by water's edge...

I had the strangest dream last night...

In my dream, I was best friends with a guy whom I don't know in real life. He was tall, with dark hair and had incredibly sad eyes. The two of us were in a wooden row boat and he was taking me somewhere. He was leaving me actually. The water was very calm and there was no one else around and eventually we ended up at a cherry blossom tree along the edge of the water. This tree was "our" place...the place where the two of us realized that we would be friends for life. The problem was though that this tree was also the same place where he fell in love...but not with me. He was leaving me because things could no longer be the same. He was saying goodbye because in some strange way, me and the girl that he fell in love with were one in the same...too much the same. In my dream, I remember feeling so sad...missing him already and yet he was sitting right in front on me still rowing the boat. He kept looking at me as though he wanted me to know that this wasn't happening because he didn't love me. He did...but it was time.

After a while, we weren't on the water anymore. We were on land now. As I looked around trying to figure out how I gotten there, he handed me a balloon and said "I simply couldn't resist". Then he kissed me on the forehead and walked away. As I watched him leave, my heart filled with sadness and I couldn't take it anymore. I ran up to him, grabbed his arm and when he turned around, I hugged him. I held on so tight and just stayed there with my arms wrapped around his neck...and then I woke up.

There are two things about this dream that seemed especially odd to me; first of all, this guy...this friend. When I was much younger, I used to fantasize about this kind of friendship even more so than I did about falling in love and getting married. I daydreamed about a friendship that wanted nothing more than to protect me from life and love. I wished for a handsome guy that I could run to every time I had my heart broken. I wished for a guy that would remind me that they were all crazy and didn't deserve me in the first place. I wished for the guy that would be the bar by which all others would be measured. I learned quickly however that the few guys who entered my life in this capacity would be the very guys that I would end up having to protect myself against after all. I simply don't trust their purity and innocence anymore. I never did have this kind of friendship with any guy during my life but instead, I fell in love with my beloved and he's more than anything I ever dreamed up in my younger days. And the woman that I am blessed to call my best friend is one of the most phenomenal people I've ever had the privilege of knowing. The very thought of things being any other way just makes my heart stop beating.

Secondly, I couldn't help but notice that almost all of my most upsetting dreams occur near water. When we were in Australia, I had an especially bothersome dream that also involved being on the water. That was the last really sad dream that I had and I remember the remnants of it lingering for days on end. All of my subconscious sadness seems to happen by the water's edge and I can't seem to let go of trying to figure out why. I love the water and would spend my life within arms reach of it at all times if I had my way and yet...when my eyes are closed and my mind is lost, more tears seemed to be shed there than anywhere else. It's so unlike my usual emotions in the presence of water.

I know that dreams don't mean everything but I believe that they do mean something. In the deepest and darkest recesses of our mind, our thoughts come to life when we least expect it. I seemed to have settled down now from my rattled night in the row boat but I wish I understood why some dreams feel even larger than life...why some moments are heart wrenching even in sleep...and why some water just seems hurt more than others.

a moment of reprieve...

I’m sitting in my office right now looking out over the Ottawa River. The Canadian flag is blowing in the wind above the peace tower. Everything seems to have a slight glow and twinkle to it thanks to the newly fallen snow (which I love!). Winter is definitely in the air! It’s not dark yet but the darkness is definitely looming. In another hour or so, the street lights will start to come on, the stores along Sussex Drive will start to light up and the night will come to life.

I am surrounded, quite literally, by dozens of red roses and deep blue ribbon. We are opening our winter exhibit tonight; Bernini and the Birth of Baroque Portrait Sculpture, and the excitement is nearly over flowing in this building. It’s a rare quiet moment right now in what has otherwise been an adrenaline filled week. It’s so easy to forget the meaning and importance of our jobs sometimes when we’re knee deep in the mundane and occasionally repetitive tasks of our day to day routine. But then there are those moments in which it all comes together and you get to realize the significance of your contribution and how the picture wouldn’t be complete without it.

