The Importance of Mourning

“A man without land is nothing."

When Duddy Kravitz's grandfather says this, Duddy becomes obsessed and begins the relentless pursuit of property that is his downfall. "The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz" is one of my favourite novels by the late great Mordecai Richler.

Many years ago, when I was still a wee lass, my parents told me I could have a particular parcel of land -- river frontage, with a babbling brook, apple trees -- a great place for a little house. Very rustic! And I happen to have friends who can appreciate rustic, so I always thought it was a good fit :-)

It was sort of understood that when I went to settle down, I would build there.

That was a long time ago . . . the late 80's, early '90's . . . and as everyone knows, settling down in the sense of marriage and children wasn't really in my cards. Whenever I would be in a serious or semi-serious relationship, I would think about that land and whether or not I could imagine (or wanted to imagine) building a life there with the guy. Sometimes, I came close to seeing it . . . but in the end it always boiled down to trust.

I never trusted anyone enough to risk losing that land in a nasty break-up. I loved that land too much to let a man come between us.

I took friends there and showed it to them. Sometimes when I was going through a particularly hard time I would go there alone and just sit and listen to the brook and the river and imagine a life there. Occasionally, I even went there in the middle of the night, back when I was always out alone in the dark and I didn't worry about bears.

I always liked the security of knowing that when the time came I would have a place. And it was a good place. A place I trusted.

My life started to fall apart in 1999 and over the next year or so I lost everything -- my business, my boyfriend, the roof over my head, my health -- everything. I ended up back at my parents. I ended up flat on my back wondering if I'd ever walk normally again. I bottomed out.

They say you need to hit bottom in order to start to climb back up again, and that's absolutely true. I hit bottom and I wallowed for awhile but then I started to work my way up again. And the first thing I did was work on myself -- my self-esteem, my relationship baggage and issues -- and it didn't happen overnight, but pretty soon I was a little better. I was okay being alone. I liked myself again. I felt strong.

And still I thought about the land. But now I had a different strategy. I wouldn't wait to settle down with a man. I would live there on my own. I went so far as to design my little house on paper. I actually drew a floor plan. I got a job, started taking care of my bills, started writing and pursuing my dream of being an author -- I was (I still am) doing okay. The road might be long and twisty but somehow, some way, someday, I'd get the bedroom loft in a little house by the babbling brook with a porch facing the river.

But a year or two ago, everything changed. It started with subtle hints from Mom . . . "Your uncle is crazy, how are you going to live with him as your neighbour? He'll make your life a living Hell." . . . "Why do you want to be so far away from the road?" . . . "Why not build at the river down here? Closer to the kids." . . . Which turned into a flat out "you can't have it I'm selling it" from Dad.

I was pretty hurt. I remember the first time anything was said, the first hint, felt like a punch in my stomach. I just couldn't even believe it. I couldn't believe after all the years, all the planning, at the very heart of it all they didn't want me to have it. It's no big secret that I don't get along that well with my father, yet still I never dreamed he'd disinherit me, that he'd sell my place.

For many months I thought I'd be left out of the land thing altogether. My sisters had their places staked out already, my brother was supposed to get the family homestead . . . there was nothing left for me if they sold my river place. But then it became apparent I'd be getting the family homestead. My brother has learning disabilities and can't live on his own. Somebody needs to take care of him. I'm in my 30's. I don't have any kids and family of my own. It doesn't take a genius to read the writing on that wall.

So, my plan changed drastically then. I started to think about leaving the area. I searched for places to move. I thought about going to Asia, Hong Kong or Seoul. I did a lot of research on Ireland, France and Italy. I settled on Stratford, Ontario, for a time. It became this sort of desperate search for a place, any place, where I could escape the life I felt was being forced on me here, where I could go and be happy and never get homesick for that other quiet life by the river that I had planned in my head for so long.

Make no mistake about it, in the beginning I was on the run. I wanted to get as far away from my family as possible and never look back. But the more time that passed, the more I worked on self, the stronger I became emotionally and physically -- the closer the location of my move.

I've settled on Sackville, NB. I'm going in a couple of months. I'm excited about the move. I'm looking forward to starting a new chapter in my life, to making new friends, to being myself. So, why am I drudging up the past now, when I'm so excited about a future that doesn't look anything like I thought it would? Why am I thinking about the land?

My sister is getting her land . . . legally getting it, I mean. She's getting a new house, so they need to legalise ownership of the land. She's lived there for years, but nothing was ever legal before. My other sister has legally owned her land for many years now. She owned her land when I still thought I was getting mine. And that never bothered me. I mean I don't begrudge them their land, houses, happiness -- whatever. It's just hurtful to be excluded.

It's just watching the papers get signed, hearing the talk about it all the time . . . it's like rubbing salt into an old wound. It's brought up old issues, I guess. I mean, I don't want that land now. I really don't. I have a different plan. I'm happy with my plan. I don't want the homestead either. I don't want anything. I'm off in a couple of months to begin the adventure of my lifetime and I'm never coming back again. I mean, I'm coming to visit. I may even decide I want to live in Chatham or someplace. But I'm never coming back to live in this house or anywhere on this road or in this town again. Never. No matter what. I'm very thankful to my parents for all of their help over the years, but I'm done. I need to go live my own life now. Who knows maybe I would've ended up leaving anyway and wouldn't have wanted the land afterall . . . but I guess we'll never know that will we?

The thing that hurts is that they didn't want me to have it, plain and simple. They had no problems signing off huge chunks to my sisters, but not me. So lately I've been getting upset pretty often because it's all at the forefront while my sister works out her ownership details.

Of course, in the Kellie way of doing things, I never said too much when the land first got taken away. I internalised everything, crying when nobody could hear me, plotting elaborate "I'll show them" schemes, letting it fester. And to my parent's way of thinking, my very few words on the subject bascially meant I was fine with the whole deal, gee it was practically all my idea to begin with.

Now, to their way of thinking after I've been quite verbal about wanting nothing, I should expect nothing. They don't get it. But that's okay, because this whole land deal should be done this week and then I won't have to think about it everyday plus I've figured out what I need to do to work past this.

In my hurt and anger and urgency to make a new plan, I never stopped to mourn the old one. I burned the floor plan of my house in one of my cleaning purges but I never stopped to cry for the death of that dream. So, that's what I'm doing now. I'm saying good bye to the dreams of yesterday, closing that door for good, so I can open another door and fully embrace my dreams of today.

