I don't answer the phone in my own house anymore.
Why?
I hate telemarketing with a white hot burning passion that knows no bounds. I really do.
But, say those of you who know me, you used to work in telemarketing, you used to write telemarketing scripts....
Yes - totally true. I did. And, frankly, if I may toot my own horn, I was quite good at it.
I can write a script to sell anyone anything. And for every reason why they don't want to buy whatever it is my telepeople are shilling, I will give you 3 reasons why that reason isn't a good one. And, if you know what's good for you, and I will tell you that it is good for you, you will want to buy what they are selling. You will. Oh you may regret it later but for now, you will want it.
But in my house, we had 7 phone calls tonight.Three telemarketing in the half hour we were eating dinner - all pushing doors and windows - and like I said, all during dinner.
I say "hello".
They start their speech and I hang up quietly.
That was for the first 3 calls.
Then SeyHuhn called for Ben. I swear he talks on the phone more than I do.
One more telemarketing call from a real estate agent.
I did the same thing, hung up.
And another for doors and windows. By the time this one came, I was getting pissed off. Really pissed off.
I had been thinking about all the things that I had been reading about the miracle promised by the "Do Not Call Registry" through the government. I'm sure you all read all about it. Well, I was there in the very beginning. I remember going to meeting at the CMA - Canadian Marketing Association years ago and hearing about the do not call registry. You see, to people who market the world, the telephone is the holy grail of sales.
"The do not call registry is on its way!" spoke the scary man in his scary booming voice from the podium. The ominous tones of sure sales campaign failure echoed through the room in the airport hotel conference centre. You could hear, slightly, in the background the theme from Jaws...da duh....da duh....da duh....dun dun dun dun.......
We all sat, mesmerized contemplating careers in the wonderful world of home decorating or retail merchandizing. But no, they told us. This registry is not for us! Its not for "legitimate" marketers. Its for the fly by night window and door companies...THOSE are the companies that will go down when all of Canada signs on for the DNCL.
BECAUSE>>>>>>>>>>>
the DNCL does not stop your bank from calling you - that means insurance, credit cards and other bank products - they can still call.
Political parties can still call you for any reason.
Oh - and any place where you have a pre-existing relationship - they can call you. For example, your cable company, your phone company, your electric company or the company that provides your gas....all those people can call you.
And surveys - well any one can call you to conduct a survey.
Let me tell you how the call is going to go now....
Hi, can I speak to Mr or Mrs. Feltcher.....?
Hello Mrs Feltcher - I am
calling to ask you a few questions - do you have time to take a survey? Great.
When did you last purchase windows?
When did you last purchase doors for your home?
Then they start to sell you windows and doors
So essentially no matter what the hell you do, register or don't register for the Do Not Call List it will make NO difference or VERY LITTLE difference to how many and what kind of calls we get. And I got a bunch of calls in a row.
Back to my story - I was pissed.
The little girl started in on her spiel for, you got it, windows and doors. And I got pissed, sighed - one of those big heavy sighs and then I hung up.
I just hung up.
Not slammed down the phone but hung up.
Then came last call.
It was a man.
May I speak to Mrs. Fletcher.
Yes. Speaking.
And this is what he said to me
"Can I interest you in some free menopause medication bitch?"
and then he hung up.
When I *69-ed the number, of course, it could not be reached - the cornerstone hiding technique of the fly by night windows and doors people.
"Bravo" co-worker of frustrated telemarketing chick - "Bravo!"
Sure, I was a bitch, and I deserved the snarky call back.
Is the do not call list going to help that?
Nope.
People are still going to get paid minimum wage to make those calls.
And people, like me are still going to be bitchy and hang up.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
In a Rush
When I was in grade 7, back in 1979 (yepper) there was a big push on fitness in Canada - "Particip-action" they called it. Everyone was made to exercise. But, exercise in that nonsensical 70s way: situps and chinups, jogging and jane fonda-esque workouts. "Lets get physical physical" Perhaps this was the Olivia Newton John headband era - I can't really remember.
But anyway, my school started an after school running program as part of this shift to health and fitness sanctioned and supported by the government. So, like a good girl, I didn't join. Frankly, I'm sure you can guess this, I've never been much of a joiner or a jogger.
But, all the boys joined. And after school every day, they would run around the block 5 times. They ran around the block that I lived on. Lucky me.
What I decided to do to participate in the health and fitness craze was run home and watching from my front porch.
Each day when school ended and all the running keeners would sprint to the gym to change into their 70s adidas shorts and absorbent terry cloth wrist and headbands, I would sprint home and sit on the porch.
