, 2005
In that place between Young and Old.
So I arrived here today at my 1/4 of a century age - and I get asked the typical question that never fails to leave someone's lips : " Do you FEEL any older?"
No, I do not, but I know that I am and therefore, am absolutely sick with misery.
I have been dreading this birthday for some time now... I don't mean from the day I turned 24, but rather since I returned home from Europe on a backpacking trip two years ago, when after working sometime I realized the debt I incurred in the foreign countries was easier to create than it is to eliminate. And a year later I was nowhere in my progress, if anything I had set myself back even more, because credit cards are good for that, a life-saver one day and a life destroyer the next. I know I am being dramatic, and I have learned a lot this year - in fact what I have been through should have turned my hair white - but it hasn't ( thankfully) but I am wiser now because of it. All around me, my friends and family my age are all getting engaged, married, having kids, buying their houses, their cars and getting a dog on top of it all, while I am now 25 years old and at that age where you should definitely have everything figured out by now - at least.
poop.
oh well, at least there will be cake.
So I arrived here today at my 1/4 of a century age - and I get asked the typical question that never fails to leave someone's lips : " Do you FEEL any older?"
No, I do not, but I know that I am and therefore, am absolutely sick with misery.
I have been dreading this birthday for some time now... I don't mean from the day I turned 24, but rather since I returned home from Europe on a backpacking trip two years ago, when after working sometime I realized the debt I incurred in the foreign countries was easier to create than it is to eliminate. And a year later I was nowhere in my progress, if anything I had set myself back even more, because credit cards are good for that, a life-saver one day and a life destroyer the next. I know I am being dramatic, and I have learned a lot this year - in fact what I have been through should have turned my hair white - but it hasn't ( thankfully) but I am wiser now because of it. All around me, my friends and family my age are all getting engaged, married, having kids, buying their houses, their cars and getting a dog on top of it all, while I am now 25 years old and at that age where you should definitely have everything figured out by now - at least.
poop.
oh well, at least there will be cake.
Oct. 30th, 2005
My Mother's Handwriting
This morning I was going through some old bills I had found bundled up by a blue rubber band - mail still being delivered to my parents house though I had lived in a new place by then. I have since moved again but had yet to open these bills, not a good practice; though I had already paid them I should still LOOK at the bills in careful detail (though it was later instead of sooner - hey but it's better than NEVER! this was obviously not a trait passed down to me by my parents!).
I turned over the brown envelope that had my bank statement enclosed and noticed my mum had written herself a note on there to drop off some medical information at the doctor's office - it was a note written in pencil, slanted and almost running off the paper in haste, but it was my mum's penmanship no doubt, a thing of beauty I always thought and tried to imitate; I was never able to convincingly forge my mum's signature.
I worry sometimes that I will forget about her, the smallest details but I am painfully reminded still how fresh everything is about her when all the memories and feelings and smells come flooding back. I have a photo I took of her last Christmas, she was sitting on the couch by the window with the sun upon her, watching my youngest sister decorate the Christmas tree. This was always Mum's job to decorate, ours was to take it down. This year though she was too ill, unable to stand for too long and in too much pain to move around. She gave up this position easily and watched with a smile on her face, no criticism whatsoever, only pride. She knew after all this would be her last tree and she wanted to enjoy it.
Whenever I look at this photo, it takes me right back to that moment as I sat beside her and held her hand and kissed her cheek. Her skin was dry and paper-thin, her cheek still soft and fuzzy but cooler and her smell is one that hurts me to remember, of sweet perfume but illness close behind. I can feel her tiny frame as I hugged her, ironically as if careful not to squeeze the life out of her instead letting her hug me back with all the strength she could muster. The last time she hugged me that way was the last time she was able to 'mother' me the way she always had, consoling me as I cried and speaking softly in my ear " I know, I know..."; this was the day the doctor told her the chemo treatments would stop and it would only be a matter of weeks left for her to live. I think back now and I am in awe of a woman who after being told she was down to her last days on earth still had it in her to look after her grown adult daughter who was facing the inevitable loss of her mother. When someone should have been consoling her, mothering her, she thought of nothing else but to dry her eldest child's tears. I hope that I continue to find little scraps of her handwriting. The chances are becoming smaller and smaller as my dad and younger sisters move on with their lives and make changes in the home that they once shared with Mum, giving away her belongings and packing away her own old, forgotten bundled up bills and letters with notes jotted in scribbled pencil on the back.
