Inner Dialogues

Life at "The House"

2009-12-13T05:59:00.011-05:00

Policing the sandbox!

It's a little like being the hallway monitor in school -- only with adults, some of them physically imposing, who behave like children. After putting in my third 24-hour shift at the social reintegration house, I can now provide a sort of preliminary portrait. And a reason why it's so draining.

There are currently three women in the house, ranging from age 21 to early 30s to early 60s, and over 20 men of varying ages. The younger ones grappled with alcohol and drugs from an early age, so I can't help feeling as though they have the harder row to hoe. Indeed, one of the men confided yesterday that alcohol wasn't even his primary problem; it was gambling first and cocaine closely tied to it (the impulse to do either one would lead to the other inevitably). Still, the AA program is the one used in the house, since the 12 steps can be applied to any addiction.

Since yesterday is fresh in my mind... here goes a sampling...

On Friday night I had the first complaint about a cold bedroom. The guy stood by the closed/locked office door and demanded to be let in (I was sitting in the dining room a few feet away) to check the thermostat. He said this in a proprietary tone, when in fact residents aren't permitted to do anything of the kind. But this is the sort of attitude they have taken with me (the men, in particular) because after all, I'm the newbie and let's see what liberties we can get away with.

Well, he walked away grumbling when I told him the thermostat had not been set lower and no, I wasn't letting him in to look at it. The next morning was worse. Big Guy #1 (whom I call The Preacher) started my day by informing me that his baseboard heater wasn't working, that he froze all night and couldn't sleep, and that he came down to the kitchen (where he works many hours a week) to start making soup and stay warm.

So I told him I would report to the owner and/or his son, who can take appropriate measures. This wasn't sufficient, and in his usual fashion of saying everything multiple times, he proceeded to repeat the same plaint word for word not only to me but to anyone who cared to listen. Then the third guy walked in right in the middle of it all and launched into an argument about the lack of heat in his room. He was sarcastic and I'd pretty much had it at that point, so I told him to go away and the Preacher to stop complaining, and stomped outside to finish my coffee in peace and to try to sift the chaff from the truth.

Two out of three guys came to "sort-of" apologize later.

You need to separate a genuine complaint or concern from a character disorder, a bad habit or a momentary tantrum.

See, the rooms which get sun during the day stay warmer at night, and if they're also over the furnace-side of the building, bonus. The others, unfortunately, don't have it so good. And yet most of the heaters work full blast, even to the point where plenty of residents keep their windows open a crack at night.

This is an ongoing complaint, but they now have someone new to try it on because they know the other staff won't stand for it anymore. The Preacher also does a daily 10-minute soapbox routine in which he proclaims his non-belief in human beings and his reliance on The Baby Jesus. It's hard to take it seriously even on first hearing, because it's so rote and patently empty as to be meaningless. Still, you nod and smile and tap him on the back and say "way to go." Because it's really just a cassette he's playing and no debate or response is required.

Another will come up periodically -- to me, or anyone else who happens to be around -- and ask a question point-blank about the program, but I've learned that he, too, is just looking for the chance to run his cassette. It isn't a discussion; it's a display of knowledge, it's just quoting chapter and verse. Yet another has spent a lot of time describing his ideal girlfriend; I have to watch him, because he strays often into territory that verges on pornographic.

In general, I have to be attuned to little bits of harmful dialogue that masquerade as banter (which is part of the process of helping people in recovery to change the way they think; very important). A couple of guys were talking about what they'd do if they won the lottery, and one launched into a daydream about renting a luxury suite at the casino, lining up the chips at the best table, and wagering a million then and there. I had to remind him that this was inappropriate conversation. One girl quipped, "With friends like mine, you'd resort to mind-altering substances, too!" and the answer to that is not a sympathetic laugh but rather a gentle, "That only means you need to change your friends." Or the guy who thinks the snorer in the next room is deliberately baiting him, when the truth is, he feels the entire world is engaged in a conspiracy to make him miserable. Or simply telling the youngest one that she shouldn't be wandering about in her pjs and housecoat at 10:00 a.m.

It's a continuous and rapid-fire process of listening, choosing to respond or not, deciding how to formulate a response, correcting if need be, deciding on tone of voice... well, it's a lot like parenting! Or being a substitute teacher!

I got home at about 4 PM yesterday and was asleep by 7:30.

More bullets!

2009-12-07T13:38:00.006-05:00

There hardly seems much point in continuing to update here, since I am running out of time and interest to keep it up and get little or no feedback when I do (that was not a whine, just an observation. Most of my former readers and I keep in frequent touch through Facebook).

For what it's worth, I'll just throw the latest news out here..