I would quickly change my clothes into something I thought of as alluring (at the time anyway). Shorts and t-shirts that showed off my 13 year old good legs and bigger than average boobs were what I picked. Sure I was already fat - but I could flaunt what I had even then.
I would poise myself in full view - sitting sideways on the stairs, Tab in one hand and novel in the other. I would pretend to read carefully chosen novels like Catcher in the Rye and Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. Things that if you just were jogging leisurely by my house you could tell by the cover what i was reading.
Each day I did this for about a week - watching the joggers from overtop of my book - and reading nothing.
Eventually, a guy I knew from class, Mike and his friend Steve stopped to chat. "Want a drink?" I said.
Sure they did. And Steve stopped jogging and sat with me and Mike jogged away.
We talked about the novels I hadn't read. We talked about music. And we talked about the world in general.
I was in HEAVEN. I adored Steve and had forever. And here he was talking to me. Eventually, he stopped going jogging altogether. He would just come over. We would take my record player out on the front porch and listen to Rush - Moving Pictures. Later, we morphed that into Duran Duran, Rio and so many others. But, we started with Rush.
It was the very first time I used "sex as a weapon". The very first time I figured that the combination of my tits and my brains were a good thing. And that men liked both.
I was thinking about you the other day - thinking about how I haven't heard from you in ages. I need to put on my short shorts and a tight t-shirt and sit on my porch, pull out a novel and put on Moving Pictures.
But maybe you're still just jogging by my house. Not that you're not interested. But sometimes life just makes you stick with the program and keep jogging by.
Whichever, I do have my Tab and my novel, that I SHOULD really read - and of course, Rush to keep me occupied. I'll just wait here.
But anyway, my school started an after school running program as part of this shift to health and fitness sanctioned and supported by the government. So, like a good girl, I didn't join. Frankly, I'm sure you can guess this, I've never been much of a joiner or a jogger.
But, all the boys joined. And after school every day, they would run around the block 5 times. They ran around the block that I lived on. Lucky me.
What I decided to do to participate in the health and fitness craze was run home and watching from my front porch.
Each day when school ended and all the running keeners would sprint to the gym to change into their 70s adidas shorts and absorbent terry cloth wrist and headbands, I would sprint home and sit on the porch.
I would quickly change my clothes into something I thought of as alluring (at the time anyway). Shorts and t-shirts that showed off my 13 year old good legs and bigger than average boobs were what I picked. Sure I was already fat - but I could flaunt what I had even then.
I would poise myself in full view - sitting sideways on the stairs, Tab in one hand and novel in the other. I would pretend to read carefully chosen novels like Catcher in the Rye and Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. Things that if you just were jogging leisurely by my house you could tell by the cover what i was reading.
Each day I did this for about a week - watching the joggers from overtop of my book - and reading nothing.
Eventually, a guy I knew from class, Mike and his friend Steve stopped to chat. "Want a drink?" I said.
Sure they did. And Steve stopped jogging and sat with me and Mike jogged away.
We talked about the novels I hadn't read. We talked about music. And we talked about the world in general.
I was in HEAVEN. I adored Steve and had forever. And here he was talking to me. Eventually, he stopped going jogging altogether. He would just come over. We would take my record player out on the front porch and listen to Rush - Moving Pictures. Later, we morphed that into Duran Duran, Rio and so many others. But, we started with Rush.
It was the very first time I used "sex as a weapon". The very first time I figured that the combination of my tits and my brains were a good thing. And that men liked both.
I was thinking about you the other day - thinking about how I haven't heard from you in ages. I need to put on my short shorts and a tight t-shirt and sit on my porch, pull out a novel and put on Moving Pictures.
But maybe you're still just jogging by my house. Not that you're not interested. But sometimes life just makes you stick with the program and keep jogging by.
Whichever, I do have my Tab and my novel, that I SHOULD really read - and of course, Rush to keep me occupied. I'll just wait here.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
"the random wanting is my truth"
"the random wanting is my truth"
The random wanting is my truth
it is - my truth
I am a big ball of half-complete and contradictory truths
Terms I confuse and over write
and right now all i want is to hear you beg
I will oblige
though i doubt that will resolve any of the contradictions
I doubt that it will fix the truth
truths
wantings
I doubt that it will solve a thing
The random wanting is my truth
The truth that will heal me
and no doubt set me free
The random wanting is my truth
it is - my truth
I am a big ball of half-complete and contradictory truths
Terms I confuse and over write
and right now all i want is to hear you beg
I will oblige
though i doubt that will resolve any of the contradictions
I doubt that it will fix the truth
truths
wantings
I doubt that it will solve a thing
The random wanting is my truth
The truth that will heal me
and no doubt set me free
Monday, July 14, 2008
Just a pair of earrings
This week, as per my last post, I am waiting for my Aunt Jeanne to die. I started trying to think why she was such an important part of my life. She is my great Aunt, we really shouldn't be that close, right?