For weeks, I’ve been hiring contractors to mount posters, distribute brochures and create banners. I’ve been coordinating caterers, security, audio technicians, floor plans, volunteers and florists (so many red roses!). I’ve been going crossed-eyed with biographies of curators and artists, press releases, image sheets, lists of lenders and having nightmares about the wrong colour of blue! This is my job and tonight, it will play a tiny little role in the making of history…

Tonight, some of the most respected curators and gallery directors in the world will see the accomplishment of their life’s work through the opening of this exhibit; a look at 17th century sculpture in Italy. It’s been said that it’s likely we will never have the opportunity to see these pieces of art together in the same room ever again during our lifetime...and so tonight, we all come together, we open the bar, we raise a glass…and we celebrate. And then we sleep for the next four days!!

I love my job!

st. lawrence river...

Confession...

I’ve been having a secret affair. For a decade now, I’ve had an insatiable, irresistible, pulse quickening, heart pounding, legendary love affair. Regardless of the men who came in or out of my life, this one has prevailed. I had a date with my love just last night. And it was everything I remembered it to be.

His name is David. David Usher. His power of seduction is his first solo album entitled Little Songs and his poetic words from track number two, St. Lawrence River, is what keeps me coming back for more. Like the allure of an intoxicating scent or the secrets kept behind deep, dark eyes, I simply can’t resist. One moment of weakness and I’m caught up in his sweet story of redemption and I find myself falling in love all over again. Technically, I suppose it’s the album that I’m passionately in love with but since the music cannot exist without its maker, by default, David becomes part of the package!

We have just celebrated our 10th anniversary together. It’s hard to believe how much we’ve been through; our solid casings have been battered and cracked, our eloquent liner notes are fading away, but we’ve endured and we’re that much wiser for having done so.

It’s a funny story how Little Songs entered my life. It was 1998 and I was in my second year of university. I walked into a Gap store in downtown Ottawa in between classes. In the grand tradition that is Gap, one doesn’t get very far before “assistance” is eagerly gnawing at your heels. On this day in particular though, I found myself pleasantly surprised…a tall, cute, well-dressed guy with the most charming of smiles. He strolled up to me, said “hi” and when I smiled back, he said, “don’t I know you from somewhere?” “Hmmm…that’s original”, I thought to myself. “Aren’t you in my Theories of Communications class on Thursday nights?” he asked. So I was! Embarrassed that I didn’t recognize him in return, I proceeded to chat with him as long as the manager on duty would allow. Greg was his name…Greg from Kingston. Twenty minutes later, I had purchased a lot more than I could afford and felt a bit more excited about a class that otherwise left much to be desired. Things were looking up for the Gap!

And so it went for the next few weeks. We would chat and flirt during class. I would laugh at his jokes and he would compliment me on my newly acquired wardrobe. Finally, one Friday night, a couple of my friends and I went out to the campus bar for some drinks. Sure enough, through the crowds, towering above everyone else was my personal shopper…Greg from Kingston! Not only were we rather pleased at finally running into each other somewhere other than class but as it turned out, one of my friends happened to be good “friends” with his roommate (and from the looks of it, was hoping to become even better “friends”!!). So six of us spent the evening drinking, dancing, talking and hoping that it would stay 11 o’clock for hours on end. Wishful thinking aside though, closing time came after all and the bar was shutting its doors for the night. In denial, all of us headed back to Greg from Kingston and his roommate’s apartment. We ordered pizza, played pool and watched as the wee hours of the Saturday morning come one by one.

I think it’s worth mentioning that Greg from Kingston was a perfect gentleman. It wasn’t until the sun finally made its appearance over the horizon that he finally made his move! The apartment was winding down and I was getting ready to head home. My friends were fast asleep on couches nearby and Greg from Kingston replaced Lenny Kravitz with a newly opened CD from his stereo. As I was cleaning up beer bottles in his kitchen, he leaned in for the much anticipated first kiss. It was well worth the credit card debt in new clothes and lack of focus in class! Just moments into our kiss though, I heard it…the light strumming of a guitar and a melancholy voice that followed. I soon found myself unsure of whether or not I was lost in the kiss or this beautiful song. I had to know. Just like that, I forced myself out of the moment and asked him, “What is this song?” Slightly puzzled and certainly questioning his kissing abilities, he replied, “It’s St. Lawrence River by David Usher. I just bought the CD this morning”. Satisfied with my new found knowledge, I returned to my interrupted kiss, but this time, it was different. This time, it was the kind of kiss that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up…the kind of kiss that makes your stomach flip…the kind of kiss that tells you nothing will ever be the same ever again. I have to be honest though; it wasn’t Greg from Kingston that was making it happen…it was David and all the romance surrounding the river! I was falling in love!