- I am doing a 24-hour surveillance shift each week at the local social reintegration house, which I was calling a halfway house. That is not really the proper term. This Pavilion is expressly for people coming straight from detox or therapy, and it's the same place where I have gone occasionally since last spring to make dessert for the residents. Because the owner was absentee at first, running things from a distance, the Pavilion turned into a disreputable mess. He has since taken over in hands-on fashion and the result is a much better structure and discipline. There are cameras and a 0-tolerance policy.
The principal reason I finally acquiesced to the intermittent pleas from the top counsellor there to go work for them (volunteer) is that the owner is paying for us to take a drug and alcohol counselling course, which would normally cost over $500/head.
With one year (+ a week) of continuous sobriety behind me, I am now ready to take on this sort of service work. The point is not just to play babysitter to the residents, but to assist with their attempts to live drug-free and get their shit together so they can move out and live on their own. For now, with only my personal experience to go on, I do not feel very qualified to do much more than listen actively and help in whatever way I can.
My Christmas plans are up in the air. The Young Man Formerly Known as The Teen has rethought his decision to join the army and is still looking for a job. If he gets one in the next two weeks, that will pretty much determine whether we head off to Ontario or not. His wish to spend time with the uncles and aunts would be my main motivation for going. If he's working at a new job and unable to get more than a couple of days off, however, I will stay in Quebec with him... and...
There are a hundred things to keep me busy over the holidays. The Pavilion, the AA hotline, decorating meeting rooms (well, one at least), organizing Christmas and New Year's events... the list goes on.
Would it be an understatement to say I'm relieved my one and only child isn't joining the army? On the one hand, it would and is an excellent route to fitness, discipline, and even a career. On the other hand... well. I don't think I need state the obvious.
I participated in Operation Christmas Child this year for the first time and made two shoeboxes of gifts, which will be shipped somewhere overseas to two children in refugee camps, orphanages etc. It was great fun to put the boxes together and I plan to get more involved with the program on a community level. Knowing that I will help brighten the life of a child somewhere, who will receive only one such gift box in her lifetime, made me feel incredibly good. Giving without expectation: it's the ultimate.
I made my own cake for my one-year anniversary. Generally, someone - usually the person's sponsor - offers to make it. I don't have a sponsor, and in any case I felt a little shy asking anyone else to go to the trouble. Mine was, quite by accident, a vegan recipe, but the comments from people who'd tried it were so enthusiastic, I made it myself. It turned out nicely... cocoa swoonage, baby. A friend presented me with a beautiful 1-yr token.
I am still tolerating life in this apartment building, but lately it's been a little rocky. A day after paying this month's rent I asked the landlord to intervene in the matter of the indoor landing, where the rednecks (Emphysema Man and his cronies) tend to congregate to smoke, cough, and talk loudly. Over the months I have gritted my teeth and endured their noise, but I usually only achieve a measure of peace by drowning them out with classical music while I work. I finally asked the landlord to get them to clean up the landing area, where they were accumulating old furniture retrieved from other departing tenants. I was tired of the trashy, dusty-looking assortment of chairs and tables and what-not. I told him it's not a public salon bla bla bla. Long story short, he got them to clear out some junk. It's a marginal improvement, anyway.

That's all I have time for right now. I have a bunch of overdue accounting to take care of, which I've avoided for hours so far by reorganizing a closet (a task that began with a desire to extricate the vacuum cleaner). With only two closets, I keep paring down belongings but apparently I still have too much stuff.

How not to be

2009-11-27T11:26:00.007-05:00

Hey, been awhile. Time for a bullet-form update.

In my pursuit of how to live as an adequate human being, I got two lessons today: one on how to be, one on how not to be. Both pertain to the death of a mutual friend's mother. Friend 1 wrote a mass email saying it would be thoughtful if we were to send flowers of condolence. Friend 2 wrote to agree and suggested a pointsettia, which would last well into the holidays. I wrote to agree with 1 & 2. Friend 3 then popped up in Facebook chat and said he considered all of this a "big to-do" and "petty." I said goodbye and signed off the chat before I could react with all of the emotion that came surging into my head.
I had the chance to get to the Toronto area recently and spend time with family. It was a welcome and heartwarming time. Sibs: there are wee cards in the mail... sometimes it takes me awhile to get to these things...
I have a new gig which begins today at the local halfway house. It's a 24-hour (overnight) volunteer job that entails, essentially babysitting. It might be another step in... something. Not sure what yet. I just know that I'm being nudged in a couple of directions whose outcome is not clear.
Other than that - nothing fabulous to report. Waiting for Xin to get over her first bout of the heats and then I can have her operated. The past week has been pretty hellish with the howling, lemme tell ya.

Over and out for now.

Cooking for one

2009-10-21T20:47:00.004-04:00

I bought a handful items at the grocery store today, in part because I didn't need much but also because I'm broke (awaiting funds in the mail).

If I go to Maxi on Wednesdays, it's the day before the store puts a new batch of stock on special. So I can get some meat and fish items at half-price - provided I either cook or freeze them that very day. It's worth it. Especially if you can get a nice package of cod or salmon.

