:(

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?

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....

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?

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!

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?

September 23rd

Note: Dan tells me this is a blog. I think its just what's on my mind - I'm sorry I've been keeping it in there so much lately.

My mom would have been 70 today. Seventy. Wow.
Funny but I can't picture her at 70.
She never seemed anything but ancient to me - I guess because she was in her 30s when I was born. She never seemed like a young person. She was silly of course but never "young silly" always "adult silly".
She drank singapore slings.
Her special new years eve hors'd'ovre was split hamburger buns covered in garlic margarine, bacon she cut up with scissors and a cheese slice and placed under the broiler.
We are NOTHING alike.
We are however so much alike its scary.
She always wore jewellery to match every outfit she had
She hated confrontation
She loved hard - like I do and I think as a result she was constantly disappointed.
She loved her birthday - celebrated every year like a kid - an adult kid.
She and I were meant to be together - I know we were
She did stupid things with her health essentially letting worry eat her alive
I don't want to be like her
So thats what day it is

Tell me where it hurts

The other day I had physiotherapy on my shoulder. If you will remember waaaaaaaaaaaay back to last year I hurt my shoulder.
It happened when I was on the lazy river at Disney World, floating along on my inner tube. Sammy and I were holding hands. He proceeded to float one way and I floated the other. We didn't let go of each other and it is my belief that my baby ripped my arm from the socket.
Well, actually, the doctor tells me its bursitis. That sounds like something that old people get akin to "the rheumatism" and "the gout". So, I prefer to think of it as an extreme sports injury!
Back to my story, I was at physio on Thursday - again for my shoulder but my elbow was KILLING me. THROBBING elbow pain. So, he electrocuted it.
When I went back to physio on Saturday, my elbow was fine but my bicep felt bruised and almost hot to the touch.
NEITHER of these painful places were my shoulder where the actual, medically proven, injury actually is. It is my shoulder that is damaged - not my arm.
When I said - "wow that's weird" - my physio guy (who, by the way, is also a massage therapist, acupuncturist and chiropractor if you need a good physio guy - he rocks) said something that occurred to me later, when I wasn't in massive pain, that was very profound.
"Sometimes where things hurt isn't where you're injured"
My head said - well ya, my body is compensating. Its protecting itself. Its flinching when I go to poke it in the eyeball. Smart body!
But, what I thought later was that my life is sometimes doing that as well - and so do we all.
Christmas - Every year I protest when Wayne puts up the craptacular display of Christmas puke all over every surface of our house. Its not that I hate Christmas or even that I hate the fact that he tarts up the house like a Christmas whore, I just am acting to protect myself.
The hate of Christmas is compensation because my Mom isn't here to decorate her place with tinsel and the ceramic tree. My push away from all the cookies and gifts and over-kill is so that I don't have to try to be her every year. I'm the anti- her. I flinch when Santa pokes me in the rosy cheeks.
I do that a lot actually.
I pretend not to like things because my Mom loved them.
I use my grief as a cushion.
I use my Mom and stop myself from enjoying things that I could.
But I feel pain all over that doesn't just relate to being an orphan.
I rarely let myself get angry over the real things that piss me off.
I have a friend that I think lies to me. Why do I think that? Because he lies to every other person in his whole entire life.
When I call him on this, he says that I am the only person he doesn't lie to.
But, because I am me, I can't help but think that is a lie too.
And now, I've gotten to the point where I think that EVERYTHING he says is a lie. Even stupid stuff.
Really, even if it is a lie, does it matter?
What does it matter if he lies to me? Everybody lies.
But his lies make me mad. Not that they are even about me - but they make me mad AT him. But instead of letting myself be mad, I get upset. Sad. Depressed. Blame myself that he thinks he has to lie about things.......to me!
I feel hurt feelings.
The source of my pain is??????
What?
Oh - right - the source of my pain is lying. Not his. Likely mine. I lie to people all the time. It has nothing to do with them - everything to do with me. The lies cause me pain. Not mine. His.
Are you following me?
What I'm trying to say is that everything in this life is cause and effect. But sometimes its harder than you think to trace the cause. Not everything is a straight line. Not everything is easy to explain.
My shoulder still hurts - and my elbow - and my bicep - and my wrist.
The body protects itself the best way it knows how - or so says my physio guy.
The psyche does too.
With curved lines and double lines and lines with dashes.