But really with the weird way that my family morphed into itself and over itself - its not all that illogical.
But my Aunt Jeanne was kind of special. She taught me important stuff about old fashioned manners.
Aunt Jeanne never forgot a birthday. We each got a card with $10 in it every birthday until we were 18 years old. We also got Christmas gifts - every year. At 18 we were cut off because we were adults. Fair enough.
But every year, she gave me a card.
As a kid I likely thought - "oooh free money!"
But, as an adult, I take that from Aunt Jeanne and I send out cards to my nieces and nephews every year with money or a gift. Birthdays and Christmas because I want to be THAT Aunt, just like Aunt Jeanne, that NEVER forgets.
My kids got the money in an envelope from Aunt Jeanne every year too. And while we only see her once or twice a year and they very likely forget who she is from visit to visit, since they have been old enough to draw I have made them send a thank you card. For the birthday money and for the Christmas money too.
This Christmas Sammy sent a letter thanking Aunt Jeanne for the Walmart gift card he got for Christmas and for the $10 he got for his birthday because he saved up all of this money and bought an Nintendo DS with Pokemon Pearl.
The next week I got an email from my cousin saying that Aunt Jeanne wanted to know what "those things" were. How cute is that?
But my kids got it - they GOT the need to write the thank you letter. You reward thoughtfulness with thoughtfulness back.
Getting stuff - even money - from someone thoughtful I hope makes them thoughtful too.
When I graduated from high school Aunt Jeanne and her husband, Uncle Ken, gave me a pair of earrings.
This was 1984 and everything was all Madonna-esque. Think Annie Lennox's punked up bright red buzz cut.
Pearl drop earrings.
UGH.
I accepted them, said my "thank you"s and never wore them.
The are pearls.
I was 17.
Ugh.
When I got married I wore my Grandmother's pearls. Do you know what went perfectly with them? The pearl drop earrings.
Over the 11 years that had passed, the pearls had yellowed slightly and they were just a perfect match.
I wore them for the wedding and then I put them away in their velvet box.
When my cousin Amy got married, do you know what went perfect with her wedding dress? Those same pearl drop earrings.
I'm not sure why Aunt Jeanne gave those earrings to me. I didn't get any other graduation presents - not even from my parents. But they meant something and I'm not sure what.
Who knows, maybe we pass them along generation to generation as the earrings that go with wedding dresses.
Maybe we should pass along Aunt Jeanne's rum ball recipe as the greatest rum ball recipe ever on the planet.
Maybe we pass along her New Years Day dinners or stories of her golfing and winning at the age of 80 and how she ran around town until just this past summer.
There are a lot of cool things we could share about her. But for me, her thoughtfulness is what touches me always.
But really with the weird way that my family morphed into itself and over itself - its not all that illogical.
But my Aunt Jeanne was kind of special. She taught me important stuff about old fashioned manners.
Aunt Jeanne never forgot a birthday. We each got a card with $10 in it every birthday until we were 18 years old. We also got Christmas gifts - every year. At 18 we were cut off because we were adults. Fair enough.
But every year, she gave me a card.
As a kid I likely thought - "oooh free money!"
But, as an adult, I take that from Aunt Jeanne and I send out cards to my nieces and nephews every year with money or a gift. Birthdays and Christmas because I want to be THAT Aunt, just like Aunt Jeanne, that NEVER forgets.
My kids got the money in an envelope from Aunt Jeanne every year too. And while we only see her once or twice a year and they very likely forget who she is from visit to visit, since they have been old enough to draw I have made them send a thank you card. For the birthday money and for the Christmas money too.
This Christmas Sammy sent a letter thanking Aunt Jeanne for the Walmart gift card he got for Christmas and for the $10 he got for his birthday because he saved up all of this money and bought an Nintendo DS with Pokemon Pearl.
The next week I got an email from my cousin saying that Aunt Jeanne wanted to know what "those things" were. How cute is that?
But my kids got it - they GOT the need to write the thank you letter. You reward thoughtfulness with thoughtfulness back.
Getting stuff - even money - from someone thoughtful I hope makes them thoughtful too.
