Thursday, December 31, 2020

Focus word: Letting Go

This next year's focus will be on letting go

Of expectations on myself and others; of guilt when I don't do things exactly as I think I should; of frustration when I'm reminded again and again of my own imperfections.

In taking stock of 2020 I can't help but feel the way I suspect a lot of folks are feeling: where did my year go? It was at once the longest and the shortest year I've ever experienced. So many things I had planned were derailed by the pandemic- either because I couldn't actually go and do them, or because I was so emotionally overwhelmed and exhausted every minute of every day.

2020 brought few family gatherings; it brought the diagnosis and treatment of endometriosis. My doctor agreed to remove some of my lady bits while treating that, which brings me immense relief.

This year has brought old friends closer, and sent some activities to Zoom that I otherwise would have missed out on. I have read or listened to 129 (and counting) books. I have finished a handful of knit items, most of which have been donated or gifted.

I am not expecting anything remarkable or magical to happen in 2021. I'll take my same hopes and fears into the new year, and the pandemic and everything else will follow right behind me. But the new year always brings a hope for the future and a desire to improve.

And this year, I'm hoping it will bring me a little closure on a few things I can send into the wind.

May it bring you that which you wish to manifest or eradicate from your own lives.

Tuesday, December 29, 2020

After-Christmas

Gratitudes: family visits; music; grandchildren; hugs from my niece and nephew.

My brother-in-law, Chris, and two out of his 3 children visited for a few days after Christmas. We weren't expecting to see them this year due to COVID and all of us being extra cautious. But they didn't want to stay away, and well, we've all been being extra cautious.

We were missing our oldest niece - she's grown now and has a life and a job and responsibilities that kept her home; likewise my sister-in-law, who is like a real honest-to-goodness sister of my heart, wasn't able to join us. But we had a nice visit all the same. It was a quick one but this family knows how to pack a lot of fun and a lot of love into even the shortest of visits.

One of my favourite things about having my brother-in-law visit is when he and Stephen play music together. Chris wrote a song for my oldest granddaughter as his Christmas gift to her, and I don't think anyone in the room wasn't in tears by the end of it.

Everyone has now gone and my house is quiet. I am a solitary person by nature, but I miss them when they've gone. I plan to spend the next several days moping and playing with the things they've forgotten here and drinking all the hot chocolate in the house.

Merry after-Christmas!

Monday, December 28, 2020

Writing goals: fairy tales

I recently wrote a short story, a sort of fairy-tale-ish thing. It's not the normal sort of writing I do, and I was a little nervous about sharing it with my family (you can read about that experiment here). The most lovely GirlGriot suggested that I write more fairy tales, as it's so far out of my comfort zone.

If you know me by now, you'll recognize this as a challenge most exciting- I love doing stuff outside my comfort zone.

So I want to know, my friends: what are your favourite fairy tales? I prefer the dark and morbid to modern-day happy ending stories so of course I dug out my decades-old copy of Grimms Brothers stories. But I don't love fairy tales in general, so I need a bit of help to get started. Give me your most and least favourites!

Regarding that family project: it was an absolute delight to hear what others had written. There are 8 stories written so far, and we went around the room and read them aloud to my father-in-law. There is so much talent and humour in this group and it was precious to see that coming together in such a personal way.


Sunday, December 27, 2020

Disheveled

That is how I’m feeling this year. Every day feels like a crisis, though I can honestly say that I’m not plagued with crises.

I observed several notable days this past month that have left me feeling at odds. My grandmother’s death day anniversary was December 7th; Colin’s birthday on December 16th; and my dad’s death anniversary on December 17th. To varying degrees, I mourn them all so much still and each day of observance has me feeling upside down.

Among these days are birthdays: RHG, one of my oldest and best friends, had a birthday on the 15th; my sweet mother turned 60-I-don’t-know on the 19th (I actually *do* know, I’m just protecting her from a number that surprises both of us). Also on the 7th was a deeply spiritual day for me- that is the anniversary of the day I went through the temple for the very first time.

These back-to-back birth and death days left me feeling a little wrung out. I can handle a heavy emotional observance. I’ve been living in that space for a while now; but I need time to process, to have a lot of feelings and eat a lot of cheesecake about it. So many days with conflicting emotions right in a row means that I did no processing. I ate no cheesecake. I didn’t have long enough with any of these days to stare them in the face and memorize the shape and feel of them.

And now Christmas is right around the corner and I am unprepared emotionally to face that. I struggle with Christmas already, and when you add in all my big feelings about everything else... well, let’s just say the Christmas spirit is struggling to find a gap to slip into.

...

I wrote this several days ago - Christmas is now past, and I am filled with the love of my family. I am looking forward to seeing the backside of this year, and feeling just the smallest bit of hope for the future.

Sunday, December 20, 2020

The Adventure of the Three Bears

My father-in-law is a master storyteller. He used to tell stories to the kids that always started the same way but ended up somewhere different. He would begin "Once upon a time there were three bears. The Butcher, the Baker, and the Candlestick Maker. And they all sailed out to sea."  And from there he would make up a different story each time.

My daughter has asked everyone in our family if we would write a story for my father-in-law in this same manner. I thought this idea was lovely and couldn't wait to participate. 

Until I actually sat down to write and realized, I am not a good make-believer. Fairy Tale writing or "storytelling" is definitely not my bailiwick. But I love the idea and want to contribute, so here is my attempt at a story...