I left shortly there after and never saw Greg again, but I did buy Little Songs the very next afternoon and it’s been a very passionate love affair ever since.

I saw Greg from Kingston a few years later and when I asked him how he was doing, he said, “Good! But I don’t listen to David Usher too much anymore…I didn’t appreciate him stealing my thunder!” I gave him my cutest wink and wished him farewell. I think he could tell that St. Lawrence River and I were still going strong!

Poor Greg! I couldn’t help but feel a little bad!

What’s a girl to do though? The sad, romantic melody…the sweet, sultry sounds…let’s be honest; this kind of love only comes around once in a lifetime!

“Funny how quiet has slipped to our corners
Worn all our edges away
You are watching breathing and baiting
Wanting and warming and cautiously waiting
For some simple signal to creep cross your conscience
Uncover redemption and oh did I mention
I carried you down to the St. Lawrence River
The banks running dirty the water's beginning to freeze here”

mothers and daughters...

I often get a lot of people emailing me about various posts that I submit on this blog, either responding to something that I’ve written or asking further questions about something that has peaked their curiosity. I enjoy receiving this feedback because, as a writer, it helps me to see where my writing leads people. Does it close the story or leave people hanging? In the publishing world, both are sought after in a writer (and being able to do both is even better!) but as the person doing the writing, I’m often so absorbed in the words that it’s hard for me to step back far enough to see where one story ends and the other begins.

This having been said, in recent months, I’ve had a lot of people write me to ask more about my relationship with my Mother. Obviously, I don’t write a lot about my Mother here. Much of the reason is because I knew that my Mother read my blog on a fairly regular basis and I always committed myself to not using this space to be hurtful to anyone (certainly not deliberately). In light of the current state of our relationship, I knew that could be done all too easily or at the very least, interpreted as such. Mostly though, I don’t know very much about my mother. I don’t know her very well as a person and I haven’t had a relationship with her in a really long time…so this doesn’t leave much to write about.

I’ve been realizing lately though that maybe this isn’t really true. Maybe there is a lot to be said in regards to that relationship but I don’t do so in order to cast aside certain feelings. Really what this means though is that I am compromising my own feelings in order to manage someone else’s…something that I’ve been doing for a very long time and needs to stop. This doesn’t mean that I am no longer forced to be objective about our relationship or even compassionate for that matter, but it does mean that for perhaps the first time in my life, I am realizing that my feelings have to matter as well.

My Mother and I were a great team when I was little. She raised an only child on her own and fully committed herself to giving a life better than the one she knew growing up. A notable and medal worthy task for any parent none the less a single one. She was fantastic and for all of her own troubles, distinctly found the way to infuse me with all the skills I would need to make it in this world. She is strong and creative and inspired and really wants to leave a beautiful mark on the world, which in my opinion, she already has. My Mother sacrificed a lot for me…maybe even too much. She basically sacrificed her entire entity into being a parent and left very little room for being anything else.

During the mid 90s, I moved to Ottawa to go to University, she moved out West for a new life and all the while, we basically walked away from our relationship, leaving it behind to wither and die like a plant that hasn’t been watered for too long. While the leaves still had a bit of life left in them, we did try to pick things up where they left off but the problem was that things change. People change. We changed. We changed so much that eventually, we were like two strangers walking in the world together. Not only had all the leaves on the plant died…but all the roots were gone as well. There was nothing left.