This morning I was going through some old bills I had found bundled up by a blue rubber band - mail still being delivered to my parents house though I had lived in a new place by then. I have since moved again but had yet to open these bills, not a good practice; though I had already paid them I should still LOOK at the bills in careful detail (though it was later instead of sooner - hey but it's better than NEVER! this was obviously not a trait passed down to me by my parents!).
I turned over the brown envelope that had my bank statement enclosed and noticed my mum had written herself a note on there to drop off some medical information at the doctor's office - it was a note written in pencil, slanted and almost running off the paper in haste, but it was my mum's penmanship no doubt, a thing of beauty I always thought and tried to imitate; I was never able to convincingly forge my mum's signature.
I worry sometimes that I will forget about her, the smallest details but I am painfully reminded still how fresh everything is about her when all the memories and feelings and smells come flooding back. I have a photo I took of her last Christmas, she was sitting on the couch by the window with the sun upon her, watching my youngest sister decorate the Christmas tree. This was always Mum's job to decorate, ours was to take it down. This year though she was too ill, unable to stand for too long and in too much pain to move around. She gave up this position easily and watched with a smile on her face, no criticism whatsoever, only pride. She knew after all this would be her last tree and she wanted to enjoy it.
Whenever I look at this photo, it takes me right back to that moment as I sat beside her and held her hand and kissed her cheek. Her skin was dry and paper-thin, her cheek still soft and fuzzy but cooler and her smell is one that hurts me to remember, of sweet perfume but illness close behind. I can feel her tiny frame as I hugged her, ironically as if careful not to squeeze the life out of her instead letting her hug me back with all the strength she could muster. The last time she hugged me that way was the last time she was able to 'mother' me the way she always had, consoling me as I cried and speaking softly in my ear " I know, I know..."; this was the day the doctor told her the chemo treatments would stop and it would only be a matter of weeks left for her to live. I think back now and I am in awe of a woman who after being told she was down to her last days on earth still had it in her to look after her grown adult daughter who was facing the inevitable loss of her mother. When someone should have been consoling her, mothering her, she thought of nothing else but to dry her eldest child's tears. I hope that I continue to find little scraps of her handwriting. The chances are becoming smaller and smaller as my dad and younger sisters move on with their lives and make changes in the home that they once shared with Mum, giving away her belongings and packing away her own old, forgotten bundled up bills and letters with notes jotted in scribbled pencil on the back.
Oct. 20th, 2004
Le autobus
I love mornings like this one today. The air is biting and the wind is blowing and the hum of leaf-blowers seem to haunt us. The air was so startling, smacked me right in the face when I opened the door as I left for work. I could see my breath as it cut through the cold, it seemed to hold its shape, frozen momentarily and then floated away. The birds were floating on the breeze, swooping with each strong gust that blew through the trees and buildings; the wind threatening to pick you up off your feet and bring you along on its journey. Over the skyline, with lights from the buidlings and cars still luminous, the clouds split apart to reveal the appropriately cold blue. I got off the train and waited at the bus-stop. My friend Erin soon joined me and then we were the object of stares as we described odd dreams of mashed potatoes the night before. I am thankful for her odd 'mashed' dreams... they make my own feel somewhat sane, if there is such a thing as sanity ( which I question everyday the more people I meet). We talked about running and getting older and the boys that never cease to stare at us every morning as we wait for our ride. We discussed motorbikes and unicorns, vaseline and paperwork that sat there waiting for us to complete it. John came on our bus with coffee~ once again, none for us. If you come with coffee...you must bring some for all - there is nothing worse than catching a bus jammed full of grumpy people who are upset they have to stand and there is no arm room to spread out their huge financial newspapers, and bringing with your extra body a cup full of aromatic java. You are literally asking for your death sentence. At least, that's how me and Erin see it. Erin starts to nod off....I listen to Natalie Merchant and observe my surroundings. I catch the 'not-so-discreet-over-the-shoulder-lookers' who gaze at the reading materials of the guy sitting beside them; I notice the guy finally catch on, and grumble and pretend to shift his body as he brings his paper closer towards him, shutting the shoulder-gazer off and leaving him no other choice but to read the bus advertisements, that no doubt he has probably read every morning this past week. Over my own music, I can hear that of someone else positioned somewhere towards the back, it's loud and I see the unapproving faces, as though their ears have been violated and subjected to the heavy bass of hip-hop. I turn my volume down a notch, just in case.