Once upon a time there were three bears: the Butcher, the Baker, and the Candlestick Maker and they all sailed out to sea.

 They lived in a town called Garibaldi on the Oregon coast. There weren’t many other bears in Garibaldi at this time and everyone in the small town knew everyone else- knew their failures and their hopes and dreams; knew their personal histories and their darkest secrets.

 Well… they knew most of the darkest secrets in town. The Butcher had a secret that no one knew. He had been born to a family of cattle-farming bears that were all expected to work the family business. The Butcher was a very strong bear and a fine butcher, having learnt from a long line of butchers. He was deft with the carving knife and knew to trim each cut of meat and he always knew exactly how to give his customers what they wanted.

Every bear in town had a story to tell about the Butcher and his dexterity with a sharp knife.

 What no one knew, not even the gossipiest of gossipers, was that the Butcher used his sharp-knife skills on more than just cows. Every so often a human would come through town, and never leave. The Butcher harbored a deep and unpleasant need to practice his skills on humans even though this was not allowed by the other bears.

 He eventually grew tired of butchering -cows and people- and wearied of carrying his secret. He was a hunter at heart and wanted to do more with his paws than work in a butcher shop. He wanted to hunt. At the first opportunity, he would be leaving this town behind.

 The Baker, too, had always been a baker. He had never done anything else and craved change. In Garibaldi, there isn’t a lot of tolerance for change and the boring old bears only liked bread made with honey; but the Baker wanted to bake with rye, and diced peppers, and herbes de Provence! Whenever he added a bit of something different to his bread dough the other bears turned up their noses and avoided his shop. Garibaldi was no longer the place for him.

 The Candlestick Maker was a young lady-bear who was most definitely not suited to this vocation. Like the Butcher and the Baker, her family had been making candlesticks for many years. She was pressed into service of the family business but had no passion for it. Her passion was stories- she could often be found in her father’s workshop gazing out the window. She spied the Baker across the way tending a private garden of lavender, basil, rosemary, and tarragon; she watched as a few men straggled through town and she noticed the Butcher pausing as he swept his front stoop to watch the men as they begged at the Baker’s store-front.

 Her imagination took flight as she watched the bears of the town going about. Melted wax pooled on her workbench as she made up stories in her mind and her father shouted at her. “Look at this mess! Stop your lollygagging and spin these candlesticks!”

 The young bear ground her teeth and decided to leave her father’s candle-making shop and sail about the world. She threw off her leather apron and declared herself a candlestick maker no longer. “I’m a Storyteller.” She whispered, and then she left.

 And that is how the Hunter, the Fancy Bread Baker, and the Storyteller all found themselves at the port of Garibaldi, fed up with the town and their expectations.

 The three became friends and spent their journey together. The Hunter had sausages to share; the Fancy Bread Baker had several rosemary and pimento loaves; the Storyteller set out candles from her pack to light their table.

  The Hunter and the Fancy Bread Baker extended a fatherly protection over the Storyteller, and she kept them entertained with stories of delight. They talked of their families, and of the burdens they carried.

 “I don’t like making candlesticks, but Father doesn’t care what I want to do.” The Storyteller told them. “He only cares about the family business.”

 “Who wants to eat the same boring bread, day in and day out?” The Fancy Bread Baker complained. “Where have this town’s taste buds gone?”

 “I kill the humans that come to town.” The Hunter explained. At the shock on the other’s faces, he rushed to explain, “Only the strangers though! I often wanted to kill my customers, but I didn’t!”

 The Baker and the Storyteller stared at him. “J-just don’t kill any more, and don’t kill us, okay?”

The Hunter allowed that as he had no friends beside these two, he would kill no more humans and also refrain from using his knives on them.

     The ship eventually docked at a faraway island port, and the three disembarked. They had very little of their supplies left and decided to stay together for a time. They made their way along the coastline of the island and as night was falling they came upon a village. There was no inn, and anyway the three had no money. They met a nice old bear who pointed them inland and described a small, abandoned cottage that they might find suitable for the night.

 The cottage was in poor repair but the three set about making it comfortable for their first night on land in some time. The next day the three split up to explore the village. They were given food and bed rolls and wheat for flour, in exchange for help around the village.

 The villagers were generous, but very poor. They were kind and shared what they had, but they also lacked in many areas. They welcomed the three strangers to their small village, and shared their woes with the newcomers.

 There were many animals surrounding the village, but the bears of this town had little in the way of hunting skills. They had gardens, but no experience with herbs and no recipes to speak of. The young bears were mischievous and were often left to their own devices while the adults tried their best each day to complete their chores and gather food.

 The Hunter brought his skills with the knife and was able to provide not only meat, but protection for the whole village. The villagers asked many things of the Hunter -because he was such a strong bear, he was often asked to help with repairs around the village. In exchange, the villagers shared their meals with him, and helped him improve the little cottage he and his friends were living in.

 The Baker tended the gardens and taught his recipes to others and baked fancy bread for everyone. The bears of this village loved the clever flavours he blended together and often brought their own ingredients for the Baker to experiment with. The shared their seeds and harvest with him.

 The Storyteller gathered the children each day and taught them to read and write, and tell stories of their own. She taught them about the virtue of contributing to their village and got them thinking about what they wanted to be when they were grown bears.

