Wasn't sure how to write today about your birthday.
So, I dug into the archives for this poem.
Happy birthday my friend. We miss you so.
http://carolyninthecity-citygirl.blogspot.ca/2010/03/today.html
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Friday, March 30, 2012
Journal 153 TGIF?
I'm home, it's Friday night, the evening lies ahead of me like an unknown road that beckons.
Friday at work means loose-end-tying-up, means leaving a bit early after stockpiling a bunch of hours throughout the week. That's what I did today.
I was on the phone with my mom in the car on the drive home, thinking about making it to the St. Lawrence Market before closing time, thinking of marked-down sushi, flowers, and lettuce, when I felt around in my purse, mid-drive, for my ipod.
No.
No no no no I did not leave this treasured little music square at work.
I told my mom. As I cried in the car in frustration. But I moved fast, turned right at Sheppard Avenue near Fairview Mall off of Don Mills--reversed myself, heading back north instead of the way the compass in my body was pointing: south, south, every way south, back to downtown, to the city, away from my suburban
office.
I got back up to my office in record time, and there were a number of cars in my 'fleet' that seemed to have a real sense of urgency going on too.
Pulled into my office parking lot after one thousand intersections (yes I exaggerate see yesterdays' post about "so not a morning person" and then feel free to cut me some slack), parked my car, darted in my office, up the stairs two at a time and into my darkened office. Rescued one lonely ipod. Need this for not just the drive home, the walk to St. Lawrence Market, but more importantly my long run tomorrow, my musical inclinations tonight, my sanity.
My sister rationalized that sometimes we forget items because fate is directing us away from harm ( I do like this concept, but I can tell you, as I crawled back home in traffic circa 5:45, having left work at 4:30, I was in no mood to address "the bright side of life").
I made it home.
Made it to the Market.
Had my sushi, on the cheap, and true pink gerberas are re-blooming in a purple vase on my dining room table.
Emailing friends, hair up in a high bun, wearing a hoodie and pajamas, chardonnay poured in a Riedel glass, one that my sister bought, my favourite, stemless and at-hand.
Blogging. Listening to reggae on the ipod, on the ipod dock.
A serious, solid week of work making me tired but relieved, and ready to go to bed early.
Duties fulfilled.
It's funny how sometimes those times in life, which can last a long time, where most of your life is "have-to" rather than "want-to" hone your skills on training your mind for something better. Strength? Individuality? Quiet perseverance? All, I like to think.
Tonight, I'm going to start re-reading Blue Nights. I've had a couple of months of book-fluff (and a library strike that has not allowed me to borrow new books). Anyway--I want to see, again, 'how it works'. How it's put together. And escape out of my world into Didion's, of late sixties' California, of timeless New York City, of a different age.
Happy weekend....
Friday at work means loose-end-tying-up, means leaving a bit early after stockpiling a bunch of hours throughout the week. That's what I did today.
I was on the phone with my mom in the car on the drive home, thinking about making it to the St. Lawrence Market before closing time, thinking of marked-down sushi, flowers, and lettuce, when I felt around in my purse, mid-drive, for my ipod.
No.
No no no no I did not leave this treasured little music square at work.
I told my mom. As I cried in the car in frustration. But I moved fast, turned right at Sheppard Avenue near Fairview Mall off of Don Mills--reversed myself, heading back north instead of the way the compass in my body was pointing: south, south, every way south, back to downtown, to the city, away from my suburban
office.
I got back up to my office in record time, and there were a number of cars in my 'fleet' that seemed to have a real sense of urgency going on too.
Pulled into my office parking lot after one thousand intersections (yes I exaggerate see yesterdays' post about "so not a morning person" and then feel free to cut me some slack), parked my car, darted in my office, up the stairs two at a time and into my darkened office. Rescued one lonely ipod. Need this for not just the drive home, the walk to St. Lawrence Market, but more importantly my long run tomorrow, my musical inclinations tonight, my sanity.
My sister rationalized that sometimes we forget items because fate is directing us away from harm ( I do like this concept, but I can tell you, as I crawled back home in traffic circa 5:45, having left work at 4:30, I was in no mood to address "the bright side of life").
I made it home.
Made it to the Market.
Had my sushi, on the cheap, and true pink gerberas are re-blooming in a purple vase on my dining room table.
Emailing friends, hair up in a high bun, wearing a hoodie and pajamas, chardonnay poured in a Riedel glass, one that my sister bought, my favourite, stemless and at-hand.
Blogging. Listening to reggae on the ipod, on the ipod dock.
A serious, solid week of work making me tired but relieved, and ready to go to bed early.
Duties fulfilled.
It's funny how sometimes those times in life, which can last a long time, where most of your life is "have-to" rather than "want-to" hone your skills on training your mind for something better. Strength? Individuality? Quiet perseverance? All, I like to think.
