Jeepers Crisp!!! @#$@@#!!$#@ For the love of all things holy......

I have nothing to say.

Shocking, I know right?

So that must mean that there isn't a thing bothering me, I see no imbalance in my life, or injustice in the world.  Nothing to say must be a good thing?

Well, no.

If you have ever been moving through your life thinking " Okay, this is all pretty difficult but I got this.  I'm fine" then turned your head and got blindsided with other people's outrageous bull-oney then you will know just how I'm feeling.

Wanna talk?  No.
Wanna share? No.
Wanna write? No.
Wanna sing?  No.
Wanna play?  No.

Does this mean I have issues? I can say my point of view is recently affected and I am overwhelmed and somewhat distracted.  I do not own the problem though. A young relative once in a similar circumstance asked me if I thought she was crazy and I gave her the standard George Carlin reply, "If you think you are crazy, Please ensure first that you are not just surrounded by @$$holes." So much truth.

Generally,  I do not live in a place of No. This current state of mind is disconcerting for me. It unsettles my soul.  I want to hop-skip-jump back to my usual home in a place of Yes.  Will I find a way? Eventually, I'm sure. It is just the right-now that is life force diminishing.

You see, the issue for me, and for quite a few positive thinking people, is that I expect those around me to have generally good intentions. I try to surround myself with nice people. People who are trying to get through life without taking more than their fair share of space, certainly doing no intentional harm, and perhaps actively improving life in their circles.


However, lo and behold, despite every effort to avoid them the snakes start creeping in.  The self serving, the petty and the downright mean. What a singular joy it is to find that your daily life is going to have to be affected by the kinds of personalities that make your hackles instantly raise.  In a Utopian situation they would just slither around in the mud and the rest of us would pick up a few shed skins once in a while and whip them over the garden wall.

It does not work that way.

Surprise! They bite. They are poison. Those fangs hurt.

No one would choose to live with backbiting, scheming and generally horrible people surrounding them. It is definitely not my choice.  Life though, sometimes has its own way of inserting rot into your life. Not to mention that shady and untrustworthy self promoting individuals will worm their way in by any deception they find convenient.

Slither, slither. Bone-tiring to hear daily. Living on the extra alert. Being hyper vigilant to random attacks. Starting to have a new understanding of Harry Potter.  I understand how annoyed and sent off kilter he was while being followed by a relentless, evil minded snake.  Of course, he had the advantage of a valiant group of like minded friends to chase out the danger. I could use a Ron, Hermione, a Dumbledore or even a Hagrid. Alas, no such animals in the tedious Muggle world. Plenty of snakes, though.  Frustrating, when you know life does not need to be this way.

At present, there seems to be no magic wand and the motivation has turned from trying to fix  and mend to self protection and apathy.  I am grinding along and wondering where my determination went. There is a strength in me somewhere. I remember.  Time to dig it up and find a way out of the snakepit. 

Circus Freak

Grief is a funhouse full of distorted mirrors.  Most days I feel like a circus freak, still.  It's in my emotions, my reactions and the way people look at me.  Not the center attraction in the circus but certainly a curiosity in the side show tent.

I feel a bit steadier than I did nine months ago when Norm died.  Steadier but  I cannot say I have found my feet yet.  I have searched my soul for a good analogy but I just do not have one.  There is really nothing to describe it:  one day you have the person who made your life.  The next you do not.  It is not having the rug pulled out from under you- then you would just get back up and everything would resume as normal.  Nothing is normal now and I am continually off kilter.

The things I think about have changed.  Mentally I am always making a list.  No matter what happens in a day it ticks immediately over to the "Norm will not experience this with me" list.  Whether it is a change at work, a milestone for one of the kids, a rainstorm, just another lunch hour when he would have been with me,  a new neighbour or a more difficult challenge I immediately feel that ping of it adding to the list of things I cannot share with him.  Other lists fill my head too.  The list of our plans we cannot finish.  The lengthy list of things I need to talk to him about, but once again, I cannot.

It has changed the things I wish for people too.  I used to wish everyone could find what I had.  A person who just got them, did not judge them and who always had their back.  A person who loved them fiercely and wholly.  Someone who knew how much to push and when they had had enough.  Who could pull a smile out of awfulness and weep with them when necessary. Not sure I would wish that for everyone anymore.  At very least, it might be easier to go through life not realizing that truly having "another half" is possible.  Being in it: wondrous and enchanted.  Being left behind by it:  excruciating. So perhaps I would wish that  death was not a thing at all.  That those of us who love should be exempt.

So my emotions run a weird confusing maze now.  Yes, I think sweet older couples are adorable.  At the same time part of me deep in my brain is screaming that that could have been us and should have been.  Sure, I am excited for my kids when they learn something new.  Learn to drive, make new friends, try to cook something all on their own, make plans to move or to go to school.  On the other side of excitement is just so much pain.  He should be here, he would be so pumped up.  How is it right or possible that he cannot be here to share this with us?  My emotions look like that kid's attraction at the Fall Fair.  The one with the crazy tippy floors and spinning rooms.  Glass walls I run into at a moment's notice.

I miss things that I shouldn't miss.  I miss being cuddled.  I miss body heat.  I miss having another human care if I am upset.  I miss him fighting with me over who should pay for things. Him teasing me about getting old.  Him calling me Puddles.  The late night calls that used to drive me crazy. His snoring and his crankiness and the overly manly way he stepped in and defended me if anyone dared say a negative thing about me or anyone he loved. Having someone to talk to who listened and didn't make it about him.  Who didn't have to compare what was happening to his life because I was his life.  Someone who just got it: even the my stupid sense of humour.  I miss all these things and more but I have no way to regain them.  The source of these things is gone.  These precious things.

