All She Wrote

This blog was started when I began my new life as a single woman, three years ago. Now I've begun a new and wonderful life in California with my man who loves me. It's time for this blog to end, and a new one to begin.

I'd like to thank everyone who has been reading my words here. You followed me on my journey, and now, if you like, you can follow me in my new adventure.

My new blog is here ... http://mythoughtscontinued.blogspot.com/ Hope you stop by.

Cheerio ~ Marian

My Life Has Begun Part 3

this post is continued from the one below:

For the next two weeks, my days drifted from one to the next in a dreamy haze. I was beautifully warm from the California sun, relaxed and feeling beautiful just cause I was with Mike.

He treated me like a princess. He made me the best sandwiches I've ever had, he showed me his art, he washed my hair, he massaged me. We woke up when we wanted, climbed down from the loft and wandered out to the deck to feel the morning sun. We had yogurt for breakfast, out on the deck, sitting on a bench.

I walked on his back. I showed him my art that I'd brought along in my suitcase. We played music together - me on piano, he on guitar. We went to the coast and stayed till after sunset, taking pictures and just sitting on a rock, watching the pounding surf. We fell in love. He invited me to live with him.

After a beautiful two weeks, I returned to Canada to get my affairs in order. I gave myself till the end of the month - three weeks never looked so long. I ended up getting the majority of it done in one day. I was anxious to return to Mike, and didn't want to spend one more minute in Canada than I had to (no offence to Canada, lol).

Mike and I chatted on yahoo every night, as we'd done for years before. It was different, now that we'd met in person. I had more insight than I'd had before. While we voiced, I continued to pack my things, and to take care of stuff online that needed to be changed. I did nothing but tie up loose ends so that I could leave. Within the first week there was nothing left for me to do. We decided I would leave early.

So I did. But I ran into a big snag and ended up having to wait another week.

I stayed with my youngest sister and her family. Some of my stuff was in her garage, my piano was in her computer room. I tied up some new loose ends, and then sunday rolled around. It was time to go again. My mom, two younger sisters, and my young niece drove with me to Bellingham where I boarded the bus. What an incredible feeling to be taking this trip again, only this time it was for good. I wasn't coming back.

So here I am now, living in the sun with the man I love. The man who loves me. I'm the luckiest woman in the world.

My Life Has Begun pt 2

This is continued from the post below ....

My visit:

My two younger sisters and our mother drove with me across the border, so that I could catch the greyhound bus in Seattle. I was nervous about crossing the border, because of my past history. I have some old stuff that I feared would prevent me from entering the States. Prevent me from meeting my Great Friend whom I love with all my heart and soul.

We joined the line of cars gradually approaching the booth. I flipped down the windshield mirror and combed my hair, I erased my fears and lulled myself into a state of serenity. Finally, after about 45 minutes, it was our turn. The American border guard leaned forward to look into our car. He barked at us to show our ID. My sister in the driver's seat handed it all over. The guard stared at each of us in turn, and then his gaze landed on my youngest sister - her driver's license had expired and she had no picture ID. He barked at her to produce something. She offered one thing after another, but he kept barking. Finally she found something that suited him, and he quieted. Then he waved us through. We were across the border! I didn't let out my breath until we were up the road quite a ways, and then I laughed and clapped my hands. I'd been so worried I would be turned back. Now I was on my way to California, and my Great, Great Friend.

After a day spent together in Seattle, my sisters and mother saw me onto the bus, and the bus pulled out of the station. I was so excited! I alternated between reading, and snapping pictures of myself and the passing scene. I had the entire seat to myself so I could stretch out. The bus rolled along, stopping at a dozen or so stations along the way. I tucked my camera away and my book, and lay across the seat to sleep. It was surprisingly comfortable. With the sound of the tires toiling along the highway, and the muted conversations of other passengers, I was lulled into sleep.

I woke once, and saw the fat moon high in the night sky. All around me, the other passengers were gently snoring. It was absolutely cosy and beautiful. I sat up crosslegged and looked out the window for a while, then lay back down to sleep. I woke shivering, to the sound of chains outside. I sat up - we were in a mountain pass outside of Salem Oregon (I can't remember what the pass is called). Outside I saw a night time winter wonderland with deep snow, and the forest trees dusted with flakes. The bus had stopped, and the driver was putting chains on the tires. The interior of the bus was dark, everyone was sleepy, my hair was knotted, I yawned and rested my cheek against the back rest of my seat as I gazed out the window and the driver reboarded the bus to resume our journey.

As we emerged from the mountain pass, we came across a bus that had pulled over to the side of the road. Our bus stopped, and the driver went to investigate. The bus had broken down - its passengers were freezing inside. We were hero's. All the passengers crowded onto our bus with their babies and strollers and bags. I shared my seat with a friendly man who didn't talk much, which suited me. I didn't mind sharing my seat, I'd gotten as much sleep as though I'd been at home in my own bed.

Finally we reached Sacramento, where my Great Friend was to meet me. I combed my hair and tried to freshen up - not an easy task as I was folded up with my feet on my backpack, and my knees under my chin.

My bus had been late, so my Great Friend had already been there, and told to come back in a while. I waited for just a few minutes, and then there he was! I'd known what he looked like, from seeing him on webcam, but of course, seeing someone in person is ever so slightly different. Still, I recognised him right away when I saw his head and shoulders through the window in the front door of the bus station. He's even more handsome in person. I waved, and felt shy, then I rushed up to him and we hugged so hard. It was wonderful. A beautiful first touch.

We gathered up my heavy suitcases and lugged them out to his car. As we pulled away from the curb, he handed me a pretty little potted crocus that he'd bought for me. It's flowers were just opening. We both felt instantly comfortable with each other - it was exactly as I'd hoped. As we left Sacramento and began the two hour drive to his home, we talked about many things, and sometimes we were both comfortably silent. It was as though we'd been together in person all our lives.

to be continued....

My Life Has Begun

Hello, I haven't posted here in a while. Not one of you will ever guess the exciting things that are going on for me these days....

You might have noticed me mentioning someone whom I called my "Great Friend". This person has been a positive force in my life for four years now, though we'd never met in person. Our friendship was online, we visited pretty much every day in our yahoo chatroom.

He's the first true gentleman I ever met. Somewhere along the line, I fell in love with him. My biggest dream was that we would meet in person, but I knew it was possible this might never come to pass. My heart swelled with love and joy in the fact that I had him in my life, yet it was breaking from the knowledge that I might never be in the same room with him. I wanted so badly to build a life for myself - I had my job, I had my family, but I didn't have substance. I tried to make plans for my future, but I always came back to the fact that I wanted to include him in them, and I didn't know if that was in the cards, and so I'd lose interest in making plans.

It's been hard, and it's been beautiful, and I've learned more lessons than I can ever tell you.

A few weeks ago he invited me to come and visit him at his home in California. We were in yahoo chat, with voice turned on, and he just said it. I was instantly speechless. I wondered if I'd heard correctly. I wanted to jump up and hug my computer monitor.

From that moment on, I did nothing but plan for this trip. There were many details in need of ironing out. I borrowed suitcases from my mom, and laid them open on my livingroom floor. I packed and unpacked a dozen times as I tried to figure out what to bring. As I went about my days here in my apartment, I would suddenly burst into giggles and hug myself, I just couldn't believe my fondest dream was actually about to come true! For so long, my last waking thought each night had been 'will I ever meet this man whom I love with all my heart and soul?'. Now I fell asleep each night with a wonderful smile on my face.

At first I planned to fly there, but in the end I decided I would take a greyhound bus. I wanted to watch the scenery as I traveled along. Bus travel is quite thrilling, I've always enjoyed it. It's hectic and a little bit messy. A person has to be on the ball - snag a good seat by a window and not too close to the stinky washroom ... if the bus is only partly full, take up two seats ... at stops where all passengers must leave the bus so that it can be cleaned or a bus transfer made, you have to be careful while waiting in the station, because those places are scary - keep an eye on your bags, make sure you get a reboarding pass from the driver, don't miss the call for reboarding, know the door number where you need to line up with the others, get your fantastic seat again when everyone returns to the bus (leave a magazine on the seat). So cool. I love bus travel.

That was two weeks ago - I've been there and back. I had the best experience of my life. I met my Great Friend, and he is even more wonderful in person. I'm in love. I'm happy beyond words and I can't believe my great fortune. The long wait was worth it. Somehow I always knew this would turn out well.

to be continued....

Just a Little Note About Nothing Much

In my comments to the post a couple below this one, it was suggested that I should send that post to the local newspaper. Thanks guys, I really appreciate your kind words about my writing (hi Tante Lois!) I'm thinking of sending something to the paper, but unfortunately, letters to the editor have to be shaved down to 200 words, and that would mean removing 600 words! I'm trying, but I don't know if I can do it without totally messing up the point I was trying to make in that piece. I do think it's a great idea though, so I'll work on it.

I have a new client in my home business! I've been hired to design some business cards for a plumber in the States. I'm so excited about it, because it shows that, even though it's very slow, still, my business is moving forward.

Plus ... I have begun to teach myself violin. I've always wanted to play, but never did anything about it. In fact, I hadn't even so much as touched a violin in all my life, until tonight. My oldest sister loaned me two of the violins she had around the house (her kids had learned on them when they were small). Tonight after work, I played for hours on end. The noises I produced were phenominal! lol. If you can imagine a cross between a chicken and electronic feedback.... But I did manage to make a few beautiful sounds, which encouraged me to keep at it. I play piano and harmonica, but have never played a stringed instrument. For the longest time I couldn't figure out how to make more than four sounds (with the four strings). Then I noticed that if I press my fingers down, it makes another note, and finally I realised that if I move my pressed fingers up the neck of the instrument, the notes continually change (duh, lol). So I learned "twinkle twinkle little star" already! It sounds horrendous, but it's a song! I feel quite comfortable at it already. Even though I sound awful at this point, I know that I will soon be playing better. I just feel that it's my thing. So cool.

The Least Among Us

I've been following the Robert Pickton trial - for those of you who don't know, he is a pig farmer charged with murdering prostitutes. His farm is right here in my area.

I was working on the streets in Vancouver during the time that some of these prostitutes went missing. Although Robert Pickton was choosing his victims from a different neighbourhood than the one where I worked, I think it's possible that I had a run in with him. When I saw him on t.v. when they first arrested him several years ago, I recognised him as very likely being the man with whom I had a very eerie, frightening experience. Not that it matters if it was him, or some other freak. There are millions of predators out there. Street people are no more safe now that he's been captured, than they were when he was free.

What strikes me as more tragic than anything else in the Robert Pickton case, is that these women spent their final moments facing the awful truth that they'd been right - they were the garbage of humanity. This monster could butcher them one after another after another, and it didn't matter all that much because they were whores. They'd known it all along, and acted accordingly, and now the truth of it was so awfully brutally shoved home. I envision Robert Pickton laughing at them, gloating over their terror, shaming them, despising them. Their vulnerability tears at my heart - even in death, as he chopped them up in his personal slaughterhouse kept for his poor pigs, they were being laughed at. They were whores. They never got to regain their dignity. They died surrounded by evidence of their utterly low place among human kind. Just this thought alone makes me feel screamingly naked and exposed.

I had a lot of bad tricks during the years I was on the streets. I was raped at least half a dozen times, I've lost count of the exact number. Once I was drugged by something, I don't know what, but it literally paralized me. He drove with me up a mountain logging road. I came to, sitting in the passenger seat with my head lolling sideways and my eyes gazing blearily out the window as we bounced along through the moonlit forest. He turned off the logging road into a cleared area, where he suddenly noticed a truck parked there, and the driver fast asleep inside. He began to punch the steering wheel and shout and swear. I was so drugged I could do no more than sit there, watching him lose control over the fact that this witness was there, cramping his style. Maybe he had planned to kill me, I don't know. Maybe he decided to let me live because the trucker was there and might be alerted. Maybe the trucker was my guardian angel who saved my life by making the choice to hole up in exactly that spot in the forest for his nap. At any rate, the man who had drugged me and taken me up that mountain, finally quieted from his outburst, and slipped the car back out through the opening in the trees. Back to the logging road where he eventually pulled to the side of the road and raped me. Then he drove me back to the city and dropped me off.

Once I was choked nearly to death. The man sat on top of me with his face inches from my own, fascinated as he watched me struggle to live as he squeezed my throat. I put out my cigarette in his cheek, but he didn't flinch. I heard my inner voice scream inside my airless brain "so this is how I died!" I went limp. He gave a final long squeeze, and removed his hands. I gasped a breath and he shoved me into the back seat where he raped me. After, he shoved me out of the car.

I don't know how many times I leaped out of moving cars, somersaulting head over heels down the road, finally coming to a rest and quickly picking myself up to run before the man could park and come after me. Brushing myself off and returning to my corner where I hoped the next man who enticed me into his car would not be a predator. Once a man shoved his sock down my throat. Once I thundered my feet against the face of the man (actually a teenage boy) who had been raping me. I believe I broke his nose, but I didn't wait to find out. As he reared back I wrenched down the passenger window and threw myself out, landing headfirst on the ground.

Once I leaped out of the truck of a would be attacker, only barely escaping his flailing hand as he swiped at my back to drag me back in. We were in a locked underground parkade. I took off my shoes, unfolded my knife, and tiptoed around the circular wall, looking for an exit. I heard his engine roar into life behind me, and just in time, found a shallow depression in the wall where I could hide in the shadow. He drove right past me, so close I could have touched the car if I'd reached out just an inch or two. He didn't see me.

I didn't hear the garage door open, so I knew he was still in the parkade. I tiptoed along the wall, and saw a door. I had to run across the open floor, I didn't know if the door led outside or was merely a storage closet. I didn't know if it was locked. I ran toward it, letting out an involuntary scream when I heard his engine roar into life just yards away. His headlights beamed on and his truck leaped toward me. I heard him yell "FUCK!" when he missed hitting me by a fraction of an inch.

These are just a few of my recollections, I have more. I keep all of this memory deep inside my head, and rarely look at it anymore. I'm telling you now, so those of you reading might catch a glimpse of what it's like out there. How scary it is for those unloved people who, even now as you're reading this, are struggling to survive. Some of them are dying right now, they didn't make it. They didn't get to find out that they were, after all, priceless.

Think of the victims who died on that pig farm. Their final thoughts might have been "so this is how I died!" And for them, it was true.

Yesterday and Today

It still amazes me that I'm so comfortable at my job. I'm sure none of you reading this would ever guess exactly what I mean by this statement.

I sit at my desk, creating purchase orders for music books, receiving books that have come in, scrolling through the computer files on all the books we carry, editing out of date information at my own discretion. I look online for new books to order and make my own decisions on whether they would sell - whether I should order some. I use my calculator to figure out how much we should sell them for. I wander up and down the shelves of books with my clipboard and pen, jotting down titles that are running low and should be added to the next order. I fax the order to our distributor. When a box of books arrives, I sign for it and tear the tape off the box. I understand the invoice and use it to receive the books into our system. I phone customers whose specially ordered books have arrived. I make a package of books to be sent to our sister store in the next town.

During all of this I answer the phones, I take customer's money or swipe their credit card, I fill out their invoices. I make myself a cup of coffee blended with hot chocolate. When I'm asked, I sit down at one and then another of the pianos to play a song for a customer who wants to hear the difference between the two, but doesn't feel comfortable playing. I joke around with my co workers. I lean back in my chair to look into the office of my favourite co worker, whose desk is near my own. We have a lot in common and have become good friends, we talk about a lot of things. When one of my other co workers comes to the front of the store to hang around my desk and talk, I easily join in the conversation.

Does all of this sound ordinary to you? I suppose it would. I suppose it is ordinary, but not to me.

When I was on the street, the people I work with today belonged to the segment of society that was greatly intimidating to me. People who worked behind desks, who wore dress clothes, who didn't have anything to do with the dark side of life. People who lived conventional lives, and only knew about my kind through what they might have read in the newspaper, or the glimpse they might have gotten when they drove through downtown late at night.

I hated them. The people who lived conventional lives and didn't give a damn about people like me. I knew they rarely thought about my kind, and that when they did, it was with disgust. They wanted the streets "cleaned up". They wanted us to disappear, they didn't want to know where or how, just so they wouldn't have to look at us. They believed we'd brought ourselves to that end, that we deserved our lot. If they were wrong, they really couldn't care less.

I hated them because I felt their hatred for me, and it left me feeling baffled. I took it personally. Though now that I'm viewing things from a different angle I know that they were simply lumping me with all the others. They hated us en-mass, I was not being singled out. And I, after all, was doing the same to them. My hatred for members of society didn't single out individuals, I lumped them all together. If I ever found myself considering the possibility that one or two of them might feel compassion for me, I quickly dismissed it. I didn't want to weaken my armour.

I was intimidated by them because I believed they were well adjusted, while I had fallen apart a long time before. They were smooth and capable. They were confidant. Beside them I was an uneducated urchin without a single social grace. They made up the traffic through the downtown streets where I worked. They sat in their heated cars, drumming the steering wheel as they waited for the light to change, staring at me standing there on my corner, as though I was an alien. I hated them.

I sneered at them because I knew they feared me. They were afraid to leave their cars because it was dangerous. I laughed at them because I, a girl of 100 pounds was unafraid to be out there night after night, while they couldn't wait to get out of the neighbourhood and into their familiar suberbs. I saw the fascination on their faces as they watched the streetlife happening beyond their windshields. I knew they would tell their families all about what they'd seen. The mundane happenings in a usual night - things that had become ordinary life to me, these were, for them, exciting scenes to be remembered and told later that night.

I felt that their fear of me and my kind was my one advantage. And I knew that I would lose that advantage if I left my world and tried to make it in theirs. Everything I knew about survival on the streets would be useless to me. I would make a fool of myself as it became immediately obvious that I didn't know the first thing about life in society. This made me hate them more. As I suppose, their own hatred for me and my kind escalated when they remembered that they would be just a helpless if they tried to make it in my world.

Strange to think - we were, after all, very similar.

When I worked at an office supplies store last year, my co workers watched the homeless junkies in Jubilee Park across the street, as though they were watching t.v. As the street people sat at their picnic table for hours, occasionally getting up to cross the grass, my co workers stood among the office furniture for sale, rivetted to the scene. It was not in the least boring to them, because it was a glimpse into a different world. They commented on the street people with such vehemence, I truly believe they were jealous. It was a gut reaction they wouldn't begin to understand. It would be too much for them to handle. Instead they dismissed their powerful emotions as hatred. Nothing more, nothing less. And they continued to play audience unable to tear their eyes away. Imagine their horror if they'd known about me. Imagine their shame if they'd known they had exposed themselves to someone who knew the other side, and used to fear them.

It was this experience that helped me to lose my intimidation of society. I saw them with their guard down, though they were unaware of what was happening. Now I'm working at a different job, with people I have come to like and respect. Yet some of them, (not all), will sneer when they see a homeless person passing by the window. They stand and watch and let their emotions spill out. And I watch them as I sit at my desk, and keep my knowledge to myself.

I don't hate members of society anymore, and my intimidation has faded away. I'm left with a feeling of sadness I guess, because people are so blind. And because sometimes, now that I've been away from the streets for over a decade, I find myself judging people who live the lifestyle I used to live. I have to remind myself of what made me tick, before I joined society. And sometimes I forget.

January

It's January in this ugly wannabe city in B.C. Canada where I live. Blah. Days and nights on end of rain roaring down from the sky, pouring from the gutters, turning all grass to mud. Traffic on the street outside my apartment has a wet sound as though the road is actually a shallow river that the tires are rushing through. The window at the head of my bed rattles with every gust of wind and the single pane of glass cannot hold back the onslaught - I feel the cold shiver of wind over my body. My bathroom sink does not drain in half an hour. I imagine all the drains all over town, all the pipes and sewers and manmade conduits meant to rid us of this excess of water, backed up, clogged, glub glubbing pathetically as more and more rain pours down.

I'm bored. I'm lethargic and find it hard to do anything other than read. I lay on my bed and think about things I'd like to do - art projects I'd like to start, or finish. I get up and head for the pantry where I keep my art supplies, only to turn like a sleepwalker even as my hand pulls open the pantry door, and walk back to my bed and my book. I'm uninspired. I'm tired from too much inactivity. I'm boring. Better to lay on my bed and think about the things I'd like to do, the art projects I'd like to start, or finish, than to actually do them. January in this ugly wannabe city in B.C. Canada when the wind pelts the raindrops like birdshot against my frozen face and the sun is believed to be extinct. Blah.

I'm glad I have a job that gets me out of the house every other day. If not for that I would surely sink into depression. ...oh did you think I was already depressed after what I wrote above? Nope. Just bored. And boring.

I feel like this every year at this time. This is a difficult month for me. As is February. As is March. April is better, but not if it rains, as it often does in this part of the world ... all the way till ... ohhh ... June.

Blah.

It's not all bad news. I've painted a dull picture, but really, I'm feeling optimistic. Well I guess my optimism is a little stifled at the moment, under the drab, grey woolen blanket of my boredom, but it is there ... I'm sure it is.

I'm sure it is.

Anyway, I'm optimistic because I believe this will be the year I realise at least one, or maybe a couple, of my modest dreams. I think this will be a good year for me. I know for sure that one of my goals will be met within a few months. And I feel certain I will, once again, emerge from this horrible lethargy and do something useful - after all, I managed to find the energy to post this. (pfft .... don't laugh) And before you think I'm spending every off work day laying around with books - I'm not. Not every off work day, but I must admit, I do it too often these days.

I'm beginning this year in a much better position than I began last year. Last year at this time I was shivering in a one room cement block room. My neighbours were down and out (no offense to them, but it was disheartening). My window, which took up the entire fourth wall of the room, leaked from one end to the other, pots and pans and jugs and waste paper baskets lined the sill, catching the drips that suddenly turned to streams, then back to dripping again, the sound of it gradually changing as the containers filled up to their brims and I must empty them into the sink. The room could not hold any heat, it all fled through the window, or was stolen by the frigid cement block walls. For heat, I kept my oven turned on full, and opened its door. I sat with multi layers of clothing and a blanket and book, with my feet resting on the open oven door, listening to the unmusical notes of rain falling into my kitchen containers behind me. Adding to this dreary picture, I was unemployed. After three months of manic service to the cruel slave drivers at Sears, I'd been told I would not be needed after Christmas.

I didn't know it (thank goodness), but the rest of that year was not going to be much better. Actually the year really sucked in a lot of ways and I'm glad it's over. But I did make some positive changes. I moved out of that crappy apartment, and I finally found a job that I love and have no worries about losing (I've actually gotten a small raise already after only three months). I've created my little home business and have one client (hehe!) If you want to see the website I created for her, click my business website link at the side of this blog. When my site opens, click the 'website design' button on the first page, when the website design page opens, scroll down to the bottom to where it says 'website designed by ... and click the link to her site; called RRR's Consignment.

I'm still living in the same poor, infested neighbourhood, but not smack in the middle of it as I was before. In fact I've discovered some very cool places close enough to walk or bike (if the sun would ever come back out). My apartment is poorly insulated and difficult to heat, but I have a working fireplace, and soft, thickly padded carpets. The neighbours above me have a routine of jumping on my ceiling every evening for hours, but I have my piano. The hallways outside my door are littered with old lettuce and fastfood wrappers, and the walls are often punched through, but the management is quick to fix things, and the cleaning lady never fails to find any mess before long. For every negative there is a huge positive. It's a beautiful apartment actually, a real find, especially in this part of town. The building is huge, the hallways go on forever. There are several laundry rooms on different floors. It's a ten minute walk to get to the garbage bins. There are hundreds of tenants, mostly new Canadians trying to build a new life. My own suite has become a real home for me, very comfortable and cosy - as my apartment was on the Island where I spent 2005; the first year of my new single life. And so, this year I'm starting out in an optimistic frame of mind.

It's strange to be feeling such opposing emotions. I'm bored, but I'm interested in the process of creeping toward my goals. I'm lethargic, but my brain is turning fairly steadily as it comes up with more ideas for artworks I'd like to try. I'm blah ... unbelievably, extremely BLAH, but I'm excited too, because, no matter how lazy I'm being lately, I know that it will pass, as it always does as soon as the sun comes out. Even if only for a day. I have plans for this coming year. Some new plans, some old ones that will reach their conclusion in the months ahead. Some are simply a new twist on a tentative goal I set when I first left x ... new ways of looking at the picture and fresh ideas on how to come out on top when all is said and done. Or at least, to come out even with x. That would be okay too.

I think now I will bake some cranberry/apple muffins. That sounds like a good plan.

 

My Secret

I always say I LOVE Christmas. And I do ... parts of it. I love the emotions that overtake me when I least expect it, as I'm decorating my tree, or shopping for gifts, or making a gift for my great friend. It's a feeling of inspired joy. It's pure and innocent and doesn't depend on anything outward - it simply comes over me at this time of year. I like the idea that it's Christmas time. I like being at work, turning to look out the front windows at the darkening street, or walking up the dark street from my apartment to the corner store, and knowing that it's The Season.

My Christmas is very understated. I have no children. I'm single, and a real loner, so I don't go to parties or Christmas concerts. I buy a gift for my mom, and one for my Christmas box person (one of my sisters or a niece whose name I chose from the pile of names, on Thanksgiving Day). I might make gifts for my youngest nieces and nephews, if I come up with ideas. And I make a gift for my great friend. My ideas for home made gifts are always spur of the moment. Some years I don't think of anything. I begin to wonder if this will be a year when I don't make anything, and that's okay, I don't stress over it. But then I suddenly think of something I'd like to make, as I'm laying in bed trying to fall asleep. I'm always glad when I think of something to make, because I consider this act to be a vital part of my Christmas celebration. Making the gift is as much for myself as for the one receiving it. I make a point of going to the mall a few times each Christmas, even if I don't have any reason for being there. Even though the mall is notorious for its mindless tackyness with the canned music and plastic junk for sale. Somehow I feel an exitement for the Season as I wander around the mall. At home, I enjoy the Christmas specials on t.v., I bake some cookies. I light my fireplace, and play Christmas carols on my record player, or sit at my piano and make my own Christmas music. On Christmas Eve this year, as I did the first time last year, I'll join my sisters and their families at mom's condo for a little get together. I'll join some of them at mom's church beforehand. On Christmas Day I'll join the family again, at my youngest sister's home for a big Christmas dinner and opening gifts. It will be my second year doing the family thing, after many, many years of not seeing them at all.

I find that my love of Christmas is mostly inside my heart. I find that it's very precarious, and easily disappointed. And ... I have a secret I've never shared with anyone ... Christmas has, for years and years, been a little bit sad for me.

I didn't enjoy a happy childhood, but Christmas was a time when I felt a special difference in our home. Somehow the tide turned each year at Christmastime - my childhood Christmases were wonderful. Then when I was about twelve, something changed, and Christmas was never again the same for me. I don't know what caused this, I believe it was more than just the fact that I was twelve and beginning to leave childhood behind. Suddenly we didn't join our many relatives for Christmas dinner anymore. On Christmas Day our family was alone, bored, begging our parents to do something special with us, but they didn't want to. Mom, who had always made each of her daughters a new Christmas dress, no longer made one for me, though she continued to do it for my sisters. I wore the same hand-me-down for years in a row. When mom made us gifts, she announced several times "Marian's has mistakes in it, it was only a practice, but the rest are perfect". I didn't enjoy a happy relationship with my mother as I was growing up, but Christmas had always brought about a change in her treatment of me, that lasted until the New Year. Then it stopped. Somehow, the Christmas spirit no longer came to our house.

During my teens, I was no longer living at home. For a time I lived with a foster family. That year I made the bus trip from the town where I lived, to the city to see my family for Christmas. It was then I understood that my family Christmas memories were truly a thing of the past. The following year I was back in Vancouver, living as a squatter in an abandoned house, and I met Doug (known here as x) and began my life working on the streets. Every year I returned home to see the family on Christmas Day, loaded down with bags of gifts I'd made. Every year my sadness in the season deepened. At home in my little apartment, I decorated a tree, I listened to carols on my player. Nights I stood on my corner where I worked, and looked at the Christmas displays in the store windows. Every year I insisted more loudly that I LOVED Christmas.

Now I'm living my brand new life. I left the streets behind fourteen years ago. I left x behind two years ago. I've reestablished ties with my family, after I learned that forgiveness does Not mean I must forget, or never again mention, what was done against me. There is nothing tragic about my life anymore, and I'm happy. And ... I think it's time I admited the truth, that Christmas is still a little bit sad for me. I understand that it is this way for a lot of people - it doesn't necessarily have anything to do with a person's lot in life. People are feeling lonely, and remembering loved ones who are no longer here. People are feeling left out, ignored, forgotten. Some, like me, remember wonderful Christmases of the past, that will never, never again exist.

It's precarious, this feeling of joy at Christmastime. It comes over me unexpectedly, and I embrace it, and then it's gone. That's what Christmas is like for me. It's time I said it, it's time I was honest. I didn't want to admit it before, because I believed that the admission would break my tenuous hold on the little bit of good feeling I have managed to retain over the years. It's precious to me. The idea of losing my Seasonal joy completely is frightening, and so I kept my secret. But now it's out. Maybe it will be okay.

Some Catching Up To Do (part one)

Well it's been a while! I've fallen very behind in posting, as well as writing emails. I'm doing very well though - my job at the music store is great (except for today. grrrrrr! I'll tell you all about it.) My apartment is very cosy even though it's raining monsoons outside these days (salmon were actually leaving the river and crossing the road into the woods! Poor things. As though they need this hardship on top of everything else). My little home business is beginning to limp forward after a disappointing beginning (I'll tell you all about that too.) Well maybe I should just end this introduction and get on with the actual post.

First I need to take out my contacts and put on my glasses.....

...which reminds me of something eye related that happened to me.

I have very poor eyesight, I'm pretty much legally blind without my contacts or glasses. I have astigmatism (how do you spell that) so I really shouldn't be wearing contacts, but I feel unattractive if I have to wear my glasses all the time so.... I also have cataracts in both eyes, but they're not very bad yet, and maybe they never will be. Anyway, I really don't need any more eye problems, so I was very upset to hear, when I went to a recent eye checkup while ordering a new supply of contacts, that I had holes in the skin of my retina! The doctor explained that because I have astigmatism, my eyeballs are shaped like eggs, rather than round, and the skin of my retina has to stretch over the fat part, and has now torn. yuck. (believe me I was in mental agony just thinking about it, I had to keep pressing my eyes with my hands as though that would stop the tearing.....arrgghhhh! The whole thing made me sick.)

The only good part was that since retinas are covered by medicare, I was reembursed the money I'd payed at the start of my eye appointment that day!

I was given an appointment to see a specialist who was going to give me lazor treatments, and also to see if there were any other holes (arrgghh!!!). Well guess what?! The specialist found that I don't have any holes in my retina at all! I don't need lazor surgery. I can stop pressing my eyes now. What a relief! Hopefully medicare won't make me pay back the money they reembursed me.

Today I had a horrible day at work. I really love my job, it's part secretarial, part taking customer's money at the till. I love the secretarial part - I have my own desk and computer, and I have a good understanding of what I'm expected to do, so that's all good. The problem is with the other part where I have to work behind the till. Usually it's fine too, but today it was not.

The day went well until I decided to pop into McDonalds next door for a quick bite to eat. Big mistake. When I came back, the man who is in charge of selling pianos had taken over the till. Of course he had to since there were customers, but the trouble is, he has a bad habit of doing things wrong, and then acting as though he did nothing wrong and I'm just an idiot for being frustrated as I try to understand what he did. Anyway, when I got back from McDonalds, there were a couple of customers at the front desk with a gigantic box filled with some instrument stuff they had bought. I squeezed past the box, and the piano man shoved some money in my hand. "Here" he said "You can finish this now that you're here" (wouldn't it be easier if he had just finished the transaction since he started it?! But no - this is what he does - he messes things up, and then when there's an opening he passes the buck and pretends he just did you a big service as he saunters away. You just know he knows he messed up and has now left you with it, but he doesn't want to own up. So he doesn't) Long story short, he had done three other transactions incorrectly as well, while I was away. I saw the paperwork there beside the till where he'd tried to disguise it by mingling it in with the other invoices of the day.

For the next several hours, I tried to make sense of what he'd done. It took me that long because I was constantly interrupted by the ringing phone (it's my job to answer it), and by customers, so I lost track of what I had already done in fixing his mistakes, and I think I did a couple of them twice. Meanwhile, the piano man noticed that I was getting frustrated, and because it's his way, when he knows he's caused someone's frustration, to try to cover up his tracks, he went out of his way to treat me as though I didn't know my job. He would stand over me and say things like "now you have to punch in that key there ... now you get the customer's information and put it here ..." I wanted to shoot him.