So I got some chili fixings and walked back home, thinking, as I so often do, how nice it would be to cook for my kid.

He was always so appreciative of my cooking. Where he lives now, the lady is very good; she makes some really nice dishes... such as the salad she threw together one summer night: faux crab meat, avocados, strawberries and cucumbers, in a light dressing of olive oil and lime juice. It was fresh, light, and delicious. Easy, too, but of course you'd have to know the recipe to just whip up that sort of thing. I would keep it in mind for any event next summer for which I might need to bring a dish.

So, much as Alex appreciates her culinary abilities, he often says he misses my cooking. I am still somewhat surprised, because my style was pretty basic.

A couple of days ago, on the phone, I mentioned that I'd made two different cakes for the halfway house residents. I said I was glad they turned out well and were enthusiastically received, but...

I said, "It's a community service. I like doing it, but they aren't friends of mine, really. They're just a bunch of people, they're..."

Alex said promptly, "They're not your SON!"

Exactly!

Anyway, I made my chili tonight and it was good.

And then came autumn

2009-10-20T10:26:00.003-04:00

It was easy enough in the summer to feel alive and cherished; God’s presence and love were felt in every sunrise and sunset, every phase of the moon, in the wondrous formations of clouds, in much-needed rain showers, in the dappled light through green leaves, in rocks, in flowers both wild and domestic, in birdsong, in the wind. All was well. All was fine early in the morning, before the noisy world woke up and started running its engines and motors and fans. All was possible, each day ripe with expectancy, with possibilities, with myriad outcomes.

Blogger refuses to upload a picture for now.

Cutbacks

2009-10-05T16:43:00.007-04:00

I have decided to slow things down. Since mid-May, when I did Steps 4 and 5, I have been in constant action that has varied between mild levitation (groovy, man) and full-bore charging (in sneakers) into all kinds of activities.

But in the past two weeks, I've become a little tired and draggy. Maybe it's the change of season, with the grey, soggy weather and shorter days. Maybe it's that I went off my strict regimen. Maybe I'm just going into a new phase of recovery. My sponsor tells me the latter is likely, but not to discount the other factors.

Whatever it is, I need to cut back a bit. And so as of today I've decided to accomplish three things per day.

Work doesn't count. I mean three things other than my regular, income-producing work. I've done four productive things today (3 of them service-based), so I'm ahead of the game as far as I'm concerned.

I don't think I need to work quite as hard as I have been to maintain sobriety, to prove I'm useful to myself and to others, to be so busy all the time.

I don't mean I plan to be complacent. That would be dangerous. I only want to feel less of a driving need to be constantly out there, doing. I have to pick and choose now. I think with 3 basic things per day I can accomplish quite a lot. Just for a while. Just to see how it goes.

Too good to be true?

2009-09-24T20:02:00.003-04:00

Part of my recovery process involves changing my thought patterns. For example, rather than saying the negative form of things ("This always happens to me!" or "There's never a cop when you want one!"), I try to turn them around. I could write reams about positive thinking, its impact on the subconscious, and the many authors whose fascinating works inspire me, but I won't. I'll just set down one recent example when positive thinking didn't work.

Alex lives with a buddy (let's call him Buddy) and his parents, as you know. Buddy's grandfather passed away some months ago and his wife went into a senior's residence. Their house, which the grandfather built, is sitting unoccupied. Grandma and her sons are all helping pay the taxes, insurance, and electricity. So Alex and his friend were made an offer: to live in the house, rent-free, particularly to comply with the insurance company's demands, until the house sells. It's been on the market for several months and isn't getting any nibbles.

Buddy decided he'd rather stay at home - and why not, since living elsewhere would mean doing his own cooking and laundry (and other chores)? Alex, on the other hand, was keen to make the move. So after some discussion, we decided it would be even keener to move in together.

We were both pretty excited about the idea - for me, an actual house in a quiet neighbourhood, with its own yard and all. Close to the city, all services, etc. etc. A chance to "mother" again. A host of other jubilant ideas. A fireplace. A guest room! Space to stretch out. Dad said he'd discuss it with his brothers and let us know.

What they came back with was disappointing, to say the least. Ludicrous would be a better word. Not only do they want plenty of rent... OK, I get that... but they would also keep the house on the market, and if it sold, give us one month (30 days!!!) to clear out.

Think of it. We'd never be able to really settle in, make any plans, feel as though we were at home. We'd live in a state of uncertainty all the time.

So, yeah - it seemed too good to be true. And it was!

In the end, though, I can think of it as a good sign. That house wasn't meant for me. But there's another one out there that is. All in good time, all in good time.

p.s. that photo above is not the house. But it would be the sort of house I'd love.

The last day off of summer

2009-09-21T08:46:00.008-04:00

Someone recently sent me a Facebook fortune cookie with the note, "Hope your days are always full of surprises!" and yes, yes they are.

