morning of the run...chilly, rainy and cold...but still excited!
25 degrees! wardrobe change...in the gates, moments before take off
way to go audrey!!
proud mummy
The Millennial CAPTCHA
2 days ago
Friday, October 14, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
5th Annual Mark Allan Memorial golf Tournament...a trip to remember
at the airport with Chris, YOW...on the way to YVR
the tallest Chris I know!
a little pre-golf
our gracious hosts
tee-off time, Chris and Mom
unbelievable sunshine at UBC
the trophy that lives @ Relish all year long
the winner...again! Way to go team-Jude
Leigh...and me
Audrey and Noah, proud as can be.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Afraid to forget
As I begin my fund raising for the annual Leukemia Lymphoma Society Light the Night walk, I find myself sifting through pictures and video of Mark. I haven’t sat and watched a video or flipped through a photo album in what feels like a long time but as I do so, my young family in the photographs feels dream-like to me. I feel like I’m looking at somebody else’s’ life. I have trouble remembering the feeling of having a babe and a toddler and a sick husband. Racing home from the hospital to see my kids then racing back in the night desperate for Mark not to be alone once they were down. Always feeling in between two worlds with a ticking clock as the soundtrack. The life I had is captured in picture form but feels foreign to me now.
It’s a weird feeling to look at pictures and not feel an immediate ache, if I look long enough it surges back. It’s a relief to be over that hump of constant sad when I look at pictures but now it’s sad in a different way. I hear from other young widowed women that they are afraid to forget their spouses. At first I thought that’s crazy – how could you forget your husband?? But I know what they’re talking about now. You’re afraid to forget for fear of forgetting. It makes no logical sense but it’s a feeling that can draw your energy away from the present.
At first, you wrap yourself in memories that comfort you. You crave the person’s presence and feel empty without them. It’s soothing and torturous at the same time. As time passes you realize that having those memories so close by is hurting more than helping. Remembering the intricacies of a person that is gone is too painful. At times, all you want to do is forget so you tuck them away from the everyday. You find ways to cope and move forward.
You begin to let the present dictate your mood and you find opportunities to smile because it feels good. The spaces between remembering and forgetting get longer and gratitude starts to take hold. You’re thankful for the peace and strength to move forward. The pictures make you smile rather than cry. You remember him as he was before cancer took hold of your life and turned it upside down.
Then it happens, you go a month, or two or three and then you catch yourself forgetting your former life. You find yourself absorbed in today and you struggle to recall the very person with whom you couldn’t imagine your life without. It’s a conflicting feeling, to want to remember when you know sadness will ensue. You want to remember because you’re afraid to forget the husband and father of your children. You feel this incredible responsibility to remember, but you know it’s safer to let time go by and let the memories fade.
Is it a safety mechanism, this controlled remembering? Do we forget these small details as time goes by like someone’s voice, or their smile because it’s a necessity to grow? How is it that I can’t recall his voice until I hear it on a video? I spent nearly 10 years married to this person. I’m afraid to forget yet there are times when I’m afraid to remember….
I thought about Mark this weekend while surrounded by family and friends for Thanksgiving. Kids running around, good food, conversation and wine. I thought about how lucky I feel to have a person in my life that understands this inner struggle. The times when I need to remember him just because. It’s an exercise for me in mending my heart and feeling grateful for today.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Teach me
Saturday, June 18, 2011
I thought I was okay. I was even pleasantly surprised with my own go-with-the-flow attitude over the last week. Standing in hallways speaking to teachers who ever so gently tried to tell me that they “might” have encouraged Noah to make a present for Grandpa instead of his Dad for Fathers Day. The hesitation hanging in the air as they looked to me for some sort of reaction. Approval maybe? I listened not knowing what to say, so I forced a smile. I thought in my head that the proper response should have been, “Oh thanks, or maybe “Oh, that’s good” but the words wouldn’t come. Then, another sentence to fill the silence I had left. ”Well, we did suggest that he could make one for one of his Uncles, or his other Grandpa, but he seemed a bit confused and didn’t know what to do.” I wondered silently to myself if they had even asked him what he wanted to do before throwing out suggestions to fill the awkward teacher-student moment that lay before them. I couldn’t ask them myself, it seemed cruel or judgmental to even inquire.
As I prepared supper tonight, the kids were doing some crafts and we were listening to music. The evening sun was shining in and I noticed how nice it was to see the kids puttering about chatting freely to one another. Out of the blue Audrey turned to me and said, “My friends feel sorry for me.” I kept chopping potatoes and casually asked why she thought that. “Well, someone asked if that picture was even my Dad, and that it must be so sad that it’s Fathers Day and I don’t have a Dad.” Audrey looked to me with what seemed like hopeful eyes for some wise words. I was stumped, not sure what to say but knowing that I should pick my words carefully. I could feel her struggling with the strong emotions that had been brewing for a few days now. I asked her what she said to her friend. She replied to her classmate “Yah, its sad, my Dad died, but I have a Grandpa...and this is a picture of my Mom’s friend. He’s my friend too…he makes me laugh, he’s really fun…and he’s a Dad. I’m very sad on Fathers Day but I try to remember my Dad. He was a good Dad.”
I hid my tears from her and agreed, “Yep, he was a really good Dad wasn’t he...”