Singing the Blues

My friend is going to a concert tonight - to see Elton John and Billy Joel. While I've never been a fan of Billy Joel, I have always loved Elton John. Billy always seemed too.....hmmm........American for my tastes. Too working class hero. Too - well - just too American.
Elton, on the other hand, he was a mystery to me and I loved him.
Back in the 1970s I was alive and well but a kid - not really aware of what was going on around me but watching it nonetheless.
I watched "One day at a time". I saw Valerie Bertinelli and I identified with her because she was the FAT one - at least in my head she was. Of course she probably weighed fully half of what I did - but I digress... And I saw that Val LOVED Elton John. So of course, I too loved Elton John.
I heard Elton on the radio. And I loved him there too. He was fun and crazy looking. Flamboyant before that was a bad thing.
He was my generation's Liberace - before we knew why. Or well - I think we all deep down knew why - but before - when we were supposed to pretend NOT to know why!
And the pop music of Elton John followed me through my high school before it was eaten alive by the 80's new wave monster.
I can remember going to buy the "Live in Australia" double album set when that came out. It was the greatest album ever - and I think it still might be.
But where Elton sticks in my life in particular is in 1983.
When a boy....well I bet you can tell what comes next....a boy broke my heart. Sitting here I would love to tell you the story. I would love to but I'm not sure I can.
You see, at the time, it felt as if my heart was broken in half and laying bloody on the carpet in front of me. At the time I was sure that it would be better to be dead of heartbreak than to live through that pain. How could he? How could he not love me?
Elton said to me, "I guess that's why they call it the blues/Time on my hands could be time spent with you".
He knew.
I can remember crying through the tears.
I have a clear - crystal clear - memory of sitting on my carpet in my bedroom - near the window and singing along at the top of my lungs "don't wish it away/don't look at it like it's forever..."
I was eating a sandwich - white bread and cheese - don't know why I remember that. And I was crying so hard that the bread was salty from tears and I was kind of choking on its soggy salty stickiness while I sang and ate and cried.
But do you know, for the life of me I can't remember who I was crying about.
Was it Steve or Steve? Yes, both named Steve. Both broke my heart. Both in 1983.
Kinda sucked twice.
But who made me hurt like I wanted to die?
Who gave me that memory etched into my brain so that every time for the rest of my life when I even THINK about Elton John I think about choking on a tear stained cheese sandwich?
I can't say for sure.
But I think that's an important thing eh?
Sad thing is, I still have BOTH Steve's in my life and neither of them were worth the tears.

The Crickets

Yes, that's the sound of crickets. I haven't been writing here lately and I'm about to give you the home spun psychoanalysis that I've managed to dig up out of my psyche.
People were reading my blog. People were reading my articles in the magazines that I wrote. People in general were reading what I had written.
Some people read it and asked me questions.
Some people read it and said I was oh so clever to have written these things.
Someone even said she showed other people an article and said "I know her" - like knowing me MEANT something. Like knowing who wrote those things was something to be proud of.
And all of the sudden I got shy.
Me.
I got shy.
Now, if you've met me, I am a huge fan of attention. Negative attention. Positive Attention. Being the centre of attention.
I call attention to myself at every bloody opportunity that I have.
I speak out in group settings.
I'm loud.
I'm opinionated and I'm not afraid to express them. On more than one occasion I have said - If you don't want to know what I think then you should never have a conversation with me - cause I will tell you.
I don't ever want to shrink into the background. You can tell that by the way I dress, the way I act, the shoes I wear....everything about me is bigger than life. I crave it.
That's right, I said I crave attention. I love attention. I can't even understand how people could NOT want to be noticed.
I've never ever shied away from attention either. I seek leadership roles in every job or committee or group I've ever been in. Its natural to me to want to be in charge, get up on a stage and talk about something. It doesn't even matter to me what I'm talking about! Big crowd, small group - I'm all in!
I am a natural story teller. Half of the time when I'm doing something, I'm likely trying to figure out how later I will tell the story.
"..when I tell the story about this day (and I will), you were naked!"
I think the stories, for me, are socially acceptable stand up comedy. You know, never one to seek out the stage (ahem) I have to have a creative outlet for my affectations.
I've always know I've had them - my Mother used to bellow at me when she was mad,
"You're so AFFECTED!" Like that or any type of drama was a BAD thing! I thought that I had turned my need to be in the spotlight into a "thing".
My "thing" if you will is being VISIBLE. You'd never be somewhere with me: a meeting or an event or a party and NOT know that I was there. I'm always visible.
That is, in part, what I love about my blog. Its a place where I express those affectations and the need to be seen and heard. Its where I am visible.
But something CLICKED recently. Something made me want to not be seen.
Part of it I guess is fear of success. Accolades made me shy. An odd reaction for an attention whore, but a human reaction at that.
I'm not THAT successful. I didn't get that much praise.
Is it the fear of being noticed? Maybe. Maybe if I am good at something then people will expect more from me. Maybe I will expect more from myself. Maybe I will want more from myself.
Someone asked me if it was my fear of the medium.
"You're fearless in person but naked in print"
It could very well be that I can't take back what I've said once its written. That my inhibitions that are stripped in conversation, surface when its cast in print. It makes permanent something that I think - and makes me accountable for my opinions.
I can honestly say I don't know.
I am not sure which of these things or which combination of these things it is but I am resolved to overcome it. I am resolved to pull the proverbial stick out of my ass and start letting out what has been trapped inside for the last 4+ months. I'm sure there is a floodgate just ready and willing to be burst open!