Mood: Sad
Drinking: Water
Listening To: Got to be Real, Cheryl Lynn
Hair: Straggly Up-do

Finally!!

I must've complained enough about the movie theatre because they finally opened some films I really want to see. Tonight Jenn and I went and saw The Aviator. I loved it!! Cate Blanchet is fantastic as Katherine Hepburn. Leo DiCaprio has never been better, it's the best performance of his life. The film is nearly three hours long but for me it went by in no time, it didn't seem long at all. I haven't seen Ray or Million Dollar Baby . . . All the Oscar buzz seems to be around Clint Eastwood . . . but I don't know. The Aviator is the best movie I've seen in forever! I can't wait to own the dvd. They all deserve Oscars in my book. Cate, Leo, Scorcesi -- everyone!

In other news, I've been informed all the bugs are ironed out of bnm and I'm back in business. Thank God!! I was losing my mind. Even without publishing a single new word during the entire month of January, visits ended up at 13,223 double what they were just two months ago in November. And those are actual visitors, not hits. Which means if the same person visits the site 10 times in a single day, they are only counted as one visitor. Pretty cool, huh? I have no idea where all the new traffic is coming from but it's fantastic! February is of course a short month, so the numbers will probably go down, still it's exciting stuff.

Mood: Nostalgically stoned (sans drugs)like a Val Kilmer character
Drinking: coffee (100% Columbian 20 oz. Mainway with double cream)
Listening To: I Believe (when I fall in love next time it will be forever), Stevie Wonder -- High Fidelity Soundtrack
Hair: designer tousled

Living the Dream Baby!

I went to the office yesterday for the monthly meeting and personal development session. I had one of those a-ha moments that Oprah always talks about, when suddenly it all clicked together and made sense for me. We've been doing goal setting and I've been getting a little down because my personal dreams and goals seem to have nothing to do with my current employment. I had started thinking that maybe I needed to think about either leaving my job and starting over or else give up my goals. Neither option felt good to me and I've been having a really rough month of personal debates with myself. Yesterday morning Gordie started the day with a goals refresher from last month. We had to think about where we are, where we want to be and whether or not we could do better. Then we had to quickly jot down two goals to have accomplished within one year, five years, and ten years. You can put anything, they don't have to be related to your job and he stressed to think big. He gave us a few minutes to do the exercise, which would be plenty of time if we had completed our homework from the last session and thought about our goals. Here's what I wrote:

Goals within 1 year: Move out and get a place of my own, Finish my novel and enter it for the Richards Prize

Goals within 5 years: Take a trip to Italy, Have my first novel published

Goals within 10 years: Own a house, Win the Giller Prize

Pretty exciting stuff, eh! Writing those things down and seeing them unfold in my mind's eye really gets my heart pumping, I gotta say.

Gordie went on to say for us to set definite goals, at least two for each of the time periods and then make sure to read them first thing every morning and last thing every night. He gave statistics that proved just by writing them down we had improved our chances dramatically to achieve them. If we made the extra effort to review them it would improve our chances even more. Okay, this was nothing new, I've heard this stuff a million times if I've heard it once. And while I do believe it happens, I haven't seen much evidence in my own life. In the next exercise Gordie asked us to write down six things we have to do tomorrow and then once we'd written them down, we had to go back and number them according to their importance. The idea being to get up the next day and hit the number one thing and get it done, then continue down the list. He said it wouldn't matter if you only got the first two things done, at the end of the day you'd be able to look back and say you'd done the two most important things.

Here's my List I wrote:

1. Finish BnM and send out the email
2. Write the Z press releases
3. Call the C guy
4. Finish the PR research
5. Finish K's story
6. Go send money orders and pick up parcel

The first five things on my list have to do with my work and the sixth had to do with my creative writing. All the energy that excited me when I wrote my goals immediately went out the window. I knew I'd be lucky to get through the first thing on my list in one day. Using this method, I'd never get to do the stuff I needed to do in order to reach my goals. I was pretty glum before lunch and realised that this is exactly the sort of thing that has been sabotaging my goal setting since the beginning of time. My goals and the reality of my life don't mesh. Again, I started thinking maybe I'd have to quit my job if I wanted to do any of the other stuff.

After lunch we watched a DVD of a motivational speaker about dreams (i.e. goals). He told the usual stories about how Jim Carrey wrote himself a post-dated cheque for $10 million when he was flat broke and booed off the stage at one of the comedy clubs. In the memo part he wrote for acting in a movie. By the time the date rolled around to cash the cheque he was actually being paid $20 million for acting a movie. About how Sally Jesse Raphael quit or was fired from over a hundred jobs, lived in her car and ate crackers with ketchup to survive before realising her dream of becoming an emmy winning talk show host. Some of the stories I had heard before, some were new. He told his own story about how seven years ago he was bankrupt, didn't own anything, had to borrow a neighbor's car to take his kids to school and so on. He wrote his dreams down and now he lives them. He said it's a strange phenomena but when he decided to live in the pursuit of his dreams, his life completely changed. He started making more money, things started going his way. What really struck me was that his dreams were not work related, they were fun. He wanted to hike the Grand Canyon and sail the Nile, climb the tallest mountain peaks and travel the world. And now he does all those things and more. I started to wonder if my reality and my dreams might come together if I just had a little faith that they could, that they weren't too far apart.

He said big dreams have four properties:

1. A big dream has EXTREME power.

People pursuing big dreams have tons of energy, they don't need to sleep as much as the rest of us. Other people get excited, big dreams draw a crowd. Big dreams can cause huge changes. Take Walt Disney for example. His dream of Disney World completed changed the state of Florida in many ways.

2. Big dreams add life to your life.

When you're pursuing a big dream you're energised and excited and doing things you never thought you would to achieve what you want. Before he started to pursue his big dreams, he had never been out of the country. Now, he spends about 60% of his time out of the country.

3. To see it on the outside, you've got to live it on the inside.

The power of visualization. He used Walt Disney as an example again. Walt lived Disney World on the inside, he visualised it, and people thought he was nuttier than a fruitcake. But now everyone can see his dream, because it's on the outside. Later in the evening Stacy and I went to the new Wal-Mart -- the work of one woman who lived it on the inside so we could see it on the outside.