 And so, accepted by their new friends, the three bears thrived in the village. The Butcher never again turned his knives against a human; the Fancy Bread Baker spent his days baking delicious treats for a community who encouraged his experimentation. And the Storyteller found her niche in raising up a new generation of young storytellers, who could be both productive and whimsical.

 

The End


Tuesday, August 4, 2020

Journal Prompt: What do you lie about?

My instinct is to say I don't lie about anything. I am honest in all my dealings with my fellow man.
When I was growing up, my mother impressed upon me, in very strong terms, that lying is a cardinal sin and we must never do it. I don't remember the lies I told as a child, but I remember that my mama did not appreciate a liar.

So, I didn't lie. I told the truth always, much to Mom's chagrin - it turns out, sometimes parents might appreciate the occasional lie. 

The doctrine of my church stresses the importance of honesty, and I take that very seriously. To be entrusted with the care of others' feelings, one must practice honesty and transparency. So, I don't lie.

Except when I do. 
How are you? Are you okay? Yes, I'm fine. Everything is wonderful!

This is a big one for me. I understand the importance of being honest about my feelings, I do. But I also reserve the right not to spill my guts about every emotion I have. If you know me, you know I spill my guts on a fairly regular basis so it may be hard to imagine that I hold anything in reserve. Believe me, I am protecting you from some of that, some of the time.

In my marriage, we place extra importance on honesty. So I'm learning to say I'm not okay, but I'm not ready to put words to it yet. This is at least the truth, and I can trust Stephen not poke at my bruises.

The last time I visited a therapist was right after Colin died. I saw a very nice woman that my job put me in touch with. She had no idea how to counsel a person who had experienced traumatic death, and that became painfully obvious right away.

After expressing an inappropriate amount of shock and bother about the manner of Colin's death, she asked me how I was processing my experience, and I spent 40 minutes tell her about all the things I was doing: I started my day off with an hour of yoga and meditation; I had developed a morning routine of self-affirmation, journaling, and a healthy breakfast. I spent my afternoons writing and reading and drawing. Evenings were for quiet reflection, more journaling, and some stretching before an early bedtime so I could get plenty of restorative sleep. I told her all about my plans to get a cat, go to college, and change jobs. She proclaimed me her healthiest patient on record and told me to call her if anything changed.

The only part that was remotely true was that I did have plans to get a cat. Every other bit of it was false. I spent my days drinking, crying, and throwing up but I wasn't going to tell her that. I didn't get anything out of that therapy experience - because I lied.

I have a better relationship with my own emotions these days. I still cry or vomit when my body demands it, but I don't drink any longer and I rarely create such extravagant falsehood around how great I am doing.

So, how am I doing? Well ... the 20 year anniversary of Colin's death is 14 days away and I'm not okay. I will be okay, but for today I am giving myself permission to not feel great.

Monday, August 3, 2020

On this day: Baptism


Eight years ago I was baptised a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The missionaries in my ward remembered that today is my baptism anniversary and dropped off these lovely flowers to recognize that. 

These are the things I know to be true:

I am a child of God. Knowing this inspires me to love myself and honour that celestial part of me. 

You- my reader, friend, beloved human, random stranger- are a child of God. This means that I am also inspired to love you; to honour your spirit, your divine nature, your beauty. This is true whether or not you are a member of my church.

My life is better now that I am a member of this church. I am still imperfect, a flawed and awkward work in progress. I cannot claim to be better, only that my life is improved. I am a happier, kinder, gentler version of myself. I am still rebellious, still working through my own stuff. But I'm happier doing it, and content with the questions that still loom large in my mind. 

I believe that other’s lives can become better through discipleship to Christ. As I have found happiness here, I believe that you can too. And if you want to know more, to learn about the church and why I love it, I will happily talk my face off about it. 

I believe that it’s important to respect each person’s will and desire. For me, that means if you don't want to hear about the church and why I love it, I will happily talk my face off about what you love, and what makes your life better.

I am grateful to know these truths; grateful for the knowledge that we -member and not-member- are in this life together and that despite differences in belief or faith we are truly connected to one another.

And because of that, I owe others grace, dignity, and equality. If I do nothing else in this life, I wish to be someone others can look to for love, friendship, and safety. 


Sunday, August 2, 2020

Death dreams

I have this dream where I'm going about my daily life, and I encounter Colin. Where always changes - sometimes I will run into him at the grocery story and we'll have that awkward moment where I expect him to be dead and he wants to talk about what I've been up to. Sometimes I'll look out a window and he'll be standing there watching me. Sometimes he will walk right into my house and my life and want to pick up where we left off. 

He's always so casual- thumbs hooked in pockets, just-saw-you-there-and-wanted-to-get-coffee vibing at me. I am always in turmoil. My vibe is very much 'where the hell have you been?' And, 'how are you not dead? Did you die and come back, or have you been not-dead all these years?' Also, 'if you've been not-dead since the beginning you owe me big answers'.

Dream-me is always tempted to go with him. I have been mourning this man in some way or another for my entire adult life and there was a time when the idea of having him back alive consumed my every thought. I can remember what that feels like in the pit of my stomach, as though it was yesterday and not nearly two decades ago.

I wake from these dreams confused and relieved. I have built a whole new life around the Colin-shaped void in my soul. I reserve some space there for him, for my experiences and my love for him; there will always be room for Colin there. The space where he sits is sacred, but the space around him has gotten smaller over the years. I've filled it up with my first 'mom' experience raising an almost-daughter; with Stephen's children; with grandchildren and nieces and nephews and a daughter-in-law who is my best friend and with Jesus.