Turn it down

I'm sitting here, on my love seat, in my living room wishing I lived in the country far far away from everyone. Far FAR away.
I can't even think. Its too loud. Way too loud.
What?
The neighbours. The neighbours music is SO loud that the wall is vibrating. Booming bass is banging and has been for half an hour.
How long do I have to listen to it before I can complain?
How many fucking times do I have to complain before they get that its just too bloody fucking loud?
For shit's sake they have a 6 month old baby who's hearing they are likely irreparably damaging. Four frigging kids and you CANNOT tell me that at 7pm they are sitting around playing monopoly and listening to some reggae shit turned up to 12 on their stereo. No freaking way.
I have no fucking idea what music they are listening too because there is no break between songs. Its like one big long booming song that has lasted over half an hour.
Now, this isn't the first time this has happened. Like I said, I've complained before. I've even called the police before. But these people don't GET it. If you turn your stereo to 11 it is too fucking loud. End of. It just is. It offends me. I can't hear my tv that is 4 feet from me. Wouldn't you think that they would learn that this makes me homicidal?
It its not over in the next 10 minutes.....I'm going to....oooooh....I'm going to go knock on the door and give them the "stink eye"!

Slight Delay

I apologize for the slight delay in posting my New Years Resolutions 2009 - I had to do some reading and research and make sure that I had all of my priorities and plans in order for the upcoming year.............ok - I don't believe me either. I am lazy. Exceptionally lazy. But that isn't the case this year - I swear to you I've just been really busy and somewhat preoccupied.
But, you know, its actually BETTER to make your resolutions on the 10th of January. I've already had a chance to test some of them out and fail at them and now I get a chance to modify and leave out ones that I just can't commit to. Yay for me.
So here we go.
You ready?
These are going to be awesome!

1. Distinguish who my true friends are, enjoy them, and tell them how much I do. Let the friends who aren't friends go.
I did this a bit last year (the letting go part) and it was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I miss bad experiences as much as good ones. I'm a bit of a masochist sometimes, I admit.
I think my whole need to recognize when I'm loved and by who motivates this whole assessment process for me. I feel like my constant need for approval makes me very vulnerable - my need to please and be everything to everyone is not helpful in friendships.
But, I was saying tonight - the good friends that I have are awesome. And I made new ones this year - yay. I sometimes these things become damaging though and I need to check that I'm ok.

2. Eat Less Crap.
I eat a lot of useless processed carb as a vegetarian. Now that I'm eating some meat again, I need to be careful that I don't eat useless processed meat crap.
As a family we have all but eliminated fast food.
Ok - we still get subs and shwarma but really, who could live a life without falafel? I ask you. Is a life without falafel worth living?
We are trying to cook everything from scratch which is yay for us healthy but a shitload of work.
No more spaghetti sauce from a jar - its made from scratch.
Oh yes - its work but hopefully worth it in the end - right?

3. Declutter my life.
I have lots and lots of crap. I need to organize said crap. Once the crap is organized, some crap must go. Some crap can stay.

4. Move my ass more.
This is one of those started and broken resolutions that I spoke about. On January 5th Ben and I started doing Pilates at 5:45am. We did 3 days and stopped for 2. Today we took a walk and used the exercise ball. I don't know if we will continue at 5:45 am. But we need to move MORE.
Fat ass = unhappy Sandra/

5. Read things that aren't plugged in.
I read a lot on line. This blog. Other blogs.
Magazines.
The paper.
Emails.
Facebook status.
IM that would make you blush and your eyes bleed from boredom.
But I have been reading the same novel since November and that's not good.
I got AWESOME books for Christmas - the Wicked series - and I need to read them.
The more I read the more I write.
Read. I need to read.

6. Take care of my money
I'm very private about money - so I won't talk about that here. But I need to admit that I need to handle it better.

7. Start saying NO
I need to say no to people when they ask me to do things that I don't want to do.
I also need to say no to people when I agree to things only to please THEM and not ME.
AND lastly I need to say no to people when its just TOO MUCH.
Examples? Oh geez - too many to count lately.
Like next week at work when I work on the Job Fair project whick I took on as the managing Programme Director only because I couldn't STAND to work as part of a team. I don't play well with others - this can sometimes, like in this case lead to a shitload of extra work.
Like this week when I will spend my Friday off (the first one I've had since November) opening car doors at the kiss and drop at school in the freezing fucking cold and then making snacks for 699 kids. I know I volunteer and I know I am the PTA-VP but sometimes I should just say no.
Like when the dishes pile up and I do them instead of going to bed.
Or when we need milk and I run out at 11pm.
Or when someone asks if I "mind" if they don't come in to work and I have to cover...
SO yes, no would be good. Occasionally.
See, I whine too much. Maybe I should make that a resolution!

8. Not say yes to everything
I need reminding.
The opposite of no is yes.
Sure also works.
I shall try to remember!


9. Not take on too much by learning to say, "Stop, that's too much"
See above.

10. Get a new job.
I might lose mine this year. Its a long story and I'll explain more later but basically, the government is moving stuff around. I may or may not have funding for my program after March 31st.
So - leaving might not be my choice.
But I'm going to be proactive and do something about it this time.
Honestly I have a great bunch of people who work for me - and I would miss them like nuts but I need to move on!

11. Get one more magazine to publish in.
Duh.
If I only write for Canadian Newcomer Magazine then I will be a specialist. I'm barely a professional, I don't want to be a pro-specialist.
I think I might head towards muscle or fitness publications...who knows! But I need to diversify!

12. Pay more attention to this blog. Sorry blog people. I neglect you when I get busy. I come, sometimes, only to bitch and complain. I sometimes pay more attention to facebook than I do you. So so so sorry. I promise to bring my joys and triumphs here as well as my tears and rants. Bad bad me.