Often since "it" happened I have wished that no one else knew.  Impossible.  Life doesn't allow for that.  Just desire a moment when I could be alone in my grief.  Where I did not have to deal with the sad looks, stories from others, platitudes.  The assumption from some that every reaction I have or action I take is a result of grief.  The sad head tilts in moments when I am doing okay that set me right back.  The need some people seem to have to share all the negative past moments he had.  Like, really.  Not my experience.  Go talk to someone else.  I cringe inside and resist the urge to kick in some teeth.  I walk away and feel that somehow I have caved just by listening.  Diminished somehow.  I hope those people have enough conscience to feel embarrassed by those statements and especially embarrassed to have shared them with me....or my children. I am pretty sure they don't. At least not as horribly bad as they should.   Other people are the Roller coaster of grief.  There's great heights and huge drops.  Unexpected turns.  It can leave you feeling exhilarated for a minute.  It can also leave you feeling violently nauseous.

Very early on I said to someone, somewhere that I wished I was about six months in so that I was past the worst of  the uncertainty, the misery.  Well, here I am. Nine months.  Not much better. Not much stronger.  A little more worried about a few things.  A lot more lonely.   Full of  a void that only my Gnomie can fill.  My estimate was profoundly off.  My hope I guess, a little too optimistic.

Too fat? Too thin? So what???

For those of you who battle excess weight, I feel for you. You are gorgeous and I hope you know it. Please though don't judge us who do not. We also have a weight battle.  We battle to gain it.

Guess what?  We have almost no help.  We are judged, often.  It is not easy.

Sometimes people assume that those of us who look too thin are drug addicted, violently ill or have eating disorders. It is annoying beyond all get out.

There is a condition called being a "difficult gainer".  It does not involve puking, meth or cancer.  It is just an idiot high metabolism, allergies or both.  I would much rather be fat, to tell the truth. There is tonne of help if you are overweight: magazine articles, Jenny Craig, gyms, Weight Watchers,  low fat grocery items, a plethora of internet articles,  a crap tonne of businesses and weight loss supplements.

Google search how to gain weight and you will see what I mean.  You may find one or two articles that try to help and a few articles for body builders but there are no businesses out there dedicated to help the chronically calorie deprived gain weight.

I do not know why. There are actually a lot of us.

I will bet  that a lot of people do not know that the risk of dying early is actually higher for the underweight than it is for the overweight.  ( 50 percent higher for overweight, 90 percent higher for underweight). 

I know overweight people complain they are judged and bullied.  Underweight individuals are often bullied also.

We are called meth heads and anorexics. I personally have been asked by a stranger if I have a disease.  It is assumed we cannot lift things or accomplish basic tasks.  Imagine taking your groceries to your car and having someone randomly comment " Oh, you shouldn't be lifting that.  You are too small." Every time. Like clockwork, like being pecked to death by ducks, as Maya Angelou would say. 

 Sometimes, in work, people assume you are too small, too young to have any responsibility.  How could an 85 pound person have authority?

Being underweight actually sucks.  It is not some dream.  It is not supermodel greatness.

Gaining weight for us is an ongoing difficult task.  You cannot just eat crap.  Your heart will still suffer.  Fresh foods are way too filling but you need to eat them. You need exercise to gain muscle and at the same time need to limit activity to gain weight.  Oh vey.  You have to intake loads of protein without gaining fat. You have to eat so many calories that you feel you might puke.  You must add more food than anyone would ever consider normal just to gain a few ounces.

It is entirely not fun. I would love to burn out my thyroid or get some medications that would add a few pounds.  It just never seems to happen for me.

I literally seem to only gain weight when I am pregnant:  and as much as I would love to gain thirty pounds I am not willing to do 20 years of hard labour for that outcome.

So the next time you are tempted to ask your thin friend to eat a doughnut or hamburger please remember. We all have our challenges. You might just have a buddy who envys that extra five pounds. Someone who would love an extra ten and remarkably would take a transfer of it from you without a thought if it were possible. Who would be the last person to judge you for the double chin. Who accepts you just the way you are. Who actually understands why you struggle with your weight but just from a different perspective.

For despite our culture, weight in the grand scheme of things means  absolutely unequivocally nothing.  It does not make you nicer, does not give you better priorities, make you a better person, make you more desirable or  change the world.  

It means literally nothing,  So despite the focus on it, the misunderstanding of it, you will be the greatness you are despite it. You are actually you, the best you, no matter what the scale has to say.

Spit on it. 

Enough said.

Oh, Give Me Strength.

Sometimes I'm so chill its like: Come at me, bro....rain, thunder, plagues of locusts  I'll deal.   Other times I'm like,  Universe ! Change one more stoopid thing and imma gonna blow up and melt into a gooey blob of skittles.

Depends on the day.

There have been many days, too many when I start counting, where I seem to handle it all. Whether its my stuff, your stuff, stranger's, friend's, children's stuff.  Just throw that stuff on my pile and whoosh.  Its done. Its dealt with.  Then out of the blue along will come a day where I am beside myself over the most trivial teeny thing.  I have no strength, no stamina, no initiative.

Just the thought of all my responsibility makes me want to take a nap.  I don't nap, but on the days where even looking at my laundry makes me cry out snot bubbles it would most likely do the world a giant favor if I just stayed in bed.

