...don't buy into everything. But do buy a great denim jacket because it goes with everything!
Monday, September 29, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
fen shui for the soul...
When Steve and I first moved into our house, there was something about our dining room that I just didn’t like. Something about it, aesthetically, wasn’t working for me. I am certainly not an interior designer by any means, but I do know when something doesn’t fit. Often times though, I don’t know what it is that doesn’t fit. Like life, all of my design preferences revolve around balance. I need things to look and feel balanced in order for me to enjoy them and if they don’t feel right, it will nag at me endlessly until I make it right.
Our dining room was especially daunting for me because I had never had a dining room before. The second floor of our house (home to the kitchen, living and dining room) is very open and in turn, offers a unique challenge when going from decorating a small space to decorating such a large space. We didn’t want to over clutter the room but at the same time, the large wall added a rather dramatic advantage that we had never enjoyed before.
One night, Steve came home from work and I had removed everything in our dining room and had it all sitting in the kitchen. I stood looking at the dining room, completely bare, with nothing but the chandelier and the table. I had gotten so frustrated with the look of this space that I had just decided to start all over again.
Slowly, throughout the night, Steve and I began to replace certain items in the room and one at a time, we rebuilt the décor of our dining room. In doing so, it was much easier to identify what was throwing off the balance of everything else. Eventually, we discovered the culprit and our dining room is now one of our favourite and most loved places in our house.
Our dining room was especially daunting for me because I had never had a dining room before. The second floor of our house (home to the kitchen, living and dining room) is very open and in turn, offers a unique challenge when going from decorating a small space to decorating such a large space. We didn’t want to over clutter the room but at the same time, the large wall added a rather dramatic advantage that we had never enjoyed before.
One night, Steve came home from work and I had removed everything in our dining room and had it all sitting in the kitchen. I stood looking at the dining room, completely bare, with nothing but the chandelier and the table. I had gotten so frustrated with the look of this space that I had just decided to start all over again.
Slowly, throughout the night, Steve and I began to replace certain items in the room and one at a time, we rebuilt the décor of our dining room. In doing so, it was much easier to identify what was throwing off the balance of everything else. Eventually, we discovered the culprit and our dining room is now one of our favourite and most loved places in our house.
This strategy of “going bare” had never occurred to me before. In the past, I would just put on my best fen shui hat and play around with things until it looked right. This time though, I was so overwhelmed, mostly by all of the little things, that I felt the need to disassemble and start again from scratch. It worked well though. By pulling apart the bigger picture, all of the small details weren’t so intimidating.
This summer, my life felt much the same way my dining room first felt; cluttered, unbalanced and it made me cringe every time I looked at it! Also like my dining room, the task of figuring out the one piece that didn’t seem to fit felt overbearing and unappealing. Come August though, I decided to try the same technique that I had used on the dining room; remove all the activities from my life that were taking up space (good and bad), leaving only the essentials, and slowly but surely, start putting them back in to see what works and what doesn’t work. Of course, there was a bit of unease towards this process as it also meant removing some of the things that I love as well but sometimes, even the things that we love most need some tweaking.
So, that’s what I did. I took a nice long break for all the “extras” in my life to see how it would fit. For two months now I haven’t run with my group (so sad!), volunteered, attended church activities or extended myself beyond the fundamental activities throughout my day. I am normally quite a busy person, so this experience proved to be more difficult than I anticipated but it was good though…enlightening. It was refreshing to see what it is that actually consumes my time on a daily basis and how much they contribute to my well-being (or don’t).
The result wasn’t necessarily surprising. I concluded that like space in a house, it’s not really a matter of how much time you have (because that’s not going to change!) as much as it matters how you use the time that you are given. Running with some of the best training buddies ever – GOOD! Watching the new remake of Beverly Hills 90210 – NOT GOOD! Bible study and church BBQs – GOOD! Facebook – NOT SO GOOD! Reading a delightful book with a yummy coffee in hand – VERY GOOD! An hour on a crowded, smelly bus – TERRIBLE! It’s all a matter of priorities really! But sometimes you have to blow the dust off in order to even catch a glimpse of them.
I’ll admit that it’s a little bit of a shock to the system going from two months of “quiet time” back into the full swing of things but I’m trying to consider it kind of like going back to school; no more slacking…it’s time to put yourself to good use again (at least for five days out of the week!). As my day timer is slowly filling up again with lots of delightful commitments, I’m trying really hard to keep a close eye on it and not let things become too cluttered again. After all, I’m a busy girl…I don’t have a lot of time for cleaning anymore!
and baby makes many...
If everyone recalls correctly…about nine months ago, there was a rash of baby announcements made within our circle of friends! All of which actually, mere weeks apart! It appears that the water in the area had been tainted with something delightful and miracles were happening all over the place!
Well, ultrasounds have been had, bellies have grown, bedrooms have been redecorated and at long last, all of the new family members have happily and safely arrived. Isn’t God great!
First up was Colin and Sandra who welcomed their beautiful baby girl…Brooklyn Alexander, to the world. This little one will likely be dog-sledding before she learns to walk if Daddy has anything to do with it!!
A week later was the arrival of a second son to Mark and Hélène…Rhys Donaldson, and if this little guy looks anything like his older brother (we haven’t seen pictures yet), Mom and Dad are going to have their hands full when all the girls start randomly showing up around the age of twelve and giggling incessantly over how handsome their boys are!!! Good luck with that!!!
And last but certainly not least is the newest member of the family for Mark and Trish…baby Noah Brinkman, who despite potentially fun stories down the road, was not named because of the extreme rain fall and flood warnings! Fear not, baby Noah…you don’t need to start building a boat just yet!
Congratulations to all of our fabulous friends who clearly, make equally fabulous babies!
Well, ultrasounds have been had, bellies have grown, bedrooms have been redecorated and at long last, all of the new family members have happily and safely arrived. Isn’t God great!
First up was Colin and Sandra who welcomed their beautiful baby girl…Brooklyn Alexander, to the world. This little one will likely be dog-sledding before she learns to walk if Daddy has anything to do with it!!
A week later was the arrival of a second son to Mark and Hélène…Rhys Donaldson, and if this little guy looks anything like his older brother (we haven’t seen pictures yet), Mom and Dad are going to have their hands full when all the girls start randomly showing up around the age of twelve and giggling incessantly over how handsome their boys are!!! Good luck with that!!!
And last but certainly not least is the newest member of the family for Mark and Trish…baby Noah Brinkman, who despite potentially fun stories down the road, was not named because of the extreme rain fall and flood warnings! Fear not, baby Noah…you don’t need to start building a boat just yet!
Congratulations to all of our fabulous friends who clearly, make equally fabulous babies!
Monday, September 22, 2008
the fall of summer...
It’s the first day of fall today and my favourite time of year. Lindsay and I were sitting outside at lunch today and commenting on the amazing smell in the air. It’s the kind of day where it’s summer in the sun and fall in the shade, and there is a golden shimmer cast upon everything in sight. It’s stunning.
I’m always relieved when fall comes around. I’m not a person that is very comfortable with summer. I love the warmth and the sunshine but I find the summer to be very unpredictable and it makes me anxious. We are always out of our routine in the summer and something in the air seems to flip the world upside down. Most people seem to desperately long for the reprieve from the cold weather whereas I just consider it a season to be survived. It’s as though I hold my breath and just pray that I make it out alive. So far I have.
I’ve never entered into the month of September as the girl that raves about months spent at the beach or on patios. Instead, I’m the girl eager to wear all my new fall clothes even if it’s still thirty degrees out! With the exception of the summer that I got engaged and the summer that I got married, I don’t generally remember summers fondly. I’m usually chomping at the bit for it to be over so I can enter into a safer and more familiar time of year. Odd, I know but it wasn’t always this way.
Growing up, I used to spend the better part of my summers out a ranch just outside of town. I would spend my days swimming, camping and best of all, riding. My Mother always worked so hard each year to be able to send me and every year, I couldn’t wait to be back. It’s actually kind of strange because I was never very comfortable in groups. I was intimidated very easily and large groups (especially of girls) made me feel overwhelmed and scared. But I loved the horses and I did love my summers spent with them. I made new friends, got out of the city and gave my Mom some space from the confines of being a single parent.
My favourite memories of the ranch were getting up really early in the morning to round up the horses from the fields. Anyone who knows me well knows that I am not a morning person in the least but, I could never resist the opportunity to wake up to the early morning air and walk out into the fields that were lightly covered in dew as the horses stood in the distance. Together, we would watch the sun come up. It was so quiet and peaceful at that time of day and although I was young, the staff always let me go out and start bringing in the horses for breakfast. It was gorgeous to watch them first thing in the morning and I always got the impression that they talked about me when I wasn’t looking!
