Friday, September 2, 2011

:(



Sadface - smiley face.....winky face. Seems we're always telling people how we feel. In 140 characters on twitter - you can tell a bunch of strangers just how you feel about anything. But do you have to? Have we become a bunch of people that have to say just how we feel all the time about any and every given thing?
I am feeling very sad about the suicide of Wade Belak. Not that I know anything about him or about hockey at all. Frankly, I'd never really consciously heard of him before this week. I may have heard his name on the news but that's about it.
What struck me as so incredibly heartbreaking was when he killed himself, so many people who considered themselves his friends came out, spoke publicly and swore that he was never depressed. He was always such a happy guy, laughing and joking around. He had a perfect life, lots of prospects for the future and a great supportive network of family and friends - how could this be?
Well it could be, because the depressed, the truly clinically depressed, don't wear signs or special t-shirts. Depression is a hidden illness. A shameful illness. We are all taught to put a smile on, suck it up buttercup, put on our big girl panties and deal with it and walk it off. As a matter of fact, there's no crying in baseball. I'm pretty sure that goes for hockey too.
This hockey guy wasn't just a little sad. People who are a little depressed or "going through a rough patch" don't hang themselves in luxury hotels. They hide it. They don't show their tears and struggles. None of his friends or colleagues will never know what he was going through. And more is the pity.
I wonder if he wanted to reach out to people? To say:
Hey guys, my life is going through major changes and I just can't quite wrap my head around it all on my own. I don't want to ask for help but if you could just help me anyway - that would be great. I know you all love me and care for me but sometimes, when I am having dark days, it doesn't matter. That's what depression is - I can't feel that love. I look fine on the outside but the inside is black and hollow. I talk but I don't believe what I say. I ask questions and hear your answers and I make jokes as much as I laugh at yours but at the end of the day - it doesn't mean anything. I feel hurt and I feel empty and sad. Nothing helps me change this.

I'm just wondering if this is what it felt like to be him - but we'll never know. He suffered in silence like so many depressed brave people do - happy face plastered on. Not that any of us know what that feels like, right?

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Another one bites the dust


Farewell sweet Oreo - we hardly knew ye. Well, if we are being honest, we knew ye for 4 years which is about twice the life span of an ordinary hamster. You did well my friend. Lived a long and happy life in your little critter habitat. Enjoyed a good run in your ball. Ate your fill of nibbles.
Oh - you loved a good baby carrot!
Just last week you escaped and we caught you running free in the hallway! One last shot at freedom, eh
It surely wasn't your only adventure. You ran away many a time.
Remember when we found you behind the dresser in our room - cat watching from one end and dog watching from the other
Just on Monday I pulled you from the evil jaws of Cookie the cat - she wanted to eat you so badly.
Were you trying to spare us the trauma of finding your stiff little body stuck in the tunnel......such a good hamster.
Sammy will miss you - however, you should know that he wants to replace you immediately with a more substantial guinea pig. Just saying. Its not a long mourning period for tiny rodents.
Farewell Oreo....good hamster......good hamster....

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Godless Heathens


Well, Uncle George's funeral was a rousing success. Graveside in the blistering heat, it was punctuated by the odd "moo" from the cow's across the highway as if to say "Goodbye old dude on the tractor".
You see, the cows would have know my Uncle George....turns out when they took his license away a decade ago and he could no longer drive his ginormous car, he began driving either his ride on mower or his tractor to "downtown" Embro to the restaurant (in Embro-ese pronounced "restrunt") for pie and coffee every day - rain, shine or snow storm. Ah, Uncle George!
After the burial of his ashes we moved the party to the super tiny basement of the Knox United Church, only 3 blocks away.
We sat with my family and drank juice/punch from fragile tea cups and ate dainties. It was only 11am - I prefer my lunch before my dessert (as my Aunt Lois, aged 81, loudly pointed out a dozen times).
The kids asked a million questions.
Weird questions.
Sunday school - what is that?
What are these (prayer books)
Why are all those pictures there (they are the elders of the church)
WHY DO I HAVE TO BE QUIET?
It wasn't until about a half hour into this that we realized our 10 and 13 year old boys have never been inside a church before (discounting the black light theatre performance at Bramalea Baptist).
I suppose I should just be grateful that neither of them burst into flames when they entered (i.e. neither is the anti-Christ).