Tonight, I'm going to start re-reading Blue Nights. I've had a couple of months of book-fluff (and a library strike that has not allowed me to borrow new books). Anyway--I want to see, again, 'how it works'. How it's put together. And escape out of my world into Didion's, of late sixties' California, of timeless New York City, of a different age.
Happy weekend....
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Journal 152 Event-ful
It's been a long, grinding week, work-wise. Life-wise, nothing much has happened other than the following:
Get up early for work.
Drive to work.
Get to work.
Work.
Work some more.
Leave work.
Drive home.
Get home.
Forage for dinner.
Eat.
Lazily read/watch tv/get ready for bed.
Go to bed.
Sleep (fitfully. Stressed about work).
Wake up intermittently.
Wake up in the morning.
Repeat whole exercise all over again.
Nothing has really varied from this list.
I did have dinner with two good friends one evening.
I did have a therapy appointment where I looked at the carpet a lot and off into the distance (pure exhaustion) and I did manage to get all tax stuff together, mail it off to the accountant, and
be done with it.
All the things in the week add up to me having to think alot, 'exercise my brain' as work piles up and people need decisions made that they cannot make themselves. It's been a lot of very long days and for me, the ultimate-non-morning person (truly) it's had a tiring effect on me.
So last night, when I had to attend a short work-event (an opening of a new site) I was particularly exhausted.
I drove west to the location, on auto-pilot really, prepared to make a quick entrance and exit, show my face, and be done with it.
I arrived, parked, got out of my car, and then froze.
The glass-fronted room where the opening was taking place was packed with people. A faux-red carpet led up to the door, and all could see who was going in and out.
I am not kidding, a wave of shyness overtook me, in my ballet flats (I've been trying to not wear heels that often as my feet suffer for running when I do), my black pants, flared cut with a cuff, and my bought-in-Ireland-lends-me-credibility raincoat, and cashmere gloves (I noticed, en route, that a slight worn patch on the right thumb had now, morphed into a true hole). I almost turned around. Lots of people, a hum of conversational noise, how tired I look(ed), and how little make-up I was wearing.
But I had to go in. I had to see the kitchen I designed. I had to say hello to my clients. I had to make an appearance. My boss was on his way. We both had to be there.
I walked in, alongside a couple of strangers. Almost immediately I spotted one of my clients and quickly said hello, making my way to the back of the room, where the kitchen was, where all the samples I'd helped choose were laid out. In the company of cabinetry, I felt the pull of the familiar.
A waiter, dressed all in black, offered me a smoked-salmon-something. I gratefully accepted, took the small morsel of food, and took my time chewing it thoughtfully, while walking around the small, crowded space. Another waiter. A mini-burger. This was harder to eat, but I did it, self-consciously, and then finagled a glass of champagne from a tray in the kitchen I'd designed. I thought it funny that a tiny condo-sized kitchen was being used as a catering base-camp for an event that was over-flowing to well over fifty people. A second client, this time with a camera, my photo snapped.
I kept walking around until I ran into a woman with a hand-bag so delectable I had to compliment her on it. We struck up a conversation, easily, and I congratulated myself on my networking skills. We talked for a bit, my client came over, and I had another conversation to start. We concluded.
I hung around for a bit longer. I thanked my clients for the invitation and gave them a sincere compliment on the space, the event, the turn-out.
Walked back to my car, still shy.
Drove back home to downtown.
Proud of myself.
Get up early for work.
Drive to work.
Get to work.
Work.
Work some more.
Leave work.
Drive home.
Get home.
Forage for dinner.
Eat.
Lazily read/watch tv/get ready for bed.
Go to bed.
Sleep (fitfully. Stressed about work).
Wake up intermittently.
Wake up in the morning.
Repeat whole exercise all over again.
Nothing has really varied from this list.
I did have dinner with two good friends one evening.
I did have a therapy appointment where I looked at the carpet a lot and off into the distance (pure exhaustion) and I did manage to get all tax stuff together, mail it off to the accountant, and
be done with it.
All the things in the week add up to me having to think alot, 'exercise my brain' as work piles up and people need decisions made that they cannot make themselves. It's been a lot of very long days and for me, the ultimate-non-morning person (truly) it's had a tiring effect on me.
So last night, when I had to attend a short work-event (an opening of a new site) I was particularly exhausted.
I drove west to the location, on auto-pilot really, prepared to make a quick entrance and exit, show my face, and be done with it.
I arrived, parked, got out of my car, and then froze.
The glass-fronted room where the opening was taking place was packed with people. A faux-red carpet led up to the door, and all could see who was going in and out.