Meanwhile he made more mistakes that he passed on to me. He sold a couple of instruments and since I was busy with other work, he filled out the price and taxes himself (bad bad bad, but there is no way to stop this man). He swiped the customer's credit cards and did all that stuff, leaving me with the paperwork to finish. (this would be fine if he wasn't so BAD AT IT) When I went to finish his latest paperwork, I saw that he'd added incorrectly, and so now I had to use my calculator to fix it. I put these new mistakes on top of the earlier mistakes and got up (AGAIN) from my desk so I could help (shut her up and get her out of the store) the woman who was demanding I give her the address of a rival music store while her kids climbed right up onto the counter.

Meanwhile someone's child had seated himself at the grand piano nearst my desk, and was playing LOUDLY and VERY BADLY. Nobody stopped him. I wanted to smack him off the bench. I know that sounds awful but I don't care.

I finally found a few moments to sit at my desk again and try to organise the growing pile of invoices. I was very obviously busy, with one fist gripping an invoice, and the other digging through my hair, and my eyes bulging as I glared at my computer monitor, and the constant interruptions of the phone (which I miraculously answered with a pleasant voice). But of course, the piano man did not recognise any of this. Nope. He had a customer who had tried to buy a piano with a credit card that did not go through, or something, so he expected me to make a phone call for verification. (WHY could he not do it himself?!) When I hesitated, because I'd never done one of these phone calls before and wasn't sure of the procedure, he said "Surely you've learned this by now." I swear, the more frustrated I got with him, the calmer he became!
So anyway, the day ended, and I still had a pile of unfinished work, including his mistakes that were never corrected completely.

Well I'm not going to worry about it.

Here's some good news - I have a client for my homebased business! My first client turned out to be a bigtime dud. That's another story that I will talk about in my next post, since it's kinda longish. My new client has hired me to build her a website, which is very exciting for me. I'm very inspired, though I ran into a major roadblock right away (of course!) I will tell all about it in my next post.

Also I got a letter from the government, saying I owed them nearly $200.00 because my taxes were filled out incorrectly. I'd had an elderly man do it - he does my mom's taxes (scary scary thought). I phoned the government offices to get to the bottom of the mess, and the woman on the other end would not let me get a word in. She barked at me as though I'd tried to rip off the government. She interrupted me every time I tried to speak, and finally when I blurted "Would you please let me speak!" she said "I'm going to put you on hold until you can get control over your temper!" (as though I was a child who needed a time out!)

Anyway, I called the old man who'd wrecked my taxes, and he came over to go over it. I could tell right away he had no clue. The guy is just too old to be doing anyone's taxes anymore. He mumbled as he moved his finger over the pages. He finally said he didn't understand where he could have made a mistake, and that it was all correct and I should just pay the bill. Now I'm no math whiz, and I certainly don't know much about filling out a tax form, but I was able to see that he'd entered twice as much income as I'd actually made. I pointed this out several times, but he wouldn't listen. He put his calculator away, told me a little anecdote about his youth, assured me that he had made no mistakes, and left.

I knew he'd messed up. I couldn't just leave it, so I phoned long distance to my former employers (remember when I worked as a dishwasher?), and asked what my income had been. Sure enough, the old man had entered twice as much. I asked which form should be used in calculating my taxes, they said the T4 slip - the old man had used my ROA plus the T4, adding them together. So, it turns out, I know something about tax forms after all! So I took my incorrectly filled out forms, and all my other paperwork to a professional, (who couldn't believe the mistakes the old man had made). He corrected everything, and it turns out the government owes me almost the exact amount they were saying I owed them! TaDa! So that cheque should be in my mailbox in a month or so. Unfortunately it will just be swallowed up by my visa bill, but still.....

My Bike

 

My Birthday

This Friday is my birthday. It also marks the one year anniversary of my moving here to this city. I remember last year on the morning of my birthday, standing in my little apartment where I'd spent the first year of my new life as a single woman. I was surrounded by packing boxes, waiting for the moving van to arrive. I was very emotional. This was a huge move for me, both physically, and psychologically. In moving off the Island and leaving x behind, I was making the statement to myself that I had truly turned my back on my past. When the moving van rolled into view, I cried a little bit, and hugged myself. To most women of my age, arranging a move might not seem a very big deal. For me it was giant, because I'd been led to believe that I was incapable of taking care of myself.

So here I am now. I'm living in a nice apartment with a fireplace, I have my beloved piano. I've found a wonderful job where I fit so perfectly its as though I've always been there. With my other jobs I couldn't stop the feeling that something was wrong. There was always a tension there. I knew somehow that the job would not last, and sure enough, none of them did. But with this one, everything has quickly fallen into place! I'm confidant in my work, and I get along wonderfully with my co workers. My boss is kind and helpful. The work is enjoyable. I get to wear nice clothes. I get to play the piano, choosing from among about twenty pianos - grand pianos, uprights, electric pianos.... During my days off, although I enjoy the time off, I actually look forward to going back to work. I'm so glad all of this fell into place in time for my birthday.

I've received two great gifts already. My brother-in-law, his wife (my sister) and their little girl came by a couple of weeks ago to bring me the gift they'd gotten for me. I came out to my patio where they were standing, peeked around the fence surrounding my patio, and there was the most beautiful bicycle! My brother-in-law actually built it from three seperate bikes. He used to work in a bike shop, so he's very talented in this. My neice helped him put on some stickers, so it was a real family effort.

The bike is just fantastic, as you can see in the picture above. I go zooming through the city streets, toiling up steep hills just so I can fly down them again. I'm getting to know the city in a whole new way as I explore new routes to my favourite stores and other places that I used to get to by walking. I love to feel the wind in my face, blowing my hair back. I love the sense of getting all that excersize. I love it that I can get to a place in minutes, whereas it used to take much longer when I had to walk. Now, if I need something from the store, I can combine that mundane act with the fun of bike riding. The bike came with a good lock, and I'm very careful to use it every time I have to leave the bike outside somewhere. I feel as though that bike and I are partners. When I come out again I always pat her seat.

My mom gave me the gift of a backpack. It's a beautful pack with a multitude of pockets. Perfect for carrying a few groceries, or my library books, or my camera gear ... actually that's another thing I'm really looking forward to - taking my bike out into the countryside to spend a day riding around and stopping to take photographs of old barns and cows. I haven't done it yet, somehow every time I've planned it, something thwarted my plan. But it will happen. I'll take a little bit of lunch, and a few other odds and ends that will make my day comfortable, and help me to fill my camera's memory card with great shots. I can't wait.

Happy Birthday To Me!

The Rogue Walrus

Whenever I'm in between library books, I go through my collection of well loved books that I found in second hand bookstores years ago. Some have been with me over twenty years and I will never part with them. A number of these books are all about animal life. Incredibly interesting books, written in such a way as to make scientific fact about flora and fauna read like beautiful prose. One can enter into the daily life of these animals, come to know them (as much as that is possible), learn fascinating truths about the ways of nature and how individual animals survive. And all of this learning is not dry or tedious, but beautiful as though it were poetry. These writers are genious in their ability to teach, using such beautiful language. They have combined animal science with art. I admire them a great deal.

My favourite is Sally Carrighar, whose books were published in the 50's and 60's. Her knowledge is stunning. She writes in detail about animals from great whales, to miniscule ocean living shrimp. She describes their lives in ways that the reader feels close to the animals, just as we feel for human characters in the stories we read. She's unafraid to show the animals' emotion, which is a real plus for me. I don't appreciate nature writers who insist on depicting animals as emotionless beings who operate strictly on instinct. Sally Carrighar has found a perfect balance. The animals she writes about are real. They are obviously natural and animal, she doesn't "humanise" them, but she shows their maternal feelings, their love displays, their tension, rage, terror. She describes their methods of evading predators, or, in the case of predators - their strategies for capturing prey. The animals are marvelously intelligent as they call upon their aquired knowledge to survive another day.

The scenery description is breathtaking. She has a thorough knowledge of what takes place in all the seasons. She describes the process of ice floes breaking and crashing down river, seeds bursting open underground, currents undercutting the banks of rivers to expose the roots of trees growing along the shores. The whole thing is a scrumptious smorgasboard of NATURE. Reading her books, I always get the sense of digging into a decadently healthy banquet. All the while, I'm learning facts about Mother Earth and her creatures. Sally is the ultimate teacher.

The book I'm re-reading now (for the dozenth time), is called Icebound Summer. It covers the time of ice breakup in Alaska. Each chapter showcases a different animal, and what happened to it during the few days that make up the timeline in this book. A lemming, a beluga whale, a hair seal, an Arctic fox, a loon, an Arctic tern.... their stories are fascinating and often heartbreaking. I'll tell you about one of them - a rogue walrus.

Walrus live on clams. Their bodies are perfectly built so that they can balance on their head, scraping the ocean floor for the tasty molusks that make up their diet. For the first two years of a young walrus's life, it does not develop tusks, and so it can't dig up the shellfish and must depend on its mother's milk for nourishment. If its mother is killed during these first two years, the little walrus will likely die for lack of food. The motherless animal starves to death surrounded by food, because it does not yet possess tusks.

Some orphaned walrus manage to find a horrific way to survive. They become cannibals. These are called rogue walrus. Through accident, or driven by desperate hunger, they discover that they can kill and eat other seals. Over time they hone their predatory skills as best they can. Their bodies are not built for agility - they are suited for balancing on their heads and scraping up their dinner from the sea floor. They are not intended for rushing after swift prey, but these rogue walrus do their best to stay alive. They use all their skills to do what does not come naturally to their kind.

Because of their diet of flesh and blood, they grow much larger than others of their kind. Their tusks, instead of growing long and curved downward, remain short and curved to either side. Over time, they take on the odour of a meat eating predator. The other, more natural walrus whose own milder scent is that of an animal whose diet consists of bland foods, smell the difference, and avoid the poor, lonely rogue. They know that the rogue will kill their young, and so they refuse to allow him anywhere near. He becomes an outcast. The price of his survival after the untimely death of his mother is a lonely, solitary life. The rogue will never mate, or lay with companions on the ice, or play with others. It's mood is rarely calm. Rage and frustration rule its existance.

Natural walrus who live to old age, enjoy their golden years in lazy companionship with others who have lived as long. No longer making the difficult and dangerous passage North with the rest of the herd, the old ones stay in one place where food is plentiful, and their days can be spent relaxing in the sun. Like octogenarians taking their retirement in Florida, these fortunate beasts live out their remaining days. Not so for the poor rogue. He has no friends, and must continue to hunt for prey, forcing his aging body into feats it was never meant to accomplish. It is a tragically sad life for the rogue walrus.

One Good Thing Anyway

Well ... I've escaped the bakery at last. I have a job as receptionist at a Music store. We sell pianos and other small musical instruments, as well as sheet music. One side of the store is dedicated to all things sewing.

This store has been around since the 50's. I remember passing it in the 70's when I was a kid, with my family in the car on our way to visit my uncle's farm on a sunday afternoon. Our family lived in the nearby city then, coming to this town for days in the country. When we passed the store, my dad always made a joke about it being "our family business", because the name of the store is our last name. Funny, now here I am thirty years later, working as receptionist there.

Next week I begin my official employment, after having spent last week training under the girl who will be leaving. She's taught me what I need to know, and has left me to it. She told me she believes I'll do very well, and I believe her. I know I can do it. I can't wait. I have my own desk and computer. I'm in charge of ordering sheet music and books, and doing all the other receptionist work, as well as taking care of customers at the till. The store has a nice relaxed atmosphere, there aren't crowds of customers, I won't have anyone (boss or co workers) looking over my shoulder, tsking when I make a mistake, making me nervous. I get to dress up, I get to use the office skills I learned as assistant to that flakey realtor, I even get to use the math I learned last year in my upgrading.

I am SO glad to be out of the bakery! That place was a horror show. For the past month it's been hotter than hell around here, and my boss at the bakery turned off the air conditioning! He turned it off as punishment because one of my co workers accidentally left it on all night. She quit in disgust, but the punishment continued. The air conditioner remained turned off, and all of us suffered. Customers complained loudly, food went bad, me and my co workers were irritable and slick with sweat as we tried to do our jobs. In the two months that I worked there, no fewer than eight employees quit. By the time I left, the only original girl was the mean, bossy cavewoman looking one. I imagine she's in her glory now that she's the veteran there. lol.

This summer has been a little bit strange for me. I'm at a place where I'm beginning to feel the need for something to happen, and soon. I have some plans, but don't want to talk about them. I've learned a couple of hard lessons and am trying to make some changes in myself as a result. Building some walls, trying to be cool, stuff like that. I'll say one thing ... I have never met a person that didn't suck. Sorry, I don't mean to insult everyone reading this. And I haven't forgotten that I myself am a human being, therefore I probably suck too.

I don't know how to say what I want to say, there are too many words in my head all trying to come out at once. Too much of everything I guess. I need to fix that.

Anyway ya, I have a great new job. yay.

 

My Houseguest

A couple of weekends ago I birdsat a little lovebird named Cricket. He belongs to my cousin's former wife, who went away on a little holiday. We had the most wonderful time together - me and the little bird. I've been petless since my elderly cat; Catherine - the only pet I took with me when I left x, passed away in my arms just one month after we moved into our little batchelorette pad two years ago. It was nice to have a little living creature in my space again. Someone to welcome me when I got home from work, or to bug me to get up in the morning.

My cousin's wife told me she often lets Cricket out of his cage. Sure enough, as soon as I brought him home, he was banging away at the bars, demanding to be let out! He was just like a kid with a babysitter, I'm sure I let him get away with twice as much as what he is allowed at home! He spent most of the weekend on my head, or climbing all over my body, or prancing around on my keyboard, pecking my fingers as I tried to type. Even when I changed clothes, he stayed on me, moving out of the way as I pulled my shirt over my head, and hopping down through the neck hole or sleeve, clinging to my skin, climbing up over the fresh shirt as I pulled it down over my shoulders. Occasionally he would fly across the room and land somewhere. When he wanted to return to me, he launched himself into the air and flew frantically, aiming right for my face - what a freaky sight!

He actually would come looking for me when I was in another room. I would hear him calling, and then the furious flutter of his wings as he flew across the apartment in search of me. I saw him fly down the short hallway, and actually take the corner. When he saw me in the kitchen, he braked in mid air and turned sharply into the room, landing on my head. He liked to take showers under the running tap. I turned the flow right down so that it was just a little more than a trickle, and he would rush down my arm into the sink. Running back and forth under the water, he looked just like a little kid playing in the sprinkler. Once he got caught in my hair. I was reading in bed, while he amused himself running around on my head. Suddenly I realised it felt like he was caught. I held onto his little body, and rushed into the bathroom to see in the mirror. Sure enough, a thick clump of my hair was wound around his little ankle. I wanted to avoid cutting my hair, but the more I tried to unwind it, the more frightened he became. I was afraid of him having a heart attack, and so I grabbed my scissors and snipped off my hair. Now I have a piece right at the top parting, that is just one inch long, and sticks straight up! I'm able to press it down though, and sort of tuck it under. I suppose it will take about 8 - 10 years before it reaches the length of the rest of my hair.... Anyway, the little bird was saved. I pressed him to my chest so he would be calmed by my heartbeat.

I took a bunch of photographs of him. I got some nice ones. Some of them are posted on my website www.inmyview.net

Summery Memories

Well, summer is half gone I guess. I haven't done anything special. In summers past, I used to spend a lot of time around the ocean. I can still hear the gentle slap of water against the boat (the ocean at Baynes Sound is calm as a lake). I remember gigantic sea lions swimming barely two feet from the boat, snorting at me. I have wonderful memories of lazy days on the secluded beaches of Tree Island (aka Sandy Island Marine Park) - a tiny, uninhabited Island with sand throughout, even under the trees. I remember the drugged feeling from the sun and heat. I remember wandering along the sandy paths in my bathing suit and moccasins, and climbing a huge old tree with limbs thicker than my waist. There is something so primal about naked, or near-naked tree climbing (I've done both, lol). It's animal-like. It's Tarzan/Jane-like. It's wonderful and I recommend it to everyone.

I recall the wonderful feeling after returning home at the close of a sunfilled day - my long hair slicked back and oily with sun lotion, sand under my fingernails and between my toes, my skin hot from the sun, all that tangy ocean salt that needed to be showered away. I'm a bath person. I love love love my baths. But after a day on the ocean I always took an invigorating shower. After washing away all the oil and sand and salt, I combined two or three healing lotions to massage into my skin. The coolness was absolutely marvelous on my sundrenched face and body. I used to love the homey feeling of sitting out on the porch in my nightie after the sun had gone down, combing my wet hair. The slightly cooler air felt so good after all the day's heat.

I haven't done any of that for the past two summers, since I've been single. It's definately something I miss from my former life. The weather this summer has been beautiful though. It's nice, walking to the nearby fruit market in my sundress, wandering through that rustic store to choose locally grown fruit and vegetables. Or sitting out on my patio with a book, listening to the birds in the trees, keeping an eye out for the little grey squirrel who sometimes comes right into my apartment.

The other day I went for an evening drive with my mom, through the farmlands that surround this town. We passed the old farm where my uncle and aunt used to live with their youngest daughter who was my age. Where my sisters and I spent a week each summer, and I always chose to spend most of that week alone in the hayloft with the kittens. One wall of the hayloft had an opening into the loafing barn - a large open room for the cows to gather during bad weather. I was able to climb through the opening, from the hayloft down into the manger where hay was piled for the cows to eat. I sat on top of the sweet smelling hay, gradually sinking lower as the cows pulled the hay out through the manger's slats. Eventually I was sitting eye level with the animals. Hours had passed. Now I would climb out, back into the hayloft. The kitten I had been holding was returned to its family among the straw bales, and I climbed back down the rickety wooden stairs to the barn below. I remember the feeling I had was much like the tired contentment I felt years later, after a day at Tree Island.

That farm is now a public market. The shed where we played is arranged with bins for fruit and vegetables for sale, the barn is used for storage of flats and boxes and bins. When I first moved here last fall, and visited the farm with my sister, we went into the barn. The stanchions where the cows were milked, are still there. The pens where calves were kept ... the low wall where chickens used to roost. I wandered down the center of the barn, remembering. I pulled open the old wooden door leading to the hayloft, crept gingerly up the crumbling stairs and peered into that huge and dusty room where I spent so many solitary hours. Strange how things change, yet remain the same.

Well, I was going to write about a little lovebird I'm sitting this weekend, I even had pictures ready to post, but it looks like I got sidetracked. I'll talk about that next time. I've enjoyed recalling these lazy, summery memories for you.

Looking on the Bright Side

I've discovered a silver lining in my hated bakery job! It's great for my stomach muscles!

Last year this time I was working as a dishwasher, which was great for my abs. I had to lift down 20 lb trays of bar glasses from a high shelf and carry those heavy trays across the room and carry stacks of heavy plates across the room and reach up to place them on a high shelf, etc. My stomach muscles were T.O.N.E.D.!

Then I moved here to the mainland. All my jobs since moving here last September have been easier (labour wise) than my previous jobs. At Sears, at Taylors, at the Real Estate office ... I was run off my feet but I didn't get any real workout. The rest of me was still in great shape, because of yoga, and all the walking I do - it's nothing for me to walk for an hour or two, to get to a place, and then back again carrying heavy bags - but, I was sad to see, my abs were not quite what they used to be.

But ... tada! They're back! Working in the bakery, I have to lift heavy pans and carry them across to the sink and manhandle the bread laden trolley into the freezer and mop the store and carry stacks of 8 chairs at once and stack two tables atop each other and carry them and ... well as I said, my abs are back! Hooray! It didn't even take long. I've been working there for, what is it now, a month and a half? Something like that? My stomach is toned again Hooray!

I'm still looking forward to the day when I can quit this job in favour of a wonderful secretarial job in an office, but, now that I've noticed this silver lining, I will be more grateful.

Or at least I'll try.

The job really sucks big time. My boss is actually quite a friendly guy, he has a good sense of humour and when I've happened to bump into him around town, he stopped to talk to me and was very friendly. But he's a slave driver!

At the bakery, we do all the usual bakery stuff - fresh bread is made every morning, and pies and cakes of all kinds, and pastries. Along with this we make specialty sandwiches and soup. I work mostly in the front behind the counter, occasionally I get asked to work in the back where I roll out dough and press out pie shells. We have a seating area where people can eat their sandwiches, and a few tables and chairs outside.

We get phone-in orders for sandwich trays - people want them for their office meetings, or for funerals, etc. Some of these orders are HUGE! It isn't unusual for an order to be for 300 sandwiches, all to be made in an hour or two, while we're trying to do our other jobs. We make a variety of five or six different types, and cut them into quarters held together with fancy toothpicks. All the sandwiches are arranged on round trays with a little cup of pickles and olives in the center. Meanwhile, customers are coming in, so we have to make their sandwiches immediately while they wait. We're all rushing around, bumping into each other, trying to find room on the narrow sandwich counter, running out of ingredients and quickly whipping up more, mashing a bowl full of two dozen eggs, slicing meat and cheese and bread, the butter is melting, the toast is burning.... Most of the customers are very nice, elderly folks. But some of them are unbelievably annoying.

My co workers are very nice, I get along with them well, except for one who is so bossy I want to rip her face off. She's like this with everyone, it isn't a personal thing against me, still, I want to rip her face off. She's very strange looking - a large girl with a fatty neck and a low forehead. From the back her head looks much too small for her body. From the front, you realise that her face is the correct size, it's her forehead that is out of whack. Her hairline begins low down, and her head is flat on top, so that you can't see any hair, it's just forehead, and then the head stops. Kinda like a caveman/woman/person/whatever. I mostly ignore her. When she orders me to do something, I pretend I don't hear. But when she barges up to interrupt me while I'm taking care of a customer, I speak my mind. It's a fine line - I don't want to appear that I'm fighting in front of customers (lol) - on the other hand, I refuse to let her get away with giving the customers the impression I don't know how to help them. It's a huge pain, and my patience is worn thin with her.

My boss, although a friendly enough person, is another pain in the ass. While he himself commits incredible attrocities (using rotten berries in the pies, eating over the customer's food so that crumbs drop from his mouth into their food, smoking while he makes the pies so that the lit cigerette hangs over the pies, picking up food that had dropped on the floor, and mixing it back in with the rest....), he demands that the rest of us work double time to keep the place clean. He makes us stay late, to mop the floor a second time. He comes back to the bakery just as we're about to leave after a long 8 1/2 hour shift, and piles on more jobs. Did I mention that it's boiling hot in the bakery?! So hot, I can feel sweat running down my back all day. For all of this, we get paid minimum wage, and we get docked in pay if we take a break. As I said, the job sucks.

I'm scanning the paper every day, for office jobs. Unfortunately there aren't very many, but I did apply for one today by mail. Wish me luck!

Meanwhile, I will keep reminding myself of the good things, such as ... sometimes I get to write on cakes, with icing ... and, um ... at least I'm not unemployed ... and, um ... hmmm ... oh ya, my abs are back! My stomach is T.O.N.E.D. again! Yeah!

The Caveman Above Me

I'm so unbelievably bored lately it's not funny. I can't get interested in anything. I have folders full of pictures to photoshop ... I have story and poem ideas I could be writing ... I have a (pathetic excuse for a) garden I should be trying to revive ... I have a messy apartment/unmade bed/unwashed dishes but I don't feel like cleaning ... I have no food in the place, but I'm too bored to care about that either. I'm bored. And I'm boring. Blah.

...so anyway last night I was awakened by the familiar sounds of the couple in the apartment above me, having sex. I had thought I wouldn't be hearing them again, since the sounds of a toddler running across my ceiling replaced their nightly routine (I don't know who the kid was, or who it belonged to, but since it - he? she? I don't know - moved in with the amorous couple, they stopped having sex, but now it looks like the kid is gone, and the couple are back at it. So.

Their apartment layout is exactly like my own, with the bedroom directly above mine. When I glanced up at their bedroom window from the sidewalk below, I saw their bed's headboard against the window, and so I know that their bed is placed exactly as mine is ... if they crashed through my ceiling, they and their bed would land on me as I lay in my own bed, sandwiching me neatly in between the two. One of these nights, that just might happen.

BANG!BANG!BANG! of the headboard thumping against the wall. SLAM!SLAM!SLAM! of the bed leaping up from the floor and crashing down again on my ceiling. THUMP!THUMP!THUMP! of the (I imagine this is what it is...) boxspring disconnecting from the bedframe. And rising above all of this is the steady, ever more high pitched screaming of the woman. lol.

As I lay in my bed last night, listening to them, the thought occured to me, as it has every time I've listened to them, that there is something ... something wrong with their routine. Something doesn't quite sit right, something is missing, something something something ... but what?! I asked myself as I lay in my little bed and their thunderous sound effects roared down from above. And then it came to me. AHAH! (I didn't actually say this outloud, but if I had, my voice probably would have been drowned out anyway, so who knows but maybe I did say it...?)

Okay, here's the problem with my neighbour's sex life, as I see it....

Despite all her shrieking, I think, really, the pleasure is all his, if you see what I mean. Perhaps you don't. I'll try and explain.

The way it begins, is as follows - I hear her talking to him from the bedroom, as though he's in another room, which he is, as I know because soon I hear his heavy footsteps coming into the bedroom from the bathroom (I know the layout of their apartment, remember, since it's the same as my own). About, oh, maybe a minute at the most, after he enters the bedroom, he enters her. I kid you not. No foreplay, no nothing. Just her talking normally, then him walking into the bedroom, and then ... okay this is how it sounds to me - blah blah blah/1,2,3,4,5 footsteps/squeak squeak squeak/oh oh oh/thump thuMP THUMP/SLAM SLAM SLAM/SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM ... and then I hear his heavy footsteps to the bathroom again.

I swear it is wierd to listen to, because there is no interlude at all. Nothing. Nadda. Absolutely no segway between him coming into the room and him pounding the life out of her. (lol).

Now, if anyone reading this knows anything about women, you will understand when I say again that, no matter how loudly this woman is shrieking, I don't believe she's having fun. It's just ... her shrieking doesn't sound very pleasurable. Okay I realise I'm probably coming across as a little bit wierd for all my analysing here (lol), but I can't help but notice there's no buildup to her sound effects. I mean, if she was getting something out of all this, there would surely be some softer moaning before the real screaming begins? Rather than starting at 100 decibals right off the bat? Do you see what I mean? It's as though this couple's sex begins at the end, without the trip it should have taken to get there. Ya know? Being a woman, I know that when a man just barges up and ATTACKS like that, without any preliminaries, it's, um, not a good thing. It's a wonder she can walk.

And you know what's wierder? He probably has no idea. Not just because he's a clueless caveman, but because ... well because she's such an enthusiastic cheerleader who can blame him for believing he's scoring a perfect ten every time?! People are wierd. Couples are wierd. I'm wierd. And I still feel bored.

What The Camera See's

When I was a kid, my mother and one of my sisters convinced me I was a hunchback, that I had a pot belly, a giant nose, a unibrow, bony knees, deformed toes, hair like straw, oversized hands, buck teeth and a non existant chin. These lies were reinforced throughout the years of my childhood, and I believed them. I stared at myself in the mirror, and recited the litany of flaws I'd been taught were mine, and the mirror responded in kind. I saw a monster looking back at me. Every once in a great while, when I looked in the mirror, I noticed that my defects had disappeared - I actually liked what I saw in my own reflection. But I always made the mistake of telling my good news to my sister, who would tell me I was mistaken. I looked again in the mirror, and sure enough, the defects were back, worse than before. It was a wierd phsychological game that I now understand had no basis in reality. The mirror was unable to overcome the lies that had been planted in my head.

It's interesting that I became an avid photographer of myself. It was the camera that helped me take the first tiny step towards viewing myself in a more honest light. It began with my knees. The summer of my eighth year, I saw a photograph of myself in shorts, and couldn't help but notice that my knees were not bony after all. The camera had succeeded in what the mirror had failed to accomplish. After that, I developed the habit of scrutinizing every photo of myself. I wanted to see if the other defects I'd been taught to see in myself, might also prove to be unfounded. It didn't happen overnight - there were years of conditioning to overcome, but gradually I came to believe that I was not grotesque afterall. The camera did this for me.

Now that I've grown up to become a photographer/model, I still depend on the camera to refute the lies told to me by my mirror. When I go for too long without eating, and my body is beginning to look frighteningly thin, the camera tells me. It always catches me by surprise, because in the mirror I feel I look almost chubby, yet photographs taken on the same day show me as anorexically thin. When I stand on my scale to see which is telling the truth - it is always the camera that proves the honest one.

Conversely, there are times when I think I'm in great shape, and then the camera shows me I need to taylor my excersize routine for a specific area that is in need of toning. Standing in front of my mirror, I wasn't able to see this, but in bending my body into poses for my camera, I discover things I would never, otherwise have known. I can fix these things before they get out of hand. I have a scar below my hip. I've worked for years to smooth it out, and for the most part, it has disappeared. Even in photographs, the scar is nearly invisible. It is only in certain light that it shows itself again. Still, it's in my nature to keep working to rid myself of that scar, and so I do.

I think it's true that my childhood experience with my mother and sister is what drives me to work so obsessively on my appearance today. And I suppose I sometimes carry these things to extreme, but on the other hand, it's my way of feeling beautiful. It's my way of loving myself. It's a matter of self esteem, I believe. As a child, I was vulnerable to the powers of my sister and mother's suggestion, because my self esteem was non existant. Now that I've learned to love myself, I can look at the camera's evidence with a fairly open mind. I'm pleased with my appearance, and want to look my best, and so when the camera shows me something in need of fixing, I can't wait to get going on it. I am no longer the child who cried in front of the mirror, despising her own reflection.

It's Probably For The Best

I believe that, for the most part, life is a lonesome experience. We emerge from our mothers as solitary beings. We are handed to our mothers who look into our newborn eyes and believe they can see into our soul. Then the truth becomes apparent - we cry, and our mothers fail to understand what it is we need so desperately. "Why are you crying?" a mother will ask her child who has not yet learned to speak. No matter how deeply she looks into her baby's eyes, she cannot see the answer there. She can only guess ... a good mother will continue to guess and guess and guess.... The baby is a solitary being. She lives within her head and learns who she is, and as she grows she learns that no one, not one person will ever really know her.

It seems to me that life is an endless search for that one person who will truly know us. Someone who will pull up a chair beside us as we sit inside our own head, looking out through our eyes. Seated there beside us, this person will have access to all the filed information we have gathered since the day of our birth. All the details that make us who we are, that cause us to react in ways that baffle those around us because they don't know what came before. This person will be able to say "Ah! I know why you feel this way! The reason is right here in your memories from when you were six!" Every once in a while we find someone who seems to be on the same page. We find a kindred spirit, and believe we can see into their soul, and they into ours. Sometimes it lasts a lifetime - the lifetime of one player in the partnership, after which the other is left to live on alone. The survivor goes on believing they were truly understood by the other, their *Self* was made known. Perhaps that is true, but only to a point. There is always a part of us that remains unknown. We are all solitary.

No one can know me as well as I know myself. Others will only know what I choose to show them. Sometimes I think I've explained myself in minute detail, only to discover that my words were misunderstood. It may be a lack of ability to articulate what is on my mind, or perhaps my words, though well expressed, are blocked by impressions carried by the other. Others may watch me as I live my life, and believe they see things in my body language, or in the lines between the lines. They may well be on to something, but it's just a likely they have misinterpreted everything. No one can really know why I do what I do, because my actions are coloured by my life experience ... and no one knows my life experience as well as I do. This is the plight of all of us. We are all solitary.

I think it isn't such a bad thing. A little mystery can be nice. I think if it was possible for one to truly enter another person's head, the detail they might find there would cause more harm than lack of understanding ever did. Maybe the quest to make ourselves understood, helps make life more interesting. Perhaps, if we were each to find one person able to enter our head and know us completely, we would resent them for knowing too much.

Dating (it's about time I started)

I've added many more photographs, as well as drawings and poetry, to my fineart site. If anyone is interested in seeing them, the link is along the side of this blog.

I've been thinking about dating again. I think I'm finally ready to start, although I have no intention of ever getting involved in a *relationship* again. I'm not avoiding emotional attachments - If I end up loving someone and/or being loved in return, that will be nice, but I have no interest in being anyone's girlfriend. I plan on staying single the rest of my life. I made that decision when I left x. I believe that's the way I was meant to be.