I suppose it depends what you consider a surprise. I prefer to call them gifts. Someone dear to me called long-distance on Saturday morning. Yesterday a friend gave me a small, sparkly silver cross on a silver chain that he'd been keeping to give to the right person. These are little meaningful things that make each day a joy.

Last night I had an entirely different surprise. I drove for many miles on near-deserted country back roads in the dark. The operative words being "I drove." On the way back from a movie, the driver asked for a break and so I obliged. This has given me renewed resolve to go get my learner's permit again. And maybe even go a little further and actually take driving lessons.

I braked for a white bunny as it hopped none too quickly in front of my path. (I think one of my greatest and most frequent heartbreaks of late is the sight of so many dead animals by the road. Deer, coons, skunks, groundhogs. I avert my eyes. I remind myself that they already feel no pain, but I hate to see the striped tails and lifeless curled paws.)

I don't get out much into the deep countryside after dark, but last night at 9:00 the sky was a spangled jewel box of black velvet and diamonds. I even saw a shooting star.

We even took a ferry (a short ride which nonetheless fills me with glee just because it's something different.)

Busy week ahead: finalizing the purchasing for the upcoming anniversary event and dispatching all the goods to trusted helpers. They will be in charge of setting up the hall because by that time I will be ensconced in a convent for another weekend retreat. Breakfasts at the school; last Tuesday/Thursday were our first mornings back on the job, and I enjoyed seeing the kids again. Perhaps there is something reassuring for some of them, too, in seeing the familiar faces of those who dispensed cereal, fruit, and hot buttered toast all last year. Meetings as usual; a hospital visit; a first-time appearance on Tuesday night at a drug treatment centre; laundry, packing, and whatever else might pop up.

But first, a bike ride, a bag of stale bread, and an appointment with some hungry gulls in the park. Priorities!

I insist you watch this

2009-09-17T18:40:00.002-04:00

It always puts me in a great mood... pretty sure it will do the same for you!

The case of the twitching curtains, and other mini-stories

2009-09-14T16:19:00.004-04:00

The lonesome neighbour. So now I know she lies in wait for us to come out. Then she pounces.

Well, actually, she sits by her window and looks through her verticals at the dull expanse of our parking lot. I thought I was safe if she wasn't actually sitting outside. Or fiddling with her never-ending array of hand-washed garments on her two plastic chairs, the railing, the broom handle, the cedar bush, and wherever else one might hang laundry. Yesterday I went down the back stairs with some stuff for the bins and before I'd even reached the last step, she'd somehow managed to beat me there.

Maybe she was sitting behind the dumpster. Anyway, she moved fast. And I was treated to another dizzying flow of disjointed one-way conversation. I wasn't in any hurry, though, so I let her talk until the air got chilly as the sun sank low.

But now I hesitate before taking out my garbage and recycling. It's the... inability to follow her threads, to get a word in edgewise, or even to know who or what she's talking about sometimes. All she really wants or needs is someone to nod and smile. I can do that. Just not all the time.

A luncheon. At last, not the usual "let's grab a bite at the restaurant" deal. I was invited to lunch at the home of folks who made everything from scratch, from the thick pea soup to the three-berry pie. Clearly, I have not been hanging out with the right class of people. It was simple, unfussy, and delicious. And a very pleasant break from the routine. They live way up in nowhere land with a beautiful view of a lake and hills. Must be spectacular when the trees turn in the fall.

A boat ride. Another unusual outing, albeit a short one. A friend was taking a motorized rowboat out for a test drive before committing to buy it. Good thing, too: the little motor kept conking out every two minutes. Fortunately, there were oars. The river - which meanders all over the place and up to Mont-Tremblant - is an incontrovertible feature of this town, and I have been hankering to go out on it. I finally got my wish. We spotted a great blue heron standing, artfully camouflaged (he thought) amongst the bleached roots of an upended tree on the shore. We rowed vewwy, vewwy quietly to about 10 feet from him before he twitched, took one step forward, and spread his magnificent wings to flap away. Beautiful.

Bro H. would hate this river on sight. It has truly massive, trunk-like weeds near the banks and (ugh) old trees sticking up in spots where they've been trapped by (ack) large boulders beneath the surface. Not a river for swimming (it's a river for lying down and avoiding!), and the murky brown water and mushy bottom only add to the list of why any form of death would be preferable to falling in.

Other than that, I am still up before the sun every day. Of course as we all know, the sun is rising later and later, and therefore, so am I. But not always. I was up at 5:20 this morning. It was our first thoroughly cloudy, cool morning in almost 2 weeks, and I did not go for my usual walk. Did I feel any guilt? Not for a second.

But seriously.

2009-09-10T17:07:00.002-04:00

How does someone trip over a plant in a corner? Does it look to you like she was straddling the plant pot? HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN?