4. You won't be a dream-maker, until you stop the dream-takers.

These are the people who say you can't do that. They can be friends, co-workers, your family and even yourself. Self-talk is the most important. You won't be able to make your dreams come true until you eliminate any negative self-talk. And you might not even realise you're doing it. Like when you say you don't want to get your hopes up, that's negative self-talk. If you don't hope and believe in it, who will? He said to identify your limiting words and get rid of them.

He told us to make a list of our dreams, a big list, with big dreams. If time nor money were an object, what would you do next week? He said making a big list was important, because you need to back up a dream with another dream. When you accomplish one of your dreams the adrenaline rush ends and you crash down. You need to start in on another one right away. Always be pursuing a dream.

After watching this speaker my heart was pumping again about my dreams. Everything came together and made sense. I think I may have found the missing piece to my personal puzzle that I needed to make things happen. We shall see and soon. I'll keep you posted.

Mood: Charged
Drinking: Tea
Listening To: Bon Jovi, Crush album
Hair: half up, half down

Awards Day

I got up bright and early this morning to catch the live announcement of this year's Oscar nominees. Actually, I didn't get up, I stayed up all night, but really what's the difference. The point is I was there parked in front of the TV when the names dropped. There were no surprises really. Of course it would be helpful if I could see some of the movies involved before the actual ceremony, but chances are slim. The only films I've seen that were mentioned are Collateral, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Before Sunset . . . all available on DVD. Our theatre is in crises, bringing in nothing new week after week, and certainly not bringing in anything for adult audiences . . . unless it's horror. I have hopes maybe Hide and Seek with Dakota Fanning will come here because it looks frightening and has some big names involved. But then again I thought they would have shown White Noise, and that didn't happen, so who knows what they're thinking down there. You would think when you get a cineplex like that, with multiple screens, that you would get some variety and choices . . . but I'm really not impressed with what they choose to monopolise all the screens with. Is it too much to ask for at least one movie every couple of weeks aimed at the over 30 crowd?

In other news, U2 announced the first leg of their world tour yesterday and they've only got one date in Canada -- April 28th or 29th (I forget which) in Vancouver . . . Vancouver, British Columbia . . . it doesn't get much further away and still be part of the North American leg. So, there goes my New Year's goal out the window. I've got a lot going on in April. There's the WFNB AGM, which will involved transportation to whatever city is hosting this year, two nights lodging at whatever swanky hotel they're having everything at, workshop fees, Awards Dinner, general meals and drinks (much wine). There's also the Northrope Frye Festival in Moncton in April which may involve up to five nights hotel accommodation, train transportation to and from Moncton, taxis, meals, admissions, workshop fees, much wine, etc. I can count on spending at least a couple of hundred dollars on books during these things. That's a lot of saving and preparation in order to be able to do all this. There's no way I can also swing a trip to Vancouver for a U2 concert. They have some dates stateside in Boston, New York, Chicago, etc. But still it's May and there's no way I'll be able to do that so soon after all the writerly activities of April and as I prepare to move by June. Plus, I really don't want to go to the U.S. for some reason, I have an aversion. I don't want to spend my hard earned money there. I had hoped there would be a Fall date in Toronto. And maybe there will be, this is only the first leg that they've announced, after all. But that's what I had my heart set on, Fall in Toronto with U2, visiting old friends, going to see a show (Mama Mia maybe if it's still going on), maybe taking in some of the Harbourfront International Festival of Authors or something -- I had a plan! And maybe it'll still happen, maybe I don't even need Bono to go to Toronto this fall. Maybe I'll just go anyway.

But I'm getting ahead of myself . . . it is still January isn't it?

Mood: Tired
Drinking: Water
Listening To: Oprah drift down the hall from the living room
Hair: Severely ponytailed and just back from a fresh paint job

The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

Today is the first day of a three month contract I've signed with myself to eat better and exercise. So far so good. While my arthritis is generally better in the winter with the dry cold and only flares when we have a thaw, spring and summer and even fall can be a real pain in the butt, it helps if I'm in pretty good shape going in. My goal is to drop at least one size too in the three months, which doesn't seem unrealistic at all. If I stay committed I should be able to do that quite easily and even more. I'm focused on inches, not pounds, so I took all my measurements this morning . . . scary stuff :-)

In other news, we had a surprise birthday party for Jenn on Friday night. It was a pretty good time and she was totally surprised. She had absolutely no clue . . . even after we all yelled surprise and freaked her out she really didn't get what was going on. Lots of people showed up. We had cake with ice cream and various munchies. Played charades, Scene It, and a drinking game called I Have Never. I didn't get to bed until well after 4am. And that's that, the last of the parties and things until spring. Time to get down to business and focus on work and writing and saving money and all that fun stuff.

Mood: Driven
Drinking: Tea
Listening To: Knock on Wood, 54 Soundtrack
Hair: A friggin' mess!

January Blahs

It's so hard to get back into the swing of things this time of the year. Everyone seems to be so tired all the time, me included. *YAWN* I just want to curl up with a book or a movie, Nick, my fuzzy blanket, a hot drink . . . and just cocoon for the rest of the winter. But like everyone else I've got tons of stuff to do, a job, obligations . . . blah, blah, blah. Cocooning will have to wait until retirement I suppose . . . then at retirement I'm sure there will still be too much to do and no time for cocooning. *YAWN* I wish I could find some energy. I haven't been blogging, haven't been emailing friends, haven't been going out much, haven't been doing much of anything really . . . just the bare necessities, i.e. WORK. With any luck this too will pass in another week or so.

Mood: Blah
Drinking: Blah
Listening To: Blah
Hair:m Blah

Turning Another Page

I know when I get an email from Carol asking me where the hell I am that it is time to show my face around these parts again :-) Happy New Year! I've been pretty busy with work. There's a lot of stuff on BnM needing to be done to finish off 2004 and embrace 2005. And I've got a pretty big PR campaign on the go for a new client. So, I've been bogged down in media research mostly.

So, it's another new year, huh. God, I love closing the book on one year and starting a new page with another! It's invigorating, so full of possibilities. This is the time of the year when I set new short term goals and evaluated how I did last year. Actually, I start doing this sometime in November so I've already started working on the next stuff by the time New Year's Day rolls around. They're always pretty simple things, relatively easy to achieve . . . yet things that could go by the wayside pretty easily if I didn't focus on getting them done.

