around the bay...

I was just about to start updating all of you about how our “training” is going when it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t yet told you that we were training for anything to begin with! How could I have forgotten to do that?!?!

Any of my close friends likely wouldn’t hesitate to call me a runner if given the opportunity. I’ve been running for almost seven years now. It started as a physical outlet for a rather sad time in my life and turned into a great passion that I can’t imagine living without. I’ve had some of the greatest experiences and met some of the most wonderful people thanks to this sport and when all else fails, the world truly does feel a bit lighter after a few kilometers in my running shoes.

I ran my first half marathon two days after first meeting Steve, completed my first full marathon the year before we got married and decided then and there (at the finish line) that I would never run again! I was wrong! A month later, once my legs had recovered (yes, it took that long!), I was up and going again! I tried three more times to train for a marathon and each time, I was forced to reluctantly call it quits for a variety of reasons (all of which made me cry!). I can say with utmost certainty now that the hardest part of any race isn’t getting to the finish line…it’s getting to the start line.

After the heart break of too many attempts at another marathon, I decided to use my joy of running for a different purpose; to help other runners reach the finish line. On my “list of 100 things to do before I die” was to be a pace bunny for the National Capital Race Weekend; a feat that I thought would still be many years away. Pace “rabbits” are hired by races to finish in a pre-determined time so that other runners around you can set their own pace to yours in order to reach a goal time depending on how they hope to finish. Pacing is not an easy thing to do. Most runners’ pace is dependent on the weather, the terrain, their physical condition at the time and a number of other factors. Some runners however, can run nearly every kilometer in the same amount of time regardless of these factors (or at least make up the differences throughout the race without a significant change in pace). In Toronto, there is a waiting list of hundreds of runners hoping to be pace bunnies for their varying races. Runners don’t take pacing lightly. While at the end of the day, pace bunnies are just like anyone else (they have their bad days too), they are expected to represent the race by finishing within three minutes of their pace time.

Now, I’m not really sure what compelled me to do this but, I walked into the office of one of the organizers of the race weekend and said, “It’s on my list of 100 things to do before I die to pace the half marathon. Can you help me?” He looked at me pretty intently, gave me a slight cautious grin and said “Let me see what I can do!” By the time I got home a half hour later, I had been copied on a email from him to some of the race officials asking them to register me as the 2:30:00 pace rabbit for the half-marathon; the largest pace group for one of the largest half-marathons in the country! This is where the panic set in!

Once I calmed down a bit from the initial terror of what I had just committed myself to do, I figured that the most ideal step to take was to train for this time along with everyone else. So, I offered to be a group leader for anyone training to finish the upcoming half-marathon in two hours and thirty minutes. This way, not only could I help runners get to the finish line, but I could also help runners get to the start line…the real test. Four months later we found ourselves at the start line of the 2007 National Capital Race Weekend Half-Marathon on a cold, rainy day in late May. I was sporting a pair of bunny ears and packs of nervous runners hoping to come out of all this alive! The start gun went off and 2 hours, 29 minutes and 29 seconds later, I crossed the finish line! How’s that for punctuality?!?!

I don’t know that I’ve ever had as much fun as I did during that two and half hours except for the four months leading up to it. Deciding to be a group leader was by far, one of the best decisions that I’ve ever made as I ended up meeting some of the most amazing people that I’ve ever met and have continued to have the privilege of knowing even now. We continued to run together long after our race and have since been on the sidelines or in regrettable weather together as we all continue on with our running legacies.

There was one slight misfortune to all of this though; my husband was not a runner! He runs and he runs quite fast but he’s never enjoyed consistently running and certainly doesn’t enjoy running long distances at all! For him, the sooner it’s over, the better! This has posed a problem for me because frankly, my husband is adorable and I simply don’t like spending that much time away from him…and training takes time. Often, it takes lots of time. He would always be there supporting me along the way but it’s still always been my thing which means that there is often a choice to be made; Sleep in with the cute husband?? Go running in the cold for an hour with silly running friends?? Decisions, decisions!

This past year has been shameful for my running. Between the move into our house and our trip to Australia, I completely fell out of my routine and haven’t run consistently since. I still met up with my friends to run on the odd weekend but usually, I didn’t find myself running in between much. Honestly, the break wasn’t all that bad. I’d been running almost non-stop for nearly six years without a lot of time off in between races and I think that my body appreciated the change of pace for a little while. Eventually though, you realize that you can take the girl out of the running but you can’t take the runner out of the girl!!!!

So that’s how we got here…to what I forgot to tell you! About a month ago I was feeling restless. I’d wanted to get back in to my running routine for a while and was finding it harder and harder as more time went on. I found myself conflicted again though between the countless hours running in the cold and the cute husband back home but my body was craving running and I simply had to find my way back to it. So somehow, by the grace of someone (Patron Saint of Pounding the Pavement perhaps?!?!), Steve agreed to run with me!!!! And not just run with me…but train with me…for an actual race!

We decided on the Around the Bay Road Race in Hamilton Ontario on March 29th. ATB is the oldest race on the continent (older even than the Boston Marathon) and is a unique 30km race (instead of a 21km or a 42km race). This seemed to offer the potential best of both worlds…a bit more challenging than a half-marathon without the agony of a full-marathon. We’ll see…we may find 10km into it that it blows either way!!!!

Et voila…that’s where we’re at! We have become the running couple extraordinaire now! We run three days a week, cross-train twice a week and will suffer through our Ottawa winters together! So far, we’re having a great time! His speed pushes me harder on our short runs and my pacing helps him on the longer distances. Both seem to assist greatly with the countless amounts of holiday treats that we have been consuming as of late!!!! We’re only two weeks into our training so far but the beginning is almost always the hardest part (that is of course, until you get to mid-February and you would rather give yourself a root canal then go for another run!!!).

And on that note…this is what we’ve had the pleasure of running in this past week…

Jealous?!?!

waiting to be saved...