The bus empties out...fills up briefly once more and once again, it is empty. Perfect.
My stop is nearing and I dread the mornings where I have to push through people who are absorbed in their books, their songs so loud they can't hear my apology 'but could you just move an inch', the people who try so hard not to spill their coffee or the girls who are so wrapped up in conversations about random dreams, work and boys with fixed eyes. The doors open and once again I am bitten by cold, my nose snatched away by Jack Frost.....and there he is: The leaf-blower...looking cranky as ever, once again blowing the same leaves he attacked just yesterday.
life and its comings and goings.
I love mornings like this one today. The air is biting and the wind is blowing and the hum of leaf-blowers seem to haunt us. The air was so startling, smacked me right in the face when I opened the door as I left for work. I could see my breath as it cut through the cold, it seemed to hold its shape, frozen momentarily and then floated away. The birds were floating on the breeze, swooping with each strong gust that blew through the trees and buildings; the wind threatening to pick you up off your feet and bring you along on its journey. Over the skyline, with lights from the buidlings and cars still luminous, the clouds split apart to reveal the appropriately cold blue. I got off the train and waited at the bus-stop. My friend Erin soon joined me and then we were the object of stares as we described odd dreams of mashed potatoes the night before. I am thankful for her odd 'mashed' dreams... they make my own feel somewhat sane, if there is such a thing as sanity ( which I question everyday the more people I meet). We talked about running and getting older and the boys that never cease to stare at us every morning as we wait for our ride. We discussed motorbikes and unicorns, vaseline and paperwork that sat there waiting for us to complete it. John came on our bus with coffee~ once again, none for us. If you come with coffee...you must bring some for all - there is nothing worse than catching a bus jammed full of grumpy people who are upset they have to stand and there is no arm room to spread out their huge financial newspapers, and bringing with your extra body a cup full of aromatic java. You are literally asking for your death sentence. At least, that's how me and Erin see it. Erin starts to nod off....I listen to Natalie Merchant and observe my surroundings. I catch the 'not-so-discreet-over-the-shoulder-lookers' who gaze at the reading materials of the guy sitting beside them; I notice the guy finally catch on, and grumble and pretend to shift his body as he brings his paper closer towards him, shutting the shoulder-gazer off and leaving him no other choice but to read the bus advertisements, that no doubt he has probably read every morning this past week. Over my own music, I can hear that of someone else positioned somewhere towards the back, it's loud and I see the unapproving faces, as though their ears have been violated and subjected to the heavy bass of hip-hop. I turn my volume down a notch, just in case.
The bus empties out...fills up briefly once more and once again, it is empty. Perfect.
My stop is nearing and I dread the mornings where I have to push through people who are absorbed in their books, their songs so loud they can't hear my apology 'but could you just move an inch', the people who try so hard not to spill their coffee or the girls who are so wrapped up in conversations about random dreams, work and boys with fixed eyes. The doors open and once again I am bitten by cold, my nose snatched away by Jack Frost.....and there he is: The leaf-blower...looking cranky as ever, once again blowing the same leaves he attacked just yesterday.
life and its comings and goings.
