daisy's chain

a coming to terms

2010-01-18T23:05:00.000-05:00

It has been a very long time that sadness has walked with me, as if an intimate companion whose arm is inextricably linked with mine. Sometimes the link is loose, letting me pull away a bit from the pall of gloom to take a few quick, clean breaths. But the grip tightens soon enough and pulls me back into disinterest and colourlessness.

I hate being like this. I hate feeling damaged, angry, indifferent, or whatever else whacks me in the solar plexus knocking the wind out of me, but I have not been able to shake it by myself, so last week started seeing a therapist. I had seen one previously to help me deal with marital breakdown and infidelity but did not keep it up. I think this will take a while.

I have been given one small exercise so far to help me put my anger with L (former spouse) behind me. I am to write down what I am angry about, get it out of my head and onto paper, then let it go. Some may be big things, some may be little...no matter, I just have to write it down. I'm thinking there will be some long-repressed angry moments that will see light.

During my session today, my therapist...we'll call him G, said one small phrase that pulled me up short, like a quick, sharp slap on the cheek. Four short words that I know, already, will have a profound effect on me. "He doesn't matter anymore."

He said a few more words before I stopped him and went back to those four. I repeated them then cried as I realized that after 25 years of L being one of the people who had mattered the most to me in my life, it couldn't/wouldn't be like that ever again.

heed the words of your mechanic

2009-12-15T09:13:00.002-05:00

'Once a cheat always a cheat' he said to me 3 and a half years ago. I should have listened.

big hoopy earrings and slutty pink lipstick

2008-09-12T23:28:00.002-04:00

In a recent conversation with the group of folks I work with, our boss divulged that he has a thing for big hoopy earrings.

We are a group of 8, and all get along very well. We talk, we joke and laugh, we get hammered on wickedly strong margaritas at a house party and end up crashing wherever we stumble to, we work well together and can rely on each other. So it was only to be expected that upon hearing of our boss' little fetish we had to see how uncomfortable in an office situation we could make him.

Of the group of 8, there are only 2 women, and we 2 women decided that one Friday we would wear big hoopy earrings to the office. And let me tell you these were BIG hoopy earrings. And he noticed immediately - with a grin and a little blush - as he realized exactly what we were doing.

The morning went on as normal, as normal as can be expected with huge metal loops banging into the side of your face every time you turn your head.

At lunch we all decided to go find a great patio downtown since it was a fabulously warm and sunny late summer afternoon. Just before leaving the office I put on some lip gloss and headed out. [I forgot to mention earlier that I had decided to wear a black t-shirt that had come to me ellicitly during the wedding reception of one of the guys in our work group.]

As we arrived on the patio I happened to say that I felt somewhat awkward with my attire (I had not intended to be seen out in public with the earrings and t-shirt). To which my boss said he thought the "...big hoopy earrings and slutty pink lipstick..." were quite alright. Huh, I never thought it was actually "slutty pink lipstick", but thanks for that V.

afraid of the echo...

2008-04-06T16:47:00.003-04:00

THE DAY I SAW THE EMPEROR'S CLAY SOLDIERS

The day I saw the emperor's clay soldiers
I thought I understood the end of things-
blank faces staring back from 2,000 years.
A farmer found them; I found the farmer
in my father, grandfather, lost since
the Depression days of hominy pots.

My lost fathers are clay now too,
contained, kept from me by a wine-velvet
rope sagging between brass stanchions.
If I reach across, will the alarm sound,
lights flash, uniformed guards push me back?
I thought I understood the end of things.

The day I saw the emperor's clay soldiers
I wanted to be the electrician who
installs lights above the exhibits.
I know my father's best side, or knew,
though it makes me dizzy to remember.
I've never understood the end of things.

We're hollow men too, my father and I.
We never talked, even when we had
the chance-maybe afraid of the echo.
But 2,000 years is a long time
to wait, even for still, curt clay soldiers
who surely understand the end of things.

I came back a faithful soldier, stayed
until the museum closed, every day.
Then the exhibit left, and someone changed
the angle of those lights, not me,
and I lost sight of the emperor's clay soldiers.
That empty stand meant the end of things.

-Jonathan Musgrove
The Atlantic, April 2008

thought of the day

2007-09-07T23:28:00.000-04:00

Christian Bale is a frickin' hottie, and that's all I have to say about that.

2007-08-10T09:52:00.001-04:00

a trip

2007-06-29T11:44:00.000-04:00

I will be away next week , whitewater rafting down the Middle Fork Salmon river in Idaho. It is supposed to be spectacular and I am so very excited about it.

There is much I have wanted to tell you of things that have happened over the past several weeks, but procrastination has gotten the better of me. However, I have decided that upon the return from my trip I will rid the constipation that has effected my putting pen to paper, so to speak.

Back soon.

this is love

2007-06-26T07:53:00.001-04:00

completed Project 3

2007-06-24T20:17:00.001-04:00

The front garden is finished! Well, almost. It just needs a couple of small trees and then it will be done. But I have to find evergreen trees that are amenable to shade since the large maple in the middle of the garden allows very little direct sun to filter through to terra firma. The maple also soaks up any rain like a sponge so I am going to have to water some of the plants, especially the hydrangrea, at least until they establish a deep enough root system so they are not competing for the surface water.

These photos were taken about 3 weeks ago so the plants have grown in a little more and I think it will look quite good when they have had a full season or two in the ground.

The use of cedar mulch keeps the weeding to a minium, which is always a good thing, and smells fabulous after a warm summer rain.

Neighbours have paid some compliments, although "...it looks much better than before..." is a little suspect as a compliment since 'the before' was just a big patch of dirt. One neighbour dropped off a couple of hostas and a fern that were immediately dug in. The hostas are doing well, the fern...not so well.

In the early evenings I sit on the top step of the porch and watch my garden grow.

fittings

2007-06-15T09:59:00.001-04:00

My incredible, beautiful daughter is about to graduate from high school so the past few weeks have been replete with garden parties, dress fittings, exams, locker-cleaning-outs (which believe me is a huge task for her), limousine bookings, and the list goes on.

When my son graduated high school two years previous, he was much calmer about the event than C has been. As some of you may recall there was a 'Garden Party' incident that he didn't want his parents attending, but other than that it was much less of a production.

C, however, has been talking about her commencement and prom since the beginning of the second month of the school year, way back in October. Over the past month she and her classmates/friends have been gearing up for this week's activities. I really hope that it is all she is expecting it to be. I hope it is absolutely wonderful!

The dress has been the biggest production of all, mostly because we decided to get it custom made. Actually I decided that she would have a custom made dress after seeing some of the trashy dresses that some of the girls at my son's graduation wore. I cannot figure out why some parents let their daughter's wear that stuff - bra straps showing intentionally, so sheer that one does not have to leave anything to the imagination. And these are 17 and 18 year old girls! I shall stop now.

So C has had the initial consultation, the fabric purchasing (a very soft pink, dupione silk), and 2 fittings so far, with the last one set for tomorrow. The experience has been a lot of fun for her, made only more wonderful by Helena, the russian designer/dress maker who has promised that C "...vill look like a preencess, and ze dress vill fit dju like a gluff darlink...".

We pick up the 'gluff' tomorrow. Wish us luck.

mistakes

2007-06-08T07:15:00.001-04:00

There is something deep within me, a well-entrenched part of my psyche, that has always driven me to try to not cause upset or problems for others, those close to me in particular. I have no recollection of an event or chain of events that initiated the development of this character trait (flaw some may say), it just has always been.

It has driven me throughout my life to willingly not seek help or guidance with issues I have faced. And only as a last resort have I turned to others. For the most part though I let things slide off my back or got on and did what, in my opinion, had to be done, or tucked annoyances away into a festering little corner of my memory.

As a child I never spoke to my parents about the teasing or shunning I experienced, as I did not want to upset them. Through teenagedom to adulthood there have been troubles or problems, some minor some major, to overcome, as most people experience. But for the most part I have sucked it up and dealt with them (or hidden them, depending on your perspective I guess).

There have certainly been a few issues that were so large that I could not take care of them alone, although it took a while of trying to solve it by myself before finally admitting that I needed help or had just screwed up enough that no amount of help could salvage the situation.

But I have reached my limit, for the meantime anyway. I am in something right now that is much too much for me to handle alone. I am like a greedy vortex, swirling and sucking in to my core counsel and consolation from wherever I can get it.

And I feel the need to scream..."HEY, HEY YOU...THIS IS ME, AND THIS IS ALL OF MY LIFE...I HAVE EXPERIENCED GLORY AND I HAVE FUCKED UP ROYALLY...AND I NEED YOU TO KNOW THAT AND BE ALRIGHT WITH THAT...because I need to stop hiding.

brain teaser

2007-05-14T15:58:00.000-04:00

J just IM'd me asking if I was 'especially' busy, to which I said "no". So he sent this puzzle along:

A neighbour of mine owns a stable of racing turtles, and has set up a course where he can train them. The start and finishing points are one and the same. At the end of the first leg, there is a sharp turn, and the second leg is 2 metres longer than the first. Again, there is a sharp turn, and the third leg of the course, leading to the finishing point, is yet 2 metres longer than the second.
The number, resulting from a calculation of the area enclosed by the race course, is 4 times larger than the number resulting from adding up the length of the three legs of the course.
What is the length of the longest leg of the course?

Let me know if you figure this out.

in the eyes of the beholder

2007-05-08T13:23:00.000-04:00

Behold our lovely front garden.

It is approx 25' x 20' in total and full of possibilities. It may look like a patch of dirt but in my minds eye it is beautiful. It is beautiful because we will make it so. We will plan and dig and plant and weed and water (ever so sparingly and only when absolutely necessary) and when we can do no more we will stand side by side and gaze upon it's glory.

And it will grow and change and amaze and inspire us.

Garden Candidates

Trees and Shrubs:
Euonymous
Cedar
Juniper
Dogwood (Chinese Dogwood if it can stand the 5a Hardiness Zone)
Wiegelia
Hydrangea
Spirea
Viburnum
Daphne

Plants and Flowering Plants:
Hosta, Hosta and more Hosta (me likes Hosta)
Cranesbill Geraniums
Sweet Violets
Lavendar
Columbine
Lillies
Cala Lillies
Bergenia
Grasses
Mother of Thyme
Gloxinia
Coral Bells

Spring Bulbs
Tulips
Narcissus/Daffodils
Crocus

Any suggestions are very welcome.

city mouse vs country mouse

2007-05-08T08:32:00.000-04:00

I was just about to close down and get ready for work when I heard a disturbing story on local radio news.

A woman was shot in the eye yesterday evening with a paint ball and it looks like she is going to lose her eye.

She was standing at the intersection of Orleans Blvd and Lumberman Way (close to my recently former suburban neighbourhood) waiting to cross the street. Two idiots in a silver Chevy Cavalier-like vehicle shot at her with a paint ball gun as they drove past.

A drive-by shooting with a paintball gun for frig' sake!

Maybe when the two stupid-ass thugs are found by police the offending paintball gun might just accidentally fire when accidentally pointed at the soft fleshy parts in their groinal areas!

I am sending all of my positive healing thoughts to the young woman.

so where are the hot flashes?

2007-05-07T16:54:00.000-04:00

I have been the mostly-silent witness to the slow, unheralded demise of my ovaries - their ova-producing function that is. And there is a deep sadness in me knowing that the possibility of bearing more children is no longer open to me.

For the past 15 years I have held onto the hope that maybe we would have more children. Although it has lessened over time, it has never left me. But I suppose I need to let that go now.

Funny thing is I never particularly liked being pregnant, although I was never sick a day for either of my pregnancies. And I certainly did not look forward to my monthly - my favourite and usual label for it is 'the curse' - even though I never suffered any discomfort, cramps, PMS, etc....never-ever...really.

I was expecting that menopause would not happen until I was at least 50, mostly because I was 17, almost 18, before I started OTR. I was also expecting a bit more fanfare than what I am experiencing. I mean where are the hot flashes? I am supposed to get hot flashes damnit!! And what else I am being cheated out of? What else is supposed to happen to mark the end of this part of my life that could have resulted in something as miraculous as a new life? WTH!

Instead, I got nothing. It seems to have just fizzled out. It was one day last week when I realized I could not remember the last time I was 'cursed'. And I wondered if all of my eggs have been shed or are there still a few left, immature, never capable of reaching their potential, but still there. Silly I know, but I will hold onto the later option for a while.

a Pink Ribbon thought for the day

2007-05-03T09:08:00.000-04:00

I received this is in an email from a friend and had to pass it along...

A handsome, middle-aged man walked quietly into the cafe and sat down. Before he ordered, he couldn't help but notice a group of younger men at the table next to him. It was obvious they were making fun of something about him, and it wasn't until he remembered he was wearing a small pink ribbon on the lapel of his suit that he became aware of what the joke was all about.

The man brushed off the reaction as ignorance, but the smirks began to get to him. He looked one of the rude men square in the eye, placed his hand beneath the ribbon and asked, quizzically, 'This?' With that the men all began to laugh out loud. The man he addressed said, as he fought back laughter, 'Hey, sorry man, but we were just commenting on how pretty your pink ribbon looks against your blue jacket!'

The middle aged man calmly motioned for the joker to come over to his table and invited him to sit down. The guy obliged, not really sure why. In a soft voice, the middle aged man said, 'I wear this ribbon to bring awareness about breast cancer. I wear it in my mother's honour.'

'Oh, sorry dude. She died of breast cancer?'

'No, she didn't. She's alive and well. But her breasts nourished me as an infant and were a soft resting place for my head when I was scared or lonely as a little boy. I'm very grateful for my mother's breasts and her health.'

'Umm,' the stranger replied, 'Yeah.'

'And I wear this ribbon to honour my wife', the middle aged man went on.

