Bubbles.
I love bubbles. Admit it, you love bubbles too. I love bubble baths, bubble gum, soap bubbles floating across the sky, tiny bubbles in champagne, the bubbles that cause milk to froth for a latte or a meringue, the bubbles that form on a baby's lips when they discover the tricks they can do with their own spit. Bubbles are kind of awesome.
One of the best bubbles is the bubble of excitement that forms in your chest when you know you're onto something fantastic in your life. The kind of bubble that makes you feel like your heart is jiggling like jello on a spoon held by a giggling child. Like when Indiana Jones realized that his nemesis was digging for the ark of the covenant in the wrong place because his staff was too long.
The most amazing thing about an excitement bubble is the ability to spread the excitement around.
I have that bubble now. And I can't wait to share it with everyone. But good things come to those who wait. So in about a month I'll be able to talk about it. Until then, enjoy the bubbles you have in your life and if you're lucky enough to have a bubble in your chest that jiggles when you laugh, you are truly blessed.
Monday 23 March 2015
Thursday 19 March 2015
The Lent Diary - Mar 19
Fear is innate.
There is a certain fear that comes with the survival instinct and another fear that comes in times when all we stand to lose is our reputation.
I recall many years ago (nearly 30 to be exact), I was asleep in a waterbed at a friend's house. In the middle of the night, said friend woke me because she heard a sound. The dog, who was sleeping peacefully beside me woke with a start and began barking at the shadows. Me, I fled. Fight or flight? I fled. I scrambled across the bed to get away from the danger, terrified, afraid for my life. It took me years to find the humour in the fact that you can't easily launch yourself out of a waterbed. I liken it to Fred Flintstone's legs going a mile a minute but his body not moving at all and a xylophone beating out the tune of his feet spinning in mid-air.
It's true that fear is a driving force in most people's lives. We are afraid to say what's on our minds and when we do find the visceral fortitude to speak out, we tend to water down the issue that's been brewing at the back of our minds so it is palatable to those around us, fearful of the judgement to come should it not be well received. Sometimes that fear leads to a better understanding of the issue in our own minds. Other times, it's just a cop out, blaming fear for holding us back.
Last night, I was driving home just after midnight and as I pulled off the 401 and turned onto Montreal Street, a large puff of smoke ran across the road about 100 yards ahead. It stopped part way across and looked right into my headlights and that's when I could see it was a wolf. A very large, grey wolf with a black head, puffy tail and long, white legs. I slowed the car and the wolf dipped his head as if taunting me to charge at him. Then he pushed off with his horse-like legs and disappeared up someone's driveway and into the night.
My heart was racing and the bottoms of my feet tingled. I was ready to bolt from fear for my life, just like the night I tried to leap out of a waterbed. The wolf, on the other hand, seemed not to fear the two tons of vehicle headed his way as much as he feared that I saw him. Out of his element. In the urban jungle rather than the forest where he belonged. He feared me seeing him not as a fearsome predator but as a hungry, garbage-eating critter no different than a rat or raccoon.
I felt the survivalist's fear, he felt the fear of losing face. If only he knew how privileged I felt having seen him at all. And maybe that's what I need to keep in mind the next time I fear speaking my mind, just let yourself be seen at all. Like the wolf, you don't know what people really think of you and it might not be that bad.
There is a certain fear that comes with the survival instinct and another fear that comes in times when all we stand to lose is our reputation.
I recall many years ago (nearly 30 to be exact), I was asleep in a waterbed at a friend's house. In the middle of the night, said friend woke me because she heard a sound. The dog, who was sleeping peacefully beside me woke with a start and began barking at the shadows. Me, I fled. Fight or flight? I fled. I scrambled across the bed to get away from the danger, terrified, afraid for my life. It took me years to find the humour in the fact that you can't easily launch yourself out of a waterbed. I liken it to Fred Flintstone's legs going a mile a minute but his body not moving at all and a xylophone beating out the tune of his feet spinning in mid-air.