As I prepared supper tonight, the kids were doing some crafts and we were listening to music. The evening sun was shining in and I noticed how nice it was to see the kids puttering about chatting freely to one another. Out of the blue Audrey turned to me and said, “My friends feel sorry for me.” I kept chopping potatoes and casually asked why she thought that. “Well, someone asked if that picture was even my Dad, and that it must be so sad that it’s Fathers Day and I don’t have a Dad.” Audrey looked to me with what seemed like hopeful eyes for some wise words. I was stumped, not sure what to say but knowing that I should pick my words carefully. I could feel her struggling with the strong emotions that had been brewing for a few days now. I asked her what she said to her friend. She replied to her classmate “Yah, its sad, my Dad died, but I have a Grandpa...and this is a picture of my Mom’s friend. He’s my friend too…he makes me laugh, he’s really fun…and he’s a Dad. I’m very sad on Fathers Day but I try to remember my Dad. He was a good Dad.”
I hid my tears from her and agreed, “Yep, he was a really good Dad wasn’t he...”
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
Give them a break
You’re never really far away, I just forget that sometimes. When I do forget, it’s nice. Really nice. It’s like a break from the extra weight that’s become a part of me. Kind of like putting down heavy bags of groceries as they slip from your fingers to spill onto the floor safely inside the front door. I probably should have taken two bags, but four at a time just seems quicker. The clank of cans on the tiles is the sweet sound of triumph.
It’s not something that you can look for, when you look for it, it’s nowhere to be found. The trick is to notice it, and catch it. It’s hard to see past all the noise sometimes. It’s hard to see past myself sometimes, but every now and then I get a taste of something sweet and I want to savor that moment forever.
Too often, these moments are fleeting and cut short like a needle being pulled off a record. They seem to evaporate as soon as they occur. Inside, I feel like stamping my feet and yelling hey, get back here, I’m not done! More often than not, it’s bickering children or the non-listening kind that have that affect. It takes a split second for a beaut of a moment to just vanish.
Sadly, the bittersweet sting is never far behind. Could be a day, a week, an hour. It’s never missed its cue; it’s very reliable that way. You don’t even need a special event to muster its presence. It’s always close by, just beneath the surface. How do I manage to forget this??
A movie, a simple animated movie. Classic hero, boy saves girl kind of movie. And there you were, brewing and pulling on little heartstrings. Do you have to be so intense all the time? Do you have to make my kids so fragile that they cry and get frightened when the hero appears to die? (And he didn’t even die!) Every ballad sung by the princess evokes tears followed by confusion. They don’t even know why they’re crying.
You’re never far away; I was foolish to think so. Yes, you make life more real, and some moments so crisp but I didn’t choose you. So, do you have to be so punctual and present all the time? Cut them some slack, they’re feeling their way through this. Struggling with death in real life is enough; they don’t need it in the movies too.
It’s not something that you can look for, when you look for it, it’s nowhere to be found. The trick is to notice it, and catch it. It’s hard to see past all the noise sometimes. It’s hard to see past myself sometimes, but every now and then I get a taste of something sweet and I want to savor that moment forever.
Too often, these moments are fleeting and cut short like a needle being pulled off a record. They seem to evaporate as soon as they occur. Inside, I feel like stamping my feet and yelling hey, get back here, I’m not done! More often than not, it’s bickering children or the non-listening kind that have that affect. It takes a split second for a beaut of a moment to just vanish.
Sadly, the bittersweet sting is never far behind. Could be a day, a week, an hour. It’s never missed its cue; it’s very reliable that way. You don’t even need a special event to muster its presence. It’s always close by, just beneath the surface. How do I manage to forget this??
A movie, a simple animated movie. Classic hero, boy saves girl kind of movie. And there you were, brewing and pulling on little heartstrings. Do you have to be so intense all the time? Do you have to make my kids so fragile that they cry and get frightened when the hero appears to die? (And he didn’t even die!) Every ballad sung by the princess evokes tears followed by confusion. They don’t even know why they’re crying.
You’re never far away; I was foolish to think so. Yes, you make life more real, and some moments so crisp but I didn’t choose you. So, do you have to be so punctual and present all the time? Cut them some slack, they’re feeling their way through this. Struggling with death in real life is enough; they don’t need it in the movies too.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Friday, May 6, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Art work by Talia, age 13
Dearest Tal,
You were just a little squirt the day I married your Uncle Mark. We took turns carrying you around the front lawn as we strung white lights in the trees in preparation for the big day. I am honoured you would choose this photo for your art workshop.
Your Uncle Mark would be proud,
Love Aunt Les
You were just a little squirt the day I married your Uncle Mark. We took turns carrying you around the front lawn as we strung white lights in the trees in preparation for the big day. I am honoured you would choose this photo for your art workshop.
Your Uncle Mark would be proud,
Love Aunt Les
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
etched
What is the value in remembering traumatic events? What purpose does it serve aside from stirring up emotions that have lay dormant for so long? Is revisiting this pain a necessary part of growth? Why do we remember things that are painful with such vivid details?
I can remember happy moments like my wedding day with a hazy sense of joy. There are certain details I can recall with clarity when I search for them; like taking my shoes off in the elevator at the end of the night and skipping barefoot down the hall giggling in my wedding gown. But I remember the giddy feeling of joy that was wrapped around me that evening more than anything. The moments are there, but they’ve become more rounded and softer with time.