'And she's okay, too?' the other guy asked

'Oh, yes. She's fine. Her breasts have been a great source of loving pleasure for both of us and with them she nurtured and nourished our beautiful daughter 23 years ago. I am grateful for my wife's breasts and for her health.'

'Uh huh. And I guess you wear it to honour your daughter, also?'

'It's too late to honour my daughter by wearing it now. My daughter died of breast cancer one month ago. She thought she was too young to have breast cancer, so when she accidentally noticed a small lump, she ignored it. She thought that since it wasn't painful, it must not be anything to worry about.'

Shaken and ashamed, the now sober stranger said, 'Oh, man, I'm so sorry mister.'

'So, in my daughter's memory, too, I proudly wear this little ribbon, which allows me the opportunity to enlighten others.'

'Now, go home and talk to your wife and your daughters, your mother and your friends. And here,' the middle-aged man reached in his pocket and handed the other man a little pink ribbon. The guy looked at it, slowly raised his head and asked, 'Can ya help me put it on?'

This is breast cancer awareness month. Do regular breast self-exams and encourage those women you love to do the same.

no more

2007-05-02T08:50:00.000-04:00

no symbol touching skin
no circlet lingering
washed away

no sign where it went in
no sign where it lies
beneath sun-dappled waves

no tears, no spite, no wicked smile
no more false hopes
floating on melancholy

to quote blue rodeo...

2007-04-19T10:49:00.000-04:00

"it's the little things that get you through, like..."

* Yesterday afternoon, for the first time since moving to our new house, being able to sit out on the 2nd floor porch, reclined together on the chaise, my head against his chest, quietly recounting snippets of our day.

* Walking to work this morning in a spring jacket under a clear, light blue sky and full sunshine, thinking that the blue at the skyline is somehow familiar, then realizing it is the colour of my father's eyes.

a mind like a steel trap

2007-04-15T08:22:00.000-04:00

Alright already...give it up my dearest father...it happened 26 years ago and you don't even live in that house or have that couch anymore.

Yes, Sis and I trashed the white shag wall to wall carpet. Yes, we 'let' someone steal all of the booze out of the liquor cabinet. And yes we 'stood idly by' as someone broke the legs off of the couch, which I must remind you, we did fix before you and Mum got home from your holiday, with a piece of a hockey stick that unfortunately collapsed after several weeks of you schlumping your bulk onto it.

Can't we leave that behind now and concentrate on the sweeter times like: when I was spray painting a bubble gum machine in the garage and the breeze carried the residual spray all the way to the other end of the garage and onto your motorbike; or when Sis, in a fit of rage, kicked the sliding door window shattering it instantly; or when I was stopped at an intersection in 'the family car' and took my foot off the brake and rolled into the back of a pickup truck which had a tow hitch at just the right height to puncture the front grill causing $1500 worth of damage...?

Umm...nevermind.

But really, do you have to keep harping on the party?

guilty

2007-04-11T11:32:00.000-04:00

Due to the 'move' we have had more than the usual amounts of garbage and recycling for the past couple of weeks. Granted that some of it was inherited from the previous owners of our new home and we did get all of the boxes for the move from one of the local grocery stores rather than buying virgin boxes, but the mound of refuse (recycling included) sitting at the end of our front walk this morning sent multiple waves of guilt crashing over me.

It is not enough to just think about how to reduce the amount of garbage we generate, I have to translate that guilt into action. My natural proclivity toward procrastination and taking the path of least resistance do not bode well for success anytime soon, so any tips and tricks to simplify the reduction process would be greatly appreciated.

owls beware

2007-04-09T11:17:00.000-04:00

I have not yet gotten over the excitement of being able to walk to and from work. Each day, without going too far out of my way, I take a slightly different route from the previous few days. Unlike in our former neighbourhood, I want to become deeply familiar with my new surroundings, to become a part of this place, and my daily walking commute affords me this desire.

I am a noticer. As long as I can remember I have paid attention to my surroundings. This trait was nurtured during my childhood and the driving/camping holidays that my family took, faithfully, every summer. Motion sickness prevented me from reading whilst sitting in the back seat of the moving car, and very seldom did my dad have the radio on. So to pass the time I would look out of the windows at all that we passed. And I saw so much. To this day I tend not to speak much whilst driving in a car. Instead, I watch what is happening around me.

So today as I was walking along one of the roads lined with big, old, brick and stone homes I caught sight of a fake owl (the plastic barn owl kind used to scare away squirrels, pigeons, etc.) hanging on a wire strung above a narrow laneway between two houses. The wire it was hanging from had actually pierced the owls head, going in one ear and out the other. I am not sure that it was doing much to keep the pigeons away since I could hear one cooing close by, but it sure as heck would make any owls think twice before flying into that airspace.

is it charity if it comes with conditions?

2007-04-04T13:45:00.000-04:00

Yesterday as I was walking to work I passed a man on the other side of the street. He was nothing out of the ordinary, mid-twenties, black baseball cap over brown chin-length hair, decently dressed in black pants and fleece jacket, except that he was pushing a shopping cart half full of empty wine bottles along the sidewalk, stopping every 10 metres or so to inspect the garbage and recycling boxes at the end of each driveway and remove the bottles therein.

Ottawa has just implemented a bottle return for wine bottles where empty wine bottles can be taken back to The Beer Store for a refund, 10 cents a bottle I believe.

As I passed Mike (I do not know if that is his name, but he looked like a Mike to me) I thought of all of the empty wine bottles that we had just moved from the old house to the new, that were sitting in a trunk on the front porch waiting to be taken back for the deposit. And it seemed to me that Mike could use the deposit much more than we could. So I stopped and called across the street to ask if he would want to come by my house to pick up some more bottles. I told home I had a trunk full. He said that he would want them but asked if I lived close to The Beer Store on Isabella since that is where he takes the empties. I told him I did so we set a date and time (this morning at 8:00 am) for when he would come by.

This morning turned out to be grey and rainy and I wondered out loud if Mike would show up. L said he didn't think a bit of rain would stop Mike so I got showered and ready.

Well evidently Mike does not go out in the rain. I waited until 8:30 but he did not show. Rats! I had really wanted to give him the bottles/money, but there was also something in it for me. I had wanted to get rid of the bottles off of our front porch.

Maybe Mike will stop by in fairer weather.

this is not a 'hot property'

2007-04-03T09:08:00.000-04:00

see what I mean...

Day 1 after the final move in of all our belongings, which are now scattered inside, outside, under and around the place. The Glebe Garage Sale cannot come too soon.

procrastination is very tiring

2007-04-02T21:59:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was our final day of carrying two mortgages...YEEHAW!!! It was also the day we worked at transferring the contents of the very large, unfinished basement and two car garage of our former house to the new house with a basement half the size, if that, and no garage.

Three weekends prior we had done the 'big' move, transferring most of the furniture and everything we needed to be able to live in our new house. But because we had possession of the old house for several weeks after taking possession of the new house we had planned to extend the move over 3 weekends so that we would have time to organize and put away batches of stuff rather than moving everything at one time.

That plan went by the wayside last weekend though. We did get our closet set up but we did not move anything from the old house. During the following week we didn't move anything either. Saturday morning of the last weekend we had possession of the old house we went to watch a junior girls volleyball tournament, played at U of Ottawa, my alma mater, to see some old friends and coaches. Watching some vollyeball turned into going for lunch then dinner and way too many drinks at a local bar with the folks we had gone to see. It was a great evening, as much as I remember of it, but we stayed out much too late (2 am returned back home) considering that we had to pick up the moving truck the next day at 8 am.

Moving with a hangover is not nice, is made worse if one of your son's friends comes to help and is wearing the most god-awful smelling cologne and is just plain yucky when it's done non-stop from 8:30 am to 11:00 pm . Survival Note: Deep breathing and a greasy MacDonald's hamburger to coat the stomach are good at dissipating nausea.

We will be living in what at first glance appears to be a bomb site for (optimistically) the next few weeks, but more likely the next few months. Anyone wanting to visit be prepared to carry a box to the basement.

L likes clamps

2007-04-02T21:37:00.000-04:00

L likes tools of all sorts and sizes, hand tools, power tools both big and small. And he really really likes clamps. Last weekend we cut shelves for a closet, which provided several opportunities to use a variety of his ample collection.

2 clamps is good but 6 clamps is better:

all to take take 1/4" strip off the bottom of the vertical supports:

It took us longer to put on and remove the clamps than it did to make the cut, as often is the case with prep and cleanup.

completed Project 2

2007-03-29T10:08:00.000-04:00

Aside from the world's smallest bathroom, our 'new' old home has the world's smallest walk-in closet, which we have just finished building shelves and hanging racks into to make the most effective use of 'this small space'. Luckily L and I are both tall so we were able to 'go vertical' as is advocated in the small space decorating world. (Yes, I have watched more than my fair share of home decorating shows. Admittedly, I was an HGTV junkie but have managed to kick the habit, with only the occasional lapse.)

Before:

After:

The closet is at maximum capacity so I think we will have to institute the "one in one out" rule. For every new piece of clothing we want to add an old piece has to be removed, which should be good for the bank account too.

our house as a project

2007-03-26T10:45:00.000-04:00

Our 'relocation', while still within Ottawa, has taken us into a beautiful old red brick home in the heart of downtown. Although it underwent a pretty extensive renovation prior to our purchase there are still many things to do. The previous owner is a contractor but finishings and the detail work are definitely not his forte.

Before moving in we painted several of the rooms, added some much needed lighting to the rough old basement, and tried to prepare the basement for storage. We had somewhat limited success with latter.

As we complete the move in, set up and decoration of each room I will post the before and after pictures.
Completed Project 1 : The World's Smallest Bathroom.

Before:

After:

The 'move-in', which we foolishly did ourselves, has extended over 3 weeks now since the purchasers of our previous house do not take possession until April 2. At first I thought this would be a good thing so that we could unpack, put away a load and see what space we have before bringing in the next. Although our new home is larger than the previous it has much less storage, having only 2 closets in the entire house. (yep, only 2!) So unpacked boxes abound in every room and corner.

I must tell you now that mess and clutter stresses me out. I have always been a tidy person, not a clean freak, but tidy (everything in it's place, what). And with the addition of another load this past Saturday I sort of hit my breaking point. Actually there was no 'sort of' about it. I had a melt down. I was wandering around the house, upstairs and down, and every inch of floor space was crammed with stuff. All I kept thinking was "...we do not have enough space to store this...". I walked into the mud room, faced the back door, and burst into tears. I was still crying a few minutes later when L came down and found me. He calmed me down, got me a beer, and we went upstairs to the tv room/den to relax.

Yesterday morning, we walked to a local diner for breakfast, then returned home to spend most of the day putting up shelving in our closet (1 of the only 2). It is absolutely not possible to make any more storage space in that closet than what we have just done. We still have 2 more clothes rods to get and install and then it will be complete.

So much to do...and the rest of our lives to do it.

learning to dance

2007-03-15T08:42:00.001-04:00

We had grown careless with each other's hearts, careless with our words, our actions. But we are changing, growing more careful, more aware of each other, more tender.

Being honourable and truthful in our hearts, actions and words is all that matters, is what will sustain us and provide the music for the dance only we will share.

the 3 r's...

2007-03-09T09:53:00.000-05:00

reconciliation: we are rebuilding

relocation: we are making a new home

reduction: of our excesses (eg. my slightly ample derriere - 7 more lbs to go, our more than ample furnishings and wardrobes, our multiple automobiles since we are now Glebe-ites and can walk to all amenities)

a timorous return

2007-02-20T11:10:00.000-05:00

I want to give this a try again. I had enjoyed writing and taking care of this blog for a while. It had been cathartic. Then my world fell apart and it became this dark, sad place, like a dank, musty cellar full of cobwebs and scary things, a place that sucks the warmth and life out of one.

But I am (we are) on a slow road to recovery and not so scared and incapable of managing more than just breathing.

old soldiers...

2006-10-30T19:17:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, we drove to Kingston, on what was a very grey, blustery day, to attend the memorial service of the father of very close friend's. This man had been a Colonel in the Canadian Military, commanding the Black Watch.

After all attendees took their seats in the Officer's Mess, the family was piped into the hall by a lone piper. Stirring, to say the least. The eldest son lead the family and carried a small wooden chest that contained his father's ashes to the place of honour in the middle of the hall.

An Anglican Priest, who had also served in the Black Watch, but not under this particular Colonel, led the service. The Colonel's three sons each gave their eulogies, as did a Lieutenant General who had served with and been a friend to the Colonel.

As I listened to the words of these men, words full of love and deep respect, I looked around the room at the people in attendance. I watched his grandchildren, his children, his wife and brother. I saw the women in the crowd, mostly grey-haired and wrinkled. But more often than not my gaze would rest upon the men, the old soldiers with their medal boards worn proudly upon their chests. These men had served with and under the Colonel in Korea and Vietnam. As I watched them, tears started to come to my eyes, thinking of the few joys and the many horrors they must have experienced together. During the reception after the service I had wanted to go to each of these men and ask them to tell me of their memories with the Colonel, but not being part of the family it did not seem fitting that I impose myself upon them.

I always cry at the Rememberance Day parade as I watch the old soldiers, lesser in number as the years go by, marching to the Cenetaph and up onto Parliament Hill. I cry because of the pride I feel watching these men. I cry because of the terrible thing we do to our young men sending them to war. I now this year I will cry again knowing that one more has left and has been joined by fourty-two.

The following was read at the service for the Colonel and was adapted from a poem read at the Queen Mother's funeral.

You can shed tears now that he is gone
or you can smile because he has lived.
You can close your eyes and pray that he'll come back,
or you can open your eyes and see all he's left.

Your heart can be empty because you can't see him
or you can be full of the love you shared.
You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember him and only that he's gone
or you can cherish his memory and live on.
You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back
or you can do what he'd want: smile, open your eyes and go on.

just words

2006-10-20T23:43:00.002-04:00

"Can I come home?" he asked on Friday evening.