Well - that's it. Startinggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg NOW!

Resolutions revisited

My friend Dan has a blog. Its here. In his blog, he does a "review" of last year's New Year's resolutions and gives himself pass or fail marks on them. I've decided to do something similar and let you all know just how I did.
I like a good resolution. Although, again, as anyone who knows me will tell you I rarely if ever manage to follow through on anything I resolve to do. I don't think that the making of resolutions is my problem. I think that following through on the resolutions is.
Here are the eight things I resolved to do or not do in 2008

1. I will not quit this stupid job until I get another one - and I will not stay in this job cause I kind of hate it.
Well, you see, this is a tough one because round about February of 2008 I started to really like my job.
So the question of whether or not to leave because I hated it became a moot point. I didn't want to leave.
Then, in the summer I became the company privacy officer which is a job that I actually really really enjoy. Then there was absolutely no question. I couldn't leave.
So now, here I sit with unemployment looming (the programme contract has not been extended past March 31 - YET) and no job in my future.
I'm writing exams for my privacy certification on January 21st - hopefully once I have that my place in the universe will be more secure. But who knows, career wise, where the wind will blow me.
Verdict? Fail. But ultimately - passed.
2. I will do the dishes.
I actually DO the dishes. Yesterday I did them 4 times! Grumble.
I still leave them occasionally but - wonder of wonders - I sometimes get hubby or son #1 to do them too! Yay.
Verdict - totally PASSED!
3. I will move.
Alright. We didn't move. But but but.......
Fine!
Verdict - Failed.
But I'm not unhappy about it.
4. I will win the war with chemical addictions.
Oh hell who am I kidding - I barely lasted 12 hours without diet coke.
Sure, I tried about 4 times to give it up - but I couldn't do it. I have that monkey on my back that just won't die. He's got his greedy little claws in my liver and he's giving me GAS but he won't let go!
Bastard monkey.
At least I didn't take up any NEW addictions.
That's something....right? right?
Verdict - Big bad ugly FAILURE!
5. I will stick to this vegetarian thing.
I did stick to the vegetarian thing.
I even took it a step further and went VEGAN for a bit.
I fought my cheese addiction.
And on Christmas eve I had a piece of beef.
Then I had an egg.
So, for the most part, 6 days a week - I am a vegetarian.
Go me.
I lost weight as a veggie, felt better, medications changed and all kinds of good things.
But, somewhere near the end of the years..........to be continued.........
Verdict - Pass! (mostly)
6. My body will not betray me.
Well, It didn't betray me, but it wasn't very nice.
I'm thinner than I was last year at this time.
But the peri-menopause is setting in and I'm starting to "old up".
I'd say, at this point, the body and I are friends.
Once we got the all clear on the "dying" front, we made a truce. Anything she can dream up to challenge me, I can handle.
Verdict - Pass
7. I will yell less.
Meh. Yelling is under-rated.
I mean, who's to say that my screaming isn't SOOTHING to some people?
Who's to say that its not the only reason the kids do anything?
I can't say that....can you?
Verdict - Fail. Miserably!
8. I will write more.
This resolution I rocked the ASS of of!
I wrote more here and in my other blogs which, if you really wanted to read you could email me and I could direct you to...
I wrote stories.
I even wrote a flipping poem. And, it didn't SUCK. I know - pretty freaking amazing isn't it?!?
I started writing for Canadian Newcomer Magazine and they actually PAY me for it.
If you think of writing like figure skating - I am being paid to write - therefore I have effectively turned PRO!
The first time I saw my name in print in a magazine thrilled me. I wanted to run around and scream and show everyone. I couldn't - I mean - that would be pathetic....right? But I felt like I had done something HUGE! Something I've always wanted to do anyway.
Verdict - Passed with flying colours.

All in all, 2008 was good - uneventful - which was my wish last year.
2009 I would like to be a building year - for bigger and better things. But, my friends, that's another blog!

Music of my Life

I have decided that this is my new theme song.



Thoughts?

Pink and Fuzzy

I'm not sure you know this but I have a real soft spot for Pink. Yes, Pink - the singer Pink. I think her real name is Alicia or something.
I don't own any Pink cds - but I did enjoy the "behind the music" story on her.
And whenever I hear her stuff on the radio I think to myself - that girl can write.
I also think whenever I hear her perform - that girl can sing.
She can indeed.
But Perez Hilton (and yes I enjoy him too) pointed me to this song, Sober, and the matching video. His comments were akin to this video and song are both amazing - and he is right.
He's also right that the bit with her in the bed - is awesome.
I am not an alcoholic. I don't even ever really drink anymore.
I am not a crack addict or a heroin addict - but we all - each and every one of us do things compulsively.
I know I do.
And no, I am not about to confess my compulsions to you here. Did you really think that I would?
Why do we do it? Why do we drink? Why do we over eat? What are the triggers and the causes and what makes us end it?
I was at the Naturopath last weekend - more to come on that - I PROMISE - and she asked me if I loved diet coke for the caffeine or the bubbles or the taste? Is it because its cold? Nope. None of those things. I can't quite figure out my compulsion with it. I really have no bloody idea but I have to. I have to figure out what is triggering my compulsion to drink diet coke.
Okay - you got me - I confessed my love of a caffeinated soft drink.
But its more than that. I have a lot of compulsive things that I do.
I don't know what it is.
I do know that I am a people pleaser and nothing cuts me more than to say no.
I know that I'm a lazy person - and I hate to do actual work - like cleaning and things like that. I'd happily live in a pig stye. Happily but guiltily. I secretly want to be clean and tidy but at the same time could care less about it.
I'm a mess of contradictions.
I live a life of contradiction, compulsion and denial of both.
How's that for fun Pink?
Back to Pink.
I am posting it for you to talk to your demons.