I don't have impossible days very often. I am kind of adept in hiding the worst of my angst when I do.  Chin up, chest out.....as my sister would say.

So I ask myself on those days when life seems totally  undoable what it is that has me dangling over the edge like an untrained cliff climber.  I write down everything that has happened that day....what I've done, what I need to get done , all the glitches and annoyances.   Then I think back to one of the hardest days I've ever had.....just a random hard day where everything went "well" all things considered.  I write down all the deets of that day.  I compare them.

Not really surprisingly, the largest difference is easy to see.  Its all in my head. My life is no more difficult on the days where I just "can't even."  In truth, its usually less hard, less busy, and the issues are smaller and less important than my "I got this" days.

The big diffence? Worry.  Ah, worry.....that creeping ivy that gets in your brain and makes you think spilling your coffee is a major catastrophe. Oh no, now people will think I'm clumsy (ya, i am. Thats not a secret). I'm staining the carpet! (So what? There's a thing called soap!) Now I have less coffee! (Ok, that's a realistic worry. Cannot blame myself for that one)  Mr. Worry.  Sitting there with his feet up on my mind couch eating my chips.  Rotund, covered in crumbs, and spewing out evermore ridiculous scenarios that often start with....wouldn't it just be awful if....?

Wouldn't it just be awful if.....you fail? Wouldn't it just be awful if....you get sick? Like really really sick? Like dying sick? Wouldn't it just be awful if.....everyone realizes you are insignificant?

Oh ya, Mr. Worry Bear Bear.  He's got a poor manners and nothing but time to make me uncomfortable and sometimes even sweaty. Worry is a rather useless little skill that we, as humans, need to unlearn.   It does nothing positive.  Worry will stop any progress you intend to make like forgetting to oil your car stops the engine.

Worry, will grab you, beat you around the brain, mix up up your heart, and leave you marathon tired without accomplishing a thing.

Take any issue you are worried about.  My favorite is "will I have enough time to get everything done?"   The answer to that for me is very simple. No. I won't.  There's too much.    I'll get some done and that's way better than none.

Same question but with worry. Will I get everything done?   Oh, no, there's too much.  I dropped the baking pan, now I have to wash it! Oh no, that is more to do.  I will Never get everything done.  I will fail to get this one thing done!  Then Nothing else will get done!! Oh my gawd, Everyone will be mad, everyone will think I am a bigger idiot!!! Then there will be vitriol from all the people who need me! Oh no!  I will have to deal with that....that's more to do!!

You see where im going with this. Insidious worry can take a simple task and turn it instantly into a life sucking, dramatic, traumatic event.  Even the Bible says: Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life. Guess that means that Luke guy got the concept that worry is useless a couple thousand years ago. I am a slow learner.  Read that dang big book years ago and still let worry rip me up....many many times.

Worrying, doesn't add value.  It takes perfectly good energy and wastes it.  Worry gets me no closer to my goals.  If I take a step, complete one thing, take another step, do one more.....I'm fine. If I mix in a heaping dollop of worry while I try......I just exhaust myself.   Stop sooner and go to bed miserable. Worry more, sleep less, have terrifying dreams.

In the interim Worry does nothing for me. Who makes the cookies, sows the blankets, does the dishes? Was that worry? Nope. Lazy butt Worry doesn't do a dang thing.  Can't remember the last time worry  got me to work on time, fed my kid, or washed my windows. Did worry write for me,water the plants, pay my bills or paint my bathroom? Nope. All me.  Well, except the plant thing- they are all dead. Rest in peace, begonias.

So why do I ever let this loafer have free rent in my head?   Heck  I know there's very little room in there. I do not understand why our bodies and brains are hardwired to worry.  I don't get why worry is even a thing. It is truly miserable, useless and unproductive.  In fact so anti productive you would think that evolution would have fixed this problem by now.  Yet on we go, spending half our lives worrying. Changing nothing, making ourselves panic, filling our bodies with stress hormones and inflammation.

I desire more days where I feel like I can do anything. I need more days where it feels effortless.  I  think that I know how to get them. The next time the Worry Bear becomes a tenant- I'll evict him.  I'm sure he's redecorated my brain space a few times but this time: He can take his baggage and go.

Mixed Messages

Grade 2. Lovely fall class room. Construction paper leaves adorn the walls and the alphabet runs its comfortable circle around the classroom near the ceiling like an annual school hug. Mrs. Y:  "Children your brain is the computer of your body. We will fill it with information and you will solve problems just like IBM". Hold up Mrs. Y. Yes, my brain is an intricate system. Pathways for pain, autonomous body function, memory, pleasure, higher judgment.....I have been filling it with information for another 40 or so years now but my brain is not just like a computer. I cannot reboot, defragment, or alt control delete my brain. I cannot, try as I might, erase the hard drive. I often want to but I cannot.

Every one talks these days about screen time and no real communication. That argument has merit. The world outside of cell phones, televisions and tablets also has many voices -often too many. I sometimes have trouble trying to decipher who to and not to listen to or whether to listen at all. In my nearly 5 decades I have lived an interesting life. My brain is full of stories, memories, experience and I have listened. Listened to so many stories....friends, counselling clients, children, relatives, coworkers. Do I have room in the old brain for all of this?

There are people who just talk. Meaningless pleasant drivel. Most of them understand the basic etiquette of not discussing religion, politics, money or sex in polite society. This kind of talk is mostly handleable. It is what we used to call small talk. Mostly unnecessary but fills some time.