These dreams leave me feeling like I've betrayed him, because my body remembers the trauma of losing him. I can feel that in my bones. And my bones spent a long time wanting him back, wanting him alive again no matter the cost (as if there was anything I could pay - if it were possible, I would have done it).

But my bones are also relieved - for the family I have now, for the happiness I've managed to pull around myself. I'll always hold space for Colin. But he has to share it.



Saturday, August 1, 2020

Book report: July


I read or listened to nine books in July. 

Favourites:
Book: The New Jim Crow
Author: Michelle Alexander
Dates read: June 24-July 3
Rating: 5 stars
Review/synopsis: This is a non-fiction work about systemic racism in America as it relates to mass incarceration of African Americans. Ms. Alexander presents information about how political rhetoric shapes society's mindset and allows us to create and reinforce laws that are administered un-equally between Black and White Americans.

Book: On the Come Up
Author: Angie Thomas
Dates read: July 3-4
Rating: 5 stars
Review/synopsis: This is a work of fiction about a young Black trying to make her way - in life, in music, and as a Black American in a world that wants to push her toward its own expectations.

Book: An Unkindness of Magicians
Author: Kat Howard
Dates read: July17-19
Rating: 4 stars
Review/synopsis: Magicians are real, and their world is run quite differently from ours. As various families vie for power and control we learn of a dark history upon which their society is built.

All three of these books gave me a bit of a 'book hangover' and left me wanting more.

Reader friends: share your favourites! I've been doing read-a-longs with friends and I'm *always* on the hunt for my next favourite book.

Journal Prompt: Daily Routine

My routine
I've been working from home for several years now, so the viral outbreak and consequent quarantine haven't really interrupted my life much- except that I did go from having about 3 free evenings each month to now having all the free evenings. That has been nice. I have been fortunate in that there was no interruption to my paycheck. I am feeling very grateful for that.

When I first started working from home, I had a routine: I got up at my regular time, took a shower and dressed for the day, and arrived at my home office at the normal time. My job had gone from high-stress to zero stress.

Something I have learned about me is that I need at least a little stress to function. If I'm not under some sort of deadline or looming crisis, I don't get quite as much done. Having no career-related stress meant that within a very short amount of time I abandoned the routine.

And now, 7 years on, I have no routine at all. Between morning time and go-to-bed time, my life is mostly ruled by my work calendar (and of course, I've worked myself back up to having some stress related to my job,

If I actually had a routine, it would look like this:
  • I would make my bed every morning. Do any of you do this? I'm so in the habit of rolling out of bed and bolting for my office in the morning before my brain is even engaged. How do I change this?
  • Breakfast, vitamins, water. My day starts with Rockstar. Energy drink, not e-string guitar. I feel like I would do much better with a healthy breakfast. By the time I remember this each day, I'm three meetings in and consuming my second energy drink.
  • Exercise. A couple years ago I was working out with a personal trainer. My dad had just died, I had braces on my teeth, and I was working out regularly which meant I was very close to my target weight. Thanks to COVID I rotate between day-time PJs and night-time PJs and eat like I'm on vacation.
I know there's more that would help me but I feel like if I could add these few things to my daily routine I would be happier.

For those of you who have a routine, please please please share with me. I need help, and motivation. What do you do that works? How have you changed your habits?

Friday, July 31, 2020

Anniversary(s)

Stephen and I celebrated a couple anniversaries in the last few weeks; June 30th marked our 8 year wedding anniversary and July 18th was our 5 year sealing anniversary (a sealing is a temple wedding ceremony for members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints). 

I had plans to do a little gushing on social media about how fantastic my husband is, but I made the mistake of looking at my 'memories' on Facebook and found this from my mother-in-law: 



Nancy was a another mom to me, and anyone who knows me (I'm looking you, first-mom) knows that moms sort of bring out the rebellion in me. I don't like to be told what to do; I don't like to be counselled, or advised, or warned. I don't like it when other people know better than I do what's good for me, and I especially don't like other women telling me what's what.

Nancy had a way of speaking to me that didn't tap into that rebellion. She had a bit of magic about her that soothed me. I'm a little un-soothable, so I'm not sure how she managed it.

She helped me see when I was being too hard on myself; and she helped me understand when I was being an ass. She brought a grace to my soul that I didn't have before I knew her, and that I fear I've lost now that she's gone. I am desperately clinging to the vestiges of that grace in the hopes that she isn't looking down on me, shaking her head at my awkward attempts to do life without her.

The nice part is that she raised a whole mess of people, formally and informally, who are among my favourite people. I miss her terribly, but I'm grateful to be surrounded by those who reflect her love and her gentle spirit.

Especially her number one son, who always makes me feel loved and never minds it when my crazy leaks out.





 

Thursday, July 30, 2020

Telling stories

A couple months ago I had an opportunity to participate in a spoken-word storytelling project where individuals share real-life experiences around a theme. The theme I participated in was Total Recall, and I wanted to share that story here. 

***

I’ve had so many moments over the course of my life that came to mind when I heard the theme of Total Recall. Moments of recall so visceral it takes my breath. Moments that contain an entire lifetime in the space of heart beat. I am shaped by those moments and continue to be influenced by them.