The things I wanted to do in 2004 were:

1) Attend the WFNB AGM no matter where in the province it was held

2) Be able to wear a particular pair of jeans by April that I couldn't get above my ankles at Christmas

3) Visit Sackville in the summer to see if it was a place I wanted to move to

4) Attend the Alden Nowlan Literary Festival in Fredericton in the Fall

Pretty easy stuff to do if you put your mind to it, pretty easy to let pass without doing if you weren't focused on doing them. I'm happy to report I did do all these things in 2004! And I had a great time too!

Looking ahead to 2005, the tasks I've set for myself are a bit more tricky financially, and there are more of them. So, I'll have to stay really focused and dedicated if I hope to achieve all of these things. Some are carry-overs from last year, things I did that I want to do again. Here's the plan:

1) Drop one size by April and maintain it throughout the rest of the year

2) Attend the WFNB AGM in April no matter where it is held in New Brunswick

3) Attend the Northrope Frye Festival in Moncton this spring

4) Move to an apartment by June

5) Go to a U2 concert no matter where in Canada (hopefully Toronto)

6) Attend the Alden Nowlan Literary Festival in Fredericton in the Fall

7) Submit my fiction to magazines at least once a month

8) Finish writing my novel, to have a complete draft done by the December

So, the list has doubled and includes lots of trips and stays in hotels, not to mention rent on an apartment . . . Maybe I should have included look for a higher paying job in the list ;-) Just kidding. It's going to be okay I think. I don't make much, but I seem to pick up extra just when I need it most. Anyway, there's my list. It'll be interesting to look back next year and see how I did.

What about you? Anyone set some goals for 2005?

Mood: Optimistic
Drinking: King Cole Tea (not steeped nearly enough) with half n half
Listening To: Bon Jovi, 100,000,000 Fans Can't Be Wrong album, Always (Demo)which is quite different from the one that they finally put on a record
Hair: Time to dig out the dye bottle again to cover those grey on top that only people taller than me can see

Not to be outdone by my sister . . . an almost post

You Are "Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer"

Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer Had a very shiny nose. And if you ever saw him, You would even say it glows. For you, Christmas is a mix of tradition and fun. You're not above strapping on a red blinking nose for a laugh.

What Christmas Carol Are You?

The Blurry Season

This is just the craziest time of year, isn't it? Days and weeks are passing by so quickly it's all just one big fuzzy blur. I went into the office on Monday after having not slept at all Sunday night. I mean my head did not so much as touch the pillow (which I don't advise, by the way, especially when you've got to get up and make a presentation). I got to see some co-workers I hadn't seen in awhile and meet others from out of town that I only knew through email. It was a good session but I was exhausted by the end and very shaky during my presentation. Stacy and I left the office relatively early and went to Sobeys to pick up a few groceries then had a late supper at Mary's Restaurant before hitting the Dollar Store in the Miramichi Mall. So, I still didn't get home until around 10 o'clock.

A kind of funny thing happened with the Mary's Restaurant choice for supper. We've NEVER eaten there before. We've never even really talked much about going there. We were driving up through Douglastown and Nordin chatting about where we would pick up something quick in Newcastle when we passed the motel with Mary's Restaurant. At the same time we both said, "We could always eat in there." So we turned around at the Pawn Shop and went back. They close at 8 and it was already going on 7:30 so we were their last customers. We picked a seat in the far corner by the window, ordered our food, talked, relaxed, everything was going great, when all of a sudden we smelled smoke.

That motel is pretty old. I think my parents stayed there overnight when they got married . . . it's THAT old ;-) (I sometimes wonder whether I was conceived in one of those rooms . . . perish the thought!) Anyway, the place is old and drafty and not that well heated, so they had a bunch of those portable little electric heaters plugged in . . . plus Christmas lights flashing in the window and Lord knows what else. Those little space heaters can be dangerous by times and the one by our table suddenly caught on fire. Sparks were flying out of the electrical wall socket. The stench was terrible. The waitress ran over and Stacy unplugged the heater. The waitress said they could smell something burning off and on all day but couldn't figure out what it was. So, it was a good thing that we went or maybe Mary's Restaurant and the rest of that old motel would have burned to the ground in the night. Maybe guests would have been killed. Maybe . . .

It's like God reached out and pulled us off the road to make sure they knew about that heater . . . or it's just a coincidence . . .

Off to Moncton tomorrow to see Magie Dominic and tons of writer friends. Going shopping too. A flying trip though, back on Saturday.

Mood: Content
Drinking: tea
Listening To: I was going to lie . . . but yeah, I'm listening to U2's Vertigo again, over and over continually . . . it's a marathon
Hair: beyond redemption, someone please remind me to make an appointment to get it trimmed before the New Year

Who Would've Thunk It?

As little as two or three years ago if you had said that one day winter would be my favourite season, I would've booted you out of the room with a good old fashioned Elaine-style "GET OUT!!"

But I gotta say I'm loving this little cold snap we're having. LOVING IT!!! It's not that I'm into winter activities or anything like that . . . I don't skate, ski, snowboard, snowshoe, sled, snowmobile or even make snowmen. In fact I rarely go outside at all in winter -- It's too damn cold!

The thing is that once the temperature stabilizes at a nice below zero figure, my arthritis improves. Yes, my bones feel brittle with the cold . . . but if I stay inside, dress warm, cuddle in blankets, turn up the furnace . . . I only have to endure a few minutes with Nick a few times a day. And the brittleness is not painful really -- it feels like my legs could snap in half at any moment, but it's more a threat than a promise.

The terrible joint-swelling can't-get-out-of-bed crippling pain comes more in the warmer months when the temperature fluctuates frequently and humidity sticks its nose into everything. Now, it's cold . . . REALLY cold . . . and I feel fantastic! Sad but true. Winter has become my best friend, my saviour, my favourite season of all.


Mood: pre-panic mode
Drinking: coffee (brewed not instant) with real cream not the light crap
Listening To: Vertigo, U2
Hair: Think Diana Ross only a bit paler

Now YOU can shut up . . .

Yeah, you know who you are . . .