Knowing who the clumsy one is doesn't really make it much funnier. Because you probably don't watch the show and don't care that this was the nobody girlfriend of the "star" of that show. Nor should you.

Fortunate, selfish, or just emotionally stunted?

2009-09-08T18:40:00.009-04:00

<----- knight in shining armour
I waffle between the three when I think of the absence of a steady romantic relationship in my life.

First off, I generally feel fortunate. I'm glad to be free of any emotional entanglement. Friends and acquaintances - some long-married, some just living with a significant other - tell me often that I am "lucky." After hearing their latest tales of woe, my answer is usually, "I know it." I could tell you many, many stories that'd make your hair stand on end. But they're none of my business, so I just move along and be grateful every day that I don't have to deal with the behaviours my friends complain about.

On the other hand, I sometimes wonder if anyone would put up with me and my casual housekeeping habits or my schedule. I am not a slob about cleaning, but neither am I obsessed. I keep up with the basics, but I am not punctual about cleaning floors. My kitchen sink is clear every evening and I maintain the kind of order that I can live with. I move pictures, accessories, and furniture around regularly. (Always a challenge, in this small apartment.)

My schedule, well, it revolves firstly around meetings and work, but the morning walk is now sacred and so are my naps. Sometimes I beat myself up over napping but not on the days when I'm up at 4:00 a.m.

My eating habits are a little weird, that's for sure. Since hooking up with -- and getting hooked on -- the Isagenix program, I've learned to eat lean and mean and at very regular times. I am a little rigid about what goes into my mouth. I rarely cheat, and when I do it's laughable. The past few days I was reminiscing over the winter 2009 and my slothful habits. I was popping chocolate raisins and chocolate bars, drinking massively rich mocha lattes, eating chips and peanuts and all kinds of stuff whenever I damn well pleased. No wonder I gained 10 pounds over the winter months. What a slob! Now I peel the skin and fat off everything, fry nothing, salt nothing, steam everything, weigh most things and yes, check calories. Actually, by now I've become really good at gauging quantities and I pretty much know the fat and caloric content of most things. A few days ago, I asked an employee at Tim Horton's for their nutrition information. As it turns out, my favourite muffin (bran, blueberry, cranberry) isn't even the most sinful item on the menu. One of my favourite sandwiches is.

I don't much like the phone, so I let about half my calls go to voice mail. I suppose that would irritate someone.

My last b/f happened along at possibly the worst time... for him. I was going into the final stretch of alcoholism, getting to that point where I simply could not go a day without drinking. It was still limited to evenings only, but he was wise and didn't wait for the inevitable progression. My real self was witnessing the advancement of my addiction but fighting a losing battle with the addicted self... which caused terrible stress and misery but which I conveniently blamed on him. Oh, how I found fault with him! I'm sure at least one SIL and other family members remember my litany of complaints. How unfair I was about most of it. How easy to blame him for my shortcomings.

Today, as I learn more about myself and how I react/perceive/deal with people, places, and things, I realize that I am not ready for a relationship. I still don't know myself very well - and the parts I do know fall into two categories: the kind and caring self who wants to help and nurture everything in her path; and the critical, reclusive self who doesn't quite believe that anyone can be trusted.

Moreover, and quite apart from not being ready, I am happy with the way things are. If I were co-dependent - and thank god I'm not - I could have plowed through several men in the past 16 months. But ongoing sobriety is giving me a good perspective. And I like the fact that I don't need to compromise on anything with anyone on a daily basis. I'll learn that later.

Two things: don't fix it if it ain't broke. And if Mr. Right is out there, he'll come along when the time is right.

2009-09-03T14:43:00.003-04:00

Money won't buy happiness, but it does buy a lot of Big Macs.
Go here.

You're welcome.

Making up stories

2009-08-29T10:58:00.008-04:00

<--- random picture of son

Someone taught me a little lesson recently about how we perceive reality - or more accurately, how we interpret and shape reality in our minds.

He calls it "making up stories" about other people.

You start to feel guilty because you haven't called a friend for awhile. "He/she must be upset with me," you think. It's probably not true. There's a good chance that person has thought about you the same way... but what is the reality, since neither of you know for sure what the other is thinking?

We never truly know other people's thoughts at any given time. We try to glean information from facial expressions, body language, tone of voice or silence - but even those clues don't give us the full insight we hope for. So we interpret them as... "He's angry with me." "She never pays a compliment, so she must be jealous." "They won't meet my eye. They must not like me."

See how it always comes back to "me?" My interpretation - and it's all in my head.

The person who explained "making up stories" to me did so after we had a whopper of a conversation which started with the best of intentions and went completely wonky. He got angry. He denied it a minute later, but it's a fact. He raised his voice and cursed. (If that's not angry, I don't know what you call it.) And he got angry after I apologized for causing possible offense. How could I know if he was offended? How dare I assume that? (*sigh*)

If reality is subjective, then I must learn to be objective. It's a lot easier to interact with other human beings if you can practice detachment. That, combined with the principle of "do no harm," can help make it much easier to deal with life on life's terms.