So ya, it's time I started dating. It's been two years (!!!) I definately needed this time to think my own thoughts and get over some things. I'm glad I didn't jump into dating right away, after I left x. It's been healthy for me to just spend this time getting to know myself, and grow up a little (or a lot). I'm still in the process. This past month, for example, I experienced some things that forced me into a major emotional renovation. I think I've come out of it a stronger person. Maybe I'm more emotionally mature after all of it is said and done. Maybe I discovered some more things about myself, and about my feelings, and about the necessity to take my heart off of my sleeve for once and, I guess, erect a little bit of a barrier around it. Not a thick barrier - I don't want to become a cold sort of person who keeps her emotions locked up in a cage. Still, I've been a little bit too vulnerable, and it's left me with some wounds. So the best thing for me to do is build a little protective wall.

The problem I see for myself, in dating, is a lack of men. Since I moved to this city, I have not seen one man I'd be interested in. Although, I admit, I haven't really been looking too hard. Still, I think I'm right when I say it won't be easy. I think most of the men around here are not my type.

A funny thing happened the other week. I decided to check out Yahoo dating. I didn't sign up or anything - I'm not about to meet men that way, especially since my x is a member.... I simply wanted to see what sort of men were available in my area. But I forgot to change the setting that specified the search area, and ended up including Vancouver Island where I used to live with x. Who should appear as the number one pick for me? You guessed it - my x. There he was in his photographs, posing in the house where I lived with him for seven years, and in my garden that is now overgrown with weeds. Anyway I quickly changed the settings. Unfortunately I didn't fare any better with the settings changed to my own area. There are no interesting men for me in Yahoo.

Strangely, a week later, I received an email from a member of the photography club I belonged to on the Island, during the year I lived alone in my little apartment. It was a mass email to all the members of the club, including me because they haven't taken me off of their mailing list. Attached to the email was a photograph of the Canada Day celebrations at the local park. There was a crowd of people sitting on the grass before a stage, listening to live bands. And there was x, sitting in his lawnchair while one of his girlfriends sat on the grass (no chair for her). He had his oversized cup with a lid, and I recognised my former oversized cup in the hands of his girlfriend. At least the cup is being put to good use.

How does a girl meet men anyway? I seem to be clueless. Well I don't know how to close this rather boring post, so I guess I'll just say goodnight and go to bed.

Well....

I guess I might as well say it.

...my training as a realtor's assistant was going very well and then everything collapsed. Actually it was more of a fizzling out. After three weeks training, I was growing in confidence. I was taking phone calls and faxing and photocopying. I was calling lawyers offices to ensure that everyone was up to speed on a recent sale. I was calling tenants living in homes that were for sale, to set up times for buyers to look at the home. I had developed my "office voice" and (if I do say so myself) I sounded very professional. I took notes from the first day, on everything I learned, and once I was home I transferred the messy notes into a clean little notebook I bought especially for this. I knew how to fill out all the various real estate forms, and I understood why certain things were done a certain way. In short, I knew the job. I was good at it. The woman training me (my bosses assistant who was to be leaving soon because she was moving) told me she was pleased with my progress. She tested me on various things, and I knew all the answers. My sister, who works as assistant to another realtor in an office just around the corner and down the hall, told me that my trainer kept telling her she was pleased with me. My sister doesn't lie, she would never tell me I was doing well at something if I really wasn't suited to it. I'd made three brochures for my boss, and my sister told me he was proudly showing them to other realtors.

One day my boss asked me if I would mind spending my work day at his home, helping his wife get their receipts etc. in order so they could be submitted for taxes. I was to be paid my regular wage. I thought it a little bit strange, but agreed to do it since I was hoping to make a great impression. And so he dropped me off at their house, and I spend an entire afternoon at their home with his wife and their two young kids, sitting at their kitchen table and sipping tea as I stuffed a full year's worth of receipts into their respective envelopes - an envelope for food receipts an envelope for gas receipts an envelope for client expense receipts ... you get the picture. His wife was friendly. She talked with me quite easily, and made me a sandwich. She was still in her pyjamas when I arrived at two in the afternoon, and hadn't combed her hair. The house was a mess, and she kept telling me she was exhausted, though the entire time I was there, she didn't do anything more than take the dog outside to do his business on the lawn, lethargically pick up a couple of receipts in a token attempt to help me, and occasionally pick up one or the other of her sons to hold him in her lap. She disappeared for an hour, and when she showed up again, she told me she’d fallen asleep. I got the impression she was depressed. She seemed to like me though. At one point she even asked me to hold the baby while she took a phone call. When my boss finally arrived back home, I'd finished the job. He beamed at me and told his wife "See? She's really good!"

One day I walked to work in sandals that broke when I was only halfway to my destination. It was a stifling hot day, I was irritable because I worried I'd be late to work. My sandal strap broke. I crouched on the sidewalk to find a safety pin I knew was in my purse, and tried to pin through the thick leather of my sandal, to hold it together. The pin bent, I jabbed my fingers, I swore. Finally I got it done, only to find that it wasn't holding my sandal together - the strap was too loose, my sandal flopped sideways with every step. Finally I took off my sandals and walked barefoot. The sidewalk was boiling. There were tiny pebbles that cut into my feet. Then I realised I'd missed the side street where I was supposed to turn. I'd walked too far. And the street I was on, was under construction. The sidewalk up ahead was blocked. I had to go back the way I'd come. Far, far back the way I'd come. I ran. I must have looked quite funny in my business-like dress pants and blouse, with bare feet, gripping my sandals in one hand, my purse in the other, occasionally reaching up to make sure my hairstyle (I had it up in a bun) wasn't falling apart. I sprinted down the sidewalk until I recognised the turn off. I still had a long way to walk. My cell phone rang, it was my bosses assistant, wondering where I was. I was five minutes late at that point, but luckily my boss wasn't in the office and was none the wiser. She offered to come and pick me up in her car, but I told her I would be there shortly. I didn't think it very wise to have her leave the office unattended while she rescued me. It took me another fifteen minutes to finally reach the office, and by then I was breathing hard, I'd run nearly the entire way, sprinting along the sidewalk, leaping over curbs, cutting through parking lots. My toes were bleeding, I actually left a trail of blood in the ladies room. I mopped everything up, applied bandaids, and began my day's work. I really wanted to make a great impression, and according to all I was being told, I was doing exactly that.

After three weeks, my boss and the woman training me, sat down with me to discuss things. Together they told me that they were happy with my progress, that I was doing well, and would make a fine assistant for my boss. They said the only thing they wanted to see improvement on, was my confidence in myself. I needed to start believing that I could do it, because, they said, I Could Do It. I needed to believe that. This is the one and only negative thing they mentioned. My boss told me I had a job, I was hired. I was to continue as his assistant after the other woman left in June. Besides the assistant job, I was to work from home, designing brochures for him, to sell him as realtor. I couldn't believe my luck.

One other thing my boss mentioned that day, was that I should think about the option of him hiring a second assistant to help carry the work load. He was planning on expanding his business, and there would be a lot of things to do. I felt a bit leery about this. I worried that this might be a bad move - if she showed more promise than I did, would I lose my job to her? I told him I would think about it over the weekend and he agreed.

When I returned to work after the weekend, I spoke with the woman training me, and told her I didn't want to share the job with another assistant. I could do the job myself. She told me she believed I could do it as well, but, she insisted, I really should reconsider the option, because, she said, the work load was going to get very very heavy. I would need the help. She told me she herself would have wanted the help if she was in my place. She told me my boss was planning to bring in his nephew and so I would be working for two realtors very soon. We discussed it some more, I thought about it more, and finally decided I should go for the deal. I worried some more. I felt somehow that I was possibly making a dumb move, but I decided to go for the offer. My boss arrived at the office and we told him he could go ahead and hire a second assistant. But, I insisted to him, I wasn't giving away my job. I mustered all of my confidence and declared that I knew I could do the job, and was only going for this option on the condition that I would be sharing the job equally with this other person. He assured me I had nothing to fear.

I was never called into work again. Several days passed, and I decided to email him to ask when I should come back in. He told me he would get back to me. He assured me I had nothing to worry about, the job was mine, but I should be patient. Another few days passed. I phoned him, and got the same response. A week, two weeks, three weeks passed. Once a week I emailed him to ask what was going on, with the same response. One day he emailed to ask me to come into the office to print up the brochures I'd created, so he could pen in some changes he wanted me to make. I did. I was alone in the office, so I left the printed brochures on his laptop. I never received any indication from him that he'd seen them. The brochures were nearly finished, waiting only for his changes, but he never bothered to tell me what he wished me to change. There was no word about any of it, and I hadn't even been paid for the work I'd done.

Meanwhile my sister was keeping tabs on things from her own office. She emailed me with any news that she heard, and all of it was bad. Baffling. My bosses assistant was telling her things about her own frustrations with him (he'd been driving her insane for a year, with his failure to tell her things she needed to know for the job, his tendancy to drop unexpected extra work in her lap without any notice, his infuriating style of leaving things to the last minute and then expecting her to fix everything....) She told my sister she had no idea what was happening with my job. So far there was no second assistant, and as far as she knew, I was still employed there, but that was all she knew. She left messages for him to speak with her about me, but he ignored them all.

Then one day, my sister told me, there was a new assistant waiting in the office to begin her training. No word to anyone from our boss, she was just suddenly there. She stuck it out for one day, and never returned. The woman who had been training me, worked her final day, and was gone. My boss was without an assistant, yet he still didn't call me in to work.

I had enough. I emailed him to ask pointedly what was going on. I reminded him that I hadn't been paid for the brochures, therefore he was not authorised to use them in any way. I told him I needed to know, definately, if and when he was planning to have me come in to work. Throughout this month long fiasco, my emails to him had been professional and well written. As my irritation grew, I'm sure it came across, but I did not give in the temptation to chew him out. I wanted to scream at him in writing, but I didn't. I kept my dignity. His emails were a mess. He often sent them unfinished, with just a half sentence cut off in mid stream. As though he had clicked "send" before he'd finished. Then a few minutes after that one arrived he would send a second, apologising for sending an unfinished email, and beginning where he'd left off. He emails were strange and rambling. "I'm trying to make everyone happy" he would write "I will call you in when there is work, I haven't forgotten you"

After I sent the email telling him he wasn't authorised to use my brochures, he became even more strange. He asked how much he owed me. I told him that although my prices had now changed since I'd done more research, I would stick to our original agreement for these three brochures only, even though I was, in effect, letting him have three for the price of one. He didn't appreciate my honesty. He argued over the price, he didn't, apparently, believe that 25 X 3 = 75. He told me he would not use the brochures. He wasn't going to pay.

My sister emailed me a week or so later, to say that he'd hired another assistant. Since the original assistant was gone, there was no one to train her, and she was lost. She had no idea what to do. My sister saw her standing by the front desk, waiting for someone to help. No one did. Everyone had their own jobs to do and she was on her own. I got an email from my "boss". Suddenly he had a cheque for me, to pay for the brochures. I went to the office and picked it up. Then I went home and composed a short email, telling him what I really thought of the way he'd handled things with me. I kept it civil, but I let him know he'd made a terrible impression. His response was a screaming tirade. First the familiar email with the cut off sentence, then the remains. He swore at me. He told me I had no talent. He told me he was throwing the brochures in the trash. He declared that he'd done nothing but his best for all concerned and deserved to be praised. He ended the email with a very childish "anyways, this conversation is over!" I had to laugh.

A day later, my sister emailed me again. His office has been cleaned out. He's gone. His new assistant probably wasn't even told.

And so, I'm no longer a secretary. But I learned a lot of things. I learned that I can do the job, and do it well. When another position opens up, I will apply. The best thing I learned is that I am good at designing brochures. If not for my boss asking me to make brochures for him, I would never have started my own business. So it isn't a step backward after all, it's actually a long stride forward.

I have another job now, though it isn't even close to what I want, and I have no intention of staying, once I find something better. I’m working in a bakery. It’s okay. I make sandwiches and serve customers and manage the till. I hull strawberries and cut pastry dough and scrub pans. I make egg salad and chicken salad for the sandwiches and I take cake orders. I slice meat and cheese, I ladle out soup. I cut down boxes. When I’m working a closing shift, I mop the floors and scrub the public toilet. It’s not the most difficult job I’ve ever worked, that prize goes to my dishwashing job at Boston Pizza. Still, I’m exhausted at the end of the day. My feet ache and my back aches. I feel greasy because I’ve been around food all day. The pay is minimum wage, and we’re docked in pay if we take a break, even for an eight hour shift. Saddest of all, to me, is that I have to wear a hairnet again. I had thought my hairnet job days were over. I’ve discovered though, that if I have my hair in a bun, and arrange the hairnet further back from my hairline, it’s almost disguised. But not really.

But none of this matters, because I know I won’t be there forever. I know now that I’m able to work as a secretary. I did it, and was told by everyone including my boss, that I was doing very well. I don’t know what happened to sour things, but it had nothing to do with me. One day I will be back in an office. Maybe soon, who knows? And I have my brochure business, which is already paying off. So I’m happy.

Photographs I took at the ballet

 

Just a Tired Little Post

Some exciting things are happening with my brochure creating business lately. I won't say too much more, because I don't want to jinx it. I'm tempted to say more, but I'd better not. Maybe next week.

Anyway, there have been some changes (again) in my life. I'm getting a little bit tired of changes. More stability would be very nice. I'm tired of getting excited about something, and then it fizzles out. I'm becoming a bit of a pessimist I think. I'm trying to learn to not get too excited about my successes, because I've noticed that they often turn to dust no matter how much effort I put into them. So I've had another disappointment, and have returned to something I had hoped I'd seen the last of. I guess I'm talking in riddles, but I don't feel like elaborating right now.

Oh well, that's life. And it's not all negative - my brochure business is the one nice, big, positive thing that has put a smile on my face these days. (but for now I'm trying to keep my smile hidden behind my hand)

I went kayacking for the first time in my life, the other week. We kayacked in the ocean. I took to it very quickly. I used my feet to push little peddle-like things connected by rope to the rudder. I had to use the rudder quite a bit, to correct against the current. It was really beautiful out on the ocean with the sailboats and a few giant ocean liners, and the late afternoon sun glinting off of Vancouver's skyscrapers all along the horizon. I'm told there are harbour seals around that area, and sometimes they come quite near they kayaks. Unfortunately we didn't see any. Maybe next time.

A couple of weeks ago I went to a ballet with my sister's family, to watch my little six year old niece who is in ballet class. It was truly beautiful. The dancers were all ages - from little tiny ballerina's to older teenagers. Although the theatre was very dark, and we were not allowed to use flash, I took over 200 photographs. I'm very happy with the results. I've posted some of them above.

Well I'm tired. I walked for miles today - 1 1/2 hours one way, 1 1/2 hours back. My muscles are sore. I'm off to bed. Goodnight.

Father's Day

I've been spending day and night (when I'm not at work), creating new brochures, flyers and business cards for my business, and getting them onto my website. It's exciting for me, and a lot of fun. I had been using microsoft word templates, but found them very limiting (not to mention frustrating!). I tried some other programs, and finally decided to find out what I could do, using photoshop cs. I'm so pleased with my results using photoshop! I can do all kinds of things. With the other programs my results had been run of the mill. Just your everyday, basic layout with a picture and maybe a frame.... With photoshop it's much much better! I can get so much more creative. This new, more creative style takes a lot of time however, so it's slow going. That's okay though, slow is the way I like to work on my art.

So tomorrow is Father's Day. My father passed away four years ago. I never knew him when he was alive, though we lived in the same house. My memories of him are traumatic, and I know for certain that he never loved me.

A couple of weeks before he died, my father phoned me from his deathbed. I was still with x, living on Vancouver Island, while my family lived here in the city where I'm living now. In the months before my father's call, I'd received calls from several of my sisters and brother in law's, asking me to come and see my dad before he died. I refused them all. Finally one evening my father called. His voice was so soft I could hardly hear him. My fingers turned to claws and dug into my thigh when I realised who it was. I wanted to shout at him "How could you?!" for all the ways I recall him hurting me, but how does one do such a thing to a dying man? He asked me to come to see him. I told him no.

I have so many regrets concerning my father - Regret that he never loved me. Regret that he did the things he did. Regret that we never connected in any way. Regret that we never mended the fences. I don't know if he ever considered asking my forgiveness, but if he had, I would have forgiven him without hesitation. I don't mean I would have absolved him, or forgotten what went on - I mean I would have allowed us another chance, as I am doing now with my mother. I would have moved past the hurt, and together my father and I might have created a new story for us to look back on. But it didn't happen that way.

I went to his funeral. My father was unrecogniseable in the coffin. I touched his hand and cheek. I slipped a poem I'd written, into his breast pocket. As I did, I sensed that his body was hollow and echoing. I'd placed the poem over his heart, but the heart was no longer there, as it never had been for me when he was alive. I cried many tears, and I'm sure my relatives seated in the room watching me, believed I was crying out of guilt. I don't think one of them knows the true story of my father and me, and if they do, I'm sure they don't believe it. The common view that day, was that I was a black sheep returned home too late - my father was dead and I was weeping bitter tears of regret.

No one knew that I was not mourning the passing of my father. I cried because my father died years ago as a small child in Russia, when Communism came to his country and the horrible persecution of German Mennonites began. The small boy who began his life as a pampered youngest son to wealthy Mennonite silk farmers, lost his life at the age of five, to cruelties beyond imagining. Though he didn't physically die as his family eventually did, starved and frozen to death in concentration camps, something in him ceased to live. This is what happened to turn my father into the man I knew - the father who wounded me so badly.

I had hoped he might have left me a letter. Some gesture to show he wasn't completely oblivious to my feelings, but there was nothing.

Below is a small excerpt from a short story I wrote about my father's deathbed phonecall.

He asked me, strangely, if I had any questions. I wanted to ask "Why?" and "How could you?" Instead I said "Yes. I have questions but I don't want to ask them." My father consented to take the answers I have waited a lifetime to hear, to his grave. I wanted to punch myself for being so weak. My father told me goodbye and I raised my voice to call "Goodbye!" because I sensed him drifting away. I knew it would be my last word to him and I wanted him to hear me.

It's Three in the Morning and....

Today I looked in the mirror and suddenly I felt like a stranger to the person I saw staring back at me. I wondered who, exactly, I am. And I realised, not for the first time, that I've been extremely "alone" all my life.

I'm not depressed ... just feeling a little bit strange tonight.

When I was part of a couple, even though our relationship was mostly horrible, I used to feel smug when single women complained about their aloneness - embarrassing as that is to admit. I spent my days pretending my life was perfect, that I'd succeeded in that one thing so many others struggle to achieve ... a lasting relationship where each is treated with respect and equality. People used to ask me "what's your secret?" And I would smile and say something lame. I really believed it too. I hid my bruises and pretended I was living a life of bliss. We were a couple who appeared to be happy (at least, to those who didn't look too closely). Anyone who spent any time with us would have seen a different, very frightening side, but for the rest, who saw only our surface, we were a surprising success. An unlikely couple of misfits who had found lasting love in each other. It was all a lie, but who knew? Not even me.

Now, two years (has it really been that long?) after I left him, I'm realising that I was always alone.

I don't want to be part of a couple, I really don't, but I wish I had a shoulder to lean on. I want a man to hug me once in a while, and tell me I'll be fine. The thing that gets me is ... I realise I didn't even have this when I was in a relationship. Yet I was so blind, I convinced myself that I did. I remember times that I confided my fears to x, and when he failed to respond, I literally arranged his arms so that he would understand I needed a hug. The memory of it reminds me of the cruel experiments that were done to infant monkeys in laboratories - where they were given metal mothers to simulate the real thing.

I've been thinking about this whole love/relationship thing for a long time now. My views are, possibly a little bit jaded, I don't know. I guess, since I opened my eyes and realised I was in a sick relationship, I've become a bit cynical about other couples. It's just that I hate the idea of "expecting" someone to show concern for me just because he's my boyfriend and so it's his duty in the relationship to be caring. On the other hand, I'm wondering now, if it wasn't kinda nice to be living a life where I felt I could expect one person, among all the people on this planet, to show concern, for the simple reason that he was my boyfriend and so "of course" he would care about my feelings. It felt safe, somehow, even though as it turns out, I was kidding myself that he really cared. Come to think of it, I can see why I fooled myself all those years - it was for my own peace of mind to believe I was cared for. Now, as a single woman, there is no man who "owes me" his concern. No man to whom I can tell my fears and expect to be comforted. I might very well be comforted, but it's not a given. I'm on my own. Even when I was in that stupid relationship, and had to arrange him into position so that I could convince myself I was being hugged ... at least I had that. And at least I have the right now, to feel anger in the fact that he didn't sincerely comfort me - he was my boyfriend, he had a duty to comfort me. There is no man now, for me to resent for his failure to comfort me, because there is no man who owes me comfort.

It seems I've been searching for love my whole life. I wasn't loved by my parents, (though I think my mother loves me now), I wasn't loved in my relationship that took me from my teens to the age of fourty, and now, at fourty-two ... well here I am. Here I am alone. Looking in the mirror and wondering who I am.

Ups and Downs and Ups Again

I've been through the wringer lately. My new job was going very well ... I was being trained, learning new things, all excited about living my dream of being a secretary, blah blah blah. Then it all crashed.

I'm being trained by the woman who has worked as my boss's assistant for the past year, but will be leaving in June. The training was going well, I was told I was doing just fine. Then my boss had a talk with me, and offered me the option of having a second assistant to share the load with me (once his original assistant, who is training me, leaves in June). I hesitated at this, because I didn't want to 'give my job away'. After a lot of thought, I told him that since he's planning on expanding his business, I would be fine with him hiring a second assistant, as long as it didn't mean I would be pushed out of the picture. He assured me this wouldn't happen. But ... I haven't been asked in to work since! I haven't worked for two weeks! And he hasn't even hired the second assistant yet.... I've been very upset - kicking myself for going for the deal of having a second assistant (I thought I'd been set up), pulling my hair as I tried to figure out what I keep doing to cause me to be rejected, sleeping too much because I was depressed....

Anyway, after several emails back and forth, today I found out that I do still have the job. It's just a matter of arranging everything. So I've decided to relax about all of this. It isn't easy, but I'll try.

There are some very cool things about this new job. Besides the main part of the job, where I work as assistant (which is really fun for me, and everything I ever wished for in a job), I'm also working from home, creating brochures and flyers and things to help sell my boss as realtor. So I have two jobs in one.

This whole brochure making thing got me thinking about starting my own home business. So I've started building a new website. My plan is to have people email me with the text, pictures, etc. that they wish to include in their brochure, flyer, poster, or whatever they decide. I'll create the document, and email them the finished product. All the client has to do is have it printed. My boss is very happy with the brochures I've created for him, so I'm positive I can make others happy with my artisitic creations as well. I've been told by others around the office, that there are many business people who don't know how to create brochures or flyers (etc), so apparently, my gifts are in demand! And to top it off, it's fun for me! It's not even work, it's what I do for fun. I'll also be offering my skills to make non business related things like baby announcement cards, invitations, etc.

If anyone wants to see my site, you can find it here www.creativoice.net I have more work to do on it, it's unfinished, so please keep checking back.

I've also started a new site for my photographs. www.inmyview.net I had a yahoo site, but for some reason, I can no longer get into it to edit, so I've abandoned it. This site is also in the process of being built. There are many more photographs and things I plan to add.

By the way, I've been doing something very exciting, concerning my photography. My great friend and I figured out a way for him to take pictures of me, using my digital camera, even though he's in another country! I set up the background material, the lighting, and my camera, and then, using 'remote capture', and a bunch of other options, he was able to see what my camera saw as I posed in front of the camera, and click the shutter on my camera, using his mouse! We created hundreds of photographs this way. They came out so well, I'm amazed every time I look at them. I'm looking forward to doing this many times more. It added a new dimension to my photography. It's fun taking photographs of myself, using my timer, but having another artist involved makes it so much more so. So cool to have another insight into what is created, and to be able to share this experience with someone who is as enthusiastic as I am about fineart. His ideas and mine combined, resulted in some very beautiful art. I plan to include some of the photographs from these shoots in my new site, so please keep checking back as I build the site.

In other news ... I now have two computers. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I've quit smoking. I had been putting the money I would have spent on cigarettes, in a jar. Well I decided to use the money to buy myself a gift. My original computer was so full of programs for my art, and downloads in progress, and photographs, etc., it was running very slowly. So I bought a second computer just for my art. It's a beautiful machine - an Emachine that came with a 17" flatscreen monitor, and a canon pixma 150 printer/scanner/copier. I have a year to pay it off, so I'll just keep putting my antismoking money in my jar, and at the end of each month, I'll hand the money over to the store to pay down my debt. As long as I don't take up smoking again, I'll have the computer paid off before the year is up. It's a great incentive to keep myself from smoking again.

So I've been spending hours and hours transferring my programs and things from the one computer to the new one. The new computer will not be connected to the internet. It's strictly for art. All my bulky programs and photographs and writing stuff are going into the new computer, creating more room in the original computer for online stuff, helping it to run faster. So cool.

News

It's been a while since I've posted here. Some big things have happened to me lately, all for the good (although one of them didn't seem that way at first).

A couple of weeks ago I was let go from my job at Taylors. I'd been feeling great about my progress in the job, going about my work with the satisfied knowledge that I was really settling into the work. I found that I actually enjoyed answering the phone now - transferring calls, taking messages, etc. I'd become knowledgable about where things were in the store, and could lead customers to the correct aisles without having to ask my co workers first. I knew how to answer the customers' questions, I was competent with finding things in the catalogue for them. The customers really liked me, and some even asked for my help specifically. One elderly man even gave me a little gift of a craft he had made.

Then my boss asked me to join her upstairs for "a talk". I knew right away, I was about to be let go. And so it was. My failure to fit in with the group had let to this. I won't go on about it, I'll just say that my co workers did certain things behind my back to saboutage my employment, and my boss took their side over mine (majority rules blah blah blah). I spent a couple of days crying, and sleeping my days away. Then I got up and started the process of looking for another job.

It doesn't matter though, because it's all turned out well. I have a new job! I start monday. My youngest sister is an assistant to a real estate agent in a large company. She knew of another realtor there, who was in need of a new assistant, because the one he has now will be moving away this July. My sister mentioned me to him, I went in for an interview, and here I am - I'm going to be a secretary! Just the job I wanted, and thought I would have to take an expensive course for. I will spend between now and July, working with my new boss' assistant, learning the ropes. By the time she moves away I'll be more than able to do the job on my own. It's a perfect way for me to learn the job! I will be sharing a small office with the realtor (my new boss), each of us with our own desk and computer. Of course, the desk won't be "mine" until July. Until then, the desk will still belong to the assistant who is training me. But in July, the desk will be all mine. I'll have my own computer, my own little wall space for pictures, my own files.... The office where I'll be working is right next door to the office where my sister works with her own realtor. My sister, whom I never got to know until last September when I moved here, and I, will be co workers! There will be just a wall between her desk and mine. Up and down the halls of this building are other realtors with their own assistants, and I will be one of them! It's unbelievable news. I still can hardly believe it!

And ... I've quit smoking. I quit just a couple of days before I lost my job at Taylors. It took all my strength to not run out and buy another pack, during the stress of those first few days after I became unemployed. But I did it. I have a little jar where I put the money I would have spent on cigerettes. Instead of spending the money on smokes, I put it in there as a little savings account, just to remind me of how much I'm saving. Amazing how quickly it adds up! Amazing to think all that money would have gone up in smoke!

Well, I don't feel like writing more. Just wanted to tell my news. For anyone who is wondering why I haven't emailed in so long, no worries, you'll hear from me soon.

Getting Along

Today at work, I kept hearing my boss and co workers laughing loudly, and joking among themselves. I was off on my own, dusting the shelves, tidying things, etc. Occasionally I happened to wander near their group, and they would turn to smile at me. I understood that I wasn't being purposely excluded, but I wasn't part of the crowd either.

It isn't that I never join them in their joking around. It's just that, for me, the joking comes in bits and pieces, and is over quickly. I don't spend much time in standing around laughing, or rush up to one or the other to share a funny story, the way they all do. The secretaries upstairs send funny emails down to us at the front store counter, the furniture guy calls a joke across to the guy behind the shipping desk.... If I happen to hear, I will smile or laugh, but I never participate fully the way the others do. It's just not my thing, I guess.

The other day I joined my boss and co worker a little more than usual, in laughing. They both commented "You're usually so quiet! This is a whole new Marian!" When I make the odd funny comment to the guy behind the shipping desk, he beams as though I've offered him something special. Usually, though, I'm pretty quiet. I don't even realise how quiet I am, until someone comments, or I stop and compare myself to the others. Then I see how I'm different from the rest.

I was thinking today about all of this. In the past, these thoughts would have sent me further into my shell as I gathered myself tighter around me and began the process of distancing myself further from the group. I'm working hard to keep myself from becoming too immersed in my antisocial side. I need this job, and I understand the importance of keeping on top of job politics. I don't believe I need to be a major part of the crowd in order to have a place there, but it would be bad if I let myself become "the one who never joins in, and makes everyone uncomfortable because of my silences". It's a little tough, but not impossible.

When I was six or seven years old, and our family were on our annual vacation in the Okanagan, I spent a night pretending to be outgoing. I had noticed that my younger sister, who always laughed and joked with the rest of the family, was cherished by all in a way that seemed effortless. I spent an evening pretending to be her. I did things I believed she would do. As our family lounged around our motel room, watching t.v., I played little jokes, and rushed around making everyone laugh. I knocked myself out to be my sister. It worked. Everyone seemed to love me. Then one of my sisters blurted "You seem different!"

Unfortunately, I didn't realise in time that I shouldn't let the cat out of the bag - I told everyone "I'm pretending to be (sister's name) so you'll love me!" The room went dead quiet. I quickly started another little prank, to deflect the attention from what I'd just said, and after a hesitation, everyone laughed. But the spell was broken. I'd ruined it. Besides, I was becoming exhausted from being my sister, it didn't come naturally to me. I went back to being myself, and that was that.

I realised something today though - there are times when I am easily able to be free and natural. To laugh for hours and joke and have fun. To escape my solitude. It's when I'm spending time with people I feel completely comfortable with that I'm able to show my joy - when I'm chatting with my great friend, I spend a lot of time laughing. And since last september when I began a new relationship with my family, I've been able to be completely joyful with them as well.

So I guess, some people are able to become a member of multiple crowds, and some, like me, limit their crowds to a select few. For some, it's easy, and preferrable to be in on all the jokes that circulate wherever they spend their time, and for others, like me, it's more comfortable to keep quiet for the most part, and only let go with a chosen few. Exhuberance is the best way to be for those who are outgoing, they would probably become very uncomfortable if they had to spend their time being quiet and introspective the way I am. As for me, if I was always raucous, I would hate it. In fact, I've noticed that when I come out of my shell for too long, with people I'm not completely comfortable with, I get depressed soon after. I feel like I wasn't myself, like I played a role unsuitable to me. And so I've learned to allow myself to be natural, even if it means I'm singled out as the oddball. As long as I don't let my differences cost me my job, I believe it's okay for me to stay just a little bit aloof. The trick is to keep from becoming too much so. That's what I need to keep on top of.

Boy, sociability is a job in itself....

A Great Week

I've had an interesting week. Last friday at work went much more smoothly than thursday. Then I had the weekend off, and on sunday I went to my youngest sister's church where we had 'art night'. This church is much different from the usual style. It's made up of people who are tired of the stifling rules and regulations that often go hand in hand with traditional churches. I go there every second sunday (more or less), alternating with my second youngest sister who attends a more traditional (but still much more cool than the church I remember with horror from my youth) church. This art night was intended to give artistic members a chance to show their talents - to display art that is very different from the usual thing that is deemed acceptable among religious people. I had submitted some of my photographs, but I was a bit late, and so I wasn't able to be part of the program. I was told that they intend to have another art night in September, and that my photographs will definately be part of that. So I'm happy. I was very impressed with the talent I saw that night! There were nude (and other styles) paintings, and one short film, and modern dance, and singing. I had wondered if the artists would come across as "trying too hard to be alternative", but it wasn't that way at all.

This past tuesday, my boss returned from her week off. I enjoy my job more when she's there. She and I get along very well. I had an extra day off this week, so wednesday and thursday were free for me. On wednesday evening I went out, intending to just stop at the corner store for smokes, but it was such a nice evening, I decided to walk further to the Queen Street Market - a small, old fashioned store where they sell a lot of fresh fruit and vegetables. I filled my basket with broccolli and zucchini and bananas and apples, yogurt and plums and grapes. I love the feeling I get from wandering through an old fashioned store, choosing healthy food. There's something very wholesome about the entire thing. I'm looking forward to summer evenings when I can walk to this store in my sundress, instead of having to bundle up.