"Yes." Without the least hesitation whatsoever, I responded.

Then I walked into the downstairs washroom, slid to the floor and cried. I had been hoping and waiting for this for months. After I had collected myself somewhat, I went to my son and told him that his dad was on his way back.

He arrived about 25 minutes later. He pulled into the driveway and I walked to his car door. I greeted him as he got out of the car. He didn't speak but started crying.

I led him into the house. He walked up the stairs to the bedroom without stopping to speak with J. He lay on the bed. I joined him and asked a few questions...he didn't respond. As we lay on the bed, holding each other, we spoke a little. He said that he had liked being in Tuscany together. I started crying at that point. That trip had meant so much to me when we were there...like a new beginning. But it was ruined when I found that he had posted a picture from our trip on her blog and had started fucking her again within a week of our return home.

That night of his return he also said he was sorry.

The next morning I made coffee for us. I asked a few questions, to which he said he didn't know the answers. He asked to take a shower. After which I asked another question. "We'll talk later", he said, "I should go."

"But you said you wanted to come home. I told the kids you had wanted to come home."

He left.

Later Saturday morning we exchanged a few IM lines and arranged to share a pizza for lunch. I would pick it up and go to his apartment.

When I arrived we shared a little small talk, he showed me a few things that he had purchased after he left our house. There were some framed photographs of the lake and him at the lake that I had not seen before. He told that he had recently taken the woman he cheated with, and her husband, up to the lake and she had taken the photos. As soon as he said "erin took them" I turned to look at him. Our eyes met and I know he saw the look of betrayal within mine. The lake was the only place that had been unpoisoned, unpolluted by her disgusting presence. He knew what that place meant to me. When we were still together I had said that he could never bring her there, that it was our place, the only place we still had that was just ours.

And now that place, that place that had been so sacred, that had been so cherished, has been blighted and scarred forever.

I have nothing more that can be destroyed.

the beginning

2006-10-20T23:30:00.009-04:00

We met November 18, 1983 at a volleyball party. I was standing by the entrance into a room that was being used as a dance floor when he came up to me. "You're Sally aren't you?" he said by way of starting a conversation. Inside I was thinking "hmm, not a smooth line, but oh my god he is gorgeous!"

"Yes, I am."

And it just went from there. After several minutes of standing talking to each other he asked if we could sit down because he was having problems with his back. We went and sat on a couch and talked for the rest of the evening. The next day he called me at the restaurant where I was working and asked if I would like to go see a movie. I should have hesitated, as I had a boyfriend where I was going to school, but I didn't, not one second. I said yes and when I hung up the phone I was so excited and nervous.

We arranged to meet downtown that evening. It was raining when I got off of the bus where we had said we would meet. He was waiting for me. The sight of him caught my breath, he was so beautiful. We chatted as we walked to the theatre where the movie was playing.

It was about the worst movie ever for a first date - Yentyl. Horrendous. "Papa can you kill me now?" As we walked down the exit ramp out to the street, having sat through the entire thing, there was absolutely nothing we could say to each other about it, a true conversation killer.

"Would you like to go get a beer?, he said."

"Yes. (absolutely)" Phew, yay!

When I am really nervous I talk alot. I talked alot. But the conversation came easily. After a couple of beers and some cheese and bacon garlic bread, from which I removed the bacon, we went back to the house he rented with some buddies. We saw each other every day after that for I don't remember how long. It was wonderful and exciting and heady, for months and years.

I remember the day he told me he loved me. It was the first time either of us had said it. We'd been seeing each other for just over 5 months. We were in his room, he was standing behind me with his hands around my waist.

"I love you, he said."

"No, you don't." It was too soon to say this to me.

"Don't tell me how I feel."

"I'm sorry, I said. "I just thought it was too soon. I'm sorry."

a journal

2006-10-08T16:14:00.000-04:00

Over the past months I have been remembering all of the events, both big and small, of my life with L. I had recounted, here, an early memory but with limited detail due to the publicity of this venue. I want and need to be very explicit in my memories, so I have decided to start a private journal where I can recount my life, uninhibited. Therefore, I have moved the post that took this space to my personal and private journal. I will reserve this blog for what I wish to make public.

unknown

2006-10-07T00:57:00.000-04:00

I have the ring on my finger and I have had 5 cans of cider, so my thoughts flow much more freely than if uninebriated. There have been so many happenings in our lives, so many sad things on both sides. I will try to relay both sides of the story that I have been involved in, I have historically been pretty fair at doing so. Then with that understanding, forgive me when inevitable partiality creeps into my narrative.

What I don't know is what happened to him before. What happened before that scarred him so badly that he couldn't give himself to me, that in our 3 years of dating and trying to know each other he would never open himself to me. In our 20 subsequent years he would never offer anything of his childhood, even though I tried to help bring himself forth.

afterthought

2006-10-07T00:52:00.000-04:00

he said in his opinion we should never have been married...does he really understand what that means...what we would never have had...does he care that little for us

rememberances

2006-10-06T22:15:00.000-04:00

I remember his hands and how I used to enjoy watching them. How lovely they were. When we were dating in university, I would lay in his loft bed and watch him at his desk below completing his assignments. I loved the way he held his mechanical pencil as he drew circuit drawings, but particularly the way he would sweep eraser shavings off of the page with the back of his last three fingers after he had erased mistakes from the pages. I remember the well-worn initial ring he used to wear on his right hand, but not when he stopped wearing it.

His hands are fair but strong, with fingers neither long nor short. No raggedy, bitten nails to be seen. He has a long thin scar between his thumb and forefinger on his left hand. I don't remember how he got it nor exactly when, but it was during our earlier years together.

I miss those hands.

late evening

2006-10-04T23:37:00.000-04:00

It is late evening and I have waited for them to go to bed. Waited to open the drawer to see the case where it lies within it's velvet sheath...to open the case and gaze upon it...to touch it's smooth shiny surface...to slip it onto my finger...to feel the warmth of the metal against my skin. I will sleep with it tonight, if sleep comes, then put it away tomorrow morning...maybe.

10/04/06

2006-10-04T13:29:00.000-04:00

The email, IM and txt we shared used to fill all of the empty spaces during the day when we were apart. The evening conversations made the day complete. Now there is nothing and oh god, I am so lonely.

Yesterday's leg-waxing ended suddenly and disastrously when I could no longer maintain a stiff upper lip. My tears and jerky sobs plastered a look of alarm across the face of my esthetician until I assured her that the waxing wasn't making me cry. I desparately miss being touched and feeling the warmth of her hand as she pressed the linen strips into the wax on my legs was more than I could bear.

I have started asking my daughter if she wants to sleep in my bed sometimes with me. When we are sitting together in the evenings watching television I try to touch my children, just a toe or a finger against their legs, just something.

Loneliness can drown a person.

how much more...?

2006-10-03T20:59:00.000-04:00

He called the house asking to speak with me. I knew something must be wrong so I took the phone. Between the quiet sobs he was able to tell me that one of our friends, - one of his long-time friends - B, had just died, of a heart attack. He was 43.

L had been very close to this friend throughout high school, they played volleyball and tennis with and against each other. They kept in touch through university and after. We knew each other's families.

I am sad about B's death, so sad for his family - his wife and kids. But I am so very sad for L, for the loss of his friend.

I want to help him, to comfort him.

his gift

2006-09-30T19:34:00.000-04:00

I have thought long and hard these past few sleepless days and months and I believe I can say that because of and in spite of all we have gone through, other than my children, he was the love of my life. All I wanted was for him to need me as much as I needed him, but I don't think he could let himself need me.

I have been hurtful to him as he has been hurtful to me, but I have to stop, stop for me but also stop for him because I do and do not love this man…and because he gave me my children.

morning commute

2006-09-29T12:50:00.000-04:00

The morning commute is not good for me. It is too quiet, gives me too much time to think, contemplate, reflect. Compressed (repressed?) memories constantly swirl and collide with each other, unfold then withdraw again. I am exhausted by the time I drive into the gravel parking lot near the office.

guilt

2006-09-27T19:33:00.000-04:00

I have felt sad and guilty for quite a few years that I didn't give my children what I thought a good father should be. Admittedly I have very definite ideas of what a good father is, someone involved with his kids, someone who would get down on the floor and play with them, someone who would take their little hands in his as they walked down the aisle of the local shop whilst running Saturday errands together, who would plan holidays for them, who would want to show them the world. Maybe if I'd insisted he took part, did his share, argued about it rather than putting up with it, maybe it would have been different.

The saddest thing is they know what they missed. They see their friends' dads, our family friends as dads, and how much they interact with their kids.

Why didn't he end his farce so much earlier? Maybe I could have found a partner who would have been a really great dad for my kids. Maybe I would have found someone who would have really loved me too.

driving

2006-09-27T11:36:00.000-04:00

He IM'd me Monday late evening saying that he wanted to express his feelings but wasn't meaning it to be confrontational. Hmm. And that if I was interested he wasn't even talking to her now. Must have been a very quiet dinner. Just coincidental timing I guess.

Note: any reference to her friend on her site, was my husband, particularly during 2003 and most of 2004 when they were having the affair. I hate that term affair - it is too innocuous for something so vulgar and destructive.

I went for a long drive Monday night, trying to run away for a bit, (got lost for a couple of hours around Watertown NY, slept in the car for an hour, got back to my children around 7 am) after being told that ..."in his opinion we should not have gotten married, but he was not going to abandon me...and we never had the foundation" (for marriage). It seems that love does not qualify, in his eyes, as a foundation. I am sure his 32 year old cheating "friend" is so clever and worldly-wise that she probably helped him figure that out. Kind of her to be so helpful.

I guess it sort of explains some things though, why I was never proposed to, why in 23 years I never received a love letter from him, why he never used the term "making love" with me but when confessing about his affair he said "...I should never have made love to that woman".

He doesn't like that I post about my life. Thinks I shouldn't talk to anyone about any of this, and of any of our life. He tells me if I continue he will post compromising pictures of me on his blog (which up until a couple of months ago he denied having) along with my mobile phone number. I felt like saying to him how could they be compromising since whatever he has would have been with him, as I never cheated. And if he hates me so much why does he keep anything.

I am going to change what this blog is to me, it is going to be more like a journal/diary I think. It will probably be very uninteresting to anyone who reads it. I will not be offended if you don't come back anymore. Consider yourselves forewarned.

irony abounds

2006-09-26T23:19:00.003-04:00

He tried to explain why they cheated. Tried to pass the blame off to each other's supposed partner.

She cheated because she was sad and needed comforting he said, sad because she was having a hard time conceiving with her husband. How ironic that she chose to cheat with a man with whom there was no possibility of conceiving. Friends have posited that it made it all very safe, there could have been no accidental trace.

He cheated, he said, because he was lonely. Ironic that it was always the children and me who were left out of the golfing, skiing, fishing trips, left alone on weekends as he went off biking or skiing for a few hours. I used to ask if he wanted to play a game with us or go to the park or do some kid oriented activity, but after being turned down more often than not, I stopped asking. I thought that maybe if he saw how much fun we had had or that if he felt left out he would join us.

Two weekends ago I went for a bike ride (~35km) and decided to stop in to see friends I hadn't seen in a few years. We sat in their back room in cosy, well-stuffed chairs and talked very comfortably for about an hour and a half. We spoke of current affairs and goings on in each other's lives. They offered consolation and support, saying that they'd always found him "...distant...self-centred." I would have defended him before, made excuses for him, but I just sat quietly trying to make sense of what I was feeling at that moment - sorrowful vindication. There was no comfort in it.

the world is not kind to women

2006-09-25T20:44:00.000-04:00

sacred text of manu: laws 158 onwards

'...all for love"

2006-09-25T20:25:00.000-04:00

I lay bare my soul, lay bare myself, and I do not care if anyone judges me harshly, if every last one thinks I am weak, foolish, childish, a hypocrite, a backtracker, for you do not know what I feel...cannot know what he means to me.

We have made mistakes. And they have been life-altering. But there is one constant - I love my husband.

you will rock my world if...

2006-09-22T09:33:00.000-04:00

you are my 7 1/2 month pregnant friend who is allergic to seafood and inadvertantly ate some seafood-contaminated stir fry and had an allergic reaction so that I had to drive you to the closest Emergency ward and you invited me to come into the examination room with you so that I could hear your unborn baby's heart beat from the ultrasound - good

edit: I had written something here about an experience with my daughter, before asking if it was ok with her. I showed her what I wrote and explained that my intent was not to embarrass her in any manner. I asked her if she wanted me to remove it. She said yes.

you convince me to watch America's Next Top Model and during the show ask me what I think my best feature is and when I say my feet, you say you think it is my freckles - good

during the same conversation you say my other best feature is my legs...because you like big legs - not so good

on the couch

2006-09-20T13:14:00.000-04:00

I was watching Nova last night. The show was about Farraday and Einstein and the discovery of the speed of light and E=mc2. It was extremely interesting and I wanted desperately to speak with someone about it. Losing L SUCKS!!!

you'd have to get up really early to look that bad

2006-09-20T08:43:00.000-04:00

On the commute this morning I saw a kid/teenager with what, from a distance, looked like the beginning of bad dreadlocks. You know the kind that some kids try to grow, that just look so awful, like matted, greasy, dirty hair. But when I got closer it was obvious that a lot of effort had gone into spiking and twisting and clumping, and I thought...you'd have to get up really early to look that bad.

confessions

2006-09-19T14:30:00.000-04:00

1. I have been writing in my blog, these past 2 years, under a pseudonym. My name is Sally but I have been Daisy here because L didn't want anyone we or he knew accidentally happening upon my blog and finding out about his secret. I have been thinking about renaming my blog now, but don't have any good candidates.