I went to the ranch for a long time and because I essentially grew up there and had such a strong understanding of the horses, I was offered the opportunity to work there at a fairly young age. Of course, I jumped at the opportunity to be paid for doing something that I loved but there were challenges that I would have no way of anticipating or dealing with.
Being younger than everyone else was hard. As a teenager, the two year difference between my peers and I was significant. The other girls spent most of their time chasing boys and getting excited about make-up (yes, even at camp!), and I just wasn’t there yet nor did I care to be. Our differences were obvious and it became a reason for them to dislike me. To add insult to injury, those same boys that were being chased became my friends and started to spend more time with me. I wasn’t completely naïve though. Even at sixteen I understood that my long legs and teenage waist contributed to their motives but in the end, we were friends and continued to be for many years. But these friendships didn’t go over well with the girls that I had to share a tent with all summer. In fact, it just fueled their dislike towards me and eventually I just found myself going home on days off crying and pleading with my Mom not to make me go back.
Late August, the summer that I turned sixteen, I was on site duty in the girl’s area for the night. We were deep in the woods but still close enough that I could see the lights from the chalet in the distance. Most of the girls in the area were under the age of ten and had been asleep for a couple of hours already. As eleven o’clock rolled around, I sat at the picnic table with my flashlight and a book. I heard the sound of someone approaching in the woods and when I pointed my flashlight in their direction, I noticed that it was one of the off-duty guys coming to check up on me. He and his sister were new to the ranch that year and we had become fast friends two months earlier. He was a calm and gentle person, as was his younger sister, and like me, he wanted to “belong”. He was a year older than me and his family had recently moved to the region, leaving behind all the friends and family that he and his sister had ever known. Sending the two of them to the ranch was their way of letting them make new friends while their parents settled into their new home and routine.
He came and sat with me at the picnic table and asked about my night. It had been a couple of days since I had last seen him and we found ourselves catching up on the recent happenings of our lives in the woods! It was no secret that, given the opportunity, he would have happily welcomed the idea of becoming more than just friends and more so, it had sort of become a running joke among staff throughout the summer. For all of his great qualities though, a summer love simply wasn’t part of what I was looking for and the closer we came to going home, the more I encouraged him to set his sights elsewhere.
Part way through our conversation, I asked him if he would watch the area for me while I went to go and grab a drink. I turned around to head to the chalet and somewhere between blinking, breathing and thinking…I was on the ground. He had come up from behind me and had pinned me on the ground. His face was right next to mine and I remember asking him what he was doing but as the words came out of my mouth, I already knew. I begged him to get off of me but he was heavy and I had never felt so small and tiny in my entire life. He was determined; If I wasn't going to give myself to him, he was going to take me...one way or another.
I don’t know how much time passed but I heard my name. Someone was calling my name and he heard it too. He froze in a panic, looked me dead in the eyes and made me swear not to tell anyone what had happened. He got up and stood behind a nearby tree in the darkness. At that same moment, a girl came bursting through the woods, grabbed me by the wrist and started walking with me on the dirt road towards the chalet. She kept asking me over and over again, before I could even answer, “Are you okay?”
As we walked in the cold night air, I could feel the dampness beginning to form. The trees were quiet and peaceful, all sounds had been made silent and as this girl marched with an air of intention, I followed like a lost little girl desperately searching for my parents. I kept looking over my shoulder for the shadow that I knew was behind me somewhere and each time I did, my breathing just lingered in the air until I turned my head and saw the lights again. Eventually, I just stopped in my tracks. I stood standing in the night, staring at this girl…dirt in my hair, my clothes torn, my body scratched and once again she asked “are you okay?”
She knew.
Just then the silence broke as footsteps ran through the woods. I, too, broke at that moment. As my senses finally began to realize what had just occurred, I threw my self on the ground in fear and tears overwhelmed me. The girl guided me up and we ran through the night again until we reached the safety of light. In my sobbing, I kept asking her how she knew and she kept telling me to keep moving and that she would explain later. So that’s what we did. Leaves rustled, branches broke, breaths quickened and the innocence of summer had disappeared forever.
It was later explained to me that my friend had been “persuaded” to do it. The other girls that disliked me so much had promised him unconditional friendship…but there was a price to pay; Me. Acceptance and popularity was the game and I was the pawn. He was asked to prove him self to them by surpassing his feelings for me. Adolescent loneliness can do crazy things to people.
As it turns out though, one girl’s morals ran deeper than her desire to belong and she came for me. She pulled me from the wreckage and carried me home. I don’t really remember anything after making it to the chalet. I remember writing everything down. I remember waking up the next morning to the snickers and grins of girls who felt they had conquered in the end. I remember refusing to press charges and I remember packing my things to go home. I remember telling my Mom about it over dinner one night as calmly and with as little detail as possible. I remember fall coming and I remember never going back to the ranch ever again.
A few months later, I got a letter from him. He told me how sorry he was and how terrible he felt. He told me that he had been going to counseling and he hoped that I would one day be able to forgive him. It was a nice letter…a sincere letter. Truth be told, I don’t ever remember being afraid of him. I was, most certainly, terrified of what was happening but I don’t remember being afraid of him personally. He kept saying my name and somehow, it made me feel like he didn’t want to be hurting me. There was pain in his eyes and even to this day, I sometimes wonder if that night hurt him more than it hurt me. Of course, everything about it left its mark; For a long time I was terrified of large groups and its only been recently that I’ve been able to be comfortable having trusting friendships with other people. I still get very nervous when people are behind me and I haven’t quite grown comfortable of the dark again. Mostly though, I miss the summer. I miss looking forward to the summer and yearning for its warm sunshine. I miss feeling the excitement of its unexpectedness and I miss breathing deeply the first time I feel its warm breeze over my face without a pain of anxiety filling my body.
While I have learned to manage and accept my feelings towards the summer that I turned sixteen, I still find myself wishing sometimes that I could live in a world only of fall.
I’m always relieved when fall comes around. I’m not a person that is very comfortable with summer. I love the warmth and the sunshine but I find the summer to be very unpredictable and it makes me anxious. We are always out of our routine in the summer and something in the air seems to flip the world upside down. Most people seem to desperately long for the reprieve from the cold weather whereas I just consider it a season to be survived. It’s as though I hold my breath and just pray that I make it out alive. So far I have.
I’ve never entered into the month of September as the girl that raves about months spent at the beach or on patios. Instead, I’m the girl eager to wear all my new fall clothes even if it’s still thirty degrees out! With the exception of the summer that I got engaged and the summer that I got married, I don’t generally remember summers fondly. I’m usually chomping at the bit for it to be over so I can enter into a safer and more familiar time of year. Odd, I know but it wasn’t always this way.
Growing up, I used to spend the better part of my summers out a ranch just outside of town. I would spend my days swimming, camping and best of all, riding. My Mother always worked so hard each year to be able to send me and every year, I couldn’t wait to be back. It’s actually kind of strange because I was never very comfortable in groups. I was intimidated very easily and large groups (especially of girls) made me feel overwhelmed and scared. But I loved the horses and I did love my summers spent with them. I made new friends, got out of the city and gave my Mom some space from the confines of being a single parent.
My favourite memories of the ranch were getting up really early in the morning to round up the horses from the fields. Anyone who knows me well knows that I am not a morning person in the least but, I could never resist the opportunity to wake up to the early morning air and walk out into the fields that were lightly covered in dew as the horses stood in the distance. Together, we would watch the sun come up. It was so quiet and peaceful at that time of day and although I was young, the staff always let me go out and start bringing in the horses for breakfast. It was gorgeous to watch them first thing in the morning and I always got the impression that they talked about me when I wasn’t looking!
I went to the ranch for a long time and because I essentially grew up there and had such a strong understanding of the horses, I was offered the opportunity to work there at a fairly young age. Of course, I jumped at the opportunity to be paid for doing something that I loved but there were challenges that I would have no way of anticipating or dealing with.
Being younger than everyone else was hard. As a teenager, the two year difference between my peers and I was significant. The other girls spent most of their time chasing boys and getting excited about make-up (yes, even at camp!), and I just wasn’t there yet nor did I care to be. Our differences were obvious and it became a reason for them to dislike me. To add insult to injury, those same boys that were being chased became my friends and started to spend more time with me. I wasn’t completely naïve though. Even at sixteen I understood that my long legs and teenage waist contributed to their motives but in the end, we were friends and continued to be for many years. But these friendships didn’t go over well with the girls that I had to share a tent with all summer. In fact, it just fueled their dislike towards me and eventually I just found myself going home on days off crying and pleading with my Mom not to make me go back.