Most of my strongest moments of recall are related to music.
One moment was my first husband’s death and the recall that I have around it changes. Sometimes it’s hearing a song or phrase that will take me back to a moment in our life together - I have these memories of sitting on the boardwalk outside a pub, enjoying a drink and people watching and sunshine; I remember feeling so thoroughly content with my life and my choices, and so invincibly happy. We had this favourite song with the line: Someday there will be a cure for pain, that’s the day I throw my drugs away. When I hear that song now, I’m taken back to that moment when I felt like I had it all; that husband took his own life and the knowledge that his pain couldn’t be cured knocks me to my knees.

Another moment for me is with my dad when I was a little girl. My dad suffered from substance addiction when I was growing up and was often absent. My parents were split up and I didn’t see him often. He had a traumatic childhood and didn’t really know how to be a dad. He was this kind, loving person who got buried beneath drugs and alcohol. When we spent time together we were often in his garage working on his motorcycle. I had my own tool set and workbench, and he would teach me how to work on engines and fix things.

We would have the radio on and there were a few songs that required us to stop what we were doing and give ourselves to the music. One song was Drift Away by Dobie Gray. My dad was not a playful person; he was this reserved, stern-faced guy. He didn’t play, or rough-house, or cut loose. But when Drift Away came on the radio he would transform somehow. He would dance me around the garage, swaying to the music and singing along.

My dad died a couple years ago and when that song comes up in my playlist, everything stops for me and I have to cry and sing at the top of my voice and have a moment for my dad. My dad who was not playful or lighthearted, but would sing into a wrench like it was a microphone when his favourite songs came on the radio. My dad, who was not around for most of my childhood but who somehow managed to make me understand that he loved me.

I hear that song and I am infused with feelings of safety and security and protection. My dad was probably the first person to ever make me feel that way.

There is a part of the song that says “The world outside looks so unkind, so I’m counting on you to carry me through”. When I think about my childhood with my dad, that sort of sums up how life was for us. The world was hard and painful, and even if he did it imperfectly he carried me through. He taught me to be stoic when life gets hard, and he taught me that life didn’t revolve me and that things were going to hurt my feelings, and that I would be okay.

He straightened his life up once I was an adult; he got back together with my mom, got sober, and became a sort of informal mentor to others. He became a person people could count on, someone with wisdom and kindness to share. It was the most amazing thing to witness.

I also have a lot of less pleasant memories of my dad but when I think about the net impact of my experiences with him, it’s the good memories that hold the most power over me. That feeling of safety I have when I think about him dancing in the garage is more important to me than anything else.

How I process information and form memories is often about how I feel about a situation at my core, and less about what actually happened. That’s a huge problem in our society, that we rely more on how we feel than what is actually happening. But it has a funny way of playing out in my head.

My grandmother, my mom’s mom, was sometimes hard to be around. I went to visit her with my mom a few years ago; during that visit my grandma pulled a file out of her cabinet - every single letter or card I ever gave her was in that file. From the time I could hold a crayon, through my 20s when I reduced our relationship to cards in the mail - she saved them all. I can’t even begin to imagine what it means but when I think about how it makes me feel - I feel loved.

My husband’s death was probably the single most devastating experience of my life but after nearly 20 years what I remember, what I feel when I think about him is that he made me feel loved and the life I’ve been living since his death is one that has brought me tremendous happiness. It’s awkward for me to acknowledge the cause and effect relationship there, but it’s undeniable.

My mother in law once told me that no matter what I said, I should always make sure the message of love comes through. When I reflect on my experiences, good and bad, my memory is informed on whether or not I felt loved. I connect with others based on whether or not I feel loved. I want to be the sort of person who inspires love in others, the sort of person others can feel safe with. I don’t always know how to do it, but the desire is there.

Tuesday, July 28, 2020

Celebrating Bill


My dad's favourite dessert was cheesecake. Every year for his birthday I would make him a delicious crust-less sour cream cheesecake; sometimes I'd make two, so he could have one all on his own.

His birthday was yesterday - he would have been 65. I had plans to make a cheesecake, like I do every year, and enjoy it on his behalf. Except I couldn't. This happens to me when I'm sad or depressed, or just having some feelings; I can't do the things I plan, can't make my body move the way I want it to, and lose all motivation for all the things.

The year he was diagnosed, he spent some time in the hospital; when he came home, there was no expectation that he would get better. So when he asked for Taco Bell for dinner, it was hard to deny him that. While the idea of feeding a dying man Taco Bell was kind of unappealing, nobody really wanted to tell him no.

So, he got Taco Bell for dinner. He kept it down, and his health did improve very slightly in the weeks after. A few months later he was even able to return to work for a very brief time. He joked that it was that Taco Bell, curing him and making life better.

Bill didn't need a lot of things to make him happy. Shelter, his family, a job, books. When we celebrated his birthday, he never wanted a fancy meal or big extravagant gifts. He often asked for fast food and a gift certificate to a bookstore. His tastes were simple, and his needs were easy.

So last night, feeling low about Bill and wishing we weren't celebrating his birthday without him, Stephen and I ate his favourite food - Taco Bell and a store-bought cheesecake.

I dressed mine up with blackberries and mint from my own garden. He would have hated that.