When I graduated from high school Aunt Jeanne and her husband, Uncle Ken, gave me a pair of earrings.
This was 1984 and everything was all Madonna-esque. Think Annie Lennox's punked up bright red buzz cut.
Pearl drop earrings.
UGH.
I accepted them, said my "thank you"s and never wore them.
The are pearls.
I was 17.
Ugh.
When I got married I wore my Grandmother's pearls. Do you know what went perfectly with them? The pearl drop earrings.
Over the 11 years that had passed, the pearls had yellowed slightly and they were just a perfect match.
I wore them for the wedding and then I put them away in their velvet box.
When my cousin Amy got married, do you know what went perfect with her wedding dress? Those same pearl drop earrings.
I'm not sure why Aunt Jeanne gave those earrings to me. I didn't get any other graduation presents - not even from my parents. But they meant something and I'm not sure what.
Who knows, maybe we pass them along generation to generation as the earrings that go with wedding dresses.
Maybe we should pass along Aunt Jeanne's rum ball recipe as the greatest rum ball recipe ever on the planet.
Maybe we pass along her New Years Day dinners or stories of her golfing and winning at the age of 80 and how she ran around town until just this past summer.
There are a lot of cool things we could share about her. But for me, her thoughtfulness is what touches me always.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
A Matter of Time
I got an unusual unwanted email tonight from my cousin Janice. She said that my Aunt Jeanne,her Mom, is in paliative care in the hospital and its only a matter of time.
Only a matter of time.
A matter of time.
Time for her, matters.
I get that time matters for all of us.
Its all we have really. But, for my Aunt Jeanne, this weekend, time is ALL that matters.
From what I hear, her family is with her.
From what I know, this is the worst time for them.
With my dad, when he had a matter of time, we sat with him around the clock and waited for him to stop breathing.
Just waited and every half minute, hoped that it would be his last gasp.
We just wanted him to stop. Stop having time to matter.
But as with all things, you can only control what you can control - and as we all know - no one controls a goddamned fucking thing.
Poor Aunt Jeanne.
Think about it.
As if this was your very last weekend.
The last weekend that mattered.
You can't GO anywhere.
You might not be able to talk.
You can't run or walk or be alone.
What do you want to do with your time?
If you can see your family - you can likely see them scared.
Do you want to die?
Do you just want to go?
Or do you want more time?
I don't have a smart smarmy answer for you.
I don't have anything clever to say about how I would like to eke out every last second I have to be with the people I love - and if you are reading this, you may very well be one of them.
I wish I could say I'd fight.
But I might not.
I might just wish the clock would run out.
Like it was just a matter of time.
Only a matter of time.
A matter of time.
Time for her, matters.
I get that time matters for all of us.
Its all we have really. But, for my Aunt Jeanne, this weekend, time is ALL that matters.
From what I hear, her family is with her.
From what I know, this is the worst time for them.
With my dad, when he had a matter of time, we sat with him around the clock and waited for him to stop breathing.
Just waited and every half minute, hoped that it would be his last gasp.
We just wanted him to stop. Stop having time to matter.
But as with all things, you can only control what you can control - and as we all know - no one controls a goddamned fucking thing.
Poor Aunt Jeanne.
Think about it.
As if this was your very last weekend.
The last weekend that mattered.
You can't GO anywhere.
You might not be able to talk.
You can't run or walk or be alone.
What do you want to do with your time?
If you can see your family - you can likely see them scared.
Do you want to die?
Do you just want to go?
Or do you want more time?
I don't have a smart smarmy answer for you.
I don't have anything clever to say about how I would like to eke out every last second I have to be with the people I love - and if you are reading this, you may very well be one of them.
I wish I could say I'd fight.
But I might not.
I might just wish the clock would run out.
Like it was just a matter of time.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
I'm late I'm late I'm late
I had really meant to write more on here. And I still do mean to write more. But, I've been working on this blog that is totally blocking me.
Its about when I was 11 years old - so, I'm reaching way way way back.
I'll finish.
I'll move on.
Until then.....enjoy this...
Its about when I was 11 years old - so, I'm reaching way way way back.
I'll finish.
I'll move on.
Until then.....enjoy this...
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
That is all....
Its freaking one in the morning and I have been awake since six. I am not tired and I need to be awake again at, shockingly, 6am. Why can't I sleep?
_____________________________________________________________
Great now its fucking 2:01am and I am STILL awake.
I'm going to be a mess tomorrow.
Why dammit - why???
_____________________________________________________________
Great now its fucking 2:01am and I am STILL awake.
I'm going to be a mess tomorrow.