Aahh, the sun is blinding

I stayed up again

Oohh, I am finding

That's not the way I want my story to end

The Wonderful Foods of Disney

It has been forever and a day since we got back from Disney World (World not Land - Land is in California). We went back in August.

One of the things I did to prepare for the trip was research the restaurants we would be eating at. Partly out of vegan-necessity but part of it because if you are on the meal plan, you have to have reservations for your sit down dinners - or you have to wait forever. Fletchers hate to wait.

So, 2 months before I started searching the Disney website for places for vegans to eat at Disney. There are a lot actually.

But, before I start describing my glorious meals, I must tell you that I didn't keep completely vegan on vacation. HELL - I was on VACATION. I had some baked stuff that more than likely had eggs in it. AND I had some cheese. I love cheese. But I didn't cave and eat ice cream. Oh okay, I did have some whip cream but I'm sure it was edible oil product and not real cream. (God it was good though!)

K.

First night...we went to the Animal Kingdom lodge to a buffet restaurant called BOMA. It is African themed and was recommended by the nice lady who was doling out the reservations on the Disney phone line.

Because it was African, there was a HUGE amount of vegan products. On my plate you can see evidence of the nice salad bar. And the selection of dips (black bean hummus, red bean hummus, and red pepper dip) on the right hand side. The giant flat bread that i dipped is the triangle on the top right on the table.

Next is corn bread, Spanish rice, ratatouille, baked pumpkin and of course, falafel and sauce. Mmmmm. I think I ate my own body weight in falafel!

I recommend Boma because the Animal Kingdom lodge was gorgeous. Because everyone in my family loved the food and because it was so unusual and delicious.

The next day we spent the day at Magic Kingdom. Lunch was an awesome veggie wrap with carrot cake and fries that I wish I had a picture of. It was awesome. Snack - funnel cake with powdered sugar. Messy but good.

And dinner was at the "Crystal Palace". This is a "character dining experience" which I wasn't sure we would like but, it was a buffet where we could watch the amazing fire works show so I thought it couldn't suck that bad.

Turns out, the kids loved the idea of visiting with Winnie the Pooh and friends while they ate.

The food was really basic but fresh and quite nice. I really liked the salads and the breads. Again, all you can eat. I should have stopped eating long before I did but hey, I was on VACATION!

Day 2 we were at a water park - Blizzard Beach where I ate the worst veggie burger of all time. Veggie burgers can be so very hit and miss no matter where you are. I don't blame Disney really.
That night we went to Epcot - to the Fresh Dinner place...I can't remember the name really. It was "family style" dining.

We had big salads with the largest cherry tomatoes I've ever had. They were also the best cherry tomatoes I've ever had. All served with hot biscuits and corn bread. Yes, I ate my own weight in corn bread.

Hubby and the kids got platters of steak, catfish, fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, roasted potatoes and veggies. Later we learned most of the food is grown underneath Disney in their super farm place - we went on a cool tour of the place.

I, as a veggie, got the best risotto ever. Made with veggie stock and peas and asparagus. SO good. Sure, it had Parmesan on it but it was so amazingly good I didn't care.

The next day we were at Hollywood studios. We had excellent Pizza and giant salads at "Toy Story Pizza Planet" which I didn't get pictures of. Frankly, we didn't like Hollywood studios much. We enjoyed the Muppets theatre and the stunt driver show but, we didn't like all the scary rides and the High School Musical crap. ICK.

Dinner was another story!

We went to this 50s diner. Very kitchsy. They check that you don't have your elbows on the table and that sort of thing.

Ben had the best fried chicken he's ever had - or so he said. He also fell in love with collard greens and bacon. Who wouldn't?

And his dessert was gorgeous...photo....

I think it was M&M brownie cake.

It was smothered in whip cream and came with ice cream too!

My dinner was good. It was a rice stuffed pepper with ratatouille (I should really learn to spell that word!) on the side. Good but not very filling.

I could easily have eaten two peppers. AND there was no protein in the meal at all. No beans. Nothing.

It was one of those meals that I'm glad we were on the meal plan or I would have been pissed at paying a lot of money for it.

Dessert was a different story...

I had an angel food cake - most likely full of egg whites - oh well - with berry compote. It was all fresh and yummy!

The dinner was good but we were all hungry later. Sorry Disney, but it isn't exactly filling in the 1950s!

We ate in the German Buffet the next night. It was a cool place where you share tables with other families. We had dinner with a nice lady (it was her birthday) and her daughter. They were from Florida and just there to celebrate her day.

It was a challenging meal for the family though. Wayne told sammy that the schnitzel was chicken nuggets and he ate it - but they he went back to get more, figured out it was pork, and was pissed off.