I am not kidding, a wave of shyness overtook me, in my ballet flats (I've been trying to not wear heels that often as my feet suffer for running when I do), my black pants, flared cut with a cuff, and my bought-in-Ireland-lends-me-credibility raincoat, and cashmere gloves (I noticed, en route, that a slight worn patch on the right thumb had now, morphed into a true hole). I almost turned around. Lots of people, a hum of conversational noise, how tired I look(ed), and how little make-up I was wearing.
But I had to go in. I had to see the kitchen I designed. I had to say hello to my clients. I had to make an appearance. My boss was on his way. We both had to be there.
I walked in, alongside a couple of strangers. Almost immediately I spotted one of my clients and quickly said hello, making my way to the back of the room, where the kitchen was, where all the samples I'd helped choose were laid out. In the company of cabinetry, I felt the pull of the familiar.
A waiter, dressed all in black, offered me a smoked-salmon-something. I gratefully accepted, took the small morsel of food, and took my time chewing it thoughtfully, while walking around the small, crowded space. Another waiter. A mini-burger. This was harder to eat, but I did it, self-consciously, and then finagled a glass of champagne from a tray in the kitchen I'd designed. I thought it funny that a tiny condo-sized kitchen was being used as a catering base-camp for an event that was over-flowing to well over fifty people. A second client, this time with a camera, my photo snapped.
I kept walking around until I ran into a woman with a hand-bag so delectable I had to compliment her on it. We struck up a conversation, easily, and I congratulated myself on my networking skills. We talked for a bit, my client came over, and I had another conversation to start. We concluded.
I hung around for a bit longer. I thanked my clients for the invitation and gave them a sincere compliment on the space, the event, the turn-out.
Walked back to my car, still shy.
Drove back home to downtown.
Proud of myself.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Journal 151 Yawn
As in..this blog.
As in...lately.
As in.....nothing to report.
If I could I would tell you how it feels to arrive at work with an email threatening legal action over something trivial to do with a material item (oops I just did).
If I could I would discuss in detail how truly irritating some peoples' personalities (or complete lack thereof) are (did it again).
In the interest of reminding myself that many many talented people are currently unemployed, and that despite Canada's denial (Ontario?) of recession, that terrifying word, the situation does not appear to be improving.
Rather, it seems to be changing, shape-shifting, morphing. The world of work as we know it.
As I know it.
Everything I read points to massive upheaval.
Examples:
Resumes can now be viewed on Pinterest. I saw a Twitter posting on this today.
I
kid
you
not.
http://pinterest.com/teecheese/
I read this with a mixture of fascination and horror (I know. Oh so original to write that).
But I did. I still do.
I can't decide what this represents. The resume was oddly....social, and I found myself wondering if this guy is a genius or a teenager.
The other was a jaunty little G&M number about interview questions, their validity, and what you really want to know about an employee (can you tell I have work on my mind?)
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/report-on-business/careers/career-advice/career-tips/this-one-question-kills-a-good-interview-and-reveals-absolutely-nothing/article2379583/
While I agree the term "five-year-plan" makes me want to leap off a burning building, what I do Sunday afternoons can be remarkably un-telling. (re: read. blog. run. socialize...sometimes. roof-top. stress out. no I don't volunteer at an animal shelter. no I don't shuttle kids around from one activity to the next. I'm sorry. I'm selfish. And, on Sundays, often: lazy. {read: TIRED}. I don't do group activities. We've talked about this, yes? No?).....
This bothered me too (what the hell Toronto? What are you doing? WHAT?)
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/report-on-business/industry-news/property-report/restaurant-deals-sizzle-in-torontos-core/article2381672/
Give me the neighbourhood pub, the corner place with something I love.
Is TO turning into a city I just don't like anymore?
Or am I doing that "pull" of sensationalism that I've been warned against?
I'm tired.
It was a longgg ten-plus-hour-day, my computer is rebelling here at home, and it's already well after ten and I need to be at work early tomorrow.
As in...lately.
As in.....nothing to report.
If I could I would tell you how it feels to arrive at work with an email threatening legal action over something trivial to do with a material item (oops I just did).
If I could I would discuss in detail how truly irritating some peoples' personalities (or complete lack thereof) are (did it again).
In the interest of reminding myself that many many talented people are currently unemployed, and that despite Canada's denial (Ontario?) of recession, that terrifying word, the situation does not appear to be improving.
Rather, it seems to be changing, shape-shifting, morphing. The world of work as we know it.
As I know it.
Everything I read points to massive upheaval.
Examples:
Resumes can now be viewed on Pinterest. I saw a Twitter posting on this today.
I
kid
you
not.
http://pinterest.com/teecheese/
I read this with a mixture of fascination and horror (I know. Oh so original to write that).
But I did. I still do.
I can't decide what this represents. The resume was oddly....social, and I found myself wondering if this guy is a genius or a teenager.