On the other side of the coin are the deep, dark talkers. The ones who should really say : "Hey, allow me to dump all this really heavy emotional crap on you and then I will move on to get attention and sympathy from someone else while I do absolutely nothing about any of it."


The Agenda talkers also have a purpose. That is to bias you. Here is a story about X. X did this. Last time X did this to Y. If you talk to X this will happen to you. This type of communication tends to be self serving to the utmost. Unless it is your Mother.

The touchy talker also gets a mention. It is just me, mostly, but the touchy, huggy, standing too close to me talker is the hardest to understand. I have ears. I can hear you. Please do not invade my space.  Believe me:  I am sure what you need to say is important.  At least to you.  However, I am not in a super secret spy agency and your need to go pee is not a state secret.  There is no need for you to lean in and whisper like no one in the history of the planet ever peed before.

Most hilarious for me are the Third Party chatters. They definitely have something to say. Usually to you but will they talk to you? No. Much better to loudly voice their concerns to a small child, nearby animal, their spouse or just the air. I once witnessed a gentleman with a 9 month old baby very publicly lecturing said baby on how close a nearby man had parked to his car. Apparently he found the proximity of the other car distressing. I am not certain why he felt his 9 month old could rectify the situation. I am sure the other man would have preferred a straightforward, "Could you move your car?" To a booming, " Well, Timmy I guess this guy over here doesn't care if his car gets scratched!!!"

No wonder we are confused. Quite understandable that we have been choosing to grab headphones and check out since 1981. Heck some of us carried a boom box around before earphones and walkmen were even a thing.

Is conversation meaningful ? Is it drivel or is someone trying to tell me something? I don't know most of the time. Kind of wish people came with a sign to tell me how to take them.

Hey, do you think we could require people to wear an emoticon shirt? Wear the "ice cream" one if  it is small talk day, the happy face if you are straightforward, the serious face if you wanna tell me something that has some weird hidden deeper implications, and the embarrassed smiley if you are going to talk about yourself all day.

Valid debate, close conversations between pals and family, the chatter of children is great.  The rest, sadly :  just more noise.

Drop Your Sandbags

"Instead of trying to make your life perfect, give yourself the freedom to make it an adventure, and go ever upward."  Drew Houston.

I carry it around.  My baggage.  There's a few things that weigh on me.  Lately, I mostly ignore those things that drag me down.  Probably not the healthiest approach to the issues but for now:  it is my reality.

Truly,  it is not a matter of avoidance, just a profound lack of time.  My personality requires copious amounts of time to process things.  Alone time.  If there was an extreme Xgames for introverts I would be slamming it in high scores.

My life, currently, is not an introvert's paradise.  Work is people, people, people, Oh, and more people. My children also require interaction.  Strange but they like talking to me and being listened to as well.  All my other responsibilities require speaking to actual humans, too. So, sitting and pondering my dreams and the plan to make them happen gets about 0.0002 minutes out of my regular week. Eureka moments to work out bumps along the way are fewer and farther between.

Hey, I am not complaining. I have some real affection for all these people type people.  I just simply mean that because I am the one who needs to work things out in utter solitude and in a quiet peaceful place; I have not happened upon many solutions lately.  I am recognizing that.

In one of my very first jobs, I worked with a sage, experienced bartender named Bill.  He was quiet.  He rarely offered advice and was not the boisterous barkeep.  I walked in one day and out of nowhere Bill looked at me and said "Hey, Jayne, you need to drop your sandbags."  Anyone who has known me more than a minute would recognize the confused,  immediate reaction of my face. Try as I might to stop it:  my face speaks for me even when I would rather remain silent.  Lady Gaga might have a Poker Face but I missed that prize in the gene pool lottery.

Since my face had done the talking I did not need to ask any questions and Bill just continued.  "You are a nice, young girl (yupp, I used to be a young girl, peeps) , but you are carrying a lot of crap with you.  If you were in a hot air balloon, Jayne- You wouldn't make it off the ground. Drop your SandBags!"

I spent a long time after that pondering exactly what he meant.  I was 18.  Clueless.  I think I picked up a little more weight before I eventually figured it out.  Bill meant I was carrying a lot of SEP's.  Somebody else's problems.   What he could see that I needed was to let go of being a "fixer" for the people around me.  To let them take their own journey and create their own outcome.

He was wise and once I learned to do that around 30- being such a slow learner- life got easier and lighter.  I was able to forge my own path rather than take on other's chores and struggles.

Yet here I am.....once again.  I am pretty sure that my sandbags now are different.  I am not trying to change the world for others anymore.  I haven't taken on scads of difficult projects that are not of my own making and benefit me in no way, as I used to, frequently.  I can say, without doubt, that I do not completely understand what the heaviness is this time.

Much of my difficulty has sprung up from a sea change in my day to day life.  Not of my choosing this time but foist upon me by....life? The universe?

Somehow through all the demands, all the over scheduling, the mountain of responsibility; I need to steal some time. Time for about 48 hours on a quiet private beach....with a couple of my journals.  Time to figure out again what I can  change, where my next challenge is and how I can find the time to get there. Time to drop my sandbags.

Hello Justin Trudeau

Okay, Mr. Trudeau,

First let me say I'm a fan.  I like your policy of inclusiveness and I remember it as a legacy from your Father.  I like what you have done with international diplomacy. I applaud your inclusion of vast numbers of women and all ages in your cabinet. I think your wife and children are darling: as do you.