2. Justice, fairness, vengeance, call it what you will, but I want her to experience the same devastation, the same loss that she had a major part in wreaking upon my children and myself. I have been seriously thinking about this recently - what it is that I want - and it definitely is parity.

3. I want an intelligent man to truly believe I am worthwhile.

4. I feel like a lost child sometimes...too often. I am too old for this.

5. I am a closet musician. Actually, exchange closet with car and add budding to musician and you'll just about have it, as I am teaching myself to play an instrument in the car on the drive to and from the office.

words to live by

2006-09-15T12:50:00.000-04:00

"Not the power to remember, but its very opposite, the power to forget, is a necessary condition for our existence." -- Sholem Asch (1880 - 1957)

ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

2006-09-15T12:48:00.000-04:00

I am not sure of the exact day, but it was approximately 2 weeks ago when I began to notice the change. The change in me, deep within me.

No longer is the sadness all encompassing and debilitating. It is still with me, it will always be with me. I still mourn the loss of my husband, the loss of our life together, the loss of what I had hoped and wished our future would be like together, and although I am neither prepared nor willing to think of a future and what it may look like, it is easier to live now, in the present.

I am no longer just fumbling through the days, doing only what needed to be done. I 'want' to do things, to see and be with people, to take part in and initiate activities.

I am finding out that friends do think I am worthwhile speaking to, that I do have something of interest to offer, that these people are my friends because they like me and not just because I was associated with L, as was implied.

Three weekends ago I arranged to go for a road ride with a woman I hadn't spoken with for quite some time. We rode just over 50 kms, going between 25-35 km/hr. It was not a fast ride but we rode side by side for most of it and talked the entire way. I did the majority of the listening, which suited me fine. I had never experienced a ride like that before. And I completely enjoyed myself throughout its entirety. When L and I would ride we would exchange little bits of conversation, but often he would ride ahead of or behind me and if we were riding with someone else he would always ride with them and chat.

Two weekends ago I was going to go for a trail ride with my dearest friend. Neither of us have ridden on any of the trails in the Gatineau Park this year and our schedules finally coincided. I drove my SUV to her house to pick her and her bike up. The SUV was off for no more than 15 minutes. When I turned the key in the ignition to start it there was only a small click of the key turning then utter silence from the engine. We tried boosting the car...nothing. Damn it!

We didn't get a trail ride in, but called another friend and the three of us rode along some of the bike paths in Ottawa. We were out for about 2.5 hours, stopping at the damn and waterfalls on the Ottawa River to take in the beautiful early-autumn afternoon.

Last weekend I went to see Barney Bentall at the blacksheep inn with a couple of friends. I have also arranged for a group of friends to see Bruce Cockburn at the NAC in October. But best and most exciting of all, I was invited and have booked to go on a whitewater rafting trip next July. I have been on an extended whitewater canoe trip, but have never been rafting. It is a large group that is going, several of whom are friends and many I do not yet know. Now I must save.

During the break between sets at the blacksheep my friends and I were chatting about the rafting and other everyday sort of things when one of my friends leaned over and said softly to me that I was smiling, that it was nice to see me smiling.

beautiful stranger

2006-09-14T11:23:00.000-04:00

As I left the Queensway this morning and drove down the Bronson offramp, I noticed a person on one of the sidewalks close to the intersection where I would be making a left-hand turn. He was noticeable because his arms and legs were flailing in a sort of chaotic, barely discernible rhythmn, the spasmodic movements propelling his accordionesque body forward, albeit perilously closely to the oncoming traffic.

My initial thought was of an early morning drunk or a mentally disturbed or challenged person on a rant. As I drew close to him I could see that he was clean and looked well cared for, probably early 20's, his eyes were closed and he was wearing headphones. The guy was actually dancing at 7:15 am, and putting everything he had into it. I watched him until my light turned green and I had to drive on. It was pleasureable to watch him.

Now, he may have been a drunk or a challenged individual, who's to know, but he was so swept away by the music, so completely taken by it, that I felt myself fortunate to have seen him.

alone

2006-09-04T10:00:00.000-04:00

I miss being touched, feeling the warmth of someone's skin against mine, feeling a hand cup and caress the base of my skull, the simple act of holding hands. When I cry (god, when will I stop crying?), I need desperately to have strong arms wrap around me and pull me in to his chest until I settle. I have none of this now and it serves to exaggerate how very alone and lonely I am.

friends of friends of friends in high places

2006-09-02T13:37:00.000-04:00

Last weekend we (J, C and me) were fortunate enough to be able to spend time with friends from a neighbouring island. They had other guests, in from Tokyo and California, and we had a grand time spent playing games, walking the island, enjoying good conversation and food.

Some of our favourite games: Chickenfoot, backgammon, bouncing on the water trampoline.

Some of our favourite food: Homemade guacamole, mussels and poutine.

Some of our favourite conversations:

The story of how Michael and Yoshiko met. When Michael was visiting Tokyo with his father as a 19 year old boy, he had been accosted by Yoshiko, a 14 year old school girl, who asked Michael if he would be her penpal. They wrote to each other over the decades each informing the other of the goings-on in their respective lives. Then after 40 years, and the ending of other marriages, they finally got together and spend their time between Tokyo and San Diego.

Michael is an entrepreneur, semi-retired, and runs a family business which had started as a pencil company. Whilst trying to figure out what he could do with the huge amounts of sawdust generated from the pencil-making process he invented the Duraflame Log.

Michael is an avid backgammom player who plays in international tournaments. In one of last year's tournaments in Greece Michael played against the King of Greece and beat him. Last weekend I played backgammon against Michael and beat him in our first game. Therefore, loosely applying some basics of 1st year analytical thinking, I can beat the King of Greece.

One of our friends was one of the NASA doctors monitoring Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldron on the first lunar walk...which is very cool. But his most prestigious accomplishment is developing the in-utero testing for MS. His wife is also a very accomplished geneticist who got in on the ground floor of DNA testing labs.

These people are brilliant and very well connected, but not in the least bit pretentious. They were truly interested in conversations they had with my children about personal events/accomplishments and goals for their education. They went so far as to provide personal contacts at a couple of Ivy League schools for C. (Yikes!!)

I felt warm and cosy inside and out among these friends.

LUST in a hot tub

2006-09-01T20:26:00.000-04:00

I play ultimate during the summer with an incredible group of women. They are brilliant, strong, fun-loving, fierce and a joy to be around. Last night we had our year-end team party at the wonderful home of one of the team members. There was plenty of great conversation, food, wine and soaking in pleasantly hot water.

I am looking forward to playing fall league with these friends.

Ikea instructions suck!

2006-08-31T15:19:00.000-04:00

C had been asking for a couple of years for a desk that had some usable table space so that she could spread out her books for homework. The desk we had had enough space for the computer, monitor, keyboard and printer but not much else. Last night we decided to go to Ikea to check out what they have and found something we thought would work well in the office.

I may not have a physics degree but I'm pretty sure that the legs have to be on the same side of the frame.

All assembled and back in order. Now C has no excuses.

cruiser

2006-08-29T22:19:00.000-04:00

I rode my cruiser to the local grocery store this evening to pick up milk, juice, bread and such. Although I was not wearing a skirt, I am certainly pleased with how gracefully I was able to mount it, rather than having to hoist my leg up waist-high in order to pass over the seat and very solid, metal basket.

As I rode, sitting upright and tall, I thought that it is not a suburban bike. It is a centretown, cool and quirky community bike. This is a bike that should benignly transport me along streets lined with old red-brick homes, leading me to the vibrant core of a downtown neighbourhood.

This bike brings back a good memory of L and me riding through Sonoma. This bike brings me some happiness, even if it is fleeting right now.

yes, I am angry...can you blame me?

2006-08-29T21:51:00.000-04:00

I am sorely tempted to expose her. To let the world know that behind the fakery and facade is a self-satisfied, egocentric woman who thinks of no one, adult nor child, but herself. Who is so morally and ethically bankrupt (I say that since she started the emotional affair with my husband when she had been married to her own husband for less than a year, and the physical affair when she had been married for just 2 years, so she told me) that when confronted regarding her infidelity and deceit over the past 4 years, she had the audacity to say to me " It must be hard for you. But I care for L and want to keep my 'friend'". Implicit in her statement is that she knew that it would mean the end of my marriage with L, that my kids would not have their father at home, and it didn't matter to her. She had her husband (fool that he is) and mine, so she's laughing.

reconstructive surgery

2006-08-25T13:33:00.000-04:00

It has been a while in the coming, this radical procedure. I had wanted to make a change, alter structure, rearrange shape: partly for aesthetics to satisfy my 'feminine sensibilities' 'cause everyone knows I am soooo feminine, and partly for practicality and ease of use.

But I had to find a really good frame welder whom I could trust, potentially with my life. Three weeks ago I found just the person for the job. Actually I was referred to Mike, after speaking with the guys at the bike shop I usually take my mountain bike to for service.

In short, I wanted to have the top bar of my cruiser (originally a man's frame which I needed for the size of the frame) changed from the men's position to the women's position (which I needed so that I can wear skirts as I ride on errands - yes I do have a romantic side).

I picked my bike up at the end of last week and here it is, low bar, whitewall tires, basket and all. The welding job is amazing, the paint was matched so closely that it is difficult to tell that any work has been done at all. And most important of all - I am now able to mount my bike whilst wearing a skirt without flashing passersby.

trying not to feel

2006-08-24T21:46:00.000-04:00

I have been trying to keep occupied, trying not to allow my mind any idle time that would be filled with pain and memories and what if's and dreams of what our future would have, was supposed to have been. Three weeks ago I drove with J and C to PEI for a holiday with my family. Last weekend we drove to Manitoulin for a weekend with good friends. This weekend we will be going to a neighbouring island on 31, to visit the splendid cottage of other friends.

I have been making fairly good progress on my 1001 day project. This past week I was in San Francisco for some internal company meetings and made some early morning time to walk to the San Fran marina for a brisk swim in the Pacific Ocean, albeit bayside, completing one more goal of swimming in both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans within one calendar year.

But the more we/I do the more hollow I am becoming because I am not doing them or sharing them with L.

I think of the people who care for me, who love me...and I wish they didn't. Knowing that one can cause others pain is a terrible burden.

this can't be real...really

2006-08-22T01:46:00.000-04:00

I am so deflated...it hurts to breathe. He is making it easier to stop loving him.

Edit* Ah hell, who am I kidding. It is not easier and it never will be. I haven't stopped loving him and don't know if I ever will. This post was originally longer, some of it based on speculation from finding things I didn't understand and felt hurt by. He pointed it out so I have retracted.

I hate the fact that sometimes there is no going back, no recovering.

He is a very private person, we both were for a long time. So maybe I'll post, maybe I won't. But whatever I write I will consider him more because he will always be important to me no matter what.

flight attendant come standup comic

2006-08-16T20:43:00.000-04:00

My dad just sent this to me. It almost makes me want to take WestJet.

You've Never Heard a Flight Announcement Like This - Wouldn't you love to have this attendant on your next flight? Thanks to a retired WestJet Captain for sending this "paraphrase" of a memorable safety PA (public announcement) from their Flight Attendants. In his own words....

"I was flying to Vancouver from Toronto this weekend, and the flight attendant reading the flight safety information had the whole plane looking at each other like "what the heck?" (Getting Toronto people to look at each other is an accomplishment.) So once we got airborne, I took out my laptop and typed up what she said so I wouldn't forget. I've left out a few parts I'm sure, but this is most of it."
(BEFORE TAKEOFF) Hello and welcome to WestJet Flight 438 to Vancouver. If you're going to Vancouver, you're in the right place. If you're not going to Vancouver, you're about to have a really long evening. We'd like to tell you now about some important safety features of this aircraft. The most important safety feature we have aboard this plane is ...... The Flight Attendants. Please look at one now.

There are 5 exits aboard this plane: 2 at the front, 2 over the wings, and one out the plane's rear end. If you're seated in one of the exit rows, please do not store your bags by your feet. That would be a really bad idea. Please take a moment and look around and find the nearest exit. Count the rows of seats between you and the exit. In the event that the need arises to find one, trust me, you'll be glad you did. We have pretty blinking lights on the floor that will blink in the direction of the exits. White ones along the normal rows, and pretty red ones at the exit rows.

In the event of a loss of cabin pressure these baggy things will drop down over your head. You stick it over your nose and mouth like the flight attendant is doing now. The bag won't inflate, but there's oxygen there, I promise. If you are sitting next to a small child, or someone who is acting like a small child, please do us all a favor and put on your mask first. If you are traveling with two or more children, please take a moment now to decide which one is your favorite. Help that one first and then work your way down.

In the seat pocket in front of you is a pamphlet about the safety features of this plane. I usually use it as a fan when I'm having my own personal summer. It makes a very good fan. It also has pretty pictures. Please take it out and play with it now. Please take a moment now to make sure your seat belts are fastened low and tight about your hips. To fasten the belt, insert the metal tab into the buckle. To release, it's a pulley thing -- not a pushy thing like your car, because you're in an airplane -- HELLO.

There is no smoking in the cabin on this flight. There is also no smoking in the lavatories. If we see smoke coming from the lavatories, we will assume you are on fire and put you out. This is a free service we provide. There are two smoking sections on this flight, one outside each wing exit. We do have a movie in the smoking sections tonight ... hold on, let me check what it is ... Oh here it is ... the movie tonight is "Gone With the Wind."

In a moment we will be turning off the cabin lights, and it's going to get really dark, really fast. If you're afraid of the dark, now would be a good time to reach up and press the yellow button. The yellow button turns on your reading light. Please don't press the orange button unless you absolutely have to. The orange button is your seat ejection button.