The other was a jaunty little G&M number about interview questions, their validity, and what you really want to know about an employee (can you tell I have work on my mind?)
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/report-on-business/careers/career-advice/career-tips/this-one-question-kills-a-good-interview-and-reveals-absolutely-nothing/article2379583/
While I agree the term "five-year-plan" makes me want to leap off a burning building, what I do Sunday afternoons can be remarkably un-telling. (re: read. blog. run. socialize...sometimes. roof-top. stress out. no I don't volunteer at an animal shelter. no I don't shuttle kids around from one activity to the next. I'm sorry. I'm selfish. And, on Sundays, often: lazy. {read: TIRED}. I don't do group activities. We've talked about this, yes? No?).....
This bothered me too (what the hell Toronto? What are you doing? WHAT?)
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/report-on-business/industry-news/property-report/restaurant-deals-sizzle-in-torontos-core/article2381672/
Give me the neighbourhood pub, the corner place with something I love.
Is TO turning into a city I just don't like anymore?
Or am I doing that "pull" of sensationalism that I've been warned against?
I'm tired.
It was a longgg ten-plus-hour-day, my computer is rebelling here at home, and it's already well after ten and I need to be at work early tomorrow.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Journal 150 Whirlwind
I know the months (!) are flying by.
Tonight, Monday, (last Monday of the month) is my condo board meeting. They seem to creep up so fast, at the end of the month, and it's how I remind myself, Oh yes, this bill is due and the mortgage payment is coming out and even though I just brought the car in it needs brake work and I still have friends who I need to see at least a couple of times a month, even if we can't spontaneously meet each other for weekend lunches or coffee for the most part (little ones), we try to either do Friday nights (I prefer) or the odd odd weeknight (tough for me but I do make exceptions). And family of course. I am proud to say I had dinner with my mother three times last week, and with my sister and the kids on Saturday night, a great respite for both of us.
Yes, you can see, my LDM is in full effect.
It's been a tough first week being apart, I'm not going to sugar coat it. We've had some truncated phone conversations (this is how it goes: "I'm calling to say I can't talk right now" no joke..I have to laugh. I maintain a schedule that is almost military in its strictness, ie, an alarm bell goes off deep inside my head when 5000 kilometres tick off on the odomter on my car--no I don't wait 8000 kms...Virgo, remember? I get oil changes every 5000. I buy groceries at certain times when I am guaranteed to have the least amount of crowds {Thursday nights}, same with gas and car washes {Friday nights, go ahead, test this out. ESPECIALLY when it's a grey day). Whereas Mike takes a more laid-back approach to life, one that I wish I could learn to adapt, to some degree. So I can pretty well tell him what I'll be doing for the next week to month, and he goes not even day by day, more like hour by hour.
Weekend.
Went by fast. On the upside, I invested in some "me" time-- a haircut (love it) a pedicure (not that happy. Wore my running shoes there. Wrecked it when I put said shoes on. I calmed down quickly. I'm pretty good at touch-ups, I'll deal with it. Thankfully it was glove and closed-toe shoe weather today, so that helped).
Had a lovely Sunday brunch at my sister's for my mom's birthday, the three of us, some prosecco, bacon, baguette, salad, and eggs (the eggs for them, not me of course).
Saturday was clean, clean, clean, finally doing the front entrance of my condo, where several boxes of 'nothing' have existed for the last month; I cleared them out, stuff from my old room in my parents now-sold house, and kept only my yearbooks and some trinkets from my childhood--when my niece and nephew came over Saturday night I gave them the two shoeboxes of stuff to sort through (keychains, stickers, etc.) and they went crazy with happiness. They were occupied, leaving my sister and I eating sushi peacefully, for over an hour.
One thing that did NOT go well this weekend was running. I blame myself. I had soup and salad for dinner on Friday night, with my mom. I wasn't overly hungry and this dinner seemed fine. After all it had been hot all week, it had bothered me, and I was ok with a light meal.
Bad decision. I started my twelve k on Saturday morning after a healthy portion of Starbucks, and broke down about 3 k in. I mean, unable to go any further. But I did. I just walked it. And it was okay. I walked, I observed the sights, I listened to my ipod, and I didn't beat myself up. After all, as my friend L. and I were saying on the phone Friday night, our version of slacking is not even close to it. Just wayyy too hard on ourselves (hello, we're women...). So I let myself walk.
Then the haircut, then I bought wine, and enjoyed my Saturday.
Sunday after the brunch and the pedicure found me anxiety-riddled again (just after the dinner hour, what is it about that time of day for me?) and I admit, I took a nap to escape it. Just conked out on the couch for about a half-hour. And I'm not a napper. Weird.