Ben ate his own weight in mini wieners and sauerkraut.

Wayne loved it all.

I liked the salad part. You can see here - pickled cabbage, roasted potatoes, pretzel bread, apple sauce, carrots, spetzel, and tomato salad. MMMM.

AND all of that while listening to a live polka band. Does it get any better than that?

The last night we went to Planet Hollywood in downtown Disney. I didn't get a picture of my meal. Or the meal of the guy beside me - although I wish I had!
The emo/semi goth kid sitting beside me had vegan fajitas. They fried up onions, peppers, broccoli, tomatoes and stuff and served it with tortillas, lettuce, guacamole and salsa. It looked amazing. And wasn't on the menu. If I'd known about it before I ordered, I would have had that!

As it was, I had yum-o-lish pasta with fresh tomatoes, herbs, peppers and mushrooms. Really huge portion and really really good!

Everyone liked their dinner there - and it was on the meal plan!

I really did think before I left for Florida that I would end up eating nothing but french fries and ice burg lettuce salads the whole week. Instead I had really good meals that for the most part were better balanced nutritionally than I eat at home. Bravo Disney for a good vegetarian menu!

Thanks giving feasts

I had to look back and check last years blog to be sure that I wasn't repeating the same blog again and again and again - you know how easy it is to do that, right?

Today I was asked for my 5 things that I'm thankful for. And I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. Hahahaha. No really, today I want to talk about the Thanksgivings of my childhood.

As a kid we would work for a week on Thanksgiving projects in art. Making turkeys from potatoes or cut outs of our hands or tissue paper. Sometimes we even did American Thanksgiving crafts and made pilgrim hats and Indian head-dresses. In the 70s it was like we were drunk on the Brady Bunch or something....and we just blindly followed along untouched by the fact that Canadian Thanksgiving is a tribute to the harvest and NOT a copy of a Pilgrim dinner party held centuries ago.

In my family we never did anything normally. Not even thanksgiving. But normal, it has been said, is all relative. Right?


From the time I was born we would always take off on the Thursday before the Thanksgiving long weekend in a "convoy" of the Burt Reynold's variety with all of my cousins following behind. Vans and trucks with trailers attached, making their way across South Western Ontario from Stratford to Sarnia. We would snake our way across the highway stopping at the border to chow down on egg salad sandwiches, cut in thirds and wrapped in tin foil.

We drove across the border (at that time it was a hey-how-ya-doing no passport required kind of border crossing). Our convoy headed over to the state park on the St. Clair river. Camping. We were going camping.

Well, camping of a St. Clair family fashion. Sure, we all had campsites. We put all of our picnic tables together commune style and built a HUGE fire pit. BUT, our main purpose was not to camp in the chilly fall and enjoy the changes in the colours of the leaves. Nope. Our purpose for our visit was to shop. Every day. From sun up to sun down. Target. Kmart. Farmer Jack.

We would go from store to store and load up on whatever we could get our hands on. Cheap underwear and socks! Purses and coats and all kinds of clothes. And because even then in the 70s Americans were fatter than Canadians and we could get unusual and somewhat more fashionable clothing there.

My favourite Thanksgiving outfit was the matching swan sweatervests and checked baby blue gabardine pants my Mom and I got. Awesome early 70s chic!

Often we would go to Mary Maxim the world's (as far as we were concerned) largest craft store. There I began learning from my mother how to stock pile craft projects - so many that I can never be truly finished! When my Mother died - she had about 3 dozen balls of un knit yarn. Hoarding hobbies was a habit that neither of us have ever broken.

We ate well in the US. Sure we were "camping" and did the burgers and dogs on the bbq - but we ate at the Sweden House buffet. Back in the day it was the most awesome buffet ever. I am not certain but I think the lunch buffet was $5. Sure it was! Hell, I was a kid - I didn't know anything about money! It might have been free!

Funny thing about the Sweden House, it was not Swedish food. It was all the goodness of an American buffet. Yepper. Meat - carved meat. Many kinds of potatoes. And I guess there was a salad bar but I don't remember ever visiting it. Of course, all the dessert you could carry.

The blue slushies from Kmart stick in my head as a big deal. We loved those slurpee like drinks - so blue and totally full of air. I can remember getting one and sitting out in the front of KMart and waiting for my mother to meander around the store endless times. She'd pick up nylon nighties and packages of knee highs. It was a happy thanksgiving for all of us.

But no traditional turkey dinner. Not for the St. Clair family. Not ever. We would, on thanksgiving Monday, stop at the Arby's (this is before we had Arby's in Canada) and pick up a dozen junior Arby's sandwiches. Once we smuggled all of our purchases across the border, hidden in the bowels of the trailer, we would stop just outside of London and have our sandwiches. Mmmmm cold roast beef.

But no turkey.

Until one year when my mother got tired of hearing us whine and complain about not having the thanksgiving that all of our friends had.

So she cooked up a turkey on the Wednesday before we left. Put it, all wrapped in tin foil, into the cooler and surrounded it with ice packs.

Off we went to Port Huron with the thoughts of stuffing and turkey and gravy swimming in our heads.

"I'll make the potatoes on Monday" she said.