I struggled internally for a long time to accept the dwindling state of my relationship with my mother. Our final visit with one another, in early 2006, was devastating. Like most of our visits during the ten years prior to this one, it was filled with anger, judgment, resentment and criticism and it was during that visit that I uncovered my biggest source of unhappiness in regards to my mother; I realized what I disliked most when relating to my mother was me. I didn’t like my self in her presence. I didn’t like the person I would become and the emotions that I would feel every time she would reappear in my life. It became clear to me that parent/child relationships, especially ours, are very co-dependent and fragile. My mother did the very best that she could in raising me and her best was everything I needed as a little girl. The reality was though that we were no longer an only daughter and a single mother…we were adults and adult lives are about choices and having the courage to make the necessary choices. After my mother finally left to go back West, I spent nearly fourteen hours cleaning every square inch of our apartment and I made the most important decision that I’ve ever made; that I was no longer going to dislike myself ever again.

The months that followed were potentially the most emotionally grueling that I’ve ever endured. I cried almost every day for four months, even when I thought that there wasn’t a single tear left to shed. I wasn’t angry at my mother…I was grieving for myself. I was mourning the person that I never became because I had never learned how to let go of being anything but my mother’s daughter. There is such a danger in becoming the very essence of another person, even a person that you love and admire because we simply can’t live for each other. Nearly thirty years had passed and I was still making decisions to please someone that wasn’t even a part of my life anymore. I was making decisions to get the approval of other people…a driving force that can eat you alive if you let it.

Over the course of the years that followed, I learned more about myself than I had in the twenty-five years leading up to this moment. I was finally becoming me, a person that I had never really met before and the process has been one of the most incredible experiences of my life. There has been a down side too though; as I broke away and learned to walk through this life as my own person, I also had to accept that my relationship with my mother was never going to be the same again, and that was very sad. I had to accept that our relationship, for the last ten years, was indeed unhealthy and that if it was ever to exist again, it had to become something different. Somehow, in the back recesses of our mind though, even the things that upset us the most can be hard to let go of because while they made be dysfunctional…at least they are something, which for some people, is better than nothing. And so it went…I mourned the death of a relationship that couldn’t be saved and with it, any anger and resentment that came along for the ride. It’s as though I woke up one day and suddenly realized that, without even noticing it, I had let go of her. Just like that, my existence was no longer tied to hers anymore and my life had begun to go on without her. It’s been nearly two and a half years now.

For so many years, I had fought with my mother for feeling like she was crossing and pushing my boundaries but during all that time…I had never bothered to set my boundaries with her in the first place. I was constantly getting angry for a line being crossed that I had never actually drawn in the sand. It’s just one of the things that I’m learning how to do in this new time, new place, as this new person. And so that’s where we stand…and that is why I don’t talk about my Mother too much here; in both of our transitions, we haven’t found a way to know each other again. Our paths have not only been unable to cross again, but they have actually gone in completely opposite directions. I don’t know the person that she is now or the person that she hopes to be. She doesn’t know who I am now or the person that I hope to be. It just goes to show that east doesn’t necessarily always meet west and that blood isn’t always thicker than water. In the meantime though, I talk about what I do know…holiday memories, childhood days spent in London and a time when we tackled the world together before the fate of parting ways took over.

If your path happens to be fortunate enough to cross hers…say hi to her for me…and tell her to let the phone ring twice, hang up and call again. She’ll know what it means.

waiting...

My father is at the hospital right now. While everyone else was taking a moment of silence for Remembrance Day...I was driving my dad to Montfort hospital to sign him in for his surgery. I knew the moment that I saw him that he was nervous; He was pale and quiet...just what I would expect. I would likely be the same way.

Hospitals leave much to be desired. This one in particular though is even less appealing because it's currently undergoing renovations. We walked in through the main lobby and felt like we had just entered a dungeon. Construction workers everywhere, dark and dinging lighting, improvised admission areas to accommodate the otherwise congested wings of the hospital…it makes the experience of waiting for surgery even more anxious.