When it comes to painful life changing moments, a string of events can be etched in your memory and recalled all too easily, months even years after they’ve happened. The need to revisit and replay these in your mind is one of necessity at first. In the beginning, in order to accept and process, we review and give ourselves time to catch up with reality. I have come to believe that it is this coping mechanism that saves us during the storm.
How could we function and get through those stressful moments if we felt everything in its entirety right then and there? I’ve always believed that when faced with the unthinkable, we operate on another level and as time passes, the two become one. Pain, loss and reality collide in the aftermath as we review, re-play, and ultimately relive those moments that make us who we are today.
But why now? Why five years later? Is there something good to come out of reliving a night that I can’t forget, even if I tried?? I woke up with a heavy heart this morning and have been in a sombre mood for most of the day. I looked at the calendar and I realized what tomorrow is. Having had this day pass me by the last year or two and been gentler on me than in the past, I accepted that today would just be one of those days. No use in fighting it, or ignoring it, neither of those work.
I will remember you, always - for the brave, courageous person that you were.
March 14, 2006
The phone rang as Noah lay on the change table mouthing a toy as I pressed the tabs closed on his fresh diaper. He was fresh from the bath and ready for bed. Audrey was bathed and we were about to settle down for stories and bed. Audrey helping and handing me his jammies as he wiggled. It was the doctor’s office looking for Mark. Noah was wriggling on the table impatient with me for shifting my attention from him. He grabbed at the phone as I listened to a female voice asking again where Mark could be reached. Noah was standing on the table by now level with my face as I listened.
It was 6:30pm and Mark was at work, it was the middle of the dinner rush and I knew they’d have trouble getting him on the phone so I identified myself as his wife and asked if they could tell me what they needed. She was forceful and said it was urgent they speak with him now. Not just tonight, or later this evening, but now. My stomach went hollow as I heard the urgency in her voice. I told her I would call the restaurant and have him call them right away. She told me that they needed to see him immediately. A wave of anxiety flew through my body. My mind started racing. I asked what was wrong and all she could say was that they needed to see Mark tonight. I hung up the phone, still balancing Noah on the change table.
I dialed the familiar 10 digit number, my fingers feeling weak and shaky. As I dialed I thought, appendix, maybe gallbladder? What could be so urgent that they needed him on a Tuesday evening? I sent Audrey to go sit on her bed and read books while I called Daddy at work to give him a message. She happily obliged and said she’d play ponies until I was ready to read. My head was racing with my immediate dilemma as the phone continued to ring in my ear. How could I get Noah down and someone over to read to Audrey on a moments notice. My fear of the unknown was brewing deep inside as someone finally picked up at the other end.
A young girls voice answered ‘Guildford Keg Steakhouse and Bar, how may I help you?” the dinner rush sounded deafening in my ears. I said it was Leslie calling for Mark and she put me on hold before I could finish my sentence. She returned saying it was busy and that he would have to call me back. I told her it was urgent and she left me again, only she didn’t put me on hold this time. The sound of restaurant life streamed across the line making me more aware of how hard my heart was pounding and how dry my mouth had become in the minute and a half I waited to hear Mark’s voice.
Mark answered slightly annoyed at the phone call during the peak of the dinner rush. I ignored his tone and cut right to it . The doctor’s office called and they need to talk to you I said. He seemed calm, I will call them after the rush he said. I emphasized how urgent they sounded and his voice changed as he started to sense my fear. He tried to calm me down, explaining that he had not done the barium swallow that morning as planned because he had forgotten to fast but that he had done some routine blood work. He suggested it probably had something to do with that and that I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Mark had left an hour earlier that morning to do a barium swallow test. He had been feeling run down and had issues swallowing without pain. After 2 weeks of me pestering him, he reluctantly went to the walk-in. Two weeks prior, the doctor had made a loose diagnosis of GER. Mark had commented that it felt like he was swallowing glass and he had had a fever the week before and was more tired than usual. Nothing too out of the ordinary considering it was cold season and we had a child in preschool and a babe who hadn’t slept through the night in months. Coupled with his sick wait staff, our snotty preschooler and lack of sleep, fatigue was sloughed off as the norm.
I instructed Mark to call me from the car after he had rung the clinic on his way and I would get someone to watch Audrey and meet him there. Panic was starting to set in for me. Mark was much cooler under pressure which gave me something positive to focus on. I hung up the phone and waited for him to call me back. He said he would call me from the car in fifteen minutes. The clock read 6:40pm. Audrey was content and I sat in the rocker and gave Noah his nightly bottle while I madly dialed Lindsay’s number trying to squash the panic that was growing inside me. All I wanted was for Noah to fall asleep so I could join Mark and face whatever this news was. Noah remarkably, was oblivious to my angst and dozed easily, for once.
I rang Lindsay as he sucked his bottle back in the slow rhythmic way he did at bed time. It seemed an eternity for the 8 oz’s to disappear. Lindsay and I spoke in hushed tones and she never asked why, she said she could be over in 10 minutes. As Noah lay on my lap, I dialed Mark’s cell phone only to hear it ring and ring. I hung up and dialed again and again. I started to get angry, I was furious that he was not following through as he had promised. All I could think was pick up the phone! Answer it dammit!