However, you and I would have words over your legalization of marijuana.  Yes, my friend, I may be of the demographic that seems to think that is a great idea but I disagree wholeheartedly. I don't want it, to smell it, to have secondhand exposure or to have my children exposed to it.

I lived through the 70's.  I watched the result of dealers lacing pot with LSD and PCP.  I worked in a youth center:  I have seen kids between 14 and 25 burn out on  marijuana. I have seen them lack coping skills and develop mental health issues out of nowhere. I have been helpless already as they spiral down into other addictions.

I imagine you would say: "Well, Jayne. No worries: I will have stringent controls in place and only legal dealers will be able to sell pot. "  Really?  That sounds pretty naive to me.   For decades there has been an illegal system in place.  Those selling illegal drugs are not going to suddenly say, " Hey, Mr. Trudeau just made this legal so I guess I better find a regular job!"

No, they are going to see the legal system of distribution as competition.  They are going to need an edge to compete.  Competition tends to drive prices down and content up.  Dealers will be looking to make their product a little fancier and more addictive.  Hmmm, almost sounds like they will begin lacing pot with lsd, pcp, ecstasy, or gawd help us all, fentanyl.

You might answer that the police will shut that right down.  I doubt that.  Even in my small town, the police have there hands full busting a meth lab every couple of days only to watch two more spring up to take its place.   They also have a few other things to do: stolen property (mostly by drug addicts), murders, assaults, white collar crime, stalkings and rapes.   So, I highly doubt they will have the resources or the inclination to spend on what will be the illegal dealers of what you will have made a legal drug.

Rethink it Mr. Trudeau.   Our addiction treatment centers and hospitals are already burdened by the current level of addiction.  At very least make the age required for legal partaking in this "past time" 25, 40 or even 65.

Next year, when my apartment is full of pot smoke from my neighbours- like it is on the 20th and 1st of the month now and my asthmatic child texts me to to call the police-   I won't be able to.   Can I please give her your personal cell number to text instead? It's your deal, Mr. Trudeau:  I hope you can handle the consequences.

The Eff Word

It is like it's an accent.  A dialect. Perhaps, in the small town where I live babies speak their first sentences peppered with it.  It's not Fire Truck.

A light bulb came on for me today about how the people I interact with, speak.  You see, I just spent five days in another city.  A larger city.  I spent a lot of time downtown with a variety of people:  business people, vacationers, homeless people, gangbangers and teenagers.  There were the elderly dealing with advancing age and mobility issues. People who are busy, some who have very little, lots who are frustrated in ways big and small.  Some of the time I spent in the hospital where I met people in very high stress situations: people who were losing and had just lost family. People who had friends and family members admitted for long stretches of time.  The families I met at the hospital had every reason to swear.  I spent time other places too. The mall, stores, restaurants even cabs and city buses. I don't remember hearing that one word, not even once. Or any of his less offensive younger cousins.

I hardly noticed when I was there but there was something missing.  That accent.  In the whole time I was in London, Ontario I didn't hear anyone punctuate their sentence with an eff bomb.  In fact, I would be hard pressed to say that I heard anyone swear even once.

Now, I certainly cannot say that no one swears in the city.  That would be an effing ridiculous statement.  What I can say is that I returned home to my apartment today and within ten minutes had opened my balcony door.  Floating up to me in the warmish night air were the dulcet tones of my neighbours having what passes for a normal everyday conversation around here.

It went something like this: " And then I effing told him that he effing needed to make an effing call.  They are not going to effing fix his effing car if he doesn't effing tell them when he effing wants it done."  It went on longer but I am sure you get the drift.  Ah, there's that local dialect again.  I must be home.

Mind you, I wasn't witnessing an argument.  The conversation was not heated or debated.  Just one man passing along a story about his day to another.  I wish I could say that it is an isolated thing but it is not.  This is the way a lot of people speak here.  A chat on the bus, a conversation at work, a simple coffee order at the local Tim's......pretty much every day, multiple times a day you witness this use of vulgar language.  Even in schoolkids, teenagers and the elderly.  Wow, I would say especially amongst the middleaged population.

So I ask why.  I was raised mostly in Niagara and Stratford.  I really do not remember it there.  No one felt the only way to be heard was to salt our speech with nasty epithets.  Truth, most of the people I knew spoke plainly or eloquently with no swearing at all. Sure, there were a few people who threw in the occasional "bad" word.  They thought they were rebels and we mostly laughed at them for how stupid it sounded.  Oooh, big man said a bad word.....I'm shaking.  With mirth.

Does it bother me? Not on a moral level but it is tiresome to hear daily.  Being around it  I find myself slipping into this habit.  That, in and of itself, bothers me quite a bit.  After spending most of my life with pretty good verbal hygiene I don't like being infected with the local accent. I fight it consciously but it is slipping in.

It's annoying to hear the kindergarteners speaking this way- and they do.  There is so much more to say.  More productive things, more positive, more useful words.  It is frustrating to try to deal with an individual's concerns when their go-to method of communicating is so inherently disrespectful to both the listener and speaker. I wonder if no one ever taught any of them how to make a valid point with clear emphatic language and tone.

I also wonder if they kiss their Mothers with those dirty mouths. Bet Momma would be proud.

Darkest Whispers

We do not talk about it. Suicidal thoughts. In sad reality we talk about TV shows, news reports or third person what ifs but we don’t talk about our own experiences. If we mention someone ending their own life: we whisper. There is a lot of fear in words we feel we must whisper.