I don’t know how people do it…the people that have to spend countless days, weeks, months or even years going in and out of hospitals. How do they cope with the endless despair of being in these places? The bare walls, the medicinal smell, the token coffee and gift shop down in the lobby. It seems to me that if anywhere should be wrought with design consideration, it should be hospitals. There has got to be a more hopeful way of plastering the walls than this.

When we arrive at my father’s surgical wing, they ask us to wait in the hall. A “waiting room” has been created in the elevator lobby for all of us. I’m sitting on a plastic chair next to a vending machine while my father paces up and down the hallway. Finally, the nurse comes and tells us that visitors are no longer permitted from this point on and that it would be in everyone’s best interest for me to go home and wait there. “We’ll call in fiver or six hours,” she tells me. Dad and I look at each other and I give him a hug. He goes in to experience an endless array of medical jargon from anesthesiologists and surgeons, and I go home…to wait.

I feel like we’ve been waiting a lot lately...

bondage by any other name...

Have you ever been given permission to be angry?

I know that this must sound like a very strange question but I’m genuinely curious to know. Anger was not something that was easily addressed in my family, at least not in a productive way. Anger often resulted in extreme defensiveness and hurt feelings. Most of all, anger usually resulted in unresolved issues years, and even decades later. I don’t judge or criticize my upbringing at all because anger is not an easy emotion to deal with nonetheless to teach others how to deal with, but I did grow up believing that anger should be avoided at all cost…or at the very least, the expression of anger should be avoided. I believed this because anger so often seemed to be associated with blame and I was always taught to be accountable for your own actions and to consider what contribution you may have made to any given situation. In an age where society is found less and less accountable for their actions, I feel that my parents (and those that assisted in raising me) were brilliant to enforce this in me at such a young age.

I bring this up though because I am starting to see anger quite differently as an adult. My husband and I seldom get very angry with each other but when we do, we give each other permission to be angry. Sometimes, that’s all we need; an hour or so to be curmudgeon and cranky before we move on to resolution. This has worked well for us and our anger rarely extends for very long. My marriage has enlightened me to the necessity of actually feeling and expressing our anger and how easily it can be overcome when it’s addressed constructively.

Right now, I am angry about something; something completely unrelated to my marriage or my work or even my day to day living for that matter. It’s something that has been a long time coming and something that I have been forced to avoid feeling angry about because I’ve managed to convince myself that I don’t have the right to be angry about it. I was reading a psychology book a little while ago and it was discussing how so often, in our desire to forgive and let go, we tend to bypass the process of feeling angry in order to bring closure to whatever conflict we are dealing with. As a result, we often find ourselves with very unresolved emotions that can often manifest itself in very self-destructive ways. This book also discussed the ever so sensitive issue of blame and the role that it plays in conflict. Apparently some believe that while everyone does have their part to play, in many instances, someone truly is to blame more than the other. In an ideal world, we could all share equal responsibility but in a realistic world, we have developed so many different coping mechanisms that this is rarely the case.

What happens though when your anger is directed towards the human equivalent of a brick wall…someone that won’t listen, won’t fight back and certainly won’t acknowledge or apologize? This is the dilemma that I find myself in; to finally express (or at least, put into words) my feelings and risk further anger due to the lack of responsiveness, or walk away…aware that it will most definitely remain unresolved, likely for all the days of our life?

As I have come to understand anger a bit better over the past few years, I have also come to realize, much to my own surprise, that I’m actually entitled to be angry. I have the right to have feelings as well and most of all, I deserve closure from it and the permission to move on just as much as anyone else does. There is one last thing though…one final piece to the emotional puzzle; when you finally discover that you have the right to be freed from the bondage of your anger, you also discover that the only person able to grant you that permission is you. And that, my dear friends, is all the freedom that you’ll ever need.

what a wonderful world...

"I see skies of blue...clouds of white...bright blessed days...

dark sacred nights...and I think to myself...

what a wonderful world..."

~ Louis Armstrong

Tell me...what do you see?

procrastination...

“Procrastination is the thief of time and the grave of opportunity”

This is what my English teacher had posted above our black board when I was in grade six. It sounds a bit intense for twelve year olds but I have had it memorized ever since. My English teacher always believed that the only thing standing between us and our purpose in the world was procrastination.