Saturday, February 22, 2020

Reading report: February

Sackett’s Land by Louis L’Amour

I’ve always considered myself not-a-fan of Westerns. I found the movies dull and never wanted to read a Western novel. I am not intrigued by the Wild West and the plight of the pioneer family has never interested me. 

After my dad was diagnosed with a fatal illness, I decided I would read some Westerns and we could finally discuss his favourites. Louis L’Amour was my dad’s favourite author, so I chose to read the Sacketts series. I never did get around to reading these with my dad, so now I am reading them in his memory.

I enjoyed this one very much, and I only wish I had made time to read it sooner. The story is simple, straight-forward, and told in such a way that I care about the characters.

Friday, January 31, 2020

Reading report: January




I squeezed in 12 books in January, thanks as ever to audiobooks.


🎧A Killer Plot by Ellery Adams 3⭐️
🎧The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas 5⭐️
📖The Night Fire by Michael Connelly 4⭐️
🎧A Deadly Cliche by Ellery Adams 4⭐️
🎧The Turn of the Screw by Henry James 3⭐️
🎧The Last Word by Ellery Adams 3⭐️
🎧Written in Stone by Ellery Adams 3⭐️
🎧Poisoned Prose by Ellery Adams 4⭐️
🎧Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery by Jenny Colgan 3⭐️
📖The Book of Candlelight by Ellery Adams 4⭐️
🎧Before and After by Judy Christie and Lisa Wingate 4⭐️
📖The Chelsea Girls by Fiona Davis 5⭐️

Favourite book this month was The Hate U Give. 
Least favourite was The Turn of the Screw. I gave it three stars after I finished it- which means that I generally enjoyed it and it certainly wasn’t terrible, but it was hard to get a sense of what was happening. I have a physical copy of this floating around my life somewhere, and will probably need to re-visit this one in the future.

Currently reading: The Chelsea Girls by Fiona Davis. I love everything about this novel and can’t wait to finish it. With any luck I’ll get through the final ~160 pages in the next three hours and push this month’s number to 12.

What are you reading? What do you love about books? My favourite thing about reading is slipping into another world, another life, and discovering something about myself along the way. 

Thursday, January 30, 2020

Book review: Let Love Have the Last Word


Book: Let Love Have the Last Word
Author: Common, narrated by Common
Dates read: December 22-23, 2019

This was a powerful book about, of course, love; also the mistakes we make along the way, redemption, and shutting up when others need to speak. Common’s narration of his own story felt like peeking right into his head as he shared his struggles, his failures, and his successes as he explores what it means to really, truly let love have the last word.

I have struggled with love; loving others fully, and allowing myself to be loved. Love feels vulnerable. It feels unreliable. It feels unsafe. 

It has taken me a lot of years and a lot of work to get to a place where love is healing; where it feels reliable and safe. Common’s words reflected everything that is true and perfect about love. 

Wednesday, January 29, 2020

Book review: The Book of Candlelight



Book: The Book of Candlelight
Author: Ellery Adams
Dates read: January 20-29, 2020


The Book of Candlelight starts off with catastrophic events: heavy rains that blankets the town and dampens spirits, and the unexplained death of a local artist, Danny. Nora's reaction to this death is palpable - she didn't know Danny well but she feels his loss deeply. Emboldened by empathy and a desire to offer comfort, she befriends Danny's widow, Marie, and attempts to help her through the grieving process - something Nora herself is well-acquainted with.

Two newcomers to Miracle Springs, best friends Lou and Patty, are renovating a local inn. During renovation, startling facts come to light: secret passageways hidden within the walls; the damaged diary of the original proprietress, Rose Lattimer, which hints at long-past scandal. As Nora gets to know the newest residents of the community, a picture begins to emerge of a deep connection between the inn, Danny's death, and secrets the inn has held for many years.

The Secret, Book, and Scone Society friends dig into these secrets and as they do they uncover another murder, and lies among the Lattimer family - lies and pain that follow the descendants of the Lattimer family today.

As each member of the group deals with their individual pains that are surfacing around them, there is also deepening friendship among some new members of the town. Sheldon, a strange and delightful man who joins Nora at Miracle Books and brings a sense of whimsy with him; Lou and Patty, who have deeper ties to the Lattimer inn than they first realized. Marie, who needs the sort of friendship the community of Miracle Springs can offer.

While things started out seemingly bleak for the residents of Miracle Springs, there is also hope. I am reminded our deepest pains can be offset by helping others; Nora and her friends all experience sadness in their individual circumstances but they are uplifted when they work together. And together they stop a serious crime, bring justice to victims, and continue to support each other through their talents.

I was offered an advance copy of this novel for an honest review. This series continues to delight me- I enjoy the trials and the friendship demonstrated among the characters and the writing evokes feelings of visiting with old friends.



Monday, January 20, 2020

Keeping house


I have been in a weird place emotionally for a long time. I call it depression because that’s the closest word that feels accurate, but it is simultaneously more and less than that. I’ve lost two very close family members in the last two years so mostly I feel like I’m just grieving, which is part of how I feel less than depressed. It’s okay to feel sad when someone you love has died; it seems normal to feel a little lost in your day to day routine when that routine involved providing physical care for a dying person for several months.

I feel overwhelmed most days before I even open my eyes in the morning. I go through the motions of nearly every single responsibility and my heart isn’t in it. I walk into a room and turn around and walk right back out because I can’t face what is there. And that feels like a little more.