Why dammit - why???
Friday, June 20, 2008
Solstice this
The longest day of the year left this as my horoscope:
Gemini (May 21 — June 21)
You will improve awkward areas of your emotional world. At the moment, you are keenly aware of what's missing in your life, but soon you will realize how much you have.
_______________________________________________
I have awkward areas in my emotional world.
Things that I can't explain and won't.
We all do.
I swear that half of the life we live, we live in our heads and not out loud.
Half of all reality is fantasy. That's what makes it fun.
The things I do.
The things I say.
The thoughts I think.
All of these are very different.
Only the thoughts I think actually belong to me. Right?
When I write down what I think, it stops being mine.
I write too many things.
And then I portion them out in tiny packages to different people.
Even a grocery list.
Its a sharing thing. And frankly, I don't want to share everything.
Nor can I.
Nor should I.
I'm trying, again, to find my balance folks.
Hang in there....we're getting closer.
So on a day that is all about EXCESS - the longest day of the year - the most sunlight - the biggest pleasure - I give you all a giant push towards the sun.
Gemini (May 21 — June 21)
You will improve awkward areas of your emotional world. At the moment, you are keenly aware of what's missing in your life, but soon you will realize how much you have.
_______________________________________________
I have awkward areas in my emotional world.
Things that I can't explain and won't.
We all do.
I swear that half of the life we live, we live in our heads and not out loud.
Half of all reality is fantasy. That's what makes it fun.
The things I do.
The things I say.
The thoughts I think.
All of these are very different.
Only the thoughts I think actually belong to me. Right?
When I write down what I think, it stops being mine.
I write too many things.
And then I portion them out in tiny packages to different people.
Even a grocery list.
Its a sharing thing. And frankly, I don't want to share everything.
Nor can I.
Nor should I.
I'm trying, again, to find my balance folks.
Hang in there....we're getting closer.
So on a day that is all about EXCESS - the longest day of the year - the most sunlight - the biggest pleasure - I give you all a giant push towards the sun.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
From Fourty-One to Fourty-Two
Today I am 42. Fourty two freaking years old.
I looked and listened for a song that would capture the last year of my life. I toyed with more Concrete Blonde, went through all of the Stars that I know and love. Hell, I even thought about some Blue Rodeo for old time's sake. But nothing quite hit the roller coaster year I've had.
I went back, and frankly thanks to the blogosphere you can too, and re-read last year's birthday stuff - just to get a feel for where my head was. I thought about where I was and where I am today and I came up with this pearl of wisdom for you.
There is nothing quite as sobering as a brush with almost near kinda death to make you see what a crazy insane psycho bitch you have the potential to be.
No.
Wait.
That's not it at all.
Love will save the day, set you free and sustain you.
Well. That's closer anyway!
Anyone who knows me even a little knows that my one real rule in life is that everyone must love me. The idea that someone doesn't like me is really the worst thought ever! I take what affection and attention that is offered and I revel in it - I really honestly do. I seek it out. I embrace any kind of love. In fact, I've said a tonne of times before - do we find love often enough that we can afford to ever turn it away? No matter who it is?
Well, with age comes wisdon and this year I changed my attitude a bit. I started to try to find love that made me FEEL loved and in turn made me feel good about myself.
I mean all kinds of love. Friends - family - where ever love finds us these days.
This past year I took a new attitude with my family. I love them all - each and every one of my extended family: cousins, aunts, uncles, dead parents, divorced in laws, estranged brothers. But, I'm not going to force myself into places I don't naturally fit. My kids need family - as much as I do. But they need it to be effortless and comforting not forced and surreal.
They say the definition of crazy is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Well, I can't throw holiday parties that my mother would love. I just don't have it in me. And you know, she's never going to fucking show up. So, it doesn't really matter does it? Its time I started pleasing myself - not my dead mother.
When I went to my cousin's funeral and my Aunt said that they were all "so proud" of how I'd handled myself in spite of the shitful fucked up hand I'd been dealt (paraphrasing of course gentle reader - my "Auntie Lois" would NEVER in a million years say shitful or fucked up)I cried for days like the blubbering puke that I am. Why? Not because she was right, although in hindsight she likely is, but because I needed that approval and validation from them - I sucked it up.
After I gave my head a good shake (read: Rick told me not to be such an idiot) I realized how pathetic that is. I don't need what essentially amounts to pity. I know I cope amazingly well. Somtimes I forget. But I KNOW I rock the crisis hard core. I am "Crisis chick". I should get a t-shirt - maybe even a cape.....hm.