The other day, a colleague and I were at the corner waiting to cross the street and standing on the opposite side of the street was a family with their teenage son. Their son had Downs syndrome. My colleague looked over at the boy and then over to me and said “Gosh, that’s so sad. I would like to know one day why God does that to people.” “Why?” I asked. “Well, he’ll never be able to have jobs like us or experience life like us. There is just so much that he will miss out on.” I just smiled at my colleague and looked across the street. The boy had a huge smile on his face and was completely fascinated with the newly falling snow. In fact, he looked happier than anyone else I had seen that day.

I spent a lot of time when I was younger with other children who lived with Downs syndrome and from my experience; they appear to be some of the happiest and most vibrant people that I’ve ever met. My life was, most definitely, made richer by having known them and having shared in their lives. People living with Downs have a purer sense of innocence that fills their days and a childlike approach to life that the rest of us seem to grow out of at a certain age. They don’t learn judgment the same way or many of the other detrimental emotions that keep us hurting ourselves and each other. I really had to wonder if, given the choice, they even want to see life any other way?

The reality was that it was sadder for us to witness his disability then it was for him to live with it because likewise, we can’t imagine our lives being any other way. Would his life really be better with a corporate job and a blackberry in hand or can fulfillment still be found in watching the snow fall? Would his life genuinely be more worthwhile with bigger dreams and bigger vision instead of contentment in the small joys and abundance in everyday life? It’s a classic case of having tunnel vision but, as North Americans, I think that it’s begun to reach out into far more than just the boy across the street. It lead me consider how many other things we impose our sense of happiness upon assuming that our “shoes” are the only ones worth walking in.

Steve and I were discussing the other day about the whole concept of “fair trade” and how it’s perceived by our society. Steve and I do not go out of our way to purchase products that are fair trade and while we are certainly not oppose to it in any way, we do question certain aspects of its rationale. I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know a great deal about fair trade other than what is presented to me from our local businesses but, based on that knowledge alone…I’m lead to believe that we are encouraging better pay, better working conditions and a “fair” exchange of services between us, the consumer, and them, the provider. There is, of course, an entire environmental aspect to this as well but for the most part, I get the impression that it has a lot to do with the lively hood of those working on the other end of our morning coffee. Okay, so this is very noble, I agree, but (there’s always a but) who decided that “they” needed rescuing in the first place? I’m not criticizing as much as I am genuinely asking if they are truly unhappy. True, they likely make less (comparatively) and it’s also true that their lives are spent at the hands of a field instead of a business office but who’s to say that they are not happy to harvest fields all day and be out in the sunlight? Would they even want an office job or rush hour traffic? Are we assuming that because their lives are not like our lives, then they can’t possibly be happy and in turn, it’s our job to save them?

This very question also brought about my very mixed emotions about the Middle East and Islamic culture. We, as a society, are very quick to judge their motivations and intentions. We consider them violent, oppressed and behind the times socially. I agree that there are elements of their culture that I struggle with and violence is certainly one of them. I am appalled at the idea of stoning a person because of their infidelities but I’m equally appalled at the idea of dragging a black man behind a pick up truck because of the colour of his skin…and that happened in the U.S. We look at them and see mistreatment of women and distortion of religion. For all we know, they may look at us and see misguided youth and a value system so deteriorated that we have entire magazines devoted to celebrity gossip. We see them covered head to toe in a veil as a lack of rights and they may see us without enough self-respect to dress for any purpose other than sex. We assume that all of these things, because we don’t share them, must mean that they are unhappy. We assume that their lack of reality television and wardrobe attire to choose from must mean that they feel deprivation that we, of course, need to rescue them from. To take over another country under a cloak of good intention and to assume that our way of doing things would suit them better poses a lot of questions for me. First and foremost, it sparks the question of whether or not our way even works for us nonetheless anyone else?

On that note, let’s take this opportunity to look at our lives for a moment; we are a society of great wealth and consumption. We work long hours and grow up too fast. We are connected to each other at all times while never really being connected to anyone at all. We are in a constant hurry to get to places that they don’t generally want to be. We have the convenience of doing our grocery shopping from home and all the while, we’ve never been more stressed. Our bodies are filled with disease and our minds are filled with dis-ease. We aim for bigger houses, faster cars and fancier televisions when we should be aiming for broader perspectives, grandeur experiences and better relationships…and I don’t mean with our cell phones.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging the state of how we live our lives. It’s all relative and our necessities sit pretty low on the hierarchy of needs. More importantly though, I feed the beast in my own way as well but what I’m questioning is whether or not our morals and values are really the appropriate measuring stick by which all others should be judged? We live lives that seem privileged and innovative. We live lives that seem a step above the rest but we also live lives that are out of touch with the very basics of what it means to be human. Life is simply not meant to be lived in nothing but a frenzy of technology and corporate ladders.

So, all this being said, as I looked across the street at the teenage boy joyfully catching snow flakes on his tongue and fully immersed in the day that God had given him…I couldn’t help but painfully wonder if we were the ones who really needed to be saved?

our first noel...

Christmas was a big deal in my house growing up. In fact, the entire month of December was something to celebrate. My Mom and I would spend every weekend baking Christmas cookies, building gingerbread houses and filling our house with the holiday spirit. It was fantastic! Traditionally, in honour of my French heritage, we would celebrate Reveillon, which meant staying up late and celebrating once the clock hits midnight. Usually we would attend midnight mass and then come home to tons of food and open gifts by firelight until the wee hours of the morning. We would then sleep in late on Christmas morning and have a huge brunch once everyone crawled out of bed. It really is a wonderful way to celebrate!

One of my favourite memories of Christmas was the year that we lost all of our power late on Christmas Eve. We ended up sitting around dozens of candles and our fireplace, and spent the entire night surrounded with the sounds of our own laughter and joy. It was so magical and memorable. The power came back on during the night and we awoke to several feet of snow and more peaceful souls. I think that everyone should try spending a Christmas without power!

Over the past decade though, Christmas has been a very different experience for me. Once I moved to Ottawa and my Mom moved to B.C., the holidays were a bit sporadic and the concept of resting really didn’t exist much anymore. I would usually work an additional job over the holidays and not take more than a day or two off and the month of December was spent studying for exams and the Christmas spirit was left to those with more time on their hands.