Late August, the summer that I turned sixteen, I was on site duty in the girl’s area for the night. We were deep in the woods but still close enough that I could see the lights from the chalet in the distance. Most of the girls in the area were under the age of ten and had been asleep for a couple of hours already. As eleven o’clock rolled around, I sat at the picnic table with my flashlight and a book. I heard the sound of someone approaching in the woods and when I pointed my flashlight in their direction, I noticed that it was one of the off-duty guys coming to check up on me. He and his sister were new to the ranch that year and we had become fast friends two months earlier. He was a calm and gentle person, as was his younger sister, and like me, he wanted to “belong”. He was a year older than me and his family had recently moved to the region, leaving behind all the friends and family that he and his sister had ever known. Sending the two of them to the ranch was their way of letting them make new friends while their parents settled into their new home and routine.
He came and sat with me at the picnic table and asked about my night. It had been a couple of days since I had last seen him and we found ourselves catching up on the recent happenings of our lives in the woods! It was no secret that, given the opportunity, he would have happily welcomed the idea of becoming more than just friends and more so, it had sort of become a running joke among staff throughout the summer. For all of his great qualities though, a summer love simply wasn’t part of what I was looking for and the closer we came to going home, the more I encouraged him to set his sights elsewhere.
Part way through our conversation, I asked him if he would watch the area for me while I went to go and grab a drink. I turned around to head to the chalet and somewhere between blinking, breathing and thinking…I was on the ground. He had come up from behind me and had pinned me on the ground. His face was right next to mine and I remember asking him what he was doing but as the words came out of my mouth, I already knew. I begged him to get off of me but he was heavy and I had never felt so small and tiny in my entire life. He was determined; If I wasn't going to give myself to him, he was going to take me...one way or another.
I don’t know how much time passed but I heard my name. Someone was calling my name and he heard it too. He froze in a panic, looked me dead in the eyes and made me swear not to tell anyone what had happened. He got up and stood behind a nearby tree in the darkness. At that same moment, a girl came bursting through the woods, grabbed me by the wrist and started walking with me on the dirt road towards the chalet. She kept asking me over and over again, before I could even answer, “Are you okay?”
As we walked in the cold night air, I could feel the dampness beginning to form. The trees were quiet and peaceful, all sounds had been made silent and as this girl marched with an air of intention, I followed like a lost little girl desperately searching for my parents. I kept looking over my shoulder for the shadow that I knew was behind me somewhere and each time I did, my breathing just lingered in the air until I turned my head and saw the lights again. Eventually, I just stopped in my tracks. I stood standing in the night, staring at this girl…dirt in my hair, my clothes torn, my body scratched and once again she asked “are you okay?”
She knew.
Just then the silence broke as footsteps ran through the woods. I, too, broke at that moment. As my senses finally began to realize what had just occurred, I threw my self on the ground in fear and tears overwhelmed me. The girl guided me up and we ran through the night again until we reached the safety of light. In my sobbing, I kept asking her how she knew and she kept telling me to keep moving and that she would explain later. So that’s what we did. Leaves rustled, branches broke, breaths quickened and the innocence of summer had disappeared forever.
It was later explained to me that my friend had been “persuaded” to do it. The other girls that disliked me so much had promised him unconditional friendship…but there was a price to pay; Me. Acceptance and popularity was the game and I was the pawn. He was asked to prove him self to them by surpassing his feelings for me. Adolescent loneliness can do crazy things to people.
As it turns out though, one girl’s morals ran deeper than her desire to belong and she came for me. She pulled me from the wreckage and carried me home. I don’t really remember anything after making it to the chalet. I remember writing everything down. I remember waking up the next morning to the snickers and grins of girls who felt they had conquered in the end. I remember refusing to press charges and I remember packing my things to go home. I remember telling my Mom about it over dinner one night as calmly and with as little detail as possible. I remember fall coming and I remember never going back to the ranch ever again.
A few months later, I got a letter from him. He told me how sorry he was and how terrible he felt. He told me that he had been going to counseling and he hoped that I would one day be able to forgive him. It was a nice letter…a sincere letter. Truth be told, I don’t ever remember being afraid of him. I was, most certainly, terrified of what was happening but I don’t remember being afraid of him personally. He kept saying my name and somehow, it made me feel like he didn’t want to be hurting me. There was pain in his eyes and even to this day, I sometimes wonder if that night hurt him more than it hurt me. Of course, everything about it left its mark; For a long time I was terrified of large groups and its only been recently that I’ve been able to be comfortable having trusting friendships with other people. I still get very nervous when people are behind me and I haven’t quite grown comfortable of the dark again. Mostly though, I miss the summer. I miss looking forward to the summer and yearning for its warm sunshine. I miss feeling the excitement of its unexpectedness and I miss breathing deeply the first time I feel its warm breeze over my face without a pain of anxiety filling my body.
While I have learned to manage and accept my feelings towards the summer that I turned sixteen, I still find myself wishing sometimes that I could live in a world only of fall.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
helium's top rated girl!
So not too long ago, I joined a network of online freelance writers to see how my writing would be received among my cyber peers. Helium.com is a rather large and intricate network filled with any number of topics to submit to from politics and personal finance to arts and humanities. As a member, you post your articles to whatever channel you choose and other members rate your work. Each time you get rated, you move up or down in the list of articles relative to how others have been rated. What’s great about this site is that it’s also a marketplace for publications looking for specific articles. The better your ratings are, the more credible and appealing your work becomes to them and they are free to purchase your work directly from the site.
By no means did I join the network in anticipation of being published. Mostly, it was just to take my writing beyond my blog site to see how other writers (some professional) would rate my work. As it turns out, they are rating it fairly nicely! I’ve only submitted three articles so far but all of them have rated in the top 50% and just this morning, my most recent article became the top rated in its category! I’m so excited!
Below is the article that I submitted, which has been tweaked to the helium writing guidelines from a previous post that I had written. I submitted it under the category of Photography: Humour, which I was very apprehensive about doing because despite my best efforts…I don’t consider my writing very humorous at all!!
I realize that this is such a tiny baby step in the big, bad world of writing but right now, being at the top of Helium’s Photography: Humour list feels like being at the top of the New York Times Bestseller list!!!
By no means did I join the network in anticipation of being published. Mostly, it was just to take my writing beyond my blog site to see how other writers (some professional) would rate my work. As it turns out, they are rating it fairly nicely! I’ve only submitted three articles so far but all of them have rated in the top 50% and just this morning, my most recent article became the top rated in its category! I’m so excited!
Below is the article that I submitted, which has been tweaked to the helium writing guidelines from a previous post that I had written. I submitted it under the category of Photography: Humour, which I was very apprehensive about doing because despite my best efforts…I don’t consider my writing very humorous at all!!
I realize that this is such a tiny baby step in the big, bad world of writing but right now, being at the top of Helium’s Photography: Humour list feels like being at the top of the New York Times Bestseller list!!!
_____________________________________________
Picture This...
Article Submitted By:
Genevieve V. Georget-Smyth
Article Submitted By:
Genevieve V. Georget-Smyth
Picture this…It's eight grade and you are at one of your last elementary school dances. The disco ball is turning, the lights are flashing and the DJ is playing something that you've heard on the radio a thousand times already (in my day, it would have been something by Heavy D or Criss Cross, remember them?) when suddenly, a slow song comes on. The gymnasium suddenly parts like the Red Sea, with all of the guys against one wall and all of the girls against the other. The teachers who are chaperoning the evening look about as uncomfortable as everyone else feels and somehow, you all know that you're all thinking the very same thing…who's going to make the first move? While everyone is standing there, time is slowly ticking away as you are contemplating whether or not you have the guts to ask THAT guy or girl (okay, never mind, ANY guy or girl) to dance. Slowly, one brave person begins to walk across the gymnasium into the adolescent equivalent of the Bermuda Triangle and the song ends. The moment is over and then TLC suddenly comes on the speakers reminding you not to chase after waterfalls…stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to!
This scenario, like so many others, is a perfect example of what happens when we let the moment slip away. When we long for something but, neglect to take the opportunity because of fear or insecurity or as Bono would so eloquently put it "we're stuck in a moment that we can't get out of".