Its taboo. Most rational adults know that even a simple reference to the darkest thoughts one can have leads to consequences, judgements, overreaction. Will my spouse respect me? My friends be overly concerned? My doctor lock me up? My boss stop trusting me?

It's controversial. Suicide itself was still illegal in Canada in 1972. Try it and you’ll be locked up if you fail. Many religions prohibit self harm.  All major world religions prohibit suicide. Catholic rhetoric was that those who took their own life went to purgatory and not heaven. Some Fundamentalists still believe it damns you to hell. Jews don’t condone it. Jewish suicides are buried in a separate portion of the cemetary and denied some burial traditions. Hindus believe it violates the idea of nonviolence. Muslim teachings say " The Prophet said, “He who commits suicide by throttling shall keep on throttling himself in the Hell Fire (forever) and he who commits suicide by stabbing himself shall keep on stabbing himself in the Hell-Fire.” It is considered a form of murder and a grave sin by all these religions: the murder of one's self as wrong as taking another life. Socially it has been called selfish, crazy or cowardice. Centuries of judgement and concrete thinking that  taking your life by your own hand is just plain selfish, wrong, and evil. Even now, you’ll find this attitude without searching too far.

Times have changed though right? We talk about it now don’t we? Perhaps, we talk about 13 reasons why or Rehteah Parsons…..or how tragic it is when someone we know commits suicide. However, when we do talk about it now-unless the conversation turns to euthanasia- it is immediately labelled a mental health issue.

I find that thinking demeaning and outdated.

Suicidal thoughts, on their own, do not necessarily indicate a mental health problem. In fact, they can be part of a persons coping mechanism and a sign of a very healthy mind.

Dwelling and obsessing about suicide or committing suicide are quite different from having the occasional suicidal ideation.

Yet, if a person you loved or you were responsible for mentioned the idea of suicide….Would you react judgementally, immediately try to “talk them out of it”?  I think that way of reacting is assumptive. It is hardly a rational response but a visceral one. A giant oh no! akin to stomping your feet…..and just as effective.

Speaking personally my friend Heather could tell you that the poster in my highschool locker read in lovely script “vaguely suicidal”. Even at the time she said that her Dad, a doctor, would have been royally irritated to know she made that for me. It was, however, my truth at the time. Did I kill myself? No. Was it attention seeking, no: It was deep in my locker for me and no one else. Only Heather knew I had it. Why was it there? Well, life was pretty crappy and in my mind at least, the thought that I could escape it was comforting. The idea that though there was nothing under my control I could still decide whether to be.  Was I crazy? Nope. Would those in charge have ordered counseling if they had seen it? Yupp. Most likely outcome. Did I need a therapist? Nope.

Like I said….having the thought if this does not change I could do that….is not always unhealthy. It does not mean I was in some immediate danger of harming myself. In fact_ that visual reminder was an outlet, a vent, a way help myself overcome the difficulties that stood in my way. All was not lost because I felt I had a choice. But I still could not speak to anyone about that. I knew that meant at very least a swift trip to the school psychologist and quite possibly a mind altering prescription.

I am in no way minimizing mental health or the tragedy of suicide. When my friend Tony killed himself I was devasted . He was full of life and had a bright future. He in no way ever indicated depression or spoke of ending his life. That’s the key- he never spoke of it. Why didnt he?

Perhaps he was not interested in hearing platitudes and reasons why he shouldn't. Or didnt want his life disrupted or to see that godawful head tilt people do when they feel sorry for you. Maybe he thought his parents would yell. I'll never know but I do know for sure he did not have what you would call mental health issues, he was not unhappy, bullied or selfish. I do know he discussed his plans with no one. I have known two others who also did not speak of it. All three took their own lives. It might be anecdotal evidence but in my world each one of them shared a silence about their inner thoughts and feelings. Two of them you would describe, if you had known them, as having perfect lives. Perhaps that is why, like most of us, they felt they couldn't share their darkness. Scared of shattering the perfectly happy, lovely person, responsible child myth.

We need to speak. This is something we need to let people say without our fear, judgment, invasive concern, efforts to "fix" them, labelling or social stigma. Listening without silencing them.

I think if honesty was highly prized in society many more of us would cop to our darkest feelings. If we had no fear of reprisal we would speak of our own despairs large and small. We are sometimes, just too content with whatever the common way of looking at a situation happens to be. We have to learn to let people talk despite our discomfort. We need to listen and learn instead of talking about and judging. In my mind at least, we must question the way we look at whispered words.

Experiment Awry

Back in the mid90's at my wits end with my kids teacher, I decided to try a small experiment in behavior modification.  I was pretty desperate for a solution.  When you are 25, busy, working, going to school and taking care of two kids and a house there isn't all the much time to be called into the grade 1 class and forced to sit in a mini chair listening to a high strung teacher grumble.  But for three months I was forced to do that daily.

No amount of communication could get Madame to see she was part of the problem. No suggestions from me ever made it past her sardonic smile. I had a bored child on my hands.  My Darling girl whos mind outthought most adults and who had set out to make school fun.  A teacher who had a love affair with conformity. Who found my little beans brilliance serial killer level disturbing.  Somehow, out of that situation I found myself getting served with Grade 1 Detention ad infinitum.

Unable to convince Madame to try anything new I turned to the one person I could influence.  I explained to my baby that her hijinks were rather unwelcome.  "But its soooooo borrrrrrring Mummy".  I know Baby. You only have about 20 more years of oft boring teachers to deal with.  No worries, we are going to try something.