Once I met Steve, the joy of Christmas was reintroduced to me by the Smyth Family. In all honesty, spending Christmas with them is like spending Christmas in a Bing Crosby movie! One year in particular, all of the “kids” (that’s us!) sat in the living room wrapped up in blankets, surrounded by the giant Christmas tree and the stockings hanging over the fireplace. We sipped on ice wine that we had all received as stocking stuffers and we watched slides from thirty years earlier. I will always remember how happy I was at that moment…how content I felt and how blessed I was to be in such a place.

Steve and I have spent the last five Christmases together and each one has provided its own funny story and adventurous tale of holiday travelling and family visiting! This year though, is our first year in our new house and this means that we are in the midst of starting our own Christmas traditions! So exciting! First on the list…finding the perfect Christmas tree!!

I haven’t had a Christmas tree in about twelve years and the prospect of having one this year has left me boiling over with excitement for too many weeks now! We were originally going to just go and buy a tree to bring home until our good friend Danelia invited us out to her property in Wakefield to actually go and cut down a tree! Really, how National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation is that?!?!? So that’s what we did! On Saturday morning, we put on our snow pants and drove the forty minutes out to her beautiful piece of land and began the hunt! We strapped on some snowshoes and headed out to the woods with her furry friends, Qete and Temu, by our side. After a gorgeous stroll by the water, Steve and I took one look and spotted our tree in the distance! It was lovely and I was so excited! Once the boys cut down the tree, we all headed in for some warmth by the fire and much earned hot chocolate!

But let’s be honest…no tree hunt is complete without a tree trimming party to follow! After getting the tree strapped securely to the roof of the car, it was time to head back to the Smyth house so that it could finally live out its Christmas destiny! We drank wine, ate lots of food, indulged in bite size Toblerones and quickly realized that what may seem small in the forest can be quite large in one’s living room!!! Sure, it may be “full”…but it’s ours and it’s the most perfect Christmas tree that ever was, complete with silver ribbon, energy efficient twinkle lights and stunning red ornaments (and of course, my Starbucks snow globe from Kelly!). So just like that, we are off to a beautiful start for the Christmas season!

We did have one slight oversight on our part though; Tugger! We underestimated just how unpredictable felines can be and it was less than twenty-four hours before our own fur ball finally had his way with the giant evergreen taking over his home. It’s now tied to the wall!

more joy in more places...

And the award for
"Gen's favourite Christmas commercial of 2008"
goes to {drum roll please}...

getting on with it...

So let’s skip over any eloquent intro and cut right to the chance…what is up with our Government?!?! Honestly, I feel like I went to bed one night with the Conservatives in power and then woke up the next morning to this “new” Government. Crazy.

Given the rather speed of light manner in which all of this Coalition stuff happened and the alternate universe that I’ve been living in for the past two weeks, I haven’t really had the time yet to read up much on what all of this means and the possible effects that could come as a result of it. What I do know is that it’s made our drive to work absolute anarchy because we pass by both the Governor General’s residence and 24 Sussex…two places that seem to have the ideal outdoor spaces for protesting (and no lack of people willing to join in the fun!)! This alone is putting me in a bit of a grumpy state towards our fearless leaders!

In all honesty though, I haven’t yet decided how I feel about the whole thing. I am a Liberal and have almost always (with one exception) voted Liberal. Internal conflict aside, it’s also in my best interest to have the Liberals in power. They support better environmental initiatives and provide greater support towards the arts; two things obviously near and dear to our household. Now, before any of you get your Conservative knickers in a knot, I also feel that we had the election and that Canadians made their choice. As a voter, I’m willing to respect that choice and hope for a better one come the next time around.

It’s at this point in time that Steve and I begin to have a slight difference of opinion! One of the major arguments regarding the Coalition is that we would suddenly have a Prime Minister who, in fact, collected the least number of votes for his party in years. This is a concern that even I, someone who voted for him, have. Steve, on the other hand, believes that this shouldn’t be an issue because he believes that we don’t actually elect a Prime Minister…we elect Members of Parliament. The bottom line is that Steve is right; ideally, we are to vote for the most appropriate Member of Parliament in our riding, regardless of political affiliation and in turn, once that person becomes Member of Parliament, they are to represent all of their constituents, regardless of who they voted for. Ideally being the operative word.

Realistically though, I don’t believe that is how most people vote. Be it right or wrong, I think that the leader of any given political party highly influences the outcome of an election, in which case, it also highly influences how people feel about a sudden switch in power…especially one that wasn’t made by Canadian citizens. It almost seems to defeat the whole point of democracy in the first place! Perhaps an alternative would have been to include the option of a Coalition on our ballot or even to have a vote for it now.

Either way, I would like to get to work in fifteen minutes or less sometime in the very near future (really…some people can be so self-involved!)!

advent conspiracy...

Join the conspiracy...

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!

elle oh vee ee...

A good friend of mine recently approached me with a problem that needed advice. As I sat down with her over coffee she uttered the three most agonizing words that a girl can possibly say; “I love him”. Agonizing, you ask? Yes…terribly! And the reason is because if any girlfriend comes to you with a problem that involves this statement, it means that there’s a reason she is telling you and not “him”. The most likely of all reasons is because the “him” being referred to probably isn’t aware that she loves him which in turn, leads us to one of nature’s cruelest of conditions…unreciprocated love.

Now, I’m not sure if all women get to experience this kind of torment during their lives but fortunately (or maybe unfortunately) for my friend, I am one of the lone women who have endured this cruelty. Lucky me!

I have loved three men in my life in a romantic capacity; One being my long time boyfriend during and after university, another being the man that I married and lastly, the mystery man of my life…the man that I silently loved from afar and admired from a distance. Looking back, I have a hard time differentiating between whether or not I loved him or I was IN love with him…two very different kinds of love. But regardless…it was all consuming love none the less and it was just as hard to let go of when the time came. What made it especially hard was that there were feelings to some degree on both ends (at least I think so) and he was a part of my world…just as I wanted him to be. He’d made my knees weak on more than one occasion and left a trail of hopefulness in his wake. And yet he never knew the depths of how I really felt.