I lay Noah asleep in his crib, he stirred when he touched the mattress but was out. I went into Audrey’s room where her pink IKEA flower light was casting a warm tone of pink across her quilt. She sat with books and ponies, waiting patiently oblivious to the chaos unfolding around her. I sat beside her, phone in hand redialing every 30 seconds in hopes that he had not forgotten his phone on the desk as he often did. His phone rang and rang, no answer. I settled Audrey and prepped her for the surprise stories she was about to get from our favourite neighbour Lindsay. I explained that I had to go run an unexpected errand and that Lindsay was coming to read stories and put her to bed. I asked her to wait just a few more minutes and one of us would read her a book. She agreed, easily.
The phone rang in my hands as I was walking out of her room. Noah asleep, Audrey content, it seemed as though I might escape this evening without drama.
I answered the phone…Where are you? Where have you been? I’ve been worried! I was in the hallway by now walking down the stairs to unlatch the door for Lindsay. I stood in the kitchen in front of the island staring at the counter as he spoke. My heart was pounding and I could hear my pulse in my ears. His voice was soft and broken, I could tell he had been crying. He said ” Les…they think I might have cancer. “ It was silent. I couldn’t speak. My legs felt rubbery and I leaned on the island for support. I could hear him holding back his tears. I asked him exactly where he was and said I’d be there in 5 minutes. I told him not to move, don’t drive anywhere just wait for me and I’d be there as soon as I could.
Lindsay walked up the steps and I opened the door as she arrived. She saw my face and she saw my panic, I had no time to soften the truth, I blurted it out, we hugged at the door and she told me to go. I grabbed my keys and double skipped the stairs to the bottom. The only thought I had in my head was how Mark was sitting there alone in a doctors office, I wanted to be there, I should have been there for him. I was mad at myself for taking so long to organize the kids.
I was shocked, mad, angry and panic stricken. My car couldn’t seem to go fast enough down the steep hill into Langley city where Mark sat waiting for me to arrive.
I can remember happy moments like my wedding day with a hazy sense of joy. There are certain details I can recall with clarity when I search for them; like taking my shoes off in the elevator at the end of the night and skipping barefoot down the hall giggling in my wedding gown. But I remember the giddy feeling of joy that was wrapped around me that evening more than anything. The moments are there, but they’ve become more rounded and softer with time.
When it comes to painful life changing moments, a string of events can be etched in your memory and recalled all too easily, months even years after they’ve happened. The need to revisit and replay these in your mind is one of necessity at first. In the beginning, in order to accept and process, we review and give ourselves time to catch up with reality. I have come to believe that it is this coping mechanism that saves us during the storm.
How could we function and get through those stressful moments if we felt everything in its entirety right then and there? I’ve always believed that when faced with the unthinkable, we operate on another level and as time passes, the two become one. Pain, loss and reality collide in the aftermath as we review, re-play, and ultimately relive those moments that make us who we are today.
But why now? Why five years later? Is there something good to come out of reliving a night that I can’t forget, even if I tried?? I woke up with a heavy heart this morning and have been in a sombre mood for most of the day. I looked at the calendar and I realized what tomorrow is. Having had this day pass me by the last year or two and been gentler on me than in the past, I accepted that today would just be one of those days. No use in fighting it, or ignoring it, neither of those work.
I will remember you, always - for the brave, courageous person that you were.
March 14, 2006
The phone rang as Noah lay on the change table mouthing a toy as I pressed the tabs closed on his fresh diaper. He was fresh from the bath and ready for bed. Audrey was bathed and we were about to settle down for stories and bed. Audrey helping and handing me his jammies as he wiggled. It was the doctor’s office looking for Mark. Noah was wriggling on the table impatient with me for shifting my attention from him. He grabbed at the phone as I listened to a female voice asking again where Mark could be reached. Noah was standing on the table by now level with my face as I listened.
It was 6:30pm and Mark was at work, it was the middle of the dinner rush and I knew they’d have trouble getting him on the phone so I identified myself as his wife and asked if they could tell me what they needed. She was forceful and said it was urgent they speak with him now. Not just tonight, or later this evening, but now. My stomach went hollow as I heard the urgency in her voice. I told her I would call the restaurant and have him call them right away. She told me that they needed to see him immediately. A wave of anxiety flew through my body. My mind started racing. I asked what was wrong and all she could say was that they needed to see Mark tonight. I hung up the phone, still balancing Noah on the change table.
I dialed the familiar 10 digit number, my fingers feeling weak and shaky. As I dialed I thought, appendix, maybe gallbladder? What could be so urgent that they needed him on a Tuesday evening? I sent Audrey to go sit on her bed and read books while I called Daddy at work to give him a message. She happily obliged and said she’d play ponies until I was ready to read. My head was racing with my immediate dilemma as the phone continued to ring in my ear. How could I get Noah down and someone over to read to Audrey on a moments notice. My fear of the unknown was brewing deep inside as someone finally picked up at the other end.
A young girls voice answered ‘Guildford Keg Steakhouse and Bar, how may I help you?” the dinner rush sounded deafening in my ears. I said it was Leslie calling for Mark and she put me on hold before I could finish my sentence. She returned saying it was busy and that he would have to call me back. I told her it was urgent and she left me again, only she didn’t put me on hold this time. The sound of restaurant life streamed across the line making me more aware of how hard my heart was pounding and how dry my mouth had become in the minute and a half I waited to hear Mark’s voice.