I knew I was going against the permissive grain of the parents around me.  ( Deep breath! Be brave.). Baby, take this little elastic and wear it as a bracelet. Okay. Now every time you want to get out of your seat, feel you need to tell your friends to ask unanswerable questions, shoot spit balls from your drinking box straw or tell your teacher a wild, wild story and prove her gullibility please give your wrist a little snap. Worked charmingly. No more detentions for Mom. Just 8 hours of one bored kid 5 days a week and Madame had no problem with that.

Enter the nosy Mom!  Having seen how my 90's version of the fidget spinner restored classroom peace for me Mom 1, the self appointed Mayor of Grade 1 parents, decided it was just the ticket for her bored child, too.  A day later I hear her shrill complaint.

The school called and gave her a movie of the week level warning about self mutilation. Turns out that instead of a tiny snap to remind oneself to be good her Darling decided to try to use the trick to change her friends behavior.  No matter how much she twisted that elastic....or how blue her fingers turned her friends remained annoying. Odd.

I hadnt forseen that extrapolation of my experiment. For a six year old it was a brilliant thesis. Missed one minor given, that's all. Nothing in this world you do can force another human to change. You can complain whine cry manipulate and even dominate but real change is all the other persons deal. Sorry Bunny. That's just the way it is.

We would like it to be easier to change people. As Mom and Dads, bosses and employees, lovers, friends. Unfortunately, behavior rises from so many competing factors. Personality is a strange mix of biology, experience and current and past social mores.  Behavior takes all that and then adds quality of sleep, nutrition, the environment and available tools and pops out something new at the end. It can be fantastic. It can be dismal.

Still, all we can do as humans is change ourselves.  If we change enough then sometimes people around us must change to adjust. We control how much or how little other's behavior can affect us. Our own level of tolerance determines how easy or hard that will be.  We can choose to be like Jello. Just let the cream poor over us and jiggle- largely unchanged. We can choose to stir and become a yukky mess of gelatin and dairy. Changed largely by our own reactions and behavior.

This is our human truth. Even now in the " new millennium" where we teach our children its their right to be offended by anything. Like that is a healthy notion. Sorry, kids, your rights, your feelings, your discomfort still ends at the tip of the next guys nose. Agree or disagree, be offended or dont- theres only one person we each truly control. The self.

Eden

Quarter past five.  Deep in the most private part of your soul you smile.  Your heart knows that anything useful you have been inclined to do at work today is done.  There is only one persistent drive left in you today.  The drive to punch out, say a pleasant goodbye and rush home.

The travel time is not enjoyable but  worth it.  In twenty minutes your key turns in the lock.  It is an amazing sound that key makes.  You open the door and are greeted with open affection.  You set down your bag and spend the next 40 minutes hearing amazing stories.  "Do you know what ?  Manda was in art and she was laughing 'cause Issac burped and it was soooooo funny, and the teacher said "That is enough" and we tr-i-e-d not to laugh but we couldn't and Manda had milk come out her nose!"   I bet that was pretty funny. "And guess what else, we only have four more days of school, and then next year, we might get this teacher and he's a really nice teacher, and if we get him he  has ipods in his class and if we get him, know what else?  We get to use them when we are done our stuff and I really, really really hope I get him."  That just might happen, kiddo.  I am pretty glad that you are already excited about next year.

You smile inside and it hits you.  There has not been one single development at work today that can hold a candle to the conversation you just had.  This moment right here was the most important meeting on your schedule.   So, you make dinner and check for homework while your gorgeous husband shows the munchkin how much the cucumber plant has grown.  You thank your lucky stars that he is home tonight with you. It means  there may just be a long walk in the country or a drive out to the lake for all of you, together.  You hear them giggle.  It is not the kind of giggle you hear at work where you wonder; What has happened now?   Just innocent bell-like laughter and with it the tension in your neck begins to melt away.

It is good to be home.  It is magical.

Glowing Earth

It is full of this indefinable thing we choose to call love.  A sometimes chaotic fusion of baking, WII games, guinea pigs and back rubs. Of wall hangings handmade just because He thinks you might like them. A quick nibble on the back of your neck while you fold socks. Snapshots and portraits and preschool art frames glimmering in the background.  A list of chores of  Sisyphean proportion to keep it all running in some predictable order.  As much a thinking game as it is slugging to get it done.  A constant series of questions we ask ourselves:  How do I make it better?  Make them happier?  Guide them in the right direction?  Keep it positive and inspiring?

 Outside these walls the world can knock you out repeatedly whether you are four or forty.  Bullies. Irate customers. Idiot drivers. The just plain rude.  Disappointment can reign sometimes out there- but at home it has no hold.   We plot against it here.  Fortify against frustrations.  Actively build each other up in a cocoon of safety, strength and respect.  The next time we head out the door we each take a little bit of home as the courage that beats within us.

Yet, it is only four walls and a roof.  It is pleasant, organized and comfortable.  It could

Summer Fun

use a new coat of paint.  No one is knocking from Architectural Digest to say, "Hey, can we do a photo shoot?"  Yet, it somehow, in it's simplicity, is an oasis. There is so much good here in this one small place on a very big planet that I bet it glows on google earth at night.   Like a star doused in fairy dust.

I have a friend...

So I have this friend.  

The situation that she is in is driving me crazy.