What happens when we stand there against the wall of the gymnasium, staring at that one single person that we so desperately want to approach? Is it a fear of rejection? Fear of what we know? Or fear of what we don't know? I think that in many cases, our imagined reality (that the guy/girl of our elementary school dreams secretly has a crush on us and wants to ask us to run away to Mexico with them!) is better than the potential truth of our current reality (that they may say no and immediately go running for the hills!).
Here's the thing though…how often, when weighing these odds, do we stop to consider the difference between probability versus possibility? Anything is possible but the odds of the worse possible scenario happening are a lot less in our favour when we consider the probability of it happening! All this to say that, okay, perhaps that guy/girl won't suddenly be stuffing your desk with little Garfield Valentine cards but, odds are that they also aren't suddenly going to transfer schools the following Monday just so they don't have to look you in the eye ever again! My guess is, whatever does happen, come grade nine, it won't matter anyways because you'll find yourself in a whole new adolescent abyss and four years of just trying to avoid embarrassment! With that being said though, you will also never have to look back and wonder if those four years could have potentially been spent on the beaches of Mexico ordering virgin daiquiris with your elementary school flame!
How many of these little things have happened to you? A moment comes and provides the best, and possibly the only, opportunity and we spend so much time contemplating it and weighing its options that before we know it…it's gone. How many times have you failed to seize the day? Seizing the moment, any moment, is guaranteed to do two things; first, it is guaranteed to throw you into the unknown. What's interesting about this is that this is why most people don't seize it fear of the unknown. Secondly, it is guaranteed to change your life. What's interesting about this is that this is why most people DO seize it; regardless of the outcome, your life will be altered in some manner and more times than not, in a forward motion. Either way though, you will never be left wondering what could have been.
So, after spending the day reflecting upon this enlightenment, I noticed that there is one thing in particular that I have never seized…my passion for photography. My husband and I collect photographs, usually purchasing a new work to mark each new occasion in our relationship; moving in together, getting married, our honeymoon. I simply love photography and always have. Perhaps it's my love of people watching or the fact that I'm highly intuitive when it comes to people's emotions but whatever it is, I feel the need to capture it somehow. Oddly enough though, I've never taken up photography and I've hardly even owned a camera before! And, much to my surprise, I can explain this (God bless psychology classes!); I have no idea whether or not I would make a good photographer but, my imagined reality that I'm an award winning photographer in hiding is better than the potentially true reality that I'm a terrible photographer altogether. Crazy, I know! But sometimes, we just want to believe something so badly that the possibility, whether its true or not, is easier than the probability.
So, what's a girl to do when confronted with this dilemma? Well, you have to allow your hand to let go of the wall and make the long journey to the other side of the gymnasium with everyone watching (yes, even the teachers!) and you have to ask that cute boy from home room if he'll dance with you because they are only going to play Boyz II Men once tonight and you better believe that you are going to be in love when they do! And you know what…even if he says no, you can still find joy in knowing that the moment you crossed over to the other side of the line, everyone else took a deep breath and did the same thing. And because everyone else was so busy worrying about their own sweaty palms, they didn't even notice that you had to swallow your pride, walk away and touch up your cherry flavoured lip-gloss!
So that's what I did…I let go of the wall, seized a giant online camera sale and bought a Nikon D40 (go big or go home, right?!?). It's sleek, sophisticated and perfect for capturing our life on film! I'm certainly not saying that National Geographic will soon be knocking at our door but, at the very least, we now have a digital witness to our lives; Some thing and some way to look back and smile at the moments gone by…the moments that we seized so we'd never be left wondering.
This scenario, like so many others, is a perfect example of what happens when we let the moment slip away. When we long for something but, neglect to take the opportunity because of fear or insecurity or as Bono would so eloquently put it "we're stuck in a moment that we can't get out of".
What happens when we stand there against the wall of the gymnasium, staring at that one single person that we so desperately want to approach? Is it a fear of rejection? Fear of what we know? Or fear of what we don't know? I think that in many cases, our imagined reality (that the guy/girl of our elementary school dreams secretly has a crush on us and wants to ask us to run away to Mexico with them!) is better than the potential truth of our current reality (that they may say no and immediately go running for the hills!).
Here's the thing though…how often, when weighing these odds, do we stop to consider the difference between probability versus possibility? Anything is possible but the odds of the worse possible scenario happening are a lot less in our favour when we consider the probability of it happening! All this to say that, okay, perhaps that guy/girl won't suddenly be stuffing your desk with little Garfield Valentine cards but, odds are that they also aren't suddenly going to transfer schools the following Monday just so they don't have to look you in the eye ever again! My guess is, whatever does happen, come grade nine, it won't matter anyways because you'll find yourself in a whole new adolescent abyss and four years of just trying to avoid embarrassment! With that being said though, you will also never have to look back and wonder if those four years could have potentially been spent on the beaches of Mexico ordering virgin daiquiris with your elementary school flame!
How many of these little things have happened to you? A moment comes and provides the best, and possibly the only, opportunity and we spend so much time contemplating it and weighing its options that before we know it…it's gone. How many times have you failed to seize the day? Seizing the moment, any moment, is guaranteed to do two things; first, it is guaranteed to throw you into the unknown. What's interesting about this is that this is why most people don't seize it fear of the unknown. Secondly, it is guaranteed to change your life. What's interesting about this is that this is why most people DO seize it; regardless of the outcome, your life will be altered in some manner and more times than not, in a forward motion. Either way though, you will never be left wondering what could have been.
So, after spending the day reflecting upon this enlightenment, I noticed that there is one thing in particular that I have never seized…my passion for photography. My husband and I collect photographs, usually purchasing a new work to mark each new occasion in our relationship; moving in together, getting married, our honeymoon. I simply love photography and always have. Perhaps it's my love of people watching or the fact that I'm highly intuitive when it comes to people's emotions but whatever it is, I feel the need to capture it somehow. Oddly enough though, I've never taken up photography and I've hardly even owned a camera before! And, much to my surprise, I can explain this (God bless psychology classes!); I have no idea whether or not I would make a good photographer but, my imagined reality that I'm an award winning photographer in hiding is better than the potentially true reality that I'm a terrible photographer altogether. Crazy, I know! But sometimes, we just want to believe something so badly that the possibility, whether its true or not, is easier than the probability.
So, what's a girl to do when confronted with this dilemma? Well, you have to allow your hand to let go of the wall and make the long journey to the other side of the gymnasium with everyone watching (yes, even the teachers!) and you have to ask that cute boy from home room if he'll dance with you because they are only going to play Boyz II Men once tonight and you better believe that you are going to be in love when they do! And you know what…even if he says no, you can still find joy in knowing that the moment you crossed over to the other side of the line, everyone else took a deep breath and did the same thing. And because everyone else was so busy worrying about their own sweaty palms, they didn't even notice that you had to swallow your pride, walk away and touch up your cherry flavoured lip-gloss!
So that's what I did…I let go of the wall, seized a giant online camera sale and bought a Nikon D40 (go big or go home, right?!?). It's sleek, sophisticated and perfect for capturing our life on film! I'm certainly not saying that National Geographic will soon be knocking at our door but, at the very least, we now have a digital witness to our lives; Some thing and some way to look back and smile at the moments gone by…the moments that we seized so we'd never be left wondering.
Friday, September 19, 2008
calling all followers...
I know that everyone wants to be a leader but in this case...following is good!
Blogger just came up with a new widget feature called "Follow" which essentially allows me to have my very own fan club! Am I excited about this feature? We'll see!
As flattering as this could be...it could also be the universe's way of seeking revenge on me for having the following voice mail message:
"Hi! You've reached Gen and Steve. Unfortunately we can't come to the phone right now but if you think you're important, leave a message and if we think you're important, we'll call you back."
Blogger just came up with a new widget feature called "Follow" which essentially allows me to have my very own fan club! Am I excited about this feature? We'll see!
As flattering as this could be...it could also be the universe's way of seeking revenge on me for having the following voice mail message:
"Hi! You've reached Gen and Steve. Unfortunately we can't come to the phone right now but if you think you're important, leave a message and if we think you're important, we'll call you back."
So, if you're a fan (preferably of a none "stalk-ish" nature!)...scroll to the bottom of the sidebar and be the first to be a follower!! Please...my ego is counting on you...
(and if in a few weeks time, you notice that the follow feature has mysteriously disappeared and our voice mail message has changed...you'll know that karma had its way with me!!!)
ahead by a century...