Oct. 30th, 2004
Norm, you can't take your grudges to Heaven, but here's some Glenfiddich for the road
Norm finally gave in and left this lonely world of ours. I last saw my good friend about two weeks ago, like I do every saturday. He was in his room, trying to get some sleep. He told me that it was the first time in his life that he ever had to use an inhaler, that his breathing had become too hard for him on his own. That day was also the only day he didn't tell me that he was going to die. I could see that not only was he more weary then I had ever seen him before, but also his mind was in a million places all at once... it was almost impossible to keep a conversation going while staying on topic. He had said some things that had made me uncomfortable, that combined with his deteriorating body and pain, I found it hard to be near him. I didn't visit him the following Saturday, or the next. I was making excuses and I realized that this was not his fault....he had no control over what words came out of his mouth and I had to put that behind me and continue being the only family he had. I went into his room this morning, only to find a new gentleman had moved in. I apologized for intruding on this man and asked a nurse who was cleaning rooms. I asked where Norm was and she told me to hold tight for one sec while she grabbed another nurse. Together they told me that he had passed on about two weeks ago. "He told you, didn't he? That he was going to die?" the one nurse asked me as I broke down from a wave of sadness, guilt and shock all at once. He had told me...almost everytime I saw him. He was the boy who cried 'wolf' one too many times, I had called his bluff almost every week. But as it turned out, our last visit was the one time he never mentioned it. "You should have been notified...are you family?"No. I am just a friend who comes, signs in, visits and leaves quietly. Noone ever knew who I was - except for Norm.So there you have it you cranky old bugger, you're finally out of pain and out of the hell-hole you refused to call 'home' at the lodge. I won't stop looking for your written works done at UBC and in Penticton....and I only hope that you are finally now flying in the Cessna-150 airplane that you knew so well. Thanks for the good laughs Norm. I'll have my sisters play the pipes for you and we'll have some Glenfiddich in your name.
Norm finally gave in and left this lonely world of ours. I last saw my good friend about two weeks ago, like I do every saturday. He was in his room, trying to get some sleep. He told me that it was the first time in his life that he ever had to use an inhaler, that his breathing had become too hard for him on his own. That day was also the only day he didn't tell me that he was going to die. I could see that not only was he more weary then I had ever seen him before, but also his mind was in a million places all at once... it was almost impossible to keep a conversation going while staying on topic. He had said some things that had made me uncomfortable, that combined with his deteriorating body and pain, I found it hard to be near him. I didn't visit him the following Saturday, or the next. I was making excuses and I realized that this was not his fault....he had no control over what words came out of his mouth and I had to put that behind me and continue being the only family he had. I went into his room this morning, only to find a new gentleman had moved in. I apologized for intruding on this man and asked a nurse who was cleaning rooms. I asked where Norm was and she told me to hold tight for one sec while she grabbed another nurse. Together they told me that he had passed on about two weeks ago. "He told you, didn't he? That he was going to die?" the one nurse asked me as I broke down from a wave of sadness, guilt and shock all at once. He had told me...almost everytime I saw him. He was the boy who cried 'wolf' one too many times, I had called his bluff almost every week. But as it turned out, our last visit was the one time he never mentioned it. "You should have been notified...are you family?"No. I am just a friend who comes, signs in, visits and leaves quietly. Noone ever knew who I was - except for Norm.So there you have it you cranky old bugger, you're finally out of pain and out of the hell-hole you refused to call 'home' at the lodge. I won't stop looking for your written works done at UBC and in Penticton....and I only hope that you are finally now flying in the Cessna-150 airplane that you knew so well. Thanks for the good laughs Norm. I'll have my sisters play the pipes for you and we'll have some Glenfiddich in your name.
Nov.1st, 2004
You know your day is off to a bad start when....
You don't wake up to your alarm clock until a half an hour later and the first thing you do when you finally roll out of bed is stub your toe! Ow.
I finally get all my gear together and I leave the house and I realize I need my umbrella - I left it at work on Friday, great, it's pouring too.
AND THEN... if it's not bad enough that I am soaked but I realize that my bus pass to work has expired and I need to get to a store to buy a new one. One good thing though, I had enough coinage to get the proper fare together to board a bus to that store. By the time I get there, I am supposed to be at work in about 15 mins and it usually takes me 45mins -1 hour to get there, RIGHT ON.
So I get to work and as it turns out pretty much everyone else is running late also. But we are stinking busy at work, no time to breathe, only to run round like a chicken with its head cut off. I am in a rut.... I was doing so well keeping myself out of it between Norm's death and my mom's sickness - but now its hitting me. Lord help me change my attitude and my heart - noone else in here needs this. Hmm at least Muzikdude has made me laugh today at his appreciation for Italians and their fine culinary talents.