I also made some decisions on how I manage my personal relationships. I know I hurt people who love me and who I love. I didn't mean to because, hell people, if you are following at all, I just want to be loved, but not all love is good for you. Some love was not good for me.
I did some pretty fantastically stupid things this year. And NO I am not going to make you a list! Suffice it to say that each and every wrong turn I made, I made a note of. I will try not to do it again. I can't say that I won't because I am the queen of unfulfilled promise, but I do have geniunely pure intentions.
I had, what some might say, a triumphant year for a 41 year old woman.
I discovered new things, bits and peices of confident sexy me that haven't seen the light of day in forever. Those peices of me own good high heels, push up bras and rock the short skirt. I like that girl. She's fun and flirty and confident and pretty fucking brilliant and in her fourties. She's not ashamed of her age, she's not too old to do anything, she's got wrinkles and sags and doesn't give a rat's royal ass. Because after all this time she's figured out that it really IS what is inside that gives her the bravado. She forgets sometimes and still wears crocs but I think we'll keep her.
I made moves to take this chick places. I took her to the magazine and wrote an article they actually published. And sure, its in ESL level 4 english but its a start, right.
I have read, this year, peices that have inspired me. I have collaborated. I have shared things I never thought I'd have the courage to share. I have opened myself, my heart and my soul to people in ways I never thought I would and for that I am eternally grateful. I FEEL exceedingly excessively loved.
Sometimes life is about opportunity.
I had tremendous opportunity this year. I took them. I didn't solve all my problems or make the world a better place or cure cancer or feed the homeless. None of those things. But I did the best I could.
My friend Dan said this today: "you just have some "tweaking" to do. not on your blog. but on life..." And, I think, he may be right.
Is it too corny to say that I'm taking steps in the right direction? I'm surrounded by people I love who love me back and they are walking with me where I need to go.
I looked and listened for a song that would capture the last year of my life. I toyed with more Concrete Blonde, went through all of the Stars that I know and love. Hell, I even thought about some Blue Rodeo for old time's sake. But nothing quite hit the roller coaster year I've had.
I went back, and frankly thanks to the blogosphere you can too, and re-read last year's birthday stuff - just to get a feel for where my head was. I thought about where I was and where I am today and I came up with this pearl of wisdom for you.
There is nothing quite as sobering as a brush with almost near kinda death to make you see what a crazy insane psycho bitch you have the potential to be.
No.
Wait.
That's not it at all.
Love will save the day, set you free and sustain you.
Well. That's closer anyway!
Anyone who knows me even a little knows that my one real rule in life is that everyone must love me. The idea that someone doesn't like me is really the worst thought ever! I take what affection and attention that is offered and I revel in it - I really honestly do. I seek it out. I embrace any kind of love. In fact, I've said a tonne of times before - do we find love often enough that we can afford to ever turn it away? No matter who it is?
Well, with age comes wisdon and this year I changed my attitude a bit. I started to try to find love that made me FEEL loved and in turn made me feel good about myself.
I mean all kinds of love. Friends - family - where ever love finds us these days.
This past year I took a new attitude with my family. I love them all - each and every one of my extended family: cousins, aunts, uncles, dead parents, divorced in laws, estranged brothers. But, I'm not going to force myself into places I don't naturally fit. My kids need family - as much as I do. But they need it to be effortless and comforting not forced and surreal.
They say the definition of crazy is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Well, I can't throw holiday parties that my mother would love. I just don't have it in me. And you know, she's never going to fucking show up. So, it doesn't really matter does it? Its time I started pleasing myself - not my dead mother.
When I went to my cousin's funeral and my Aunt said that they were all "so proud" of how I'd handled myself in spite of the shitful fucked up hand I'd been dealt (paraphrasing of course gentle reader - my "Auntie Lois" would NEVER in a million years say shitful or fucked up)I cried for days like the blubbering puke that I am. Why? Not because she was right, although in hindsight she likely is, but because I needed that approval and validation from them - I sucked it up.
After I gave my head a good shake (read: Rick told me not to be such an idiot) I realized how pathetic that is. I don't need what essentially amounts to pity. I know I cope amazingly well. Somtimes I forget. But I KNOW I rock the crisis hard core. I am "Crisis chick". I should get a t-shirt - maybe even a cape.....hm.
I also made some decisions on how I manage my personal relationships. I know I hurt people who love me and who I love. I didn't mean to because, hell people, if you are following at all, I just want to be loved, but not all love is good for you. Some love was not good for me.