Mark answered slightly annoyed at the phone call during the peak of the dinner rush. I ignored his tone and cut right to it . The doctor’s office called and they need to talk to you I said. He seemed calm, I will call them after the rush he said. I emphasized how urgent they sounded and his voice changed as he started to sense my fear. He tried to calm me down, explaining that he had not done the barium swallow that morning as planned because he had forgotten to fast but that he had done some routine blood work. He suggested it probably had something to do with that and that I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Mark had left an hour earlier that morning to do a barium swallow test. He had been feeling run down and had issues swallowing without pain. After 2 weeks of me pestering him, he reluctantly went to the walk-in. Two weeks prior, the doctor had made a loose diagnosis of GER. Mark had commented that it felt like he was swallowing glass and he had had a fever the week before and was more tired than usual. Nothing too out of the ordinary considering it was cold season and we had a child in preschool and a babe who hadn’t slept through the night in months. Coupled with his sick wait staff, our snotty preschooler and lack of sleep, fatigue was sloughed off as the norm.
I instructed Mark to call me from the car after he had rung the clinic on his way and I would get someone to watch Audrey and meet him there. Panic was starting to set in for me. Mark was much cooler under pressure which gave me something positive to focus on. I hung up the phone and waited for him to call me back. He said he would call me from the car in fifteen minutes. The clock read 6:40pm. Audrey was content and I sat in the rocker and gave Noah his nightly bottle while I madly dialed Lindsay’s number trying to squash the panic that was growing inside me. All I wanted was for Noah to fall asleep so I could join Mark and face whatever this news was. Noah remarkably, was oblivious to my angst and dozed easily, for once.
I rang Lindsay as he sucked his bottle back in the slow rhythmic way he did at bed time. It seemed an eternity for the 8 oz’s to disappear. Lindsay and I spoke in hushed tones and she never asked why, she said she could be over in 10 minutes. As Noah lay on my lap, I dialed Mark’s cell phone only to hear it ring and ring. I hung up and dialed again and again. I started to get angry, I was furious that he was not following through as he had promised. All I could think was pick up the phone! Answer it dammit!
I lay Noah asleep in his crib, he stirred when he touched the mattress but was out. I went into Audrey’s room where her pink IKEA flower light was casting a warm tone of pink across her quilt. She sat with books and ponies, waiting patiently oblivious to the chaos unfolding around her. I sat beside her, phone in hand redialing every 30 seconds in hopes that he had not forgotten his phone on the desk as he often did. His phone rang and rang, no answer. I settled Audrey and prepped her for the surprise stories she was about to get from our favourite neighbour Lindsay. I explained that I had to go run an unexpected errand and that Lindsay was coming to read stories and put her to bed. I asked her to wait just a few more minutes and one of us would read her a book. She agreed, easily.
The phone rang in my hands as I was walking out of her room. Noah asleep, Audrey content, it seemed as though I might escape this evening without drama.
I answered the phone…Where are you? Where have you been? I’ve been worried! I was in the hallway by now walking down the stairs to unlatch the door for Lindsay. I stood in the kitchen in front of the island staring at the counter as he spoke. My heart was pounding and I could hear my pulse in my ears. His voice was soft and broken, I could tell he had been crying. He said ” Les…they think I might have cancer. “ It was silent. I couldn’t speak. My legs felt rubbery and I leaned on the island for support. I could hear him holding back his tears. I asked him exactly where he was and said I’d be there in 5 minutes. I told him not to move, don’t drive anywhere just wait for me and I’d be there as soon as I could.
Lindsay walked up the steps and I opened the door as she arrived. She saw my face and she saw my panic, I had no time to soften the truth, I blurted it out, we hugged at the door and she told me to go. I grabbed my keys and double skipped the stairs to the bottom. The only thought I had in my head was how Mark was sitting there alone in a doctors office, I wanted to be there, I should have been there for him. I was mad at myself for taking so long to organize the kids.
I was shocked, mad, angry and panic stricken. My car couldn’t seem to go fast enough down the steep hill into Langley city where Mark sat waiting for me to arrive.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
For me...? Thank you.
There are those rare times every so often when something happens and you feel like it is speaking to you. Like it was meant for your ears, or your eyes and the greatest part about it, is that you actually realized it! It’s like a fleeting tease, a moment that dares you to believe that that very thing was meant for you. I'm not really talking about sunsets or rainbows, but less grandiose things. Smaller, simpler things.
It’s not very often that it happens, and I doubt that I ever took the time to slow down and see it before. Often, getting too caught up in the busyness of the day and trying to rush from point A to point B. I made a decision a few months ago that I was not going to be a slave to my schedule anymore. Sure, I’m still going to get to work on time and to the daycare before it closes, but I decided that I could not live my life in the perpetual rush state that had become my reality. I put my foot down (I guess with myself) and said no more rushing.
It’s been nearly two months since I made this commitment to myself and I am feeling like life is a little bit kinder to me. Less demanding in some respects, though I didn’t change much. All I did was decide that I wasn’t going to race all over the place anymore because it was stressing me out! A little piece of me is reluctant to make New Years Resolutions or Lists of What I Should be Doing as these things usually fade by mid-February and can feel slightly hollow given that we all expect to fail at them before the ink is even dry. But here we are mid February and I am reaping the small rewards of a less rushed life. A small victory.