I have a confession to make…
Yesterday, I pumped gas for the first time!! This may come as shocking to some and even shameful to others but it’s true! The reality is that I’ve never owned a car before and hence, the opportunity to fill it with gas never presented itself until now! I’ve spent, quite literally, all of my driving eligible days living downtown and until I met Steve, a car was never a part of my life. Even now, Steve is really the one who uses our car the most and in turn, maintains it. I take it out for the odd shopping trip from time to time but more or less, our set of wheels is Steve’s baby!
Steve has been away in Calgary for most of the week which meant that Tugger and I were left to hold down the fort on our own. More importantly though, this also meant that with my chauffeur out of town, I found myself at the ripe old age of thirty experiencing my first solo excursion to the gas station!!! I was a bit shaky going in but I managed to keep my cool and figure things out without any damage to myself or the vehicle!! High fives all around!!
This does lead me to my second confession though…I love being domestic!
This may not come as a surprise to those who know me well but it did come as a bit of surprise to even to me! With Steve away, I’ve also been doing everything else around the house that either Steve would do or we would do together; Grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, getting the mail, laundry, feeding the cat. All in all, I’ve been a one man band this week and guess what…I LOVE IT! What’s funny is that none of this is new to me. I lived for years by myself before Steve came along and all of those things had to be done then too but somehow, with age perhaps, I’ve come to develop a certain appreciation for being able to maintain the comforts of home.
I’m sure as I write this, there are women out there convinced that I am the demise of our gender and would gladly wait in line at the chance to shake the 1950s out of my system but I almost find it necessary to step up and admit to the fact that, while I’ve spent a lifetime working towards my career, it’s possible that I could be very happy (dare I say it) without it.
One of my favourite writers, Sarah Ban Breathnach, has spent a lot of time writing about the Victorian era…a time when it was actually considered an art to maintain a home and those that lived within it. The ability to achieve balance and serenity within the home was held in the highest of regards and no amount of corporate ladder climbing could compare. During the Victorian days, home truly was where the heart is and they cherished it as such.
Even decades later, during the Depression, women everywhere made it their mission to find happiness in the home. While there was very little to go around, they quickly learned that home had far less to do with monetary value as it did the nurturing that went into it. Calm spaces, warm atmospheres, organized living…this is potentially what maintained so many people through some very dark days.
It’s not likely that you’ll soon find me standing in my kitchen with my hair in rollers as I bake muffins, but it’s reassuring to know that there was a time and a place where my love of cleaning would have fit in just fine and even more so, I could have raved about the likes of grocery shopping and pumping gas without being looked at cross-eyed or concern that I might be hospitalized!
But so it is with life…the best artists are never fully appreciated until they’re gone!
Yesterday, I pumped gas for the first time!! This may come as shocking to some and even shameful to others but it’s true! The reality is that I’ve never owned a car before and hence, the opportunity to fill it with gas never presented itself until now! I’ve spent, quite literally, all of my driving eligible days living downtown and until I met Steve, a car was never a part of my life. Even now, Steve is really the one who uses our car the most and in turn, maintains it. I take it out for the odd shopping trip from time to time but more or less, our set of wheels is Steve’s baby!
Steve has been away in Calgary for most of the week which meant that Tugger and I were left to hold down the fort on our own. More importantly though, this also meant that with my chauffeur out of town, I found myself at the ripe old age of thirty experiencing my first solo excursion to the gas station!!! I was a bit shaky going in but I managed to keep my cool and figure things out without any damage to myself or the vehicle!! High fives all around!!
This does lead me to my second confession though…I love being domestic!
This may not come as a surprise to those who know me well but it did come as a bit of surprise to even to me! With Steve away, I’ve also been doing everything else around the house that either Steve would do or we would do together; Grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, getting the mail, laundry, feeding the cat. All in all, I’ve been a one man band this week and guess what…I LOVE IT! What’s funny is that none of this is new to me. I lived for years by myself before Steve came along and all of those things had to be done then too but somehow, with age perhaps, I’ve come to develop a certain appreciation for being able to maintain the comforts of home.
I’m sure as I write this, there are women out there convinced that I am the demise of our gender and would gladly wait in line at the chance to shake the 1950s out of my system but I almost find it necessary to step up and admit to the fact that, while I’ve spent a lifetime working towards my career, it’s possible that I could be very happy (dare I say it) without it.
One of my favourite writers, Sarah Ban Breathnach, has spent a lot of time writing about the Victorian era…a time when it was actually considered an art to maintain a home and those that lived within it. The ability to achieve balance and serenity within the home was held in the highest of regards and no amount of corporate ladder climbing could compare. During the Victorian days, home truly was where the heart is and they cherished it as such.
Even decades later, during the Depression, women everywhere made it their mission to find happiness in the home. While there was very little to go around, they quickly learned that home had far less to do with monetary value as it did the nurturing that went into it. Calm spaces, warm atmospheres, organized living…this is potentially what maintained so many people through some very dark days.
It’s not likely that you’ll soon find me standing in my kitchen with my hair in rollers as I bake muffins, but it’s reassuring to know that there was a time and a place where my love of cleaning would have fit in just fine and even more so, I could have raved about the likes of grocery shopping and pumping gas without being looked at cross-eyed or concern that I might be hospitalized!
But so it is with life…the best artists are never fully appreciated until they’re gone!
Monday, September 15, 2008
it's just that easy...
It’s a really, cold, dark and dreary day in Ottawa today. It’s been raining for a number of days now (tail end of Ike) and I’ve been shocked to see how much the gloom of such weather can suck the soul right out of me. It always makes me think of my Mom who lives out in the middle of the ocean. As beautiful as it is out there, she’s always telling me stories about months passing without even the slightest glimmer of the sun. Oh, the agony.
The thing is that I actually really love the rain. I love curling up in a big, comfy chair with a good book and spending the day lost in someone else’s world. I guess the thing is that I don’t really do that too much anymore. Even when it rains, it still seems to be business as usual in the woods these days. I guess that rainy days used to signify some special for me…an indulgence in the lazy weather and a good excuse to let my soul do the same. I’ve noticed that I find myself fighting my natural tendency to want to hunker down when the skies break open and in turn, my body and mind resist with every part of my being. Rainy days just aren’t meant to be frittered away on the usual.
One of my colleagues just came back from her three week vacation in Europe and she was asking this morning if I found it hard to get back into the routine of things after our return from Australia. The answer to that would be a resounding YES! It wasn’t actually returning that I found difficult. That, I was prepared and even excited for. It was the speed at which life seems to occur that I wasn’t ready for. I was telling her that one of my favourite parts of our vacation was getting up each morning and just slowly having breakfast while we would read the paper or watch the world go by in downtown Sydney. The “rhythm” of vacation was almost intoxicating and I found that whatever seemed to happen throughout the rest of the day, it never seemed to damper our mood too much because our day had already started so wonderfully. THEN, we return home and are faced with somewhat (not always) frantic mornings that include rushing to eat breakfast and moving around in a fog until my mind catches up to my body. It’s exhausting!
For anyone out there who is already eager to hit the comment button so that you can tell me that the chaos our life endures is always choice, please spare me!!! I’m quite sure that I’ve told myself that enough for all of us!! Fear not though, I have decided that one way or another (though I’m not yet sure how), I am determined to reclaim both my mornings and my rainy days!! It simply must be done!
And so…
I, Gen with a “G”, hereby agree that I will no longer stare in envy at those enjoying their morning coffee in peace nor will I resist the temptation of a good novel and an even more tempting pillow on days when the predicted rainfall equals five millimeters or more.
[imagine signed dotted line here]
------------------------------------
Genevieve V. Georget-Smyth
Et voilà!
The thing is that I actually really love the rain. I love curling up in a big, comfy chair with a good book and spending the day lost in someone else’s world. I guess the thing is that I don’t really do that too much anymore. Even when it rains, it still seems to be business as usual in the woods these days. I guess that rainy days used to signify some special for me…an indulgence in the lazy weather and a good excuse to let my soul do the same. I’ve noticed that I find myself fighting my natural tendency to want to hunker down when the skies break open and in turn, my body and mind resist with every part of my being. Rainy days just aren’t meant to be frittered away on the usual.
One of my colleagues just came back from her three week vacation in Europe and she was asking this morning if I found it hard to get back into the routine of things after our return from Australia. The answer to that would be a resounding YES! It wasn’t actually returning that I found difficult. That, I was prepared and even excited for. It was the speed at which life seems to occur that I wasn’t ready for. I was telling her that one of my favourite parts of our vacation was getting up each morning and just slowly having breakfast while we would read the paper or watch the world go by in downtown Sydney. The “rhythm” of vacation was almost intoxicating and I found that whatever seemed to happen throughout the rest of the day, it never seemed to damper our mood too much because our day had already started so wonderfully. THEN, we return home and are faced with somewhat (not always) frantic mornings that include rushing to eat breakfast and moving around in a fog until my mind catches up to my body. It’s exhausting!