Every time all weekend someone tried to sneak a bit of turkey my mother smacked their hand. She guarded that turkey like a rabid Tiger guarding its prey- perhaps a dead Zebra! (okay gross analogy but I'm making a point) She was adamant that we have this dinner on Monday and she would be the one to ensure it was perfect.

Monday came - socks and underwear and nighties are bought - and we open the cooler. Out wafts the most horrific smell ever. I was about 11 years old and if I think about it today - 31 years later, I can still remember that smell. It was vile. Barfaliscious. Horrible. Just nasty.

Oh but it got better. As my Mother pulled back the tin foil, the entire turkey was GREEN - grass green with mould and slime. Just awful.

My mother cried.

We all laughed.

Then she cried and laughed. We all still laugh about the thanksgiving turkey that never was. We ate the mashed potatoes and of course, Arby's. Yum. Roast beef sandwiches.

Now the point of me telling you this story is that I wanted you to know, I put a lot of importance on the holiday meals I serve. I am likely compensating for a life time of Arby's. I also know that every time thanksgiving comes I think of my Mom laughing and crying all at the same time over that stupid green turkey. Its the company you keep not the food that you eat that makes the day the day and I give thanks for that.

Crying over you

I was 14 before a boy made me cry.

He wasn't my boyfriend. He was just a boy that I knew. That I liked. He was my friend. Well, in retrospect, I suppose he really wasn't. He made me cry by telling me that no one would love me because I was ugly.

He used my insecurities to manipulate me.

He even had me come back for more - I needed more - I needed to have him completely tear me down.

He said that I wasn't the right person. That I didn't have what it took.

That it was something that I did.

And then he laughed. He laughed AT me - not with me - but at me. And that ripped my guts out through my nose.

I did what you are supposed to do. I kept a stiff upper lip. I said he was full of crap. I stared him down and sat eye to eye with him in full possession of every ounce of self confidence I could muster. I was un-affected.

And as soon as I left - I was a mess. I cried so hard I heaved sobs. I thought in the fashion of a 14 year old that it would be LESS painful to actually be dead than to feel what I was feeling just then. It very likely would have.

But, I stuck it out.

And amazingly, it happened again. Another boy. He and I were making out. He lifted my shirt and traced the silvery spidery lines of my stretch marks. And he laughed. I don't remember what he said - but I remember the laughing.

And at the time, I blocked it out, carried on, let him kiss me again and again and then again - as soon as I was alone - I exploded with that same painful sob.

I remember walking into the kitchen and cutting some cheese and getting some saltines - still crying crying crying and choking on the cheese and crackers the two kinds of salty mixing and making me gag on the tears.

I have a delicate relationship with crying.

I can cry during movies like a normal person. I cry in commercials for Hallmark and at funerals for ANYONE (its the least I can do for them). I cry gently and lady-like. I cry in a controlled manner. I cry for show. But some days I could cry like it was the last time ever.

That pain wrapped up in the same cocoon that contains all that hurt - whether its mine to feel or not - that's how it escapes.

I know I'm not unusual. I know that we all cry.

Hell, I'm crying RIGHT now. For no reason at all. I'm not hurt or sad or upset or lonely or disgruntled or even inconvenienced. I just feel intolerably upset.

My husband tells me that the problem is when I'm upset by something or someone - I don't SAY anything. I let it go. I pretend "fake it till you make it" and the "suck it up buttercup" with my "stiff upper lip" and all that jazz. And then, well then I just break loose. Cry like the blubbering puke I know deep down inside that I am.

I remember going to the doctor once and having my eyes dilated with orange dye. And when I left he handed me a giant WAD of Kleenex. He explained that I would need it later when my nose started to run - orange snot. Where do you think your tears go when you don't cry? Good question. They are just snot.

Today I cried. Tomorrow I'll cry again. For as many times I've cried I've laughed 100 times more. For all those days I forgot or just didn't get around to crying, my guess is that I blew my nose more that day.

As for those boys that made me cry? They were the first and likely not the last. I'm a delicate flower of a girl!

One, Two, Three and Four

You think that the only truth that matters is the truth that can be measured.
If I'm right, then I win.
If, in theory, a 9 gets a 9
then a 3 gets a 3.
If, in theory, you can only move the spaces that you roll on the dice then shit isn't always fair now, is it?
What if a 2 gets an 8?
Is everyone around them bound to check thoroughly and completely that everything is even and in balance?
That rarely happens though, does it?
The Honeymooner's.
I guess really it only happens on tv - The Flintstones, Happy Days, King of Queens, According to Jim...there must be more.

Big fat guy with his trophy wife. How often does that REALLY happen?
Remember that song that went "Three dressed up as a Ni-eye-eeeye-ne"?
You know I had to google it to remember it was Trooper - right?

Well you can say what you like
Be what you wanna be
You can suit yourself baby
But you don't suit me

What makes a 3 a 3?
It's only physical right?

What you can see from far away.

Have you ever seen Trooper? Like they should judge, am I right?
But what is my point today?
The point is, today in the paper they said that the national association for fat acceptance is trying to convince everyone that fat can be healthy.

Steve Harper is running the country I love and he has the ugliest hair of anyone I've ever seen. Its like painted on Ken doll hair.