So for those who wondered, it's Saturday night and here I am. I've been very busy the past week or so, not very chatty. Preoccupied. Highlights to catch you up to speed --

*I had to send a third (and final) copy of the WFNB newsletter to Freddy for printing due to the great INK fiasco of 2004 . . .

*I've got a new penpal from Italy who is helping me learn Italian . . . for my trip . . . someday . . .

*My sister was without water all week because her well collapsed . . . or something like that . . .

*I met a friend for coffee at the Books Inn on Thursday and bought new books while I was there . . . Larry Lynch's Learning to Swim and Margaret MacMillan's Paris 1919 . . .

*Met my writing gal pals at the Chatham library this week and got some good feedback on a couple of my short stories . . . LOVE those girls!

*Went in the Christmas Parade of Lights in Chatham with the Mighty crew (fun time and a really great parade, I just love Water Street during the holiday season) . . .

*Bought a kazillion dvds this week including The Nutcracker Ballet, John Denver's Montana Christmas, The Big Easy, Spartan, Once Upon a Time in the Midlands, The Last Kiss, 28 Days Later, Laurel Canyon, Far From Heaven, The Human Stain, and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind . . .

In other news, I spent so much money on Express posts, printer ink, dvds, junk food, wine, books, coffee and other miscellaneous crap this week that I'm in a tight spot for my Moncton trip next weekend . . . hmmmm, maybe it really is time to sign up for some sort of 12 step program.

Judy and Magie are going to stay at Elizabeth's and have an old fashioned sleep-over where they stay up all night talking. She has rooms in the basement. I'm hoping we'll go for drinks or something, but I'm glad to stay at Hotel Beau. Can't wait to see everyone!

Mood: Playful
Drinking: Just tea (rolls eyes and sighs) . . . For now ;-)
Listening To: Peaches, Fuck the Pain Away
Hair: Half-in, Half-out . . . but not in that sexy soccer mom way

And the Thunder Rolls

We had thunder storms last night . . . Thunder, lightning, heavy rain -- even seemed like hail at one point. Kind of unusual to have that sort of thing around here this time of the year. It is nearly December.

This morning it is zero degrees outside. I could see my breath and certainly rushed Nick through his morning walk-about because I was freezing to death . . . yet I sunk over the top of my boot in the mud. It's an odd kind of season.

All along I've been looking forward to going to Moncton in the snow, but now I'm starting to wonder whether we will have any snow at all for Christmas, though my legs are telling me the temperature is going down and going fast. Also, flurries in the forecast for today.

I was supposed to go meet the writing girls today . . . but I've cancelled. My legs are just too bad this week to be out on my feet all day and night. I'll just email my thoughts on their work. Bummer though. :-(

Mood: puffy faced
Drinking: tea
Listening To: Supertramp on Virgin Classic Rock live from the UK
Hair: uncombed

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

Went and saw the Bridget Jones sequel with the girls tonight. Funny! It's a good movie to go see with your girlfriends. I especially enjoyed the skiing scene. Crazy things must happen to everyone the first time they go downhill skiing . . . and all this time I thought it was just me and stacy :-) We both went downhill skiing one time (though not together at the same time and a thousand miles apart at different mountains) and share shockingly similiar (though not totally the same) stories about our experiences. I went to Blue Mountain, north of Barrie in Ontario . . . Stacy went to a mountain near Edmundston in New Brunswick. I went with my boyfriend and another couple. Stacy went with her classmates from school. Stacy has some pretty funny (and painful) stories about the t-bar . . . while I rode a chair lift. Stacy didn't quite make it down the hill on her own speed (they had to go get her on a snowmobile) . . . while I journeyed down the slope all on my own. Both our skiing stories are rather Bridget Jones-like, which makes me think maybe that's just what happens when you go skiing the first time.

Skiing was one of those things I did with Kevin that I can't imagine doing with anybody else . . . I'd be too afraid and I wouldn't even be able to imagine the fun of it. Out of all my boyfriends (there really haven't been that many) he was the one who constantly had me out of my comfort zone and trying crazy things. Not that skiing is crazy . . . although the way I did it . . .

So, we went to Blue Mountain with Jim and Yvonne (she was a few months pregnant, which is kind of weird in retrospect), rented equipment and hit the beginner slope. The men were good skiers, neither Yvonne nor I had ever skied before. The first terrifying thing was the chair lift, of course. I don't do heights very well. I really don't do dangling legs very well at all, let alone with great big heavy clunky skis weighing down those legs. There wasn't even a bar across the front to give some false sense of security. The chairs go round and round and you just stand in the right spot so it sweeps you off your feet and slide off when you reach the top.

Terrified is putting it mildly. We were pretty high up in the air and it was quite a long ride to the top. I might not have been quite so freaked out by the time I reached the top, if Kevin hadn't remarked that he was surprised the bunny slope was so high. That was always the way, like the time on the looping rolling coaster, I was fine until I looked at him and saw the horror on his face.

Anyway, it's safe to say by the time we reached the top I was a little rigid with fear. It didn't help to see what was happening to the people in the chairs in front of us. They were standing up when the chair reached the ledge (maybe two feet wide with a sheer drop straight down into the valley on one side) and sliding down a little hill (maybe 10 feet) to get to the level part at the top of the mountain where you would start your descent back down the slope. This was an unexpected development and looked like it would require precise timing in order to escape injury . . . so, I froze up.

I mean when the time came, Kevin slid off and down the little hill and I stayed in the chair. It all happened very quick then. The chair made a sharp turn to head back down the slope and pick new skiers up. When it whipped around the turn I was thrown from the chair, landing on my feet, and sliding full speed into a chain link fence (perhaps put there just to catch runaway skiers like myself). This was the first cartoon moment of the day. My face and body crashed into the fence and bounced off. I flailed in the air holding my balance for what seemed like minutes where I was suspended backward defying gravity and then I fell flat on my back (more like dropped really, straight as a poker) skis sticking straight up in the air.

They stopped the lift to make sure I was okay and by the time Kevin got to me I was laughing uncontrollably at the spectacle I had made of myself.

If only it had ended there . . .

Jim and Kevin gave me and Yvonne some instruction on how to ski -- bend your knees, turn side to side, move this way to turn that way, that way to turn this way, do this to stop, and so on. Off went Yvonne down the hill . . . at a snails pace . . . while I gathered my wits and courage after the fence thing. I could hear the strain in Jim's voice as he tried to coach Yvonne, she was bending her knees all right, and turning her skis from side to side . . . so much so, that she was practically standing still. After five minutes they were still right there, a snowball's throw away from the top of the hill.