One of my favourite songs is John Mayer’s ballad; Say…a lovely song about putting yourself out on a limb and speaking the unspeakable. I thought of this when my friend asked my advice because up until that moment, it never really occurred to me what would have happened had I actually taken John Mayer’s advice instead of my own. Of course, I don’t wish the past to be any different because I wouldn’t want the present to be any different but as my friend sat in anguish over what move to make next, I couldn’t help but think back to my own anguish and what the ripple effect may have been had I made a different decision.

The bottom line is this; I loved someone and I never told him. Actually, I never told anyone. Until this moment, right here...right now, I’ve never even uttered the words. The knowledge of loving someone who didn’t love me back was more than my poor soul could take at the time and worst of all, it took me ages to package that love away in a box so that I could make room for another love. While I’m fairly certain that having him return my affections in the way I had hoped for was not much of a probability at the time, I do wonder if releasing my own feelings would have helped me move on faster?

I wonder if I had had the courage to look him in the eyes and say “I love you”, would my heart still have stopped at the very thought of him even years later? If I had whispered “I love the way you look at me and I love the person that I know you can be”, would I suddenly have been freed of my agony instead of wanting to inhale countless pints of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream just to make sure that I kept my mouth shut?!?! Could those three words have made the pain easier?

I guess that’s the thing about wonderment…there is no real way of knowing and no way of making anything different…and that’s the price we pay for not acting when the opportunity presents itself. The experience as a whole though did leave me with some knowledge to pass on to my friend; that love for another person creates a caring that never really goes away. Even now, although our contact is rather limited, I do genuinely care for him and his happiness in a way that is different than other past men in my life. And I likely always will. Something about having given him a piece of my heart makes him important in a very unique way…whether he knows it or not. This is indeed something that my friend will have to come to accept because regardless of what she chooses to do, that love will override any hurt, fear or fallen pieces that come to be as a result of her decision.

So, what does a formerly agonized girl say to a currently agonized girl? Well, the very best that I could do was this; “go home, have a glass of wine, listen to John Mayer and call me in the morning. If that doesn’t work then we’ll call up our friends Ben, Jerry and Cherry Garcia!”

What can I say…when your heart hurts…no amount of rationale is going to make it better…you have no choice but to call in the big guns!!

“Have no fear for giving in…have no fear for giving over…you better know that in the end…it’s better to say too much than to never say what you need to say again.” ~ John Mayer

marvin and me...

Have I ever told you about Steve’s reading habits? They drive me nuts!!! He goes through these little phases where he reads books back to back and gets completely enthralled in them to the point where he won’t even get out of bed in the morning without going through a few pages first. Then, one day, he’ll just stop and he won’t read a thing (other than the ESPN sports page) for an entire year. It’s the strangest thing!

I, on the other hand, usually have two or three books on the go at any given time. That, in turn, drives Steve nuts! He regularly questions the need for having books dispersed all over the house! What can I say, I love them! Just looking at them makes me happy!

My latest book was Bloodletting and Miraculous Cures by Vincent Lam. I just finished it a few days ago and was pretty surprised that I enjoyed it so much. It has nothing to do with the writing as much as the fact that I’m not usually a fan of short stories. I usually prefer one long plot that I can get lost in for hundreds of pages at a time. It was good though…really good!

My next one comes highly recommended to me from a whole raft of my fellow book lovers; Water for Elephants. Surprisingly, I had never heard of it before and then sure enough, I received three copies for my birthday!!! Clearly, the universe wants me to read this!

I’ve been meaning to mention for a little while though about another book that I read this summer that I absolutely loved; Marley and Me by John Grogan. This was another book that I received for my birthday (from Steve) on the strict condition that I didn’t end up bringing a dog home one day after work!!

For anyone who hasn’t read this book yet let me just say that I highly recommend it! It’s such a simply story about a family and their dog, Marley but it’s also a story that just about anyone (especially any animal lover) can relate to. I had a lot of pets growing up and know first hand just how much joy they bring to a home but, one of my pets in particular came to mind when I was reading this book; my old cat Marvin…quite possibly the very worst cat in the world!!

Marvin and I came together in my second year of University when I finally moved out of residence and back into a place that permitted pets. For weeks I had been scoping out the Humane Society looking for potential fur ball to keep me company this guy in particular always stood out to me. He was large, handsome and had a big sign on his cage that said “very aggressive and not good with children”! Well then…what’s not to love?!?! After four weeks, I brought him home and we became fast friends. He was indeed very aggressive and what the quaint little sign on his cage forgot to mention was that he was also very destructive. He tore everything apart and destroyed everything that he could get his grubby little paws on. My downstairs neighbor even called the police one night telling them that I had a barn yard animal in my apartment! When the officers showed up I told them “I have a rather large cat and a rather large boyfriend…take your pick!!!” They smiled, turned around and asked my neighbor to do some fact checking next time before he called 911!!

The humane society wasn’t sure how old he was because he had been a stray since birth and clearly still had some of his wild tendencies. He eventually grew to be 26 lbs worth of wild tendencies!! Really, it was like having a small bear in your house! After about six months, I managed to ease the destruction and aggressiveness out of him somewhat and he became the loveliest of pets. He was my companion and I loved him to death. He slept on my bed every night, greeted me at the door every day and drove me crazy just about all the time!

The summer that I graduated from University was a little uncertain for me. I wasn’t sure if I was staying in Ottawa or moving away, hence I decided to keep my living arrangements as flexible as possible. Due to the life that Marvin had already endured as a stray, I didn’t want to put him through the potential trauma of too many moves so my mother graciously offered to take him until I discovered where life was going to take me. The clincher is that my mother lived on the Queen Charlotte Islands, about 100 miles off the coast of British Columbia, which was going to make this one move for him a bit of an adventure!