It's almost tax time so I also spent a bit of time organizing it all for my parents and myself. I just addressed the envelope to send off to the accountant.
So Monday work-day is over, and my condo meeting looms. After that, some dinner, some downtime, then get up early and do it all over again.
Yes, my weekends are pretty standard most of the time, especially when Mike is home and I don't do get to do couple-dates with him and watch movies and just....stop.
That's all I can tell you, nothing exciting, nothing earth-shattering. I'm nothing if not consistent.
Tonight, Monday, (last Monday of the month) is my condo board meeting. They seem to creep up so fast, at the end of the month, and it's how I remind myself, Oh yes, this bill is due and the mortgage payment is coming out and even though I just brought the car in it needs brake work and I still have friends who I need to see at least a couple of times a month, even if we can't spontaneously meet each other for weekend lunches or coffee for the most part (little ones), we try to either do Friday nights (I prefer) or the odd odd weeknight (tough for me but I do make exceptions). And family of course. I am proud to say I had dinner with my mother three times last week, and with my sister and the kids on Saturday night, a great respite for both of us.
Yes, you can see, my LDM is in full effect.
It's been a tough first week being apart, I'm not going to sugar coat it. We've had some truncated phone conversations (this is how it goes: "I'm calling to say I can't talk right now" no joke..I have to laugh. I maintain a schedule that is almost military in its strictness, ie, an alarm bell goes off deep inside my head when 5000 kilometres tick off on the odomter on my car--no I don't wait 8000 kms...Virgo, remember? I get oil changes every 5000. I buy groceries at certain times when I am guaranteed to have the least amount of crowds {Thursday nights}, same with gas and car washes {Friday nights, go ahead, test this out. ESPECIALLY when it's a grey day). Whereas Mike takes a more laid-back approach to life, one that I wish I could learn to adapt, to some degree. So I can pretty well tell him what I'll be doing for the next week to month, and he goes not even day by day, more like hour by hour.
Weekend.
Went by fast. On the upside, I invested in some "me" time-- a haircut (love it) a pedicure (not that happy. Wore my running shoes there. Wrecked it when I put said shoes on. I calmed down quickly. I'm pretty good at touch-ups, I'll deal with it. Thankfully it was glove and closed-toe shoe weather today, so that helped).
Had a lovely Sunday brunch at my sister's for my mom's birthday, the three of us, some prosecco, bacon, baguette, salad, and eggs (the eggs for them, not me of course).
Saturday was clean, clean, clean, finally doing the front entrance of my condo, where several boxes of 'nothing' have existed for the last month; I cleared them out, stuff from my old room in my parents now-sold house, and kept only my yearbooks and some trinkets from my childhood--when my niece and nephew came over Saturday night I gave them the two shoeboxes of stuff to sort through (keychains, stickers, etc.) and they went crazy with happiness. They were occupied, leaving my sister and I eating sushi peacefully, for over an hour.
One thing that did NOT go well this weekend was running. I blame myself. I had soup and salad for dinner on Friday night, with my mom. I wasn't overly hungry and this dinner seemed fine. After all it had been hot all week, it had bothered me, and I was ok with a light meal.
Bad decision. I started my twelve k on Saturday morning after a healthy portion of Starbucks, and broke down about 3 k in. I mean, unable to go any further. But I did. I just walked it. And it was okay. I walked, I observed the sights, I listened to my ipod, and I didn't beat myself up. After all, as my friend L. and I were saying on the phone Friday night, our version of slacking is not even close to it. Just wayyy too hard on ourselves (hello, we're women...). So I let myself walk.
Then the haircut, then I bought wine, and enjoyed my Saturday.
Sunday after the brunch and the pedicure found me anxiety-riddled again (just after the dinner hour, what is it about that time of day for me?) and I admit, I took a nap to escape it. Just conked out on the couch for about a half-hour. And I'm not a napper. Weird.
It's almost tax time so I also spent a bit of time organizing it all for my parents and myself. I just addressed the envelope to send off to the accountant.
So Monday work-day is over, and my condo meeting looms. After that, some dinner, some downtime, then get up early and do it all over again.
Yes, my weekends are pretty standard most of the time, especially when Mike is home and I don't do get to do couple-dates with him and watch movies and just....stop.
That's all I can tell you, nothing exciting, nothing earth-shattering. I'm nothing if not consistent.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Journal 148 A bit more...
Funerals can often feel like camp singalongs — all glow, no shadows. The nice things are all said out loud, the rest brims in people’s bowed heads.
This is a quote from the Shelagh article that I wrote about on Saturday, having read and re-read it, criss-crossing the writing from a 'how it all works' kind of standpoint, something that, as I read this year, 'real' writers often do. How it's all put together, this stringing along of words, and more importantly, how those word-strings make one feel. How they can wring you out, create an image in your mind, and off you go. Off I go, anyway. That's how it all works for me.