It's true that fear is a driving force in most people's lives. We are afraid to say what's on our minds and when we do find the visceral fortitude to speak out, we tend to water down the issue that's been brewing at the back of our minds so it is palatable to those around us, fearful of the judgement to come should it not be well received. Sometimes that fear leads to a better understanding of the issue in our own minds. Other times, it's just a cop out, blaming fear for holding us back.
Last night, I was driving home just after midnight and as I pulled off the 401 and turned onto Montreal Street, a large puff of smoke ran across the road about 100 yards ahead. It stopped part way across and looked right into my headlights and that's when I could see it was a wolf. A very large, grey wolf with a black head, puffy tail and long, white legs. I slowed the car and the wolf dipped his head as if taunting me to charge at him. Then he pushed off with his horse-like legs and disappeared up someone's driveway and into the night.
My heart was racing and the bottoms of my feet tingled. I was ready to bolt from fear for my life, just like the night I tried to leap out of a waterbed. The wolf, on the other hand, seemed not to fear the two tons of vehicle headed his way as much as he feared that I saw him. Out of his element. In the urban jungle rather than the forest where he belonged. He feared me seeing him not as a fearsome predator but as a hungry, garbage-eating critter no different than a rat or raccoon.
I felt the survivalist's fear, he felt the fear of losing face. If only he knew how privileged I felt having seen him at all. And maybe that's what I need to keep in mind the next time I fear speaking my mind, just let yourself be seen at all. Like the wolf, you don't know what people really think of you and it might not be that bad.
Monday 16 March 2015
The Lent Diary - Mar 16
Menopause sucks.
I don't think anyone would disagree with me. Young people only know the concept and I can't imagine it's a pleasing thought. Men, especially the partners of women going through menopause, would absolutely agree. And we women, well, we know it.
I had become secure in the knowledge that my ovaries had quit and that my poor body had finally done its last turn at trying to get me pregnant. And I was not unhappy with that situation. Months passed where I felt as though I no longer synched with every woman around me. Every 28 days I did a little happy dance because lo and behold I did not have to make a trip to the drug store or clip coupons for an essential item that our government deems "not essential" and therefore taxes up the wazoo.
My wazoo finally had a rest.
That is, until Saturday. Too much information, you say? Well, nobody talks about this. Nobody. My doctor barely talks to me about this. Then again, she's more than 20 years away from having to worry about it herself. This is just a fact of life, like the ones they tried to teach us in "health" class. The thing is, this is a fact women need to know but men don't really need and/or care to know anything about. Unless they need and/or care about the woman/women in their lives.
So, take it from me.
Menopause sucks.
I don't think anyone would disagree with me. Young people only know the concept and I can't imagine it's a pleasing thought. Men, especially the partners of women going through menopause, would absolutely agree. And we women, well, we know it.
I had become secure in the knowledge that my ovaries had quit and that my poor body had finally done its last turn at trying to get me pregnant. And I was not unhappy with that situation. Months passed where I felt as though I no longer synched with every woman around me. Every 28 days I did a little happy dance because lo and behold I did not have to make a trip to the drug store or clip coupons for an essential item that our government deems "not essential" and therefore taxes up the wazoo.
My wazoo finally had a rest.
That is, until Saturday. Too much information, you say? Well, nobody talks about this. Nobody. My doctor barely talks to me about this. Then again, she's more than 20 years away from having to worry about it herself. This is just a fact of life, like the ones they tried to teach us in "health" class. The thing is, this is a fact women need to know but men don't really need and/or care to know anything about. Unless they need and/or care about the woman/women in their lives.
So, take it from me.
Menopause sucks.
Wednesday 11 March 2015
The Lent Diary - Mar 11
The sky is falling!