On thursday (yesterday), I went to the mall in search of some extention cords for my webcam (didn't find the right ones, so I have to keep looking). On my way out, as I was walking up the hall from my apartment suite, I had the Leonard Cohen song "Suzanne" on my mind. That song is about a woman Leonard once knew, who was "half crazy". One of those types who follow the beat of their own drummer, and make no apologies for it. I was thinking about this when I pushed open the door leading to my building's main lobby. There on the floor was an old lady in a hat covered in plastic flowers! She was leaning against the wall, wearing her hat, and a floral dress, and stockings rolled down below her knees. She was very thin, and had a lot of makeup up, she must have been in her eighties. At first I thought she had fallen, then I realised she was comfortable there. She was having a conversation with my building manager, who is also a little strange looking - no more than five feet tall, and partial to cowboy boots and extra large beltbuckles with cowboy engravings on them. The third person in this strange trio was an elderly man leaning on his metal walker. The two men didn't seem to think anything was strange about the fact that the woman was lounging on the floor, so I smiled at them all and let myself out of the building.

My neighbourhood is poor, there are a lot of street people. They all seemed to be out that day. There was a man at the bus stop having a conversation with himself that seemed to please him a great deal. And as I waited to cross the street, I thought I heard a car radio behind me, but it turned out to be a woman on a bicycle, talking to herself through a kind of megaphone. There were old people shuffling along, who offered me their toothless grins, one man even waved as he passed me, as though we were old friends, though I'd never seen him before. People are very friendly to me here.

At the mall, as I sat outside having a smoke, I overheard a phone conversation between an older woman and her grown son. She was quite demanding. "You'd better get over to Mill Lake!" she ordered him "They're filming a commercial there, get over there with your video camera!" Then she got upset about something he said, and began to complain about her son's wife (or so I imagine). "You don't have to get me diamonds!" she barked "I'm very easy to please! You have the wrong impression of your mother, stop listening to that woman! That liar! That mother of all lies!" (lol). "Take it up with the Lord." she said "Then you'll understand I deserve at least a small gift. Take it up with the Lord." I couldn't help but overhear, she was quite loud.

Later, I stopped at the food fair in the mall. I was standing before the Thai food stall, when the woman working there offered me piece of meat on a toothpick. "You eat it!" she barked at me "Honey gahlic chicken! It's hot! Hot! You eat it!" I took it, and ate it. It was quite good, so I bought a little box of it to take home. I left the mall with some heavy bags of food I'd bought at the grocery store (I really should stop buying heavy groceries so far from home). I decided to take the bus back, rather than walk like I usually do. A bus stopped at the bench where I was waiting, and I asked if he went near my stop. He exclaimed "You're so well prepared! How wonderful! You're so lovely! So friendly!" (lol). It was a little over the top, but I smiled and thanked him. He took me to the bus loop where I could catch a connecting bus. After I got off his bus, he rushed after me to offer me other alternatives - other buses I could take that would get me close to home. Together we decided on my best choice, and then he returned to his bus.

As I waited for my bus, I watched all the strange people who hang around the loop. There was an old man with a gigantic cane. It was made from what looked like driftwood, carved into an "L" shape, with a large marble embedded in the tip. The cane was so large, it came up to his chest! There was a young man (or woman, I'm not sure), who I've seen there before. He wears clothing that resembles a bus driver's uniform, but is obviously not. He's disabled, and uses a metal cane. He seems to be enthralled with all things related to bus driving, and so I guess he hangs around the loop in order to play the part. As the buses came in, he would call out their names, beaming at all the people waiting, obviously feeling very important. He barged around the place, showing off his bus knowledge. There were a few young kids on skateboards, and girls freezing in mini skirts, hanging around them. I sat there eating my honey garlic chicken pieces with my fingers, and watching the scene. I'll have to bring my camera along one of these days, I'd get some cool, arty pictures there.

Today I worked. Shortly after I arrived at Taylors, my boss came up to me and tentatively told me there are a few things I need to brush up on. She asked if I would meet with her in a private room upstairs, so she could go over the things I'm not doing correctly. I was nervous, because I really want to keep this job. We sat down together upstairs, and she explained to me about the transactions that she was concerned about. I told her I appreciated her telling me, and that I would work hard to improve. It turned out to be quite a nice conversation! We get along very well. She told me she really likes me as a person, and wants me to succeed at the job. I came out of there feeling uplifted. Instead of the sinking feeling that usually accompanies these types of conversations between a boss and an employee, I felt confidant - all because of the way she handled it. I walked out of there knowing that she isn't displeased with me, but only wants me to know the things I need to brush up on, because she genuinely likes me and wants to keep me on.

I was reminded of my math. The way I studied my ass off, and believed I was giving it 100%, yet I failed the tests. Then I thought long and hard, and realised I might be giving only 98%, and that I could give just that little bit more. When I did that, I passed my math with an A. I did that again today at work. I'd been working hard before, but today, after this talk with my boss, I pushed myself harder. At the end of the day, my boss was beaming. She said "I should give you a gold star for your performance today!"

And so it's the weekend again. I feel great about everything, life is swimming along. I hear it's supposed to be sunny tomorrow, so I might do some arranging out on my patio.

Today

Last night it stormed outside. Lots of wind, and when I went to bed, the sound of frozen rain pellets lashing over my windowpane was as loud as though someone was throwing pebbles against my window. This morning as I walked to work, it was snowing. Taylors, where I work, has a big picture window overlooking Jubilee Park. All the junkies hang out in that park, but today it was a beautiful view of snowflakes as big as cotton balls sifting down from the sky, onto the naked trees. It was breathtaking. I usually don't appreciate snow after Christmas, because I'm looking forward to Spring, but this was a wonderful sight. Unfortunately it didn't last. Soon the snow turned to rain. Still, it was memorable.

I didn't have a very good day at work today though. I had bad cramps, and took my strong painkillers that didn't really work, only made me drowsy and prone to making mistakes. My boss is away, getting ready for her daughter's wedding this weekend. It was just me and my co workers. They're quite nice, but today, with the boss away, they were a little bit less friendly than usual. Not that they were mean, just a little bit impatient when I made mistakes. Or maybe it was my hightened sense of paranoia due to P.M.S. It's very possible this was the case. At any rate, I didn't really enjoy my day.

The two women I was working with enjoyed a day of laughing together, and joking, and doing little projects together that excluded me. When I mentioned that I was in pain, and might have to go home early, I was told that this would mean one of them would have to stay later in order to make up for my absense, and that she wasn't willing to do this. When I mentioned that I might end up calling in sick tomorrow, I was told that the other one would not be able to come in to replace me because "I have a kid, that's just the way it is when you have a kid!" She said it in a tense, snappy way that pissed me off. I understand that parents have priorities different from mine, but I can't stand it when they throw that into a conversation and expect the fact of their parentage to act as the bottom line. Everyone is expected to agree without question. I don't like it when people use the fact that they gave birth, as a golden ticket to get their way in every single thing. It's one of my pet peeves. Anyway, after she snapped at me, I pinched the bridge of my nose and flapped my hand at her. I hadn't even asked her to work in my place for pete's sake.

I made a few mistakes, that weren't major, but when you keep getting called over to be told that this was done wrong, and that was done wrong, it piles up. I was feeling stupid, and inept, and sorry for myself. Then I decided to take a different view. I reminded myself that I made the mistakes because I'm new at the job. It wasn't the end of the world. Instead of feeling bitter and escalating the tension, I could make the decision to learn from my errors and try not to repeat them. And so I asked one of my co workers to explain in steps, how to do the transaction that I had screwed up, and I took notes (my boss gave me a notebook on my first day, to write things that I need to remember). The two women I was working with, thawed after that. They still stuck together like best girlfriends, but every once in a while they turned to me and included me in the conversation.

This made me think about the times in my past when I've been faced with similar tension. Then, instead of working to lessen it, I disappeared into my shell, which made everything worse. I remember the horrible feeling that overwhelmed me as the group sensed my growing discomfort, and rejected me more obviously. I remember how I would try to protect myself by hating them with a visciousness that consumed me. They saw it in my eyes, and hated me in return, no longer making any attempt to disguise the fact that they were a group, and I was an outsider. Experiences like this created in me a hatred for people, and for myself. I believed I would be rejected every time I attempted to make any social connection.

Now I understand that there are ways to overcome this kind of thing. It's all part of life, of interacting with people. It isn't personal, necessarily, it's just a fact of coming into a group of people who already know each other, and trying to find a place among them. If I react to the slight initial tension by building walls around myself, it will snowball into something horrible.

Luckily I remembered all of this today at work, before my natural tendancies took over. I managed to mostly ignore the bad vibes, and in so doing, they were diffused before they could grow. As one of my co workers left for the day, she rubbed my arm and offered me the advice that I should take a hot bath when I got home, in order to ease my cramps. I remembered also that it doesn't really matter if I don't make actual friends with my co workers, especially since they aren't my type to begin with. The important thing is that I interact well with them on the job, and am a valuable part of the working team.

So I'm feeling better about everything now. I've had a bath, and I'll sleep on my heating pad tonight. I've spent an enjoyable evening with my great friend in the chatroom. Tomorrow I'll go in to work and do my best. Next week my boss with be back - I get along really well with her, she goes out of her way to include me in everything. Life is a bit of a chess game, and I'm still learning how to play it, but I'm getting there.

Simple Joys

I've had a wonderful saturday off. The sun was shining, I listened to one of the CD's I just made with all the Leonard Cohen music I've been downloading. Now I'm in the chatroom with my great friend, and typing this post.

This morning I began the day with yoga (I haven't been able to start my days with yoga all week because of work). Then I went out to the library and borrowed a handful of books. I wandered through a second hand/antiques store and chose a few things I'm hoping to buy in the near future. There are all sorts of cool things in that store. Some are expensive (for me), like the old fashioned dressing table with an attached mirror. I don't have a dresser, and would like one just like this one because it reminds me of the dressing table I had when I lived in my childhood home. Other things are affordable for me now, though I didn't buy anything today - like a black antique umbrella with a carved handle (so cool), and an antique doll with beautiful cracks in her painted face, a little wagon with a double handle, and some sort of a tool that I imagine was used by shoemakers - it's a metal pole about two feet high, with a foot shaped top ... I imagine shoes were eased over this foot shape so that the shoemaker could work on the shoes. I'm a collector of antiques, but not fancy ones. I like antique toys that have some damage, to show they were actually used. I don't care about their monetary value, I'm interested in their history - in the fact that they were used all those years ago. I never spend a lot of money (since I don't have any, lol). In my apartment I have an antique sewing machine that actually works, and an old toy wooden goat on wheels. I have a toy polar bear covered in what looks like angora, and a 100 year old book of piano sheet music. I have a pair of wooden shoe inserts that fold up and a super heavy rotary phone that's probably from the fourties or even the thirties. I have an old wooden homemade children's chair that I found in the forest when I lived on Texada Island, and a pair of tiny antique scissors that I dug up in my garden when I lived in the house on Vancouver Island with x. I just love old things.

On my way home I stopped at the grocery store and bought a cart full of food. I've always enjoyed grocery shopping by myself. I like to wander up and down the aisles, choosing fruits and vegetables, ingredients for baking, a few things for snacks. I tick off items on my list as I go. Only trouble is that I don't have a car, so I have to cart all the groceries home on foot. Sometimes I struggle home with five or six heavy bags in either hand. Other days, like today, when the stuff is just too heavy, I push the cart all the way home. I must be a funny sight. The cart is always wonky, and tries to zoom out onto the road. And when I go over patches of sidewalk that are all gravelly and potholed, my cart zigs and zags all over the place. I take care to go slow so that I don't crack the eggs in my cart! I enjoy putting away all my groceries into the cupboards and fridge. There's something very satisfying about having new groceries.

I've noticed that some of the simplest, everyday things bring the greatest joy. These are some of my favourite things:

- wandering through the library, choosing several from the 'new book' shelf, and a few others from the poetry/short story section. Most people turn to the first page when selecting a book. I like to read the back or inside the front cover, to see what the book is about. Then I turn to the middle and read a few passages, just to see if the style appeals to me. After that I might read a bit from the beginning, but often I don't. It doesn't take me more than a few minutes before I have a stack of books. Sometimes I'll sit for a while in one of the comfortable chairs in the library, reading one or two of my selections. Other times I take them straight to the checkout counter and leave the building. I'm sometimes disappointed when I'm back home, settled on the couch, or in my bed, reading, only to discover that the books I chose are not what I had envisioned. If I had taken a bit more time in selecting them, I would have put them back on the shelf. Other times I'm thrilled to find that I've stumbled upon a wonderful find. I absolutely Love to read great books! The feeling I get when I dig into the first from the stack of library books I've placed on my night table is just fabulous. It's like Christmas morning.

- baking and drinking at the same time, on a summery evening. I just love those evenings when the sun is low in the sky, the day has been warm and people are out in the streets in their summer clothes. I have my sliding porch door open, and my music playing. I'm all alone, but not in the least bit lonely. I mix my special drinks with vanilla flavoured vodka and a fruit smoothie, and I get out my recipee books. I've been known to bake several types of buns, muffins and breads, all in the same go. So much I have to put most of it in the freezer. But it's fun. It's a great time.

- playing my piano for hours on end. I have so many piano books, I'll never run out of songs. I play from books that I used when I was in my final years of piano lessons, and sheet music that I've downloaded from the internet. It's time I bought something new, but even with the old stuff, piano playing never gets boring for me.

- spending a day writing a new story or some poems. Even editing my older works. I just love it. When the words flow, and I read them back outloud, it's just heaven. I love to write as I'm listening to music. I have certain CD's that inspire me for certain types of writing. The lyrics and the inflection in the voice of the singer, and the instruments, all combine to aid me in what I am writing that day. When I go back over what I've written, and find that I'm as moved by my own work as I am by the music, that's just bliss.

- wandering through alleyways with my camera, taking photographs of old brick walls, and fences, broken down people, and store window displays. I lose myself in the art of creating pictures. Often, when I begin to feel that it's time to quit and go home, I'm surprised to find that hours and hours have passed and I didn't even notice. It's so exciting to hurry home with a memory card full of new pictures, anxious to see what I captured. Then I plug in my camera to my computer, and wash my face while the pictures are downloading. After it's all done, I sit at my computer and watch a slideshow of my new photographs. How cool to have a brand new folder full of pictures to photoshop, that I didn't have before, and all for free!

- spending a day taking photographs of myself indoors. It's quite a process. I apply my makeup, according to the mood I'm trying to capture, and fix my hair. I get out any clothes or props I need. I set up my lights. I set up the backdrop material, or move furniture out of the way if I want to use a certain wall. Then I take a few test shots to check if I have the lighting and the camera set correctly. After loading the test shots into my computer and going over them to see what I need to improve, I figure everything out (hopefully) and then spend an hour or sometimes five, taking pictures of myself. I take nudes, and emotives, and portraits. Towards the end of the shoot I tend to feel a little tired, and that's when I cut loose and express myself in crazy ways. Often these are the best pictures.

I could go on. There are so many ways for a person to enjoy themselves in simple ways that cost nothing, or next to nothing. Even just taking a bath, with music playing, and candles, and a glass of wine. I believe the most important things in life are the simple joys. I really do.

Bunch O Stuff

Well I've completed my first work week. I've worked every day this week, eight hours each day. Next week I'll work five days again, eight 1/2 hours each shift. Then I'll settle down to working just four days per week. I'm learning quickly. The other day my boss came up to me and told me she's just thrilled with me! She told me she'd had a good feeling about me from our first meeting at our interview, and planned from that point to hire me. She said "I can see I made a good choice." I get along well with my co workers too. Upstairs from the store is a large room full of cubicles where people are sitting at computers, making catalogue sales etc. for the store. It's a big place. I'm getting to know some of them too. When I go outside to take a smoke break, some of them are out there, and when I take my lunch break in the staff room I sit at the table with them. After just a week I already feel part of everything. It's just really great.

It's much slower paced than it was at Sears. I've had to learn to work slower - from my days as a dishwasher where I had to literally run upstairs if I needed to use the washroom, and fly so fast through the dishes as they piled up all around me, to Sears where I could be more relaxed during the slow times when I could fold sweaters etc., but fly through the transactions the rest of the day when customers were lined up by the dozen, to Taylor Office Products where there are fewer customers and so I can move through my workday very slowly. I've discovered that my boss approves of me just wandering through the isles, checking out the paper and staplers and the dozens and dozens of pens. I'm "getting to know the products", so ... wandering is part of my job description! As long as I keep an eye out for customers needing my help, it's all good. I find it quite interesting actually, learning all there is to know about paper and pens and other things related to office work. I guess that makes sense since I'm a writer.

I've noticed that one by one my shoes are breaking apart. My shoes and boots are all from the second hand store, and, I guess because I do so much walking in them, the heels are coming away from the soles. I have all these shoes and they're all broken! Yesterday I was allowed to leave work a little early, so I could take care of some business. I walked and walked and walked. On my way home I decided to take the bus. I had a bag of MacDonalds food meant for my dinner, and my umbrella (it had stopped raining), and my purse, and a bag with stuff I'd bought. I was cold, and tired from working all day and then walking all over creation. I stopped at the bus loop, and asked a boy when the next bus was leaving for my street. He happened to be taking the same bus, and told me it would arrive at the loop in about twenty minutes. I told him "I'll just walk. I'll be home in twenty minutes!" I walked and walked and walked. I passed my old apartment building where I lived a month ago. Where I froze in that one room suite, and suffered from window leakage. I looked up at the window where I used to stare out, saw that the drapes are still stapled crookedly at the hem (I did that while drinking one night, to "fix" the torn sewing). I finally reached my street and as I waited for the light to change so that I could cross, there came the bus! I would have arrived at exactly the same time if I'd just waited! And there was the boy sitting all comfortably in his seat! He was waving! LOL.

I've been thinking about my fear of phones. My boss tells me I don't have to answer the phone quite yet (until I know more how to help people who are phoning) unless there isn't anyone else nearby when they ring. Today I answered for the first time since I started this job. I find it isn't so terrible once I've picked up the receiver, but my initial reaction to the ringing, is to get as far away from that thing as possible. I've made it my goal to get over this. It's silly.

In grade seven I actually volunteered to work in my school office every other lunch hour. I sat at the secretary's desk, answering the phone. I put people on hold, I had three lines, I took messages for the principal, I used the rolodex. I was even paid for this at the end of the year. I loved it. Obviously I hadn't developed my fear of phones yet. Somehow (actually I know what it was), I developed this phobia during the ensuing years. Now I need to fix that.

I received a wonderful gift this past week. My great friend gave me a link to a site where I can download music and all kinds of other things. We've both downloaded several fantastic programs to work on photographs. I just love discovering new ways to work on my art! It's incredibly exciting to me, to be able to learn a new way to enhance my pictures, and turn them into something completely other than what they were when they came out of my camera. I've also downloaded a ton of Leonard Cohen songs. I bought some very cool blank C.D.'s today at Taylor's. I need to get these downloaded songs off my hard drive and onto C.D. These that I bought look just like little vinyle records.

And ... and spring is on its way! Soon it will be warm enough for me to sit outside, behind my little fence that encloses my patio. I'm looking forward to planting up my window boxes that I have arranged around the border of the cemented area of my patio. There's a little grassy strip around the edges of the cemented area, that I'm going to dig up and sow with some wildflower seeds or something. I have to get busy in making my gate, to cover the large opening into my patio. Without a gate, anyone walking by can see right into my patio. I want to have privacy. I plan to create a beautiful space with plants and chairs, and a hammock where I can relax undisturbed. The cool thing is, now I have a job, so I can afford to buy stuff for my patio. Soon the stores will have plants and things for sale, and I will be there with my cash!

Last saturday I joined my two younger sisters and their three kids, for a swim at the local community pool. They'd all come to my apartment to swim in my building's pool, but when we all went down in our bathing suits, we found that the pool was closed for the day. So we went to the community pool. We had a wonderful time. That pool has a twisty tube slide. We went down again and again, laughing our heads off. When we came out of the chute we landed in a sort of trough filled with shallow water. There was also a whirlpool where we could just float as the current took us zooming round and round. In the main pool is a long floating mattress for kids to run across, so that they run on the surface of the water. My sisters and I tried it out, but the mattress wouldn't hold our weight, so it sank beneath the surface as we ran. We looked like elephants lumbering along. It was great fun. After our swim we went to the local Boston Pizza. I peeked into the kitchen to see the dishwashers hard at work. I remembered when I washed dishes at Boston Pizza on the Island, and was thankful that I was there now as a customer, rather than as a dish pig!

What a lot of changes this year has brought me!

My First Day

I had a great first day on the job today. There's lots to learn, but it will definately be less hectic than working at Sears. What Taylors calls a rush of customers, was Sears' slow time. I'm tired after working eight hours today, but I think that's more from having to switch to a full working day after two unemployed months of sleeping in, taking naps when I like, and moving slowly through my days. I'm working every day this week and next, all eight, and eight 1/2 hour shifts. Then I'll go down to just working three or four days a week. My boss wants me to learn everything quickly, so she scheduled me to work the first two weeks full time.

My only problem with the job is that the store feels cold. Chilliness is my worst nightmare, I just can't stand it! Why oh why was I born in Canada? I'm thinking that one of the reasons I feel cold all the time is that I don't eat properly. Today I had no breakfast, and no lunch. Customers came into the store and actually raved about how "balmy" it was, and here I was shivering! "I hear it's supposed to reach six degrees today!" they said. (not farenheit - I don't know what six degrees works out to in celsius). I've noticed that people who are rarely cold, usually have more body padding than I do, so I guess I should eat.

It's a business products store, so we serve a lot of people who come in on behalf of their company. That's one of the big differences between this job and Sears. At Sears, people were paying with their own money. At Taylors we usually have to put the bill on the customer's company's account. People are very very serious about their office products! Men come in to buy bulk boxes of ledgers, or an office chair, or what have you, and they stand there at the till with this grim expression on their face. I get the impression these types would not take kindly to a mistake being made. Not that they're terribly unfriendly - it's just that they're "on the job", fitting in time between nine to five to buy specific things that they've been using for years and years and don't want the slightest change to make them irritable.

I'm happy to see that the computer system at Taylors is much more efficient than Sears' system. At Sears, if a customer couldn't find something on the shelves, and I needed to use the computer to find the nearest store and order the item, I had to go through a series of about twenty steps. I had to remember combinations of numbers and letters to get to each page, and run through lengthy lists and punch more keys and click esc twice and blah blah blah. At Taylors it's just two steps and I have my information. If the nearest stores in Vancouver or Seattle (U.S.) have the item in stock, that means I can tell the customer it will arrive next day. If those two stores don't have the item, it will take three or four days. Period. None of this intensive rigamarole I had to learn for Sears. Thank goodness, because I never did master it.

The store is just up the street from my old apartment building. It has a full view of the park where all the junkies hang out. One of my former neighbours from the old apartment building is a bag lady of about fifty or sixty. While I lived in that building, I used to see her quite often from my window, standing outside the building. Since I've moved, I often run into her on the street, just standing on the corner (she seems to have several favourite standing spots). She's taken a liking to me, and always rushes to greet me, button up my coat, give me a hug, call me sweetheart. I think she's a prostitute, because of all the time she stands on the curb. Though to look at her, bundled up in her purple coat, winter boots and ratty touque pulled down over her ears, you'd never believe it. She has no teeth (last time I spoke with her she was looking forward to new dentures). I think she suffers from some kind of mental dysfunction, but she's friendly enough. Anyway I noticed her all day today, wandering up and down the sidewalk outside, stopping on one corner for an hour or so, disappearing for a while, then reappearing further up the block. I hadn't realised she spent quite this much time out on the street! Actually it reminded me of my own past. I was glad I found a way to escape that crappy life - selling office products in a chilly store is much better than the life I used to envision for myself. If I hadn't set myself a goal to escape that trap, I'd be in her shoes.

Parade pics

Parade

It occured to me that I never described my night in the Christmas parade. At least I don't think I did, and I don't feel like scrolling down through my blog to check, so....

I got involved with the parade because my younger sister and her husband have a Christmas tree farm - this was the first year they were ready to sell trees, and they wanted to advertise by participating in the annual Christmas parade. They trained their dog (part alaskan malamute/part wolf), to pull a wagon with their sign. Along with the sign, they had rigged up a lighted lantern, and tucked in a tape player to play Christmas carols. The dog wore jingling bells on his harness. He was completely calm, and took it all in stride when children ran up to him and wanted to pet him. He was the star of the show.

My sister made white poncho's, red scarves, and green hats with jingle bells on them for herself, her little daughter, and me. Her husband wore a santa hat and led the dog while my sister, niece and I ran up and down the street handing out coupons with the address, and a promise of free hot chocolate if they should come to the farm for a tree.

I had dinner with my sister and her family first, and we all sat around the livingroom coffee table taping candycanes on the coupons. It was very cosy. Then it was time to leave. The dog was encouraged into his wire enclosure in the back of the van, and off we went.

There is something about parades that brings a lump to my throat. The idea that people put so much effort into their displays, then march up the long street wearing costumes and ringing their bells and playing instruments. It's all so innocent and child-like, and all the people lining the curb are so very excited just to see these ordinary people move past them ... what is it that draws people to leave their warm homes so they can watch something like this? In this day and age where we have t.v. and movies and computers, and all these other ways to entertain ourselves indoors out of the weather - here we choose to stand out in the cold and cheer our fellow humans sitting on a float all decked out with homemade stuff, blowing horns and playing violins. The thrill is evident on everyone's face as they catch sight of each display moving slowly in front of them. People bring their children and their grandmothers, set out lawnchairs and squeeze into them all bundled up in winter blankets. You'd think, with all the competition of modern entertainment, parades would have become mundane by now, but no! People show more animation at parades than they ever do when playing computer games, even with all the excitement that these games offer. Somehow, it's a giant thrill to see a marching band made up of middle aged folks, or a big truck festooned with streamers, its horn honking as its occupants lean out the window and wave, or a giant dog pulling a wagon with a sign and a lantern....

The parade was held after dark. I'm told it's the biggest parade in Canada (or is it B.C.?). We arrived at the starting point where all the participants were finding places, at the bottom of the main street, in a gravel area beside the train tracks. We wandered between all the assembled floats, all the participants milling around, waiting for the thing to begin. When we found a good spot where the floats behind and in front of us wouldn't be too noisy and spook the dog, we moved into it. I'd brought my camera, and took a bunch of pictures without my flash. Though it was quite dark, I didn't want to use my flash because I wanted the photographs to come across as surreal, with the velvet darkness and all the bright spotlights and Christmas bulbs.

Finally it was time to begin. The floats began to move forward. I felt a lump in my throat, as I always do at parades. For those moments when we all moved grandly forward, I had tears in my eyes. Then we headed into the street where all the onlookers were waiting, and I had no more time to think about the beauty of being in a parade.

As my brother in law led the dog behind a float with music students playing violin, my sister, niece and I handed out coupons by the dozen. Kids and adults alike called to us. Parents urged their toddlers forward, and older kids crowded around with their mittened hands outstretched. They were so excited just to receive a coupon with a candycane! Everyone was laughing and calling and thanking us. We wished everyone Merry Christmas over and over again as we dug into our bags for more coupons. We'd notice we were falling behind my brother in law, and call to each other to hurry. Then we ran to catch up, laughing, the bells on our hats jingling madly. People cheered loudly every time we ran! I think they thought we were clowns. At one point I grabbed my sister's arm and we danced round and round, laughing like crazy. It was a wonderful experience.

Good News

Well ... I was wrong! I've been hired to work at Taylor Office Supplies afterall. I couldn't be more relieved. The lady who interviewed me on tuesday phoned today. She had told me after the interview, that if she didn't phone on wednesday, it meant I hadn't been hired. When I didn't get the call yesterday, I assumed the worst. Turns out, a bunch of people applied late, and so she wanted to take an extra day to go over them for consideration along with the original eight applicants (including me) she had already chosen to interview. Even with all those added competitors - she chose me! I start on monday.

Wow, I have a job! And it's not McDonalds!

During the interview on tuesday, she asked me to tell her of something in my personal life that I'd overcome, and learned lessons from recently. I told her I recently ended a longterm, abusive relationship and am rebuilding my life. I had a few reservations in telling her this - I thought she might think me a bit flaky for having been involved in a crappy relationship, but it turned out it was the perfect thing to say. She told me she'd been through the same thing! It turned out to be a big point in common between us. We actually had a little conversation around the experience of rebuilding one's life, and learning how to be a strong individual. I wouldn't be surprised if this conversation is what pushed me in front of all the other applicants. I suppose the other hopefuls would find this unfair, and I suppose it is, kindof, but still ... I have a job!

So that's one of my main concerns taken care of. Onward and upward!

A Watched Phone Will Never Ring...etc.

Well, I didn't get a phonecall today from Taylor Office Supplies, so I guess, obviously, the job went to someone else. I'm still unemployed. Boy I'm sick of this, and getting a little scared too. I spent today alternately plowing through a book, and sleeping - my standard "escape route".

I only hope I don't end up working at McDonalds. Although I'll take that job if it comes to that.

I was thinking the other day, that I've never been adored by a man. What must that be like? I understand I'm not the only one to miss out on this. In fact, I wonder if I'm in the majority....? Those of you reading this, who are able to say honestly that you are Truly Loved, all I can say is, Damn, you're lucky.

I spent my final teenage years, all of my twenties, and all of my thirties, pretending I was Loved. Whenever I sensed the truth seeping into my thoughts, reminding me of all the endless (obvious) proof that I was living in a fantasy world, I turned my back quickly. I remember mornings when I greeted the day with the words "I'm just so happy to be alive!" Good Grief! It wasn't even real! Just shows how a person can erase reality if they really want to.

I want to be Loved for real. Although that brings me to the uncomfortable thought that if a man was to fall in Love with me, and I with him, he might expect it to lead to a (gasp!) relationship. And I want to avoid one of those like the plague. Is it possible for me to be loved by a man who doesn't expect to own me? I'm not sure.

It scared me when I suddenly understood that I am living a pattern. I've spent my life loving men who do not love me. It started with my father, and continued on from there with disastrous results. And apparently I haven't changed, even now that I supposedly have all this new insight. A personal experience has revealed to me that I am a woman whose love is nothing special, or anything to hold onto.

I read something yesterday. A passage about a man's love for a woman. And I got scared. I was scared by the idea that a man might love me that much. My instinct was to run. How strange. And then I felt lonely. And I wanted a man to love me like that. And I faced the fact that I have not been. Ever. In my life.

I've noticed that Love is a kind of curse. Of course, it can be a beautiful thing, but it has an ugly underside. I know what it is to love someone who does not love me, I even convinced myself that I could live with this. Then I learned that I was, once again, fooling myself. It's easy for a person who feels nothing for me, to simply exit my life without so much as a goodbye. One sided love is a disaster. Yet I don't know that I've learned anything in this, because I'm such a sucker for acceptance. I think I would fall for the same thing again, given the chance.

Think I'll go to bed.

Piano Recitals and Job Interviews

I attended a piano recital last night where my little seven year old niece played a piano piece. She did very well, and even gave a proper curtsie at the finish. There were a few advanced students who played as well. I love to listen to piano music. I love to watch the players' hands and fingers as they move over the keys. I noticed the differences in style. Some held their fingers quite stiffly (though not awkwardly). They had a forceful way of bringing their fingertips in contact with the keys. Others flattened their hands and fingers, pressing the keys with the bottom of their fingers rather than the tips. There was one teenage boy (man) whose fingers flowed so beautifully over the keys they reminded me of water. Very graceful. A group of boys in their mid teens interested me because they had a fairly rough look about them, with long, wild hair and rumpled clothes ... in total contrast to their appearance each of them played a lovely classical song. It was really cool to see. The grand finale was when the teacher's teenage son played two pieces. His talent is genius. He wore a black suit, and took his time in readying himself before he began. His fingers were all over the keys, he employed every octave. His music began very softly, then suddenly he was absolutely pounding the keys. He became immersed in the music as he played, swaying forward and back. His foot thumped on the floor during the louder parts, but this didn't take away from the experience. Instead, for me, this added to it because he was so totally involved.

I noticed that the more advanced students didn't use sheet music. They'd memorised every note, no matter how difficult the song. I need to use sheet music when I play. I find this to be a handicap, because if I happen to come across a piano somewhere and don't have my music, I can't really play. I've decided to work on memorising some of my favourite pieces.

My piano, being so old, is in need of a little t.l.c. It plays perfectly in tune, but there are a few keys that barely sound, no matter how hard I press them. Another key plays a double note, because its neighbour moves along with it, even though it hasn't been pressed. Once I find a job and can afford it, I plan to hire someone to come in and have a look. I lifted the front panel today, to see inside the piano in case there might be something obvious I could fix myself. I ended up just staring at all the hammers and wires inside there. I've looked inside my piano before. It's always fascinating to me, to see the way everything is connected. I decided I'm going to take some photographs of the inside of my piano. I think that's a great idea.