This one sentence, so poignantly true, left me agape after reading it. I also couldn't quite memorize it at first (something else I admit to doing as I re-read. It's strange, I know. But I like to carry words around in my head, not just my own, but writers whose writing I love and admire--I break them out at the times I can't think of much in my own head. How I admire The Prophet for this. Always giving me something that I can refer to when my own emotions are over-loaded. Also--when I'm running and need a new thought-thread, I spool along this kind of phrase--loaded with meaning, and go from there).
"The rest brims in people's bowed heads". Not only at funerals. This can happen, this brimming, in your job, with all its machinations that you hold on to to better your life. It can happen in some friendships or relationships where you're left, wondering sometimes, how a situation all went down.
It can happen when reading an article like this one, where the reactions can swing the pendulum.
I received two separate, and equally amazing emails reflecting on this article this week.
I'm not going to go into terrific detail about them--they're from dear friends, and our correspondence is sacred, but rest assured--it was a reminder of the connections we make, how necessary they are to our well-being and our idea of self, our own development, looking at ourselves through a different lens,
as friends allow you to do. Family and husbands let you see yourself in that 'unconditional' light, but friends, to me, for me, shine a different kind of light on you, look at you, as I mentioned, with a different lens. One that you have to be present for, one that you get to look back at toward them.
Anyway, both friends shared how the article affected them, most specifically aiming at their memories, as the article did to me, as well, taking me back to other obituaries I'd read, of people I've known and loved, the thoughtfulness bestowed upon the last formal piece of writing about them, the obituary I wrote for my own father, and how magically we can sometimes use a small paragraph to neatly tie up a life that spilled out of a package, certainly, a life that was cherished, that mattered, because I think the message of the Shelagh article is that we all matter, our lives matter, and for some reason, some of us are able to 'show' that more, 'feel' that more--not that we don't all have that intrinsic knowledge, it's just that some of us are able to exclaim about how we missed someone--right to them, and some of us give out hugs and re-assurance easier than others.
I muse about this alot when I look at how differently my sister and I deal with our mother in this first year following my father's death, our lopsided little family--she is good at outings, lunches, driving here and there. I tend to be my reticent self--phone calls, banking, government, hammering out details when selling the house. Whatever, it's all a contribution, which is how we need to look at our connectedness. I like to write here. I like to send long messages via email to friends, and sometimes I don't feel like talking on the phone after a long day at work. But I also think of people, up in my head, and it might be time for me to get that thinking more into 'doing' as Shelagh demonstrated. I'm an introvert, I've mentioned it before, but it doesn't mean I can't sit down tonight and send a hand-written note to someone who needs it, or go and visit my mother and spend that time just 'being'.
I've also been taking real time and care to apply this at my workplace--really listening. Not running about in the mad dash of deadlines (and the deadlines are still there, don't get me wrong) and missing the whole point of it all: we need each other. And believe me, there are times when I think who ARE these people, locked up in a boardroom on a sunny afternoon, the only child-less person for miles, listening to stories about double-A hockey games and suburbia and yes I want to run screaming, but I remind myself--live and let live.
I looked up Shelagh's obituary on line to find out what struck the author of the Star article to dig a little deeper. What struck me immediately was the 13th date (it seems to be a pattern for me with this number-what does that mean?) and as mentioned by the Star journalist, the first line is 'our world is a little smaller' and the last line, this one below, I wanted to memorize, to take with me on a long run someday soon:
"And I feel above me the day - blind stars waiting for their light, for a time, I rest in the grace of the world and I am free."
This is a quote from the Shelagh article that I wrote about on Saturday, having read and re-read it, criss-crossing the writing from a 'how it all works' kind of standpoint, something that, as I read this year, 'real' writers often do. How it's all put together, this stringing along of words, and more importantly, how those word-strings make one feel. How they can wring you out, create an image in your mind, and off you go. Off I go, anyway. That's how it all works for me.
This one sentence, so poignantly true, left me agape after reading it. I also couldn't quite memorize it at first (something else I admit to doing as I re-read. It's strange, I know. But I like to carry words around in my head, not just my own, but writers whose writing I love and admire--I break them out at the times I can't think of much in my own head. How I admire The Prophet for this. Always giving me something that I can refer to when my own emotions are over-loaded. Also--when I'm running and need a new thought-thread, I spool along this kind of phrase--loaded with meaning, and go from there).
"The rest brims in people's bowed heads". Not only at funerals. This can happen, this brimming, in your job, with all its machinations that you hold on to to better your life. It can happen in some friendships or relationships where you're left, wondering sometimes, how a situation all went down.
It can happen when reading an article like this one, where the reactions can swing the pendulum.