So, I decided to take the plunge and started down the slope . . . not bending my knees . . . keeping my skis perfectly straight. I shot down the hill picking up speed so fast that Kevin couldn't keep up. I didn't know how to stop, was figuring out how to turn as I just barely missed groups of kids and skiing instructors. The more speed I gained, the more terrified I grew, and the stiffer and straighter I held myself, which only made me go faster. I thought for sure I would break bones if I made myself fall in order to stop . . . yet I was almost to the bottom and I didn't know how to stop.

I zoomed past all the people waiting at the bottom of the slope and didn't slow down until I hit a snowbank at the edge of the parking lot. It was a pretty big bank and I expected it to be soft, that I would stick into it and maybe even be thrown over it and onto the hood of a parked car. I braced myself for impact . . . but the bank was frozen solid and slippery. My skis went right up the side . . . if the bank had been shorter I would have skied right over the top and onto the cars in the parking lot. But instead gravity took over and I fell backward onto the ground with my skis elevated up the snowbank. This was the second cartoon moment of the day.

Kevin was relieved I think when I told him to go ski the moguls and enjoy his day without me because I was going into the lodge for drinks and I didn't intend to return.

About 45 minutes later, Yvonne joined me in the lodge, having just completed her only run down the slope as well.

So, that's my skiing story and I'm sticking to it. God, I love going out with the girls!

Mood: Bleary-eyed
Drinking: Tea
Listening To: I'm a Dog, Kid Rock
Hair: Seen Nick Nolte's mugshot recently?

Back on the Chain Gang

I'm in the midst of another insane week! Lot's going on. Today I have to finish the WFNB newsletter and get it in the mail for overnight delivery so Mary has it tomorrow. I've got to get up to speed with Bread 'n Molasses and other things related to that work. Tonight I'm going out with a bunch of the girls to see the Bridget Jones sequel. Looking forward to that and can really use a little girl energy. On Friday, I think I'm getting together with my writer girls to workshop. That means I have to have something written and I also have to find time to read their writings and comment on them. Yesterday, I made Hotel reservations for Moncton, that I'm excited about! Going to see Magie Dominic again in December. Just one night, but I think I'll finish my Christmas shopping and I'll get to see a bunch of people like Ed and Elaine from the Attic Owl who I absolutely adore! Anyway, lot's on tap, so I better get to it.

Mood: Chipper
Drinking: Coffee (brewed, not instant, with real cream) Damn! I make a good cuppa!
Listening To: Ewww! Was that the toilet?
Hair: It's going to be so shocking when I get a pixie cut!

Time Passages

It feels like years have passed since my grandfather went into the hospital. And I'm not kidding, literally years. Grandad passed away last Sunday after six days in palliative care . . . six days of pure Hell in the stress department. This death has been harder on me than I thought it would be, harder than my other grandfather's, more difficult even than my uncle's, which I took quite hard. And it has nothing to do with missing my grandfather or anything like that . . . I'm so happy he's no longer suffering and I know he's okay. It's my mother's pain I can't bear. She misses him. But that's not all, of course. With a family as large as hers, with so many inlaws and outlaws, with the stress of losing a loved one, tension is something to be expected in the closest of families, under the best of circumstances. Of course, it's much worse because we've got at least one genuine dark spirit in our family who thrives on causing chaos. I worry about my mother holding anger and hatred close to her heart for a long period of time. Anger is something I know about and it will take a toll on her. It will consume her, exhaust her, change her. I'm trying to talk her through it, past it. It's extremely important that she feels it, works through it, and then releases it. And I know this because there were a couple of years, not so long ago, that I traveled around in a constant simmer of rage . . . it took nothing to set me off and I saw the world through a grey filter of hate. It was a tremendous relief to let it go. I don't want my mom to go through that. It's better to feel it all at once -- scream, cry, keen -- do whatever she needs to do to get it out and away from her heart.

Mood: Surreal
Drinking: Coke
Listening To: Gavin DeGraw, Get Lost
Hair: Recently dyed, medium brown, kinda flat coat of colour

The Best Medicine

My grandfather's condition worsens. My mother and all her siblings were at the hospital all evening again today. Granddad is kind of in and out of it. Mom says he has that look in his eyes and she thinks he can see the light. If you lean right down close to his face and talk to him he still comes around a little, enough to say yes or no. More fluid on his lungs now and his breath rattles in his chest. My mother doesn't think he'll survive the night. My aunt thinks he's still got a day or two. They're telling him to rest, telling him not to worry about them, hoping his passing will be soon and peaceful. Mom called earlier in the evening from the hospital and we thought she was going to stay until it was over, but then she came home. Almost everyone came home. Two of my aunts are spending the night with him. If he's still here tomorrow night my mom and another aunt will sit with him all night.

There is something to be said for a quick death, an accident, or a malfunction with the body that instantly whisks your spirit away. Sickness is hard. Looking after your dying parents is beyond hard. It has taken a toll. Last night when my mother and aunt were leaving the hospital they couldn't get the car door unlocked. They tried and looked for other sets of keys and didn't know what was going on . . . until they noticed they were trying to get in the wrong car. Apparently, there were two identical cars parked side by side in the hospital parking lot. They had a good laugh about that. Tonight at the hospital my mother and the same aunt decided they would go to the second floor chapel and call home. Palliative care is on the fourth floor. They went down the hallway to the elevators, pressed the button, and waited watching the numbers light up above the elevator doors. The first floor number one lit up solid. My aunt panicked, "Oh no, we don't want the first floor! It's on the second!" Meanwhile, they hadn't even got on the elevator yet, they were still in the hallway on the fourth floor. They laughed so hard all the way down to the second floor, they nearly peed their pants.

Outside tonight there is the most amazing light show taking place in the sky. The Northern Lights have been streaking across the sky for hours. They're so bright the yard is lit up as if by moonlight. This is the strongest I've seen the lights in a long time, maybe forever. I like to think it's because we need their beauty now more than ever. I like to think they're stronger to help us be stronger. I like to think they've come to take Granddad home.