So, in late April of that year, I took Marvin to the airport in his fancy new cage, adequately doped up on veterinarian prescribed drugs and I bid farewell to my feline friend for a little while. It was hard and I knew that it was about to make an already tumultuous time in my life even lonelier with his absence. As misbehaved a cat as he was, he still made me smile every day.

By December of that year, my life began to settle down and it was time to bring my big guy home. I had started a new job and had just found the perfect apartment fit just for the two of us!! For nearly six months my mom had taken wonderful care of my roommate and I couldn’t wait to see him again! Very generously, my mom sent him on an Air Canada flight back to Ottawa via Vancouver for the first weekend in my new place (and just in time for Christmas!). He was leaving late on a Friday evening and due to arrive early the next morning. I spent the Friday night cleaning and unpacking our new place, and anxiously awaiting the purrs of my long lost feline. Late that night (around 11ish) I received a call. The person on the other end of the line asked “hello…is this where Marvin lives?” A bit perplexed, I responded “well, yes…in about twelve hours or so. Can I ask whose calling?”

Now, this is where the real fun starts!!

She politely answered “oh, of course! I’m calling from the Four Seasons Hotel at the Vancouver International Airport and I have your cat Marvin here with me and I was wondering if it’s alright for him to eat tuna?”

[insert look of confusion here]

As you can imagine, this wasn’t really a phone call that I was anticipating hence, I didn’t really have my list of witty comebacks available on hand!! Though once the initial shock of this statement wore off, I began to inquire a bit more about all the missing pieces in between!

As it turns out, a snow storm had hit Vancouver that night and my kitty’s connecting flight to Ottawa had been cancelled. Marvin had been left in the baggage claim area until another available flight was found for him to travel on. Some sympathetic employee saw him sitting there all lonely and decided to approach some other of his fur loving friends for a rescue plan and just like that, Marvin was being put up in a room at the Four Seasons Hotel for the night…tuna and all!

So how exactly does the worst cat in the world end up in one of the finest hotels in the world? I guess it just goes to show what happens when you show a little whisker!!!!

Marvin did, at long last, make his way home and what a reunion it was! Marvin and I spent the next three years together in that little home of ours and believe me when I say that he left his mark! Chocolate milk stains, scratched door frames, destroyed bathroom tiles and a tortured window screen that may never be able to be replaced!! There is no end to life and love with the world’s worst cat!!

Marvin ended up making his way back to B.C. eventually when “unresolved issues” between he and Steve finally forced us to part ways! Sometimes there is only enough room for one man of the house in a girl’s life. It was a sad day but he and my mom are happily chasing eagle feathers on the West Coast and Steve and I are happily getting accustomed to our furry friend over in the East. Let’s face it, after so many years with it just being Marvin and I, it was clear that he was meant to be an only child!

But when I look back on my life before love and marriage swept me away, I will forever be able to say that until I found the perfect man…I had the perfect feline!

p.s. Thanks mom for the picture!

latest transcripts...

"Just touch the world and that is perfection"

~ Victor Sinclair

the blog that gen built...

This is my 300th post! Three hundred! That’s a large number and certainly not something that I thought I would be looking back on nearly two and half years ago when I first started this blog.

I’ll admit that my blog has evolved into more than I anticipated. Originally, it was called Gen and Steve, and it was our way of keeping in touch with all of our new extended family since our lives had been changed by marriage. Eventually, it turned into Mostly Gen and Sometimes Steve as it became evident that our little piece of cyberspace was really my domain in our relationship! Over time, it became an online journal of sorts…the trials and tribulations of life as we too evolved into something different than when we started. Being away from family and friends is hard. Having a way to bring them into our lives makes it easier…even if only temporarily. Pretty soon and for a very brief time, it became Almost Always Gen and Hardly Ever Steve because let’s face it, Steve was no where to be found! Other than the odd blog marathon that he would do on a slow day at home, Steve's interest in our blog was about as enthusiastic as his desire to remember birthdays! Mind you, I do think that it’s worth mentioning that of the two times he has posted on our blog, both post, still to this day, receive countless clicks from random readers worldwide. He’s a man of few words but when it comes to the ones that he does say, he certainly makes them count!

Finally, one afternoon, Steve got kicked out of our world wide nest and our blog became my blog. In fact, it became my confessions of what it’s like to walk through this life and before I knew it, it became more than I ever thought it would be. I suddenly allowed myself to write about my life instead of our life and in turn, I had twenty-seven more years to use as my muse and shortly there after…I had a readership!

I love this blog! I love coming here whenever I can and sharing what I can. I have found myself experiencing things all over again…some good, some bad…but all necessary. Some people write to tell a story…some write out of obligation…others write because they have something to say. I write because it heals me. There are things that I have yet found the ability to say but somehow, I can write. My joys, my disappointments, my fear of thunderstorms and love of the written word…I can bring it here and in a round about sort of way, it makes sense.

Then, of course, there is you! Those who come here to share in my life and read what I have to say. I’ll be honest when I say that there are times when the comments left on this blog (or sent to me via email about my blog) have carried me through deep moments of self-doubt in regards to my writing or my direction. It has come to matter to me that I don’t leave you wordless for too long (not to mention that I hear about it when I do!) because my blog is more of an interaction now than just an outlet. Some of you have been here since the beginning, others have joined in along the way…but all contribute in a way that makes it all very worthwhile to me.

The other day it occurred to me that three hundred posts would equal approximately three hundred pages (give or take) written in two and half years. That could be my novel right there! Nearly three years of my life written one day at a time. I’m going to have to remind myself of this when I feel discouraged at the progress of my book…when it never seems to take any direction and when the pages never seem to amount to much. I’ll have to remember that this too didn’t seem like much at the time; a template blog in a universe of information. But pretty soon, it became this…

It became my Confessions from a Road Less Travelled.

coming and going...

I swear that I looked up at my calendar just a second ago and all of the sudden realized that not only are we half way through the month of October already, but also that’s its Thursday and not Wednesday! I love it when those kinds of surprises happen!