I received two separate, and equally amazing emails reflecting on this article this week.
I'm not going to go into terrific detail about them--they're from dear friends, and our correspondence is sacred, but rest assured--it was a reminder of the connections we make, how necessary they are to our well-being and our idea of self, our own development, looking at ourselves through a different lens,
as friends allow you to do. Family and husbands let you see yourself in that 'unconditional' light, but friends, to me, for me, shine a different kind of light on you, look at you, as I mentioned, with a different lens. One that you have to be present for, one that you get to look back at toward them.
Anyway, both friends shared how the article affected them, most specifically aiming at their memories, as the article did to me, as well, taking me back to other obituaries I'd read, of people I've known and loved, the thoughtfulness bestowed upon the last formal piece of writing about them, the obituary I wrote for my own father, and how magically we can sometimes use a small paragraph to neatly tie up a life that spilled out of a package, certainly, a life that was cherished, that mattered, because I think the message of the Shelagh article is that we all matter, our lives matter, and for some reason, some of us are able to 'show' that more, 'feel' that more--not that we don't all have that intrinsic knowledge, it's just that some of us are able to exclaim about how we missed someone--right to them, and some of us give out hugs and re-assurance easier than others.
I muse about this alot when I look at how differently my sister and I deal with our mother in this first year following my father's death, our lopsided little family--she is good at outings, lunches, driving here and there. I tend to be my reticent self--phone calls, banking, government, hammering out details when selling the house. Whatever, it's all a contribution, which is how we need to look at our connectedness. I like to write here. I like to send long messages via email to friends, and sometimes I don't feel like talking on the phone after a long day at work. But I also think of people, up in my head, and it might be time for me to get that thinking more into 'doing' as Shelagh demonstrated. I'm an introvert, I've mentioned it before, but it doesn't mean I can't sit down tonight and send a hand-written note to someone who needs it, or go and visit my mother and spend that time just 'being'.
I've also been taking real time and care to apply this at my workplace--really listening. Not running about in the mad dash of deadlines (and the deadlines are still there, don't get me wrong) and missing the whole point of it all: we need each other. And believe me, there are times when I think who ARE these people, locked up in a boardroom on a sunny afternoon, the only child-less person for miles, listening to stories about double-A hockey games and suburbia and yes I want to run screaming, but I remind myself--live and let live.
I looked up Shelagh's obituary on line to find out what struck the author of the Star article to dig a little deeper. What struck me immediately was the 13th date (it seems to be a pattern for me with this number-what does that mean?) and as mentioned by the Star journalist, the first line is 'our world is a little smaller' and the last line, this one below, I wanted to memorize, to take with me on a long run someday soon:
"And I feel above me the day - blind stars waiting for their light, for a time, I rest in the grace of the world and I am free."
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Journal 149 On the subject of
One of the better issues of O Magazine was February 2012--I am just reading it now, in depth, and I now understand how a friend of mine spent 3 days on vackay reading it.
My fave article so far (after all the de-cluttering ones) is the Katie and Meredith go to Mexican boot camp story....
I am paraphrasing (this came to me today as I shuttled from a meeting downtown where I was stuck in traffic, under a bridge, then back into the sunlight, watching streams of people, all dressed for work, traipse by me) this line from one of the girls in the article :
"What struck me was I never split a bottle of wine with a friend anymore.
Even before my schedule crossed over to "death-wish" territory, I'd
spent the last decade struggling to pay rent {been there}, get promoted
{yep} and still fit into my college jeans {hmm}. But at what cost?"
I truly teared up reading this. Who CAN'T relate?
I went to get coffee after my meeting and saw people with laptops dotted about the Second Cup, doing whatever they were doing (working remotely, perhaps job hunting remotely), some were having three-person meetings (the Second Cup was in the foot of an office building) and I did have a sense of momentary calm--I had somewhere to go where I was expected (my office, for the rest of the balmy spring day ahead) and I had just finished a positive meeting, one that resulted in me having
alot of work to do, but I can handle that; and knowing what I had to get done ahead of me, at least for the next few days/weeks, helped me feel "ordered" and routine.
And after reading the recent news about our 'city under siege' and provincial cuts (dreadful), I felt very lucky. (I read the paper in the waiting room of the company I was meeting with. Mistake. As Deepak Chopra says in Oprah, avoid the pull of bad news and sensationalism. Oh so true. It just invades the peace and erodes the inner life more and more each time I let myself get 'pulled'.
Lately I've felt pulled, too. And I've noticed alot of other people saying the same thing. An over-packed schedule, for me, is a death-wish. I need so much downtime to wind off from a high-pressure job.
And I need to stop apologizing for needing this time.