It isn't often you experience the sensation of your world coming crashing down on top of you. Literally. I had such an experience yesterday while walking to a doctor's appointment. I was enjoying the sunshine as I went down Johnson Street past the library, crossed the intersection at Wellington and headed alongside St. George's Cathedral. I had a smile on my face. That changed in an instant.
As I went past the side door of the church I heard a low rumble coming from somewhere around me. At first I had a hard time placing it until I realized it was above me.The entire section of roof extending from the side door to the front of the cathedral had apparently warmed up as the sun shone and temperatures rose. The buildup of snow, ice, more ice, more snow and again more snow and ice over the last months came down not in one gigantic sheet but broke up into a dozen or more chunks each the size of a king mattress. As this collection of winter's wrath cleared the roof edge, it plummeted straight down and landed with the grinding thud of a long bout of very close thunder.
All in all, this event probably took 5 seconds from start to finish and yet I recall each nanosecond with perfect clarity. I talk about this as a sound because although I looked up to see the ice/snow sheet begin its slide, I quickly turned my back and huddled down beside a car obliviously parallel parked beside the building.
When the noise had ceased I slowly rose from my crouched position to make eye contact with a man across the street who was in the process of picking up his jaw from the ground. He exclaimed, "WOW" to which I replied, "YAH". He wanted to say more but all he could manage was two more wows.
Unfortunately I didn't have the presence of mind to take a picture. I was truly just happy to get away with my life. Although I'm not certain I was ever at risk, the sound alone was enough to cause my adrenaline to hit me within a few seconds.
At the doctor's office, which is right across the street from the cathedral, I was able to explain the thunder they had all heard moments earlier. I'm happy to report that my blood pressure was 138/70 with the high number (systolic) understandably elevated after my very recent experience.
Perhaps the sky didn't fall on me but I did experience the fight or flight response we are told in high school biology class is an innate response that we cannot alter. And unlike Chicken Little, I had a witness.
It isn't often you experience the sensation of your world coming crashing down on top of you. Literally. I had such an experience yesterday while walking to a doctor's appointment. I was enjoying the sunshine as I went down Johnson Street past the library, crossed the intersection at Wellington and headed alongside St. George's Cathedral. I had a smile on my face. That changed in an instant.
As I went past the side door of the church I heard a low rumble coming from somewhere around me. At first I had a hard time placing it until I realized it was above me.The entire section of roof extending from the side door to the front of the cathedral had apparently warmed up as the sun shone and temperatures rose. The buildup of snow, ice, more ice, more snow and again more snow and ice over the last months came down not in one gigantic sheet but broke up into a dozen or more chunks each the size of a king mattress. As this collection of winter's wrath cleared the roof edge, it plummeted straight down and landed with the grinding thud of a long bout of very close thunder.
All in all, this event probably took 5 seconds from start to finish and yet I recall each nanosecond with perfect clarity. I talk about this as a sound because although I looked up to see the ice/snow sheet begin its slide, I quickly turned my back and huddled down beside a car obliviously parallel parked beside the building.
When the noise had ceased I slowly rose from my crouched position to make eye contact with a man across the street who was in the process of picking up his jaw from the ground. He exclaimed, "WOW" to which I replied, "YAH". He wanted to say more but all he could manage was two more wows.
Unfortunately I didn't have the presence of mind to take a picture. I was truly just happy to get away with my life. Although I'm not certain I was ever at risk, the sound alone was enough to cause my adrenaline to hit me within a few seconds.
At the doctor's office, which is right across the street from the cathedral, I was able to explain the thunder they had all heard moments earlier. I'm happy to report that my blood pressure was 138/70 with the high number (systolic) understandably elevated after my very recent experience.
Perhaps the sky didn't fall on me but I did experience the fight or flight response we are told in high school biology class is an innate response that we cannot alter. And unlike Chicken Little, I had a witness.
Monday 9 March 2015
The Lent Diary - March 9
Things are not always what they seem.