Which brings me to Dave, the “Dave and Morley Dave” of The Vinyl Café. The kids and I usually catch bits and pieces of it in the car on the weekends and I always love to hear the kids giggle when they listen. (A true sign my kids are growing up!) The story today was “Dave’s Letter.” As I listened to the story and the musical guests I felt like it was meant for me in some small sort of way. The people, the places, the music, the sentiment expressed by Dave at the end. All of these things seemed to represent something significant to me, something that I could identify with. It made me smile quietly to myself as I sat at the bar and drank my coffee listening to the familiar delivery of Stuart McLean.
This in itself was not a luxury I ever made time for before. My weekends up till recently were filled with driving to and from activities and generally playing catch up on laundry and meal preparations for the week. I felt pleased with myself for having made the time to sit and listen to a 45-minute favourite show of mine.
As the story unfolded and Dave pondered his list I thought about my own. How different would it be? What else would I add to my “do not rush list” to open myself up to all the possibilities of connection that await us? I like Dave’s list so I will share it below. And if you have 45 minutes to spare, give the podcast a listen, it’s a good one. I’m probably not the only one who feels like the Vinyl Café speaks to them personally.
Dave’s List
(as heard on the Vinyl Café by Stuart McLean Feb 20th, 2011)
Tell the truth
Ask for help
Don’t speak of others behind their back
Strive to forgive
Be generous
Be quiet
Read books
Eat your greens
Thank you Stuart...and to Dave.
I'm glad I made the time to listen. Your list already came in handy today, I will keep it close by as the rest of the year unfolds before me.
http://www.cbc.ca/podcasting/pastpodcasts.html?44#ref44
It’s not very often that it happens, and I doubt that I ever took the time to slow down and see it before. Often, getting too caught up in the busyness of the day and trying to rush from point A to point B. I made a decision a few months ago that I was not going to be a slave to my schedule anymore. Sure, I’m still going to get to work on time and to the daycare before it closes, but I decided that I could not live my life in the perpetual rush state that had become my reality. I put my foot down (I guess with myself) and said no more rushing.
It’s been nearly two months since I made this commitment to myself and I am feeling like life is a little bit kinder to me. Less demanding in some respects, though I didn’t change much. All I did was decide that I wasn’t going to race all over the place anymore because it was stressing me out! A little piece of me is reluctant to make New Years Resolutions or Lists of What I Should be Doing as these things usually fade by mid-February and can feel slightly hollow given that we all expect to fail at them before the ink is even dry. But here we are mid February and I am reaping the small rewards of a less rushed life. A small victory.
Which brings me to Dave, the “Dave and Morley Dave” of The Vinyl Café. The kids and I usually catch bits and pieces of it in the car on the weekends and I always love to hear the kids giggle when they listen. (A true sign my kids are growing up!) The story today was “Dave’s Letter.” As I listened to the story and the musical guests I felt like it was meant for me in some small sort of way. The people, the places, the music, the sentiment expressed by Dave at the end. All of these things seemed to represent something significant to me, something that I could identify with. It made me smile quietly to myself as I sat at the bar and drank my coffee listening to the familiar delivery of Stuart McLean.
This in itself was not a luxury I ever made time for before. My weekends up till recently were filled with driving to and from activities and generally playing catch up on laundry and meal preparations for the week. I felt pleased with myself for having made the time to sit and listen to a 45-minute favourite show of mine.
As the story unfolded and Dave pondered his list I thought about my own. How different would it be? What else would I add to my “do not rush list” to open myself up to all the possibilities of connection that await us? I like Dave’s list so I will share it below. And if you have 45 minutes to spare, give the podcast a listen, it’s a good one. I’m probably not the only one who feels like the Vinyl Café speaks to them personally.
Dave’s List
(as heard on the Vinyl Café by Stuart McLean Feb 20th, 2011)
Tell the truth
Ask for help
Don’t speak of others behind their back
Strive to forgive
Be generous
Be quiet
Read books
Eat your greens
Thank you Stuart...and to Dave.
I'm glad I made the time to listen. Your list already came in handy today, I will keep it close by as the rest of the year unfolds before me.
http://www.cbc.ca/podcasting/pastpodcasts.html?44#ref44
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
handbook, watch out
I wish you had written me a handbook. I could have really used it today, and numerous other times over the last week alone. Ideally, it would have been written in the “Book of Rules” style format. Lots of headings, labeled with the page number attached for quick reference. I’d keep it in my purse to use at a moments notice, or I’d throw it at people when they’re being insensitive. Like today.
I would have looked up, “what to do when a group of women you’re eating lunch with keep discussing the tragic circumstances of Mr. 36 yr old young guy who’s been diagnosed with cancer and it happens to be the week your husband died.” The conversations rarely end there either. How sad, and he has this kind and that kind, but they can’t operate because of this reason and that reason. (How could they possibly know this much?!) And so and so, knows this person who had the same type, and this person’s ex had a similar kind of cancer…How can people presume to think it’s okay to talk about others like this?? Don’t people know that cancer gossip is the most hurtful kind? All the while, the only thing I can do is sit there silently while the tears brim to the surface and I look for the nearest exit so I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. I wonder what your one line response would have been to shut them down. You would have been brave enough to say something.