I go through this occasionally- I feel like I’ve battled these feelings off and on my whole life. I always come out of it, and it seems to last an appropriate amount of time for the circumstances. Until it doesn’t, and then every day feels like a burden I don’t want to manage.

This past Saturday I was looking forward to spending the day reading, knitting, and napping. These are the things I want to do whenever I have an expectation of downtime- these are the things that re-energize me when I’m in the right frame of mind.

Lately, I haven’t been in the right frame of mind to be energized. All the things I know to do that will help me don’t work any longer. I feel like my healthiest coping mechanisms have been unplugged and I am left feeling like I don’t know what to do. This is especially upsetting for me, because that leaves unhealthy coping mechanisms that I don't really want to give in to. And by that I mean that I always want to give in them, because my badness level is very high. So I fight against the temptation to burn my life down while desperately fighting to find ways to unravel the mess in my head.

Now to Saturday: I slept in a glorious amount and then my husband asked if we can open our home for a church meeting Sunday evening. Friends, my house is a mess. I won’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve done a thorough clean of anything. I tidy up when we go out of town so my house-sitter doesn’t catch cooties, and we clean our guest bathroom whenever we have people over (which is every week so at least that gets done regularly). One of the things that is true about me when I am more or less depressed is that I don’t do house cleaning. I have never been good at it. I should be, and I’m often embarrassed that I am not, but it’s just something I’ve never much cared about doing even when I feel like my best self.

Imagine how I felt Saturday when I realized I would have to spend the day cleaning instead of reading. Seems like the last thing I’d want to do, but the idea of it stimulated me out of my misery. We spent the day cleaning, had a successful meeting in a shiny home Sunday night, and when I came downstairs to start my Monday morning I felt content in my surroundings. More content than I have in a long time.

And I’m realizing, not for the first time (another embarrassing story) that my psyche feels best when I’m in a clean environment. I feel less overwhelmed, less burdened by every little thing. And a little more capable of tackling the day. Why is it that the very thing I need to feel better emotionally feels impossible to accomplish when I don’t feel better emotionally?

That reading I didn't get to do Saturday? I made up for it this morning before work, sitting in my spotless living room on my comfortable couch, surrounded by all the things that bring me joy.






Sunday, January 19, 2020

Are we friends?

I read a lot of books, and I've started sharing those books with others. Book reviews, giving away books, even.. and pardon me while I tense up a little... lending out books from my personal library. That's right, friends, I have finally decided that it's more important to share my books with others than to keep them all for myself.

A few weeks ago I was chatting with a friend and she shared an opinion with me about a book I had given her; I didn't share the opinion and had to make her explain it to me.

Today, I meet up with my friend before church to hand off the next book in the series to her when she says to me, "Are we friends?" I acknowledge that we are indeed and she then explains that she's concerned she offended me with her previously-shared opinion (which was not in the least bit offensive and made for an interesting observation).

Several years ago when I was first baptized (and was still learning how to be nice in social situations) a member of my church made a comment during a class that we "should never give or take offense". I'm quite familiar with the notion that we can choose not to be offended, and embrace the knowledge that I do have control over my actions and that being offended is something I can choose not to give in to.

When I heard that comment though, I entertained the idea that some people are just offensive. Their opinions and the way they voice them have a way of getting under the skin. But just thinking that forces me to acknowledge that I am occasionally guilty of offending people with the way I voice my opinions; some of my opinions are unpopular and sometimes people are offended because they don't really know me and make assumptions about what I mean when I get that RBF expression.

So when my sweet friend expressed concern that she had offended me, I almost laughed right in her face. I know her, and she is a kind, thoughtful person. When she shares her thoughts with me, she is simply describing how information hit her filters, bounced around in her brain, and then came out of her mouth.

Now when I think about that comment I heard so many years ago - "never give or take offense" - I think I understand it a little better. It's about getting to know the people around us so when they share their thoughts, we know a little about their background and what makes them think the way they do. What about my friend's experiences shape her thinking? What has she encountered in her life that creates those filters that information gets pushed through?

I've heard it said often enough that we are a product of our environments, but it's also true that we are a product of our experiences; or, perhaps, we are a product of how we feel about our experiences. And the more we can come to know about others' experiences the more we can understand them, connect with them, and not be offended by them.

Tuesday, January 14, 2020

Snow day



It has been raining almost constantly for what feels like weeks. Rain means something entirely new to me these days- now that I own property that is in a wetland area, I am learning more about standing water than I knew was possible. My animal pens are an absolute mess as we figure out how to deal with the water that pools everywhere. I find myself researching drainage the way I used to research... well, much more fun things.

I crave the sun and warmth but I have come to appreciate the rain in ways I never have before. It helps that I don't have a commute for work through the very worst of NW traffic, and that I no longer smoke and have that horrifying combination of cigarette smoke + damp smell on my clothing. When I don't have to go out in the rain, it's not all that awful.

I find the sound of it restful. I have a white noise app on my phone that I often listen to when I need help sleeping, and the rain sound is among my favourites. Now, when I hear rain I feel calm and meditative.

My home office, where I spend the majority of every week-day doubles as my craft room. I have a small futon and ottoman, bookshelves with yarn and knitting books and all manner of craft items, a television, and a desk. Even when I can't take advantage of craft-time, being here in this room with the sounds of rain around me and an overcast gloom in the air, I feel creative and inspired to do something amazing on a break today in place of my normal social media mindless-scroll.