A writer's mind is always working. It formulates ideas then takes them to the extreme. After all, what is writing except exploring the possibilities? Sometimes those possibilities and ideas stem from a real life experience taken a step further. A difficulty with your computer at work leads to a story about an artificial intelligence taking over the world. A scary commute leads to a story about a runaway bus. A weird dream about a loved one who has passed away leads to a spooky ghost story.
There are no limits save the limits you put on your imagination. A deeply logical person would immediately denounce the improbable for the more likely outcomes but the writer goes straight to the improbable and builds on it.
Sometimes though truth is stranger than fiction and the writer can get bogged down in describing the truth. Strange truths are sometimes more difficult to sell to the audience than acceptable fiction. Would you want to read a story about real-life parasites invading the human host or suspend your disbelief for the less credible alien larvae hatching out of the chest of an astronaut? Too close to home must be waved off. Give me the outlandish any day.
My challenge as a writer has been and probably will continue to be that my friends and family might read into my writing some literal truth about my personal situation based on one of my exaggerated writings. A story about a rape might ring a little too true and therefore must have come from a personal experience when in fact, it was simply a detailed research effort including interviews with real victims. After all, every book about writing tells you to "write what you know" but most of the time what I know is pretty boring so I like to take my strange ideas to the next level. That requires research and I think I'm pretty good at research.
The writer, therefore, must be careful when they write and if they are a good writer, they can convince the audience that what they write might have just been a real experience. The truth is, it doesn't always have to be.
After all, things are not always what they seem.
A writer's mind is always working. It formulates ideas then takes them to the extreme. After all, what is writing except exploring the possibilities? Sometimes those possibilities and ideas stem from a real life experience taken a step further. A difficulty with your computer at work leads to a story about an artificial intelligence taking over the world. A scary commute leads to a story about a runaway bus. A weird dream about a loved one who has passed away leads to a spooky ghost story.
There are no limits save the limits you put on your imagination. A deeply logical person would immediately denounce the improbable for the more likely outcomes but the writer goes straight to the improbable and builds on it.
Sometimes though truth is stranger than fiction and the writer can get bogged down in describing the truth. Strange truths are sometimes more difficult to sell to the audience than acceptable fiction. Would you want to read a story about real-life parasites invading the human host or suspend your disbelief for the less credible alien larvae hatching out of the chest of an astronaut? Too close to home must be waved off. Give me the outlandish any day.
My challenge as a writer has been and probably will continue to be that my friends and family might read into my writing some literal truth about my personal situation based on one of my exaggerated writings. A story about a rape might ring a little too true and therefore must have come from a personal experience when in fact, it was simply a detailed research effort including interviews with real victims. After all, every book about writing tells you to "write what you know" but most of the time what I know is pretty boring so I like to take my strange ideas to the next level. That requires research and I think I'm pretty good at research.
The writer, therefore, must be careful when they write and if they are a good writer, they can convince the audience that what they write might have just been a real experience. The truth is, it doesn't always have to be.
After all, things are not always what they seem.
Thursday 5 March 2015
The Lent Diary - Mar 6
Nobody's perfect. Let him who is without sin cast the first stone (John 8:7, paraphrased). Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? (Matthew 7:3, NIV)
These sentiments seem to indicate that we shouldn't criticize others because we are imperfect too and we have committed sins in our lives so how can we justify being critical of others. After all, if we haven't got our own affairs in order, what makes it okay to tell someone else they've got a problem.
But that doesn't really work, does it? When you have a disagreement with someone or you see a particular behaviour in a loved one that irks you, it's important to have a conversation with them and let them know how you feel. If their behaviour is affecting you in an emotional way or there is a more concrete manifestation in your life of their problem, then you have a right to be heard and even to help that person to see the error of their ways. Right?
That's what an intervention is, after all, an opportunity to explore the shortcomings of a loved one because it is now affecting you in a very real and negative manner. Generally, you've recognized that you can't take any more, or that the person is genuinely going to harm themselves so you want to accomplish two things. You want to help the other person and you want to remove the stressor in your own life.