We're glad to have you with us on board this flight. Thank you for choosing WestJet, and giving us your business and your money. If there's anything we can do to make you more comfortable, please don't hesitate to ask. If you all weren't strapped down you would have given me a standing ovation, wouldn't you?
(AFTER LANDING) Welcome to the Vancouver International Airport. Sorry about the bumpy landing. It's not the Captain's fault. It's not the Copilot's fault. It's the Asphalt. Please remain seated until the plane is parked at the gate. At no time in history has a passenger beaten a plane to the gate. So please don't even try. Also, please be careful opening the overhead bins because "shift happens."

is this real or is it just a bad dream?

2006-08-16T15:27:00.000-04:00

At least two or three times a week it just hits me, this awful, nauseating questionning...is this really happening?...is my marriage really ending? The sensation is so palpable, concrete, like the nervous fluttering in the stomach that I get before any competition. It doesn't matter where I am or what I am doing, whether I am with someone or alone. It grabs me firmly, almost brutally, by the shoulders and slams me backwards against an invisible wall, taking my breath and causing me to pause for just a second or two to regain some semblance of composure.

Never, ever in my wildest, worst dreams did I ever believe that he would cheat. I never had any questions, never any doubts. I truly believed he was the most trustworthy person I knew...What does one do with that realization?

aka chipmunk

2006-08-16T11:40:00.000-04:00

Poor C had her wisdom teeth removed yesterday (ouch!!!) and today the swelling has begun. Tomorrow is supposed to be the worst day for swelling - not sure how much more her cheeks can stretch though. Luckily, she doesn't seem to be getting any bruising...which is good.

from away

2006-08-13T09:13:00.000-04:00

Aug 5 was C's 17th birthday, and since I had promised several months ago, I took her to The Riverside Jam to see her favourite country music singer. Don't ask me...I have no idea where she gets it from.

By the time we got back to the house it was 1 am and we were to be on the road in 6 hours. UGH!! J, C and I drove out to PEI last week for a holiday with my family. My sister and her family flew over from England. My parents and brother flew in from Southwestern Ontario. The kids and I camped whilst the rest of my family stayed in a cottage.

It was a needed holiday, restful for the most part, being amongst people who love my kids and me and know, without having to be told, that the three of us are suffering and hungry for some care and tenderness.

We ate fresh lobster, mussels, clams, oysters, potatoes, did some touring around the island, walked along some red sand beaches and visited some landmarks (read: all things Anne of Green Gables). Needless to say, after visiting Green Gables, Lucy Maud Montgomery's birthplace, the Lucy Maud Montgomery Museum, The Charlottetown Playhouse where we saw the musical Anne of Green Gables, and more, we are all recuperating from "Anne overload".

I had intended to post daily from the campsite, which advertised wifi as a feature for all campers. Yeah, I know! Anyway, I figured I would go online for a couple of hours each early morning whilst I waited for J and C to get up. However, coverage was sketchy. Maybe not a bad thing though since I was supposed to be on holidays.

I ran along some red dirt roads once, rode my bike twice and swam in the cold Atlantic Ocean for about 5 minutes. With so little physical activity and all the eating that it felt like we did, I was certain I had gained some weight over the week. I could feel the extra pounds that lobster and potatoes with butter had bestowed upon my lower half. In actuality, I ended up losing 4 pounds. However, it's not a good thing. I am losing weight again like I did when I first found out about L's affair. I lost 15 lbs during those first 2 weeks due in part to not eating, not sleeping, crying until my body ached.

Friends, family and well-wishers tell me that it will get better, life will get easier little by little, the sadness will dissipate. But it's not, it's getting worse, harder, more sad and I am getting lost in it all.

ever stop to think then forget to start again?

2006-07-31T21:39:00.000-04:00

To the above phrase adjoin feel, be, hope, care, love, dream, wish, breathe,...live, and any other such verb and I'll get on that train.

I have wondered recently if those who commit marital infidelities truly understand how severe and complete and lasting is the emotional devastation wrought upon the other. If they did, would they not do it, would they not betray, or would they go ahead...how could they go ahead?

blueberry island

2006-07-30T22:13:00.000-04:00

I had already said my goodbyes to Blueberry Island and believed I would never be on the island again, but when L changed his plans and decided not to take the kids up to the cottage this past weekend I had to change my plans to be on the island with J and C. I will take it any way I can get it, I guess.

C decided she would go to a friend's cottage for the weekend, having already said her goodbyes to Blueberry also. However, J had not yet been to Blueberry this year and wanted to go, so he and I headed up Friday evening after work.

When we got to the cottage we walked around the main rooms for a bit. J was sighing periodically and when I asked if he was ok, he sat down, looked at me, and my 19 year old son cried as he told me he missed his grandpa. "I miss him too," I said gently. We held each other's hands for a while.

As the sun started to go down J took my camera out to the rock behind the cottage to take a few pictures.

I had planned on sleeping in a tent on the other side of the island where we used to sleep before the cottage was built, but J preferred I sleep in the cottage with him so I laid out my sleeping bag on the couch in the living room beside J's bedroom.

The next morning I woke early, went down to the boathouse dock where I read for a bit, went skinny dipping, paddled the canoe over to the other side and set up the tent I would sleep in that night, paddled back to the boathouse, read for a bit more and got entirely too much sun. At 11am I went back up to the cottage, woke J up and brought him breakfast in bed.

We enjoyed the afternoon together in or on the water. We swam out to Big Rock and the mouth of the bay. As we sat on the rock I told J that his Grandpa's ashes would be spread on the island whilst we were away in PEI. The look of sadness and hurt on his face tore yet another piece from my heart.

From Big Rock we swam across the bay to Inukshuk Island and rebuilt the 3 existing inukshuk's that had fallen during the winter, and built a new one on the northern point of the tiny island.

I was no more than 50m from the shore of Inukshuk on the swim back to the boathouse, when I turned to see J still standing on the island. With his hands cupped around his mouth he yelled out for me to bring the canoe back to get him. My 19 year old, 6'4" son wanted me to swim back to the boathouse, about 300 or so metres, and paddle the canoe out to pick him up! This I did. We went for a leisurely canoe around the island after I picked him up.

Upon returning to the boathouse we went for a ride to the south end of the lake in the cedar strip, J driving, me sitting in the centre of the front seat with my feet up on the bow. I used to love rides like this when L would be at the stern. I felt so much comfort as we rode together across the deep shining waters of 31.

Once back on Blueberry we started a fire in the firepit in order to cook our dinner. Roasted hotdogs and a couple of cold beers - divine.

After dinner J read his book as his feet dangled off of the end of the dock and I sat in the spot where we used to all sit at the end of a hot summer day, just before dinner. We would sit, some in lawn chairs, some on stumps, with a cold beer or glass of wine in hand and chat as we drank in, and never sated of, the northerly and southerly views of the lake.

Just before dusk we took the cedar strip back over the bay to the boathouse. We sat on the porch of the cottage and read until it was too dark to see the words on the pages. We kissed and said goodnight. I went down to the boathouse and took the canoe over to the other side to go to sleep in the tent. I fell asleep as we used to for several years, listening to the haunting calls of the loons and the gentle waves lapping against the rock shores. I woke in the middle of the night, prompted by some primal memory, climbed out of the tent and, as we had always done, with two cheeks to the wind, peed off of the side of the tent platform while hanging onto one of the upright 2x4s which made up the tarp structure.

Sunday morning I awoke to the bright early morning sun, packed up sleeping bag, tent and thermarest, put it all in the canoe and paddled back across the bay to the boathouse. J slept late, as per usual. I read on the cottage porch, finishing my second book of the weekend. We puttered around a little after J got up, then boated back across to mainland in the early afternoon. We drove back to Ottawa in comfortable silence, passing places and things so familiar due to years of going to and coming from Blueberry.

our lady

2006-07-30T21:44:00.000-04:00

"When you're unsure of yourself," she said, "when you start pulling back into doubt and small living, she's the one inside saying, 'Get up from there and live like the glorious girl you are.' She's the power inside you, you understand?"

Sue Monk Kidd, The Secret Life of Bees

hunger

2006-07-25T22:57:00.000-04:00

I crave daily, intelligent, thoughtful, thought-provoking conversation. I am starved for it. Now that L has gone there is no one to speak with, no one to bring up interesting topics with , no one to tell/teach me about new events, ideas, etc. on a regular daily basis. And I am becoming very crotchety because of it.

I am tired of listening to inane chatter in the office about clothes shopping or someone's lavalife disasters or someone's pregnancy. I am begrudging commuting to the office and back with my son and listening to his mumbled one-liners. I was bothered yesterday evening when my daughter kept asking me questions about where she should position herself on the ultimate field (something so second-nature for L and me).

Reading blogs or newspapers or magazines, Harper's and the like, or speaking with friends once or twice a week just isn't enough.

I miss being around my clever husband.

what are the odds?

2006-07-21T14:19:00.000-04:00

Rather than picking up a venti latte on the drive in to work today, I went for a walk after arriving at the office. The walk was actually longer than I thought it would be - round trip took about an hour. Except for a couple of blisters from the straps of the sandals I am wearing, it was very pleasant walking along one of the older streets in the Glebe to get to the closest Starbucks on the corner of Bank and Third. The houses that line the street are large, solid, brick and stone for the most part, very traditional - all emanating permanence and comfort and safety. The mature trees standing along the length of the street filter the morning sun and provide a welcome cool to the avenue.

Rush hour traffic had dissipated by the time I hit Bank Street. Pedestrians were ambling along the sidewalks, stopping periodically to look into shop windows or chat with the shopkeepers who were setting up displays or sweeping thresholds. I passed through a group of elderly Italian gentlemen who were just concluding their morning rendez-vous at a local Italian coffee shop.

After getting my latte and returning to the street I was watching a couple of men ahead of me who were engaged in conversation. One of the two was standing and holding onto the leash of a medium-sized black and brown dog of no discernable breed. The other was leaning up against a concrete flower-box. As I passed by the two, the one holding the leash started mildly scolding his dog who was peeing on the other man's pant leg. He didn't pull the dog away and the recipient of the dog's attention didn't move his leg. They both just watched as the dog finished his business and lowered his leg.

Bizarre...both times

dream

2006-07-18T11:00:00.000-04:00

This morning I woke up very early, 5:16 am, got up, walked around a bit, logged on to the computer to read some news, then lay back down in bed.

I fell asleep almost immediately, and into a dream. I was in the process of selling my house and was hit by a bus full of real estate agents who were touring different houses on the market. I hadn't been told to expect them so the house was a mess and as they walked around I was running around ahead of them, tidying up as I went. People were firing questions at me, I was yelling back answers. It was all very stressful.

Suddenly L appeared in the road beside our daughter who was several years younger in my dream than in reality. I walked up to him, looking all flustered. He took my hand. We looked at each other, then embraced. He had come back to get me.

I woke at that point.

I have been laid low yet again.

i cannot tell a lie...

2006-07-16T18:15:00.000-04:00

...I did cut down the cherry tree.

With help from my lovely accomplice C, we took down the upper limbs, cut them into 3 foot lengths and tied them in bundles ready for garden waste removal Tuesday morning. Then C took a neighbour's large-tooth saw and cut the trunk into pieces, leaving a stump about 3 feet high. It was so hot and humid yesterday that both of us were sweating profusely and my shirt was absolutely sopping wet after about 5 minutes.

This morning J and I made a feeble attempt to take out the stump and root of the tree. After 20 minutes of digging and hacking, we had cut exactly 3 side roots - ugh! There is no way we can do this on our own, as we have neither the right tools nor attitude to get it done quickly. So I said that I will hire a "professional" to do the job.

The removal of the tree was not just a random act of violence, but rather a selling aid. The kids and I are trying to sell our house. We have had 6 showings in the past 2 weeks but had not had any feedback from our agent until Friday afternoon, and that was minimal. The only thing I was told was that people had mentioned the yard was too small - and it is quite small. So we had to do something to make it look bigger. Hence the removal of the tree that was slowly dying anyway, due to a blight it has suffered from it's proximity to our cedar hedge.

I had thought that it was on the mend since this year it had more blossoms than in previous years and there was a lot of young fruit on the boughs. However, before fully ripening all of the cherries developed a mould and dropped from the tree or clung on and shrivelled up into greyish little balls...highly unattractive.

With the tree down the yard does look larger and more useable. Let's hope it does the trick.

107 days and counting

2006-07-16T10:14:00.000-04:00

Sometimes when I wake up and roll over to face the other side of my bed I open my eyes ever so slightly and look at the vacant, still-puffy pillow. At those times I wish so desparately that my husband was beside me, that I could watch his calm face as he dreams.

bluesfest

2006-07-15T17:14:00.000-04:00

The Bluesfest is currently on in Ottawa. I hadn't been previously, was thinking about it last year but never got around to it. This year there were so many really good bands and C was interested in going also, that I bought passes for the two of us.

Tuesday evening we saw Blue Rodeo with 6 other friends, 4 of whom we happened to bump into whilst listening to a couple of the earlier bands. We weren't in a position to see the stage but the sound was excellent and we could see the big screen well enough.

And the party tricks begin.

Limber little joints.

Last night C and I met up with a friend and went to see Kathleen Edwards. C had actually wanted to see Rihanna but couldn't find any of her friends willing to shell out the $26 plus handling fees and taxes of course, so she ended up sticking with Mum as she didn't want to go to another stage by herself.

Tonight we are going downtown for dinner and to find a decent parking spot before heading over to the Bluesfest stages to see Wilco and maybe Story of the Year and Hawthorne Heights if C gets up enough nerve to go off alone.

Tomorrow is the last day of Bluesfest and we may go see The New Pornographers.

Now that C has a taste for Bluesfest maybe I can get her and J to go to some other local music festivals with me.

never to return

2006-07-12T23:00:00.000-04:00

I have essentially been forbidden to ever step foot on the island again.

The kids and I were going to go up this weekend with my mother-in-law, as a last hoorah before it gets sold away from the family forever, but it was made very difficult and upsetting for her because of my pending presence at the cottage that I have backed away from our trip and she has decided never to go to the island again, except to spread my father-in-laws ashes.