Better Days

It's been a hellish day. Too much work to do, no sleep, and I've done nothing but talk on the phone all day. With such a large family it's hard to keep the flow of information going, to keep everyone in the loop . . . and today was a day when people need to be in the loop.

I'm not going to visit my grandfather in the hospital. I'm not going to say goodbye. I have this image of him in my head, this overwhelming memory -- I'm 12, maybe 13, and all the grown-ups are going on a canoe run. I'm supposed to spend the weekend at Grammie and Granddad Coughlan's, but I don't want to. I want to go canoeing too. Some of the older kids are going, the teenagers, nevermind that they are quite a few years older than me, I think I should be allowed to go too.

I beg. I plead. I cry. I toss a fit. But my parents are having none of it . . . the answer is NO!! End of discussion! Don't say another word about it. And I don't. I sulk all the way to my grandparents house. I sigh. I roll my eyes. But I don't say anything . . . until I see Granddad.

He can tell there's something wrong with me, I look so sad. I flop down on the cot in the verandah, hugging myself tightly and staring at the floor. What's wrong? Normally, I wouldn't respond. Usually, I'd be a little shy and much too afraid of my father to answer. My dad will skin me alive if I ask Granddad if I can go too. My mom shoots me the warning eyebrows and tight lips from across the room.

But I weigh the options . . . it's a weekend thing, surely by Monday my dad won't be mad at me anymore . . . what's the worse thing that could happen . . . then it's out of me, "I want to go on the canoe trip." And before anyone can blink it's settled and I'm going. I'm going with my parents in their boat or Granddad will take me himself, he says.

My parents throw out a few weak remarks to resist . . . but they are no match for my grandfather, he has decided I should go, he has spoken and that's final. I'm all smiles as we go out to Granddad's truck to drive to the launch point.

I've never forgotten that weekend of my first canoe trip. I had a great time, and I don't think I ruined it for anybody. Nobody skinned me alive after all.

I've seen my grandfather since then obviously . . . but really not so much. I haven't seen him since he's been sick. I haven't seen him grow old and frail. The man I remember is tall and broad shouldered. He tells me stories and shows me his tattoo. He smells like horses and leather and soap. He gives me hugs when he sees me and sits with me on the cot. He expects a lot of me, he wants me to be strong. He demands good behaviour and he will punish me if I step out of line.

He takes me haying. He lets me walk with him to the milk box at the bottom of the hill to collect the milk bottles. He lets me follow him all over the place, into the garden, back to the woods, out to the barn. He has the most patience . . . and the shortest fuse. I can see his face whenever I think of him. He's always smiling, teasing me, maybe poking me in the ribs or tickling my feet. This is my Granddad. He's strong and strict and human . . . and I know he loves me.

I don't know this dying man in the hospital bed . . . and I'm afraid if I see him I will see a trace of the man I remember in this stranger's eyes. I don't want my Granddad to be that man. My Granddad is the one who lives in my mind, where he's still got most of his hair and only some of it is grey, where I'm still 12 years old and he's my hero who always takes my side.

Lawnmower Man

I slept about 2 hours. I laid down at 6 am to try and sleep a few hours until 9 . . . but I couldn't sleep. I was too tired to continue working, my brain had gone to mush, but too wound up to sleep -- I hate when that happens! So, I told myself that even being peaceful and just lying there would help rest my mind a little. I laid there until 8'ish when Sherry came for her morning walk on the treadmill and then I got up to see Anna. She's at that perfect age, she'll never be cuter or more adorable than she is right now (at least I hope not, because I couldn't stand it!) Soon enough she'll have a full vocabularly and be big enough to run around and scream with the other kids and I'll miss the way she is right now. That's what has happened with all the kids -- they're so much fun at this age, everything is so simple . . . I think it changes when they start expressing their own opinions ;-) That takes some of the fun out it. The older kids are perfect little people now, with opinions and ideas and thoughts and questions and demands and stories and favourite things and things they don't like and . . . well, they're just more complicated, more adult, and adult just isn't as fun as toddler. Not that I don't have fun with the bigger kids, I do. It's just different now, more questions and explanations and concepts. I'm very lucky, being the aunt I get to only have the fun without any of the discipline.

Anyway, I got up to play with Anna and then went back to bed shortly before 9, slept until around 11 and dreamed a thousand dreams in between. I swear I did get more rest just lying quietly but awake for a couple of hours versus sleeping and dreaming. One dream was a recurring one I have where I'm a character in a book I've written that I'm reading aloud to a group . . . except I don't realise immediately that I'm the character until all the things I'm reading from the book start to happen in the room and likewise anything I say that isn't in the book, the text changes and it's added to the book. It's all very comical and the me who is off to the side watching the dream unfold, knowing I've dreamt it before, knowing full well that it is a dream, likes to put words just for fun into the mouth of the character from the book in the dream (who is also me. The me off to the side had a good time changing the number of the people in the audience at the reading from 10 to 9 to 8 to 7 to 6 to 5 to 4 to 3 to 2 to 1 and then none. Yeah, these are the crazy types of things I dream.

The dream I was caught up in just before I woke was slightly more sinister. I dreamed that I was in the kitchen with Mom and Dad. My aunt Julia kept calling on the phone. She had gossip about a murderer on the loose, driving a red three-wheeler, dressed like a mechanic in blue coveralls. She insisted there was a write-up in a flyer that had come in the sales package . . . on a pink sheet of paper . . . and that we needed to find this and read it. She called about this over and over about five times. Everytime she'd call we'd look around a little for this pink sheet of paper but we couldn't find it and really we didn't seem that concerned. It was a beautiful summer morning and we were eating toast with peanut butter and drinking tea. Then I heard someone pull up to the front of the house. I looked out the picture window but it was like looking out the window of a basement apartment. I could see a pair of legs wearing blue work pants feet tucked into beige brown workboots that looked brand new. The legs were standing next to what looked like a red ride-on lawnmower. I grabbed the phone and called Julia to tell her I thought I saw the killer, that he was here, but she didn't seem interested, said the details weren't the same and that I needed to find the pink paper. I hung up and called 911, but the line was busy. The legs were walking around the window, it seemed like the guy was sizing things up. Then all of a sudden he drove a round-point shovel into the ground in front of the window and I woke up gasping thinking, "Someone has died." I laid there for about five minutes pondering this when the phone rang. It was Sherry calling to tell me they've taken Granddad to the hospital to put him in palliative care. He doesn't have long left now.