Month-end update

2009-08-24T03:47:00.011-04:00

I'm wondering if I should write this properly or make bullet points. Guess I'll just wing it.

Nah... bullets it is.

Worked a few hours each day at the farm this weekend, Fri-Sun. I am somewhat rethinking my dream of owning a large piece of land with a menagerie. For one thing, you could never go anywhere on holiday. It's hard enough to find someone willing to scoop cat litter boxes, let alone shovel poop from urine-soaked barn stalls.
A few reasons why the barn work was noteworthy: 1) My fear of spiders seems to have abated enough that I was not paralyzed with dread. Give me a summer day in any given year of my life until now, and my skin would have been crawling with the thought. But this time, although the filthy, thick webs gave me pause, I didn't even see an arachnid. 2) 3) and 4) I fondled some unwilling baby bunnies. I picked up and held a chicken, though she didn't like it very much. She preferred the back scratches. I saw some very wee German shepherd puppies, but Mom was standing by watchfully, so I limited myself to looking.
I rode many times in a fly-infested van, which was gross. We got a flat tire on a country road, and neither I nor the driver freaked out. Instead, we did improv by the highway using the 4-pronged wheel bolt thingee. (Whatever it's called.) Laughed ourselves silly until the CAA roadside assistance guy asked for his tool back.
We were relaxed about the experience because we had prudently set out early to get to our destination (the farm). We knew we had plenty of time to do the tasks and get changed into decent clothes for our next function, which was...
An event in the middle Laurentians. Meetings (2), corn roast, lawn darts, sun, socializing.
Last night I was sleepy by 5pm and tried to hold out, but halfway through an episode of House -- and knowing there was nothing interesting enough on TV to sustain my attention later -- I couldn't stand it any longer and went to bed at 6:30, knowing full well I'd be up long before dawn. And so it came to pass! At 2:50am, wide awake. So I texted with Alex for a bit (since he's up all night lately, owing to his new job and temporary night shift); will go out for earlier-than-usual walk this morning, maybe take a couple of extra streets to stretch out the circuit; will probably be back down for a snooze by noon. I know me. No staying power.
I seem to have hit a plateau at 15 lbs. But that's OK, because I continue my jog/walks and my birdlike diet. Better yet, I plan to sign up for boxing lessons at the end of this week. I am told they're a hella workout. Time to take things up a notch. The only aspect that makes me nervous is the possibility of having to use the skipping rope as part of the training. My knees won't take it. I'll have to ask for special dispensation on that, or an alternative.
School breakfasts will begin again soon - about three weeks from now, I'm guessing. I've been arguing with myself over my participation this year: one morning/week? Two? None at all? The voice of my conscience says two and will brook no further discussion.

That's it for now. Happy last week of August to all.

Thanks

2009-08-20T08:11:00.000-04:00

Tiny update

2009-08-12T20:34:00.002-04:00

I don't have much inclination to talk about things right now, although plenty is going on both inside my head and out.

I will say, however, that it feels amazing to be 15 lbs lighter and to try on clothes that I haven't attempted to even look at since early spring. Methinks the two bags of "rejects" I was thinking of donating to Centraide might merit another look. Some of the stuff was given to me by a friend in late winter and seemed hopelessly form-fitting. The way things are going, I might just get some use out of them.

Whee!

Photos of stuff

2009-08-01T18:29:00.009-04:00

On the way to Toronto last week, the clouds were a constant spectacle. I saw all kinds of animals and even alien flotillas. No, really.

But this here was just another in a series of nasty-looking rain clouds we drove under along the way. It was crowding out what had been
a fluffy white teddy bear mere moments before.

Which you can see, right here... Can you?

Next is a shot of back lawn, taken from my Dad's deck... this won't win any awards for landscape photography but I love how green it is! My father planted the willow tree to the left.

Again, there was an ominous dark mass creeping rapidly toward us. But it blew over harmlessly. I always enjoy the contrast between the blackness of an approaching storm and a brilliant sun/blue sky.

This is 12

2009-07-31T13:11:00.009-04:00

I wrote on Facebook this morning that I have 15 things to do. I didn't actually count the number of things I want to accomplish; I just picked an arbitrary number. But throwing an update up here is one of the items I've been meaning to take care of for a couple of days.

Uh - so where was I last? We went to Ontario, but spent more time getting there and back than I did at the actual event for which we traveled. Who knew being a passenger could be so wearing? Imagine the driver. Over the years I could never fall asleep in a car because I always worried about the driver getting the post-lunch nods; so I always felt it my duty to stay awake and keep him/her company.