However, the kids and I still had some of our possessions in our rooms and in the boathouse that I needed to collect, so I took the day off yesterday and drove to the lake. Before leaving the house yesterday morning I had called a friend who has a cottage close by on the lake to ask if I could leave things like paddles, lifejackets and watertoys at his family's place. The other stuff, like cottage clothes (old and worn, but fine for a cottage) I would bring back to the house or donate to the Sally-Ann.

The drive up was mostly uneventful except for the last 20 minutes which is along single-track dirt road. Due to the amount of rain we have had recently the dirt road is in worse shape than normal with lots of washouts and divets, making it extremely bumpy. So bumpy, in fact, that my rearview mirror was shaken right off of its mounting and crashed onto the centre console. Luckily nothing was broken, but I drove for the rest of the trip in and then back to Ottawa using my side mirrors only. Thank god I didn't get stopped by Le Surete, as I'm sure driving without a rearview mirror is not looked upon kindly.

I had asked if I could borrow one of my friend's boats to get across to the island and was told there were a couple I could chose from. I grabbed the one I was most familiar with and rode across, 5 minutes or thereabouts, to the island. Prior to getting to the island I had stopped in at another neighbouring cottage to let them know that I was going to the island and that they didn't have to be concerned about a strange boat in our bay. I was promptly invited to lunch and was told to come back at noon for a grilled-cheeese sandwich and a piece of the best rhubarb pie in La Vallée-de-la-Gatineau.

Once on the island I started in the boat house where I collected 3 paddles, 2 lifejackets, numerous pool noodles and other watertoys and put them all into the boat. However, I couldn't find my son's waterskies that we both thought were in the boathouse. Not sure where they are.

As I ascended the pathway and stairs to the cottage that we have all climbed thousands of times before, the changes in the place struck my cheek like a cold, wet facecloth. It looks abandoned, uncared for, with weeds growing in the flower pots my mother-in-law always had full of blooms. The absence of my mother-in-law standing on the porch waving to the arrivals made my eyes sting.

Clothes and toys were gathered from bedrooms and placed in a large green garbage bag for transportation across the lake, as were crafts made by the kids over the years at daycamps and on lazy cottage afternoons.

Once the last of the items was taken to the boat, I climbed the stairs for the final time to offer my thanks and goodbyes to the rooms, the objects and views that have nurtured, and comforted, and pleased my for 22 years. I didn't touch anything, just walked slowly through each room, out onto the porch, up into the treehouse I had made for the kids - taking it all in through the tears that clouded my vision. I locked the front door as I left and returned to the boathouse.

Before getting into the boat I took one last swim, au naturel, across the bay to the other side. The water was beautiful, cool but comfortable against my skin. I swam slowly across the bay watching the pair of loons far out of the mouth of the bay, looking below me for fish, rocks, sunken branches, clams. I stood on the dock on the other side and looked at the trees, the rocks and plants, the outhouse, the tent platform, all of the things and places that made up our everyday experiences there. I turned and ran off the dock, diving deep and swimming as far as I could below the surface. As I broke the surface an involuntary moan escaped from deep within me and I wept as I turned onto my back and kicked back to the boathouse.

As I started to leave the bay I watched the shoreline pass by, then focussed on the cottage where I was to go for lunch. I hadn't made it out of the bay when the motor cut out. The gas tank was empty, I thought (damn it...my father-in-law would have been disappointed with me for not checking the gas situation before leaving land). There was a gerry can in the boat with enough gas to at least get me to the next cottage. Once the gas was added to the tank I started to prime the tank by pumping the bubble (not sure what that is called) of the gas hose. But after the first squeeze gas starting pouring out of the end of the hose. The motor hadn't stopped because it was too empty. The blinkin' hose had broken where it joins the motor. There were no tools in the boat to fix it but there were two oars. So I rowed to the neighbouring cottage, which took about 40 minutes making me more than fashionably late.

Lunch was over, but I was given a LARGE piece of very good rhubarb pie and a long, cold glass of water with ice taken from the lake during the winter. We shared lovely conversation and the hose was fixed for me. Before leaving I was made to promise that my kids and I would visit for a long weekend in late August.

When I got back to my friend's cottage I unloaded the boat and carried up several flights of stairs whatever was coming back to the house with me. I drove away quietly.

This morning I received an IM reminding me I would never be on the island again. How will I ever forget.

strangers, friends and family

2006-07-05T22:28:00.000-04:00

I have never had a woman's hand inside my underpants...until today that is, and in the middle of the day no less.

It had been 7 weeks since the last time I had my legs waxed so I made a lunchtime appointment at a local day spa for a full leg plus bikini wax (only 3rd time for a bikini wax). I had not been to this spa before but it is close to where I work, so convenient.

Upon arrival I had to complete a lengthy 'health' questionnaire that had a strange focus on bodily smells...do my feet smell: never, sometimes, always; do I sweat: never, sometimes, always; do I suffer from flatulence: never, sometimes, always, etc. I finished my written exam, handed it in to the proctor, and followed the woman who would be providing my service to one of the waxing rooms. Before leaving the room she asked me to remove my skirt then lay on my stomach on the table, as she would start with the back of my legs. When she stepped back into the room we exchanged names (so we weren't complete strangers I guess), she opened the curtains assuring me that there was no one looking out from the windows of the building next to the spa, and got down to business.

After 10 minutes I was asked to turn over onto my back so she could do the front of my legs and bikini area. She placed some sort of a tissue on top of my lower abdomen then started waxing my lower left leg. As she moved up to my thigh she removed the tissue from my abdomen, unfolded it, then deftly fed it through the front of the left leg hole of my undies and out the front of the right leg hole. She then spread it out and tucked the ends up and over the top band of my underpants. Since I was laying flat on my back so couldn't see my lower quadrant and the diapering had happened so quickly, I wasn't quite sure that what I thought happened had actually happened. Then she made an adjustment to the tissue.

Now, with my limited knowledge of bikini wax etiquette, I am guessing that the insertion of the tissue is an act of consideration, to protect my panties from getting wax on them. Please, someone tell me I am correct.

Left bikini area was done, then she moved to the lower, then upper, then bikini area of the right leg. Once all was complete she untucked the tissue and, pulling on the left side, removed it as quickly as she had inserted it. Then lotions applied, skirt put back on, down the stairs, pay the bill, out the door and back to the office. Lunch should always be so...um...relaxing?!

_______________________

For the Canada Day weekend, friends from Ohio had invited J, C and me to visit them on their farm and attend their annual Nation's Birthday party. However, due to an uncooperative calendar they decided to celebrate Canada Day rather than Independence Day. Any excuse for a party and allegiances be damned. All I can say is Americans sure do know how to celebrate Canada Day!

There was plenty of Gerber's chicken, cold beer, homemade ice cream, swimming and cornhole for all.

Swimming was in an incredible, spring-fed pond large enough for 2 canoes, 1 kayak and multiple other watertoys to be used by 50 or so waterbabies at anyone time with lots of open water between all.

Before last weekend I had never been on an ATV. So Friday morning I had a tour of the farm on the back of the ATV and Saturday morning learnt how to drive it, then went off by myself for a while. It's more fun than I had previously thought.

Friday afternoon we were taken on a tour of the surrounding countryside and the town of Wooster. This is Amish country, and we were fortunate enough to see two horse-drawn buggies with their drivers on their way to town, and other Amish folk working on their farms and homes. C thought it was pretty cool. It struck me as rather odd seeing two young Amish women cutting their front lawns on large ride-on mowers. Amish won't drive any sort of automobile, but it's ok to drive a ride-on lawnmower. Hmm?

It was a nice weekend overall and a welcome escape from my current life in Ottawa, but my god it sure is a long drive - 9.5 hours each way - UGH!

_______________________

My mother-in-law called me at the office this morning to chat. She told me that my sister-in-law and her 3 kids were coming to visit her in Morrisburg for a few days, arriving this afternoon. We haven't seen each other since my father-in-law's funeral this past December so I asked if it would be alright if I drove out (about 90KM) after work with the kids for a couple of hours to see them. It was and so we did.

A fun time was had by all. We played crochet, and scoop ball, and a modified version of volleyball, with a soccer ball, that would allow a 4 year old and a 7 year old to own the grass court.

After games were all complete we sat on the front porch of my mother-in-law's 150 year old home, sipped our refreshments and chatted. Just before leaving I was able to hold my other nephew who is now 7 months old, and looks and feels like he will have a very successful future as a linebacker.

Hugs, kisses and goodnights were shared all round, then we hit the road to come back to the house.

I was recently told, by a wise woman, to take stock of the small victories. Today I was able to smile and play with my nephews and daughter - something very special.

aging gods of the tour de france

2006-07-03T20:22:00.000-04:00

Oh, say it ain't so...it must be just a bad dream. The middle-aged, grey-haired, chubby mortal whom I just saw interviewed on OLN could not have been Greg LeMond. No, he must have been an impostor.

ain't no sunshine

2006-06-27T15:36:00.000-04:00

written by Bill Withers

...

Wonder this time where she's gone
Wonder if she's gone to stay
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
And this house just ain't no home anytime she goes away

...

Listening to this song on the drive to work this morning. It is soulful and sad and perfectly descriptive - just replace the 'she' with 'he'. It makes plain
what I feel will be the rule for me rather than the exception.

For the first year after I found out about L's affair I cried everyday, sometimes in the shower getting ready to go to work, always on the drive home. This past year (the second year) I would cry 2 or 3 times a week, then only once a week, then once every couple of weeks.

Since I have removed my ring the sadness has taken such a hold of me, becoming more constant, ubiquitous. I am now crying 5-10 times a day, anywhere, everywhere. I have cried enough for a lifetime, but still the tears keep coming. I am having a hard time not crying in front of my kids. Once or twice in front of them is ok, but not always.

It's amazing how long a day can be.

steps to the end

2006-06-24T10:02:00.000-04:00

I removed my wedding band from my finger yesterday and put it away in a drawer. I am very sad about it. What does one do with such a thing that holds no meaning any longer?

non-communicado

2006-06-23T08:42:00.000-04:00

On Monday I sent an email to the husband of the woman L had a year long affair with. I provided a bit of detail that neither L nor the woman had given to this man. I did it for 2 reasons: one, to make a final end to L and I...I had previously hoped for some sort of reconciliation but L keeps in contact with her and that I can't bear; and two, to make her feel some of the hurt that I have felt over the past two years.

This whole ordeal has not been fair so yes, I acted vengefully.

I don't know what has happened between L and this man, something obviously has, as L has been calling with some unsavoury messages, has left some comments on this blog that I have removed, and has indicated that the separation and divorce will be protracted.

So I have turned off Comments, and I'm not sure if I will be blogging of any substance or length for a while. Talk to you later.

*Edit 06/24: In my rush to stem the flow of some unwanted comments I had overlooked the Moderate Comments feature in blogger. I have enabled it now and will see if it works adequately for me.

wear sunscreen-esque

2006-06-21T14:11:00.000-04:00

I was sent an email by a colleague earlier today, that had the following sentiment within it. Particularly fitting to my situation right now, but something to consider for all.

As you grow up, you learn that even the one person that wasn't supposed to ever let you down probably will. You will have your heart broken probably more than once and it's harder every time. You'll break hearts too, so remember how it felt when yours was broken. You'll fight with your best friend. You'll blame a new love for things an old one did. You'll cry because time is passing too fast, and you'll eventually lose some one you love. So take too many pictures, laugh too much, and love like you've never been hurt because every sixty seconds you spend upset is a minute of happiness you'll never get back.

Don't be afraid that your life will end, be afraid that it will never
begin.
~anonymous~

another week

2006-06-18T07:42:00.000-04:00

Another week has passed and I am sitting on the front porch, alone, in the rocking chair that our best friends gave us for a wedding present. They weren't our best friends at the time of our wedding but they have remained true and constant for 21 years and we have grown to love each other.

As I sit rocking, drinking in the sweet aroma of the double mock orange beside the front porch, I wonder if this is how I will count time now. Not looking forward in anticipation of anything or nothing in particular, but rather just feeling relief that I was able to get through 7 more days.

I am teaching C to golf. We have been to the driving range twice in the past 10 days and we were supposed to go golfing this morning. A 7:07 tee-off time had been arranged. I woke C up at 6:15 and then went to shower and dress. There was no sound of movement at 6:40, other than my own, and when I went to check on C there was no sign of life either. I asked her quietly if she still wanted to go golfing, to which a faint "nooo" was able to escape her gummy early-morning lips.

As I left her room I was thinking of L and when we would golf together Saturday mornings, thinking that we would have never missed a 7:07 tee time. We were always early risers together, even on weekends.

Typically, we would go to the cottage for the weekend, leaving Friday after work. Upon arrival I would call the local golf course and arrange an early morning tee time for the next morning. It is so pleasant to be the first on the course, so quiet, morning dew still on the grass. We would get up at 6 am, boat across to mainland, drive to the course, play a round and be back on the island by noon. We wouldn't do this every weekend, but it was lovely when we did.

So instead of golf, I put a load of laundry in the washing machine, washed the pots from last night's homemade enchilada dinner, brought my cruiser bike up from the basement, pumped up it's tires and rode it to a nearby Starbucks to get a venti latte which I am currently consuming. The latte made the ride back to the porch fairly unscathed - just a slight bit of spillage going over a curb - in the basket on the back of my cruiser.

A For Sale sign now sits in our front garden. Monday afternoon I was speaking with the real estate agent and she informed me that the sign would go up on Wednesday. Panic hit me as soon as I hung up the phone. I must tell you that I am scared. I am really scared. What if I can't find a place for my kids to live, what if I can't find a home for us, what about a mortgage, what about moving...packing up, what if... And now I am alone in this, I have to do it all by myself...and it is so much...yet it is just one piece of all that I must do.