So, life in the Smyth household, where are we at? Well, our Thanksgiving weekend was wonderful! Christina, Joanna, Sara and her two furry friends (Molly and Hugo) drove up from South Western Ontario on Saturday to help fill our house with joy and laughter! Chris and Caroline joined us the next afternoon. By Sunday night, we were well on our way to a turkey coma and one too many desserts. But honestly, what is Thanksgiving if it’s not filled with gluttony?!?!

I’ve always wanted one of those households…the one where everyone congregates during holidays with plenty of oversized meals and too many bottles of wine! I grew up in a family like that and when everyone started going their own ways, it’s the single biggest thing that I missed the most. The Smyth house in Tilbury is very much like that, as is the Georget house in Montreal…open doors to anyone and everyone! It may seem like a bit of a circus to some but in my eyes, there is nothing better than a house full of people that you love.

Now, as an adult and with a house of our own, Steve and I have started to do the same in our little way. Thanksgiving was our first time hosting a holiday and we had barrels of fun preparing for the big weekend. I wish that I had taken more pictures of it all but in reality the reason that I didn’t take a lot of pictures is because I was too busy enjoying everyone’s company. It’s so easy to get swept up in!

Also, we saw Cirque de Soleil with my Dad on Friday night and like all Cirque productions…it was fantastic! Of all the various productions that I’ve seen by Cirque de Soleil, I can honestly say that Corteo was the most beautiful for me. It was so angelic and beautiful…so playful and romantic. I was so mesmerize by everything and just couldn’t get enough of it. Really, imagine sitting down to dinner with the people who think this stuff up…what kind of martini do you think they would order?!?!

All in all, life is back to normal now though. Everyone has gone home and the elections are done (so are the Liberals apparently!)…the normal rhythm of life appears to be finding its way again. Just in time for us to mix it all up one more time!!!

Steve is off for his canoe trip in a little over a week and once again, Tugger and I will be holding down the fort on our own, which can only mean one thing…too many reruns of Sex & the City and not enough sleep! Bring it though…I’m ready!

Some of other exciting news though; I’m going to be a student again! This morning I registered for a writing class at Algonquin College and in two weeks, I’m going to have to find my way through a campus full of seventeen year olds and learn the discipline of studying all over again. It’s not a big class or a long class, but it’s a step in getting me an inch or two closer to my writing career! I’m pretty excited and frankly, it makes me want to go out and buy pretty coloured pens and pencils!!

So it’s back to school, back to the sticks and back to some sense of normalcy in our household…whether it looks that way or not! If I’m not careful though, I’m going to glance up at my calendar next time and it will be December! Now that’s a scary sight!

"For flowers that bloom about our feet;
For tender grass, so fresh, so sweet;
For song of bird, and hum of bee;
For all things fair we hear or see,
Father in heaven, we thank Thee!"
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

For more pictures from our incredible Thanksgiving Weekend, click here.

life in the circus...

I’m running away with the circus tonight! Well, at least for three hours or so!!

Steve and I are going with my Dad this evening to see Corteo, the latest production of Cirque de Soleil. This will be the fourth production that I will have seen and every time I go, I feel like I’m swept up into some magical dream world that I can’t quite pull myself out of. It’s the most exquisite of escapes!

When I watch things like Cirque de Soleil, I can’t help but recognize how big the world really is and how much potential it has. I often get very caught up in the details of my own small little world that sometimes, it feels inescapable. Not that I want to escape from it, but I don’t often consider the possibility of any other life. And yet, here is someone else’s day to day to life…being in the circus! They travel around the world, swinging from chandeliers and all the while, our lives have crossed paths. It never fails to amaze me.

When Steve and I were in Hawaii, we spent a day driving to the top of Haleakala Crater; the active volcano on the island of Maui. Just before reaching the summit, we came across the planetariums along the side of the volcano, some of which are the best observatories in the world. It occurred to me at that moment that, this too, was someone’s life. They lived on this beautiful island and drove up this volcano to their office, as astronomers gazing out into the night sky. Isn’t it amazing when you think about the endless possibilities that are out there for each of us? Someone has to swing from a chandelier in the circus…why not us? Someone has to name the stars…why not us? How different would our lives be if we forced ourselves to remember how much bigger the world really is?

On the other hand, I wonder if those that live those lives ever wonder the same thing about us? I wonder if that astronomer ever looks at us driving up the volcano in our newly wedded bliss and says “hmmm…how exotic…a Canadian snow bunny discovering the rainforest on her honeymoon”. Or if that acrobat ever feels claustrophobic spending their life isolated to the Big Top? Okay, probably not…but you get the idea!

I’d like to think that our lives, whether it is an office job or taming lions, are only as adventurous or confining as we make them. I’d also like to think that our world is only as big or small as we allow it to be. It’s true…we can’t all be astronauts or Indiana Jones, but we can all borrow bits and pieces of each other’s lives in order to spice up our own. I mean really, who hasn’t dreamt about running away with the circus?!?!

the madness and the misery...

I’m sick! Annoyingly sick actually! I’m the kind of sick that makes you want to clean all of your sheets every day because you can just feel the sickness on them. I’m the kind of sick that makes all of my colleagues cringe back in horror every time I cough. It’s the kind of sick that has left my night table of veritable medicine cabinet of tablet form relief. Worst of all, I can hardly even taste the wonderful mint chocolate Girl Guide cookies sitting on my desk in front of me. Now that’s cruelty!

Do you believe that sickness is caused by stress? I’ve heard that been said many times before and ever since, I’ve tried to keep tabs on the correlation between when I get sick versus what happens to be going on in my life at that moment. I don’t often get sick at all actually but if I do, it’s almost always at Christmas time, when all of us are hunkered down around a puzzle in the Smyth house and all of us have touched the same puzzle piece twelve times (if not more). I think that is most certainly, without a doubt, a product of stress. The frenzy of Christmas parties of other related events all month usually leaves me feeling rather depleted and I can usually feel the sickness coming on for a few days before it hits me full force.