This morning I went to my job interview at Taylor Office Supplies. I arrived before the boss! I wandered around the store, waiting for her to arrive. When she came in, she apologised to me. I felt good about it, because in this way I was able to show that I'm reliable and punctual. The interview went very well, I feel she was impressed with me. I was the first of eight interviews, so I won't know if I've been hired until tomorrow. If I don't receive a phonecall tomorrow, it's bad news and I'll be back to pounding the pavement again. As I left the store after the interview, I saw her approach a young, well dressed man who had been waiting - one of my competitors. I feel good about my chances, but ... the man I saw looked equally capable. I guess we'll see.

As I walked home, it struck me that I've taken a step up, where jobs are concerned. My job at Sears was the pivotal point. Before Sears, I always applied for lower end jobs where the application experience is much different from the better jobs I'm able to apply for now. I still apply for the lower jobs, because I need work, but the list is sprinkled with a few classier places of employment that I would not have attempted before Sears.

I've noticed that the lower end jobs always begin with one of these lame application forms - list your most recent places of employment beginning with the most recent, and your reasons for leaving ... have you ever worked for ----- before, if so, when, and why did you leave ... do you have adequate transportation to and from work, etc. In applying for those, it doesn't really matter if one dresses up, though I always do (and then I feel overdressed and a little silly). The applicant is asked to fill out the form at one of the tables set up for people to eat, or if it's done at the counter, the teller asks that you stand to one side so the paying customers can dump their purchases on the conveyor belt. In contrast, when applying for better jobs, there isn't any silly application form. Instead I offer my resume, and a few days later, I'm (hopefully) asked in for a formal interview. I'm expected to dress in a buisness-like way, and to carry myself with maturity and poise. I like this style. I feel as though I've accomplished something, even when I don't get the job. I find it's good for my self esteem.

Well ... it's Valentine's Day, so I think I'll make a boston creme pie or something.

Spring Is Coming!

I had a nice day today. The sun was shining, it was warm enough that I could go out in my jean jacket, rather than bundle up as I have had to do for so long now. The ground was dry - no puddles and mud on my shoes. No wind to blow my hair into my face and down my throat. I went out with my camera, and took pictures of some old buildings and people on the street. I got some nice shots of a falling down fence, and took some macro shots of a discarded piece of crotcheted material in the alley among leaves. I sat on a bench in Jubilee park and took pictures of the children's playground.

This evening I spent hours at my kitchen table, making a birthday card for my six year old niece. I used my watercolour pencils. Those are very cool to use. They can be used as regular pencil crayons, or they can be dipped in water and a brush pressed against the wet tip of the pencil to make a watercolour painting. I painted a little fat, naked fairy.

While I was out today with my camera, I ran into the guy from my old apartment building, who has been trying to date me since I moved to this city in September. I seem to come across him every time I go out, he rides around the neighbourhood on his bicycle all day, I guess. There isn't much I can do to avoid him. He's nice enough. I talk to him, and he seems to know about a lot of things - we've talked about bears, and about India, and the atom bomb, and old buildings.... I've decided I won't snub him anymore - there isn't any reason I shouldn't accept him as an aquaintance. I just wish he would stop trying to take me out. He asked me to take a picture of him posing in front of a Japanese restaurant, so I did that. He asked me out for drinks, or would I like to go dancing, to a movie, out for dinner, for a walk...? I used to feel tense when he interrupted our conversation to try and persuade me to go out with him. Now I just laugh and say no. It's become a kind of joke I guess. He laughs too. I wish he would stop though. I have no intention of dating him. Wouldn't it be great if he was cool, so I could actually be excited about a guy finally showing interest in me? I'm beginning to wonder where all the cool guys are - they don't seem to be anywhere around my vicinity.

I have some hopeful news ... I received a phonecall the other day, asking me to come in for a job interview! It's my first real bite so far. The interview I had at Moores clothing for men was not a "real" bite because I phoned them, meaning they hadn't actually selected me as a possibility. This upcoming interview is different, because they phoned me. The interview is on tuesday morning at 9 am. It's at Taylor Office Supplies, and is walking distance from my apartment where I'm living now. Actually it's five minutes up the street from my old apartment, so I've been walking past that place since September, and never imagined I might be working there one day! Hope the interview goes well - I need a job A.S.A.P.!

Another bit of good news - I found a cheque in my mailbox on friday - it was my damage deposit from my old apartment, plus a reembursement of half the month's rent that I'd had to pay for February even though I wasn't living there. They'd promised me they would reemburse me if they managed to rent the suite during this month, and so they have! They've rented it for the 15th, so I got half a month's rent returned to me! Sadly, that money is not mine to spend - it all has to go to pay bills. But ... at least I now have the money to pay those bills! I'm very pleased.

It's getting to be time to start planning my garden. Just imagine - if I still lived in my old apartment I wouldn't have been able to plant anything! No potted plants, no window boxes, no balcony to sit out on and enjoy the warming sun. I would have been looking at all the buds starting to make their tentative appearance, and I would have felt left out. Spring just isn't the same without some kind of garden. Happily, I have my little patio here. There's a cemented area for me to place a couple of chairs. And a fairly wide border of soil around that where I can sow some seeds and plant some plants. I have arranged my two window boxes at the edge of the cement. I've placed a bamboo mat to cover the cement and make it look tropical. I like to stand at my open patio door and figure out what I will do with my little space. I'm thinking I'll rake up the soil (it's all growing with weeds and moss at the moment), add some compost and sow the entire area with shade loving wildflowers. I'm north facing, so I won't get a huge amount of direct sun. All my garden will have to be shade loving. I plan to have a lot of fuschias in my window boxes, and in baskets hanging from the high wooden fence that surrounds my patio. I'm thinking I might buy a hammock and hang it from the fence, at an angle, so that it swings over the wildflowers that I envision growing there. I'm also making myself a little gate from bamboo canes. The fence that encloses my patio is open at one end, to give an entrance, and my nearest neighbours can see right in from their own patio. I want more privacy, so I'm making this bamboo gate.

It's going to be a nice spring and summer, I think.

Some Older Favourites From My Photography

The cat, with its unique markings, as well as the white laundry arranged so symetrically, are what make this shot a great favourite of mine. 

One of the things I did in photoshop with this picture, was to move the suitcase further up the sidewalk from its original position.  

 

I'm disappointed with the blown out area in the clouds, but still, I love this shot. 

I didn't know this dog. I saw him tied to a fence, waiting for his human to come out of a store. He was very patient with me as I took a half dozen shots. Then he decided enough was enough, got up and barked once in my face. I took the hint and left him to his own dreams. 

I took this one off the balcony of my apartment when I lived on the Island. It was night, so I chose a slow shutter speed to capture as much light as possible. A man happened to cross the street as the shutter was slowly closing, and my camera captured his movement.  

The Love Of Photography

I've spent a couple of hours tonight, going through my photographs, to gather the *best of the best* and burn them to their own C.D. I have so many pictures, I've got C.D.'s of 'not nude' originals, and 'nude' originals, and C.D.'s of 'not nude'photoshopped pics, and 'nude' photoshopped pics. So many that my favourites tend to get lost (as in forgotten because they're in with so many others, not "lost" as in literally). So a while ago I decided to make 'best of the best' C.D.'s.

Tonight, as I was adding more to my b.o.t.b., I looked through the best from some of my earlier pictures taken with my canon. It's always inspiring to me, when I look back on my art that I might not have seen in a while. Even though, of course, I always find things that I wish I'd done differently ... and mistakes I made because I didn't know better at the time, still, it makes me feel excited all over again about art when I view pieces I've done, that move me, despite their flaws.

I'm so damn thrilled with photography! It is the most fascinating art medium, so incredibly rewarding to me. The entire process is wonderful - learning my camera, learning lighting, learning to use my filters, learning new tricks, learning photoshop, trying out all the things I'm learning and getting better and better, studing library books and online photosites, listening to other photographers and studying their pictures.... I like to go through other photographer's sites and, if their art appeals to me, sitting here at my desk and just staring at the photo, to really get to know what is going on there. Now that I'm familiar with photography and photoshop, and posing, I'm often able to make educated guesses as to what photoshopping was done in a picture to achieve a certain effect. And I'm often able to tell what camera settings were selected. And I'm able to take notice of ways in which a model was posed, to look a certain way, or to emphasize (or de emphasize) certain traits. I'm able to see where others' mistakes (imo)were made, that take away from the overall effect, and remember it in my own poses. It's gratifying for me that I can do this, and it goes a long way in helping me to learn my craft.

In my new apartment, I have a lot of room for indoor photography. In my one room suite I had to literally move the furniture to one end of the room so that I had a bare wall to pose against. And still, my pictures ended up with unsightly clutter along either edge, that needed to be photoshopped out. Here I don't have that problem. I've been studying the way shadows fall against my walls at different times of day. The way my furniture and plants' shadows and reflections are cast behind them when the sun streams through the window. I love shadows in photography. I have a picture in mind - a head and shoulders shot with the reflection of my bedroom window cast on the wall behind me. It's a simple shot, but I can think of several pictures I could make with just this basic composition. I'm going to open the blinds and experiment with hanging different types of cloth (one at a time) over the window, to vary the reflection.

It's been raining here a lot lately, but spring is definately on its way (though we could still see snow - it's not unheard of). I don't like to take my camera out in the wet, so I'm waiting impatiently for dry days so that I can go out and shoot some street scenes. I have very little experience in shooting street scenes, but I'm fascinated with those types of pictures. My great friend is an excellent street scene photographer. I've learned a lot just from looking at his shots. I plan to walk around my neighbourhood, where there are a lot of down and out people. These people, in my opinion, make wonderful subjects for photography. They have charactor in their expression and body language that is often not there in regular people out for a shop. My difficulty is in my shyness. I'm afraid to open up to strangers and ask if I can take their photograph. I prefer to take pictures on the sly, using my swivel lcd screen. Of course, that way I get unposed, more natural shots, which is great. Still, it would be cool if I could overcome my nerves and actually approach people. Maybe one day.

Nostalgia

I'm enjoying my first friday night in my new apartment. I've arranged everything, with just a few things left to hang on the walls. It's my first night since the move, where I can relax, spin a few records, have a couple of drinks and dance. I've been playing my piano every time the record or tape comes to an end. I'm imagining the people in the suite above me, listening to me play. I've been playing all sorts ... classical - Bach, Beethoven, Mozart ... old fashioned - When Irish Eyes Are Smiling, Till We Meet Again ... as well as my own favourites - Ave Maria, If A Picture Paints a Thousand Words....

I'm feeling very nostalgic tonight.

At the moment I've got a tape playing. 'The Angels Rejoiced' by Nicolette Larson just finished playing (did you know she died quite a while ago? I just heard that). Now it's 'Summer Wine' sung by Nancy (Sinatra) and Lee. I have that on a record too. ... Now its 'Some Velvet Morning' by the same (Nancy and Lee) some velvet morning when I'm straight, I'm gonna open up your gate, and maybe tell you about faidra, and how she gave me life, and how she made it in, some velvet morning when I'm straight....

When I lived in the haunted house that I half own with x, on Vancouver Island, I used to listen to the same music. That house is over 100 years old. It has a lot of history. When I lived there, I could feel it in the air, especially when I'd had a few drinks, and put on my old music. I used to sit in the livingroom on a friday night, gazing at the old fireplace that was put in a century ago, sipping my vodka and orange juice, and allow the ghosts to speak to me. The old music filled the house, seeming to echo off the walls, calling the spirits to life. I kept the lights low, in keeping with the mood. I'd done research on the house, and felt close to it. I felt I was part of its story. Every so often I would be distracted by a faint light showing through the window panes fronting the livingroom where I sat - a sailboat drifting up Baynes Sound, or a beach bonfire on Denman Island across the narrow stretch of water. I would get up from the couch and stand in front of the window as the music played on behind me. I would dance alone, and watch my reflection superimposed over the moonlit scene outside.

Sometimes the need for even more solitude overcame me, and I would check outside to see if it was raining. If it was wet out, I climbed the narrow staircase to the low ceilinged half story upstairs, and settled into the armchair beside the window. I would sit there, listening to the rain on the roof, looking out at the black on the other side of the glass, as music from the livingroom downstairs drifted up through the floorboards. I used to sit there in the dark for an hour or more.

If it wasn't raining, I would go out to climb my favourite tree. Our house was surrounded by a thick, tangled hedge of overgrown cedars, rose vines, blackberry vines, and deciduous trees. That hedge was so overgrown and wild, I found hidden rooms within it where I could hide if necessary, or where I could go just to be alone. At the front corner of the property was my favourite climbing tree. I would let myself out the back door and pass the chicken yard. I always called softly to the chicken family cosily ensconsed in their little house, wishing them goodnight. Sometimes one or the other of my cats joined me as I crossed the lawn to the tree. I would ease past my greenhouse, and lift the low hanging branches of the old cedar tree to duck underneath, into the hedge. The moonlight hardly penetrated that secret place. I would ease down onto the lowest branch and one of the cats might leap up onto my lap. I could still hear faintly, the music playing in the house. When I was ready, I would lift the cat down from my lap, and climb the tree. I climbed hundereds of feet, it was the best climbing tree. I was far higher than our three story house, I could see over the brambly hedge to the moonlit sea. I reached the very tip, where the wind made the trunk sway, and I rested on the branch there, thinking my own thoughts. My initials are impressed into the bark way up there, the bark was so new when I made my name, I was able to press with my thumbnail, I didn't even need a knife.

Has it ever happened to you that you want to impress upon people the way you feel about a moment, but the words are puny compared to your emotions? I guess you had to be there, in order to feel what I felt at that old, old house ... the way I feel about that house now, and whenever I remember it.

My beautiful piano 

My Piano Is Home!

My piano arrived today! My mom arranged to have it brought from my sister's house, to my apartment. Mom works for a Mennonite second hand store, and was able to get it all set up with them. There were four men. My sister phoned me to say they had left her place with the piano in the truck, and within minutes, they were at my door.

I stood out on my patio to watch the beautiful piano being unloaded. She's very old - probably near 100 years. A beautiful upright grand with wonderful carving on the legs, and carved scrollwork on two of the front panels and along the top rim. She's a gorgeous lady who has travelled in a circle, across the ocean and back to get here - my mother had the piano at her home when she was young and living in the town right beside the one where I live now, and then it came to my childhood home in Vancouver where my sisters and I all learned to play at a young age. I was five when I first began to take lessons. My sisters and I used to play Christmas songs all together, all of us seated in a row on the bench. I played most often, and so the piano was promised to me one day. When I was thirty, and my dark days on the streets came to an end, I began a new life on Texada Island. I travelled by ferry to the mainland where my parents lived, and the piano was moved out of their livingroom, onto my brother-in-law's truck to be brought across the ocean to my home. Eight years later, I moved from Texada Island to Vancouver Island, and of course, the piano came with me. Then I left x and moved into a small apartment where I couldn't keep the piano, so it was left behind at the house with him for that year. I missed my piano terribly. Last september when I moved from the Island to this city on the mainland where my family live, the piano was taken from the house I'd shared with x, and brought back across the ocean with me, to my sister's house. Now I've moved into this larger apartment, and am amazed to have my piano again! She's come full circle, just one town away from where she first began, and about a two hour drive from my childhood home where I first met her. She looks just wonderful in my livingroom.

I stepped out onto the patio to watch the movers struggling to bring the piano out of the truck. The back doors were open, the truck's interior too dark for me to see. Then she appeared in the opening and the sun shone down on her, bringing out the lovely shades in her wood. She was like a huge, graceful ship, or a proud elephant who lives a life of quiet tolerance for those lesser creatures around her. I had tears in my eyes as my piano was ponderously eased down the ramp, metal wheels squealing. Such a grand, exquisite instrument, she endured the indignity of the movers grunting and straining, shouting to each other as they heaved and pushed and strained to keep her in place. She is so huge and heavy, yet she never loses her femininity. No matter that it takes several men to move her, and dolly's and plywood sheets and ramps, she is a lady.

All Moved In

I've got all my stuff at my place now. My sister and her young daughter worked all day yesterday to move me in. It was really amazing the way we were able to pack all my furniture into the van. I told my sister we could leave the largest things until my brother-in-law could come with the truck, but she said "Lets see if we can do it, I bet we can" and we did! The bed, table, desk, shelves, huge chest, plus a bunch of boxes ... even my papier mache couch were all packed into the van (we made five or six trips). We laughed a lot, especially when the couch began to fall apart (lol). I swear, papier mache furniture is normally very strong, and in fact, my couch is sturdy enough to have taken the weight of several people sitting on it at once, but I should have put more thought into making it just a little bit more durable. I was pressed for space, and impatient when I first made it. Still, it's hanging in there. Next time I'll know the mistakes I made with this first one, and correct them. Actually, I can fix this one too - it's not even completed yet anyway. I have more sewing to do on the material that covers the seating area, and more covering to do in the cupboards. I just blenderize a bunch of newspaper strips, add some glue to the mush, then grab handfulls of it and press it onto the surfaces. Papier mache is so cool.

When we came back after unloading the first van full, we noticed that the glass in the front entrance door to my old apartment building had been smashed. I worried that I would be blamed, but I found out it was the son of one of the tenants - his mother (a tenant there) had kicked him out, and he retaliated by kicking in the glass. Anyway, my old suite is empty now. I've handed in my keys, and been promised my damage deposit - it will arrive in the mail in a week or two.

This building where I live now, is huge! The hallways are endless, and just when you think you've reached the end, there's a corner that leads down a whole other hallway. I got lost looking for the pool the other day. There are actual maps in the hallways, to show people where they are, and how to get to where they're going. Today I went for my first swim in the pool. I had the pool all to myself. I swam laps.

I went for a job interview this morning. It's the first interview I've had from all the places I've applied. This interview was for a men's clothing store called "Moores". It's a very classy place, the male employees wear suits. The interview went very well. The store manager told me he's still conducting interviews, but will be able to tell me if I'm hired by next week. I feel quite positive about it. It's a full time job, paying minimum wage, with commission sales on top of that. I'm not counting my chickens just yet though. It's possible I won't get hired at Moores, so I've circled a bunch of other jobs in the paper, and plan to go out again tomorrow with my resume. I need a job a.s.a.p. Today I received my heating bill for the apartment I moved out of - $160.00!!!!! That's just for one month! And I was still cold! Luckily my damage deposit will arrive before the due date, and it will cover the bill.

At my new apartment the heat is free (I just pay for electricity), and I'm as toasty as though I was living in the tropics!

Well, back to setting up my apartment!

snapshot

This is my new livingroom. You can see part of the kitchen in the foreground. That's my fireplace beside the window! The little yard out there is all mine! 

My New Home!

I'm typing this post, seated crosslegged on the floor in my new apartment! What a beautiful home I have now - the livingroom alone is the size of my former one-room suite.

Yesterday morning I got up around five am (couldn't sleep I was too excited), and continued with my packing and cleaning. My mom arrived around eight am, and we set right to work. She has just a small car, but we stuffed as many boxes in there as possible. It was pouring rain. Very soon our hair was slick with wet, our shoes muddy, rainwater dripping down our foreheads and noses and chins. My mom's glasses were all fogged.

Horrible weather, but we forged ahead. We would drag as much as possible from my old suite, into the elevator, bring it all down to the lobby, carry it all out to the car, then drive the short distance to my new place, get right to work unloading the car and bringing it all inside. My new suite is on the ground floor, so we were able to bring the stuff in through my sliding patio door, rather than walk the long hallway from the building's front door. Trouble was, there's a stretch of muddy grass we had to step through to reach my patio, so our shoes were filthy. We didn't want to track mud into my suite with its nice white carpet, so we would just lean in, trying not to overbalance as we struggled to ease the heavy boxes down onto the flooor without dropping everything.

I had an appointment with my isp, around noon, to have my internet connected, so mom made one trip back to my old place alone while I stayed behind. In no time I was hooked up (nothing like the week long wait I had for internet connection when I first moved into my one-room suite!) I didn't get hooked up for cable t.v., because I can't afford it until I have a job. I'll get that done soon, hopefully. After the internet guy left, my mom came back with another load and I went out to her car. She'd loaded it herself to the roof! There were heavy boxes she'd carried all by herself - she's in her seventies! I caught her struggling with my heavy antique sewing machine and quickly took it from her. After unloading the car, she took me out for lunch. My mom is just great, our new relationship is amazing to me, it's something I never thought I would have in this lifetime.

We made a few more trips, until there was nothing left but the heavy furniture - my bed and table, t.v. and stand, my desk and chair, my shelves and record stand. Unfortunately, my mom fell against the door frame while trying to lean in and place a box inside my suite. I got one of my kitchen chairs that we'd brought over, and she sat down. Hopefully she'll be okay, but we stopped after that. I feel a little guilty, though she really wanted to do this, and boy did she ever work hard! She was quite impressive.

I spent the rest of yesterday and this morning, arranging everything that I can. I'm certainly getting my excersize - today I lifted my big microwave onto the top of the fridge, inching it up slowly, so I wouldn't drop it. There are a lot of boxes with books and things that I can't arrange yet because I don't have furniture to put them on. Hopefully this week sometime, my sisters and/or brother-in-laws can help me get my furniture over here. I want to empty my old suite as soon as possible, even though I have paid for the suite for the full month of February, because the sooner that suite is empty, the sooner it will be available to be rented out and I'll be reembursed for whatever is left of the month. I've made a little bed with blankets, on the floor of my bedroom. I had planned to go swimming in the pool here in my new building, but then I realised my bathing suit is still in the trunk at my old suite. I'll have to take a walk down there to get it, it's only about twenty minutes away.

I feel like I've moved into a palace!

My Last Night, And "Clubs"

Tomorrow is moving day! I get to move into my new apartment five days early. Tonight is my final night in this place. I've moved up the dates for transferring my electricity, and my internet, so I'll have those in place at my new apartment tomorrow too. All the stuff I hadn't packed away, thinking I'd need them for another few days, can now be stuffed into boxes. I'm saying goodbye to this place with all of its bad vibes, and I won't look back. Tomorrow morning my mom will show up to help me move as much stuff as we can, using her car. The rest will wait until a brother in law, or someone, can help with the bed and couch and table. Tonight I'm going to celebrate.

The other night I formed a "one year financial plan" for myself. Next year at this time, I hope to be in a much different place than I am today. The plan includes working, schooling, motivation and a lot of self discepline. I believe I can do it. It feels good to have a plan.

It's about time I built a personal life too. I found some information at the library, on local writer's and photographer's clubs. I'm not a 'club person', but somehow I keep joining them, in the hope of ... something ... I'm not sure what. I was even secretary for the Comox Valley writer's club for three years (it didn't involve anything more than keeping the minutes). For me, though, clubs always seem to lose their lustre after a few months. I keep going out of a sense of duty, but it becomes a job just to attend the meetings.

Somehow I tend to bring out the worst in the other club members. The women give me the cold shoulder, and the men either avoid me, or demand that I meet with them to "discuss the ways I can improve my skills". My bad memories of writer's clubs are:

... walking alone into a room filled with people who dislike me on first sight, pretending I'm not terrified, taking my seat, placing my folder with several poems inside, under my seat, and introducing myself and then, when the leader asks if I'm prepared to read a sample of my work for the group, standing up, and proceeding to do so. My poetry has often tended to be dark, and wierd. Even I can see that it's "different". Not for everyone. The members of writer's groups who have been obliged to sit through a sampling of my work have usually reacted with embarrassed coughing, or thinly veiled insults, or the odd person who braved the group mindset to venture a tiny, tentative compliment. I thank them for their insight, slip my poetry back into the folder and resume my seat.

By continuing to return to the meetings again and again, I manage to carve a place for myself among the group - I am "the girl who writes wierd stuff that nobody understands, stuff that isn't mainstream so I'll never make money at it so obviously I'm just writing for the love of it which makes me wierder still". That becomes my place in the group, and, although I'm not part of the inner circle, I'm not exactly an outsider. At this point, some of the men in the group tend to waylay me after the meetings, to ask for my phone number and/or address. Sometimes they ask for copies of my writing, so they can jot down a few pointers for me that they present me with at the following meeting. If they sense that I'm not interested in following their advice to the letter, they either a) join the "cold shoulder group, or b) yell at me over the phone for being "stubborn and in danger of never making it as a writer because I'm not open to critisism", or c) show up at my house to thrust my copies into my hand and tell me they regret the time they took out of their precious lives to go over my work. Or d) invite me to go sailing or out for coffee or (insert cliche of your choice) with them so we can "go over my writing in a serene setting without interruption".

My good memories are: Okay I can't really think of any actual memories, but I did learn a few new, important writing skills that helped me improve my art. And I learned that I am courageous in the face of absolute negativaty (velly velly important for anyone at all in this sad woild).

When I lived on Texada Island some years ago, I participated in a lot of public poetry readings. These were both positive and negative experiences. Sometimes my poetry was well received. Other times I sensed the audience mentally scratching their heads as they struggled to understand where I was coming from. I know what it is to look out at a small audience, and see them lost in the beauty of my words ... and I know the loneliness of standing behind a podium, defiantly continuing on even though I can see that the entire crowd ... it's obvious ... has made up its mind that I am "not one of them". It's a mixed bag. Sometimes I wonder why I continue to join clubs, since I'm obviously not a club person, but here I am again....

I've found information on a writer's club here in my city, that meets only five times a year (a big plus imo). Other than that, they hold bi-monthly public poetry readings at local cafe's, and put together anthologies with their poetry and other writing. My hope is that I'll learn something new, and possibly, meet someone I can relate with. I'm stronger than I look, I can take rejection. I'm going to check it out.

I've found information on a local photography club as well. They meet September through June, twice a week. According to the pamphlet I found at the library, they have club competitions, and, more importantly, they have guest speakers and presentations on photographic subjects. The club is a member of the local arts council, so if nothing else, I might make some connections. Who knows.

I seem to be a gluton for punishment, lol .... sigh .... anyway....

Bad Snap

Just wanted to show you my one room cell. This the view of one end of it, the snap below this one is the view of the other end. Up that little hall is the bathroom, and at the end of the hall is the door that allows me to escape.

Bad Snap #2

That's my bed in the top corner, surrounded by the bamboo frame I made, to hold a curtain that helps me pretend it doesn't look like I have a bed in my livingroom. In the foreground is my computer.

Just Talkin About Stuff

People are assholes. The other day I'd been out in the pouring rain, applying for jobs. On my way home, I bought three bags of groceries. My feet were dying in my high heeled shoes, the groceries were digging into my frozen fingers - I had to hold the bags in one hand because my other hand was struggling with my umbrella. My purse kept slipping off my shoulder, forcing me to stop, set my umbrella on the ground, yank up my purse, wrench my hair out from under the strap, set the grocery bags down to give my other hand a break, pick up everything again and limp on homeward. A car came up the street toward me and swerved so that it would roar through a gigantic rain puddle and splash me. The tidal wave of water poured over my head, drenching me and my groceries and soaking my dress pants to my knees. The car rushed away as I stood there gasping.

People are creepy. On Halloween I answered my phone, and heard static. Then a man's voice said very clearly "There's trouble in the barn, at the federal farm, on Queen's Road." I said "Hello?!" The voice repeated the sentence, with exactly the same inflection. I realised it was probably a recording. I hung up. The call came again an hour later, exactly the same as before. On the day of Christmas Eve, I got the call again. It was exactly the same, except that when I said "Hello?!" after hearing the voice go through its odd spiel, I heard the sound of rewinding - as though someone had pressed the rewind button to bring the tape back to the start of the sentence. Then the voice started again ... "There's trouble in the barn, at the federal farm, on Queen's Road." I hung up. Up the street from my apartment building is a neat little old fashioned store that sells vegetables and fruit - it's called "Queen Street Farms". I asked the salesclerk there if they have anything to do with something called "The Federal Farm", but she said no. As far as I know, there is no Queen's Road in this area. Yesterday I got the call again. Creepy.

People are funny. The other day I was out applying for jobs. I had my hair pulled back into a bun, and my long, black coat buttoned to my throat. As I waited at the crosswalk for the light to change, an elderly man came up beside me in his motorised wheelchair. He looked me up and down and said "Is that a hab..." He glanced up at my face "Are you a nun? Of the Catholic church?"

I've decided to end my boycott of waitressing jobs. I had been avoiding applying for this sort of work, but now I've made the decision to try for these as well. Beggars can't be choosers. Besides, if I was able to handle the stress of Sears menswear department during the mania of Christmas, I should be able to handle waitressing. Not to mention, with the higher rent I'll be paying at my new apartment, I'll need all the money I can get, so the tips will come in handy. Tomorrow I'll go out to apply at International House of Pancakes (my mom's all time favourite restaurant).

When I moved here from the Island, I had my piano brought over to my youngest sister's family home. They were thrilled to have it, and found a great place for it in the livingroom of their brand spankin new house. I was glad to be able to play it whenever I visited my sister and her family. Now it looks like I'll have it again in my own home! The apartment where I'll be moving next wednesday is on the ground floor. I've asked if it's okay for me to have a piano in my suite, and the building manager told me it's fine, as long as I don't play before 10am, or after 10pm. My mom has looked into hiring men and a truck from the second hand store where she works, and it looks like a go! All I need to do now is measure the opening through the fence surrounding my patio, to make sure it will fit. It seems unbelievable to me that I'll finally have my piano again - it's been nearly two years. Of course I feel awful taking the beautiful piano away from my sister and her family after they've had it for only a few short months. So I've offered them my electric piano as compensation. It's not the same of course, but at least it's something.

Eight days from now at this exact time, I will be in my new home. It will be a relief to leave this cell behind.

Wait....

Today is sunday. I am about to begin my final full week in this one room suite. Many of my belongings are packed away. My mother brings me boxes from the second hand store where she works as a volunteer, I fill them, and wait for more boxes. I've lost the desire to do much of anything. I scan the paper each day for jobs, and if there are any, I dress and go out to offer my resume. Occasionally I spend a few hours out with my sisters or mother. Other than that I remain here in this room, waiting. I'm in a state of waiting. With all this time on my hands I could be creating more art. I could be working on photographs, or writing, or making things with papier mache. Instead, during the long periods that I'm in this room, I read, sleep, and write entries in this blog. And when I come into the possession of another empty box, I fill it with my things, and stack it with the other packed boxes.

I'm waiting for my existence here to be over. I'm waiting to be warm. I'm waiting to make a better home for myself away from this cell. I'm waiting for a call about a job. More important than all these things, I'm waiting for someone to come back to me, or not. I'm waiting to see how I will handle the loss if this person doesn't return. I've done what I can to force fate in this chapter of my life, now I understand that it's out of my hands. If I resist the temptation to wrench this experience onto the path I demand ... if I sit still, and with patience, allow things to take their course, I will have learned something. I don't know if I have it in me, but I intend to try.

A year ago I was introduced to the beauty of foreign films. There is something soothing about having to read subtitles, and I find it isn't difficult for me to relate to cultures that are entirely different from my own. When I watch a foreign film that speaks to me, it's like discovering a kindred spirit. As though the story has been woven from the fabric that is Me. I often feel as though I'm watching my own imagination - the actors are reenacting stories that were spun within my head. Not because I created the stories, but because they are made from the ingredients that go into my own imaginings.

I find the same when reading books written by foreign authors. There is something dream-like about the foreign books I love to read. The stories seem ever so slightly to be born in a different dimension than that modern place where most American and Canadian books are crafted. Foreign books bring me to a state of waiting. They settle me and allow me to be patient. Today I'm reading 'The Wind-up Bird Chronicle" by Haruki Murakami. In this story, a man is waiting. He is hoping and searching and groping for understanding. At the moment, in the place where I am in the book, he has climbed down into a dry well and is sitting there, learning himself.

When I came to this scene, I felt the urge to go out in search of my own dry well and climb down into it. But I understand this would be foolish. Besides, I don't know of any in my area. And so I must be content to wait here in this cement room. It is, in its way, a kind of dry well.

My Silence

If I were to count the hours, I'm sure I would find that I've spent more than half of my lifetime immersed in silence. Many of my childhood memories are of myself alone, in a tree, or under the slide in our backyard, or in the attic. I remember my mother finding me alone one saturday afternoon, crosslegged on the cement floor of our basement where I'd been for hours, making puppets out of old socks. I would finish a puppet and lay it in a row with the others, then set straight to work on another. In all I made about a dozen. My dad had left his radio on, though he wasn't around. It was set to his favourite talk show with Jack Webster. I'd briefly considered turning the radio off, in favour of complete quiet. Then decided it was a tenuous connection with my father, and left it on. I remember the conversation Jack had that day, with two seperate women who called in. I remember that I felt close to my dad during that afternoon, in a way that I never felt when he was physically in the room with me. This is one of my most cherished childhood memories.