I could also use some guidance on how to not feel so guilty when I can’t attend every school activity for our kids. Especially the ones mid-day, mid-week with ultra short notice, like tomorrow. And it would be great to have a child-approved answer for why I NEVER volunteer for field trips. Or why do we have to stay at daycare for so long?? I just have this feeling that your answers to these pleas would be more accepted, simply because they were yours.
I know the big ones will come in time, like the lessons of life, and how to tell our son about man-like things. These are not the ones that seem so big and scary to me. It’s the little things. Like trying to remember the happy times we had together as a family rather than focusing on what’s been lost simply because of a date on the calendar. I could really use a whole section on this because if you look hard enough there’s probably a dozen of them a year.
So, yes, I wish you had written me a handbook, or better yet, a survival guide to getting through the week. Seeing that this is impossible, I suppose I could keep “The Rules of Life" handy even if just to throw at people when they make me cry.
I would have looked up, “what to do when a group of women you’re eating lunch with keep discussing the tragic circumstances of Mr. 36 yr old young guy who’s been diagnosed with cancer and it happens to be the week your husband died.” The conversations rarely end there either. How sad, and he has this kind and that kind, but they can’t operate because of this reason and that reason. (How could they possibly know this much?!) And so and so, knows this person who had the same type, and this person’s ex had a similar kind of cancer…How can people presume to think it’s okay to talk about others like this?? Don’t people know that cancer gossip is the most hurtful kind? All the while, the only thing I can do is sit there silently while the tears brim to the surface and I look for the nearest exit so I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. I wonder what your one line response would have been to shut them down. You would have been brave enough to say something.
I could also use some guidance on how to not feel so guilty when I can’t attend every school activity for our kids. Especially the ones mid-day, mid-week with ultra short notice, like tomorrow. And it would be great to have a child-approved answer for why I NEVER volunteer for field trips. Or why do we have to stay at daycare for so long?? I just have this feeling that your answers to these pleas would be more accepted, simply because they were yours.
I know the big ones will come in time, like the lessons of life, and how to tell our son about man-like things. These are not the ones that seem so big and scary to me. It’s the little things. Like trying to remember the happy times we had together as a family rather than focusing on what’s been lost simply because of a date on the calendar. I could really use a whole section on this because if you look hard enough there’s probably a dozen of them a year.
So, yes, I wish you had written me a handbook, or better yet, a survival guide to getting through the week. Seeing that this is impossible, I suppose I could keep “The Rules of Life" handy even if just to throw at people when they make me cry.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
smile
I saw it in your face tonight, and again last night. You smiled, and I saw your Dad. It wasn’t just a glimpse, it was a familiarity that emerged like it was always there, I just couldn’t see it till now.
A protective barrier maybe? A safety mechanism perhaps, put in place until I could welcome the day when you smiled and I see him in your eyes. I thought I would cry, but I didn’t. I looked at you again tonight as we played lego. I couldn’t help but stare as though I was noticing for the first time how your brown eyes squint when you smile, just like your Dad’s used to. I think you’ve always done it but I wasn’t quite ready…till now.
A protective barrier maybe? A safety mechanism perhaps, put in place until I could welcome the day when you smiled and I see him in your eyes. I thought I would cry, but I didn’t. I looked at you again tonight as we played lego. I couldn’t help but stare as though I was noticing for the first time how your brown eyes squint when you smile, just like your Dad’s used to. I think you’ve always done it but I wasn’t quite ready…till now.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
almost
It felt almost easy. We laughed on the way there, drank our coffees and talked about nothing and everything. The kinds of conversation that evolve after an hour on the road are the ones that feel so honest and real. I often remember them the longest and with more detail than other daily conversations.
We had a nice leisurely morning in spite of the deadline hanging over us. Eggs, coffee, and a quick stop at the local Starbucks for another coffee for the long drive ahead. At first glance, we could have been on our way for a weekend escape only minus the uniform. The kind girl at Starbucks tried to give you the drinks without paying when she realized where we were headed.
I sat in the car and pondered our circumstances as we drove along. The usual bad Ontario drivers in the left lane (and 401 stop and go traffic) begged us to agree enthusiastically with one another about how pathetic ALL the other drivers are on the road. We make a great pair that way; complaining about bad drivers is great fun!
I thought about you leaving to go to a place that is so foreign to me. A region that is full of conflict and still in dire need of guidance and aid from other countries. Essentially, a place that in my mind represents the unknown. As we drove along I realized how normal our day seemed, you making me laugh as you commented on how useful desert camo is because you can spill coffee and no one would ever know. We chatted as usual about our favourite artists, our plans for the spring, the kids. Then we pulled into the base.
A place you have been to a dozen times in the last 3 months and probably a dozen or two more throughout your career. I got the quick drive by tour of the barracks and hangars and then the reality of the day sunk quickly into my knees. As the mid day sun made it’s appearance I wanted to quickly rewind the day to last night’s relaxing evening in front of the fire.
I met a few of the crew which put me a little bit more at ease in what felt to me to be a strange place. It felt as though we were all standing in limbo waiting in this “in between two worlds” sort of a place. Most everyone I met was light hearted yet there seemed to be a shared desire to just get things moving already. So much lead up to any departure almost always creates a buzz to just get on with things.
We stood and we chatted and then you walked me to my car. You kissed me but it didn’t feel like a sad goodbye like I thought it might. It felt, hopeful. I was thankful in that moment for your practical, realistic ways. As you said, it’s not really goodbye. I know I’ll be seeing you in a matter of weeks. I watched you walk back into the building and I got in my car, proud of myself for keeping it together for you.