For anyone out there who is already eager to hit the comment button so that you can tell me that the chaos our life endures is always choice, please spare me!!! I’m quite sure that I’ve told myself that enough for all of us!! Fear not though, I have decided that one way or another (though I’m not yet sure how), I am determined to reclaim both my mornings and my rainy days!! It simply must be done!
And so…
I, Gen with a “G”, hereby agree that I will no longer stare in envy at those enjoying their morning coffee in peace nor will I resist the temptation of a good novel and an even more tempting pillow on days when the predicted rainfall equals five millimeters or more.
[imagine signed dotted line here]
------------------------------------
Genevieve V. Georget-Smyth
Et voilà!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
time to take some notes...
I've had a lot of feedback lately from people who have been wanting to post comments on the site but don't know how. Don't worry...you're not alone!!
So let's take a brief blogging pause for a little tutorial, shall we?!?!
For those of you who would like to join in the "cyber-conversation"...it's as easy as clicking on the COMMENT button below and joining in the fun! And despite popular belief, you don't even have to register a blog site to do so...just click on "comment" and hit either the "other" icon or the "anomymous" icon and TA-DA...no registration necessary (and we have the added fun of sharing our thoughts with everyone). I know all of you well enough to know that you have something good to say!!
So, come on...get your blog on!
So let's take a brief blogging pause for a little tutorial, shall we?!?!
For those of you who would like to join in the "cyber-conversation"...it's as easy as clicking on the COMMENT button below and joining in the fun! And despite popular belief, you don't even have to register a blog site to do so...just click on "comment" and hit either the "other" icon or the "anomymous" icon and TA-DA...no registration necessary (and we have the added fun of sharing our thoughts with everyone). I know all of you well enough to know that you have something good to say!!
So, come on...get your blog on!
Thursday, September 11, 2008
too many floors down...
A couple of weekends ago, we were painting our bathrooms. After two days of inhaling paint fumes, I found myself in our basement doing the inevitable and dreaded clean-up of all the paint supplies. I hardly ever go down into our basement. Aside from throwing the odd box down there from time to time, it’s really Steve’s terrain and frankly, I usually even forget that it’s there. During this rare moment though when I was in our basement, I found myself feeling very unsettled. As I stood on the cold, concrete floor, hunched over the big plastic sink cleaning the paint brushes, I felt like I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I’ll admit that it caught me a bit off guard. Finally, I heard Steve upstairs coming towards the basement stairs and it suddenly hit me…For about four months, from September to December, after I graduated from University, I used to live in a basement not unlike the one I had just been standing in.
As I’ve discussed many times before, the year that I graduated was a very hard time for me. I was going through a devastating break-up, I was overwhelmed at the thought of not being a student anymore, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life and the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel had most definitely been turned off for an indeterminate amount of time. Needless to say that it wasn’t amongst my brightest of days. During this time, it was very hard to make decisions regarding housing when I didn’t have a full-time job (or any job for that matter) and I didn’t know if I was staying in Ottawa or moving away. The extraordinary problem solver that is my mother, promptly stepped in and took hold of the situation with a sense of perspective that I simply wasn’t capable of at the time. She arranged for me to live with some friends of hers that had just moved to the region and weren’t using their basement. It wasn’t ideal but, it was inexpensive and non-committal. It would give the time and flexibility that I needed to figure things out without many of the external stresses that were already making my life very challenging.
So, late that August, I packed my stuff (which wasn’t very much) into the back of their pick-up truck and we drove to the outskirts of the original city boundaries of Gatineau, Quebec. I had never lived in Quebec before and I had never even seen suburban Gatineau before, but as we drove further and further away, I began to feel relieved at the distance that I was putting between my self and the memories that were making me feel trapped. Sure enough, we arrived and sure enough, it was indeed a basement. The floor was concrete, there was insulation along the walls covered in clear plastic, there were wooden beams in all directions and a big, loud furnace in the corner just next to where my bed would be. No doubt, it would be gloomy but then again, so was my life…so it seemed oddly appropriate at the time. Looking back, I think that by this time, I was almost prepared to just roll over and accept the despair that seemed to have taken me over. My soul was tired and beaten, and I no longer had the energy to fight it anymore. That is, until one crisp, sunny morning when planes started to fall from the sky…
I woke up in the basement of September 11th, 2001 and just stared up at the ceiling while I listened to the amplified sound of feet walking up above. For the past couple of weeks, that sound had become the essence of what my life had become…me, hunkered down in a cold, dark cave while the sound of other people’s lives woke me up in the night. I began to despise the very sound of the family living up above…the sound of them sitting down to dinner together…the sound of them getting ready to go out for the night…even the sound of them arguing over the car…it all just seemed like such a cruel reminder of the hollow existence that I was enduring. In fact, the sound came to bother me so much that since then, I’ve never lived beneath anyone ever again.
I’m not sure how long I stayed in my trance while I listened to their morning routine above me but eventually, the furnace kicked in and I was startled back to reality. I rolled over in my bed, tried to catch of glimmer of the outside world through the tiny window in the corner and turned on my stereo that was next to my bed. Just as the song finished, the DJ from the morning show came on and said “for those of you just tuning in, we’ve just received news that a plane has just crashed into the World Trade Center in downtown Manhattan. There is still no word of casualties however it is suspected that this was indeed, an act of terrorism. We will report back with any further details as we receive them. I repeat…we are receiving reports that the United States of America has just been attacked by terrorist.”
Given that I was already running late for work, I quickly got dressed, grabbed a walkman that was sitting on the living room table and ran out of the house. As I turned to close the door behind me, I noticed that the others had forgotten to turn the television off when they left for work. As I approached to hit the power button on the remote control, I quickly glanced up and realized, to my horror, that I was watching a second plane approach the towers. I stood stunned as the impact occurred…not just to the World Trade Center but also to my terrified eyes.
The rest of my day was spent in a fog of confusion. I had managed to catch the bus to work in downtown Ottawa only to find out that businesses everywhere were shutting down for the day. Police and RCMP could be found in every corner of the nation’s capital as we had suddenly turned to survival mode. With the American Embassy, the Prime Minister’s Residence and Parliament Hill all within four blocks of each other, downtown Ottawa had become chaotic with panic. I remember a bunch of us standing in front of television at the Radio Shack store downtown watching everything unfold live before us. Shortly after, the manager came and turned off the television because we were too many in the store and were creating a fire hazard. Funny…literally three minutes earlier we had watched the first tower collapse and all the while, we were considered a fire hazard.
Shortly after the attacks occurred, the RCMP had closed down all of the interprovincial bridges between Ontario and Quebec and I could no longer get home. I felt stuck in a war zone with no way out and no safe place to go. As every minute passed, businesses were closing their doors and the roads were congested with commuters making their way back to their families. But I had nowhere to go. I had no friends in town or family that I could go to. All of my colleagues had returned to their own homes and I felt all alone and desperately afraid. I finally found my way to the gym that I had been a member of and amazingly, they were still open. I spent the next four hours with the few people still forced to work and we watched and cried and wondered how the world would ever be the same.
Eventually, they too were given the go ahead to shut their doors and once again, I was out on my own. I headed to a corner store nearby and while inside, I overheard a cab driver say that one of the bridges had just been re-opened about twenty minutes earlier. I desperately plead for him to take me home and an hour and a half later, I arrived back at my basement. While the entire world had changed…the basement had not. It was still cold, dark and damp, but it was all that I had at the time and it would have to be good enough.
I hunkered down in my bed for the next couple of days and never took my eyes off the television. I ate gummy bears and drank chocolate milk and never received a single phone call from anymore…nor did I make one. In the depths of the night, as the family upstairs was curled up on the couch together, quiet as ever, I had no one; no friends, no family, not even any neighbors to go through this hard time with. I only had this basement. Then, and only then, did I realize just how far I had really fallen. I had drifted beyond sadness and into apathy…a dangerous little hole that knows nothing but hopelessness.
That was my darkest day. And about four months later, on January 1st, 2002, it would be become my second darkest day (a post for another time) but it was also the day when I discovered that I wanted things to change. For the first time in a long time, I cared again. Or at least came to recognize that perhaps I had still really cared all along.