You don't wake up to your alarm clock until a half an hour later and the first thing you do when you finally roll out of bed is stub your toe! Ow.
I finally get all my gear together and I leave the house and I realize I need my umbrella - I left it at work on Friday, great, it's pouring too.
AND THEN... if it's not bad enough that I am soaked but I realize that my bus pass to work has expired and I need to get to a store to buy a new one. One good thing though, I had enough coinage to get the proper fare together to board a bus to that store. By the time I get there, I am supposed to be at work in about 15 mins and it usually takes me 45mins -1 hour to get there, RIGHT ON.
So I get to work and as it turns out pretty much everyone else is running late also. But we are stinking busy at work, no time to breathe, only to run round like a chicken with its head cut off. I am in a rut.... I was doing so well keeping myself out of it between Norm's death and my mom's sickness - but now its hitting me. Lord help me change my attitude and my heart - noone else in here needs this. Hmm at least Muzikdude has made me laugh today at his appreciation for Italians and their fine culinary talents.
Nov. 2nd, 2004
The train left the station LONG time ago!
Ok so my signing is a bit rusty. I used to sign for a young deaf kid that came to our youth services every couple of weeks or so...and then I would accompany him and his friends to their high school dance where I would ask the girl they were interested in " Will you dance with me?" She would look at me, horrified - " Are you serious?? I don't dance with GIRLS, I like boys"
" Umm yeah so do I, but it isn't me asking, it's HIM, he just can't ask you himself" . Yeah good times.
So this kid stopped coming to church.... his parents aren't christian but they support him in his choices...I guess at the time he lost interest. Well now he wants to come back and he is fervent. And this scares the daylights out of me!!
This past sunday I was telling myself to relax, it won't be another week or so that he comes.... I don't need to sign for anyone - wrong. I had an old friend of mine from school come to check out our church - her old church, the deaf one of the same denomination, she felt was no longer helping her grow. So there I was interpreting for the entire service and worship included. That was 100% the work of God. Out of nowhere I was remembering signs to words I had long forgotten, and the movement was so fluid. At the end of it, I asked my friend if she understood and she happily signed back " YES!!! Thank YOU! I will be back next Sunday!"
oh.
Ok so my signing is a bit rusty. I used to sign for a young deaf kid that came to our youth services every couple of weeks or so...and then I would accompany him and his friends to their high school dance where I would ask the girl they were interested in " Will you dance with me?" She would look at me, horrified - " Are you serious?? I don't dance with GIRLS, I like boys"
" Umm yeah so do I, but it isn't me asking, it's HIM, he just can't ask you himself" . Yeah good times.
So this kid stopped coming to church.... his parents aren't christian but they support him in his choices...I guess at the time he lost interest. Well now he wants to come back and he is fervent. And this scares the daylights out of me!!
This past sunday I was telling myself to relax, it won't be another week or so that he comes.... I don't need to sign for anyone - wrong. I had an old friend of mine from school come to check out our church - her old church, the deaf one of the same denomination, she felt was no longer helping her grow. So there I was interpreting for the entire service and worship included. That was 100% the work of God. Out of nowhere I was remembering signs to words I had long forgotten, and the movement was so fluid. At the end of it, I asked my friend if she understood and she happily signed back " YES!!! Thank YOU! I will be back next Sunday!"
oh.
Nov. 6th, 2004
Cancer is spelled : U-G-L-Y
I hate that word.
It actually LOOKS ugly when I see it. I never realized that before that I favour the appearance of certain words and despise others. Like the word 'HOPE'. It's so beautiful. Everything it stands for, everything it represents is good. It even has an element of beauty to it when I read it. Now how can someone tell me to have HOPE when it comes to cancer? How do I have hope when cancer has taken two of my friends from this world this week alone and now it has decided to bring my mom with it? God is going to have to stick toothpicks to hold my eyes open real wide so I can see the HOPE in this one.
I hate that word.