I sat at the lights waiting to exit glancing up at the clear skies. I thought about your long night of traveling and the 3-hour drive ahead of me.
It felt…almost easy.
And then the tears came.
We had a nice leisurely morning in spite of the deadline hanging over us. Eggs, coffee, and a quick stop at the local Starbucks for another coffee for the long drive ahead. At first glance, we could have been on our way for a weekend escape only minus the uniform. The kind girl at Starbucks tried to give you the drinks without paying when she realized where we were headed.
I sat in the car and pondered our circumstances as we drove along. The usual bad Ontario drivers in the left lane (and 401 stop and go traffic) begged us to agree enthusiastically with one another about how pathetic ALL the other drivers are on the road. We make a great pair that way; complaining about bad drivers is great fun!
I thought about you leaving to go to a place that is so foreign to me. A region that is full of conflict and still in dire need of guidance and aid from other countries. Essentially, a place that in my mind represents the unknown. As we drove along I realized how normal our day seemed, you making me laugh as you commented on how useful desert camo is because you can spill coffee and no one would ever know. We chatted as usual about our favourite artists, our plans for the spring, the kids. Then we pulled into the base.
A place you have been to a dozen times in the last 3 months and probably a dozen or two more throughout your career. I got the quick drive by tour of the barracks and hangars and then the reality of the day sunk quickly into my knees. As the mid day sun made it’s appearance I wanted to quickly rewind the day to last night’s relaxing evening in front of the fire.
I met a few of the crew which put me a little bit more at ease in what felt to me to be a strange place. It felt as though we were all standing in limbo waiting in this “in between two worlds” sort of a place. Most everyone I met was light hearted yet there seemed to be a shared desire to just get things moving already. So much lead up to any departure almost always creates a buzz to just get on with things.
We stood and we chatted and then you walked me to my car. You kissed me but it didn’t feel like a sad goodbye like I thought it might. It felt, hopeful. I was thankful in that moment for your practical, realistic ways. As you said, it’s not really goodbye. I know I’ll be seeing you in a matter of weeks. I watched you walk back into the building and I got in my car, proud of myself for keeping it together for you.
I sat at the lights waiting to exit glancing up at the clear skies. I thought about your long night of traveling and the 3-hour drive ahead of me.
It felt…almost easy.
And then the tears came.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
happy, content, un-rushed, not perfect but joyful New Year to you
Christmas and New Years seemed to have slipped by quickly this year. The holidays seemed too short as I drove home from work this evening. The traffic crawling along March road felt dull and familiar only two days fresh into the workweek. It’s odd to think we were lounging around in holiday mode only three days ago. Now here I am with heavy eyes all before 10pm after a day of putting out small fires in the bank world.
Time is funny that way. A relaxing Sunday afternoon can feel like weeks ago when you’ve barely made it to lunchtime on your first day back after the weekend. Traffic has a way of sucking the holiday right out of you too. This year’s Christmas break was definitely too short and over too quickly for my liking. I could have used an extra couple of days to soak in the last of 2010.
I often feel the desire to write at years end. I think it’s a natural thing to want to toss a year into the good or bad pile. Was it a year full of challenges or pleasant surprises? Was it one of struggle, or joy? I don’t know anyone who can resist the urge to judge a year and classify it in order to move onto the next one. I know I do it. You read a book and tell others if it was good or bad. We watch movies and critique as though we are all experts…a year gone by is begging for a score.
I wonder if doing so offers any value or benefit to us? Does it make us cranky and self-absorbed if it was a year full of struggle? Do we tend to focus on the bad and forget the good? Woe is me? When it’s been a good one, do we carry that optimism with us and welcome a challenge? Can the good overcome the bad and fuel us with smiles and goodwill for the year ahead??
I suppose it depends a little bit on your disposition. It depends on what lies ahead and what has just unfolded. It depends on how you see yourself in this big wide world of ours. Ultimately it depends on…you.
For the record…2010 was a keeper.
Happy New Year!
Time is funny that way. A relaxing Sunday afternoon can feel like weeks ago when you’ve barely made it to lunchtime on your first day back after the weekend. Traffic has a way of sucking the holiday right out of you too. This year’s Christmas break was definitely too short and over too quickly for my liking. I could have used an extra couple of days to soak in the last of 2010.
I often feel the desire to write at years end. I think it’s a natural thing to want to toss a year into the good or bad pile. Was it a year full of challenges or pleasant surprises? Was it one of struggle, or joy? I don’t know anyone who can resist the urge to judge a year and classify it in order to move onto the next one. I know I do it. You read a book and tell others if it was good or bad. We watch movies and critique as though we are all experts…a year gone by is begging for a score.
I wonder if doing so offers any value or benefit to us? Does it make us cranky and self-absorbed if it was a year full of struggle? Do we tend to focus on the bad and forget the good? Woe is me? When it’s been a good one, do we carry that optimism with us and welcome a challenge? Can the good overcome the bad and fuel us with smiles and goodwill for the year ahead??
I suppose it depends a little bit on your disposition. It depends on what lies ahead and what has just unfolded. It depends on how you see yourself in this big wide world of ours. Ultimately it depends on…you.
For the record…2010 was a keeper.
Happy New Year!
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