Our driver, my oldest nephew, had music guaranteed to keep everyone's eyes open, although his daughter and my son both managed to doze off at some point. I especially liked the Prodigy disc we heard. Overall, the musical choices were energetic, a little rude, entertaining. I guess it doesn't matter how old you are; if you appreciate music and artistry, you can enjoy it in all its forms. (Except "Muskrat Love" or "Afternoon Delight." Those tunes always stuck in my mind as being among the worst.of.all.time.)

We stopped en route for a quick visit with my Dad, who is looking good! Hasn't aged a day since I last saw him TWO YEARS AGO. Then we bypassed the horror that is the tangle of ramps and overpasses and whatnot into Toronto and pulled into my brother's place, where bro and SIL were conveniently ensconced in folding chairs in their garage.

(/delete bit about neighbours and nightly garage parties)

The next day was our big family party and it was great - for the guests, anyway, perhaps less relaxing for the hosts, and I do think it was a small stroke of genius that the BBQ chef took orders for the main course instead of cooking up a mountain of meat.

I ate cake, oh yes I did, seeing as it was special birthday cake - in such cases, the calories do not count.

It was nice, as the sun was slowly going down, to sit in a wide circle with the gang, just relaxing and shooting the breeze.

It took me three days to get back to my usual self - I was (unreasonably, I thought) tired. Then again, even comfortable couches and a minor change in waking/sleeping times can wreak havoc.

But now I'm back into my routine (food, walks, meetings) and it's hard to believe it's already been a week since we were barrelling west on the 401!

(above photo with my son taken on my dad's back deck... on a day when all of us travelers save one were wearing red t-shirts! weird coincidence.)

A shot of the divine

2009-07-22T10:08:00.006-04:00

Warning: soprano ahead.

Of course I knew of Renee Fleming, but not as much as, say, mezzo-soprano Cecilia Bartoli or legendary diva Maria Callas. Last week, someone played a Callas aria for me, and although he knew it was on the "Philadelphia" soundtrack, he didn't know the title of the song. So I looked it up, and in the process found renditions by several other sopranos. Then I chanced upon this...

I use my headphones (music on my laptop is pretty unlistenable otherwise) to hear all of the nuances of the orchestra.

Without looking up a translation online... without Googling anything... assuming you don't know basic German... can you guess what this piece, composed by Handel, is about? How do you feel when you listen to it?

(If you hate opera-type music, don't.)

Too good not to share

2009-07-21T09:33:00.003-04:00

Dooce has a birthday, makes the Forbes list, and dies. I haven't read anything this laugh-out-loud funny in awhile.

Do yourself a favour and go see.

Kittens and other oddments

2009-07-20T21:14:00.008-04:00

* I still have the kittens. *sigh* The local SPCA said no go, they are overloaded. I placed a free classified ad online at Kijiji and got 3 responses rather quickly, but all of them fell through.

* I have two days to run around and get ready for an upcoming trip to Toronto. However, I do not plan to panic. Everything will get done without any stress. Because I will make it so.

* We had a full day (gasp!) of hot perfect summer weather today, and apparently will have another tomorrow before we lapse back into Noah's Ark-style downpours. The wacky weather doesn't bother me much. Everyone else is moaning and whining about it ad nauseum. I'm just taking the 30-minute sunny breaks as they come and making the most of them. The lawns and gardens and fields and forests around here are gorgeously lush and green. Also, I bought not one, but two umbrellas on sale the other day. I am prepared.

* I bought some minor household items this morning and only found the time to unpack them at the end of the afternoon. Good thing I'd kept the store receipt, because the first three items were things I had not purchased (what the heck are "Jiffy Strips", anyway?) and one object was overpriced... all to the tune of about $15 more than I should have paid! My cashier was certainly grumpy, but I didn't know she was also asleep at the wheel! Now they want me to schlep everything back to the store tomorrow so they can double-check. *grumble*

*Last Wednesday a friend and her two boys and I went to Oka National Park and hiked the 4 km Chemin du Calvaire (Calvary Trail). It was a lovely trek through woods, mostly uphill (and very muddy), punctuated by tiny, very old chapels, each containing a large bas-relief sculpture of Christ's last walk. Here's a pic I snapped as Linda was heading up the hill to the last chapel, high atop a hill that gave us a great view of whatever lake is down there, forests, and distant mountains.

I found it faintly appalling that my friend, who is otherwise a fairly granola-seeming type, actually smoked a cigarette while we tackled the steep slopes, both of us breathing heavily. She's clearly a more dedicated smoker than I.

*I ate a double Whopper today - my first fast food and first taste of red meat in a month. I was going to try to stump the cashier by asking her how many calories were in the burger, but discovered that the nutrition facts are listed on the back of each paper tray liner. My lunch (no fries, no drink) was 910 calories. I walked 400 of those off this afternoon. The burger was delicious.