The sickness that I have now though is the worst kind of all. It’s the kind that wasn’t present when you went to bed that night but instead, left its attack for the wee hours of the night when you least expect it. The bugger ambushed me! This kind of sickness can’t be warded off with a simple day in bed…you need to call in the big guns for this one. And just like its remedies, this sickness can’t be blamed on one too many parties either; oh no, there is a much bigger force at work here and it’s called madness! Pure, simple, unadulterated madness! It’s the madness in me that thought I could rationalize with the irrational and compromise with the uncompromising. It’s the madness in me that has caused me to get this ill with no hope of getting better (at least not soon enough for me to enjoy my evening). And now it’s the madness in me that’s saying “Buck up Gen…you’re not sick…you’re just sick of all this nonsense!”

Hmmm…I wonder; could my madness have a point? Is it possible that my maddening desire to make it all work out is also what made my body call it quits since quite clearly, my mind was doing all of the work anyways? Wouldn’t that mean that I’m actually sick in the head?!?! Or is just the cough medicine talking?!?!

I don’t know. All I know is that I need an exorcism of sorts to rid myself of the madness and in turn, hopefully everything else that is clogging up my sanity.

Someone, please pass the Kleenex…

off to the races...

In one week, it’s Election Day in Canada. It’s not big like the U.S. Election is big but it has been nearly two and half years since we’ve gone to the polls and for the first time, I haven’t yet decided who I’m voting for.

I’ve always been an idealist at heart. I believe in the power of the people and a democratic society but I also spent three and half years working on Parliament Hill where I received a first hand glimpse at reality.

I love Election Day! It feels so empowering to walk to the polls and exercise your right as a voter. I believe that for all of our system’s short comings, come Election Day, we are better able to see the bigger picture and realize just how fortunate we are to live in a country with this democracy in place. I strongly believe that Canadian citizens who don’t vote should be fined (or at the very least, we should withhold our hugs from them!!) as I don’t agree that ignorance is a reason to take voting for granted.

Right now, I find myself caught in the age old debate that questions “are we voting for a Party or are we voting for a Leader?” This is where I find myself stuck! Believe me, I know what the principals of a democratic society are and the basis of how it should function but my time spent on Parliament Hill gave me another angle that I think is very much worth considering when we walk up to the ballot box.

I’ve always been a big fan of Jean Chretien. I thought he was a fantastic Prime Minister and he gained my vote even more when he stood his ground during 9/11 and the war that soon followed. It takes a strong person to not allow your self to be bullied into a war that isn’t yours to fight and whether I agree with his stance or not, I still admire his conviction.

I’ve had the opportunity to meet Mr. Chretien a couple of times with his wife and while I’m sure that he could hit me with his car and not know who I am, he still left an impression on me…a humble impression. The impression of a man who is still human at the end of the day, I believe that is something that we all tend to forget.

One winter day when I was sitting in my office in the West Block, I glanced out my window looking down O’Connor Street and there was Mr. Chretien walking from the Victoria Building to his office in the Center Block. It was a perfect winter day and he had the most wonderful smile on his face. The streets had been discreetly shut down while he took his little stroll but I really enjoyed that side of him.

I was never quite sure what to think of Mr. Paul Martin though. I always thought that he was a terrific speaker, very friendly and certainly a force to be reckoned with but I was always undecided on his position as Prime Minister. Then, before we knew it, the Liberal Party came crashing down and instead of seeing politicians and the leaders of our country…I saw a bunch of rotten little children fighting on the playground. I lost a lot of respect for Paul Martin during that time. I have a big issue with bullying, whether it be on the playground or in the House of Commons, and the moment someone uses such a tactic to get their way, I feel that they are choosing power over integrity.

I left politics after Paul Martin won the election and for the first time, I voted Conservative. After all, if the Liberals couldn’t figure things out among themselves, how were they realistically going to a run a country? It was also the first time that I started to really consider the role of the leader in my decision making process. I know that, ideally, we are to choose the best candidate within our riding (regardless of their party affiliations) and they are to later represent all of our concerns (regardless of what we voted) but, without a leader who encourages their Government to do just that, then we are left at the mercy of party platforms which, let’s face it, isn’t always what it appears to be. I have watched more than one Member of Parliament try to juggle the views of the Party versus the views of their constituent, only to be left in a political battle of their own regarding their loyalties.

This may come as a surprise to some people but I am not actually a member of any political party. I have chosen not to do so because I believe that if I truly support democracy in its ideal form, then I support whatever is in the best interest of our country. It upsets me a great deal when people that I’ve worked with talk about how their life long goal is to see their party of preference fill the entire House of Commons because if they really wanted what was best for Canada, they would favor a minority Government that encourages discussion and compromise as oppose to a majority Government that has too much power and control.

So that brings me back to today…one week from Election Day and no closer to making a decision. I’ll admit that Stephen Harper hasn’t been so bad. It’s true that he hasn’t necessarily met all of our needs but it’s easy to judge those decisions when we don’t have to be the ones to make them. On the other hand, his Government has done more during their first two years then the Liberals did in their last two. He’s gotten better. He’s gained more experience, more confidence and frankly, has taken the beating of the electoral debate quite well.

Then there is just that…the attack; One of my biggest pet peeves about politics. I despise the relentless banter back and forth about how terrible the other party is and how you shouldn’t put your trust in them because x, y and z. I realize that the opposition’s job is to, well, oppose but as far as I’m concerned, when it comes down to election time, if it’s a party worth voting for, then they should be able to tell me all about their strengths instead of their opponent’s weaknesses.

Seriously, it’s infuriating.

But this does lead me to Stephane Dion, the current leader of the Liberal Party who, despite what appears to be a lack of experience, has surprised me during this campaign. The Liberals were actually one of the only parties to not have a conservative bashing commercial during the start of the campaign. I was impressed. Not only was it a really nicely done commercial but it stuck to the Liberals priorities and goals. This caught my eye from the very start. I’ve also noticed a certain level of respect out of Mr. Dion that I haven’t seen in the others (notably Mr. Jack Layton) towards his colleagues and this too has impressed me. No doubt, I question Mr. Dion’s ability to be a strong leader right now but then again, two years as Prime Minister proved to mold Mr. Harper into a fairly diplomatic man as well. All in all, I think that Mr. Dion has potential that I didn’t quite notice before.