A conversation or intervention doesn't always go smoothly. Let's face it, you are hi-lighting a conflict that the other person may not even realize exists.
It makes sense that when you want to "talk" to a loved one or friend about something that's been bothering you, they might become defensive and immediately point out a flaw in your own character. They are really just pointing out the obvious, that you are not perfect either, that you shouldn't stone them since you are a sinner too, and that there's really no reason to take exception to their issue when you have issues of your own that you haven't dealt with.
Perhaps it's the root of all conflict. You are pointing out something you perceive is wrong with me so I'm going stop you, even if I have to take you to task on everything you represent. Hey, I might even kill you because then this conflict will stop altogether. Wait, there are more of you who feel this way so I need to either admit I might be wrong or kill more of you. I will never admit I'm wrong so, killing it is.
Cognitive dissonance at its best (worst?). Then again, nobody's perfect.
These sentiments seem to indicate that we shouldn't criticize others because we are imperfect too and we have committed sins in our lives so how can we justify being critical of others. After all, if we haven't got our own affairs in order, what makes it okay to tell someone else they've got a problem.
But that doesn't really work, does it? When you have a disagreement with someone or you see a particular behaviour in a loved one that irks you, it's important to have a conversation with them and let them know how you feel. If their behaviour is affecting you in an emotional way or there is a more concrete manifestation in your life of their problem, then you have a right to be heard and even to help that person to see the error of their ways. Right?
That's what an intervention is, after all, an opportunity to explore the shortcomings of a loved one because it is now affecting you in a very real and negative manner. Generally, you've recognized that you can't take any more, or that the person is genuinely going to harm themselves so you want to accomplish two things. You want to help the other person and you want to remove the stressor in your own life.
A conversation or intervention doesn't always go smoothly. Let's face it, you are hi-lighting a conflict that the other person may not even realize exists.
It makes sense that when you want to "talk" to a loved one or friend about something that's been bothering you, they might become defensive and immediately point out a flaw in your own character. They are really just pointing out the obvious, that you are not perfect either, that you shouldn't stone them since you are a sinner too, and that there's really no reason to take exception to their issue when you have issues of your own that you haven't dealt with.
Perhaps it's the root of all conflict. You are pointing out something you perceive is wrong with me so I'm going stop you, even if I have to take you to task on everything you represent. Hey, I might even kill you because then this conflict will stop altogether. Wait, there are more of you who feel this way so I need to either admit I might be wrong or kill more of you. I will never admit I'm wrong so, killing it is.
Cognitive dissonance at its best (worst?). Then again, nobody's perfect.
Tuesday 3 March 2015
The Lent Diary - March 3
Have you ever had a twitch in your eye? The kind that makes it impossible to see clearly?
I'm certain I don't listen to my body enough. It talks to me, swells up when it wants me to slow down, hurts when it wants me to soothe it, and twitches when it's trying to get my attention. It could just be a simple medical condition.
There are lots of medical explanations for why the muscle in the eyelid twitches. For starters it's called blepharospasm so you know it's a real thing. They don't make up Latin-derived medical terms for no reason. It can occur when you haven't slept enough, are worried or stressed, have dry eyes or pink eye. It can also indicate a more severe condition like Bell's palsy or Parkinson's disease.
Too often a benign symptom can signify the tip of an iceberg you don't want to uncover. Like the bruise on a shy woman's face. Or an elderly person using their favourite antique nickels for bus fare. There's more of a story there. Much more.
I don't know why I currently have a twitch in my eye but I'm sure there's more to it. Maybe warm compresses will help or going to bed early will solve it. Or maybe I'm worried about something.
Regardless of the underlying cause, my eye is trying to tell me something. My blurry eye that spasms every few seconds and prevents me from seeing the snowstorm outside is trying to get me to see more clearly.