Mood: Dazed
Drinking: Coffee
Listening To: the clock tick
Hair: tousled

Constant Craving

I had to chew gum to control a cigarette craving a few minutes ago . . . I seldom crave them anymore. I honestly can't remember the last time. I'm one of those annoying former smokers who can't stand anything about cigarettes anymore, the smell, the smoke, the lingering stench -- BLECH!! I can smell a cigarette a mile away, my sense of smell for smoke is much keener than someone who has never smoked. I can be a bit annoying about it, very verbal.

But tonight, out of nowhere, completely unexpected . . . a genuine craving. But I know if I broke down, if I went out to the kitchen and pinched some of Dad's tobacco, rolled up a little smoke, lit it, put it to my lips and inhaled . . . I know if I did that I would probably pass out, at the very least have a terrible coughing fit, maybe throw up . . . and the craving would not go away, the craving would still be there, because I've moved past the physical stuff of the addiction, the nicotine and whatever other shit they put in tobacco these days to get people hooked.

The craving tonight is about the way smoking used to make me feel. Getting a little stressed -- have a smoke! Need to calm your nerves -- light up! Under immense pressure to get the job done -- suck back a pack! Yeah, that's what this craving is all about. I've got a bunch of stuff on the go. A bunch of deadlines all at the same time. A lot of people counting on me. My joints are all swollen and inflamed. My body is shutting down. I've been staying in bed up to 16 hours at a time but not actually getting much sleep, because I'm dreaming like a crazy person -- drafting proposals, writing novels and short stories and articles, editing stories, designing newsletters and websites, reading books, cooking, baking, writing recipes, throwing parties, moving, getting drunk, Christmas shopping, giving Nick a cut and shampoo, meeting the love of my life, visiting art galleries, going to concerts, and much more -- these are the things I dream about . . . in a single night! In a few hours! So, I'm a little bit freaked out and that's why after two and a half years I'm suddenly craving cigarettes.

This too will pass. As soon as I finish one project and cross it off the list, the rest will fall like dominoes. It's always the way. Just venting helps.

Mood: stressed
Drinking: coffee, dark roast
Listening To: Bob Dylan, Fourth Time Around
Hair: Squeaky clean Josephine! It's really blonde when it's not greasy!

Vanilla Sky

If I've talked about this before, I'm sorry. But I watched some of Vanilla Sky tonight . . . AGAIN!! And I just have to talk about it.

I put it in just to kill time, thought I'd watch some of the commentary track with Cameron Crowe. He is one of my favourite people in film. I honestly believe he's never made a bad movie. They are all excellent from Fast Times at Ridgemont High and Say Anything to Almost Famous and Vanilla Sky and every Jerry Maguire and Singles in between -- this is THE man in my book.

So, I slipped in Vanilla Sky just to listen to some commentary and kill a bit of time, but of course as soon as Tom Cruise gets into his car to head out into the empty dream street I want to hear the music. That's the thing with a Cameron film -- the music! He's got a great ear. So, then I had to turn the commentary off and start over from the beginning and watch the movie as it was intended, just to hear the tunes. And then the story sucks me in . . . it sucks me in every time . . . I know every word, everyone's lines . . . I mutter them under my breath right along with the cast . . . and still, I get sucked into this movie time after time, more than any other film ever made. I watched right up until that moment in the park after the accident when David meets up with Sofia and tells her about the bad dream he had . . . I watched right up until he realises that his bad dream is real and this thing in the park with Sofia is the dream, when Tom Cruise looks right into the camera and his eyes cloud over with tears as understanding settles upon him. Then I cried and turned it off. It's too late to watch all of it, I'll be up all night as it is.

This movie kills me . . . it just KILLS me. And I can't understand, can't get my head around it, when other people say it's a stupid movie and they don't like it. WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?! I don't expect this film to move everybody on ALL the levels that it moves me . . . but surely, it's got to hit upon at least one? It baffles my mind when people trash this. For me, it's emotional overload -- I identify with every character.

I have been David Ames. I have treated people carelessly like he treated Cameron Diaz's character. I've been on that street with my fuck buddy and weighing the options whether to take the chance one more time or just walk away forever. I've had that terrible moment of clarity when you realise that everything you believed was wrong, that it was all a lie, all a dream.

At the same time I've been Julie Gianni, I've been the fuck buddy who wanted more, who expected more, who thought four times meant something. I've been treated carelessly and hurt by people I did nothing to only loved. I've fallen in love with people who didn't love me back. I've lived that psychotic scene in the car just before she crashes it, when she says all those things to David. I've been that girl.

But I've also been the other girl played by Penelope Cruz. I've had the evening of witty banter and danced about the room afterward with the expectation of it all. I've had perfect evenings like that where the conversation comes so easy and you know that you've met someone special in your life. I've shared in the pleasure delaying of not sleeping with that guy, with not complicating a perfect beginning with sex. And I've also had that first evening shattered for one reason or another, maybe not a devastating car crash that turns the guy into an asshole, but I've had the disappointment of realising that one perfect night, the wonderful beginning, isn't going anywhere, that's all there will be.

I've even felt like the best friend, Brian, played by Jason Lee. He talks a lot about sweet 'n sour and you know he's been coming second behind Tom Cruise for as long as they've known each other. I've been that best friend. I've gone home alone. I've known I was second choice.

I think it's because I can identify with every character on so many levels that this movie kills me every time . . . it kills other people too I'm sure. The story is sad. But for me it's more than just sad, it's personal, everything that happens in this movie brings up very vivid and difficult memories from my life. Every time I watch it I run the gamut of emotions -- it's gut wrenching . . . I cry EVERY time . . . and that's a lot of times, because I've seen it a lot.

So, why would I subject myself to this? Why wouldn't I just stop watching?

For one thing, the movie is too damn good to never watch again. But more than that, it's like therapy. The more I relive those emotions, the more I understand them, and the better equipped I am to deal with them and face similar situations in the future. It's like writing, the more I write, the more I deal with my inner demons, the more I understand myself and the better equipped I become to deal with my life. It just happens that this movie struck upon a whole shitload of my inner demons . . . I need to watch.

Mood: deja vu
Drinking: Red Red Wine
Listening To: Radiohead, Everything in its right Place
Hair: Beyond oily