Let’s not forget the NDP which I’m saddened to say, I feel has diminished as a note worthy party a couple of years ago. Jack Layton’s policies just seem too extreme and unrealistic now. Our old riding has always been NDP and will likely be so once again. Not only did we hold the seat for the party celebrity, Mr. Ed Broadbent, but the current Member’s mother was the former Mayor of Ottawa. So all things being equal, I think that Ottawa has a certain soft spot for the NDP, regardless of how far off the deep end their leader may have gone.

So…there you have it; I’m torn between Stephane Dion’s ideals and Stephen Harper’s reality. On one hand, I don’t want to risk a Conservative majority and on the other hand, I’m not entirely convinced that the Liberals are solidly back on their feet just yet. I admire one man’s fight and the other man’s pacifism. One man clearly communicates what I may want to hear while the other man struggles to express what I truly believe.

The tides may be turning in our country very shortly and with the U.S. Election right around the corner, it will be changing even more so. It’s often hard to believe that we put all of our faith and trust into just one person to lead the way but at the same time, take for granted the fact that the choice really is ours. Oh politics…we can’t live with you and we can’t live without you. I just don’t know.

In the meantime though…I’m Genevieve Georget-Smyth and I approve this message!

cure for an emotional hangover...

Yesterday was our first day of real “recovery” from an otherwise dramatic week. We felt drained, tired and in desperate need of some space. So, what exactly is the best cure for such a condition? As far as we’re concerned…it would be junk food, laughter and laziness!! All of which we were easily able to fit into one night!

Steve and I took a rather lovely (though rather unexpected) drive along the river after work last night and reveled in the beauty that is Autumn in Ontario. It really doesn’t get any better than right now.

(somewhat) warm days + cool night = pretty trees! This I know to be true!

Our drive led us directly to our junk food! Hamburgers and French fries and ice cream, oh my! Steve even felt so sympathetic to my week (and so tired of hearing about politics!) that he agreed to spend the next hour watching episodes from my newly acquired Season Three of Sex & the City! Lucky girl! But get this…I stumbled upon an episode that I had never seen before!!!! I’m not entirely sure how this happened because I’m quite positive that not only have I seen every episode, but I’m positive that I’ve seen them all twelve times! Madness! So this came as a delightful, yet shocking, surprise to discover a whole other half hour in the life of my favourite New York girls! It does however make me wonder what else is possibly floating around out there that I don’t yet know about. Hmmm…

Finally…the highlight of our night; an evening spent with the hysterically funny comic, Gerry Dee at Centrepointe Theatre! We first heard of Gerry Dee when coming across NBC’s Last Comic Standing and thought that he was brilliant right away. His comedy was so simple in nature and yet something that everyone could relate to, while having the most unique and side splitting delivery of almost any comedian that I’ve ever seen! Most of his show revolves around his career as a teacher and the distinct differences between men and women while intoxicated (really quite amusing!). We also had the unique privilege of hearing all about life after Hollywood fame and some of the challenges he encountered along the way. If you ever get the chance, please do go and see him. You won’t regret it! Just don’t ask him about his feelings towards Air Canada!!



So there you have it…the perfect cure for an emotional hangover!! At least in the Smyth household anyways!! We woke up this morning feeling refreshed from laughter (with a bit of a scratchy voice!), saturated with grease and sugar and pleasantly reminded that “this too, shall pass”.

the best of times and the worst of times...

It was the worst of times and it was the best of times. That’s how the saying goes, doesn’t it?

I always wondered what exactly that meant and then finally, this past week, I did indeed experience the best of times and the worst of times. As far as experiences goes, it’s not something that I would recommend on a regular basis…the intensity of it alone is enough to put anyone on blood pressure medications in a hurry!

Allow me to elaborate a little bit though…

About two years ago, I changed. I know that we are all changing all the time but this was different. Something in my head changed…something about the way I looked at the world and my place in it changed. I began to realize that our relationships do not define us. I have so often reacted to situations out of fear that it has consistently blurred my vision and my ability to make choices that are in the best interest of my health and happiness. Fear of what, I’m still not quite sure. Fear of rejection, fear of being alone, fear of not having someone there to validate my existence. Two years ago though, I started to realize that if I lost every person that I was close to, whether it be by choice or not, I would still fundamentally be me. Granted, I would be a sad, broken hearted version of me, but still me nonetheless. My values wouldn’t change, my morals wouldn’t change, my ability to walk through this world wouldn’t change. One foot in front of the other, I would still go on. Of course, relationships alter the course of our lives and change the way we live it (usually for the better) but at the end of the day, they do not determine our worth.

This revelation was a rather significant turning point for me because in doing so, I no longer considered relationships as a means of survival but instead, one of the joys of living. It also enabled me to stop reacting out of fear and start making choices that I thought were in the best interest of those that I care about, myself included. Don’t get me wrong, fear still creeps into my pores from time to time and it’s a conscious choice on my part to move forward in spite of it, but now it is indeed just that…a choice.

I had to put my learning to the test this week though and believe me, it wasn’t easy. I wasn’t expecting it to be easy…I was prepared for that. What I wasn’t expecting though was how incredibly loved I would end up feeling. It was overwhelming. Just when I was forced to make difficult choices regarding people that I love and just as my heart was breaking, I was suddenly surrounded with so many people wanting to hold all of the pieces together for me. At the risk of sounding too emotional and sappy, the amount of support that I had -- the gentle words from an ocean away, the hugs from friends near and far, the chocolate cookies for breakfast – all of it nearly brought me to more tears than the pain did. And there is, of course, my husband…the most amazing man that I’ve ever known and the one who consistently gives back to me all the love that I’ve ever put out into the world…the one that holds me long into the night and tells me that everything will be okay.

And just as I told my beautiful, stunning friend yesterday afternoon as we stood on the sidewalk saying goodbye to each other; for the potentially the first time in my life…I believe it. Everything will, most definitely, be okay.