But it was weird. I never realized that we have never not once not at all gone to church.
We aren't religious but we aren't against it either.
Is it weird to go to church just to see if your kids like it?
What about making them go with Grandma?
Or do we just not bother?
I decided not to go to church after I went to Sunday school (Grandma took me til she died) for years and joined the church in my teens (on my own since no one else in my family went). I decided I didn't like the feeling I got there.
Later, Wayne and I talked about church and religion and decided we didn't want to go just to go because we thought we had to.
I worry that by not teaching my kids about religion and the bible and church that I am letting them make uneducated decisions.
But hey - at least they aren't the anti-Christ.....right? That's something....right?

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Uncle George


Nice photo eh?
That's my Uncle George. He just died last week and his funeral is tomorrow morning. I know - sad - but he was 85.
He lived a good life.
I have two points to make about my Uncle George. First off - he was a simple guy. My Dad's older brother, he left school, as my Dad did, in grade 3. He moved to a piece of land, on a hill across the field after he married my Aunt Josie. It was quite a scandal back in the day but Josie already had an illigitimate son when Uncle George married her - and he raised him as his own.
They lived in the tiniest house I've ever been into in my whole life.
It was one floor - no basement. There was one bathroom, two bedrooms and a kitchen. The whole place is heated by the woodstove in the kitchen - to this very day.
Sometime in the late 1980s they added a living room.
I always thought of it as a shack rather than a house but I LOVED to go there. It had a water heater in the bathroom and a wringer washer - so cool for a city kid to see.
Anyway - I digress - Uncle George and Aunt Josie raised 4 kids and a granddaughter in that house. My Uncle George farmed for 58 years until his pension kicked and and then he just hung out for 20 years.
He was quite a character and like my father he talked to everyone he met, genuinely interested in what they were doing and their stories as much as telling his own.
Also like my father he wore dentures. (Important detail - trust me).
I can remember my mom calling me 20 years ago and telling me about going for lunch with all Dad's brothers and sisters. After lunch, Uncle George took out his teeth and licked them clean AT THE TABLE IN THE RESTAURANT to be sure he would get every last bit!
My mom was horrified!
She told that story well and often.
To me now it shows how much he loved life. He was a happy guy.
You can see that from the photo right?
Why?
Why is there a photo of my happy uncle George which was obviously taken in a professional studio and obviously taken recently? Do all people who are rapidly aging and could die any day have to have a portrait shot taken JUST IN CASE they die so that there is something to show in the paper and on line?
Why else would he have had that picture taken?
He would have had to travel from home (Embro - population 600). Someone else would have had to drive him since he hasn`t driven in a decade. Why would this happen´....
Just a thought while I think of my happy go lucky Uncle George.
I`m sure he`s somewhere entertaining my Dad!

Monday, July 25, 2011

vroom

I couldn't quite figure out how to re-start my blog after a couple of years of posting elsewhere. Should I legitimize my absence by explaining where my other thoughts have been or should I just ignore it and hit the ground running? I still have blog-thoughts - they just stay shuffled around in my brain and never get out.
Should I start by explaining the weird-weirdness that it is being an unemployed extrovert? I went from essentially talking for a living to talking occasionally, only when spoken to and mainly through social media. I feel like a snake that shed its skin.
If there was one thing about chatting at work that used to make me crazy it was the weekly order of conversation.
Monday and Tuesday were used to chat with people about their past - "How was your weekend?" "How were your holidays?" and Thursday and Friday were used to prep for the future - "Where are you going on vacation?" and "What are you doing this weekend?"
It never varied. And no - Wednesday's weren't silent - there just wasn't the formal structure around it.
*sigh*
I've said before and I will say forever that to the unemployed, everyday is Saturday. Or Monday. Or Friday for that matter.
Cup half full - cup half empty.
Add to that the kids have no summer camp or routine this year and its just a whole mess of weekend.
I spend a lot of time on twitter and facebook, linked in and email. That, to me, has taken the place of talking as human interaction. I hear a lot more opinions than I used to - but I don't really care as much about that anybody has to say. What do I care what Kirstie Alley has to say about Norway? Or Rogert Ebert's thoughts on Amy Winehouse. I don't - but I also probably didn't care what everyone did on their weekends.
I called my friend Doug last night to hear all the juicy details about his sister's wedding. I was genuinely interested in the details - and I loved hearing all about the outfits and the food and even the bugs. But, when I went to fill him in on what's been going on around the Fletcher home - he already knew 90% of it - he reads my facebook updates. That's just weird. I'm talking and he keeps saying "I know...." like he's bored.
Even when I try to talk now, I've got nothing original to say.
What's the solution? Stop using facebook? That's the only place I ever talk to some of the people I know. Stop calling people? I miss, quite honestly, hearing the sound of human voices.
Is there a balance?
Is there ever a balance?