I did some pretty fantastically stupid things this year. And NO I am not going to make you a list! Suffice it to say that each and every wrong turn I made, I made a note of. I will try not to do it again. I can't say that I won't because I am the queen of unfulfilled promise, but I do have geniunely pure intentions.
I had, what some might say, a triumphant year for a 41 year old woman.
I discovered new things, bits and peices of confident sexy me that haven't seen the light of day in forever. Those peices of me own good high heels, push up bras and rock the short skirt. I like that girl. She's fun and flirty and confident and pretty fucking brilliant and in her fourties. She's not ashamed of her age, she's not too old to do anything, she's got wrinkles and sags and doesn't give a rat's royal ass. Because after all this time she's figured out that it really IS what is inside that gives her the bravado. She forgets sometimes and still wears crocs but I think we'll keep her.
I made moves to take this chick places. I took her to the magazine and wrote an article they actually published. And sure, its in ESL level 4 english but its a start, right.
I have read, this year, peices that have inspired me. I have collaborated. I have shared things I never thought I'd have the courage to share. I have opened myself, my heart and my soul to people in ways I never thought I would and for that I am eternally grateful. I FEEL exceedingly excessively loved.
Sometimes life is about opportunity.
I had tremendous opportunity this year. I took them. I didn't solve all my problems or make the world a better place or cure cancer or feed the homeless. None of those things. But I did the best I could.
My friend Dan said this today: "you just have some "tweaking" to do. not on your blog. but on life..." And, I think, he may be right.
Is it too corny to say that I'm taking steps in the right direction? I'm surrounded by people I love who love me back and they are walking with me where I need to go.
Monday, June 9, 2008
The Magazine
I haven't been blogging much lately. Okay, let me correct that. I have been blogging plenty - just not hitting the magical "Publish Post" button.
Why?
Because they SUCK ASS.
No, I'm not being self deprecating. I'm being honest. They do.
They are mostly whiny and snivelly, self indulgent and sad.
Why again?
Because that's how I feel.
I feel just overwhelmed and under achieving.
If I have let you down recently I apologize.
I'm doing an awful lot of that to myself too.
I'm taking some time to regroup.
Re-think.
Re-write.
In the mean time - please feel free to peruse Canadian Newcomer Magazine and my fascinating article on summer festivals.
Why?
Because they SUCK ASS.
No, I'm not being self deprecating. I'm being honest. They do.
They are mostly whiny and snivelly, self indulgent and sad.
Why again?
Because that's how I feel.
I feel just overwhelmed and under achieving.
If I have let you down recently I apologize.
I'm doing an awful lot of that to myself too.
I'm taking some time to regroup.
Re-think.
Re-write.
In the mean time - please feel free to peruse Canadian Newcomer Magazine and my fascinating article on summer festivals.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Gilligan's Island
I have worked (again) this year on the Fun Fair at the boy's school. Hours and hours and meetings and planning and shopping and errands. Days and days and days I have spent trying to help the fun fair committee - affectionately called the Fantastic Four.
Days I was awake until 2am - emailing my fellow members and having them answer me.
I typed folktales and translated folktales and laminated folktales and spiral bound folktales...all with my buddies...all in the name of rabid multiculturalism. All in prep for the fun fair.
Today alone, I drove a quarter tank of gas on errands all over hell's half acre. I ran around town, I shopped, I wrapped, I organized.
I sold fucking tickets for raffles and food and freezies.
Candy floss and popcorn.
Burgers and dogs.
It was exhausting - for all of us.
All 4 of us looked like we'd been beaten up.
The principal gets up on the stage and says - "I'd like to thank the pta for all of their efforts to put on the fun fair....." and I'm thinking well, you're welcome. Then she continues - "this fair would not take place without our great team: Mrs Sharma, Mr. MacKay AND THE REST..."
And the rest?
WTF?
There are only fucking 4 of us.
And the rest?
The rest is Miss MacDougall and Mrs. Fletcher.
For fuck's bloddy sake there are fucking four of us.
I know now exactly why the Professor and Mary Anne were always so annoyed. They probably COULD have gotten everyone off the fucking island but were just pissed off at being ignored.
I'm annoyed.
No one volunteers to be acknowledged. You do it out of the goodness of your heart - from a sense of duty to your cause. But, its shitty when you're colleagues are recognized and you are not.
Ah well. I supposed it could have been worse.
The could have gotten my name wrong altogether or spilled ketchup on me or .... wait. Or maybe she's just a rude bitch.
That's the one I'm going with.
Its not like she doesn't know my fucking name!
There are 3 more events at the school this year although there are only 21 days of school left.