I also need solitude. Mike is not here, I have to digest it and I need time to do it. I know that what it often seems like is that I am being anti-social, but I liken it to anyone whose gone through a change in their life, be it a parent's death, having kids, moving--you need time to re-adjust, and sometimes things fall through the cracks.
Taking a look around my loft the past little while, I realize just how much "survival" went into the last year. Things are dusty. They are a little worse for wear. I haven't been as hyper-organized or super-driven since last spring, the spring before even, when what I like to nickname the 'tailspin' began.
I ambitiously took out some spring/summer wear this morning, with the ironing board, to begin ironing a bunch of t-shirts, pants, tops, etc., to have some nice, neat outfits to weather out this heat-wave, and realized my iron no longer worked. I have no idea when it stopped working. I just know I haven't ironed anything..in a very very long time. (my fall back is to throw a damp towel in the dryer with said wrinkled clothing. I know. Terrible for the environment. Anyway...I digress. I need an iron).
I cleaned out the fridge and freezer last night, am planning on some dusting as soon as I finish writing this, and I have to tackle my bathroom and its plethora of products soon. This was in the Oprah mag too. About how some women buy sooo much extra products they wind up forgetting they have them, and buy them again (guilty).
Ok, my hair is now coloured as of last night (nice chocolate-y shade) and I booked a cut for Saturday.
My weekend is all sewn up with "me" type plans, and I've been eating leftovers, no joke, all week.
Other good things: My office was freezing today (I loved ) and I drank cold coffee while designing the afternoon away.
Someone send me a girl scout badge.
My fave article so far (after all the de-cluttering ones) is the Katie and Meredith go to Mexican boot camp story....
I am paraphrasing (this came to me today as I shuttled from a meeting downtown where I was stuck in traffic, under a bridge, then back into the sunlight, watching streams of people, all dressed for work, traipse by me) this line from one of the girls in the article :
"What struck me was I never split a bottle of wine with a friend anymore.
Even before my schedule crossed over to "death-wish" territory, I'd
spent the last decade struggling to pay rent {been there}, get promoted
{yep} and still fit into my college jeans {hmm}. But at what cost?"
I truly teared up reading this. Who CAN'T relate?
I went to get coffee after my meeting and saw people with laptops dotted about the Second Cup, doing whatever they were doing (working remotely, perhaps job hunting remotely), some were having three-person meetings (the Second Cup was in the foot of an office building) and I did have a sense of momentary calm--I had somewhere to go where I was expected (my office, for the rest of the balmy spring day ahead) and I had just finished a positive meeting, one that resulted in me having
alot of work to do, but I can handle that; and knowing what I had to get done ahead of me, at least for the next few days/weeks, helped me feel "ordered" and routine.
And after reading the recent news about our 'city under siege' and provincial cuts (dreadful), I felt very lucky. (I read the paper in the waiting room of the company I was meeting with. Mistake. As Deepak Chopra says in Oprah, avoid the pull of bad news and sensationalism. Oh so true. It just invades the peace and erodes the inner life more and more each time I let myself get 'pulled'.
Lately I've felt pulled, too. And I've noticed alot of other people saying the same thing. An over-packed schedule, for me, is a death-wish. I need so much downtime to wind off from a high-pressure job.
And I need to stop apologizing for needing this time.
I also need solitude. Mike is not here, I have to digest it and I need time to do it. I know that what it often seems like is that I am being anti-social, but I liken it to anyone whose gone through a change in their life, be it a parent's death, having kids, moving--you need time to re-adjust, and sometimes things fall through the cracks.
Taking a look around my loft the past little while, I realize just how much "survival" went into the last year. Things are dusty. They are a little worse for wear. I haven't been as hyper-organized or super-driven since last spring, the spring before even, when what I like to nickname the 'tailspin' began.
I ambitiously took out some spring/summer wear this morning, with the ironing board, to begin ironing a bunch of t-shirts, pants, tops, etc., to have some nice, neat outfits to weather out this heat-wave, and realized my iron no longer worked. I have no idea when it stopped working. I just know I haven't ironed anything..in a very very long time. (my fall back is to throw a damp towel in the dryer with said wrinkled clothing. I know. Terrible for the environment. Anyway...I digress. I need an iron).
I cleaned out the fridge and freezer last night, am planning on some dusting as soon as I finish writing this, and I have to tackle my bathroom and its plethora of products soon. This was in the Oprah mag too. About how some women buy sooo much extra products they wind up forgetting they have them, and buy them again (guilty).
Ok, my hair is now coloured as of last night (nice chocolate-y shade) and I booked a cut for Saturday.
My weekend is all sewn up with "me" type plans, and I've been eating leftovers, no joke, all week.
Other good things: My office was freezing today (I loved ) and I drank cold coffee while designing the afternoon away.
Someone send me a girl scout badge.
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