I have known her a long time.  I have seen her go through things and be strong.  I have seen her laugh and be silly.  I have seen her grow and change and become more beautiful.  So it is hard for me to watch her be devalued.  Like any close friend,  I want what is best for her and I hope that writing about what is happening  helps put it all in perspective for her.

She is in love.  She has been for a long time.   That's a good thing and she says she is happy. She is very loyal and loves him much. She does many, many nice things for him large and small.

When I ask her about what is happening now she shrugs and says the man she loves is going through a difficult patch. That is all she says.  She just smiles and goes on.

I fear for her. I see her

eroding bit by bit and I wonder if she can go on inevitably this way.

I kind of wish that her man would read my blog and recognize himself and wonder if there is anything he could do differently. But that won't happen.

So it is what it is.  Every time she goes to work he gets upset that she has to speak to her coworkers.  He acts sort of jealous.  Throws a little fit about it with her.  Work for her is pretty stressful and his attitude is making it much harder for her to go there. I know she feels like he is making wildly inaccurate accusations.  It seems like he thinks these absolutely normal coworker conversations are some kind of betrayal of their relationship.

It amuses me somewhat.  She has shared with me that while she is at work he hangs out at his favourite haunts chatting up people for hours at a time. Even driven to play dates with other women and their children. That he has told her "tit for tat"  Guys look at you so I will look at whoever I want.   I realize that doesn't make sense.  That he is mad that guys look at her which is something she cannot control.  However, his response is something he surely can control. She has occasionally stood up for herself but it leads to more of the same.  Tragic.

This selfsame man: who claims to love her, says he won't give up "talking to his female friends".  Yet, he gets mad when she talks even to his friends unless it is a select few "that he trusts". He has no trust for her.  He expects her to trust him blindly with his coworkers, friends, people he meets in his work and online. He even wants absolute trust to go on vacation alone but heavens to Betsy she cannot even get things done at work. A five minute conversation for her at work can turn into hell at home for hours.

I know it is impairing her ability to go to her job. I know she cringes getting ready for work and expects the argument. I can say she has shared that the stress gets to her and she regularly cries herself to sleep.

I wish he would value her more.
To see what he will eventually lose if the attitude does not change.

For he will surely lose her income.  Eventually.  I am sure at some point it is going to become to difficult for her to put up with a tantrum every time she has to work.  If she doesn't freak out and get herself fired then she may decide it is easier to give notice and never leave the house.

Her personality will be the next to go.   The gradual erosion of who she is (was).  I remember a bright, funny and generous friend.  She is nearly afraid to speak now.  When she does she is quite often ignored, instantly argued with or just talked over.  It is sad really.  From time to time I have seen her begin to say something and looked forward to what it would be only to then see her interrupted.  Usually her man will start to argue with what he thought she was going to say.  Most sad of all.  He doesn't stop to wonder what she would have said if he had let her. 

I have even wondered at times how far she would go to end the pain and if we would lose her altogether. It is likely that this is overstepping my bounds and none of my business.  Oh well. It is hard to watch a friend get hurt when she has done nothing to deserve it.  She is becoming someone diminished. Someone timid.  Someone who now lacks confidence where she should have tons.

Someone I used to know but don't, really, anymore.

Am I a *itch?

I don't want a dog.  Apparently, everyone in the house wants one. But. I. Don't. Now, do not get me wrong.  I love dogs.  Seriously,  if you had a litter of puppies at your house and I really thought you were a jerk- I would still be tempted to visit. Dogs are great and the bigger the better.  Doesn't mean I want to own one.  They require time and a lot of space and I have very little of either.  Now, usually I just assent tacitly, okay, do what you want. This time that thought is cringe worthy which has left me wondering if I am turning into a *itch.

So I consulted askmen.com and found an article entitled "Top Ten Signs that she is a *itch".  According to the website there were some tell tale signs that I am sure do not apply to me:  bossing my man around and belittling him in public, flirting with other guys and being cold hearted and manipulative. The article also stresses that a *itch will slight you in bed. Laughable. Yep, could go a hundred million years and never worry about becoming that girl.

Of course, I did not get off scott free in the article.  It also states,  she expects to be treated like a queen.  Well, duh.  I am a woman.  To quote the article "She constantly expects car rides, gifts and attention from you".  Hmmm,  could be nice and I clearly wouldn't be opposed to a ride to the job that helps pay  the bills, or the occasional thoughtful gift or moment when it wasn't always about everybody else's life and their needs.   The website is not clear on whether any of these things has had to ever actually happen in order to make me an evil witch or if only my pipe dream that they might gives me the title.

Lastly, the most questionable subject of all comes up, when the story states that *itches are selfish and treat people like trash.  I am stumped.  This one is a conundrum for me.  Balance between my feelings and needs and those of others is a big fat red flag hot button issue.  I have had someone who should have known better say "Its always about you isn't it?"  Which would lead one to believe that I am a self centered fool.  Am I?

I can only say that I try.  Hard.  I spend the vast majority of my day doing things that need to be done or that others want to  do.  I stand back when I feel I am imposing or boring or just not fun to be around.  I look ahead to how my actions are going affect someone a week or a month or a year from now in addition to today.  I often deprive myself of things or sleep to provide or give to others.  I live biting my tongue because I know how defeating it is to hear complaint after complaint.  Personally, I do not see myself as selfish. I treat people pretty well. I just get uncomfortable because the feedback I get on the subject is so negative.  Perhaps my self view is hopelessly deluded.

Going on percentages, I pass the *itch test.  The bigger question is when faced with the problem that brought me to question myself what will I do?  Woof.  Freaking woof.