Teacher appreciation lunch. Fuck that - I'm working and although I COULD take time out to be there - fuck them - order the big 6 foot long fucking sub and be done with it. Last year I was in charge of supplying all the dessert. This year, let them eat fruit coctail from a can.
Volunteer appreciation tea. Fuck that. I don't want their tea.
Grade 8 grad. Now, that I WILL go to. One of the fantastic 4, her daughter is in grade 8 - and I want to make sure that she has a good night. After all - she is "and the rest" too.
But after that, I seriously need to re-evaluate my reasons for doing this. What do I get out of this? What is my motivation? Why does the P.T.A. make me so angry?
And how bad is it to be just like "the rest"?
Days I was awake until 2am - emailing my fellow members and having them answer me.
I typed folktales and translated folktales and laminated folktales and spiral bound folktales...all with my buddies...all in the name of rabid multiculturalism. All in prep for the fun fair.
Today alone, I drove a quarter tank of gas on errands all over hell's half acre. I ran around town, I shopped, I wrapped, I organized.
I sold fucking tickets for raffles and food and freezies.
Candy floss and popcorn.
Burgers and dogs.
It was exhausting - for all of us.
All 4 of us looked like we'd been beaten up.
The principal gets up on the stage and says - "I'd like to thank the pta for all of their efforts to put on the fun fair....." and I'm thinking well, you're welcome. Then she continues - "this fair would not take place without our great team: Mrs Sharma, Mr. MacKay AND THE REST..."
And the rest?
WTF?
There are only fucking 4 of us.
And the rest?
The rest is Miss MacDougall and Mrs. Fletcher.
For fuck's bloddy sake there are fucking four of us.
I know now exactly why the Professor and Mary Anne were always so annoyed. They probably COULD have gotten everyone off the fucking island but were just pissed off at being ignored.
I'm annoyed.
No one volunteers to be acknowledged. You do it out of the goodness of your heart - from a sense of duty to your cause. But, its shitty when you're colleagues are recognized and you are not.
Ah well. I supposed it could have been worse.
The could have gotten my name wrong altogether or spilled ketchup on me or .... wait. Or maybe she's just a rude bitch.
That's the one I'm going with.
Its not like she doesn't know my fucking name!
There are 3 more events at the school this year although there are only 21 days of school left.
Teacher appreciation lunch. Fuck that - I'm working and although I COULD take time out to be there - fuck them - order the big 6 foot long fucking sub and be done with it. Last year I was in charge of supplying all the dessert. This year, let them eat fruit coctail from a can.
Volunteer appreciation tea. Fuck that. I don't want their tea.
Grade 8 grad. Now, that I WILL go to. One of the fantastic 4, her daughter is in grade 8 - and I want to make sure that she has a good night. After all - she is "and the rest" too.
But after that, I seriously need to re-evaluate my reasons for doing this. What do I get out of this? What is my motivation? Why does the P.T.A. make me so angry?
And how bad is it to be just like "the rest"?
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Mother's Day
Sunday was, of course, Mother's Day. I'm not sure if its "International" Mother's Day or just plain old North American Mother's Day.
I actually had a really great day. This year I asked for no bought gifts - just the stuff that the kids made for me - and a day to be treated. I decreed, unilaterally, that this day would begin at 6pm on Saturday night. Hey, its my day it starts when I want.
This meant that someone else did the dishes, someone else made dinner, someone else made breakfast and then someone else made dinner again.
I know, it doesn't seem like a lot - but it was great.
It is the simple act of acknowledgement - hey, that's a lot of work - that I was looking for. That, and the opportunity to be lazy.
I am the laziest person I ever met.
My ass.
The couch.
Two and a half hours of Coronation Street.
Pure heaven.
I must also say that the quality of Mother's Day gift is improving as the kids get older. This year I got a fridge magnet from Ben, a mug from both (the sitter), purple diorama frames from both (the sitter) and this lovely trinket box that Sammy painted at school.
Apparently there wasquite the controversy over the trinket box painting at school. Sammy wanted to paint it purple (which he insists is my favourite colour)but the teacher wouldn't let him. Score one for encouraging a child's creativity.
It did however inspire a great debate in the car about Picasso and his "blue period" and the many variations of blue.
We went to the zoo and froze.
It was perfect.
And the best part - for the first time in a dog's age I didn't spend the whole day pining over my poor Mom. The kids asked what my Mom used to like to do on Mother's Day - and I mentioned (because it was at breakfast) how my Mom used to love scrambled eggs and ketchup. And that was the only time she came up.
I'm quite proud of myself really.
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