It actually LOOKS ugly when I see it. I never realized that before that I favour the appearance of certain words and despise others. Like the word 'HOPE'. It's so beautiful. Everything it stands for, everything it represents is good. It even has an element of beauty to it when I read it. Now how can someone tell me to have HOPE when it comes to cancer? How do I have hope when cancer has taken two of my friends from this world this week alone and now it has decided to bring my mom with it? God is going to have to stick toothpicks to hold my eyes open real wide so I can see the HOPE in this one.
Oct. 9th, 2004
I burned the coffee this morning. How do I manage to do stuff like that? I woke up, my throat begging me, practically choking me to get out of bed and go put on a pot of coffee. So I obeyed. Frustrated because making coffee meant that I had to take out the trash that someone else failed to do the night before- and it's raining outside. Spill the old wet grinds on the floor, and we all know how impossible it is to clean that stuff up. It gets everywhere, like sand from the beach when you are wearing pants rolled up to your knees and you attempt to dry your feet before putting your socks and shoes back on, with all the grains of sand stuck between your toes. You get home and unroll the bottoms of your pants, and the sand spills out like water from the Niagara Falls, like pieces of glass from a dropped plate, like a bag of dropped marbles. Years later you are still finding coffee grinds under the fridge.Coffee's finally on, I stumble up the stairs to the computer, happy to see that my yahoos from the Cafe are already awake and waiting. Such a nice way to start the day with warm words from what you have pictured in your heart and mind to be the fresh-scrubbed, friendly loving faces of your dear family on Christian Forums. Hours fly by, my life passed.A strange smell permeates the air a whole floor up. I recognize it instantly. I am reminded of walking into a Starbucks - burnt coffee beans. But it's ok....because my addiction has been replaced by something new that's offered in a cafe, the NEW CAFE that is...and that is the love of my friends here in CF.I am a clutz, things fall when I walk into a room, hence the name 'Calamity-Jane'. Some say I am like a 'Light' because people scatter like cockroaches when I enter the room. Thankfully, that's not the truth, they just don't want to get hurt.My name is Heather, and I am an addict in so many ways.
Oct. 10th, 2004
So much the naked eye thinks it can see....So I am sitting here at my computer desk eating ice cream, listening to Ben Harper and looking at the view outside my window that overlooks a river, expansive mountains and the city that never stops. It's Thanksgiving weekend - and I have SO much to be thankful for. I could be one of those poor folks I see huddled in the doorways of shops on our dowtown streets, that will get shooed away by a blast of cold water once dusk has settled in. I don't have to worry where my head will rest, I do not think twice about whether I will have a meal to eat tonight, let alone a BIG dinner where I sit down with a family who loves me. I live in a country that is safe and a city that is considered to be one of the most beautiful in this world. Our climate is a calm one, rain being more of an annnoyance than a threat. Our homes don't get washed up with floods and do not get ripped apart by tornadoes, one after another. Free speech will not get me killed here, and I can vote. As a woman here in Canada, I have rights, I am a PERSON, a contributing citizen with the chance to get an education so that I may have a career where I can experience equal opportunity. So often I forget all this.Today my pastor asked everyone in the congregation if we have ever thanked the Lord for our bladders. We laughed, naturally; how odd to think up something so small as a bladder. Pastor Kevin reminded us once again, how often we don't know what we have until it's gone, or it simply no longer works. Thank- you Lord for giving me strong bones to carry me, to go on with my daily routine; Thank- You for my sight to see all that exists around me, to find beauty in what others might see as an eye-sore; Thank-You Lord for giving me the hearing I have left to lend an ear to someone who simply needs someone to listen; thank- you for my hands Lord and for this heart that lives in me so that I can be equipped to do the work You have asked of me, to make small differences while I am here.Lord I ask that I never lose sight of all that I am blessed with.
Lame? Maybe...
I am going to be transferring over some old posts from another blog I had written. No, they are not masterpieces by any lengths but they are worth something to me and I would like to have them all in one place - and I know I have silent readers who are going to be scratching their heads " Am I having deja vu of someone else's thoughts?"
Thinking you've been there and read that already? Well you're not crazy, entirely.
Love,
Calamity H. Jane
p.s. Is that even how you spell DAY-ZSA VOO?
Thinking you've been there and read that already? Well you're not crazy, entirely.
Love,
Calamity H. Jane
p.s. Is that even how you spell DAY-ZSA VOO?
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