My mother, when she found me, wondered aloud at the sight of her strange daughter surrounded by sock puppets. She'd noticed that I'd been absent since morning, and had never thought to look in the basement since I was so quiet. She asked if I was lonely. She asked if I was sad. I felt something like tenderness coming from her, as though seeing me there struck a maternal chord within her. She seemed slightly bewildered by me, and I think she wanted to hug me, but didn't. After she left I felt close to her, as I felt close to my father.

There is something about silence, and being alone, that moves me deeply. It is during these times that I feel most able to love, and to be loved. Some people look back on times that they laughed and talked for hours with their loved ones, and count these as their most cherished memories. For them, these are the times that they bonded. Their moments of silence might form a nice interlude in the recollection, but they are not the fabric of the memory. For me it is opposite.

Since I moved here, I've spent time with my mother, and with my two younger sisters, talking nonstop, laughing, sometimes recalling serious and awful events. It seems to be a family trait to speak quickly. Our conversation must appear exhausting to anyone listening in. I marvel sometimes, that it's the same Marian doing so much talking, as the Marian who spends so much of her time wrapped in a blanket of absolute quiet. I value these talks with my family members. They are vital to our growing relationship. But it is when I'm alone again, with no one to talk to that I feel my deepest bond with them. Even our most heartwrenching discussions don't move me as much.

Lately I've been a little depressed. I seem to have lost someone precious, and don't know if it's permanent. I've loved those times that we were companionably silent together, but that wonderful feeling has been missing lately, our silence is weighed down by something I don't understand. Now my long periods of quiet are a kind of mourning. Tonight I lay in bed with my eyes wide open. I couldn't sleep, and it didn't matter because I've been sleeping my afternoons away for weeks now. I decided to get up and bake scones (they're in the oven now). The hours after midnight are my favourite time of night. It's the silence that most overwhelms me, as though I were inside a cocoon and no part of the outside world can touch me because everyone is asleep.

I realise now as I write this, that my natural quiet, and my depressed quiet must appear much the same to an onlooker. If any of you were able to spy on me here in my room, without my being aware I was watched, I'm sure you would not be able to tell when my depression lifts. When it happens, deep inside me there will be a momentous change in my spirits, but my outward appearance will remain much the same. I will be aware of myself easing from one kind of silence to another. I will throw off my dark mourning colours and come out dancing in the sudden sun, but all of this will be happening inside my head, behind my eyes. And I think that's what makes it all the more precious - that it happens in secret, with no loud fanfare. Like Winter giving way to Spring. I hope it happens soon. This mourning cloak is growing heavy on my shoulders.

Just Something For Me

I just read a passage in a book from the library. The words spoke to me, and so I want to record them here. Pardon me for not explaining more.

"One time out of a hundred, a bet will call you. Rest of the time it's just guessing, but that one time. It's like the hand of God settling on you, pointing you this way or that. Any normal person would Jonah and run, for fear of looking a fool if it turns against them. Not me," he said. "And not you."

"What happens if you end up looking like a fool?"

"Faith is all we gamblers have going for us."

My Own Religion

I've mentioned before that I was raised in a Mennonite family. Religion formed a large part in my upbringing. Over the years of my childhood, for various and serious reasons, I became dissilusioned with all things religious. Actually, "dissilusioned" is a giant understatment - I should rephrase that to "I became horrified by all things religious". How ludicrous that I would burn forever in a lake of fire if I smoked, or went to the movie theatre, or drank, or had sex before marriage! God, I was told, was a loving being. He adored me. But if I commited these certain acts that mankind has deemed to be sin, this God who loved me with all his heart, would allow me to be damned for eternity. I would burn forever, but never die. My torture would go on and on and on, and God would continue to cherish me, but he wouldn't lift a finger to help me because I had sinned. I deserved to be punished.

And so I rejected religion, and I hated God. Though I never quite stopped believing in the existence of God, I believed he was despicable, he was frightening and mean, he was a control freak and a sadist. I wanted nothing to do with religious people - they were deluded, silly people who spouted Bible verses to mask their inability to answer my questions. They rigorously followed rules against vice in all its forms, and attended church several times each week, and wore their knees out with praying. Yet they cared nothing for the state of the earth. Their sermons made no mention of pollution or overpopulation or animal abuse. They sent missionaries to far ends of the globe to spread their message - Natives everywhere must reject their natural ways in favour of all things Christian. Bibles shipped by the truckload, hymnals also - the heathens must learn to sing 'old rugged cross' and 'just as I am' and all the old favourites that the missionaries had known since childhood, and all of this must be done in a proper church. No more worshipping in the forest, there must be an actual building complete with pews and a pulpit and a big cross on top. No more nudity in the African jungle - western style suits and ties were the order of the day.

Over the past ten or so years, I gradually came to my own understanding of God. After much deep thinking, I decided that people had twisted the truth. Religion isn't the last word on God. Perhaps ... just possibly ... God and religion are not one and the same. It was a shocking idea at first. I let it sit for awhile, turning it over and over in my mind. As I became used to it, I understood that there was nothing radical in this thought after all. It wasn't shocking or mind boggling. Instead it was simple and pure. I could meet God in the forest, I didn't have to attend church. I could follow my own conscience, I didn't have to obey man-made rules and regulations. I could love Nature and animals more than humanity, it wasn't sacriligious. I didn't have to reject my own Self in order to enter the kingdom of heaven, instead I must embrace my Self and love Me. God wasn't waiting to kick me into a burning lake because I broke this rule or another. I could examine my own Self and decide what I wanted to keep and what I wanted to throw away. I could change my mind - take back a piece of Me that I'd rejected, and try it out again. Religion and its people could go on spouting their dogma, but I didn't have to accept it if it didn't sit well with me.

Since I've moved here and become close with my family, I've discovered that they too, have rearranged their thinking. They too have come to their own understanding of what they wish to keep, and what they wish to throw out. I attend church with my sister each sunday, and today I joined my other sister at her church. Both churches are very different, both have something to offer that the other doesn't. I had been worried when I first moved here, that my family would try to suck me into their religious beliefs. I feared that my time with them would be tainted because they would work hard to force changes on me, to twist my thinking around to resemble their own. Thankfully, none of this has come to pass.

And so I feel comfortable in joining my sisters in church on sunday, because I know that it's not part of a plan to force me into conformity. I can take what I want from the service, and feel free to ignore what disagrees with me. I'm free to construct my own religion (if that's what we want to call it). I attend one sister's church because I enjoy the singing - it's wonderful to hear my soprano voice blending with my sister's alto, sometimes it brings tears to my eyes it's so beautiful. I enjoy being with my sister and her husband and small daughter. I like dressing up. I enjoy the sermon, even when I don't agree with every word said. I take something from the service, and don't feel guilty about those things I've decided go against my grain. Tonight, when I joined my other sister at her church for the first time, I discovered another way to worship. Her church is much different. There is no hymn singing, and the "preaching" is done by two men bouncing ideas off of each other as we listen and form our own conclusions. I've decided that I like both styles. I'm going to alternate between both churches each sunday. And on those sundays that I don't wish to go at all, I don't need to come up with a good reason, I can just say 'no' and stay home. The choice is up to me. I won't go to hell.

This is my own personal religion: I believe in living a peaceful life, and not intentionally hurting others. I believe in doing my part in preserving this earth, but I have no faith that it will be saved because we've gone too far in its destruction. I believe that animal life is as sacred as human life, and that if there is a distinction between who makes it into heaven and who does not ... the animals will surely enter through the pearly gates. I believe it's okay if I choose to keep smoking, I won't go to hell for it, but it will ruin my health. I believe there is nothing wrong in sex outside of marriage, but it is an act to be respected, not handed out indescriminately. When it feels right and good to share my body with someone I love, I should do so without shame. I believe that real love has no strings, it should not depend on the gift being returned in kind. I believe in the power of art - it makes me feel beautiful. I believe I must respect the feelings of others, even if they make me impatient. I believe in the power of 'zen-like' thinking, in yoga, in learning to relax and let life flow rather than struggle to wrench it this way or that one. My idea is that God is magic, he is part of all that we don't see going on all around us. I don't believe he is a Being sitting on a throne, wearing white robes and listening to the angels strumming harps. I believe that God is as disappointed with religion as I am. I believe that when I understood I could reject all the rules and fashion my own way of believing, God was clapping his hands.

My Life In This Room

With just over two weeks left to live here in this one room suite, I'm looking back over my days here....

I remember the beginning in September when it was still warm outside, and everything was new. That first week I lived here without furniture, and slept on blankets on the floor. My computer (I'd refused to let it go in the moving van with my other belongings) was set up on cardboard boxes and a borrowed pillow for a seat. My internet wasn't connected, my computer felt lonely. I stared at the screen like through a window looking onto the faceless brick wall of a building next door. My email ... chatroom ... blog ... website ... all those favourite places I couldn't visit. I contented myself with opening files in my documents, and photoshopping my pictures. Until my back grew tired and my legs fell asleep from the awkward position cross-legged on the pillow.

Those days I spent my time reading magazines, waiting for my life here to begin. I woke in the morning and staggered across the frozen room, wishing someone in the building would explain how to turn on the heat. I smoothed my blankets into place as though they were a real bed. I made tentative forays into the neighbourhood. I found the library and signed up for a card. I found the nearest grocery store and the bank, I discovered three liquour stores. I bought groceries with my credit card and filled my fridge, then remembered that I had no plates or cutlery. My family came to my rescue. I composed a week long email I couldn't send, to my great friend who lives in another country. I entertained myself laying on the floor, propped up on my elbows and imagining the furnished room - how I would make this one room into a home. One morning I heard the moving van pull up five floors below, and crawled so quickly across the floor I bumped my nose against the window. My internet came the same day. Men with tools and wires, and men with my furniture and forms to be signed, crowded into my room.

For a week the room was stuffed with boxes. It was a marathon just to get to the bathroom. I spent all my time unpacking, arranging, and giving away my outdoor plants. I climbed over boxes and dismantled shelving to reach my computer, signed into the chatroom to wait for my great friend, then crawled back again to resume unpacking. I found my juice jug and made orange juice. I mixed it with vodka. I found my records and the player, and danced in the small space I had cleared.

After seven days I was finished. I'd created a home, a nest. I took up my life again like a comfortable skin. My art, my baking, walks through the small wooded land just steps from my building. I liked to sit on the window seat I'd made, gazing out the window at the squirrels below, and smoking. Then told I wasn't permitted to smoke in my suite (a neighbour had seen me in the window, and turned me in). The days were growing colder anyway, it wasn't comfortable at the window, and so I retreated further into the room, away from eyes and the weather.

I looked for a job, and got no results. Again and again I printed my resume and ventured out. I wandered the streets with my camera, I took sly pictures of shoppers in the mall. I wrote notes to myself to call the phone company and the hydro, the internet and the bank, to correct mistakes that had been made in the process of moving. I found a doctor. I got to know my family.

Then Sears called with an offer of employment. I cried on the phone to my mom. My sister took me to her church where they were giving away clothing. I left that place with bags of free outfits. I practiced with new hairdo's and admired myself in the mirror. I bought nylons.

For a week I joined other Christmas staff to learn our new job. For two months after, I devoted myself to selling sweaters and slacks, shirts and socks and underwear and ties and belts. On days my mother couldn't drive me, I walked through the morning streets, feeling sophisticated as never before. I was a Sears employee and damn proud of myself. I learned the job quickly. I wore myself out to make a fine impression. I joked with my coworkers and tried to make myself indispensable. I loved the way my fingers punched the keys to work the till - as though I'd been doing this for years. I was a fast learner. I collected compliments from my boss.

I accepted extra shifts. I had no life except for work. Most days my mom picked me up in the morning - we made a great team. My intercom didn't work and so I waited for her in the lobby, nodding off on the bench, huddled in my long, black coat. She arrived and I made my way out to her car, shivering in the crisp winter morning with the sun still asleep below the horizon. After eight hours I returned home and stumbled into my pyjamas. I hardly spoke with my great friend anymore - just a few minutes in the chatroom to say 'goodnight, I'm exhausted, goodnight.' My life was nothing more than work and sleep. I sensed depression creeping around the edges of my mood. I felt it was all too much, though I loved the job. I couldn't enjoy preChristmas, everything was shelved in favour of job and sleep. I forgot what it was like to relax into the dreamy creation of art. I remembered those fun times I'd had with my great friend, laughing for hours with our microphones and webcams on ... my voice echoing back to me from California. I remembered when his voice filled my tiny room, erasing my loneliness. Now our voices were silent, my microphone tucked behind the monitor. I was too tired.

I dragged myself to bed each night, and turned out the light. I wished myself goodnight. Sometimes I cried a little, as the alone feeling crowded in with the room's other shadows. Sometimes I woke from nightmares and the last echo of my cries faded. Then the alarm screamed its warning and I leapt across the frozen floor to dress for work again.

Christmas came and went. Much of the season's joy was stolen by long work hours. I missed my traditional preChristmas evenings with carols and eggnog, I missed my friend. I managed to regain some of the Christmas Spirit on rare days off, by taking my mind off of everything but the people I love - I created for my friend a gift of poetry. Twice, I opened my mailbox and found gifts from him. I enjoyed the company of my family (a whole new world for me). ...My window leaked and spread pools of rainwater across the floor. I developed bronchitis. NewYears passed without celebration. My employment came to an end and suddenly I had time on my hands. I spent a week mostly sleeping and trying to breathe through my spongy lungs. I made a doctor's appointment.

Now I'm scanning the paper every day, looking for work. I'm printing out my resume with an additional paragraph to include my Sears experience, and dreaming of my next job. Each morning I empty the pots and bowls of rainwater I've set below the window leaks. I take medication for bronchitis. One morning last week I understood - it was time to find another home. Now I'm packing again. My life in this one room has come to an end. It's been a mix of joy and sadness, fun and boredom, loneliness and bliss. Elation and depression. All the usual stuff that makes up the fabric of life for me and everyone else on this planet. Not fascinating enough to write about really, yet here I've gone and filled paragraphs with the story....

In a little more than two weeks, I'll begin another chapter in my life as I make a home in my new apartment. I'm looking forward to Spring.

I'm Moving!

Well my future is looking up! I'm moving into a beautiful apartment on February first! I finally had enough of the window leak that leaves a pool on my floor every morning. My area rug is soaking, my library book was rescued just in time, and my paper towel bill is ridiculous. Not to mention the fact that, although I'm paying $100 every two months for heat, I'm still cold here. And the uncarpeted floor is freezing, which means I have to wear socks at all times, which doesn't help much because almost all my socks have holes..... So I've found a great apartment and I'm getting outta here!

I checked out an available apartment yesterday. It's not far from my present building, so it's still in the 'poor section', but at least it's not junkie heaven like this neighbourhood where I'm living now. The building is very well kept, and it has a heated indoor swimming pool! My suite is a one bedroom. The rooms are spacious, there are carpets throughout, and there's a wood burning fireplace. It has a large walk-in closet, and a really cute, private patio. It's on the ground floor, so instead of regular railing around the patio, mine has high wooden walls enclosing it. I gave the new manager the phone numbers for my present landlord, and the landlord from my apartment where I lived last on the Island (as references). I also gave him a number so he could check my credit rating, and ... I'm in!

I met with my current building manager today. I was worried because he's the guy who made me cry on the phone when I was still living on the Island and trying to set up the rental of this suite where I live now. It turned out fine though. Since we met in person he's been nice, in his gruff sort of way. Unfortunately I will have to pay a full month's rent on this place for February, even though I won't be living here, as well as the full month's rent at my new place, plus the damage deposit over there. But the manager here promised I will get my damage deposit back from this place, so that will pay back half of February's rent I'll be paying. And, he told me, if he manages to rent out this suite during February, I'll be reembursed for the remaining rent. My mom is going to help me out financially, so it's all good.

This move will be much easier than my last one - no ferries, no moving van, no expenses, because my family will help me. This move won't take from sunup till sundown. This move won't be so emotional. It will be a nice relaxing move.

I've been suffering through a strange, lingering cold. I've had it for a month now. Suddenly two weeks ago it was much worse. I sleep constantly, and my lungs feel like a sponge. One of my sisters thinks it could be asthma, and my other sister thinks it could be pnumonia. I guess I'll make a doctor appointment, I'm tired of feeling sickly. Meanwhile I'm starting to pack, and looking for a job, and very, very excited about my move!

Ah Well

I just read a cool line in a book I borrowed from the library ... But we are idiot artists with no thought for the future. I like that.

In my hard drive I have books and poems and stories I've written over the years, much of it read only by myself. In my cd rack, I have cd's with hundreds ... thousands of photographs I've taken and photoshopped, and shown only to my great friend who is also a photographer. In my head I have more and more ideas for things to try, art to create. What will I do with all of this? Very likely nothing more than keep it for myself to enjoy.

Every so often, my thoughts turn to monetary gain, and I dabble with the idea of selling my art. I vow to submit my writing, my photographs, find a place that will display and sell my works. Somehow the idea never really takes root and it quickly fizzles away. Laid back to rest in the back of my brain until the next time I get the tentative urge to look into things again. I don't feel at all badly about this. For me, it's part of who I am as an artist. The fact that I've created art is what moves me. The sense of being a creative person, that is what makes me happy and content in my own skin.

I do have a new idea I'm toying with. Something to do with papier mache. I'm gathering supplies now - toilet paper rolls and paper towel rolls, flat boxes of a certain size.... I have three or four ideas, and have sketched them in my notebook. These things I plan to make, if they turn out well, will not be for me this time. They will be for sale. I'm concentrating on getting going on this before my interest runs out and the ideas retreat back into their shells again.

My New Year has started with a fizzle. Sears didn't ask me back. They told me they were pleased with all my hard work. My extra effort did not go unnoticed, but they will only be needing one of us Christmas staff to return, and so they've asked the woman who caught a thief and saved the store $600.00. I feel a little ripped off, since I pretty much ruined my preChristmas by wearing myself out working extra shifts, but that's life. I had a verbal agreement with the head of the kitchens at a local college. I was to start working for him in January. I dreaded the idea of returning to kitchen work, but at least it would have been a job to bring in paycheques while I looked for something more to my liking. But that has fallen through. He didn't honour our agreement, and has hired someone else. And so I'm printing my resume and will go out today to apply for jobs. At least my resume looks better than before, now that I can list my Sears retail experience.

As for my secretarial job dream, I've decided to move away from that idea. What kind of a secretary would I be if I'm afraid to use the phone? It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I can't seem to lose my horror of answering that insistent ring. I've recently figured out the reason for this fear, but who knows if I'll ever get over it. Anyway, I've got another idea to check out. Just because I can't be a secretary, doesn't mean I can't do something similar. I have computer skills, and my English is university level (according to North Island college). There must be many other jobs for me in this field, maybe even something I could do from home. Anyway my two younger sisters are checking out some things for me, and once I have this information I'll talk to someone from the college who can counsel me further.

I'm feeling a little down, but not unbearably so. I have a bad cold. It's raining and my window continues to leak - I've moved my plants under the drips so they'll be automatically watered. Having lived in B.C. all my life, I know that this dismal weather will continue for months to come. The man living in the apartment below mine, wakes me up every morning to the sound of his tortured retching/coughing. Throughout the day he continues to roar out the phlem from his lungs until finally, mercifully, he goes to sleep. But ... yesterday as I practiced my yoga, the sun streamed through a parting in the clouds and filled my apartment with pale gold. I was reminded that spring will come, as it always does. And I remind myself that this summer I will find a better apartment that feels more homey, and by then I will have a nice job that I enjoy, and maybe I'll have my other job idea running smoothly, and maybe I'll have one or two of my papier mache ideas completed, and maybe....

We just never know what will be around the corner.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

I'm having a wonderful cosy day today, baking buns and wrapping gifts. I had Christmas carols playing all morning, now I have Christmas specials playing on t.v. (Mole's Christmas). It didn't take me long to regain the Christmas Spirit - all it took was a day off from work, and a really nice conversation with my great friend in our chatroom last night. The Christmas Spirit is such a tenuous thing. Like a spider's silken thread, it can be easily broken. Happily, as with most things magical, it can be regained in an instant, all it takes is the right state of mind, a scent, a word, a memory....

Below are some excerpts from my memoir - my happy memories from childhood Christmas.

In my memory I see a fire crackling in the fireplace, my sisters and I lounging in front of it. The record player plays carols while wonderful smells drift from the kitchen where mom is busily baking Christmas cookies. I recall my mother coming into the living room to hand out boxes of animal crackers; a surprise bought for my sisters and me while we were in school. Pouring them out onto the floor, I arranged them in groups, counting the lions and tigers and bears before eating them one by one.

Without a t.v., my sisters and I entertained ourselves, drawing and coloring and making crafts. In November, carol books were hauled out from the piano bench. My sisters and I played duets. Jingle bells had parts for four people. Three of my sisters and I crowded onto the bench and played it together. Mom and dad applauded enthusiastically as the last notes faded away. Dad would bring in a box of Japanese oranges wrapped in green paper, we twisted the corners into legs and folded the paper over the oranges to make turtles that rolled across the floor.

In the park across the street, the dark trunks of trees against pure white snow created a black and white scene. My sisters and I hurried through dinner, anxious to get outside with our sleds. Voices of other children drifted in to us as they rushed up the hills and slid down again and again. Older kids grabbed the bumper of a passing car, their laughter was loud and exuberant as they were carried away towards main street. As evening wore on and more kids arrived, we hurried to get dressed so that we could join them.

I remember as though it were yesterday, the overstuffed feeling as mom bundled us into snowsuits and mittens and hoods and scarves. Layer upon layer of leotards and slimjims, shirts and sweaters. When the last of us was suited up we waddled outside, laughing at the zip-zip sound of our snowsuited legs brushing against each other. Snow made the evening brighter than it would otherwise have been. My sisters and I grinned at each other, thrilled to be outside after dark.

The smallest hill at one side of the park belonged to the youngest kids, a path cutting through the park was the territory of medium kids while the road was where the oldest kids ruled. All the hills were visible from our front window, only yards from each other. To the uninformed eye we were all together, one big crowd of kids of all ages, but the invisible boundaries dividing us were very real.

My sisters and I used the kiddy hill. Excitedly crowding onto one sled, the last one pushed us off, jumping on at the last minute. We flew down, filling the wintry evening with joyful cries. The hill ended in a drop off to the road and we landed with a soggy bump to sit laughing in the slush. As the sky grew darker and kids drifted away, my sisters and I would have one last slide. Laying in the snow at the bottom of the hill, I closed my eyes slightly, letting snowflakes land on my eyelashes, feeling them melt on my face and slip down the back of my neck, voices of the last remaining sledders barely heard, hushed whisper of snow still falling, the sky heavy with it. Gathering our sleds, we crunched across the road to our house where mom pulled off our wet mittens and socks and scarves, draping them over the hot-water radiators to dry.

I loved the night world, especially when it snowed. I waited until the household was asleep, then slipped out of my warm bed. Creeping past my sleeping sister to the window, I sat on the hot-water radiator with my legs pressed between it and the wall, hypnotized by the sound of snoring behind me and the ghostly silence outside as snowflakes drifted down. I stared at the streetlight two houses down, illuminating the swiftly falling snowflakes in its glow. I lost myself in dreams until the heat of the radiator made itself felt through the thin material of my nightgown and I reluctantly returned to bed.

We opened our presents on Christmas Eve, missing out on the traditional wait for Santa. "Santa Clause is an old goat!" dad used to say. We were told he didn't exist, but one year I learned that Santa Clause arrived by helicopter at Oakridge Mall every year to plug in the Christmas lights. I heard that crowds of children flocked to the mall to see him. 'He must be real!' I told myself, but he must be for these other kids. Not 'different' kids like my sisters and me.

One year, as my parents moved slowly through the toy section at Oakridge, I wandered away. On reaching the end of the aisle I stepped out from behind shelves full of toys and games ... my eyes landed on a beautiful Christmas house. Twinkling lights framed multi-paned windows, music wafted out, enticing me closer. As in a trance I drew near. Standing on tiptoes to peer through the window, I looked into a dream.

I saw toys on the floor, toys on the walls, toys spinning slowly on threads from the ceiling. There was a fireplace hung with stockings and a huge tree with stuffed animals of all kinds tucked into its branches and parcels underneath. In the middle of all this sat a fat man on an enormous throne. I stared at a small boy walking confidently toward the throne, the fat man reached for the child and lifted him to his lap. Every movement seemed to be in slow motion, I was reminded of 3D reels in my view-master, or looking through glass at an underwater scene. I raced to my parents, shouting "Santa Clause Is Real! I Saw Him! I Saw Him!" As we left the toy section, passing the fantastic house, I spied a long line of parents and children waiting to enter. More of those special kids, I realized.

Outside we saw another crowd of children in front of a small stable with animals inside. There were four, their names painted overhead. My eye rested on the last name ... Rudolph. I knew this name well. Rudolph was a scapegoat like me.

As my parents cried their exasperation, I hurried to the stable gate. Ignoring a sign warning in large letters 'DO NOT ENTER', I swung the gate open and rushed inside the stable. A loud cheer rang out from the crowd, interspersed with cries of the security guard ordering me to come out. I paid no attention. Squeezing past the warm bodies of the other reindeer, I headed without hesitation for Rudolph and threw my arms around his neck. "Don't be sad!" I whispered in his furry ear "You're just like me and I love you!"

Then I felt my hand being tugged and I was dragged through the stable by my older sister. "Mommy and daddy are really mad at you!" she scolded.

"Look!" I urged her "Look where we are! Look at Santa's reindeer!" My sister's eyes brightened for a moment. She glanced around at the animals, shuffled her feet through hay that covered the floor, made a vague sound as though in wonder at finding herself in this magical place. Then she remembered her mission. Her grip tightened on my arm and she pulled me out through the gate.

Dad always picked out the Christmas tree. Arriving home with it, he would carry it into the basement and trim off the lower branches. I would join him down there. Crouching on the cold floor in my stocking feet, I quietly watched him as he worked. Together we carried the tree upstairs. After arranging it in the corner of the living room, dad and mom draped strings of lights across the branches, then dad left us to finish decorating.

"Remember this one?" we reminisced as we reached into the boxes "Remember this one?" Mom was always last to leave the tree. Reaching in here and there to free a tinsel strand, she would step back to look with a critical eye at her masterpiece and then, spying a flaw, quickly correct it to her satisfaction.

After the tree was complete, my sisters and I watched as mom unrolled a long strip of cotton along the mantle-piece and arranged a little church and houses on it, fitting tiny lights into holes in their backs. Wax carolers were placed beside the church. A plastic Santa in his sleigh pulled by reindeer set across the rooftops, as far as possible from the church so there would be no conflict with the worldly and the religious symbols of the season. Mom taped tiny lights around the mirror above the mantelpiece and sprayed 'MERRY CHRISTMAS!' with sno-spray.

December twenty-fourth was always an endless wait for nightfall. Finally it was evening. Our Christmas lights were turned on and we saw others doing the same up and down the block. The neighbors always had a beautiful display of blue lights. My sisters and I would sneak behind the drapes to look at them. "It's Christmas Eve!" we whispered breathlessly "Aren't you excited?"
After dinner we raced upstairs to change into our Christmas dresses, usually homemade by mom. One by one we came down to show our new outfits. Mom would reach to pluck a stray thread here, a forgotten pin there.

The church service on Christmas Eve was nothing like the services we endured the rest of the year. Many of the women and all of the girls wore new dresses, all of us wore festive corsages pinned to our collars. The four advent candles would be lit, the organist and pianist played Christmas duets, plays and skits were performed by the children with explosions of laughter from the parents, the children's choir sang. After the service there were bags of candy and oranges for every child.

Back at home after the service, we raced into the living room to wait with eager anticipation for mom and dad to hang their coats and put on their slippers. We had a small family service before the presents were unwrapped. When we were small, my sisters and I performed the traditional play of Christmas. As we grew older we sang carols together, my oldest sister and I taking turns on the piano. Afterward, dad read the Christmas story from the Bible.

We opened our gifts one at a time, everyone watching politely as paper and ribbons were torn away and the gift held up to be admired. We had farm sets and dolls, campers and swimming pools for our Barbie-dolls, coloring books and games. One year I was given a set of hot-wheels. My dad and I spent the morning of Christmas Day putting it together while mom begged dad to let me get ready for church. I remember the glow that swelled in me that day. For those few moments at least, I was my father's daughter and he was my dad.

After each gift was opened, we rushed to kiss the giver of the gift, tripping over paper littering the floor. The atmosphere was full of joy, the house ringing with laughter and thank-you's and cries of "Oh it's just what I wanted!" After the last gift had been opened, we returned our new toys under the tree and filed upstairs to bed. Snuggling under warm blankets with our Christmas stockings draped over the bedposts, we looked forward to more gifts in the morning.

Early Christmas morning, mom and dad tiptoed in, laden with gifts that were stuffed into our stockings. Pretending to be asleep, we kept our eyes tightly shut until they retreated downstairs, then we fell on our new treasures with squeals of delight. At the foot of the bed beside the bulging stocking would be one of our dolls in a new outfit sewn by mom. Weeks before, our dolls had disappeared one by one. On Christmas Day they reappeared in new dresses and bloomers and tiny booties. Sometimes our favorite dolls stayed where they were in the playroom, and we wondered why mom was not taking them way. Maybe there would be no new outfit this year. We woke on Christmas morning, happily surprised by the sight of one of our older, forgotten dolls, magically transformed and given a second chance to be the favorite. Inside our stockings were an endless array of Barbie shoes and several sets of Barbie clothes, many made by mom. There were tiny rubber babies and multicolored panties, striped toe socks and imitation jewelry, woolen tam hats with matching mittens....

Christmas vs Xmas

With all the long shifts I've been working these days, I'm having a little trouble keeping up the Spirit of Christmas. I understand many people are in the same boat, I see them on the other side of my till. People are frustrated, tired, overworked, overextended. No time to get all the presents bought, no time to relax with their feet up, a fire blazing in the fireplace, a good book and a spiked eggnog while carols play.

Today, as I neared the end of my eight hour shift, I listened to myself say the words I'd repeated again and again throughout the day. "Have a wonderful Christmas!" or some variation on that theme. I had a lineup of exhausted people in a rush to get their business done and escape the store. Behind me were my three co workers at their own tills, with their own lineups. I could hear their voices reeling off their own spiels, and the babble of customers demanding explanations, questioning prices, etc. I was on a roll - performing the transaction, bagging the purchases, and handing them to the customer with a smile and a cheery "Have a great day, Merry Christmas!" Over and over "Have a great day Merry Christmas!" And the next one and the next one. I thought to myself, "This doesn't feel right." I felt I was saying these words automatically, as though they were just an extension of my other lines "Will that be on your Sears card?" "Would you like a gift recipt?" "Here's a free $10 gift card since you spent over $100!" Sure, I looked the customers in the eye and smiled a real smile as I said it, but for me, the line was just a line. Something I will say again and again over the next few days until The Day has passed and it's time to go back to just saying "Have a good night" or something to that effect.

I felt a little sad as I realised this. It dawned on me that I'd lost the Christmas Spirit. I heard the canned carols playing over the loudspeakers, as they had been all day, I looked into the faces of the harried shoppers dragging crying children around the store, loaded with packages and purses and coats. I wondered what they saw when they looked at me. Did they view me any differently than I viewed them? Standing there behind my till, stuffing money into the drawer, loading customers' bags with sweaters and jeans and underwear bought for others who would likely be returning or exchanging them on Boxing Day ... do I represent the modern meaning of Christmas?

Later I walked across the store to return an armload of blouses to the ladieswear department, that a customer had left on my menswear counter. There was a man there, seated at the wide doorways where Sears opens into the rest of the mall. He was playing old fashioned Christmas carols on guitar, his fingers moving gracefully over the strings, a beautiful smile on his face. He's been there every day for the past two weeks. I've heard him occasionally, during those short periods when I've been cleaning up the far end of the menswear section, which is near the mall entrance. I can't hear him as I stand at my till - that is the world of lame, tacky modern "Xmas" tunes coming through the loudspeaker. I lingered as long as possible, listening to him play "Silent Night", then moved reluctantly back through the store to my own section. Gradually his beautiful music grew fainter as the tin music from the speakers grew louder and eventually overtook his last fading notes.

As a child, I loved walking home from school through the fading light of late afternoon. Approaching my own home, I would stop to admire the spiral of smoke issuing from our chimney. I stepped through the front door to hear carols playing on the record player, and the crackle of fire in the fireplace. My heart filled with joy as I breathed the combined smells of cookies baked by my mother, woodsmoke, and evergreen from the decorated tree filling one corner of the livingroom. This was Christmas. This is what I remember more fondly than the presents, the toys, the candies.