And maybe it's time I listened.
I'm certain I don't listen to my body enough. It talks to me, swells up when it wants me to slow down, hurts when it wants me to soothe it, and twitches when it's trying to get my attention. It could just be a simple medical condition.
There are lots of medical explanations for why the muscle in the eyelid twitches. For starters it's called blepharospasm so you know it's a real thing. They don't make up Latin-derived medical terms for no reason. It can occur when you haven't slept enough, are worried or stressed, have dry eyes or pink eye. It can also indicate a more severe condition like Bell's palsy or Parkinson's disease.
Too often a benign symptom can signify the tip of an iceberg you don't want to uncover. Like the bruise on a shy woman's face. Or an elderly person using their favourite antique nickels for bus fare. There's more of a story there. Much more.
I don't know why I currently have a twitch in my eye but I'm sure there's more to it. Maybe warm compresses will help or going to bed early will solve it. Or maybe I'm worried about something.
Regardless of the underlying cause, my eye is trying to tell me something. My blurry eye that spasms every few seconds and prevents me from seeing the snowstorm outside is trying to get me to see more clearly.
And maybe it's time I listened.
Monday 2 March 2015
The Lent Diary - March 2
Everything is relative.
March came in like a lamb, that is if you compare weather on the first of March to the weather during the rest of winter here in Kingston. We've certainly had a c-c-c-cold and snowy time of it for the last few months. Everyone is ready for a change. People want warmth, heat, sunshine, and fewer layers of clothing to wear every day.
But come July when there is nothing but warmth, heat, sunshine and those few layers of clothing are sticking to our sweaty bodies, everyone will ask for something cooler. Gee, can't we have a break from the humidity, it's hard to breathe. I get eye strain from the bright sunshine when I can't find my sunglasses. Good gawd my leather seats are flippin' hot in my car. Air conditioning, please!
Too much of anything is bad. It grates on the nerves and although we humans wish for what we don't have, we forget that there is sometimes bad in what we desire. How can that be? If I want something good, it must be inherently good or I wouldn't want it. Right?
I want ice cream but not the brain freeze that comes with it. I want to buy brie and the good crackers but then I can't afford milk. I want to put hot peppers on my pizza but then I get heart burn. I want to hit the snooze alarm but then I'll be late for work. I want the positive but keep the negative please.
It is a human failing that we forget to temper the extremes in our lives. We really should learn to take the good with the bad and to realize that enjoying something that we want can come with a price. If we can keep a perspective on it, the price is an easy one to pay.
After all, everything is relative.
March came in like a lamb, that is if you compare weather on the first of March to the weather during the rest of winter here in Kingston. We've certainly had a c-c-c-cold and snowy time of it for the last few months. Everyone is ready for a change. People want warmth, heat, sunshine, and fewer layers of clothing to wear every day.
But come July when there is nothing but warmth, heat, sunshine and those few layers of clothing are sticking to our sweaty bodies, everyone will ask for something cooler. Gee, can't we have a break from the humidity, it's hard to breathe. I get eye strain from the bright sunshine when I can't find my sunglasses. Good gawd my leather seats are flippin' hot in my car. Air conditioning, please!
Too much of anything is bad. It grates on the nerves and although we humans wish for what we don't have, we forget that there is sometimes bad in what we desire. How can that be? If I want something good, it must be inherently good or I wouldn't want it. Right?
I want ice cream but not the brain freeze that comes with it. I want to buy brie and the good crackers but then I can't afford milk. I want to put hot peppers on my pizza but then I get heart burn. I want to hit the snooze alarm but then I'll be late for work. I want the positive but keep the negative please.
It is a human failing that we forget to temper the extremes in our lives. We really should learn to take the good with the bad and to realize that enjoying something that we want can come with a price. If we can keep a perspective on it, the price is an easy one to pay.
After all, everything is relative.
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