Have you ever found yourself saying the following statement; “When [blank] happens, then I will finally [blank]”? You know…”when I lose weight then I will finally starting running” or “when I meet the right man then I will finally be happy” or “when I have enough money then I will finally start saving for that dream trip”… and the list goes on. Really, it’s basic math, right…X+Y=Z. Or is it? Instead, is it possible that it could be procrastination cleverly disguised as rational planning?

Personally, I’m not much of a procrastinator at all. I have a tendency to be addicted to lists. My brain LOVES lists and these lists keep me on a constant roll of checking one thing off after another. I have though, just recently found myself caught in the very trap that my English teacher warned us about so many years ago…

I am procrastinating the writing of my book!

There, I said it! It’s finally out there in the universe and there’s no taking it back now! I realized this just this morning as I was getting infuriated with myself about not having enough time to get all the writing done that I wanted to. Somehow, even when the smallest little window of opportunity presents itself, I manage to find something else that simply can’t wait. And so, the cycle continues. Oddly enough, the subject line to my daily devotional this morning was “what’s your excuse?” I had to laugh at God’s sense of humour!

So then, what is my excuse? Well, based on our very reliable formula for life, I would have to say “when everything else gets done, then I will finally throw myself into my book”. Ha…now there’s a joke if I ever did hear one! When exactly will the day come when EVERYTHING will get done?!?! The answer to that equation is easy enough! This very obvious flaw in my logic left me with no other choice but to confront the real reason why I seem to be putting it off…

Failure is scary…but success is even scarier.

happy obama day...

I can't possibly think of a more beautiful

day to start changing the world!

my missing link...

I spent the day at home yesterday trying to ward off a nasty cold that I’ve been shaking since before Thanksgiving. While I’ve been feeling much better over the past couple of weeks, our busy weekend left me feeling a bit depleted and I could feel the germs trying to take advantage of my weakened immune system. Punks!

Anyways, I spent part of the day yesterday going through some of my old post and archiving them on my hard drive. I also took the opportunity to look through my online statistics to see what some of my most popular posts are, either by voluntary hits or by search words. As it turns out, there are a lot of music fans out there eager to read up on other music fans!

Not only do people google “John Mayer” a whole heck of a lot (and really, who wouldn’t?!?!) but this post about my CD collection and old boyfriends, first written last fall in preparation for our move, ranks right up there as one of the top read articles on my blog. Apparently I’m not the only one whose CD collection is the musical equivalent of a relationship bone yard!

Anyone that knows me well knows that I need music the same way I need books and oxygen; life simply isn’t sustainable without it. My uncle was in the radio and music business when I was young and I spent a lot of time being constantly surrounded with music of all kinds. As I grew up, I used music as a means to manage my feelings and I simply became dependent on it the same way some teenagers become dependent on drugs or athletics. I suppose it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when my first love turned out to be a musician that was also in the radio business!

Music has become one of the ways that I have defined the moments of my life. When I don’t have the words, any number of songs seemed to be able to fill in the blanks for me. Music reminds me of people, places, times both good and bad, and often changes the course of my day when it seems headed in the wrong direction. Music is my escape and my indulgence; it’s my addiction and mode of recovery; it’s my pain and my joy. So needless to say that it seemed a bit strange to me that I had no reference to it at all on my blog other than what I expressed in my own words. How could this blog possibly be an accurate reflection of who I am when music was left out of the picture? Madness, I say!

So, with no html experience at all, I went on a mission to add the missing piece of my life to my corner of cyberspace…I went on the hunt for a useable playlist! Blogger has a lot of really good gadgets and features but unfortunately, playlists are not one of them! But like any good junkie, I wasn’t going to let a technical difficulty stop me! So, at long last (three hours later to be exact!), I had “trial and error-ed” my way to the fancy new playlist on my sidebar…a very tiny glimpse into my love affair with music. I have to say…I was rather proud! Being the technically crippled person that I am, it felt like something worth singing about!!!

Enjoy! You may even see a song about you on there!