I would continue to live in the basement for four more months after that and while it would prove to be one of the saddest times for me, it was also a time that helps me to appreciate every moment after that so much more. It sounds ridiculous in a way but I needed the basement. I needed to know that even the dampest and darkest of places couldn’t break my spirit. I needed to know that enduring one of the scariest days in my life without anyone else to share it with also couldn’t break my spirit. Mostly, I needed to know that although it may have seemed that way for a while…I hadn’t actually given up on myself.
In the months that followed, I found my first career, made new friends, learned what it was like to be in my own company and eventually, moved back to the city that I loved and into my own (and first) apartment. I moved into the top floor of that apartment building actually and for all the stairs that it took me to get there…I was always elated to be on the top floor…in a room with a view. Many challenging and sad times still followed as I tried to figure myself out again but none as hard as that moment, on that day, in that place. I pray daily that I never have to be there again but if there is one token of wisdom that I took away from such an experience it’s that whether it be the cold, dark corner of a house or the cold, dark corner of your life…if you ever find yourself in the basement, it means that there’s no where left to go but up! And take my word for it…that is reason enough to wake up every day and search for the tiny bit of light and the glimmering rays of hope that shine through that small corner window, even if it is tucked away behind the furnace.
As I’ve discussed many times before, the year that I graduated was a very hard time for me. I was going through a devastating break-up, I was overwhelmed at the thought of not being a student anymore, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life and the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel had most definitely been turned off for an indeterminate amount of time. Needless to say that it wasn’t amongst my brightest of days. During this time, it was very hard to make decisions regarding housing when I didn’t have a full-time job (or any job for that matter) and I didn’t know if I was staying in Ottawa or moving away. The extraordinary problem solver that is my mother, promptly stepped in and took hold of the situation with a sense of perspective that I simply wasn’t capable of at the time. She arranged for me to live with some friends of hers that had just moved to the region and weren’t using their basement. It wasn’t ideal but, it was inexpensive and non-committal. It would give the time and flexibility that I needed to figure things out without many of the external stresses that were already making my life very challenging.
So, late that August, I packed my stuff (which wasn’t very much) into the back of their pick-up truck and we drove to the outskirts of the original city boundaries of Gatineau, Quebec. I had never lived in Quebec before and I had never even seen suburban Gatineau before, but as we drove further and further away, I began to feel relieved at the distance that I was putting between my self and the memories that were making me feel trapped. Sure enough, we arrived and sure enough, it was indeed a basement. The floor was concrete, there was insulation along the walls covered in clear plastic, there were wooden beams in all directions and a big, loud furnace in the corner just next to where my bed would be. No doubt, it would be gloomy but then again, so was my life…so it seemed oddly appropriate at the time. Looking back, I think that by this time, I was almost prepared to just roll over and accept the despair that seemed to have taken me over. My soul was tired and beaten, and I no longer had the energy to fight it anymore. That is, until one crisp, sunny morning when planes started to fall from the sky…
I woke up in the basement of September 11th, 2001 and just stared up at the ceiling while I listened to the amplified sound of feet walking up above. For the past couple of weeks, that sound had become the essence of what my life had become…me, hunkered down in a cold, dark cave while the sound of other people’s lives woke me up in the night. I began to despise the very sound of the family living up above…the sound of them sitting down to dinner together…the sound of them getting ready to go out for the night…even the sound of them arguing over the car…it all just seemed like such a cruel reminder of the hollow existence that I was enduring. In fact, the sound came to bother me so much that since then, I’ve never lived beneath anyone ever again.
I’m not sure how long I stayed in my trance while I listened to their morning routine above me but eventually, the furnace kicked in and I was startled back to reality. I rolled over in my bed, tried to catch of glimmer of the outside world through the tiny window in the corner and turned on my stereo that was next to my bed. Just as the song finished, the DJ from the morning show came on and said “for those of you just tuning in, we’ve just received news that a plane has just crashed into the World Trade Center in downtown Manhattan. There is still no word of casualties however it is suspected that this was indeed, an act of terrorism. We will report back with any further details as we receive them. I repeat…we are receiving reports that the United States of America has just been attacked by terrorist.”
Given that I was already running late for work, I quickly got dressed, grabbed a walkman that was sitting on the living room table and ran out of the house. As I turned to close the door behind me, I noticed that the others had forgotten to turn the television off when they left for work. As I approached to hit the power button on the remote control, I quickly glanced up and realized, to my horror, that I was watching a second plane approach the towers. I stood stunned as the impact occurred…not just to the World Trade Center but also to my terrified eyes.
The rest of my day was spent in a fog of confusion. I had managed to catch the bus to work in downtown Ottawa only to find out that businesses everywhere were shutting down for the day. Police and RCMP could be found in every corner of the nation’s capital as we had suddenly turned to survival mode. With the American Embassy, the Prime Minister’s Residence and Parliament Hill all within four blocks of each other, downtown Ottawa had become chaotic with panic. I remember a bunch of us standing in front of television at the Radio Shack store downtown watching everything unfold live before us. Shortly after, the manager came and turned off the television because we were too many in the store and were creating a fire hazard. Funny…literally three minutes earlier we had watched the first tower collapse and all the while, we were considered a fire hazard.
Shortly after the attacks occurred, the RCMP had closed down all of the interprovincial bridges between Ontario and Quebec and I could no longer get home. I felt stuck in a war zone with no way out and no safe place to go. As every minute passed, businesses were closing their doors and the roads were congested with commuters making their way back to their families. But I had nowhere to go. I had no friends in town or family that I could go to. All of my colleagues had returned to their own homes and I felt all alone and desperately afraid. I finally found my way to the gym that I had been a member of and amazingly, they were still open. I spent the next four hours with the few people still forced to work and we watched and cried and wondered how the world would ever be the same.
Eventually, they too were given the go ahead to shut their doors and once again, I was out on my own. I headed to a corner store nearby and while inside, I overheard a cab driver say that one of the bridges had just been re-opened about twenty minutes earlier. I desperately plead for him to take me home and an hour and a half later, I arrived back at my basement. While the entire world had changed…the basement had not. It was still cold, dark and damp, but it was all that I had at the time and it would have to be good enough.
I hunkered down in my bed for the next couple of days and never took my eyes off the television. I ate gummy bears and drank chocolate milk and never received a single phone call from anymore…nor did I make one. In the depths of the night, as the family upstairs was curled up on the couch together, quiet as ever, I had no one; no friends, no family, not even any neighbors to go through this hard time with. I only had this basement. Then, and only then, did I realize just how far I had really fallen. I had drifted beyond sadness and into apathy…a dangerous little hole that knows nothing but hopelessness.
That was my darkest day. And about four months later, on January 1st, 2002, it would be become my second darkest day (a post for another time) but it was also the day when I discovered that I wanted things to change. For the first time in a long time, I cared again. Or at least came to recognize that perhaps I had still really cared all along.
I would continue to live in the basement for four more months after that and while it would prove to be one of the saddest times for me, it was also a time that helps me to appreciate every moment after that so much more. It sounds ridiculous in a way but I needed the basement. I needed to know that even the dampest and darkest of places couldn’t break my spirit. I needed to know that enduring one of the scariest days in my life without anyone else to share it with also couldn’t break my spirit. Mostly, I needed to know that although it may have seemed that way for a while…I hadn’t actually given up on myself.
In the months that followed, I found my first career, made new friends, learned what it was like to be in my own company and eventually, moved back to the city that I loved and into my own (and first) apartment. I moved into the top floor of that apartment building actually and for all the stairs that it took me to get there…I was always elated to be on the top floor…in a room with a view. Many challenging and sad times still followed as I tried to figure myself out again but none as hard as that moment, on that day, in that place. I pray daily that I never have to be there again but if there is one token of wisdom that I took away from such an experience it’s that whether it be the cold, dark corner of a house or the cold, dark corner of your life…if you ever find yourself in the basement, it means that there’s no where left to go but up! And take my word for it…that is reason enough to wake up every day and search for the tiny bit of light and the glimmering rays of hope that shine through that small corner window, even if it is tucked away behind the furnace.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
the road to hell is paved with paper...
So it turns out that our Tugger has a thing for eating paper! I’ve never met a feline with such a craving before. I’ve known cats who like to play with paper and even some who like to sleep in paper, but never one to eat paper!
And apparently he’s not very particular about what kind of paper either. It could be a paper bag, a receipt, a bookmark, tissue paper, bus tickets, our grocery list, our visa bill, toilet paper…you name it, he’s got a hankering for it!