Monday evening I went to the bank to arrange for a mortgage. I was preapproved, but in order to finalize a mortgage I must supply a signed separation agreement. Tears fall as I think of a piece of paper that will bring us closer to an end. (Can I tell you a secret? You must promise not to tell lest others, whose opinions I value most highly, think me frivolous and weak. I still do not want this. I am still in love.) I could not muster the courage this week to make an appointment with my lawyer.

Wednesday I went for lunchtime sushi with my dear friend. She has taken and continues to take care of me at times when I lose the strength and will to do so.

Thursday I met with my new financial advisor to sign the documents necessary to transfer my accounts to his firm. He will help me figure out short, medium and long term investment and financial strategies. I feel good about him, good that he will have my best interests in mind, good with the previous discussions we have had, good about the referral to him that I received from the aforementioned best friends who have worked with him for many years and have great confidence in his ability. I confided in him that I am having a hard time right now and am in need of a lot of guidance when it comes to financial matters. Maybe some of you are cringing at my confession of vulnerability, but I have to offload some stuff or be dragged down under the weight of it all.

A highlight of the week is that J has started his summer internship with Adobe so we are able to drive into the office together every morning. It is rather mundane work for him, data cleanup always is, but he seems excited about the concept of having fulltime employment, in an office, and working for such a company as Adobe. Very nice on a resume for sure.

The rest of the days have come and gone and so it will go day upon week upon month upon year. Maybe I will find some comfort in the sameness of it.

bonne fete from the colonies

2006-06-15T21:26:00.000-04:00

Athough I am british-born, I would not call myself a monarchist. But I must say, I sure wish I will age as well as she.

what's in a name?

2006-06-14T17:02:00.000-04:00

Being highly skeptical/suspect of organized religion, I appreciate the irony of this url catholicbs.co.uk .

1001 days to break free from inertia

2006-06-10T15:18:00.000-04:00

Last Friday evening I was IMing with L. We needed to get documents signed in order to list our house for sale. I decided to go to his apartment, taking the documents with me.

Ah, I see you have me pegged. Am I really that transparent? Yes, I admit the documents were an excuse, although they do really need to have both of our signatures upon them. But I had wanted to see him, to speak with him - it has been 74 days since he left. 74 days that have been the longest of lifetimes.

We sat in the dark, in a room cluttered with a new computer, a flatscreen monitor sitting atop stacked speakers, wires, the 40-x inch TV from our basement and other sundry pieces of electronic equipment - L has always been an electronic gadgets man. Conversation was sparse, alcohol already having taken the words for the evening.

Without explanation, he arose from his prone position on the leather couch - the couch that had been one of our first furniture purchases almost 13 years ago - and made his way to his bedroom. I followed, wanting to stay in his presence for a while longer. We have been together for 23 years, more than half of our lives, so be patient with me and understand my need for a slightly slower withdrawal.

Still fully clothed, L lay down, pulling the duvet over himself. I sat on the other side of the bed, the side that had been mine only a few weeks prior. The solitary window in the room was wide open, funneling the moist, cold evening air about and around us. Gradually I could feel the dampness crawl within my skin. To stay the shivering I slid down from my seated position and pulled the duvet around my shoulders. I could feel his warmth transmitted through the baffles and goose down and I longed to feel his skin again.

"Can I touch you?" I whispered as my hand crossed the sheets to reach for him. There was no response, only the slow rise and fall of his breathe. I felt his arm first with the back of my hand then with my palm, holding his forearm gently, stroking it with my thumb, watching the black outline of his profile against the light coming in from the window.

"Call from...HOME...Call from...HOME" - my cell phone rang, interrupted. My kids calling to see if all was ok, asking when I would be coming back. "Soon," I said.

I went back to the bed... and lay down beside him. He lay calmly as I caressed his skin...I wanted so much to feel him again, but...he gently, but firmly, pushed me away. He told me that night that he did not love me anymore.

Do not judge me a fool nor be too harsh in your criticism, I am not asking for judgement or opinion or advice. I am not looking for sympathy or scorn or pity, especially not pity. Bear me some compassion only, for heartbreak is most wicked.

So now I ask, how do you live a life when all that you knew about living is gone, when it has been turned on end and its contents emptied and callously swept away?

Well, I happened upon the mother of all memes, the concept of which I found appealing and comforting. ListMaking - For The Advanced Practitioner. Ahah! Baby steps...short term, accomplishable tasks - therapy for the inert, the mired, the lost.

Making lists, when they contain 3-5-10 tasks is one thing, but 101 tasks takes some consideration. The first 50-60 came fairly easily. The last 20-30?...not so easily, especially when I wanted to make sure they were things I wanted to do and not just things that I thought others would think would be neat to do. It took me 3.5 days to complete, taking into account hours at work, sleep, eating, daily ablutions, etc.

So here is my list, a pseudo roadmap to starting a life again.

learn to play the guitar
~~send 5 hand-written thank you cards~~
buy fresh cut flowers once a month for 12 months
eat 3-5 small but complete meals daily for seven consecutive days
~~once a month, for 6 months, speak with a long-distance friend or family member~~
commute to work on my bike for 5 consecutive days, regardless of the weather
go to a driving range once per week during July and August
play 9 or 18 holes once every 2 weeks from June to September
eat 1 piece of fruit everyday for 1 month
learn enough conversational Italian so that I can carry on a phone conversation with my Italian colleagues without speaking any English
send out a year's worth of birthday cards enough in advance so that they always arrive before the birthday
~~re-establish contact with my best friend from high school~~
floss my teeth every night for 1 week
take my kids on a 2-3 night camping trip in Algonquin Park
go on a weekend motorbike trip with my dad
learn how to braid my own hair
write a "letter to the editor"
run a 10KM race
compete in a mini-triathlon
get a pedicure once a month for June, July, August, September
do sit-ups and pushups on a regular basis (5 days per week) for 2 months
~~get a bikini, and wear it~~
~~get a bikini wax~~
~~host or go out for a lunch or dinner with friends once a month for 4 months~~
~~do not lie, fib or exaggerate for one full month~~
go to a play at the Stratford Festival with my kids and mum
go on a road trip to the Florida Keys with my kids
~~take a bath by candlelight~~
join a local adult swim club
drive a tractor at a friend's farm
use exfoliating mitt on legs and feet everyday in the shower for 2 weeks
use moisturizer everyday for one month
learn how to make a good latte
read the complete works of Jane Austin
visit my husband's aunt in Calgary
~~go for a picnic with my son~~
~~take my daughter to a country music show at a local county fair~~
invite my sister-in-law and her family to visit for a weekend
read online national news at least every second day for 1 month
~~use my cruiser bicycle with it's large rear mounted basket for four weekly shopping trips at local markets~~
take a multi-day canoe trip with friends
take pictures with my digital camera everyday for one month, take at least half of them as black and white
take the kids to one NAC Orchestra performance
call my sister bimonthly
learn how to perform a proper hockey stop and skate backwards (building on the skating lessons that I took last winter)
1 night per week during the winter go skating on the canal, when ice conditions permit
~~volunteer at a soup kitchen or a food bank~~
~~socialize with coworkers after work once every 2 months~~
read 1 piece of work by Carl Jung
for 1 month always stretch after exercise
send a handwritten note or letter to each of my nephews and niece
visit my high school volleyball coach
~~learn to juggle~~
learn the tango
pack a nutritious lunch to take to work for 5 consecutive days
~~do not eat any chocolate for 1 month~~
do not swear (not even under my breath) for 2 weeks
forgive L, fully and completely
~~take my kids to 1 evening of live performances at~~ both the Ottawa Jazz festival and ~~Bluesfest~~
swim the circumference of the island, approx 2 km
make cevice
hike every marked trail in the Gatineau Park during one season
go trail running in the Gatineau Park
ride my mountain bike on every marked bike trail in the Gatineau Park
learn to dance flamenco
get a palm pilot and figure out how to use all of the available features
~~subscribe to Harper's magazine and read each issue cover to cover~~
drive across Canada with my kids
~~swim in the Pacific and Atlantic oceans~~
~~make presents for Christmas 2006~~
take kids to Lusk Falls hiking trail
make Beef Wellington
~~drink 4-6 600 ml bottles of water per day for 3 months~~
go hiking and camping on the Queen Charlotte Islands
~~move from suburbs to downtown Ottawa~~
become involved in local community association
learn all of the words to Amazing Grace
learn all of the words to You Are My Sunshine
~~vacuum the car interior~~
~~clean the interior windscreen of the car~~
~~clean the interior and exterior house windows~~
~~teach C to drive~~
take an afternoon nap laying in the shade of a tree
~~go to the cottage alone for a weekend~~
~~sunbathe naked at the cottage~~
~~go skinny dipping at the cottage~~
relearn a back flip and back dive, do one of each off the dock at the cottage
swim 25m of butterfly stroke without stopping
listen to a different CD each day until I have exhausted my current supply
~~get the kids back into the habit of saying good morning and good night every day~~
~~go to PEI with kids for family reunion holiday Aug 2006~~
drink 3 8oz glasses of milk each day
~~completely reorganize my clothes closet and drawers, give away what hasn't been worn for a year~~
put together a good home toolbox
give my kids a foot rub
start gathering our well-loved recipes to make a recipe book for J and C, to give each when they leave home
make sushi with C
make Pastel de Choclo
stop looking daily for L online
backup all of my digital picture files
canoe the length of 31 Mile Lake

I have to figure out how to add in the 1001 Day Project Countdown. Triplux only provides the javascript for this and blogger does not allow javascript, or so the error message tells me. So for the meantime I will have to keep track manually. However, the Big Day or last day of the project is Tuesday, March 10, 2009.

san jose

2006-06-08T11:30:00.000-04:00

I am again sitting in my hotel room, freshly showered after having returned from a morning run, that turned into a power walk when I figured out that the map I had been given by the concierge was not at all to scale.

Tuesday evening, after being trapped in conference rooms all day, I went for a run having asked the concierge to recommend a route that would be about 4-5km. (I have been very delinquent in my running so 4-5km, maybe just 3-4km, is about all I can muster right now.) She gave me a local street map and pointed out a nature path that wasn't far from the hotel. Parts of the path were closed due to construction she said, but she directed me to where she believed the path was still open. It was supposed to take me along the Guadalupe River, but there was no loop so I would have to turn around and come back the way I went out - which was fine with me if it was a nice path.

I left the hotel lobby, turned right and headed north on Market Street, which turned into Coleman just past the 87 overpass. I found the Guadalupe River Nature Trail and turned onto it. It's not much of a river, more like a rain way with a thin slip of water ambling down the centre of the dirt and garbage strewn floor. I was pleasantly surprised to see a white heron standing at the water's edge. When I ran past it lifted itself up, gave a couple of graceful flaps of it's wings and alighted on the far bank.

Unfortunately about 3/4km along the trail it was shut...big chain link fence across and alongside the path...so I had to turn around much sooner than I was expecting and head back to the hotel. As I ran back along Market I noticed a sign in one of the windows of the local San Jose Fire Department . I had never seen this before so Googled it when I got back to my hotel room.

Startling and sad!

My run/walk this morning took me into some neighbourhoods, past some schools and past the Rosicrucian Egyptian Museum. It was odd seeing the museum buildings with their hieroglyph-encrusted walls, tile mosaics, and obelisks seemingly plucked from the ancient deserts and dropped into the middle of a sprawling expanse of 20th century bungalows as far as the eye could see.

San Jose is a strange town, in a way. A copse of adobe and glass coated buildings and homes surrounded on 3 sides by a low mountain range, spanning approximately 20 miles in diameter within the valley of the mountains. The mountains seemed not to have a name. A colleague who lives in the area didn't know of any and the limo driver who drove me to the airport this morning was adamant that they had no appellation, they were part of Silicon Valley, and that was all. Actually the valley is bounded by the Santa Cruz Mountains to the southwest and by the Diablo Range to the northeast. (I Googled that too.)

From a distance the streets, buildings and homes look well cared for, lawns, gardens, and store fronts look tidy and approachable. The heady scent of the jasmine, the newly-emerging blossoms of the purple wisteria and the countless species of massive succulents and cacti enhance the look of prosperity in the city. But as one draws closer there is a sense of unwelcome, of intrusion, emanating from all corners. There is an aura of pending decay and reclamation, as if the flora here knows it is out of place and is waiting anxiously to surrender it's tenuous hold on the land. The light breezes carry with them the barely audible whispers of the rightful, but long-denied heirs - the arboreal inhabitants of the temperate rain forests.

i've never seen that before

2006-06-06T01:36:00.000-04:00

I am presently sitting in a hotel room in the San Jose Fairmont...arrived at 1:15 am EST...ugh. It was a long flight from Ottawa to San Jose via Washington Dulles and a 3 hour layover. But the sunset as we came into the San Jose area was quite something to behold - a vibrant orangy-coral pink stripe hovering above the low mountains, set off by the grey-blue darkening night sky. Gorgeous.

During the second leg of the flight the pilots came out of the cabin to use the "facilities", stretch their legs and get some food. Prior to their exiting the cockpit, one of the flight attendants placed a cart across the doorway at the front of the cabin. He then stood in front of the cart holding it firmly in place. As he did this he looked straight down the aisle into the cabin where the passengers were all sitting.

It took me about 30 seconds to realize why the flight attendant was doing this. It was a security precaution so that noone could pass and potentially force their way into the cockpit.

I've done a fair bit of air travel since 9/11, but this is the first time I have witnessed that. I was on a United Airlines flight, and for the most part I travel with Air Canada.

Huh...

group

2006-06-06T01:17:00.000-04:00

I have started seeing a psychologist (Linda) to help me sort myself out. There is too much sorting to do it alone. I was provided with Linda’s name by a friend - one of her colleagues, whom my friend highly respects, had been to Linda previously and spoke well of the experience. A bonus is that sessions would be covered by OHIP, Ontario’s health insurance plan for those of you out of province or country. The one uncertainty for me is that Linda only runs group sessions. However, I figured I would give it a try as I need some help and can always look for something else if this doesn’t feel right to me.