Madonna is hailed as superfit superstar 50 year old woman and I can see the individual strands in the muscles on her legs and it makes me have a little vomit in my mouth.
The point is, that once a man told me that I was "quite unattractive" and while I think his momma needed to teach him some manners before he gets himself killed, I think he was also a giant idiot.

Who is he to judge?

Well, actually, he is the judge.

And so am I.

And so are you.
Every last ugly warty pimple covered one of us can judge the other.
Because if the only truth that matters is the one that can be measured, today I am a 4.
Please feel free to score yourself below.

"You used to be fun"

Many years ago, I used to be a lot of things.
I have always been tall.
I have always been fat.
I have always been smart, and funny, and nice.
But, much to my regret, I have not always been fun.
Oh I have had fun.
But I haven't always been fun.
Back in high school I knew that I was a weirdo. Frankly, I think most of us do know that. A whole building FULL to over flowing of people who feel that they don't belong. Taught by people who likely feel very much the same way.
I was not fun. I might have had fun. I even might have created some fun - but I, was not fun. I was scared and smart and studious and a slacker. I was a liar and a hard worker and even a thief. I was running away and looking for love but I was not FUN.
My favourite favourite movie of all times, the Sterile Cuckoo with Liza Minelli says it best and every time I watch it I think to myself "she gets me - she really gets me" but really, she likely gets us all when she says, "It's gonna be nice to get away from all these weirdos".
When I left high school, that's what I really thought I'd be doing. But little did I know I would be taking all the weirdos with me - they were weird only because I made them weird. I looked at people like they were different from me, which in all reality they weren't.
At university I spent more days terrified than not. My roommate scared me stupid. We were instant best friends that hated each other on sight.
I didn't have many friends there and the ones I did were weirder than I was.
The gay army cadet poet who lumbered around drinking root beer schnapps from a mug every night.
The girl next door with 6 inch high hair who wore blue mascara on her eyebrows and was having an affair with her 60 year old boss while dating his 20 year old son.
I wonder what ever happened to them?
At that point in my life I sought out like minded people -like the fat girl across the hall who tried to kill herself and had all gay friends- she was like me, right?
These people would not be my weirdos - they were just like me.
Like a pretty girl who wants to be beautiful surrounds herself with ugly girls, I wanted to be normal so I surrounded myself with the super weird. Did it work? No idea. But they were good people and I adored them.
Did I have fun? Sure. Was I fun? I think I was starting to become fun.
I was funny.
I was charming.
I was learning to be fun.
When I was out on my own I was alone and awfully lonely. At 20 I lived in the largest city in Canada with few friends. To be less alone I clung to the friends I had - I cultivated my gaggle of gays and became their diva hag.
I made myself into an amazing companion - I did whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted.
I had the best time - probably the best times of my life.
I just let stuff happen.
I enjoyed everything I did no matter how small or insignificant and as far as I can remember - that is when I used to be fun.
But life encroached on my fun.
I fell in love, which was fun. But it isolated me a bit from my friends.
Then I had kids - again fun - again isolating me from my old kind of fun.
The "let stuff happen" fell out of my life and was replaced with real grown up responsibility.
I am still tall.
I am still smart.
I am still fat and funny and nice.
But I'm the Vice Chairperson of the School Community Council.
And a Manager.
And a Mom.
I am an orphan.
And a wife.
And a Privacy Officer.
I have a mortgage and debt.
I have life insurance.
The dynamic of what makes up who I am has changed.
I still have fun.
Fun is karate tournaments.
Fun is this blog.
Fun is being with my friends the two times a year (maybe) I get to do that.
Am I still fun?
Not every day.
So when someone said "you used to be fun". They weren't wrong. I had no right to be as GUTTED as I felt.
I "used to be fun" though - I suppose I'll always have that.
In that same movie, Liza Minelli gives the most moving speech about how short life is. And it is. But, when I was fun, I had more than my one minute of good things. I know I did. Lucky me.

You know what the trouble is? The trouble is that probably all the good things
in life take place no more than a minute - I mean, all added up. Especially
at the end of 70 years, if you should live so long, you still haven't
figured it out. You spent 35 years sleeping. You spent five years going to
the bathroom. You spent 19 years doing some kind of work you absolutely
hated. You spent 8,759 minutes blinking your eyes. And, after that, you got
one minute of good thing.

Blog-sharing

Yesterday I was off work and trying to clean up my horribly messy house. In the kitchen I found fruitflies and rotting bananas.
Banana cake, I said. Banana cake.

Not loaf - cake.

Too lazy to walk up the 15 stairs to look through my dozens of cook books and WAY too freaking lazy to sort through the shoe box of my Mom's recipes to find Shirley Pugh's banana cake, I googled Banana Cake on my laptop.

I found this site http://seasonalontariofood.blogspot.com/ and a recipe for the most deliscious banana cake ever.

I tried to "vegan it up" but I left in the eggs. Instead of buttermilk I used soy milk with 3/4 tbsp of cider vinegar added to it. And instead of the chocolate icing I used the "Vanilla Butter Cream Icing" from the book Vegan Cupcakes.

The cake is yummy and I didn't end up having to make banana smooties. Again.

Check out that other site too - last week there was a recipe for minted carrots that looks AWESOME........