At first, we just considered it one of those cute little quirky attributes that only a cat could possess but as of this morning, he’s taken his paper fetish to a whole new, and rather questionable, level…
This morning, we woke up to a rather well chewed up Bible!! Our beautiful, hardcover Bible generally sits on the floor next to my side of the bed and even though it’s been there ever since Tugger joined our family, up until last night, it apparently didn’t satisfy any of his cravings. It seems though that he has tired himself of his usual paper snacks and has decided to move on to bigger and better things!
I’m a little bit concerned now though about Tugger’s well-being come the day when he decides to make an appearance at the pearly gates of kitty heaven; I mean, I know that the Old Testament can be a bit of a drag sometimes but I really don’t think that God’s going to be impressed knowing that half the book of Exodus is digesting in his tummy!
Really, Tugger…regardless of how adorable we think you are...we've got to draw the line somewhere!!!
And apparently he’s not very particular about what kind of paper either. It could be a paper bag, a receipt, a bookmark, tissue paper, bus tickets, our grocery list, our visa bill, toilet paper…you name it, he’s got a hankering for it!
At first, we just considered it one of those cute little quirky attributes that only a cat could possess but as of this morning, he’s taken his paper fetish to a whole new, and rather questionable, level…
This morning, we woke up to a rather well chewed up Bible!! Our beautiful, hardcover Bible generally sits on the floor next to my side of the bed and even though it’s been there ever since Tugger joined our family, up until last night, it apparently didn’t satisfy any of his cravings. It seems though that he has tired himself of his usual paper snacks and has decided to move on to bigger and better things!
I’m a little bit concerned now though about Tugger’s well-being come the day when he decides to make an appearance at the pearly gates of kitty heaven; I mean, I know that the Old Testament can be a bit of a drag sometimes but I really don’t think that God’s going to be impressed knowing that half the book of Exodus is digesting in his tummy!
Really, Tugger…regardless of how adorable we think you are...we've got to draw the line somewhere!!!
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
first comes love...
I’m exhausted! Truly…there are no words for the degree of fatigue that I’m feeling right now! I went to bed at 8:30pm last night and still felt like crying when the alarm clock went off this morning! My lack of shut-eye was all for good reason though as we just got back from an amazing weekend in Tilbury, Chatham and London for a variety of different visits but mainly, for Dawn and Josh’s wedding.
As I mentioned late last week, I was quiet nervous about the prospect of returning to London as it’s been nearly a decade since I’ve really spent any time in my old neighborhood. When I left London to move to Ottawa, I was very ready to leave and it was important for me to leave various parts of my life behind in order to become a better version of myself (which I wasn’t doing a very good job of in London).
I had just turned nineteen when I moved. My cousins were all much younger back then, our family was going through a variety of different changes and just as the seasons were changing…so were we. In fact, a lot of us were moving on around that time. Change is good. Actually, as the saying goes, sometimes change is as good as a break but, with that it also means that things were seldom ever the same again…at least for me.
So anyways, needless to say that this past weekend was much anticipated. As we drove to the church where the ceremony was being held, memories of my childhood flooded over me with an impact that even I wasn’t quite prepared for. What was interesting was that the everything looked exactly the same…and yet, every single one of us were different. We were all grown up…some of us were married…some of us with children of our own…some of us still enduring change and others finally settling into life. It was heart warming actually.
After the ceremony, Steve and I had some time before heading off to the reception so, we parked the car and I took him on a walking tour of my old stomping grounds. There was something nearly divine about walking past my old house and by the old cemetery because those very spots are where the early pages of my book takes place. I’m sure that most of you know this already but for those of you who do not; with lots of encouragement and gentle nudging, I have indeed started my book. The first words found their way on paper last fall and while the beginning of 2008 proved to be a bit too busy for me to commit much time to it, I have settled into writing mode once again and the pages are slowly accumulating. The first chapter (so far) happens in that very home and on the grounds of Woodland Cemetery. So walking through this part of my life, while living in my present life, added an element of intensity to what I am experiencing at the moment while writing. It all seems too oddly appropriate!
So, we are home now and having spent a weekend in my old home makes coming back to my current home have a whole new meaning. It’s as though we were literally driving through the time and space that changed everything. That eight hour stretch of highway 401 changed my life forever and has continued to do so every time I make the trip. I’ve always been a home body for as long as I can remember and this weekend I realized just how much I love home…both of my homes.
As I mentioned late last week, I was quiet nervous about the prospect of returning to London as it’s been nearly a decade since I’ve really spent any time in my old neighborhood. When I left London to move to Ottawa, I was very ready to leave and it was important for me to leave various parts of my life behind in order to become a better version of myself (which I wasn’t doing a very good job of in London).
I had just turned nineteen when I moved. My cousins were all much younger back then, our family was going through a variety of different changes and just as the seasons were changing…so were we. In fact, a lot of us were moving on around that time. Change is good. Actually, as the saying goes, sometimes change is as good as a break but, with that it also means that things were seldom ever the same again…at least for me.
So anyways, needless to say that this past weekend was much anticipated. As we drove to the church where the ceremony was being held, memories of my childhood flooded over me with an impact that even I wasn’t quite prepared for. What was interesting was that the everything looked exactly the same…and yet, every single one of us were different. We were all grown up…some of us were married…some of us with children of our own…some of us still enduring change and others finally settling into life. It was heart warming actually.
After the ceremony, Steve and I had some time before heading off to the reception so, we parked the car and I took him on a walking tour of my old stomping grounds. There was something nearly divine about walking past my old house and by the old cemetery because those very spots are where the early pages of my book takes place. I’m sure that most of you know this already but for those of you who do not; with lots of encouragement and gentle nudging, I have indeed started my book. The first words found their way on paper last fall and while the beginning of 2008 proved to be a bit too busy for me to commit much time to it, I have settled into writing mode once again and the pages are slowly accumulating. The first chapter (so far) happens in that very home and on the grounds of Woodland Cemetery. So walking through this part of my life, while living in my present life, added an element of intensity to what I am experiencing at the moment while writing. It all seems too oddly appropriate!
So, we are home now and having spent a weekend in my old home makes coming back to my current home have a whole new meaning. It’s as though we were literally driving through the time and space that changed everything. That eight hour stretch of highway 401 changed my life forever and has continued to do so every time I make the trip. I’ve always been a home body for as long as I can remember and this weekend I realized just how much I love home…both of my homes.
I didn't take a whole lot of pictures of Dawn and Josh's wedding because I was too busy getting my groove on but, to see the remainder of the pictures that I did take, click here.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
where the heart is...
I’m going home tonight. When I say “home”, I mean London, where I spent the better part of my life growing up. It’s been a really long time since I’ve been back. My mom moved to B.C. shortly after I came to Ottawa and slowly but surely, everyone just moved away. The more settled I became in Ottawa, the less reason I had to return to London. I’ve gone several times to visit briefly with Christina (which is reason enough) but I really haven’t spent any quality time there in almost ten years.
Dawn and Josh are getting married there this weekend and their ceremony is being held in the neighborhood where most of my time in London was spent. I finished elementary school there. I started high school there. I had a crush on the boy next door there. I said goodbye to my grandmother there. I had countless birthday parties and some of my favourite holidays there. I made friends and lost friends there, and I even found and lost my self there a couple of times. Really, I grew up there. I was sad to leave and am apprehensive about going back. Nervous almost.
It’s not home the same way Ottawa is home or the way the canal in the winter is home. It’s not home the same way being in Steve’s arms is home or the way Christina, Russ or Joanne are home. It’s not home the way hearing Tugger first thing is the morning is home or my Saturday morning runs are home. But it is one of the first homes that I’ve ever known and such a large part of my memories growing up. And now I’m going back…ten years later…a different person from when I last saw it.
They say that it’s never too late to go home. I guess we’ll see.
Dawn and Josh are getting married there this weekend and their ceremony is being held in the neighborhood where most of my time in London was spent. I finished elementary school there. I started high school there. I had a crush on the boy next door there. I said goodbye to my grandmother there. I had countless birthday parties and some of my favourite holidays there. I made friends and lost friends there, and I even found and lost my self there a couple of times. Really, I grew up there. I was sad to leave and am apprehensive about going back. Nervous almost.
It’s not home the same way Ottawa is home or the way the canal in the winter is home. It’s not home the same way being in Steve’s arms is home or the way Christina, Russ or Joanne are home. It’s not home the way hearing Tugger first thing is the morning is home or my Saturday morning runs are home. But it is one of the first homes that I’ve ever known and such a large part of my memories growing up. And now I’m going back…ten years later…a different person from when I last saw it.
They say that it’s never too late to go home. I guess we’ll see.
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