* Still walking twice a day, alone or with the buddies. It's generally about 90 minutes per day, which is not bad. I haven't been consistent doing the weights, though. Still, I am 10 lbs lighter than I was a month ago, and plan to lose a pound a week for... well, I'll be happy with six, happier with 10.

* Am reading a fascinating book, "The Game of Life and How to Play It," by a metaphysicist, Florence Scovell-Shinn, who self-published it in 1925. It is totally "The Secret" but a few decades earlier. None of the concepts are new, in fact. But they are incredibly interesting, and I might find the energy to write about them some time. Short version: Be careful what you wish for; do unto others etc.; what you give is what you get; mind over matter; pray for your enemy; the law of use ("use it or lose it"); pay it forward; tune into the superego (which some call the fourth dimension) for peace of mind; and winnow out negative thought patterns from the sub-conscious.

Pretty cool stuff.

Je péte le feu!

2009-07-13T06:29:00.006-04:00

Whenever I, as an anglophone, hear that expression, it makes me smirk inwardly like a schoolboy. Literally translated, it means "I'm farting fire!"

It actually means "full of beans," so the farting part isn't actually too far from the truth. But more realistically speaking, it means "feeling great" or "in top form."

Yesterday was one such day for me. It started out, as all Sundays do, with a great meeting of my home group at the Legion hall next town over. As we filed outside and clustered about, chatting and saying our goodbyes, I said to a friend, "Well, this was it for me. This was my day."

What I meant was, the rest of my Sunday was a big blank as usual. Weekends are relatively empty, compared with the other days of the week. I felt the habitual mild resignation, probably even a touch of self-pity. Poor me! No friends, no activities planned. What to do?

In the end, I didn't really do much... and I did everything alone as usual... but "much" depends on your definition of doing. I did what I knew needed to be done; and while somewhat mundane, it was fulfilling in the end, because I followed through on it all.

I ate lunch. Meals are, surprisingly, more interesting since I developed a new, healthy diet. I think it's because it's more of a challenge to find satisfying foods which I know are fuelling my body properly. I did my weekly cleanse on Saturday and the results of that (and the diet, and the exercise) paid off with another pound lost.

Then I walked to the grocery store and back (with 8 lbs of food in each hand). That's a 40-minute walk without even feeling like exercise.

I did my personal accounting (yay... more dinero to come in a month's time) and the weekly finances for my noon group (I am keeping their books for the next six months, and it is a gratifying responsibility.)

Then I hit the anticipated dead zone. It was about 4:30 p.m. and I was at a loss for what to do next. I got dressed for my second walk of the day but was stopped short by the mirror. THE BULGE! The hated excess, the detested layer of fat which is keeping me from wearing last summer's tank tops and tiny tees. Believe me, I go through this moment several times a day.

So I launched into the other part of my exercise plan, which unlike the walking, focuses on the upper part of the body. When that was done, I felt a sense of accomplishment and also a surge of insane energy that carried me through the next few hours until I felt pleasantly tired and went to bed.

I tend to fall into inertia. I will sit down and think of things I should be doing, but don't feel like. This causes conflict. And yet I also know the importance of being... as opposed to doing. We are called human beings, after all. Sometimes you can give yourself permission to simply be.

My problem is I do too much of that. I recognize it as laziness much of the time. My laziness is mostly procrastination, and that is usually prompted by fear. Many human actions (or lack thereof) and reactions are motivated by fear. Sometimes it's so low-grade you can hardly identify it as being fear, but if you track it down to the source ("I am doing this because... and therefore because...") it usually turns out to be fear of something.

My last post, Ode to an unhappy man, was written as closure for someone I thought I might change through my patience and kindness. Yes, I do wish he could learn be happy for and with himself; but for the longest time I've been hoping he'd change so that he'd be happy with me. And I was fearful of putting an end to what was a fundamentally unhappy relationship, be it ever so platonic. I cannot accept his unhappiness and the way it affects my general happiness with my life.

I keep wanting to go back that ode and edit it. I came out in a rush from the heart. For instance, I would now write, "He hoards against a time of lack" which has much better rhythm, does it not?

But I'll let it be.

Today I'll make my usual Monday plans (half of which involve the battle of the bulge: 2 walks and 2 stretch/weight sessions) and for the rest, go with the flow and see what happens.

Be expectant. Live each day as if there is always something better to come.

Ode to an unhappy man

2009-07-08T15:15:00.004-04:00

He reads for wisdom, but knows not how to apply it to his life.
He prays for grace, but has little to share with his fellows.
He eats as though each meal were his last; his stomach aches, his pants don't fit.
He sits alone of a night, flipping through channels.
He hoards and stockpiles against a time of want or need.
His sleep is short and broken.
He fears the onset of old age, and laments no heart to love.
He hides his loneliness because pride won't permit.
He speaks without forethought, wounding without heed.
He had friends but he drove them away, one by one.

Because you can never have enough Walken

2009-07-02T14:42:00.001-04:00

With surprises at the end!