One year when I was about seven, I experienced a powerful urge to look up at the sky as our family walked from the house to the car, on our way to the Christmas Eve service. A feeling of overwhelming awe came over me, and I felt truly that this was Christmas. I didn't understand it really - how did the winter night sky represent Christmas? Yet it did, and it has ever since. Something about the vastness, the eternal black with it's sweep of stars, or the muffled grey when the sky is clouded with impending snow ... something about the cold that drives deep into my soul, sending a shiver of such absolute joyous Christmas Spirit through me, I'm overcome with emotion.

The universe is older than old, it has been here since time began. On Christmas Eve, the ancient night sky spreads its canopy over the land peopled with tacky plastic santa's and puts us to shame. All the lame decorations cannot possibly compete. There is nothing resembling the true Spirit of the Season in humanity's annual mad rush to "do Christmas". Look up at the sky on Christmas Eve, and you might see the truth depicted there. All it takes is a few moments of calm. Look up at the sky this Christmas Eve, and think about the centuries that this old earth has rolled along through space. Think about the world as it used to be, before lights and cars and plastic and unnatural noise. For just a moment, release yourself from the chains of modern Xmas, and allow your spirit to fill with the joy of the Season - Christmas.

A Better Day

I'm feeling more optimistic tonight. No reason really, just a new day.

I'm getting a few too many shifts at work, so I guess I'm feeling a little overworked! Ah well, there are worse problems. I have a day off tomorrow, so I'm having a few drinks (ha! maybe that explains my sudden change of mood....).

Today at work, I noticed again how effortlessly I'm flying through the transactions. For most of them, I hardly have to think about it any more, it's mostly second nature now. If a customer remembers belatedly that she forgot to use her 'golden age certificate for one dollar off', and I've already rung up the till, I know what to do to fix it. If a customer hands me a ticket for their dress pants that were hemmed in our tailor shop, I know how to find them on the rack in the little back room where the tailor is slaving over her sewing machine. Today I even helped a little boy who had lost his parents. I've noticed that I learn best after I make a mistake. Things don't necessarily sink in until some key thing is said to make it stick. Something that will help me remember. I'm like that in everything. For my photography, for example, I don't remember some new thing until I might have gone for months on end doing it wrong. Then suddenly my great friend will say something that helps it stick. He has no idea that he's just said the key thing, and usually I don't know either - it's just some comment that he might blurt out, and that rings in my brain forevermore, helping me to remember. Today one of my co workers said the key thing that will help me remember to stamp the alteration tags after they've been paid. "If you don't stamp them, the customer might be arrested at the door!" she said very impatiently (since I'd forgotten three times). That comment has stuck. From now on I will remember to stamp the tag!

One thing I still struggle with, is answering the phone. I HATE using the phone! In menswear, which is my department, the phone rings constantly. Actually we have four phones. Sometimes several of them ring at once. Usually it's a salesclerk calling from a Sears in a neighbouring city, asking if we have an item in a certain size for an anxious customer. It's nothing scary, all I have to do is put the salesclerk on hold, then go out on the floor and look for the item. If I find it, I have to get back on the phone to tell the clerk, then ring up the sale and prepare the item for shipping. I probably might even find it kinda fun if I could just get over my first reaction to the phone ringing - which is the urge to run in the other direction. Wierd, I know. I can't seem to get over it.

Today a young woman came up to me and asked if I could tell her why she didn't receive a call after she applied for a job at Sears. Suddenly I felt so cool (ha). She asked if I thought it might be because she'd mentioned she had no retail experience - I told her no, I had none either. She asked if I had any advice, and I told her she might come back tomorrow before noon, when the office is open, and pester the hiring staff there. I told her the thing they look for is an upbeat attitude and a willingness to uphold the law of "the customer is always right". She was so grateful, she reminded me of myself when I was looking for work.

Today I found out another of the trainees in the menswear department isn't well liked by the others. It's her fault really. She often says "Oh I do Not want to be here!" at the beginning of her shift. She often calls in sick - I had to fill in for her once. And one of the other staff told me this girl treats her badly. This is a bit bad of me, but I was thrilled at all this news, because it means I have an even better chance at being rehired after Christmas - less competition! Woohoo!

I used to get irritated when I was a customer in a store, and had asked a clerk to show me where an item was, and the clerk walked briskly ahead of me, leading me to the place without once turning around to check if I was following. I thought this was rude. Now I understand. When I first started this job and a customer asked me to lead them to a certain area, I would walk with them, or ahead of them but always turning to look over my shoulder to see if they were following. Then I discovered that if I walk with them, the pace will be snail-like. I can't afford this - I have too many things to finish before the end of my shift. And if I walk ahead but keep looking over my shoulder, it feels silly (and probably looks it). So now I do what I used to hate in other clerks. I walk briskly ahead and don't even check to see if the customer is following. This is a bit mean perhaps, but I find it fun! (lol). Sometimes I reach the destination and turn finally to see the customer huffing and puffing with all their packages, an anxious look on their face as they try to catch up with me. It gives me a feeling of power, which, I suppose, is mean. Ah well....

Who Knows

So I'm thinking about my future again. I wonder when it will begin? When will my life begin? I feel as though I'm living the life of a refugee - someone who has escaped from a third world country and is grateful to have a precarious job and a roof over their head, but they don't have citizenship yet, so they're in a state of limbo. I feel like a survivor of a shipwreck who has found a piece of driftwood to cling to as they scan the horizon for sight of land. I'm tired of waiting for the day when I finally wash up on the beach. I know what I don't want in my life, not sure what it is I do want, and tired of waiting for what I know I want. Will I ever get what I want? I have no idea. Maybe I will grow old and decrepid, hoping and looking forward to something that never happens. What a waste that would be. I know I should make alternate plans, but I don't want to. I know I should look for other opportunities, but I have no interest.

During breaks at work, I sit outside to have a smoke with my coworkers. I spoke with a woman today, who told me she had just divorced her husband of some twenty years. Like me, she's excited about her new freedom to be herself. Unlike me, she's begun dating again. One year after her breakup, she's already broken up with one guy after a six month relationship, and has begun another one. I haven't even been on one date. I've been asked, but I turn them down. It almost doesn't occur to me to accept the offers. I'm in a wierd place where I can't seem to move forward. I don't want to date multiple guys ... I don't want to open myself to anyone around here ... I don't want to spend the rest of my life alone ... I don't know what's going to happen but I hope it doesn't continue on as it is.

I should add that I'm not depressed, just thinking too much.

The View Outside My Window

 

The Hallway Outside My Apartment Door

 

It's Beginning to Feel Like Christmas!

This coming friday night I'm going to be in a parade! One of my sisters runs a Christmas tree farm, and since this is her family's first year in selling trees, they decided it would be good advertising to be in the town Christmas parade. I'm going to join my sister and her six year old daughter and their beautiful dog (alaskan malamute/wolf) who will be pulling a little wagon loaded with trees. My sister has made me a poncho to match the ones she and her daughter will be wearing. I'm very excited, I've always wanted to be in a parade! Luckily, though I work that day, I'll be off in time to join them.

It's beginning to feel Christmasy. I hear it's supposed to snow tonight. At work, we have Christmas carols playing, and in the mall (Sears where I work, is in a mall), Santa is all set up to take pictures with kids. The trees around the mall parking lot are decorated with lights, and the streetlamps all along the roads are hung with wreaths. In my apartment I have my own carols playing - I prefer the old fashioned ones with Bing Crosby ... Gene Autry ... Burl Ives.... I'll wait until it's actually December before I put up my decorations. I don't have a lot, I prefer simplicity. I have some old fashioned things that I set around the place, and a few strings of small lights that I will tape around the windows.

It was around this time last year that I began this blog. Now here I am, celebrating the season in a different apartment, a different town, no longer living on the Island, and I'm close to my family. In fact, I just realised it was right around this time last year that I made the decision to send my family Christmas presents, which is what started the ball rolling for us to be reunited after years of estrangement. I regularly spend time with my mother, my sisters and their family's. My two youngest nieces and nephew run up to me when they see me, yell out "Tante Marian!" and throw their arms around my waist, yet I've only known them a couple of months. I've met nieces and nephews that I had never laid eyes on before, and I've become reaquainted with older nieces and nephews who were kids when I last saw them, and are now adults ... some are even married and about to start family's of their own. Last year I had no community around me, now I'm constantly being introduced to people who know my family, and had been hoping they would meet me one day. They rush up and hug me and welcome me home. Last year around this time, I was a lowly, but enthusiastic dishwasher/janitor. Now I have a fancy job at Sears. Last year I had no idea all of this would come to pass for me.

I'm learning my job very quickly. Most of the transactions are easy for me now. I rarely need to ask for help anymore, in fact, some of the other newbies who were trained after me, are asking me for help! I'm able to move easily from taking care of one customer who wants to buy items with their credit card, to the next who wants to make a payment on their Sears card, to the next who wants a price adjustment on the sweater they bought last week, to the next who wants to return an item and have the money credited to their account. I help little old couples find pants in an odd size (with pleats to accomodate the husband's expanded waistline), and I advise harried girlfriends on what shirt to choose for their new boyfriend's Christmas outfit. I put up with irritable customers who seem determined to find fault with me (some of them even leave smiling ... though there are always those who can't be persuaded to do even that). I just keep my head down while dealing with the cranky types. I concentrate on the job at hand, and just ignore the steady stream of insults (you wouldn't believe!!!) that they mutter during the entire transaction. Every once in a while, I think of a little joke in answer to their insult, and that lightens the mood.

Most of my customers are very nice. Some of them are obviously lonely, and just want a little personal attention. One elderly man came in, and handed me his Sears credit card that he had cut into four pieces. He had his latest bill, which was paid in full. He wanted me to go over everything in detail. As I made a show of scrutinising everything, he explained how he is moving into an old age home, and would no longer be in need of a credit card. He seemed a little sad. I got the sense he had no one to tell about this momentous change in his life, and so he had come to Sears with his cut up card. It wasn't necessary for him to hand it in, but I didn't tell him this. Instead I went over the bill and assured him it was all paid up. I made a phonecall to the switchboard to inform them that he would no longer be needing our services, and I wished him well. I've noticed that the most valued Sears employees do little things like this for customers. It makes people feel good, and to be honest, it makes me feel good too.

I hope I get asked back to Sears after Christmas. I've been hired as Christmas staff, with the possiblility of returning after the Season. On the last day of December I will be laid off, and then I have to wait (hope hope hope!!!) for a phonecall. If that call comes, I will have a secure job. This is the most wonderful job I've ever had, I really ... Really hope they ask me back.

Before I got this Sears job, I applied at a local college to work in the kitchen. I didn't hear from them until a couple of weeks ago when I got a call asking me to come in. Of course, I said no, since I have a much better job at Sears, but I told him I don't know if I'll be hired back after Christmas, and even if I am, I might have a couple of months before I'm asked to return, since the first months in the year are typically slow. We've decided that I will come in to work in the kitchen at the beginning of January, for two days a week. At least that means I won't have any months where I have no paycheque coming in. Although I have no intention of staying on in kitchen work (I've paid my dues!!!), still, it's nice to know I will have this safety net. Meanwhile, I'll hope for a call back from Sears, and if that doesn't pan out, I'll apply at other retail stores. At least now I have good experience in retail, and will be assured of a great reference.

Poetic Memories

I lived on Texada Island for eight years. I moved there with x, at the age of twenty - eight, to begin a new life away from the streets. This is where I truly began to find myself. Those eight years were spent in deep introspection as I wandered through the forest, or worked in my garden, or sat with my pet rabbits in their yard. This is where I first begin to write seriously, and to participate in public poetry readings. It was a time of wonderful inspiration for me - I wrote hundreds of poems and short stories, I wrote my first book (my memoir), and a novella.

This morning I've been reading through my poems, to put some of them into a little collection. A lot of memories are brought back to me through these words I strung together nearly a decade ago. This is one of them....

One crisp winter evening, I attended a poetry reading with another woman my age. Susan was a very different sort of person. When I met her, she was living alone in a tiny one-room shack in the forest. She'd been living there for the past seven years. She was quite shy, and going through her own struggle to understand who she was. We recognised in each other, a kindred spirit, and often took the small ferry together for the half hour crossing to Powell River where the poetry readings were held.

On this crisp winter evening, we returned from the reading around ten p.m., and walked off the ferry together to stand at the side of the road with our thumbs out, hoping to catch a ride home. We both wore long skirts and rubber boots. Each of us carried a folder with our poems inside that we had read that evening. As we stood there in the moonlight, a man and his young daughter called to us from the gate leading to the open pit limestone mine. He wanted to show us something. Neither of us knew him, but we went over. He told us he worked in the mine, and asked if we would like to take a tour. There was something 'magical' about the scene - something very innocent, as though it was happening in an earlier time. The man and his daughter were so sincere, we couldn't help but go with them. The four of us climbed into his truck, and he proceeded to take us around the edges of the open pit. His truck only just fit on the narrow road cut into the hill of earth, gradually spiralling upward until we reached the top. Here he parked. All of us stepped out of the truck to stand on the edge of the cliff and view the lights below with their reflections on the velvet sea.

Throughout the hour that we were together he described the place as he saw it, in such poetic language the scene was transformed in my eyes. For him, the mine was not an ugly scar upon the earth, but a work of art. For that brief moment in time, Susan and I were allowed to share in his vision. The following day I wrote a poem....

MOONSCAPE

Yesterday two women in long skirts,
boots like Catherine Hepburn,
clutching poetry they had read that evening,
slipped into another time and place
Young man with his daughter beckoned from that doorway
the women crossed the threshold and stepped into a dream
lighted by a melon moon

Like sailing through midnight sky
all that vast black
four bright souls pressed together
climbing ledges cut into ancient ground
Beyond the limerock cliffs
displays of light like rubies and emeralds
drifted on velvet, ebony sea

(and the child is so proud of her father!)

Turns taken to climb up into sky
the women lifted to first rung 'Watch your step!'
skirts billowing, sensation of years long faded
Here is a place where eventually the sea
will creep back in - a salty lagoon created
if only they would open the wall, that sea
would pour in today for us

Learning How To Learn

My great friend often sends me C.D.'s with fineart nude photographs that he's collected. I browse through these pictures and find inspiration for my own photography. I see poses that I'd like to try, and lighting situations and neat camera angles that I can incorporate into my own photo shooting. It's fun to view a slideshow of these pictures, and learn about art. These photographs get me excited all over again about photography. Learning is fun - but there was a time when I didn't find it fun at all. I had some sort of mental block that got in the way.

When I first began writing seriously, ten or eleven years ago, I wrote a few poems, and thought they were great. I typed them out (I didn't have a computer back then), put them in a folder and considered them complete. I submitted them to literary journals, and waited for glowing reviews. I got rejections instead. I've had hundreds of rejections since then, and a handful of acceptances. I've discovered that I have a lot to learn about writing. It took me a long time to understand this simple truth. For too long, I felt that any critique was a finger pointing at me and telling me I was a failure. I felt indignant when anyone suggested ways in which I could improve my poetry. I had to learn how to learn.

It's been the same in photography. I have a great teacher in this friend who sends me C.D.'s. I've had to learn how to accept honest critiques, but now that I've learned that lesson, I find a whole new world opened to me. No matter how hard I work at learning photography, I will always be in need of learning more. It reminds me of my math studying, when I kept failing the test. I insisted I was giving it 100%, but when I sat down and really thought it out, I understood that I was only giving it ... maybe 95%. Once I admitted this, I was able to push myself the further 5%, and I passed the test.

It takes a certain amount of humility to accept that we know nothing. We prefer to believe that we're doing an excellent job, that we're veterans of our craft, just because we've been working at it for a long time. We produce a few beautiful pieces, and think we can relax a little bit. This is a dangerous attitude, and one that I fight constantly. After two years as a photographer, I truthfully haven't moved very far from my beginnings. This isn't a statement made in insecurity, it's actually very freeing to admit this. I'm being honest.

It's not easy to keep a learning attitude in all things. At work, I've learned a lot in the three weeks that I've been employed. I'm been told by several people that I'm coming along nicely. I'm striving to keep in mind that this must not be used as an excuse to relax. I have a lot more to learn - if I let myself settle into the attitude that I'm doing 'well enough', and don't have to keep on my toes quite as much as at the beginning, I will fail. When my co workers take me aside and tell me I need to learn to do a certain thing just a little bit more smoothly, I must not take offence. If I want to do well at this job, I need to take this advise seriously.

Learning is hard work. A learning person is one who is able to say boldly, that they haven't reached the top yet. There are still more steps to take. I've sometimes compared my writing, or my photography to (in my opinion) lesser artists, and come away with a great feeling of accomplishment. There's nothing wrong in this I don't think. Nothing wrong in giving ourselves a little boost every once in a while - a little reward for all our efforts. The danger is when we use these examples of what we consider lesser talents, as an excuse to relax in our striving to perfect our craft.

My friend told me something tonight, that I plan to remember always. He said everytime he takes pictures, he learns something new. I'm sure he's told me this before, but it didn't strike me the way it did tonight. There have been days that I spent with my camera, filling my memory card with pictures that I was very pleased with. I had a smile on my face because the pictures turned out well, but I hadn't learned anything new. I had practiced what I already knew, which is great, but I'd consciously decided against learning. When the thought struck me, that I might read my manual to check the settings I needed to select in order to change the exposure, for example, I decided not to do it. I wanted to have a relaxing day just shooting, not pushing myself or stretching. I just wanted to drift along in the knowledge that I had already aquired, and be satisfied with that. There's nothing wrong in this, I suppose, if a person doesn't necessarily want to be the greatest they can be, but I don't want to fall into this rut again. I want to be my best. I want to be like my friend, and learn every day. I want to succeed more than I have up to this point.

Tomorrow I plan to spend hours posing for my camera. I know what I want to learn (lighting lighting lighting!). I plan to be better by the end of the day, than I was at the beginning. Even if the thing we learn is relatively small, it's still vital because it is a little growth spurt. It's another layer added to our knowledge, that wasn't there before. By this time tomorrow, I will be a smarter artist than I am now as I write this. That's my promise to myself.

Finally I'm Back!

Wow I'm so glad I finally found my way back into my blog! I had a major computer breakdown and lost everything that wasn't backed up. After a week of trying to fix it myself (I didn't manage to fix it, but I learned a lot about my computer!), and buying a beautiful new flatscreen monitor so I could actually see something, and finally bringing in my tower to be fixed for the grande total of $45.00 (!!!), I found myself with a nicely working computer, but no way to post on this blog! Somehow, in the erasing of my computer, something was removed that I needed, in order to be recognised as the author of 'My Thoughts'. I tried a few things, with no result. Then last night I needed to download Java for something else, and viola! I can post here! So I'm back! I've missed posting here.

For anyone who used to email me and hasn't heard from me in a while - I've lost all the email addresses in my address book. So if you would email me, I would have your addresses again.

A lot of things have happened since I last posted in this blog. I've settled into my little home, and explored the neighbourhood. I've found some beautiful spots within walking distance, and walked through the forested park that is right outside my apartment building. I've taken secret photographs of people at the mall, and joined my sister and her young daughter on Halloween. I went to a party with them, and my sister's husband for Halloween. I dressed as a very old woman. I wore an old skirt and sweater, a hairnet, and baggy nylons. I pulled the nylons out of my old sock monkey that I've had since I was three. Incredible to imagine that these nylons were stuffed in there all those years ago, by an elderly lady who recognised me as a lonely child in need of a friend, and made me this monkey. I carried a large purse, and even rented a walker from a second hand store (they returned my money when I returned the walker the following day). I've finally got all the loose ends from the move tied up - changing banks and setting up new accounts with utilities and haggling over bills left over from my apartment on the Island....

My apartment is a bit chilly, but I'm discovering new ways to heat it. The latest is turning on the stove as high as possible and opening the oven door. I leave it like this for ten minutes in the morning, and again after I come in from work, and in no time the apartment is toasty and I can turn off the stove! My window leaks every time it rains (the building needs a new roof), so I have to put out pots and pans, and there isn't any carpet so the floor is quite cold on my feet. But it's cosy. It's my little home. I've started a project of cutting strips of material that I will braid into an area rug for the kitchenette area. It's just one room (plus the bathroom), so I have to have my bed in the living area. I was unhappy with that look, but didn't want to trade in my bed for a fold out couch because the bed is a very cool antique metal twin bed with the softest springs in the world. Not to mention, I would then have to get rid of my papier mache couch, and I can't bring myself to do that either. I found a solution though - I've erected a bamboo frame around my bed and hung a nice piece of muslin cloth over it. It curtains off the bed and creates a sense of "old world". It's very cool to sleep behind this curtain. My building manager is very kind, after the scare he gave me during the days when I was trying to set up the rental of this suite. He's just a gruff person, but has a good heart after all. My neighbours are friendly - one of them is trying to date me, but I'm not interested, so I think he's becoming a bit disgruntled with me, but anyway....

Most exciting for me is, I've found a job! I'm working at Sears, in the menswear department. I've been there now for two weeks, and have already received my first paycheque. This is the best job I've ever had. No more ugly uniform, no more hairnet, no more stinky noodle/cheese encrusted mush in my hair and under my fingernails. Now when I go to work I can dress up. I can style my hair and know that it isn't going to be covered up under a stupid looking hat with an overlarge brim. I feel classy and smart. I feel as though I've achieved something in having this job, rather than the feeling that I got from my dishwashing job - which was a feeling of achievement, but carried with it a sense of drudgery and disappointment.

It's both thrilling, and daunting to work at Sears. There is much expected of us, my employers are very strict, but I'm up to the challenge. I want to do well. I must admit it is a little nervewracking when I have a lineup of customers at my till, and the three other salesclerks who work with me have lineups of their own ... exactly at times like this, I will get a customer who wants to return an item he or she bought last week that is now on sale, and so they want to return it and rebuy it at the sale price, and they want to use the certificate that allows them a further 10% off, and the item is for a boy who happens to wear men's sizes, so there isn't any tax, and ... once I get this all figured out and have rung up the till and am about to send them on their way, they tell me they want a gift recipt. I don't know how to go backwards in a transaction that has already been done, and get someone a gift recipt. But I smile and do my thing and try not to let on that I'm getting frazzled, and when one of my coworkers rushes past I snag her and ask how to get out of the mess I'm in. Bit by bit I'm learning my job.

I like the quiet times when I can just wander through the men's department and fold things. I pick up clothing that has been dropped on the floor, and hang it back up. I pull out sweaters that have been crumpled into the back of the shelf, and fold them nicely. I straighten and tidy as I move along, always keeping an eye on the till, to make sure there isn't a customer waiting with no one to serve them.

Several of my mother's friends have made a point of stopping by to see me. My mother has told them all where I work, and so they want to come and see. My cousin was in town and came specifically to the men's department at Sears, even though he didn't want to buy anything, just to say hi to me (we hadn't seen each other in years). Today my mother herself watched me secretly from behind a shelf of sweaters (lol). She came up when I had finished serving my customers, and told me how classy I looked, and how calm and collected and how all my customers were smiling and how much she liked the way I had pulled my hair back into a tight bun. It feels wonderful to hear all of this from my mother. I've longed for just this, all my life.

I've been hired as Christmas staff, meaning I will possibly lose the job on the final day of December. I'm told that they often keep on the Christmas staff, as long as we show that we're good workers, so I'm doing my best to make an excellent impression!

As for college, I'm not getting very far on that score. I'm already badly in debt from the move, and if I apply for a student loan (which I will have to do), my debt will more than double. Still, I'm willing to do it, because I want to take this business course that I spent all summer preparing for. Trouble is, I can't seem to get the information I need. I've decided it would be best if I were to take the course online, rather than actually go to the classes, because this way school wouldn't interfere with work. I've checked out websites and made phonecalls and finally been directed to the woman in charge of online business courses. I was given her email, and so I listed my questions to her, only to be told by her that I should just find out the answers for myself! So that's where I am now, trying to find out what I need to know. I'm trying to be patient in this - at least I have a job now, so maybe I can relax a little bit and let things move at their own pace. It's been suggested to me by several people, that maybe I shouldn't rush into the course so soon after my big move, and my new job, etc. I think this is good advice, though I'm not sure if I will follow it. Time will tell. My new life is coming together piece by piece, so it's all good.

It's so great to be posting here again!

Limbo

This morning I came across a video that was created by x and me, five years or so before we split up. I'd gotten a second hand video camera for my birthday, and spent a lot of time behind it, recording our everyday life. Luckily I nagged him to take some footage of me, or it would have been all him, with me nowhere in the picture. Kinda like the reality of our relationship I guess....

As I watched the video, I was struck by the way I used to hang onto every word that came out of his mouth. Every joke he made, as I filmed him doing this and that, was rewarded with an obedient laugh from me behind the camera. I worshipped the ground he walked on (enough to make a person gag really). I was reminded that this was the time in my life when I was beginning to question our relationship. Not very seriously yet, but the seed was there.

At that time, I wasn't connected to the internet, I had no contact with my family, I had no friends, I didn't have a job. My entire life experience revolved around x. The idea of losing him was frightening to me. No matter that our relationship was often violent and very restricting, he was all that I had, and so I clung to him. Yet I was beginning to fantasise about losing him. I imagined what life would be like if he died suddenly. The thought was terrifying ... yet ... there was a certain amount of longing within me, for this to come to pass. And I felt guilty about that. I pushed the feeling far down, and refused to acknowledge it for years.

I felt disappointed with my life - was this all there was? Was this my future? Year after year of worshipping a man who spent his life basking in my worship, and never returning any of it? A lifetime of cancelling my own life, in favour of being the shadow in his life - was this what I had to look forward to? I had good days, don't get me wrong. There were days, even weeks, when I felt quite happy with my lot. There were days spent on my own projects, creating my art, cleaning the house (I've always enjoyed cleaning my own house), gardening ... yet even on these days, there was that lingering shadow. A whispering voice reminding me that there could be so much more - things I would like to accomplish in life, that I wasn't allowed to, because he didn't wish for me to move in my own direction.

All of that is past now, I've left that existence far behind. Now I find myself in a kind of limbo, where I'm not quite living my life yet, but I'm moving toward it. I'm a little impatient at times, and occasionally feel the pressure of 'not enough time'. I'm in the middle of my life, I suppose. Fairly late to be starting over, but I understand that millions of others have done what I'm doing. People who get divorced, or suffer the death of their spouse, and find they have to start their life again from scratch. The wonderful thing is that there is no longer anyone standing in my way. I'm free to explore my goals and decide for myself what I want to do with my future.

When I lived on the Island, I finished my math upgrading. Now I've moved here to the mainland, and am finding that the college is a little different than the one over on the Island. It's possible I might have to take another math course in order to be eligable for their business course. I'm struggling to understand the college language (it all sounds like Greek to me!). I've spoken with someone there, as to what I need to get started in this course, and came away from there more confused than I was when I went in. I've spent days mulling over what I was told, and studying their website. I *think* I've discovered a business course that would allow me to register without having to take extra math upgrading, and would be completed in less time ... but would that course be enough for me to apply for secretarial jobs? Is it just a shortcut? I don't know. I want to get going on my life, I want to get out of this limbo.

I've been applying for jobs, with no results so far. My government cheque is only just enough to pay my bills each month, but my family is being great - taking me out for lunch and buying me little inexpensive things that I need. Because of them, I'm not suffering in the least, but I don't like to have to rely on them. My apartment is cosy, I've set it up into a little home ... but I feel impatient for the day when I can afford something just a little bit larger. Something with two rooms, rather than just the one. A place with a balcony where I can step out into the fresh air. As I said, I'm in limbo.

Still, I would rather live in limbo, than live as someone's shadow the way I did with x for 24 years. Now I have goals, and I'm free to work toward them. Now my life is my own - the responsibility is mine. If I stop striving for my future, then this will be my future. If I give up in frustration - stop looking for work, give up on college, stop dreaming, then I will remain here, as I am. I will have achieved nothing. I will be living the existence I had when I was with x, thinking "is this all there is?"

Life is a constant learning process, we never grow too old to evolve. Where will I be at this time next year? Possibly I will still be in this limbo, but I will be near the end of it ... it all depends on what I do today. And I'm happy to say, I'm up to the task.

Stained glass in the monestary church. Photography by Marian ~ author of this blog 

The monestary just before dawn. Photography by Marian ~ author of this blog 

Get Thee To The Nunnery!

My sister invited me to join her and her friend for the past weekend at a monestary for a women's retreat. It's not very far from where I live. It was built in the 30's, and overlooks a neighbouring town. I had a wonderful time! I took over 200 photographs, ate wholesome food, wandered the monestary grounds, sang with the other ladies in our group. My sister, her friend and I slept in the nunnery, which is a small, seperate building down the path from the monestary. We each had our own private room, though we shared a bathroom. The monks were mostly friendly - they're Benedictine monks, meaning their motto is hospitality. Much of the time, they go around in their floor length, black robes, with the attached hoods. They didn't speak much, and some didn't say anything at all (they go through periods of silence), but one of them carried my bag, and even joked that we 'shared a common problem', indicating my long skirt that I had to lift in order to climb the stairs, just as he had to lift his long robes. A very friendly monk served us our meals, and prayed over the food. During one meal he went from table to table with a large wicker basket filled with garlic bread. I wonder if they realise how picturesque they are, just as they go about their day!

We weren't allowed to view certain areas of the monestary and grounds, such as the barns, which made me terribly curious, but we were able to see a lot of the place. The monestary is high up on a hill. The surrounding acres are owned by the monestary, and kept in woodland, meadowland, gardens, fruit trees, there is even a small lake. It's all gently rolling hills. There are hedgerows, and rustic wood and wire fences with simple wooden gates to seperate sections of meadow. White cows wander peacefully, and wild deer come out at dusk. There is a small graveyard where monks are buried - they remain at the monestary for life, and are buried there when they pass away. It all reminded me of an English countryside scene, except that the view beyond the monestary acreage is of distant mountains capped with snow. The monks are totally self sufficient, growing everything they need, and cooking/baking delicious meals for themselves, the boys who school there, and the guests, such as our group, who are staying there. They have a beautiful church, with marvelous stained glass windows of a type I've never seen before. Instead of the window frame being filled with glass divided by lead, the frame seems to be filled in with plaster, holes of various sizes and shapes cut into the plaster, and the glass set into the openings. At least, this is how it looked to me, as I gazed up from the floor far below. As the sun streams in through these windows, it becomes apparent that some of them are made up of blue tinted glass, others are red, while others are golden. The ceiling is also stained glass, allowing the sun to stream in from above. The monks ring bells to call people to church, it was breathtaking to hear them.

The first morning my sister and I got up before dawn, and went exploring. It was eerie to see the monks moving along the path as they went into church, their dark robes with their hoods pulled up over their heads, blended them with the surrounding dark. They would gradually appear, and seemed to float silently by. Unfortunately, it rained a lot over the weekend, and even thundered, but there were beautiful breaks in the weather that came all unexpectedly. Suddenly an opening in the clouds would appear and the sun streamed down on us, it seemed appropriate to our surroundings. I got some beautiful shots of cloud formations with their edges rimmed in gold from the sun behind them.

The nunnery where my sister, her friend, and I slept, was once used for a group of German nuns who were invited to live there to cook for the monks. They returned to Germany some years later. After this, some of the monks were sent to cookery school where they learned to create wonderful meals. All the vegetables and fruit are from the monestary gardens and orchards, the meat is from their own animals that have enjoyed peaceful, healthy lives. The nunnery has been kept in the simple, old fashioned style of the past, with minimalistic furnishings and beautiful white bed linens. There is a small chapel in the nunnery, with wooden kneeling benches arranged in two short rows. The soft light of dawn and dusk through the gauzy white curtain gave the room a dreamlike quality. I took photographs of that room at several times of day, to capture this mood. There are also two stained glass windows with golden panes. When the sun shone through these, the room was washed in gold.

My sister and I had some nice talks, eating chocolates in my room in the evening. We plan to return to the monestary (people can go there anytime for day trips, though overnight stays have to be booked in advance). I have many more photographs to take - my goal is to get some photos of the monks as they walk in single file up the path. I failed to get any of them this weekend - a person has to get their timing just right! I expect I'll be taking several hundred more pictures at this place before I'm done!