Today, it’s snowing. Which is pretty to look at and makes me want to turn the heat on full blast and knit, but there’s no such thing as a snow day when you work from home.

Monday, January 13, 2020

Book review: The Hate U Give

Book: The Hate U Give
Author: Angie Thomas, narrated by Bahni Turpin
Dates read: January 1-2, 2020

This book takes us through one young woman’s battle with racism, violence, and what it means to be Black in white spaces. I found this book to be heartbreakingly raw and eye-opening. It was beautifully written and wonderfully narrated. Ms. Turpin brought Starr’s character and story alive for me.

One of the things that struck me is how the author demonstrated racist behaviour among the people in Starr’s life. It felt reflective of the racist behaviour I observe on social media, and the experiences I have heard about from people of colour. It is a stark reminder to me that how we MEAN to behave and how our behaviour FEELS to someone else are very different, and it is important to be able to step back and give others space. Space to breathe, space to be validated, space to be themselves.

Sunday, January 12, 2020

Thoughts on Christmas

I haven’t always loved Christmas. For a variety of reasons, but mainly because the Santa myth upsets me and because I have spent a lot of my life as not-a-Christian.

My husband’s family loves Christmas, and now that I am all-the-way a Christian I have been trying to love it too. My mother-in-law, Nancy, especially loved Christmas, and she and I had many long conversations about why Christmas could be such a magical time of year. I never truly captured the magic of it in my heart, but I tried because my mother-in-law is that compelling and I wanted to be like her.

My dad died the week before Christmas a couple years ago and that was heavy on my mind last year. Then my mother-in-law passed away in April and this past Christmas was our first without her. To say that Christmas is once again an emotionally hard time of year doesn’t really capture how much I struggle to see the joy and magic of the season.

I was dreading this Christmas - without my dad, without my husband’s mom, and with a weariness in the places they used to exist, I wasn’t looking forward to it. I invited my mom to spend the night on Christmas Eve so we could be together in the morning; we spent the evening making cookies and treats and singing (not very Christmasy) songs. The next morning we slept in and took our time eating breakfast and opening gifts.

It was a quiet Christmas, and sad in many ways. But when I think back on it now that the fog of the season is starting to lift from me, I can see a little bit of magic. The quiet enjoyment of baking with my mom; my husband playing my favourite songs on the guitar. My mom taught me an Irish lullaby, and we sang it together.

I miss my dead people. I find myself once again shrouded in feelings of anger and loss. But I am grateful for the people who are still here. I am grateful for my mom spending the evening with me, and teaching me old songs. I am grateful my remaining parents are close enough that I can spend time with them.

The magic that I felt, albeit small, was this: there is room enough in me to experience joy even when I am angry. That wasn’t always true; I have a lot of experience being angry and that emotion used to push out everything else and I pulled it around me like a shield. Miss Nancy taught me this: that it is important to feel all the feelings, and not to push out happiness when things aren’t going well. Anger makes an appearance, but it isn’t allowed to put down roots.

Friday, January 3, 2020

Focus word: Intention

If you have read my blog over the years, you will know that I all-but-abandon it on the regular. Except for around-the-new-year time, I get all this inspiration to create and write and resolve myself.

Looking back on last year’s focus word, I can now say that I completely failed. Oh, I’ve had some light moments: lighthearted fun with my family; light-of-Christ moments of teaching my church kiddos and loving those around me.

I did not create pictures or music. I did not read uplifting books (for the most part). I did not focus on decluttering my house.

I did a lot of stuff though. I buried my mother-in-law. I loved that woman, and burying her was second only to burying my dad.

I read the entire Book of Mormon. It took most of the year, and I took a lot of time off over the year, but I finished it. I read most of the New Testament. I finished a program in my church that the Young Women do called Personal Progress. Finishing meant that I studied specific topics and completed projects that were relevant to those topics.

I read 96 books - fiction, non-fiction, and everything in between.

I went on vacation with 20 of my family members (and those close friends who are family because I decided they were). That was both stressful and amazing.

I learned how to bake bread from scratch (including making and using sourdough starter).

In some ways I feel really good about 2019 but there are several areas I need to improve in, and I’m using this new year time of year to sort out some goals and abandon others. The air around me vibrates with the energy of potential, and one thing that is true about me is that when I set my mind to something I accomplish it.

This year, my focus word is intention. My family gathers for a gospel discussion/study each Monday evening, and a lot of our talks harken back to the concept of intention. We talk about it in terms of being the opposite of “going through the motions”. To act with intention means deciding on our own behaviour and acting with purpose. To act as agents, rather than to be acted upon.

For me, it means setting out with purpose in my day to day life. That looks like less time wasted on social media, less time playing games on my phone, and less time on pursuits that I realise, upon examining them, that I am not really enjoying.

I have a big ole list of things I want to do - this year, but every day, for the rest of my life. I want to re-connect with the things that bring me joy and when I think about what prevented that for me last year, I can see that it is because I didn’t set out my day(s) with any particular intention most days. If I only accomplished the things I set out to do, my year would not have included much of anything. Truthfully, I might not accomplish much more this year but I think I’ll be happier for some intention setting.

I don’t know to hold myself accountable for some things. I am hoping that by remembering my focus word and focusing on my intentions I will be able to achieve greater personal happiness in 2020.