I have had 3 individual sessions to date. The first was an introduction, the second and third have been more background and personal history gathering. A slight annoyance so far is that Linda is not particularly punctual, both the second and third sessions were started 10-15 minutes late, which is an issue for me as I have to return to the office after the session. I’ll see how it progresses and will mention something if it becomes the rule rather than the exception.

The office is a little tired looking and the furniture is slightly grubby. The one previous comfort was that the doors and walls attached to the meeting room are quite heavily padded so as to eradicate any noise transfer. I say ‘previous’ because last week whilst I was waiting to go into my third session I was able to hear part of the conversation that was taking place in Linda’s office/meeting room. And it went something like this:

“…so does he ejaculate prematurely every time?”
“Yes, mostly. Yes”
“Does he know it is an issue for you?”
(didn’t hear the response…lots of mumbling)
A few more mumbles
“Ok, we better stop here for today.”

EEEWW!

Some shuffling inside, then the door opened and 2 women followed by 2 men exited the room, and the 2 women were carrying on the conversation with the one whose partner was not the premature ejaculator doling out distain and advice. The people who left the room do not look like they have anything in common with me and the men were not particularly nicely dressed at all. One was wearing grubby shorts and a grubby baseball cap. Now I have nothing against grubby shorts and a grubby baseball cap in the right circumstance. But in a group therapy session where the conversation may tend toward premature ejaculation or the like, I think that maybe a little more decorum in one's dress is required.

My immediate thought after the group left the waiting room: I hope Linda runs multiple group sessions and I hope to hell I don’t get put in that group. My second thought: there is no way that I am ~~not~~ going to be sharing anything about L’s and my sex or lovelife. It is special and something between just the two of us and I am not going to defile it by exposing it to anyone, friend nor stranger.

The next appointment is June 13, another individual one. The more I think about what I heard whilst in the waiting room, the greater my trepidation about joining “group”.

an awful ending to a mediocre day

2006-06-04T23:32:00.000-04:00

I got up fairly late this morning, there was nothing much to do. C had climbed into bed with me much earlier and we just laid in bed for a couple of hours, falling in and out of sleep. It was her pointy elbow smashing me squarely in the nose that finally convinced me to vacate the lush, cloud-like coccoon that is my new bed.

Friends had invited us to dinner this evening (a belated birthday dinner), so to pass the time from when I arose until we had to leave the house to go to dinner, I did some weeding and some laundry. Quite a blase (how the heck do I get an accent aigu over the e?) day, but then they all have been since he left.

Dinner was nice, some good conversation, a few laughs, some bubbly. They gave me a lovely card and a gift certificate for a massage. As we were leaving, Wen said she had another card for me. When I saw my name written on the envelope I knew it was from L. Why couldn't he give it to me himself?

When we got back to the house I noticed immediately that L had been to the house while we were all out, to pick up some stuff...mail, coffee making stuff, inflatable mattress, sleeping bag, stereo from the basement, lawn chair, etc. He had said yesterday that it wouldn't be until Monday or so before he could get the key to his apartment so probably wouldn't pick up stuff now.

I called the friends that we had had dinner with. They knew he was going by the house to get stuff. She said that L had said it would be easier to get stuff whilst we were out. Easier for L maybe, but definitely not for me. I feel somewhat betrayed...like a secret joke has been played on me yet again. Was the dinner just a diversion? Do they really not consider me their friend? Was it just L that they were interested in all the years we have known each other?

A while back L, in anger, had said to me that I should get a friend - implying that I didn't have any. He told me that I was boring, that everyone thought I was boring, that everything I said was boring, that nothing I said was of interest to anyone. It seems like maybe he was right. Maybe I was just being tolerated. Maybe they were just being nice.

I just got back from L's apartment. I had wanted to talk with him about why he felt he had to be so secretive, but he would have nothing to do with me. It was too late to talk he said. It was too late to talk because it was me...

I don't like this life. It is not the least bit fair.

sleeping at altitude

2006-06-04T12:23:00.000-04:00

The first night in my new bed was uneventful. No dizziness from lack of oxygen, no hitting my head on the ceiling when I sat up, no spraining an ankle as I lept down from the heights this morning.

You think I jest about the vertical distance between the top of the bed and the floor, but oh no, I do not. And here is the proof.

44

2006-06-03T22:19:00.000-04:00

It is my birthday today.

I started last night numbing the pain and sadness that I knew would colour every moment of today. I drank a bottle of champagne - alone - wishing with every swig that I could be sharing it with L.

I went alone to bed, taking my laptop with me - not a good idea for a champagne drunk full of sadness, hurt and with a sprinkling of anger thrown into the mix. I sent an email to L expressing my annoyance with him for a particular incident.

This morning, with my head foggy and pounding from last night's overindulgence, L and I got into a bit of an email argument. I had previously been hoping that he still cared enough for me to send me a card for my birthday. (I have always loved receiving handwritten cards, even more than gifts.) But nothing came...

I did receive a birthday serenade from my son J, along with a card and gift (the book and DVD of High Fidelity - excellent). My mother-in-law came to dinner bearing flowers. And C, my ever-loving daughter, gave me a card and the newest Eurythmics 'best of' CD, which I had been coveting.

The four of us were supposed to go out to dinner, but the new mattress and boxspring I bought to replace what had been our bed, was to be delivered today beween 5 and 8 pm. So I ended up putting together my own birthday dinner for everyone.

On a positive note, my new bed was delivered at about 7:15pm and assembled by the delivery guys by 7:25pm. The distinguishing feature of my bed, aside from it being a luxurious Stearns and Foster...it is really REALLY high. From the floor to the top edge of the mattress is just over 3 feet high. I kid you not. It's kind of bizarre how high it is. I do not remember it being this high in the shop when I was trying it on. My god, it is so high! But oh so comfy.

I miss L. Friends tell me I am doing the "right thing". But that is too easy to say sometimes. If we could fix this, fix us, I would do so. I am still in love with him, you see.

leaving

2006-06-01T22:19:00.000-04:00

Last Saturday I drove up to the cottage with my mother-in-law to help her start removing her possessions.

Unfortunately, we are losing the use of "our" beautiful island. To make a long story short - the island belonged to the estate of my father-in-law's first wife's (she predeceased him) family. My father-in-law was permitted use of the island for his lifetime. Upon his death this past christmas, the 2 heirs of the estate (my father-in-law's son from his first marriage and my father-in-law's brother-in-law) very quickly decided to sell the island, belying any expressed affinity or love for the island and lake.

I have been on the island since 1983 but I almost do not remember a time when it was not a part of my life. Yet now we must gradually pack up and go.

Saturday was my first time this year at the lake. We were met on mainland by a friend and boated to our island. As we passed between 2 other islands and our beautiful rock came into view across the sparkling, cool water I could not help but quietly weep. I sat alone in the front seat of the boat, looking forward, watching it come closer, knowing that I would not grow old on this land, knowing that my children would no longer be able to walk the trails that they have walked since birth.

My mother-in-law wanted to tackle one room at a time. This trip we cleared out her bedroom. We started working quietly, each attending to a different set of drawers or cupboards. After a while my mother-in-law left the room to sit and rest for a bit. She was speaking with the friend who had brought us across the water, I could hear the conversation in the distance as I continued to pack bags. From the other room my mother-in-law's voice grew louder as she asked me a question. I walked out of the bedroom to answer and saw my mother-in-law sitting at the dining table, in the chair my father-in-law always sat in, my hand rested on the stair railing that my father-in-law built when he was 71 (I think) - I wavered, then crumbled.

How can they have so little regard for this place, this living breathing piece of glory?

better than a kick to the head

2006-06-01T09:10:00.000-04:00

...well only slightly, and that goes for both the horse and the man.

nothingness

2006-05-30T23:54:00.000-04:00

It is May 30th. It would have been our 19th wedding anniversary today. We would have exchanged cards and gifts this morning, would have opened cards from our children, from family, would have probably gone out for a nice dinner. Would have shared a bottle of Veuve Cliquot.

But there was nothing today, nor will there ever be for every May 30th that follows. No sleepy "happy anniversary" gently spoken in our morning bed. No lovely cards with I love you's written inside. No flowers. No phone calls from parents and friends with happy anniversary wishes. No kisses. No love-making. No hand carressing my cheek nor touching my hair.

The silence is expansive...palpable...crushing.

things that go bump

2006-05-29T16:01:00.000-04:00

Dead mouse is just as effective in causing one to slip and fall as a discarded banana peel. Let me tell you how I know this to be true.

This morning as I was leaving my house, paying no heed to where I was stepping but rather to the petunias in several of the ceramic pots on my front porch, I very quickly found myself with one knee smashed onto the brick pathway. After recovering my feet, I noticed a reddish, greyish, wet-looking skid mark where my foot had been just seconds before. As I examined the base of my shoe, then the path I noticed some little curled up feet, a little round ear, a smushed stringy little tail, and bits and pieces of grey fur.

I am pretty sure I would have noticed a live mouse running across my path and would have avoided it, so I am guessing that one of my cats, Ben probably as he is a very good mouser, left me a present. It is strange that he would have left it in such an exposed spot. Normally he leaves the inedible bits of his prey (mostly the gall bladders, that look like little stones after a few days a l'exterieur) under the rocking chair on the front porch.

My knee hurts!

my other lust of the week

2006-05-27T17:22:00.000-04:00

I went shopping today for a new mattress and boxspring. L is taking what used to be our beautiful sleigh bed. I want him to take it...it became not mine 3 years ago.

I am not going to get a headboard or bed frame right now. I would rather get a decent mattress and take my time to find a headboard that I really like.

Luckily for me, sales at mattress shops seem to be a perpetual state of affairs. Also luckily for me, mattress salespeople are very attentive and knowledgeable. Within 2 minutes of entering the shop I was greeted by Dan. I gave Dan a brief description of what I was looking for: queen, firm, nicely padded, then I was ushered around the shop in order to "try on" several different mattresses. After 15 minutes I was pretty close to settling on a model, Sealy, firm with built in lumbar support. But then I was introduced to the Manhattan, by Stearns and Foster, and there was no going back.

It was originally more than I was expecting to pay, and of course the Stearns and Foster's were not on sale, but Dan said that there was some extra stock in Kingston since a shop that was supposed to open recently didn't. And mattresses sitting in warehouses cost the company money... as Dan was kind enough to point out. So he telephoned his manager and asked if they could give me a deal. Dan came back saying they would cut the price by $350, which still made it $350 more than the almost-ran Sealy with lumbar support. So I hummed and hawed for a couple of minutes, then said if they gave me the discounted price with taxes all in then I would buy it today. If not , then I would take the Sealy.

Dan went and spoke to his manager who had remained on the phone, and after 30 seconds said that the Stearns and Foster was mine...woohoo.

It will be delivered next Saturday.

I should have quit whilst I was emotionally ahead and just gone straight back to the house. Instead, I went to a local Farm Boy to pick up a few items for dinner for C and me. I used to love going to that market with L, wandering through the isles looking at the expansive selection of fresh produce. It was fun shopping with him there and that's saying something for me since I really dislike grocery shopping for the most part.

Now, over the past two days my sorrow has taken a back seat to anger. I have been so angry with L. But today as I was wandering through the market, it struck me that the last time I was there I was with L. It was all I could do to get out of the market without blubbering in front of a shop full of strangers. So I'll find another market.

my lust of the week

2006-05-26T20:31:00.000-04:00

...italian soda

My son works at a local independent coffee shop. Along with a great latte and a mocha frappacino drink that C really likes, you can get some delicious panini sandwiches, tasty salads and italian soda. An italian soda is soda water with different fruit flavoured syrups. I had the raspberry italian soda and it is absolutely delicious and totally refreshing.

I wasn't able to find raspberry syrup in two of the local grocery stores but I did see Ribena on the shelf...and it makes a GREAT italian soda!!!

Blackcurrant Italian Soda:
2 ice cubes in 1 highball glass
fill glass 4/5 full with good quality soda water or sparkling water
add 1 3/4 TBSP Ribena (Blackcurrant)

Yummm!

perspective

2006-05-24T21:55:00.000-04:00

When C was 5 years old I, along with another neighbourhood mum, volunteered to be brownie leaders for the local brownie group our daughters had joined. Sheila had been an elementary school teacher prior to having her 4 children. When she had her set of twin girls (the youngest of her children), she decided to stay at home with the kids until they were ready to go to school.

Once the twins started school Sheila began providing day care in her home. She had a thriving business. When a rare spot opened up as families moved out of the area or kids grew old enough to not need daycare any longer it was quickly filled by another family and their little ray of light and sunshine.

We both left the Girl Guides of Canada after our girls were no longer involved. But since we live in the same neighbourhood I would see Sheila in her yard, or at the local shops or at our kids' school events.

About a year ago I noticed that I hadn't seen Sheila in her yard with any of her daycare kids for a while, but didn't give much thought to it.

Recently C told me that she had seen the twins a few months ago and they had told her that their mum had been diagnosed with ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig's disease. Then last week I received a voice message from one of the former guide leaders Sheila and I knew inviting me to a surprise birthday party next week for Sheila.

I spoke with this other woman this evening. I was told that Sheila is now fully wheelchair bound and is starting to have difficulties with her shoulders, which makes propelling herself in her wheelchair almost impossible and holding a phone to her ear for more than a few minutes extremely tiring. However, her interminably happy spirit is still strong and she is often surrounded by family and friends.

Next week is going to be very emotionally difficult since May 30 is L's and my 19th wedding anniversay, and June 3rd is my birthday...and L will not be here. But I better buck up just a little, hide my sorrow, and go to a birthday party.