Changing Times

I've been attending church each Sunday with my younger sister and her daughter. I've never been a church going person, but since I stopped going at the age of about fifteen, I have missed the singing. In the twenty-seven years since I last went to church, much has changed. Most churches are very modern now. Gone are the long tinted windows, and the formal atmosphere. There is very little hymn singing - it's mainly fast paced songs that are sung now, accompanied by guitars and electric piano. The congregation claps in time, and members of the band dance as they lead us in song. People in the congregation move to the music, and often lift their hands to the sky as emotion takes hold of them. There are large screens in front, showing the words for us to read as we sing, rather than hold hymnals as we used to do when I was younger.

I have mixed feelings about all of this change. During my childhood, the church was very formal and stuffy. No one moved to the music, or clapped. The songs were sung quite slowly, accompanied by piano and/or organ. Now it's very free and joyful. There's a real sense of celebration, people are not critisized for letting their emotion show in their body language. I remember that I used to resent the disapproval toward any outward show of feeling, but now I miss the formality. I miss the harmonizing - in these modern churches we all sing soprano together. In the old days, there was soprano, alto, tenor, baritone, and bass - all the voices blended together so beautifully it was quite breathtaking. When the congregation lifted our voices in song, the sound of it swelled to the rafters, the memory of that brings shivers up my spine. I feel a sense of loss at the idea that this sort of old fashioned worship is dwindling, and will one day be a thing of the past. Sometimes, in the modern church I attend with my sister and her daughter, we sing an old fashioned hymn. Though there is always an air of modernity, with a faster tempo, and accompanying guitar, still, it's an echo from the past. It's often not apparent right away, that we're singing an old hymn. Then we catch on as we recognise the words, and our voices take on an air of confidance and nostalgia. All over the church, people alter their singing from soprano to alto, or bass, or one of the others, and soon we're blending together, just like the old days. It feels like a kind of reunion. Or like we've all come home to taste our mother's cooking, and smell the kitchen smells that we'd nearly forgotten.

Still, I find enjoyment in the modern style of singing. I feel happy as I sing, and clap or tap my hands on the bench in front of me. It feels liberating to be able to move in time to the music if I wish to, and let my joy come out, rather than keep it all tightly within. When I enter the church I feel a sense of excitement, quite different from the quiet reverence I felt when I entered the church of my youth. Here again, I find my feelings to be mixed. On the one hand, I feel strongly that worship should be fun. It should not be stilted and confining. People should be excited about the hour or two that they are about to spend on a Sunday morning in church. On the other hand, there is something to be said for being still and quiet. When one sits in an old fashioned church, with its long arched windows, and the organist playing softly as people slip into the pews, there is a feeling of awe, and humbleness. One gets a sense that they are partaking in something ancient and traditional.

Tonight I joined my mother for dinner at her condo, then we walked across the street to an old fashioned Mennonite church where the congregation is mostly elderly. My mother had invited me to hear a quartet. I thought it was quite sweet of her. I was excited to go, because I knew it would be traditional, as I remembered church from my youth. The church is white, with long arched windows. As we entered, we were greeted in near whispers by elderly women and men. We were ushered into a pew, and sat quietly waiting for the service to begin. I looked around at the others, and felt a tug on my emotions as I realised I was in the midst of something that is dying. The congregation was made up of people in their seventies and eighties. Hard of hearing men and women who prefer the old ways, and are not changing with the times. We stood up to sing from our hymnals. My mom sang alto, while I sang soprano. I heard all around me, voices picking up their chosen tone and blending with the others.

It was impressed upon me that we are losing our language. Soon, all these older people will be gone, and with them, the link to yesterday when we worshipped in harmony. Soon there will be no one to argue for the way we used to be, no one to carry it on. Already, children are growing up without ever having known what it is like to harmonise in church, or to hold a hymnal, or to sit very still and quiet as the joy they feel swells inside them, but is not let out too obviously.

I believe some of the changes are vital, and were too long in coming. Today, for example, I took part in communion - something I was never allowed to do before in my life, because I haven't been baptised. In the old days, the unbaptised members of the congregation had to leave the church as the wafers and grape juice (no wine allowed), were handed out to the others. And baptism was a judgemental affair, where applicants were expected to speak before a group of elders, to be judged whether or not they were ready to take this step, or if they should be refused. Now, people are allowed to make their own decision as to whether they are ready to be baptised - no more "kangaroo court" as it used to be. I'm relieved to see these changes. I feel it is important to move away from some of the old traditions that were, in my opinion, rooted in attitudes where certain people were naturally excluded. It was things like this that brought about resentment in me, towards the church. I'm gratified to see that they have been set aside in favour of more accepting attitudes. Yet I think we're throwing too much away. If only we could compromise a little bit more, rather than leave everything behind in favour of the newer ways. One day, all of the old way will be gone, never to be experienced again. I find this to be a tragedy.

Nearly Settled In

I'm nearly settled in here! It's been a hectic week, and I'm still not done getting everything rolling smoothly, but it's coming along. Most things have been ticked off my list of 'things to do'. My apartment is still quite a mess, with a few unpacked boxes, displaced plants, and other odds and ends that haven't found a place yet, sitting in the middle of the floor. I have flattened cardboard boxes leaning against the walls, waiting to be taken out the back. I have lawn furniture and wire baskets and all the stuff, including outdoor plants (geraniums, fuschias, coleus...) that was on my balcony over on the Island. I have no balcony here, so all of those things are sitting here, waiting to be taken to their new home with my sister. I have very little space here, so I'm trying to decide what should be thrown away, what should go into my little storage locker (I scored the last one!), what should be given to my family, and what should go to the second hand store. All the stuff that isn't going to stay here with me, goes into my little hallway. I have to climb over all of it to get to my bathroom, and the bathroom itself is crowded with stuff. Boy, a person doesn't know how much stuff they have until they try to live in one room! haha!

It's going to look nice and cosy here though, once I have it all arranged. I'm creating little seperate areas, by placing my furniture at angles from the wall. I have a wonderful view of trees. My building is right in the city, but it's at the bottom of a short road with a treed ravine on either side. I'm on the fifth floor, so when I stand back a bit from the window and look out, it's as though I'm living in a treehouse! There is no balcony, but there's a railing that sticks out from the building wall about six/eight inches. I can open the long sliding glass door and lean against that railing. I've created a little window seat with one of my window boxes and a blanket for padding. I like to sit there and watch the squirrels down below - they're all over the place! I accidentally burned some raisin toast yesterday, so I've saved it for them. My building manager is much nicer in person, than he was on the phone. He's a gruff sort of guy who won't take any nonsense, but now that I've met him he seems to really like me. He seems to be sortof amused with me. I'm no longer worried about him.

This building used to be an old age home! The walls are all made from cement blocks (in the suites, the cement is covered with some sort of sheeting, so it looks nice). If I want to hang anything from the walls I'll have to drill (I'll make sure it's okay with the building manager before I make any holes, lol). There are still a lot of very old people living here, I've already met a handful of them. They seem quite thrilled that I'm living here! There are a few other younger people, but they're all surly to the old folks. I guess the old ladies and men are happy to see a younger person who is friendly - they beam at me everytime our paths cross. The neighbourhood is a bit scary, so I'll avoid being out after dark. One of the houses up the road is probably a crack house, I see junkies sneaking in and out. There's a park at the top of my road, where a lot of junkies hang out. They ask me for money. I don't give them any, because I remember my own attitude when I was out on the streets - once a person gives money, they're considered an easy mark, and never let alone. Sad, but true. All I can offer them is my smile, and lack of judgement. From my own memories, things like that go a long way too.

My moving day was very long! I took a big travelling bus to the ferry terminal on the Island, and it took me right onto the ferry. I sat upstairs on the ferry, with the other passengers. I grabbed a seat right away, because they tend to go fast. I was able to sleep a bit as we crossed the sea to the mainland, and woke up when the announcement came for passengers to go back to their vehicles. Once on the mainland, the bus took me to the terminal in the city of Vancouver. I had a huge, heavy suitcase, plus a big box with my computer tower, monitor, mouse, keyboard, webcam, microphone, etc etc etc., all packed inside, and I had two smaller boxes. The bus driver unloaded all my stuff onto the ground, and I was left to figure out a way to get it all to the other end of the long corridor to my next bus. Luckily I'd bought my ticket beforehand, at the bus terminal on the Island, so I didn't have to leave my things unattended. There were no carts though, so I piled the boxes all up, heaved my suitcase a few yards forward, came back, leaned down to grip the boxes and dragged them forward, walking backward and looking back over my shoulder so I wouldn't crash into anyone. When I got the boxes to my suitcase, I would carry the suitcase another few yards, then go back and drag the boxes to the suitcase again ... moving gradually closer to my goal. It was exhausting! No one helped me, they all just watched! Finally when I was nearly there, a Chinese man noticed, and ran up to help.

I left my stuff beside the bus, and went to stand in line with the other passengers - the bus was leaving in five minutes. Suddenly one of the bus workers came storming up, very angry. He'd seen my computer monitor in the box (the top of the box had a little opening). He barked at me for trying to put a monitor on the bus. I would have to ship it, he said. Then he rushed away. I didn't know what to do! There was no time to arrange for shipping, and I couldn't afford it anyway, I didn't know what to do! I went up to a woman bus worker, and started to explain my problem. The original man came up and whispered in her ear "anything this woman just told you - you didn't hear a word of it!" I thought he was a wierdo who was trying to harrass me! Then he smiled at me, and explained that he was going to give me a break. He'd simply been instructing the woman that she was to pretend she didn't know there was a computer monitor in my box. He told me the reason there's a ban on monitors being carried in the hold of busses, is because, being near the gas tank, they could explode! Anyway, everything was straightened out, and I climbed gratefully onto the bus and settled in for the final leg of my journey. My mom, sister and niece were at the terminal here to pick me up.

I've been enjoying myself here. My family had a little birthday party for me the evening I arrived. On the weekend, I helped my mom and sisters at a big Mennonite sale that is held every year. We had tables all arranged with second hand, and homemade things from the M.C.C. store where my mom works. We wore aprons to keep our change, and sold tons of stuff! There were many other people with tables offering things for sale, and a big food fair with traditional Mennonite food. All the proceeds from this big sale go to missions things around the world. There was music being played under a tent outside, it was all very nostalgic for me, and brought me right back to my childhood. A lot of my relatives were there, along with other familiar faces from my childhood - former sunday school teachers, and members of the church I went to with my family when I was young. It was all a big reunion! My family is being great! They come here to visit me at my apartment, and invite me to lunch at their homes. I feel very warmly accepted here. I had wondered if I would feel overwhelmed, because it's all so different from the life I've been leading. It's all familiar from my childhood, but I was never comfortable among all the Mennonites before. I never felt part of it. Now I understand that I can take what I want from it, and leave the rest - I don't have to subscribe to the entire thing in order to fit in. I can be myself, and as long as I respect others, they will respect me in return. It's going to work out very well!

My sister had offered to let me stay with her at her family home, during the time I had no furniture here, but I was too excited about my suite, and wanted to stay here. My belongings arrived nearly a week after I'd moved in. Until then, I slept on bedding on the floor of my apartment, and had my computer arranged on the boxes it had come in, against the wall. I sat on a pillow to type. There was a little problem getting my internet going again, so I had to wait a bit longer than planned. Finally it was fixed on monday - the same day the moving van arrived with my belongings. Now my home is crowded with stuff, and I'm spending all my time getting it in place. The piano arrived without incident, at my sister's house. I'm looking forward to going over there to play it again, I haven't played it for a full year, because I'd had to leave it behind at x's place, when I moved out of that house. I'm getting to know my neighbourhood as I blunder around, looking for addresses of places where I need to set things up (banking, etc). This is the way I've always gotten to know a new neighbourhood - by looking for an address, getting a bit lost, making a new discovery when I end up on the wrong street, figuring out the shortest route back to the right track, etc.

Well, I'd better get back to unpacking! I hope to have it all nice here by the end of the week.

Last Post From The Island

Well finally my apartment looks like its occupant is moving out! My bedroom has been gradually crowding up with packed and taped boxes all month, but my livingroom still looked lived in. All the stuff I wasn't able to pack until the last minute has been put away now. I had a marathon packing day today. All my plants are in topless boxes (hopefully they won't die during the week they're sitting in the dark moving van, waiting to be returned to me). All my records have been pulled from the rack and boxed up. All my dishes and pots and pans are stuffed into any available nook or cranny. My balcony has been taken care of - all the plants taken from the hanging baskets and potted up and stuffed into boxes. Soil taken out of my window boxes. Everything pushed up against the wall in case it rains, and the porch floor swept clean. There's nothing left to pack up except my computer. Tomorrow I unplug the modem and take it back to my isp. When I return, I'll untangle all the wires and hopefully be able to fit the tower, monitor, keyboard, webcam, speakers, mouse, microphone, blah blah blah, into the two boxes I have saved. Then I'll dismantle the shelf they were sitting on, and that will be that! I'll be left with no contact with the outside world until the 16th, when I'm reconnected to all my friends!

Just when I thought I was finished packing, I looked in my fridge. I forgot to save a box for the few things I have left in there. Boy, it just never ends!

Today I went to the college to pick up a transcript of my math course that I just finished. I had been told it would be ready for me today - but nobody told me I would have to pay $5 and fill out a form first! So I went there without having done these things first, and was informed the transcript wasn't prepared! Honestly, I don't know why people are so notoriously bad at giving instructions! They don't tell you anything except the barest minimum, and then just expect a person to blunder through the rest on their own! Oh well, I paid today, filled out the form, and gave them my new address. They've promised to mail it to me.

The other day my sister emailed me to say that she'd gotten an invitation to an 'appreciation day' for a family who took me in years ago when I was a troubled teenager. I lived with them in the same city where I'm going to be moving, but they've since moved to the States. The last time I saw them, I was much younger. I saw the husband last while I was standing on my corner on the street. He surprised me by walking up to me as I stood there under a streetlight, dreaming my solitary dreams. What a strange place to meet! I was as surprised to see him as he was to see me. They'll be very surprised to see me at their special night. It's cool timing - the 'appreciation night' is on the 16th; the day after I will have moved in over there.

Today I had another wonderful surprise. My email bell sounded, and I left my packing to see who had written to me. It was a cousin I haven't seen since I was a young child. She tells me she's been reading my blog, I have no idea how she came across it! She doesn't live anywhere near the city where I'll be moving, but I hope we can get to know each other through email. I have such a huge amount of relatives, and I've never been close to anyone in the family (including my immediate family), it's just breathtaking for me to be connecting with these people! Suddenly I'm part of a large group. I'll never be on my own again.

I had another run in with my future building manager. I phoned him to ask a question about the hydro, and right away I could tell he was grumpy again. The last phonecall went fairly well - we actually joked a little bit with each other. This time it was back to the same barking style that I'm beginning to recognise as his typical personality. It must be awful to be so angry all the time. Well actually, I know what it's like, I used to be angry too. Maybe some of my happiness will rub off on him, given time. (ya right, lol).

Anyway, this is my last post from the Island. Next time I write, I'll be on the mainland, cosily ensconsed in my tiny apartment! See you soon!

Learning To Quit

Things are counting down now - only four more days and I will be off the Island and settled into my new home. Everything is about endings now. Math is finished, work is finished, I'm taking things down around the apartment and packing them away in boxes. I'm making calls to all my utilities and closing accounts. My building manager has begun showing perspective tenants my apartment, getting things ready for me to be gone, and someone else in my place.

I feel very light since I passed my math course. It's a sense of having finished correctly, rather than the slightly heavy feeling I would be experiencing if I'd failed, and was facing a repeat of the entire thing after my move. I believe, if I'd failed, I would have rallied by now. I would be gearing myself up to do battle once more. I wouldn't have given up, but I would be missing this light feeling. Rather than enjoying a sense of perfection, I would be in a fighting state of mind, so to speak. Now that all is said and done, I can say honestly that I'm glad I had such a hard time of it, because I learned more lessons that way. If I'd sailed through all seven tests, that would have been wonderful, but I think it would have felt almost too easy. I might have thought "Maybe I didn't need to study as hard as I did - this was simple!" I don't like the thought of that. I prefer to know that I studied harder than I've ever done before, and still failed, and so I had to push myself beyond what I had thought was my limit. Only then did I succeed. That's a great lesson.

I've been thinking about the subject of quitting.

I've quit several things in the past year or so. I quit my relationship with x. I quit hiding so much inside my shell. I nearly quit my job, until they finally listened to my complaints about my lack of hours. I quit keeping pets, after my two goldfish passed away, leaving the loach on his own. I found a great home for him, and ever since, I've been petless. Sometimes it's in our best interest to quit. Sometimes, quitting something that isn't doing us any good, isn't really quitting - it's a beginning of something new.

Since I quit my relationship, I haven't been on any dates. That relationship owned all of me, I was lost in it for years. When I ended it, I felt wonderfully transparent. The sense of open space around me was amazing. I spent hours just thinking about my options, marvelling at the fact that I was free to choose anything at all, my future belonged to me. I've heard it said that when we end one thing, we should try to fill that space with something new and positive. I agree with that philosophy, but in this case, I didn't follow the rule ... well I guess I did, but with a twist. Instead of packing something new into the space left by the death of my relationship, I allowed it to remain open, so that my growing self could fill it up gradually, in its own time. There's a lot of room left, and I like it that way. I have more growing to do, in fact, I'm sure I will never be finished.

I didn't consciously set out to quit hiding so much in my own shell, that seemed to happen naturally. As my Self developed, I found I was smiling more at people I passed in the street. Rather than getting lost in my own introspection as I walked along, I looked people in the eye and smiled, usually they smiled back. I began small conversations with the pet shop guy, and the librarian, and found that I left those places of business with a smile on my face. I felt as though I'd accomplished something, I'd participated in the world around me, in just a small way, yet it was huge for me.

Quitting pets was difficult. Mornings when I turned on my aquarium light, and offered the lonesome weather loach his solitary breakfast, I felt my heart breaking for him. I yearned to give him a better life - something resembling the happy existence he'd enjoyed while the goldfish were alive. I didn't want to quit him, I didn't want to give him up, because it felt like failure. I don't believe in giving up pets, they are our children. I asked at all the petstores in town, if they sold aquarium animals that would be compatible for him. No luck. Other weather loaches were too small, I worried that he might eat them. No one sold newts, and I didn't want more goldfish. Reluctantly I put up a flyer at my local petstore, offering him to a good home. I felt like a bad mother, like I'd failed to live up to my own expectations. Yet it turned out that quitting Oscar was the best thing for him. In doing so, he ended up living his wildest dream. He has a multitude of friends now, living in a large aquarium at the home of a woman who dotes on him. Had I kept him, he would have had one room mate at best (if I ever managed to find even that for him), instead he has half a dozen or more. It just goes to show that sometimes quitting is the best option. As long as the quitting is done with best interests in mind, for the right reasons, it's often the better choice.

For the first time in my adult life, I've quit being a pet owner. I have no pets at all, and plan to keep it that way for the time being. This may not sound like a very monumental decision, but for me, it is. It took some soul searching to come to this decision. It isn't always easy being petless. I sometimes feel lonely for a creature to hug and care for. I miss my cat since she passed away, I miss cleaning my aquarium. Still, it's the thing for me to do at the moment. I'm avoiding too much responsibility that will hinder my new freedom of choice in life.

I nearly quit my job, because I wasn't getting any results when I asked for more hours. Then finally they listened, and so I remained there. Still, all that trouble got me thinking about leaving that place for something more to my liking. My feelings of pride in the fact that I could handle such a thankless, backbreaking job were beginning to turn toward the idea that I was selling myself short. Instead of concentrating on being the best dishwasher I could be, I began to understand that I would be better served if I found a job I could enjoy a bit more. I feel proud of myself that I stuck it out, but I think now, that I would have felt even better had I found a job I didn't have to struggle with. I got mixed up in the idea of sticking with it, which was admirable in its way, but I forgot to look at the bigger picture.

When I look for a job in the city where I will be living next, I'll be more discerning. I might have to settle for a short time, for a job I don't prefer in order to pay my bills, but I won't stop looking for something more suitable. I understand now that sometimes it's in my best interest to quit something for something better, rather than slogging through what I have available at the moment. It's another lesson in looking for a window, rather than pounding endlessly on the door.

Today I Took My Final Stab At Math...

Well it's done. My math is done.

I took that horrible #6 test today, and after that I took the final ... guess what?! I passed them both! With flying colours!

And ... the teacher calculated the results from all seven tests I took, and ... I got an 'A' !!!

I passed my math with an 'A' !!!!!

Boy am I pleased! All this trauma was well worth it. I learned a lot about myself, and about math, and about perseverance, and well all kinds of things!

Thanks everyone for your belief in me, and for you encouragement and suggestions!

Woohoo!

Personal Responsibility

Last night I dreamed I was vacuuming up dead, tailess mice. My vacuum hose was transparent, and the suction was very slow, allowing me to see the mice as they travelled gradually through the hose and disappeared through the opening into the vacuum cleaner. They were just small enough to fit. Their little bodies were slightly compressed. Their front legs pinned along their sides, and their tiny hind legs straight out behind them. The final mouse was a bit larger than the others. It became wedged partway up. I turned off the vacuum, shook the hose slightly, and flipped the switch again. The mouse resumed its final journey. As it disappeared into the vacuum opening, I noted the way its hind feet were pressed flat because of the narrowness of the hole, so that its toes were the last thing I saw before it was swallowed up. There was a funereal calm about the whole experience. The mice retained a kind of dignity. I was struck by their composure. Though they were already dead before I'd vacuumed them, still, they gave the impression of calm acceptance. I felt a real sense of tragedy - they were so vulnerable. There was something degrading about all of it. It reminded me of my dream about the little veal calf.

I've been thinking about personal responsibility.

I suffer from a kind of mental tunnel vision. When I encounter roadblocks as I make my way through life, my first instinct is to smash my way through. My repeated phonecalls to my math teacher are a good example. I spent the month leaving messages that were never returned, wasting valuable time. I wish I'd taken a few moments to look for a different solution - an alternate route around the blockage. I understand now that I should have gone in person to the college at the beginning of the month. Instead of frustrating myself in trying to make it work one way, I should have recognised that this was a dead end, and tried something else. This doesn't excuse the teacher, he failed to do his job, but my own failure to change course is what ultimately landed me in the position I find myself today.

It's all too easy to lay 100% of the blame on the obvious wrong-doer. Taken at face value, my recounting of all the anxious phone messages that were never returned, would lead to one conclusion - the teacher has failed me. I am his victim. I'm suffering now, and may fail math, because he didn't follow through on his job. If I continue to view it this way, I'm doing myself a great disservice. I am giving the teacher all the power, as though I have no control over my destiny. Viewed in this way, I feel helpless and victimised - no matter how persistent I am in achieving my goals, others may barr my way and there's not one thing I can do about it. My future depends on the whims of others. What a mistake to continue in this way of seeing things!

It isn't easy to admit to my own failure. Part of me wants to remain in the victim position. Filled with indignation at the injustice done to me, I feel angry and frustrated, but mostly I feel helpless. This is where my thoughts begin to turn - am I really helpless? Was I really at the mercy of this teacher's unprofessionalism? How awful if that was the case! Thankfully, it isn't.

If I have the maturity to acknowledge my own failing in all of this, I resume control. Although it doesn't feel very good to admit that I played a part in this fiasco, there is great reward in doing so - I am in charge of my own destiny. No matter how many roadblocks I encounter, I have the power to manoeuvre around them.

As we go through life, the one person who cares most about where we end up, is we ourselves. It's vital that we give ourselves the best chance. If I fail this math course, the teacher will go on without a care as to whether I become a secretary, or spend the rest of my working life as a dishwasher. He's probably forgotten about me already. What a mistake for me to allow him to carry all the power as to whether I fail or succeed, when he really couldn't care less! I'm the one who cares what happens to me. I'm the one with a personal stake in this. Therefore it is up to me to pave the road.

I will try again on thursday, to pass these final two tests. I will continue to study, and I will go to the college early, so that I can talk with that teacher who helped me the other day. He isn't my teacher, but if I knock on his door and ask for specific help, I believe he will give it. I will work through all the equations in an orderly way, so that it will be easy for me to find the figures for each seperate question when I review my answers. I won't hand in the test until I've checked each question more than once. I will believe in myself, and I will do my best. If I don't succeed, I will try again after I move. Next time I will retain the power, regardless of any setbacks that might land in my way. I won't allow things to end up the way they have in this first try. I've learned a great lesson in all of this - if I find a locked door barring my way, I must look for a window, rather than stand there banging on the door in the hope that I'll be noticed.

Thanks everyone for all your comments, encouragement and suggestions. You guys are wonderful.

Somebody shoot Me Now

Another failure.

This morning I took the twice failed test a third time, and failed by one mark. I'm done. I've given up. I have studied my ass off, poured over equations and filled notebook after notebook with my figurings. I've marked my answers and on those that I got wrong, I've done them again and again until I had them right. Then I did them again to ensure that I understood them. I've repeated this routine how many times? And still, I fail the test. Today when I handed in the test after a long two hours, I felt hopeful. I didn't expect 100%, but I felt sure I would pass. I was wrong.

The sickest thing is that I made a truly assinine mistake on one question - instead of writing the correct answer, I wrote in the number at the bottom of the list of equations in my long division. My correct answer was right there in front of me, I had actually figured it out correctly, but I put in something else. What a moron. That would have given me the extra mark I needed to push me over into a passing grade. What a fool.

I have one more chance next thursday. I will take it, but I won't expect anything. I've lost all confidance. No more hope or expectation or self esteem. I can't do it. I will fail, and that will be it. When I fail this freakin test a fourth time, that will be the end of the road for me. Or if, by some miracle, I pass it, and go on to take the final test (that I've already failed once before), I will fail the final a second time, and that, again, will be it. I will throw my books in the trash and go home.

The only reason I'm taking this math upgrading is so I will be eligable to take a business course, so that I can apply for better jobs than dish washing. Well, it looks like I'm not cut out for anything better. The world needs its dishwashers, and, well, here I am. This entire episode has been a spectacular failure. I know I'm not dumb, in general, but when it comes to math I am the world's most incredible moron.

I'm told that when I fail again next thursday, I will be given a 'failure to complete' grade and sent packing (with much relief from the teachers I'm sure). I can apply again at the college over in the city where I'll be moving, and start again from the beginning if I want. I'm in no mood to entertain this possibility right now. Truth is, maybe I'm kidding myself anyway - if I'm this thick, do I have any business working in an office?

This blog has gotten tedious with nothing in my posts but math and failure. It's time I talked about something else anyway.

Another Failure

Well, this morning I took yesterday's failed test a second time, and failed again. The teacher allowed me to take the final test anyway, in the hope that I would at least pass that one, since the questions are different from the ones on the failed test, but I failed that test as well. Two tests - two failures.

I cried a bit as I walked home, but then I got to thinking about what a kind teacher explained to me, and my optimism returned just a little - he'd seen my struggling by myself, and was nice enough to explain some things to me. Finally I found someone with patience, and a better way of describing things. After speaking with him, I have a better understanding about decimals, and why I'm tending to place them incorrectly. It was too late for today's tests, but I will use his advice when I take the tests again. Tomorrow morning I have another chance. Boy, this is really awful.

I'm feeling dissilusioned and weary, but I'm not broken. Maybe tomorrow I'll pass.....

Now I better study some more.......

Failed

Well, I failed my math.

I took an unschuduled day off from work today, to go into the college and take my final three tests. I passed the first one with flying colours, and then it all went downhill. That second of today's tests was so difficult, it took me five long hours to complete. There weren't all that many questions either - just impossible ones like 20482 1/8 times 79283 divided by 3/7 equals what, and when you find the answer, figure out what the duty would be if you bought an item for that amount and took it into Canada across the U.S. border, and then if you had bought it in Canada, what would be the g.s.t. and the p.s.t. blah blah blah. (don't anyone try to answer that one, I just made it up).

I covered pages and pages with my figuring. The girl seated in front of me kept cracking her knuckles - something I hate with all the passion in the world. I was so frustrated I wanted to stab her with my pencil. Finally I finished the test, handed it in, and got a failing grade. The teacher had a hard time finding my answers hidden among all my figuring.

Today was the last day that I can come in, and I have to take this test again, plus the final. The teacher gave me a break (as well he should, since he never answered my calls all month). He tells me I can call the college in the morning, and come in during the next few days when there will be someone else (not him, he's gone), to mark my tests. So I have more studying to do. I need to pass these final two tests. I refuse to let all of my studying go to waste.

I was so bummed as I was walking home, I wanted to chuck my books into the ditch. It takes me an hour to walk from the college to my apartment, and by the time I got home, I had decided it's not the end of the world though. I'll get it right.

sigh.........

p.s. I've been getting a few emails concerning my spelling in this blog. I just wanted to clarify that when, for example, I spell fourty instead of forty - I'm using the Canadian spelling.

A Night In My Life

I"m having a wonderful friday night! I'm drinking screwdrivers and listening to Bob Dylan and packing up my outdoor perennial plants out on the porch, and chatting with my great friend, and dancing, and posting here. All at the same time.

Today I tied up a few more loose ends for my move. I phoned the moving company to ask if I need to actually be here when they move my stuff. They're not going to move my stuff until the 19th or 20th of September (to save me money by combining my move with someone else), but my apartment over at the other end will be ready for me on the 15th. Anyway, they told me I don't need to be here! So I'm going to take the bus across the ocean on the 15th, along with a suitcase with essentials for a week, and my computer. My other belongings, including the piano, will follow four or five days later. I will spend that week sleeping on the floor in my new apartment, and eating takeout food (since I won't have any cooking utinsils). My computer will be set up on the floor, and I'll sit crosslegged in front of it. I'm just so excited I can't even express how much.

It's going to so different over there - a kind of life I've never experienced. I have never been close to my family, even as a child. As a young woman in my late teens and early twenties, I used to go through my days in my first apartment, and wish my family could see me. I wanted so badly to share 'a day in my life' with them. I wanted them to see me as my natural self. Now all of this will be possible because I have a new relationship with my mother and my two younger sisters. They will be living in the same city, and coming over to visit me in my apartment. There is a natural companionship between us now, that has never existed before. Finally I feel free to be just me when I'm with them.

I can imagine my mother or sisters coming over on an afternoon, and I would just go about my day while we talked and laughed. They will come to know me as I am in my daily life, and I, in turn, will come to know them as they are in their daily lives. It's a real gift. Something I'd just about given up on.

I had a good talk this morning with my neighbour. Her balcony is right next to mine. I used to have a bamboo blind seperating our porches, giving me privacy. Then one night about a month ago, the wind blew the blind all over the place, and caused the panels in the porch ceiling to come loose and hang down. I waited until two in the morning when the building manager would be in bed, and I climbed up on my porch railing. I balanced up there in my housecoat, clinging to the post, and reached as far as I could, to push the panels back in place. Then I took down the bamboo blind, so it wouldn't happen again, and get me in trouble with the building manager. Now it's an open view between the neighbour's balcony and mine.

I hate the idea of stepping out onto my balcony and having to talk to the neighbour when I'd rather be alone with my book, especially now that it's an open view. Today I decided to be sociable. We've talked before, but this morning was special. I'm glad I made the decision to step out onto my balcony instead of waiting until she'd gone back inside. She came over with her bowl of cereal, to the railing dividing our balconies, and suddenly we were engaged in a serious discussion. We talked about relationships, and the importance of being true to one's self. We discussed the ways and means of coming to know ourselves in order to avoid the pitfalls of letting a partner completely take over our lives. We shared our experiences - how we'd both been in relationships where our partner expected to be worshipped and obeyed, without respect for our own needs and desires. We encouraged each other to be strong in the future, and cautioned each other against the mistake of cutting ourself off from real, respectful love. In the end, we agreed that it's best to be comfortable in one's own skin, and learn to live peacefully on our own, while at the same time we must remain open to the idea that there is love out there for us. It's best to relax and let life happen, while at the same time, we are responsible to ourselves to make intelligent decisions. We can choose our own path, but some things must be allowed to happen as they will. Or not. Life is a beautiful thing. What a way to start my day!

This post is all over the place, but I have an excuse - I've been drinking. lol.

Dancing. I want to talk about dancing.

I was raised a Mennonite, where dancing was considered a sin. My sisters and I grew up with the belief that it was all terribly embarrassing to move to music, even just to tap your foot. I didn't relax enough to dance until I was in my thirties. One day I borrowed a video tape on belly dancing, from the library. I waited until my boyfriend (now x) was in the tub, and then I put on my long flowing skirt and tried to move in time with the women on the tape. I soon got over my self consciousness, and began to enjoy myself. After that I couldn't sit still. Every time I had a drink and put on one of my boyfriend's old records from the sixties, I leapt up from the couch and began to dance. I discovered that I have my own style - a combination of belly dancing, hippie, I guess.

I soon discovered something though. Dancing leads to trouble. I went to the bar with my boyfriend (when we w